Come, Emmanuel! Last week I was full of optimism about keeping a holy Advent, and now we’re a week in and I’m still in the same distracted crazy place I was during the tail end of Ordinary Time. I’m not sure it’s fair to hold liturgical musicians to the same standard as other lay people: just when we’re supposed to be carving out more time for prayer our workload doubles. I don’t mind (I’m enough of a Martha that I don’t mind letting my labora be my ora) – or maybe I’m just used to it.
I woke up yesterday morning to a number of news reports about assaults at T stops (that’s subway stations, for those of you who are not from Boston). As usual, I ended up getting yelled at: apparently as a woman it is my fault when someone is assaulted, because I’m not careful. If that weren’t the case, why would they always say “WOMEN LOOK OUT!!” when these things happen. I accept that these come from a good place, but for once I’d like to hear the response to an assault be “ASSAULTERS STOP ASSAULTING!” rather than blaming the (potential) victims.
Speaking of things I’m sick of hearing, the next time someone on the news says “this sort of thing doesn’t happen here”, I’d like the follow-up question to be “where do these things usually happen?”
…
Oh sorry, I just fell asleep for a second. Even though this was an off week between performances, I still don’t feel like I caught up on sleep. With days being both shorter and busier, it’s practically impossible to feel like I ever have enough energy. As always this type of year, I am looking forward to a break at the holidays to get some rest. Or maybe, just maybe, tonight will be the magic night I get caught up on sleep.
Who am I kidding? I have another performance of Annie tonight and have to be up early for two Holiday Pops performances (and mass for the Holy Day), followed by another Annie performance, and so on. I’ll be sad to see Annie close this weekend: it has been a great experience. Hopefully I’ll have enough going on next week to keep me from the typical post-production depression.
I must be blocked, because for a second I thought that you might be interested in hearing that we switched to a new payroll service. Actually, that’s not interesting.
Today I was flipping through one of my favorite anthologies for inspiration.
I came upon this Hopkins poem, which was new to me:
The Habit of Perfection
Elected Silence, sing to me
And beat upon my whorlèd ear,
Pipe me to pastures still and be
The music that I care to hear.
Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb:
It is the shut, the curfew sent
From there where all surrenders come
Which only makes you eloquent.
Be shellèd, eyes, with double dark
And find the uncreated light:
This ruck and reel which you remark
Coils, keeps, and teases simple sight.
Palate, the hutch of tasty lust,
Desire not to be rinsed with wine:
The can must be so sweet, the crust
So fresh that come in fasts divine!
Nostrils, your careless breath that spend
Upon the stir and keep of pride,
What relish shall the censers send
Along the sanctuary side!
O feel-of-primrose hands, O feet
That want the yield of plushy sward,
But you shall walk the golden street
And you unhouse and house the Lord.
And, Poverty, be thou the bride
And now the marriage feast begun,
And lily-coloured clothes provide
Your spouse not laboured-at nor spun.
Have a great weekend, everybody!
