December 8: Fair and Fresh, Cobwebs Out of My Eyes, Always Poetry

The morning of the third day dawned fair and fresh . . .

The Pequod is chasing Moby-Dick.  The sun rises on the dark ocean.

Those of my disciples who read last night's post are probably expecting something dark, depressing, and perhaps a little frantic.  At the moment, I'm looking out a window at blue sky, sun turning the snowbanks into blind hunches of light.  It brushes the cobwebs out of my eyes.  Lifts my spirits some.

In the next two days, we will have two birthday celebrations for my daughter--one with my wife's side of the family, the other with my side of the family.  After I'm done with this blog post, I have a house to clean and pizzas to pick up.  Two hours of  family, perhaps spiked with some special hot chocolate.  Then I play the pipe organ for Mass.  After all that, dinner and writing.  And writing.  And grading.  Then, when I'm done with that, more grading and writing.

I'm not complaining.  This is what I signed up for.  I'm a father and a teacher and a church musician.  Those three things are not mutually exclusive.  On the weekends, they blend.  My daughter sings in the choir.  During the down times in the choir loft, I'm scribbling in my journal.  At night, watching TV with my wife and kids, I have a stack of papers in my lap and a red pen in my hand.

Life doesn't always turn out the way you expect.  Twenty years ago, here is what I would have said my life would look like:

• Nice, four-bedroom house with attached garage
• Tenured job at a university
• Three or four published books of poetry, fiction, and/or nonfiction
• Three kids--two girls, one boy
• A Pulitzer Prize on the mantel, above the fireplace
• Maybe a condo someplace warm

I realize this list is quite unrealistic.  Struggle is a part of life.  I can't get away from it.  My wife would still have bipolar disorder, even if I had all those things.  My brother and sister and father would still be dead.  And Donald Trump would still be President of the United States.  

Happiness is a matter of attitude.  I have two great, smart kids and a beautiful wife.  My wife's bipolar and addiction is under control.  I have good health.  For the time being, I have jobs that pay the bills (almost).  And there's poetry.  Always poetry.

The sun has broken through the clouds.  Light is on my face.

And Saint Marty is thankful for that.