April 1: Easter, Fairly Exhausted, Church Musician

Happy Easter night to all my disciples.

I hope everyone has had a blessed day, full of love and good food.  Chocolate, too.  Lots of chocolate. 

I am fairly exhausted.  I was at church for the Easter Vigil Mass for almost three hours.  Got home around midnight.  Got things ready for the Easter Bunny to show up.  Went to bed around 1 a.m.  Up at 5:30 to play the Easter Sunrise Service at my wife's church.  Then an 11 a.m. service. 

On top of all that, I've been struggling with some stomach issues today, as well.  I think the stress of the weekend is catching up with me.  That's the life of church musicians, though.  Along with all the graces of the Christian holy days, there's a ton of anxiety, as well.  Sleeplessness.  And practice and practice and practice.

Not a whole lot of churchgoers realize this.  The best music is the kind that seems both beautiful and effortless.  Here's a little behind the scenes:  church music isn't effortless.  It's a lot of work.  Wonderful work, but lots of it.

So, exhaustion has struck.  I'm brain dead.  Empty. 

This afternoon, I read a blog post about how to gain readership for your blog.  One of the pieces of advice was (and I'm paraphrasing here), "Don't always talk about yourself.  Make it about your readers."

Don't really know how to do that tonight.  If you are a church musician reading this post, I hope you get some much needed rest tonight.  If you are a churchgoer, thank a church musician for this weekend.  If you aren't a churchgoer, none of this really matters.  I hope you had a good weekend with your godless existence.  (That was a joke, by the way.  Some of the most spiritual people I know aren't members of any church or religion.)

So, I am ready for bed.

Saint Marty might be sleeping in tomorrow.

March 10: Dam, Darrell Bourque, "Lincoln in New Orleans, 1831"

I came home to a wall of slush and ice in my driveway.  My wife had already moved a good portion of it, but there was literally a dam of heavy, wet snow to clear.  As I swore, cursed, and grunted with my shovel, I kept asking myself, "Why do I love this place?"  It almost made me wish for an eternal winter.  No more snow, just enough cold to keep things from melting.

Well, I'm tired, sore, and hungry.  Ready for bed.  I'm done for the day.

Another night, another poem.

Saint Marty has to go make his daughter some Ramen noodles now.

Lincoln in New Orleans, 1831

by: Darrell Bourque

When he arrived that year he had to walk
a mile or so on flatboats to reach the shore.
He had poled and floated here, watched hawks
circling overhead on lazy afternoons, still bore

the scar he’d gotten years before when he chased
and fought off seven fugitive slaves who tried to rob him
and his measly crew near Baton Rouge. He pasted

some home remedy on the gash and then stemmed
the blood with some cloth he had on board. It lasted
all his life, this scar over his right eye but it hemmed

in nothing. What really lasted was the chatter and talk
around Maspero’s Exchange where one mulatto girl more
was trotted and pinched, undressed while buyers gawked
and ciphered for the lowest price they could get for her.

December 13: The End of a Long Day, Birthday Party, Hilaire Belloc, "Lines for a Christmas Card," New Cartoon

"Perhaps," [Charlotte] said, wearily.  "But I feel like the end of a long day."  Clinging upside down to the ceiling, she settled down for a nap, leaving Wilbur very much worried.

Charlotte is nearing the end in the above passage.  She has only a few days left to live.  Her job of saving Wilbur's life is almost complete.  She is weary, fading.

I'm fading tonight, but not because I've just spun a web or made an egg sac.  I'm fading because I am exhausted.  Last week's activities are catching up with me.  Of course, the glass of wine I just drank isn't helping, either.

It's been a busy day.  We had a birthday party for my daughter this afternoon.  It was for my wife's side of the family.  It was a lovely, low-key celebration.  We sat around, eating cake and ice cream, telling stories and laughing.  And then I went to my parents' house and put up Christmas decorations.  Oh, I also played the organ for a Saturday evening Mass.  I got back home a little after 8 p.m., turned on the TV, and promptly dozed off on the couch for about an hour.

I feel a little refreshed now.  A little.  I'm totally ready for bed.

But first I owe you a Christmas poem and a new cartoon.

Saint Marty always makes good on his obligations.

Lines for a Christmas Card

by:  Hilaire Belloc

May all my enemies go to hell,
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel

Confessions of Saint Marty

 































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September 20: Ready for Bed

This post is my fourth of the day.  I'm pooped.  I will also finally  be caught up with my blogging after I publish this little meditation.

I'm tired.  It's been a really long day, and I'm ready for bed.  Really ready for bed.  I wasn't going to type a second post for tonight, but my good Catholic guilt kicked in.  I hate disappointing people, and I've convinced myself that there are people out there who really care about my blog.  Perhaps it's a false belief, but it keeps me going.

Except for now.  I have used up all my wit and sarcasm.  I'm a dry well.    I'm going to work on a new poem tomorrow.  No promises.

Good night, sweet saint.

I know how they feel

April 25: Pounding Motrin, Ready for Bed

I have learned that whatever bug I am battling at the moment needs Motrin more often than every six hours.  I am totally feeling like crap right now, and I took an 800 mg at 10 a.m.  I have decided that I'm just going to listen to my body.  When I feel the symptoms returning, I'm going to pound another Motrin.

I just finished administering a final exam in one of my sections of mythology.  Tomorrow, I will administer my other final.  Then the work of grading begins.  It shouldn't be too bad.  However, I have to have everything done, all the semester final grades calculated, by Monday for both classes.  That kind of sucks.

Tonight, I will do no grading.  Tonight, since I do not have to go to choir practice (it's my wife's turn), I plan on putting my son to bed at seven and following him shortly thereafter.  If the Motrin I just took takes the edge off my fever and tiredness, I may stay up to watch American Idol.  But if I feel like I currently feel, I will be crawling under the covers and studying the insides of my eyelids.

Saint Marty hates being sick.

In keeping with my Dickens obsession

February 24: Cleaning the House, Ready for Bed, Feeling Like a Failure

It's official.  I'm old.

It is quite late.  I've been pretty much moving and shaking all day long.  Between grocery shopping and chauffeuring my daughter to dance class and cleaning my house, I just sat down to relax.  It is almost 10:30 p.m.  I'm beat and ready for bed.

Tomorrow's going to be another busy day.  Lots going on.  My daughter has yet another dance class.  I'm going to breakfast with my family.  I have to play the pipe organ for mass in the afternoon.  In between all this stuff, I have to read for teaching.  I have to put together the mid-term exam for my mythology classes.  And I have to finish reading the book for my book club meeting next Thursday.  Aside from that, I can relax.

I'm not sure how I got into this habit of always having work to do.  Literally, I make a list of tasks every morning.  I hardly ever finish every task on my lists, and I usually feel like a failure at the end of a day.  It's a little bit sick.  Today, I have about three or four tasks I haven't completed.  I'll move them onto tomorrow morning's list and hope for the best.

Saint Marty is just about falling asleep at the keyboard.  He's  just going to sit here and drool for a while.