December 26: Rest Now, Boxing Day, Strange Tonight

Santiago decides to rest . . . 

Now I will rest an hour more and feel that he is solid and steady before I move back to the stern to do the work and make the decision. In the meantime I can see how he acts and if he shows any changes. The oars are a good trick; but it has reached the time to play for safety. He is much fish still and I saw that the hook was in the corner of his mouth and he has kept his mouth tight shut. The punishment of the hook is nothing. The punishment of hunger, and that he is against something that he does not comprehend, is everything. Rest now, old man, and let him work until your next duty comes.

The old man knows he has to rest.  If he doesn't, the fish will most certainly win the battle that's coming.  It's a lesson he's probably learned from his years on the sea.  He's going to need all of his strength for his next duty.

Today was Boxing Day in Great Britain and the nations of the British Commonwealth.  From what I understand, Boxing Day (traditionally celebrated the day after Christmas) is a day for family gatherings, watching sports on TV, and playing games.  In recent years, it has also become a huge shopping day, as well.

I have never officially celebrated Boxing Day, being a citizen of the United States.  It's just not a thing here.  Because Christmas fell on a Sunday this year, I had today off from work.  My goal was simply to celebrate December 26th by doing . . . absolutely nothing.  I was determined to relax today.

The past couple months have been fairly stressful, with teaching and work.  The entire month of December has seemed like a marathon.  One long race to Christmas.  Of course, I always overcommit myself and never really schedule "down" days.  I'm not like Santiago.  I don't recognize the need to rest until I am literally so exhausted that my body pretty much shuts down.

So, my own little version of Boxing Day was something unusual for me.  I don't ever just relax because there's always things I could be doing.  For instance, today I could have edited a podcast.  Read a book for my book club.  Worked on one of the manuscripts I have in progress.  Cleaned the house.  

I didn't do any of those things.  Instead, I watched Christmas movies.  Ate leftovers.  Played games with my son.  And nothing else.  (Okay, I did shovel my driveway because the city snowplows came by at around 6 a.m.  And I washed and folded some laundry.  But that's it.)

Now, I feel strange tonight.  I'm not anxious or manically scribbling in my journal.  My mind isn't racing through what that I need to accomplish tomorrow.  I know there are tasks I could be performing right now, but I don't feel the usual urgency that descends on me at this time of night.  It's odd.

Maybe this is what relaxation is.  That may sound naive, but I'm serious.  I don't think I am ever completely relaxed.  I don't have time for it.  I pretty much push myself right up to the point where I collapse on my couch and fall asleep.  I've even been known to take a short nap, get up at 1 or 2 a.m. and work some more.

But I feel really great tonight.  Rested.  Ready to take on whatever tomorrow throws at me.  Maybe I need to schedule more days off for myself like this.  Just give myself a Boxing Day at least once every month.  A day of absolute rest to recharge my batteries.

Perhaps that will be my New Year's resolution.  The first Friday of every month will my Boxing Day.  Of course that means I will have to celebrate Christmas on the first Thursday of every month, too.  

Saint Marty's puppy knows how to celebrate Boxing Day, too.

March 1: Spring Break, God's Love Number Twelve, Classic Saint Marty, New Cartoon

Greetings, disciples.

Sunday night.  The end of the weekend.  Another week of work ahead of me.  It's also Spring Break at the university, so there's a little less stress in my life for the next seven days.  I'm looking forward to a little relaxation.  I may even read a book for pleasure.

That's God's love number twelve.  Relaxation.  Time to think, pray, read, write.   I will miss being in the classroom.  It's one of the greatest thrills when I can see young minds opening in front of me.  But, I will also enjoy recharging my batteries.  Center myself.  You may find this hard to believe, but I can sometimes get a little wrapped up in my head.

Today's episode of Classic Saint Marty first aired two years ago, right before the papal conclave that elected Pope Francis.

March 1, 2013:  A Poem, Sharon Olds, "41, Alone, No Gerbil"

Tonight, I'm giving you a poem from my favorite poet, Sharon Olds.  I was going to post her poem, "The Pope's Penis," in honor of the upcoming papal conclave.  My wife told me not to.  Instead, I give you another of my favorites from Olds.

Saint Marty wishes you a happy P.O.E.T.S. Day.

41, Alone, No Gerbil

In the strange quiet, I realize
there's no one else in the house. No bucktooth
mouth pulls at a stainless-steel teat, no
hairy mammal runs on a treadmill--
Charlie is dead, the last of our children's half-children.
When our daughter found him lying in the shavings, trans-
mogrified backwards from a living body
into a bolt of rodent bread
she turned her back on early motherhood
and went on single, with nothing. Crackers,
Fluffy, Pretzel, Biscuit, Charlie,
buried on the old farm we bought
where she could know nature. Well, now she knows it
and it sucks. Creatures she loved, mobile and
needy, have gone down stiff and indifferent,
she will not adopt again thought she cannot
have children yet, her body is like
a blueprint for a woman's body,
so now everything stops, for a while,
now I must wait many years
to hear in this house again the faint
powerful call of a young animal.

The pope, and all his body parts, leaves

Confessions of Saint Marty