It’s late and I’m tired and tomorrow is Ash Wednesday – rehearsal and service after what promises to be a full day at work, and tonight I’ve been at a Shrove Tuesday pancake night at the Cathedral and I love my Cathedral family – wonderful people that they are – but I’ve simply used up my quota of words for the day.
Actually, I feel that I’ve used up my quota of words for the week – and it’s only Tuesday. I wonder if next week will let me borrow from it?
But even in my fatigue and the distracting busyness of the day, here are some nice things that happened:
- Most of my friends teased me today because I publicised National Grammar Day. Several didn’t know it was National Grammar Day because they didn’t visit Facebook; the rest simply refused to take me seriously. Which I told them all was annoying and offensive, but which is actually kind of cool, and funny.
- Tonight I saw my choir friends, so I got hugs. One of them literally lifted me off my feet.
- I actually achieved nine-tenths of my to-do list at work. I like the sight of the little red ticks that adorn completed tasks.
- Today one friend had a tough day, and I made her laugh.
- On my walk home I stopped to watch a spider walking along the pavement ahead of me. It tripped over its own feet (I have never seen a spider trip over!) and fell down the kerb, and then simply kept walking as though nothing had happened. I laughed at it. Unlike cats, the spider didn’t seem offended. I think it was a huntsman.
Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday and so I don’t know if I’ll get a chance to write: I imagine it will depend on how hard it is to sing music which is so exquisite in its pain that it seems to twist me inside. I hope singing’s not hard tomorrow – I want to be able to give voice to my faith like I once did. But it’s ok if it is hard – because Ash Wednesday reminds us of our own fragility, the transience of the small life we call our own, and the substance of the universe – dust – from which we are drawn and to which we return. And the hand of the Creator is present in each moment of each small life, and animates each atom of that from which we are comprised – and what’s a panic attack in comparison to a reality of that magnitude?
Also I live in a world where hugs can lift you off your feet, and spiders can trip over theirs.