I love a day off where I can linger in the morning, drinking coffee and watching the Today Show. They're currently showing one of those bits of footage where a soldier coming home from Iraq surprises his/her child in the classroom or on the sports field. Oh, I could just watch those all day. Way to start the day with happy tears.
It's Good Friday. When I was a kid, Good Friday was a very reverent day in our family. And while it was often frustrating, (and my resistence to it caused much trouble in my early adult life) I still did appreciate the ritual of sitting still for a few hours in the afternoon, reflecting on the somber day. (Though I HATED Good Friday mass, and that song that went, "Where you there when they nailed him to the tree. Ooooooooh...." I always wanted to shout, "NO!! I WASN'T there! I swear, I didn't kill Jesus! I would have been nice to him!") I felt personally guilty when we'd read the Passion, and I would have to say the "crowd" lines that said things like, "Crucify him." It seemed barbaric to force us all to metaphorically kill our Savior two thousand more times. Wasn't once enough?? I don't go to mass anymore for a huge long list of reasons, and I will spend this Good Friday morning looking for new houses, and the afternoon snuggled on the couch with my girls watching Peter Cottontail and The Easter Bunny is Coming to Town. (Remember, from the 70's? I bought them on DVD...our VHS copies are, like everything else, in storage.) Secular, but still, the ritual of quiet time is somehow part of my muscle memory.
Good Friday and Holy Thursday make me think of John Trovato, my former principal, and the night I slept beside him as he slipped into a coma and angels told me what to say. I will write about that here someday, and actually really wanted to write about it today, but I need my journal that I wrote in that night to do it justice. Guess where that is? Yep. Storage. Along with all of our spring clothes and the little Easter Bunny platter that holds the deviled eggs I'm supposed to bring on Sunday. And my flip-flops and my copy of Shakespeare in Love , my cell phone manual, and the cord that allows me to transfer the pictures out of my camera and into my computer. I want my stuff back. Right. Smack. Now.
Two people I really like started blogging fairly recently, and it just makes me wish everyone I liked would blog. I love reading people's stories, and knowing the details of lives that I wouldn't otherwise be able to glance into. It's partly the same thing that leads me to gaze into people's windows when they don't pull their shades down at night. I'm not looking for naked people or anything (though that's fun, too.) I like to see what they hang on their walls or whether or not they're sitting at their kitchen tables. Just a glimpse, you know?
Here's your glimpse into my window right now. Abby is on the computer, looking for more pictures of Greek Gods and Goddesses. (I've finally gotten her to understand that she CAN'T put naked pictures of Aphrodite in the scrapbook she made if she's going to bring it to school.) Amelia is trying to download a game for her Nintendo DSi. Patrick is still snoozing, and Ginger is standing, sentry-like, outside the bedroom door, waiting for the first opportunity to leap on his lap, her favorite place to be. I woke up in time to make the coffee, watch the President's visit to Massachusetts from yesterday on the Today Show, and write this. In a moment, I will bring Patrick coffee in bed, and get us all ready to go out with the realtor to find a new House of Dreams this morning. I'm currently snuggled under my cat blanket in my giant Thayer hooded sweatshirt that I bought at the Salvation Army, looking out at the mist on the pond of the Vacation House. The sun is shining, I have a lovely weekend ahead with like ten things I'm really looking forward to, and I'm gearing my mind up to have a productive day.
I am so grateful for the sunshine.