the strange comfort of monday
Sunday, Joelio and I were at the symphony and I was reading the write-up about Tchaikovsky. He had originally started work on the second sonata (which we heard that day) while on a trip to the Ukraine. Though he intended this time for a vacation, he quickly became restless and depressed. He wrote a letter to his brother explaining that he simply could find no contentment until he got back to work. I deeply related to this while sitting in my cheap seat – absorbing the inner angst and interpretations of life by such a composer. Inside of me, I ached for such an outlet.
I feel this most often, this desire, this compulsion to be of use. Despite my ability to relax (it’s an acquired skill), I need to have meaning in all I do. Even though you couldn't really call what I do work, it does, however, provide the necessary structure I crave, a reason to get out of bed and get dressed, and specific meal times. This weekend was rough for Joel and I, for a myriad ($$) of reasons - and despite some pockets of splendor, we are both a bit restless in this present state of life; we are struggling to find our own two feet both within and apart from each other; we are struggling to find our souls in this transition...but we are sweeter than ever on each other.
We camped all weekend in our little chateau, leaving only to walk to the library, walk to our new church, and to ride the bus to the symphony (btw, i am proud to report of my money-saving skills that provided us one martini with a twist for $7.00, which we shared at intermission. it was gross to have the well-vodka, but we were relieved to find that in our abject poverty, we still had good taste) and it was good for us. Now I am glad for it to be Monday.
My soul is again craving sacrament, liturgy, and religion. I left a church one year ago, a hiatus from a lifetime of church attendance, and all of a sudden, I grew to miss it. Joel and I are on week two of attending St. Mark's Cathedral in Seattle, and one thing we both love about the Anglican church is that Eucharist (communion) is central to the service...it IS the service. Therefore, the sermon, the music, the announcements, the community, the cookies afterwards - all is subservient to Eucharist...to the solitary communing of yourself to the divine. I feel deeply moved, validated, and accepted entirely for me - and all of this happens in the quiet of myself. It is good.
In other Monday news,
I googled "how to fold a letter like Jane Austen," and came up with this. I am now practicing... here's a diagram for you.
the outlook of this week looks promising...
thank you for paychecks.
which will turn into wine.
turns out you still perform miracles.