wacky week

It has just been one of those really wacky weeks. The weeks where I find myself out-of-sorts, restless, bored, unable to concentrate on work, and up til all hours doing who knows what because although I am plenty tired I can't sleep. And when I do sleep it's these ultra-vivid and terribly strange dreams that have been plaguing me the last year or so (fibromyalgia comes with serious sleep issues)-- last night I dreamt that we had a baby only it was a cat (for hours on end) and then eventually it was a baby. There is this whole other world that lurks in my sub-conscious, and I just don't get it.

So maybe if I write a bit it will help me to unwind some of the stuff in my head. For sure I have been incredibly distressed about a friend-- a dear friend who is in a situation so tragic and painful that every time I think about it, even start to imagine myself in her shoes, I feel like my heart is physically being torn out and I just cry. Many tears this week-- for all the brokenness and fallenness and things you never thought would happen to good friends of your who love Jesus and seem to have great lives... until something horrible happens. So many things I don't understand.

Last Sunday we celebrated All Souls Day (and All Saints Day, but I missed that service)-- another cause for somber, if not altogether sad, thoughts. J and I have joined the amazing choir at our new church-- we love the church and it is just pure delight to get to sing real music under a phenomenal director with a very fun and close-knit group of people. (Such traditions as going out for a pint after Thurs night practice, and choir backrubs.) I hadn't realized how much I missed making music-- nor how rusty I am when it comes to those pesky fourths, minding my consonants, not breathing in the middle of the phrase, and trying to read in Latin while singing in sixteenth notes. Wow.

We sang an entire requiem last Sunday night-- one that Joel and I (and the rest of the choir) had had all of 3 weeks to get acquainted with. There is a backstory to the short timeline-- this church just started meeting a month ago, after splitting off from an established Episcopal Church (with the rector and a number of clergy, plus a good part of the congregation). Did you know as of this summer there is now an Anglican Church in North America? But back to our choir-- we were thrown into this nearly hour-long piece of music, which was fast and in Latin and just quite challenging. I can't say I sang every note perfectly last Sunday night, but hearing that glorious sound pour out of the choir and my little voice a part of it was just sooo much fun. I highly recommend Cherubini's Requiem in C Minor-- beautiful and powerful music. (And I have not been able to get it out of my head all week...)

The very notion of a requiem, and a day to remember those who have died, is really foreign to us practical Americans. But one thing I really like about the Anglican Church is that they have rites for everything-- and I am glad they make a place in their worship to remember the dead. I had one startling moment, as they were reading dozens of names of those who had died (loved ones of people in the congregation, although Teddy Kennedy also came up!)-- when I thought I heard the name of my great uncle Ellis, who just recently died. I later found out that the name was actually Alice, not Ellis, Roberts. (Alice Roberts is also a relation of mine, my great-grandma and partial namesake!) I had been so intrigued by the thought that someone in the congregation had known him and requested his name to be read. (I would have submitted his name had I known I could do so, but I didn't.) In the process of trying to track down the mystery I ended up talking to a woman who recognized my last name and turned out to be J's aunt's college roommate-- so you see it is a small world. But even thought Ellis wasn't publicly acknowledged the service was still a meaningful time for me to remember the people I love who are gone-- and rejoice (because that is also part of the service) that they aren't really dead, but just passed on to another kind of life, waiting for us to pass through the veil as well. These profound mysteries. Another thing I like about the Anglican church is the icons-- which remind you of those dead-but-not-dead saints, still with us in a way.

So, a week of crying, reflections on death (I can't get away from it-- an NPR podcast I caught up with today informed me that in Europe they celebrate Nov 1 by having picnics on their ancestors' graves)... and we have been sick. Joel has been in bed for most of 2 days, which is so unusual for him, and I have also been feeling lousy, though much less unusual for me (and I haven't been knocked quite so flat). And I munched through an entire back of flourescent orange cheese puff whatever-those-things-are-supposed-to-be-- in 2 days-- which is enough to make one feel tremendously gross. I never eat stuff like that. I never have stuff like that in the house. But in a moment of weakness (on an endless grocery run in which I left my wallet at home, had to spend half on hour going back to get it, went to three different stores, etc.) I bought that silly bag of junk, and couldn't kick the craving for a food I don't even really like. As I said, it's been a wacky week.

Tomorrow I am going into Boston for a dentist appointment and to breakfast and lunch with a couple friends-- so hopefully a change of pace (and lunch at a swanky restaurant at which I have a fantastic coupon) will cheer me up. Then off to a 24 hour women's retreat-- also looking forward to that. I can't even remember the last time I went on a retreat like this!