March 28, 2012


There are as many types of waiting as there are people to wait.

Waiting. As in girls who are engaged-to-be-engaged, who are patiently or impatiently watching for signs of betrothal. Holding out and holding their breaths for the appearance of portentous jewelry. As in Waity Katie. Other women are mean to these women (read the article linked – merciless). Not least because there is a whiff of the ridiculous about them.

I was a bit of a waiter.

Waiting, as in the 2005 Ryan Reynolds film. Plot revolves around directionless, lecherous wait staff at Shenaniganz restaurant. Rated R for crudeness, this movie’s value lies… all right, it doesn’t have any value. I was made to watch this by my husband, a sometime waiter. But the restaurant is called SHENANIGANZ for sweetness sake.

Waiting – the Jews, waiting for the Messiah. The Christians, also for the Messiah. The Muslims, waiting for Imam Mahdi. With all due respect, God likes to keep people waiting.

Right now I am waiting: for my body to recover from my miscarriage so we can try again. Waiting to get pregnant again, waiting for the first trimester to be over so I can relax and feel more certain the child will live. Waiting for our lease to be up so we can buy a house. Waiting for my husband to get his review at work so we can find out what his raise might look like. Waiting for a lightning bolt to strike so I can figure out what path to take in terms of my career. Waiting for answers to these and other prayers.

Most urgently, waiting for the economy at last to improve and for the world to be at peace.

The first will hopefully be here soon. The second…

Well, we shall just have to wait. And see.

March 17, 2012

Today was the feast of St. Patrick.

Husband Consuming Corned Beef Sandwich at Downtown Bar.

It falls on a Saturday this year. And here in Cleveland the weather was wonderful. So downtown was a madhouse, a circus of humanity, half a million bodies (according to the police estimate) all pressing up against each other all along the parade route.

In some ways it’s annoying that this day has been co-opted by the World. It’s “our” saint’s feast day after all. The bishop said Mass at ten at the Cathedral, three hours before the parade passed by. And the Catholic school marching bands and the Holy Name Society and the Hibernians and the various Ladies Auxiliaries all marched. But other than that, it was mostly a day about leprechauns and beads and intemperate imbibing.

The beads remind me of another Catholic-ish day stolen by the World… the day before Ash Wednesday. Mardi Gras.

And that kind of redeems the whole thing for me. I don’t enjoy seeing the obscene T Shirts or the girls from the worst neighborhoods of Cleveland with their skirts riding up an inch too high for public decency. But the fact is, nobody would ever take a Protestant holiday and fill it up this way. Catholic holidays get co-opted by the World because Catholics know how to have fun.

The World doesn’t understand this business about the Communion of Saints and the Trinity in the shamrock and killing off all the snakes.

But it does understand fun.

The green beer and the piled high corned beef sandwiches and the crazy parade and yes, even the beads. It’s the pagans trying to join in the revelry. It’s a poor try, missing heaven by a mile, but it’s a try nonetheless.

So I think Patrick, on his feast day, has to smile on them. Shake his head, but smile and redouble his prayers for them – so I’ll have to smile and pray too.

November 30, 2011

things you think in the confessional if you’re me

Crime doesn’t pay.

This confessional smells like old beer.

I can’t remember exactly how many months it’s been.

I can’t remember everything I’ve done.

Why does it smell this way?

Supposedly the last Pope went every week.

St. Francis went to confession but he never heard a confession.

He was never a priest.

Is it the priest? Is it my clothes? BLEH!

Thank you God. I don’t deserve it.

If you forget I’ll do my best to forget, too.

I’m free.