February 7: Around and Around, So Damn Happy, Devotions Done

Boy, it began to rain like a bastard.  In buckets, I swear to God.  All the parents and mothers and everybody went over and stood right under the roof of the carousel, so they wouldn't get soaked to the skin or anything, but I stuck around on the bench for quite a while.  I got pretty soaking wet, especially my neck and my pants.  My hunting hat really gave me quite a lot of protection, in a way, but I got soaked anyway.  I didn't care, though.  I felt so damn happy all of a sudden, the way old Phoebe kept going around and around.  I was damn near bawling, I felt so damn happy, if you want to know the truth.  I don't know why.  It was just that she looked so damn nice, the way she kept going around and around, in her blue coat and all.  God, I wish you could've been there.

Holden is happy.  Actually, Holden is sick, exhausted mentally and physically.  Shortly after he watches Phoebe on the carousel in Central Park, he ends up in the hospital, talking with psychoanalysts.  In the final chapter of the novel, Holden is on the mend.  Sort of.  He's going back to school in the fall, although he's not sure he's going to apply himself.  Holden does say he's missing everybody.  Stradlater, his roommate at Pencey.  Ackley, his annoying friend.  He's even missing Maurice, the cab driver, who told him about the frozen fish in the Central Park lagoon.  However, for the moment above, Holden experiences a kind of joy, watching Phoebe simply ride the brown carousel horse, going around and around.

I'm not near a nervous breakdown, as Holden is.  I'm not experiencing the kind of manic happiness described above, but I am happy.  Blessed, if you will.  I'm in this state of bliss right now because I believe I am done with my Lenten Devotional project.  I believe everybody has submitted their devotions.  I typed up the last one I needed to write and e-mailed it to the church secretary this morning.  It has been a long week of phone calls, e-mails, writing, and more phone calls.

I don't experience this kind of relief very often.  Maybe on Christmas Eve, after all the church services are done, I feel a huge weight lifting from my shoulders.  I can say the same for Easter Sunday; after the final chord on the pipe organ fades away, I feel physically lighter.  Most people experience this sensation from time-to-time, when some great responsibility is crossed off their to-do lists.

Children seem to able to experience happiness like this more freely.  I think it has something to do with the lack of adult worries and concerns.   Every time I let my four-year-old son play with my i-Pad, he acts like it's Christmas Eve and Santa Claus has personally delivered a pony to his front door.  Simple, pure joy.  Every day.  (Of course, my son can also slip into the Pit of Despair just as easily.  All I have to do is tell him it's time for his bath.)

Perhaps, I need to adopt a more child-like attitude of blessing and happiness.  I saw my wife this morning when I didn't expect to see her until late this evening.  Blessing.  It's Thursday, almost the weekend.  Happiness.  I'm done with the Lenten Devotional.  Big, big joy.  My daughter is coming back from her Lord of the Dance trip.  Gratitude.

Saint Marty isn't damn near bawling, but he's feeling pretty damn happy.

Pick your horse and get on