June 29-30: Watching "Star Wars," Bantha in Heat, Poem from "Kyrie"

Sometimes, in the darkest of times, you simply have to let go.  Relax.  Do something completely frivolous, even if you have five million other things to do.

Last night, I watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone with my kids.  My daughter and I once spent a full week watching that entire series.  It was the first time for my son.  Tonight, it's the original Star Wars.  The one I saw 27 times during the summer of 1977.  I'm ashamed to say that I haven't inflicted my full Star Wars geekdom on either of my kids yet. 

My son quickly lost interest.  My daughter, on the other hand, is sort of fascinated by my Rain Man-like ability to recite all the lines of the movie by heart, but I think she's getting a little annoyed by my running commentary of behind-the-scenes facts.  I'm having more fun than a Bantha in heat.

All of the darkness I've been dealing with these last few weeks has faded into the background, and the Death Star hasn't even cleared the planet yet. 

For that George Lucas miracle, Saint Marty gives thanks.

And a poem about laughing in the face of tragedy . . .

Poem from Kyrie

by:  Ellen Bryant Voigt

After they closed the schools the churches closed,

stacks like pulpwood filling the morgue,

but my cousin's husband's father "knew someone"

etcetera.

               Nobody else was there

but our own Parson Weems--to pray for us

and play the organ.

                              Boy in a homemade box,

additional evergreens--rather grim

until the opening bars of "A Mighty Fortress"

flushed a bird from the pipes to agitate

around the nave.  It's hard to cry if your head

is swiveled up,

                         much less with bird manure

dropping "like the gentle rain"

on empty polished pews, plush carpet,

shut casket.  Besides, I'd cried enough.