August 25: "Today," Mr. Tumnus, Slightly Surreal

It was a good day.

However, I did spend a good deal of time working on syllabi and lesson plans and virtual teaching material.  Not fun, but necessary.  Thank goodness, I'd done a lot of the groundwork last week.  It was simply a lot of cutting and pasting and emailing.  

By midafternoon, I felt slightly brain dead, so I decided to take my puppy for a long walk to clear my mind a little.  It was a hot day (mid 80s), and there wasn't a whole lot of shade.  We took the Iron Ore Heritage Trail from my hometown to the neighboring town.  That's a little over three miles.  It's a beautiful hiking/biking path through woods and near caving grounds.  

I've always found this trail slightly surreal.  As you travel down it, you encounter things like uprooted trees and squares of cement that look like abandoned chimneys.  There are benches along the way, in case your feet get a little tired.  But the strangest thing on the Heritage Trail are lampposts.  Not powerline poles topped with lights.  Honest-to-God lampposts that look like they could have been transplanted from Narnia.  I can actually imagine the faun Mr. Tumnus standing beneath one of them.  Or maybe Harvey the rabbit.

Billy Collins has a good day, too . . . 

Today

by: Billy Collins

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies

seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.

It is a little past 9 p.m. as I type this now.  I know that autumn is fast approaching because night has already arrived.  My wife and son are getting ready for bed.  I can feel the shift of seasons in the house--from summer vacation to schoolyear.  I should be used to this change.  I've been doing it for almost 30 years, but I still find this letting go of sun and warmth very difficult.

Even along the trail this afternoon, I noticed leaves changing colors, green surrendering to gold and orange.  The long-legged shadows of August are stretching toward September.  Everyone is soaking up this last gasp of heat before the furnaces start kicking in.

As Saint Marty said, though, it was a good day.

April 19: Gratitude Forty-Six, Quiet Morning, Billy Collins, "Today," New Cartoon

Then came a quiet morning when Mr. Zuckerman opened a door on the north side.  A warm draft of rising air blew softly through the barn cellar.  The air smelled of the damp earth, of the spruce woods, of the sweet springtime.

On this day of the Easter vigil, I've been thinking about spring.  A lot.  I'm ready for a warm draft of rising air and the smell of damp earth.  Two days after our last big snowstorm, the world is melting once more.  The banks in my front yard have dwindled.  The snowman my kids made on Thursday is nothing but a pile of slush and sticks.

Tonight, I will be going to church at nine o'clock for the Easter mass.  A beautiful service of candles and incense and music.  It will last a couple of hours.  By the time it's over, it will almost be midnight.  Easter.

I have a poem about spring for you guys today.  It's by former U. S. Poet Laureate Billy Collins.

And it pretty much sums up what Saint Marty feels grateful for today.  Enjoy.


Today

by:  Billy Collins

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,

so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw

open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,

indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

a day when the cool brick paths

and the garden bursting with peonies

seemed so etched in sunlight

that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight

on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants

from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,

holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,

well, today is just that kind of day.

Confessions of Saint Marty

December 2: Last Night, Today, Tomorrow and Beyond

My son last night, bring on the holy water

Last night's rehearsal/organizational meeting at church went pretty much the way I expected it to go with my tired, three-year-old son in tow.  It's not my son's fault.  It was pushing 9 p.m., and he'd been at school and daycare for quite a few hours.  All he really wanted when I brought him to church was a bottle of milk, Santa Claus Is Coming to Town on the TV, and then his crib.  Can't really blame him for the fact that he was running through the church like Damien Thorn from The Omen after about an hour and a half of being there.

Today, I have to go shopping for groceries, my daughter's birthday party on Sunday, and a couple of potlucks next week.  I also have to e-mail the final two writing assignments to my Good Books and Mythology students, create the program for next week's Christmas Sunday School program, and come up with a design for my daughter's birthday cake.  That's just the first part of today.  This evening, I have to clean my house and take my daughter to her dance class.

Then, tomorrow, I have to help set up for the Benefit Christmas Concert, which happens in the evening.  I have to drive my daughter to her dance class in the afternoon, pick up the birthday cake for her party, and somehow squeeze in going to 4:30 Mass before I head out for the concert at 7 p.m.  Not fun, folks.

I haven't even gone near Sunday, which is going to be a joy of children's choir rehearsal, worship, and birthday party set-up, hosting, and clean-up.  Then, I have to go home, make a quiche for the potluck on Monday and cupcakes for my daughter to take to school for her birthday.

If Saint Marty isn't ready for the psych floor by Sunday evening, he might actually survive the holidays.