Sigh. Too much on my mind and, as a result, I've got a miserable cold. I slept away most of the afternoon.
One son still home; flies back to school tomorrow. He talked to a couple of people about summer job possibilities this week, but nothing has panned out. Mostly he hung out with. . .
Other son; took bus back to school tonight. Loaded down with meds and mom's repeated harrassment about combining drugs and alcohol. A young lady, age 17, died here in the past week; vodka on top of perscription meds. He has no summer plans either beyond a desire to return to language school in Spain. After this harrowing week involving dental crisis after crisis, I'm a little lerry of that.
Daughter trying to make plans for summer, decisions for next year. Hard to help her via four months of instant messaging. I would like to go down and see her, but next week-end is my grandmother's 100th birthday and then she's off to see her friends in Oregon.
I'm having a very spiritual and literate week-end when I'm not asleep. This morning our little church group that's headed for Iona this summer had a mini-retreat with an Episcopal priest-musician-photographer who has spent time there. We also talked over some practicalities; we have a rather astonishing number of less than intrepid adventurers in our group. (I'm more of the hand-me-a-ticket-and-I'm-gone variety.) Tomorrow morning I'm providing the confirmation class with a whirlwind introduction to the Old Testament. I've had it prepared for a week; now I just need my head cold to depart so I can stand up without passing out. And somewhere in here I am theroetically writing a paper on the Song of Roland, a medieval French epic grounded in battles between the French Christians and the Iberian Muslims. Let's just say that (1) there's been little change in the world in 1200 years and (2) graphic violence was not invented by 20th century television and film producers. This little poem is full of swords slicing through bones and guts, brains splattered across the ground, blood of men and horses running freely -- all described in minute detail.
In the meantime, I have become temporarily obsessed with the sad case of Mary and Matthew Winkler. I am usually repulsed by the press fixation on violent family tragedies, but this time I am mesmerized. Was he someone quite different from the man people thought they knew? (One of my sons, in response to a news report in which they were described in some detail as the "perfect couple, " said, "It sounds like the woman never had a second of privacy.") Was she suffering terribly? -- her youngest is only a year old, so severe postpartum depression comes to mind. Did she become temporarily but completely unhinged by something unimaginable? That momentary lapse in which lives are forever altered is horrifyingly fascinating.
Meanwhile, all of the above is of substantial assistance in my procrastination of what is becoming a rather urgent need to overhaul virtually every aspect of my life. That's what I have really been wanting to write about, but I can't think clearly enough at the moment. My cat is staring fixedly at the floor molding, causing me to wonder whether she is attuned to a tiny rodent presence or simply meditating on peeling paint, and my brain feels basically nonexistent. It sounds like the men in the household are back to basketball watching, so back to bed for me.
One son still home; flies back to school tomorrow. He talked to a couple of people about summer job possibilities this week, but nothing has panned out. Mostly he hung out with. . .
Other son; took bus back to school tonight. Loaded down with meds and mom's repeated harrassment about combining drugs and alcohol. A young lady, age 17, died here in the past week; vodka on top of perscription meds. He has no summer plans either beyond a desire to return to language school in Spain. After this harrowing week involving dental crisis after crisis, I'm a little lerry of that.
Daughter trying to make plans for summer, decisions for next year. Hard to help her via four months of instant messaging. I would like to go down and see her, but next week-end is my grandmother's 100th birthday and then she's off to see her friends in Oregon.
I'm having a very spiritual and literate week-end when I'm not asleep. This morning our little church group that's headed for Iona this summer had a mini-retreat with an Episcopal priest-musician-photographer who has spent time there. We also talked over some practicalities; we have a rather astonishing number of less than intrepid adventurers in our group. (I'm more of the hand-me-a-ticket-and-I'm-gone variety.) Tomorrow morning I'm providing the confirmation class with a whirlwind introduction to the Old Testament. I've had it prepared for a week; now I just need my head cold to depart so I can stand up without passing out. And somewhere in here I am theroetically writing a paper on the Song of Roland, a medieval French epic grounded in battles between the French Christians and the Iberian Muslims. Let's just say that (1) there's been little change in the world in 1200 years and (2) graphic violence was not invented by 20th century television and film producers. This little poem is full of swords slicing through bones and guts, brains splattered across the ground, blood of men and horses running freely -- all described in minute detail.
In the meantime, I have become temporarily obsessed with the sad case of Mary and Matthew Winkler. I am usually repulsed by the press fixation on violent family tragedies, but this time I am mesmerized. Was he someone quite different from the man people thought they knew? (One of my sons, in response to a news report in which they were described in some detail as the "perfect couple, " said, "It sounds like the woman never had a second of privacy.") Was she suffering terribly? -- her youngest is only a year old, so severe postpartum depression comes to mind. Did she become temporarily but completely unhinged by something unimaginable? That momentary lapse in which lives are forever altered is horrifyingly fascinating.
Meanwhile, all of the above is of substantial assistance in my procrastination of what is becoming a rather urgent need to overhaul virtually every aspect of my life. That's what I have really been wanting to write about, but I can't think clearly enough at the moment. My cat is staring fixedly at the floor molding, causing me to wonder whether she is attuned to a tiny rodent presence or simply meditating on peeling paint, and my brain feels basically nonexistent. It sounds like the men in the household are back to basketball watching, so back to bed for me.
5 comments:
I hope you feel better very soon. Lots going on to be sure but it doesn't sound like your life needs an overhaul to me. It sounds like fun if a bit frantic.
I hope you feel better soon. I've got the Life Overhaul going on here as well. Like you, I'm fascinated by the Winkler case. Their town is relatively close to mine (by country mile standards), and I do wonder what's going on behind the scenes. That community has always had more than its share of wildness and violence (if you remember Walking Tall, that's where it took place), and the dynamics of the people and community there have intrigued me for a long time.
I attend the church in Knoxville that Mary Winkler attended when she was growing up. Our daughters both attended the college where the Winklers met and we have friends on the board of directors and a friend who is the dean of students. It is so sad. I have some other thoughts regarding this situation. If you are interested, I could post them in your PM account at Mitford. (if you are even checking that now. I left you a PM a day or so ago there about the goings on) leenora58
"Overhaul vitually every aspect of my life"--??!! Every few years I am seized by the thought of withdrawing money from the ATM on my way out of town, leaving behind job, husband, kids, everything, finding a little town, getting some kind of job, a small apt., a whole new life. But I know you don't mean THAT! I await your thoughts with great anticipation! *debbi*
Had I not spent the past 10 days on vacation I think I'd be just as fascinated by the Winklers as you are. Overhauling your life? You seem to have it pretty together from where I sit.
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