February 20-21: The Only Communist, Thursday's Catastrophes, Friday's Catastrophes

Merton and his father getting to know their new environment . . .

Thus I was constantly in and out of old churches, and stumbled upon the ruins of ancient chapels and monasteries.  We saw wonderful hill towns like Najac and Cordes.  Cordes was even more perfectly preserved than St. Antonin, but it did not have the form of our town built around its shrine, although Cordes was, of course, centered upon its church too.  But Cordes had been built as a sort of fortified summer resort for the Counts of Languedoc, and its chief attraction were the more or less fancy homes of the court officials who came out there for the hunting with their Lord.

Then, too, we went down into the plains to the south, and came to Albi, with the red cathedral of St. Cecilia frowning over the Tarn like a fortress, and from the top of that tower we looked out over the plains of Languedoc, where all the churches were forts.  This land was long wild with heresy, and with the fake mysticism that tore men away from the Church and from the Sacraments, and sent them into hiding to fight their way to some strange, suicidal nirvana.

There was a factory in St. Antonin--the only factory in the place--employing the only proletarians, three or four men, one of whom was also the only Communist.  The factory made some kind of a machine for raising hay effortlessly from the surface of a field on the top of a wagon.  The man who owned it was called Rodolausse, the town capitalist.  He had two sons who ran his plant for him.  One of them was a tall, lanky, solemn, dark-haired man with horn-rimmed spectacles.

One evening we were sitting in one of the cafes of the town, a deserted place run by a very old man.  Rodolausse got to talking with Father, and I remember his polite enquiry as to whether we were Russians.  He got that idea from the beard.

So, the last couple days have been quite trying.  I sort of feel like the only communist in a town filled with capitalists.  I've felt like I've had a target on my back for the universe to identify me easily.  My environment has not been hospitable in the least.  Here's a quick rundown of Thursday's catastrophes:

• Spent over an hour on Wednesday night planning my mythology lesson for the morning.  I forgot my lesson planning book and had to teach it by memory.
• Lost the mate of my favorite winter glove.
• Got a parking ticket at the university.
• My son was diagnosed with pink eye and an ear infection.
• Tried to make a car payment over the phone.  My card was denied.
• My puppy got hold of my leather pouch where I store my zip drives (which have the only copies of three manuscripts in progress), sparking a frantic 15-minute search.  I found them.

And, here's the rundown of Friday's catastrophes:

• Worked at the medical office for over ten hours, doing prior authorizations and patient schedulings.
• Found my lost glove at my office at the university.  So far, so good.
• Cleaned at church after work.  While I was doing this, I discovered that someone had used my debit card to buy all kinds of things in all kinds of places--Florida, Washington state, Hong Kong.  
• Came home and spent two hours unplugging my toilet.  My sister eventually came over with a cable to help me.
• Collapsed on the couch and fell asleep.

So, there you have it.  The ending of a pretty crappy week.  Tomorrow, I have to go to my financial institution, cancel my debit card, and try to get some of my stolen money back.  By my calculations, around $350.  (I guess that's a blessing.)

So you see, Saint Marty is ready to start a communist revolution in his life, and he needs to hug his puppy.