You’ve Gotta Know the Territory

franciscanmom9 Comments

So I’ve got the marching orders.  I will be marching into the hospital on Monday, April 16 for surgery and will be in the hospital for 3 or 4 days.  After that, there will be recovery at home.

That means people will be “on my turf.”  I’m a very territorial, very independent person.  I don’t like other people cooking in my kitchen and taking care of jobs that are supposed to be mine.  (Heck, I don’t even like people drinking out of my glass.  My husband completely doesn’t get that, but that’s how I am.)

The night after I met with my surgeon, I had all these dreams about people being in my way.  I couldn’t do anything–even go to sleep–without having people in my path.  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what that was about.

The territory thing, and the needing-assistance thing, are a much bigger concern to me than the actual medical reasons behind this surgery.  I hate asking anyone for help.  I hate that I will need help (a good bit of it, most likely).  I hate that someone else is going to have to drive the kids, cook the meals, wash the laundry, sweep the floor.  Sometimes my own kids will be helping with some of those jobs.  Some of them will fall to TheDad.  And my mom has already announced that she’ll be here for a week.

The last time she came here to help me after surgery, she scrubbed my floor on her hands and knees.  I hated that.  If she does it again, I will hate it again.  I know that in the scheme of things I am very, very blessed to (a) still have a mom, (b) have a mom healthy enough to help me, (c) have a mom who is currently in her 3rd or 4th retirement (clearly she is Bret Favre’s role model in this regard) so she’s free to come and help me, (d) have a mom who wants to come and help me, and (e) have a dad who’s willing to drive Mom 125 miles each way so she can come and help me.

I’m really not much in the mood, right now, to let perspective get in the way of my pity party.  Except for the cleaning-of-the-house part, I’m going to miss what I do for my family.  I’m going to miss the cooking and the laundry (especially now that I can hang it outside again) and planting my little herb garden since I was partially successful with it last year and even the driving.  I’m going to miss the writing, since I’m taking some time off from my freelance jobs while I recover.  I’m going to miss playing and singing at church, since Easter was the last time I’ll get to do that for a while.

I was reminded today that allowing others to help me opens the door for them to receive grace through their practice of the corporal works of mercy.  I guess, right now, that is as good as it’ll get.

Meanwhile, you are not allowed in my kitchen until after I walk out of here on Monday.  It is my territory, and I will chase you.

Easter’s Musical Gift

franciscanmom3 Comments

Alleluia, He is risen!  We sang all about it yesterday.  And it was wonderful.

Our parish schedules an extra Mass on Easter to accommodate the expected crowds.  The rest of the schedule is shuffled a bit so that the larger of the two church buildings has the majority of Masses, which makes sense, because you need to fit more people.  Our folk group was playing at the little church at 10 AM.  There hasn’t been a 10 AM Mass at the little church in almost 4 years.  So I was a little curious about how well-attended it would be.  Would people forget?  After all, my husband would have headed over to the big church if I hadn’t reminded him that we were singing at the little church.  He’d have found a Mass there too, because both churches had a 10:00–but he wouldn’t have found us.

It was a full house–and more–in the choir area, because it was a full house–and more–in the church.  My husband and mother-in-law couldn’t get seats in the pews, so they sat with us.  So did Big Brother, who didn’t have a guitar at home to play (and regretted that, at the last minute).  Middle Sister was serving, of course.  The folk group showed up in force, except for one member who was visiting faraway family.  Best problem in the world to have:  not enough seating for all the musicians and singers.  Fortunately, our church has these great “window seats” in the choir area.  At least 10 people had to use them; all 15 chairs were taken.

And we made our joyful noise.  It feels SO GOOD to lift your voice in “Alleluia” and “Glory to God” after all this time.  This group has a long tradition of singing “All Good Gifts” on Easter (the Godspell version) and though you might think of it as better suited to Thanksgiving, it works for Easter so well:  Easter Mass is all about celebrating, and thanking God, for the enormous and extravagant gift of love, shown through Jesus and His sacrifice.

Even better, we were permitted to sing our very favorite piece:  the Lord’s Prayer.  It’s a hallmark of our group, but one that we were asked to stop singing when the parishes merged.  A couple of times during Lent, the pastor (who asked us not to sing it anymore) allowed us to sing it.  People love it.  It’s right up there with “Amazing Grace” in the Raise the Roof and Sing Along Factor.  And our associate pastor loves it, because it eliminates the whole “barrel through the Lord’s Prayer” thing that is his personal pet peeve.

Our associate pastor has been stationed here for more than 7 years, and I think I’ve seen him actually sing maybe twice in all that time.  Yesterday, he sang along with the Lord’s Prayer too.

When we finish the Lord’s Prayer, we all get the same feeling:  we have Been To Church.  We have PRAISED.

I got a big basket full of chocolate and sugar for Easter, but the music was definitely a better gift, because it helps me remember the greatest gift.

Alleluia!

Some Easter Randomness

franciscanmom3 Comments

Because when you’ve been up since 4 AM (for no good reason whatsoever), random is as good as it gets.

I haven’t slept past 5:15 in a week.  Anxious much?  Why yes, yes I am.  I’ll know tomorrow when my surgery is scheduled.  It’ll be either the 16 or the 23, the doctor thinks.  If I don’t start getting some sleep soon, I’ll be pushing for the 16th, just so I can get some rest faster!

I put together the Easter baskets last night, and delegated the Hiding of the Eggs.  There was a little obsessive checking this morning to make sure that the eggs had, indeed, been hidden.

Big Brother and Middle Sister were both awake when I went to bed last night.  I’m pretty sure they didn’t inspect the Easter baskets, because Big Brother’s basket still contains eggs filled with candy (I checked that too.)  Middle Sister gets annoyed that her brother doesn’t want to hunt for eggs anymore, and last year she emptied his basket and hid all the eggs before he woke up.  We were still finding them early this year (M&Ms. Still good.  Finders keepers.)

I took Little Brother to the outdoor portion of the Easter Vigil last night.  In our parish, the Boy Scouts are in charge of the Easter fire.  Who better to ask?  They know how to build fires, and they know how to “leave no trace” later.  Plus, they’re happy to stick around when everyone else has processed into church, and tend that fire until it’s out.

Is that an awesome Easter bonfire or what?  People were a lot closer when they first gathered around, but they stepped back pretty quickly.  It was a windy night.

Once everyone was in church, the Scouts brought out the marshmallows and the campfire-pie maker.  Last night’s flavor of choice:  apple.  The Scout families and a few friends enjoyed Holy S’mores, featuring imported German chocolate with chili and hazelnuts along with marshmallows toasted over the Easter fire.  Not only do our Boy Scouts know how to make a fire, they know how to cook.

I always encourage parents of little children to bring them for the “Easter fire” part.  But this year it was a little disappointing.  It felt like the Reader’s Digest Condensed Version of the Easter Fire.  I don’t know if it was the new translation (I doubt that) or what, but there was no assembly of the Easter candle with the little pegs representing the wounds of Christ and the inscription of the year.  That’s a fascinating thing for kids (and grownups) to see.  Kids can see the candle being assembled.  Then in church they can go look at it more closely after Mass.  It’s something they’ll see all year.  Last night, though, there were no little pegs on the candle and the outdoor portion was over in 5 minutes.  It took longer for everyone in the assembly to get their candles lighted and get inside.

We’re playing at the 10:00 Mass this year.  That’ll throw my whole day off…I’ll get home and think it’s 1:30.  Some people in our folk group are not “morning people” so this could get interesting.

And if my surgery is next Monday, this will be the last Mass I play for a while.  I won’t be able to hold a guitar for a few weeks, and the day before surgery I’ll be stuck in the house on a clear liquid diet, so I’ll have to hit the 8:00 Mass.  So in a way, I’m hoping for the 23rd so I can play one more week before my little hiatus.  I can’t help it; I’m just crazy like that.  Playing guitar in church–that’s what I do.  It’s a huge part of me.  It’s a huge part of how I pray.

So today, I am going to relish every song, every “Alleluia,” every chance to lift my voice and glorify God.  Even when the songs and settings are not my favorite ones (and many, today, are not); even when the politically-correct lyric revision distracts (and it will); even when we no longer can sing “The Happy Gloria” because, to our knowledge, it hasn’t yet been revised to match the New Translation; even with all of that, it’s a privilege and a joy and a gift to do what I do, with the talented musicians and singers in our folk group who have become my close friends over the years.

All together now:  “Alleluia!”

Surreal

franciscanmom1 Comment

I just had the following conversation with my daughter.

Middle Sister (out of nowhere):  I can’t chaperone a field trip!

Me:  You’re not going to chaperone any field trips.

Middle Sister:  That’s because I can’t.

Me:  No one asked you to chaperone a field trip.

Middle Sister:  I’m pretty sure it’s not even legal.

A Litany of Gratitude

franciscanmom9 Comments

I’m not going to lie; I’m worried about how my appointment with the surgeon is going to go today. I’ve got a whole bunch of questions to ask.  I wrote them down so I don’t forget.  As long as I remember to bring that paper with me, it’s all good.

The closer I get to my appointment, the more anxious I get.  The more anxious I get, the more prickly I get.  Right now I’m practically a porcupine.  My poor husband gets the worst of it, and the guy really doesn’t need any more stress than he’s already got.  I’m pretty sure they should take his blood pressure at the doctor’s office today.  Today, I am grateful that he puts up with me when I get like this.

Today, I am grateful that he stayed up half the night working so he can leave the office early and come with me to this appointment.  Even though I act like I want to be all independent and everything, he doesn’t take no for an answer when it really counts.

Today, I am grateful for a friend who rearranged the Chess Club Carpool.  It was my turn to drive today, but she’s taking that shift.  This way, Little Brother doesn’t have to miss his favorite after-school activity.

Today, I am grateful for my neighbor who will be home when Little Brother gets here; if we’re not back yet, he can hang out at her house, do his homework and play with her kids until we get home.

Today, I am grateful that my appointment has been moved to 2:00 instead of the original 3:00.  This means we’ll have a better chance of beating rush hour on the way home.  Rush hour in Philly can be a bit terrifying.

Today, I am grateful that Middle Sister will be traveling to a track meet after school, even though she’s recovering from an injury and can’t run yet.  She’s got team spirit and she’s going to be there to encourage her friends.

Today, I am grateful that Little Brother thinks of everything.

Today, I am grateful for a doctor who listens and who takes my concerns and observations seriously enough to send me to a specialist she considers the best in the business.

Today, I am grateful for the prayers of my parents, family members, cousins, and friends near and far.

Overprepared?

franciscanmom3 Comments

It’s time to get ready for the first track meet of the 2012 season. I’m the recorder, or Scribe as I like to call it. I write down every runner’s time in every race. It gets hectic but I enjoy it.

This is my third season, so I’m pretty good at knowing what to bring along. I just packed my tote bag with:

collapsible camp stool
gloves
8 pencils
clipboard
Sharpie
2 pens
binder clips
map
directions to the meet
wallet
cell phone
granola bar
small “essentials” bag from my purse, containing Advil, inhaler, lip balm, Swiss Army knife and band-aids. Covers just about every emergency.

It’s going to be cold this evening, so it’s time to eat up, layer up and get out of here!

The Silver Lining

franciscanmomLeave a comment

This weekend was the semi-annual Cub Scout Babka Sale.  It’s a LOT of work, especially for Mr. Cubmaster, who drives all the way to Elizabeth (about 90 miles each way) to get the babka, then shuttles it between 2 churches to cover the 4 Masses for the weekend.

It was a whole lot of EXTRA work this weekend because of all the no-shows.  At two of the four Masses, Little Brother was the only Scout there.  Only one other Scout leader was there all weekend.  The pack didn’t make much money this year, because we had 26 babka left over (usually we sell out, but people don’t want to wait in line, so the key is to have lots of little salespeople to keep things moving.)

I got a distress call from TheDad (Mr. Cubmaster) at 8:30, telling me that no one else had shown up at the 8:00 Mass and that I needed to get over there to staff the tables.  After that, I headed over to the other church to help set up for the 10:00 Mass and sale.  On the way, I heard a new-to-me singer-songwriter on the radio, and he played what has become my New Favorite Song:

I just love it, and I hope you do too. This song says what music means to me. This is why I do what I do, regardless of the way things go in church-music politics. This Palm Sunday, I was reminded of why I am thankful to God–every day–for the gift of music in my life.

And if I hadn’t been in the car shuttling between churches to get to a babka sale I wasn’t supposed to staff, I would never have heard my New Favorite Song.

So I am thankful for that silver lining today!

Psychic Hotline

franciscanmom2 Comments

Now that she’s a sophomore in high school, Middle Sister’s been getting a bunch of college mail.  Most of it is postcards directing her to visit college websites, but yesterday she got a big envelope with a folder full of papers inside.

That impressed her.  She actually opened it instead of just tossing it aside like she does with the postcards.  She asked me if I knew where this university was, and I told her that it’s near where TheDad works and that one of Big Brother’s friends had gone there, as had the friend’s older brother.

She asked what the friend had studied at this university.

“Psychology, I think,” I replied.

“What IS psychology?” asked Little Brother.

“The study of the mind,” I answered in a fake-mysterious tone.

“He’s gonna be a PSYCHIC?”

Awaiting My Marching Orders

franciscanmom8 Comments

A tale of woe, told in as many cliches as I can dredge up.

I’m in a bit of a holding pattern these days.  After nearly 2 years of post-hysterectomy complications, which have resulted in (in no particular order) regularly-scheduled pain and bleeding, visits to 2 different GYN-oncologists, 2 MRIs, 1 CAT scan, innumerable ultrasounds of the invasive variety, a few rather unpleasant tests at the urologist’s, 1 burst ovarian cyst resulting in 1 missed Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert, and 1 cyst drained “just in time” of 1/2 liter of fluid, my GYN has finally decided that it’s time to shut down the rest of the system.  The plan is to remove my ovaries to cut off the estrogen supply that’s feeding my endometriosis.

I have a cyst larger than my own fist in my left abdomen (they always show up on the left.)  It’s painful, and it takes up a good amount of space.  Hence the wearing of the sweat pants (or, as Little Brother insists on calling them, athletic pants) as much as possible unless I have to actually get out of the car, in which case I suffer through the wearing of the jeans.

Frankly, I’m going to be glad to get this over with.  Even though it means going to a hospital with “Cancer” in its name.  I have not been diagnosed with cancer, but my GYN says that this doctor is the best surgeon to deal with the type of problems I’m having.  I keep telling myself that when I freak out a little bit about the name of the hospital.  I keep telling my husband that when he freaks out about the name of the hospital.  And I hope that none of my kids check the caller ID on the phone, because the word “Cancer” comes up in the name when I get the robo-call to confirm my appointment.

On Tuesday afternoon I’ll see the surgeon and receive my marching orders.  Until then, I have no time frame, no plan.  Anyone who knows me knows how crazy that makes me.  I’m guessing that something is going to happen soon, because my GYN said that they’ll want to take care of that cyst before it explodes on its own.  It could be done separately, or together–whatever the specialist decides.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch (or more accurately, back at the split-level), I’ve got a part-time writing gig that would have to go on hiatus, I’ve got arrangements to make for leadership at Secular Franciscan meetings, I’ve got kids to drive around, I’ve got “work to be done–an estate to be run–a boy to raise.”  Other than laundry and cooking, the bare minimum is getting done around here because physical stuff like scrubbing, vacuuming, mopping and taking down curtains is painful.  If I feel good enough, I do it.  Otherwise, I let it go.  There’s been a good amount of letting it go lately.  There have been afternoon naps, probably because I’m a little too keyed up to sleep well at night.  There’s been a lot of comfort eating.

I don’t feel like baking cookies, I don’t want to start up another sourdough starter, and there’s no use making a meal plan for April when I don’t know what April’s going to bring or when it’s going to bring it.  Other than Instant Menopause–I know I’m going to get that after the surgery.  Won’t that be fun for everyone lucky enough to live with me?

Meanwhile, I wait, and I worry.  I go to the high-school musical to take my mind off things (50 kids tap-dancing on the biggest stage in the county will do that for you).  On Tuesday, I’ll drive to Philly and find out how things are going to go.  And then I’ll drive home in rush-hour traffic and get on with it.

I Wish I Had the Guts to Send This Letter

franciscanmom7 Comments

A major religious holiday is coming up.  That’s a good clue that it’s time for my semi-annual Musical Rant.  I’m pretty sure that Satan knows that this is the best way to get to me.  Feel free to tune out if you’re not a church musician.

To the Music Director and Pastor at my parish:

I came home from church tonight to find the forwarded email notifying me that, despite the fact that the Folk Group was assigned to sing the noon Mass on Easter at least two months ago, we’ve been reassigned to a different time and location, two weeks before Easter itself.

It’s nice that you “hope this is not a problem.”

People do make holiday plans, and in the Folk Group, you’ve got a very dedicated bunch of musicians and singers whose family holiday plans revolve around our church schedule.  That schedule is already variable because we have been asked to sing that once-a-month Saturday-evening Mass rather than our traditional Sunday noon time slot.  On Christmas and Easter, we do our best to be there at different-than-usual times because of the nature of the Mass schedule on those days.  Two weeks before Easter, most of us have made our holiday plans.

Reassigning us two weeks before the most important event in the Church year tells us exactly where we fit on the musical totem pole (as if we didn’t already know.)  It’s disrespectful to us personally and professionally.  I feel like the Samaritan woman who asked Jesus to heal her child, only to be refused because of her nationality.  She replied to Jesus, “But Teacher, even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the master’s table.”  We are the dogs and you are giving us crumbs.  We’re expected, I guess, to be happy with whatever crumbs come our way.

And because we’re not proud (or tired) we’ll take those crumbs.  We’ll rearrange family plans.  The musician who works into the wee hours on a Saturday night will drag himself into church because he–as the rest of us do–believes that singing and playing for the glory of God are what matter.

We are not the world’s best musicians.  But we more than make up, in attitude and enthusiasm, for the polish and finesse we lack.  We view our role at Mass as being leaders of song, not performers in a show.  Our goal is to help people sing along, to help them feel comfortable enough to sing along, because singing at Mass is a huge part of prayer.  Most of the time, we achieve that goal.

In the several years since the parish merger, we have made many, many accommodations.  We have learned an entirely new repertoire.  We have used chant settings for psalms and other Mass parts as required, even through chant is extremely challenging with only guitar accompaniment.  We have bent over backwards to follow the “once-a-month Saturday night” schedule, even when it means that most of us can’t be there because of work and other obligations.  (That’s why we had the late Sunday Mass to begin with.)  We have learned and used the Mass settings we were told to use, again, even though guitar is not the best accompaniment for some of these settings.  We’ve enjoyed learning some of this new music and tolerated other pieces, but we have always learned and used what we were asked to do.

We are not there to put on a show.  We are there to help people to pray through music, to help them give honor and glory to God through music.  We do this by keeping it simple, approachable, and in a key that’s in a comfortable range for most people.  We welcome beginners, teenagers, and our own children; that’s our investment in the future (and as a parent, I know very well how much such an investment pays off.)

Being a part of the folk group in this parish is an exercise in humility.  I have to say, it gets old finding humble pie under the Christmas tree and in the Easter basket year after year after year.  My husband says that I should just be thankful that we’re being reassigned rather than cancelled altogether.  Any way you slice it, though, it still hurts.

I’m sure we’ll take the crumbs and we’ll be happy to have them.  And we’ll sing our hearts out because it’s what we do.  But you should know that it hurts to be treated this way, and that I have carried around this unspoken burden for far too long.