"Mother Mary Comes to Me"

I've heard for decades about "Our Lady of Fátima," but didn't register the location (Portugal) or the full story. It was reported in 1917 that Our Lady appeared to three shepherd children. Two died in the 1918 flu epidemic. One girl became a nun and lived to age 97. Image from HERE.

Paul McCartney and John Lennon wrote these lyrics (song released in 1970). Such gifted men, makers of beautiful art that touches the heart and soul. Look how deep their gifts were; look what they left the world. This morning I asked the Google speaker to play "Let It Be." Listening helped me through brushing my teeth, wriggling into my blue denim skirt, pouring coffee, getting by. Google played a lovely instrumental version, I think by Lemon Tart, great name. I have to get to work now at my desk. Here is another post, "Hail Marys on the #66 Bus." That was about young Figgy, but today my Hail Marys are for Spice. I decided to stop using the name Spice/Spike because that's not very kind.

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree
There will be an answer, let it be
For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
There will be an answer, let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be, be

And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me
Shinin' until tomorrow, let it be
I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

And let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

And let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Paul Mccartney / John Lennon

Let It Be lyrics © Sony/atv Tunes Llc

Joan Didion + Prayer

Joan Didion, John Gregory Dunne and Quintana Roo, likely in Malibu, 

or somewhere else on the California coastline. 

Photo by Julian Wasser from here.

I'm reading Blue Nights, a memoir by Ms. Didion. Much of the weave connects moments with and memories of her daughter, Quintana Roo. Quintana was adopted. 

I have loved the author's crisp, precise writing since I took Slouching Towards Bethlehem, an essay collection, from my sister's book shelf in our shared bedroom to read on the long bus ride to Atlantic City to visit my boyfriend. Words carefully parsed, sentences lean and slim, but they say so much. They say everything.

Something in Ms. Didion's steeliness, especially for such a small woman, inspires me. She sees it and says it. I also read that she enjoyed buying beautiful clothing, such a little cashmere sweater, for her girl or herself, sometimes even matching. I did that, too, with Figgy and later, Punch (though not matching for Punch, since she was away from our fold from age 15 months to 6.5 years).  

Dan returned on the red-eye today after being flown out to Palm Springs to write 60-Second Novels at a fancy party at the Dinah Shore estate. He was home by 11 a.m. and then had to leave by 6 p.m. (in an Uber, still no running car) to write stories at a party in NYC, a bar mitzvah.

I was so low. So low about many things. Coincidence that Figgy moved out a week ago yesterday? Did the significance of that escape me? I'm happy for her, and she is happy, building an IKEA dresser with her friend, choosing pretty accent colors for her bedroom, setting up her plants. But with her absence, I'm fretting these days over worries I have about Punch and Young Romeo. With Figgy gone and Dan away, my lens has zoomed in and frozen. I need to zoom out.

Our kitchen sink is backed up. Don't ask, we had an expensive new garbage disposal installed but we can't turn it on until an electrician or two comes to install an outlet under the sink, since this model has a plug. I managed to catch up on all the dishes, by hand (vintage china) and in the dishwasher tonight. I have a half-price-after-Easter pot of tulips on the mantel. Can't tell what color yet, since the flowers keep their secrets in those tight green hoods.

I went on two Zoom support groups today and made two phone calls. I prayed, in fear and desperation. Over the known and unknown, over things I can't control. I think I am okay.

Good night.

Graces

I still believe in the power of a "Hail Mary" prayer, though did not say one today. 

It begins with "Hail Mary, full of grace." Do you pray? Image from here.

Grateful after school on this overcast March Thursday that:

• I talked calmly and openly to two teenagers, almost 17 and already 18, in my living room. (And BTW, I'm changing Punchy's boyfriend's blog name from GREAT SMILE DEEP THINKER, which is too long, to YOUNG ROMEO, shorter and more fitting.)
• I conveyed my observations and concerns about something involving Punchy that is possibly red-flag dangerous, but that both would be privy to, without my lip quivering, tears brimming in the back of my eyes or my voice wavering. In the past, I was less confident, would quake and shake when I addressed important issues of my heart and mind. My eyes still sprout tears when I make a toast to someone I love, because they mean so much to me, watch a graduation march or a funeral procession or walk back from Communion at a funeral Mass and pass the family in the front row of the church. When I asked for a raise at a magazine once, I fumbled, my heart raced, I said a prayer to my dead but dear grandmother Rosie--something along the lines of I want to make you proud, look at my job, and you came on a boat from Italy with little education--and knocked over the wastebasket on my way into my editor's paneled office.
• My heart didn't jump erratically due to sugar substances consumed in a frenzy of fear and anxiety. Of powerlessness. I didn't raise my voice, accuse or curse. For today, I did not need cookies, a brownie, donut, cake, candy, frosting or other sweets, the softer, the better--or salty, greasy Fritos--to fortify and arm myself against discomfort and worry. Or to soothe myself after the confrontation, which was much more this time like a rational discussion. A chance for all three of us to be seen and heard. To not hide. Although, I must say, teens can persist in their hiding. I am grateful for the exchange.
• I did not delay or procrastinate. I was proactive.
• I heard an observation from Figgy, her calm perspective when she returned from work on the campus. (The front door of our Dutch Colonial opens right into the living room.)
• I had prepared (pre being the key part) oatmeal and turkey chili and was able to grab a healthy, filling breakfast and lunch.
• I have a nice tall glass of ice water and am about to walk around the block. Two virtual appointments with Punch support team members today, plus this living room talk, required time, effort and energy. Water and walk should help replenish.

Have a good evening.

9:41 p.m. update: I once again did not walk, around the block or anywhere else. Tomorrow, tomorrow. But Dan and I went out for sushi, which was nice, and now we are watching The State of the Union on CNN.

Open to Prayer

Above: A labyrinth walk, a way to pray. I had never seen one until Saturday, at a venerable old church in Montclair. This take on a medieval labyrinth with a pine needle path is in Portland, Maine. I want to go on my next trip up.  

I’m not talking about the kind of prayers I turned to over the years, when I phoned a friend in the sky to make a plea. As in, God, please:

1. Let me go to sleep without being afraid of what might happen in the dark, like Mary might appear at my bedside in a moonbeam and ask me to be a nun, and I don’t want that, and how would I say no to the Blessed Mother? People are chosen for vocations. Please don’t let her ask. Thanks, God.
2. Help me and my friends arrive safely on this big plane to California (that flight in our 20s).
3. Let Dan and me have a baby.
4. Help me ask for a raise effectively, without panic and fear. (That day at Good Housekeeping Magazine, I also prayed to the Blessed Mother and thought of my Italian immigrant grandmother, Rosie, and how she would be proud of me. Not sure if they intervened? I knocked over the wastebasket on way into my boss’s office.)
5. Bless Sis.
6. Guide and watch over Figgy.
7. Guide and watch over Punch (and also, J.)
8. Bless Dad and keep him safe.

No, this week my prayers have been different. I’ve landed on a deeper, more spiritual path.

On Saturday, I did an indoor labyrinth walk for the first time ever with my friend Sunny (blog name). Powerful, v. powerful. A man sat near for the two-hour window (11 to 1, but you set your time) playing the Celtic harp. So very beautiful: “Amazing Grace,” “How Great Thou Art,” “Be Not Afraid."

Today, I caught a ride to 8 a.m. Mass at the historic Catholic Church on North Fullerton Avenue and then centering prayer for Lent with a small group of women, led by my fun-loving yet deeply spiritual friend Susie (blog name).

Open to prayer, open to grace. Back at my desk now.

How about you? Do you pray?

Prayer Zoom and Good Night

I joined my women friends from church--we haven’t been able to meet in person since the pandemic began. It was nice to see them all again but it will be even better to see them in real life/real time at our April meeting.

Sometimes, prayers are not formal words or wishes. Tonight, the prayers came in the form of caring smiles, remembered stories, the strength around the “room.” The grace. The feeling of women taking other women under their wings. Outreach.

Until tomorrow.

A Letter to the Church Ladies

https://alicegarbarinihurley.medium.com/a-letter-to-the-church-ladies-83c93ea0514e

Religious Strife

 Letter 3/Dear Skipper: I Say a Little Prayer for You

 TCOY

1. Walked around block with Sug.
2. Talked to Lorraine, my close friend since fifth or sixth grade. 
3. Hot bath with lots of frothy bubbles.
4. Working on essay, hope it gets accepted for published collection.
5. Healthy foods: Veg soup with chicken; cottage cheese with berries and wheat germ; Ezekiel English muffin; banana; Brussels sprouts.

Good night.

Prayers & Promises

TCOY

1. I went to the doctor and got blood taken for routine panel.
2. Talked to Rachael.
3. Talked to my Sis.
4. Got ashes with Punch at 4 p.m. Ash Wednesday service. We saw some nice friends there. Prayed for a very important intention/blessing/wish/hope.
5. Ate healthy foods, including plain yogurt, big salad, chicken, baked yam and, for snack, walnuts.
6. Planning short Cape getaway this month with my friend Anne. We both miss it!

$ MONEY SPENT OUT OF POCKET

• Starbucks app. Sometimes we let Punch [and ourselves] sleep later and drive her to school. We send in a Starbucks mobile order and she runs in and gets it, and eats her egg, bacon and Gouda sandwich in the back seat. She got that + tall drink and protein lunch box. $13.70.
• Starbucks app on way home. Used my free reward to get big Chicken & Quinoa Salad for free [would have been $9.01 with tax] + a PB protein bar to leave in back seat of car for Punch later. $3.63.
• Kings, for pint of organic half + half to have with my French press City of Saints coffee [bought beans yesterday]. $3.49.
• Went to CVS to refill Punch's monthly Rx and while I waited 30 minutes, got groceries, many on sale. Filled cart with 1/2 gallon Horizon organic whole milk; walnuts; pint coffee ice cream for Punch; Kleenex; big petroleum jelly [for removing makeup and for lips]; 8-pack AAA batteries; 6-pack AA batteries; 12-pack dog food; Hallmark bday card; and a special issue of a magazine that I need for work purposes [price was sky-high $12.99]. Total $72.77.

DAILY TOTAL: $93.59.

RUNNING TOTAL FOR MONTH OF MARCH AS OF MARCH 6: $663.38.
SO FAR, THAT'S AN AVERAGE DAILY SPEND OF: $110.56. THE HAIRCUT DROVE IT UP.
SOBERING MONEY THOUGHT: I've written many times that my parents were frugal. They both grew up without extra money. I don't think I felt deprived, but maybe in terms of sweet treats. I don't know if my mother felt deprived, either--we didn't talk about that. She owned some elegant things. A single pearl ring Dad bought her before they were engaged. An elegant gold charm bracelet. Some fine perfumes. A mink stole. But when she was dying of cancer in 1982/1983, my Dad must have told her to go buy nice things? I don't know, just speculating. I just know that she had a new hot pink Shetland wool crewneck sweater. And something else, but I can't remember what. So: Did part of me get the idea that you shouldn't wait until you are dying of cancer to buy the best things? That you might as well get them while you are healthy, strong and alive? 

Perchance to Dream

I've been tapping away on work assignments. Writing about a veggie chopper--which Punchy and I had to test--and then about beautiful rooms in exclusive enclaves of Los Angeles. Oh, the old French farmhouse table; the dusty blue velvet ottoman; the blue cabinetry in a kitchen. All under the editing eye of Isabelle at deKorla.com.

Meanwhile, a dear friend messaged me on Facebook this afternoon and she needs my prayers; her husband is very sick. Prayers, prayers. Daisy chains of prayers. Rosebud crowns of prayers. Buckets and pails and laundry baskets, cookie tins and coffeepots and dishpans and grocery bags, all full to the brim with prayers for my dear friend, her husband and their family. Pocketbooks of prayers, totebags of Hail Marys. Why does life deal some of us such rough cards?

Darkness falls. Hearts sink. Tears come. Hope prevails. Good night.