Our church meets in an old church that is now a community center. Pottery studio downstairs, a café up front, and we meet in "The Great Hall." The café is air conditioned and has a boy and girl separate bathrooms and comfy chairs. And there are speakers, so you can hear the sermon if you're in there. The café is closed Sundays, so it's a great place to nurse, or let your child ask "What's her middle name?" of all the women sitting around, away from the heat and the congregation.
I don't have a child, but I often am my very own reason to be in the crying room--if the sermon is too sensitive, or I'm too sensitive, or I just need to be alone. When I went to a Baptist church in NoVa, when I lived on Nut St. with the 'rents, I went to the church's library and read Today's Christian Woman magazine back issues. But the sermon wasn't piped in. Which probably was good, since I often left because the sermon was too much for my at that time depressed brain. I'm not depressed right now (yet) (Hallelujah!) but I feel oppressed, tired, and whiny. I thought I was better, and I am better than I was, but still not healed. Yuk. Also, summer is not my favorite season--all the mamas have their children home and they go off on family vacations and oh, it was truly wonderful to talk to Sally on my cell phone this evening, as she waited for a delayed plane in an airport somewhere. I missed her so much this week. Watching her cat, sleeping in her house, helped. Reading her copy of Plan B was comforting, like having Sally in another room, but not really.
Last summer was the summer of weddings: I think I went to five. This summer seems to be the summer of boyfriends and babies: all of my friends have either new babies or new boyfriends (at least 3). I don't think I'm close with any of the pregnant women (pre-babies), but I know at least three. Unless I'm counting Charlotte York as my third pregnant woman--no, I was at a party last night and there was one house-sized mama and one with a cute bump. (Guess which one is having her second?) So that brings the tally to at least four.
And not that I don't like babies or boyfriends, but as a woman with family out of state mostly and the family that is in-state is five hours away (Kiki...) I feel my support systems are getting distracted. Which then makes me even more weepy, because, shouldn't I be happy for these women, not counting and keeping track of the moments they will not have for me?
So: to those of you that are in my life reading this: I love you. I rejoice with you for the new men and children in your life. Because they bring you to life, and I can see the joy in your eyes. Just don't lose me--I am going to hold on like h-e-double hockey sticks.
There are new people coming into my life, if I let them in, and that's good too. Holding on by the skin of my teeth, I am. What a fun play that was.*
Hogs and quiches,
It played at the Bonn Community Theatre when I was in first or second grade. My parents tell me I went twice. I guess my desire for repetition in theatre (live or filmed) came early. I then remember catching it on PBS and thinking, this looks familiar, why? It was the part about the toilet being American Standard. I heart Thorton Wilder. Our Town is a good play too, but SOOT is just wild. I read the play at the Lake one year, it was a volume that had all three of his famous plays.
Oh, and this heartbreaking news just in (early last week) : we won't be at the cabin this August. Sigh. The owners have need of it. Bird and I have that week off for work, so we'll do something else. It better involve swimming, that's all I can say.
Over and out, off to bed.
16 hours ago