"No, no, Marvin," lilted Trillian, "that's just fine, really. . . ."
"I wouldn't like to think I was getting you down."
"No don't worry about that," the lilt continued, "you just act as comes naturally and everything will be just fine."
"You're sure you don't mind?" probed Marvin.
"No, no, Marvin," lilted Trillian, "that's just fine, really . . . just part of life."
Marvin flashed her an electronic look.
"Life," said Marvin, "don't talk to me about life."
He turned hopelessly on his heel and lugged himself out of the cabin. With a satisfied hum and click the door closed behind him.
"I don't think I can stand that robot much longer, Zaphod," growled Trillian.
This is the passage my finger landed on today. Marvin, the chronically depressed robot, is one of my favorite characters in Hitchhiker's. Probably because he sort of reminds me of myself, raised to the power of 1,000. People who don't know me that well have a hard time believing that I have a Marvin side. I do. I just keep it under wraps most of the time.
Some days, it's hard to fight off Marvin. Last night was one of those nights. I won't go into the reasons, but I went to bed feeling pretty lousy about myself and my life. Thank goodness I woke up in a better mood. The sun was shining, and I could hear a neighbor leaf blowing outside. And I had a lot to accomplish, including grocery shopping, playing the pipe organ for Mass in the afternoon, and cleaning my house tonight. Plus, my book club meets tomorrow evening, so I have to prepare for that, as well. If I survive doing all of that, I will go to sleep feeling better about the universe than I did last night.
I am trying to prepare myself for the upcoming holidays. Arranging some surprises for my kids. But I am struggling a little bit with my Christmas spirit at the moment. (Those of you who really know me personally are probably picking yourselves up off the floor about now. I am a Christmas nut. I listen to Christmas music all year long. Every 25th of every month, I do something to prepare for the holiday, so I'm not overwhelmed come December. My Christmas cards have been filled out since February. I watch Christmas movies all year long. My favorite podcasts are Christmas-themed.) Usually, I put my Christmas decorations up the weekend after Halloween. Not this time.
For those of you who read last night's post about my high school friend, I received news that he passed away this morning. All Souls' Day. Never got a chance to visit him. I pushed off the plans to see him until tomorrow afternoon. I've been struggling with that fact for most of today. It's had me reevaluating my priorities a little. Thinking about what is really important.
My high school friend wanted to see me. He asked for me. I didn't go see him, and now it's too late. Life doesn't offer too many second chances, and there isn't any second chance this time for me. Or him. I blew it. Now, all I have left is a bellyful of regret and some distant memories of a friend who was born on the same day as I was. A friend who really struggled in his life with a lot of things. Again, it's not my place to talk about the details of his life.
So, tonight, I lift up my friend, Tim, to all of you. Veteran. Loving father. Devoted friend. As they say in my church, eternal rest grant unto him, Lord, and let the perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. May his soul, and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.
Saint Marty lit a candle for his friend after Mass tonight. It was the very, very least Saint Marty could do.
All Souls' Day
by: Frances Bellerby
Let's go our old way
by the stream, and kick the leaves
as we always did, to make
the rhythm of breaking waves.
This day draws no breath--
shows no colour anywhere
except for the leaves--in their death
brilliant as never before.
Yellow of Brimstone Butterfly,
brown of Oak Eggar Moth--
you'd say. And I'd be wondering why
a summer never seems lost
if two have been together
witnessing the variousness of light,
and the same two in lustreless November
enter the year's night . . .
The slow-worm stream--how still!
Above that spider's unguarded door,
look--dull pearls . . . Time's full,
brimming, can hold no more.
Next moment (we well know,
my darling, you and I)
what the small day cannot hold
must spill into eternity.
So perhaps we should move cat-soft
meanwhile, and leave everything unsaid,
until no shadow of risk can be left
of disturbing the scatheless dead.
Ah, but you were always leaf-light.
And you so seldom talk
as we go. but there at my side
through the bright leaves you walk.
And yet--touch my hand
that I may be quite without fear,
for it seems as if a mist descends,
and the leaves where you walk do not stir.
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