July 15: Saint Bonaventure

It's been over a week, I know. I really have no excuse for not blogging. No ambulances have visited my house. My children are healthy. I haven't been on vacation, unfortunately. No new great calamity has been visited upon me, a la Job. There is really no good reason for my absence from the keyboard, aside from the fact that my days have been busy and my evenings have been full. Don't ask me what I've been busy doing, because I can't really recall. It's been the type of busyness that eats up your time but doesn't bear much fruit. A sort of unproductive hum that lasts all day, like tinnitus.

I don't have a particular subject to write about today, either. So if you're reading this post hoping for some life-changing wisdom, you've come to the wrong blog today. The best I'm going to be able to offer you is a few paragraphs devoid of substance, maybe providing an occasional chuckle but, more than likely, making your finger twitch on your mouse, itching to move on to a portion of cyberspace more entertaining and fulfilling. For this decided lack of inspiration, I apologize.

It's not that my life has become suddenly perfect, pure and white as a glass of Vitamin D milk. I can assure you, I have issues still. A LOT of issues. But today is one of those days when, despite the pile of elephant manure fermenting in the living room of my life, I just feel good. Positive. Blessed. And I have reached this state of bliss without the aid of Ativan or a mug of my special cocoa (a mixture of hot chocolate and Bailey's Irish Cream). I have these days occasionally, when the doors to my soul are thrown open and a strong wind carries away all the dust and cobwebs and detritus of my broken self. Some people might call it the Holy Spirit. Others might call it temporary insanity. I prefer to think of it as a storm of grace.

Nothing really bothers me today. All of the normal elements of my day that cause me irritation or consternation seem insignificant, which, in reality, they probably are. Instead of getting bogged down in my typical swamp of bitching and witty sarcasm, I find myself free, happy to be around people. For those of you familiar with my misanthropic tendencies, I know that statement will possibly alter your world view. I can assure you, this change (a word I generally distrust and loath) is temporary, a trough between tidal waves, so to speak. I choose, however, to enjoy myself at the moment, like Ted Baxter enjoying a sunset after his heart attack on the Mary Tyler Moore Show. Like Ted, I'll be back to my normal state in a few days.

(This state has caused concern among my friends and coworkers. They think I'm hiding something or planning to climb into a bell tower with a rifle. Rest assured, I am not a threat to myself of anyone else, and I am not walking around with a balloon of happiness crammed into any of my orifices. I just feel fortunate at the moment for all the people whom I care for and who care for me.)

Now, that brings me to Bonaventure. He was born in Tuscany in the thirteenth century and was given the name John. Deathly sick as a child, John was brought to the attention of Francis of Assisi by John's mother, who begged the holy man to cure her son. Francis received a vision of John's "future greatness" as he prayed for the boy's recovery. Holding the infant, Francis purportedly cried out, "O buona ventura"--O good fortune. Hence, John's name change. John was restored to health and eventually joined the Franciscans. He became best friends with Thomas Aquinas; served as General of the Franciscan Order; and was appointed Cardinal and Bishop of Albano in Rome. Bonaventure, I'm sure, saw every day of his life as good fortune, a shower of blessings.

So, today, no cutting or funny remark at the end of this post. Just join me at the window to watch the sun sink beneath the horizon. Maybe you could even say, in your best Father Guido Sarducci voice, "O buona ventura!"

O good fortune!