21/365 Coffee is Helpful

I went to Worship Commission last night even though I was going to beg off because it was Leo's birthday. But it starts at 7:00 and we were done with the sour cream chocolate cake and the opening of presents by then.

I steeled myself for crazy. The combination of personalities is not always good. Even people I get along with really well, people I like, get on-edge at this meeting. So I drank a lot of coffee well into the afternoon yesterday. You know, self-medicating. Great. I don't use alcohol that way because I lose too much of myself. And there's a family history to avoid and one day at a time, I will not do that. But I do use caffeine that way. As far as I know, there is no "Coffee Drinkers Anonymous". It makes me more able to ignore certain people and makes me way more talkative, which is what I need. I have opinions. I just usually do not share them in this meeting because it's so punishing. But with coffee, well, I can't help but share sometimes.

I really wanted to go in spite of the atmosphere because we were going to talk about Lent and also review Advent and Christmas. So I wanted to be there. And I went.

It was a small group--who knows why but can I venture to guess--and the first thing that happened when I walked in was get handed a new parish pictorial directory. We spent almost a half hour perusing this and chatting, which was a good ice breaker, frankly.

Lynn, who can be strident and hard to handle, wasn't the worst she's ever been. Or maybe it was the caffeine. Everything she had to say--which of course was almost entirely negative or strangely self-referential with a cackle--just sort of rolled off my back for a change. She didn't like red at Christmas. She didn't like the Christmas proclamation. She thought melting down old candles and making our own for next Advent sounded like a brilliant plan. Hmm. There were other small things.

But I don't think it was as bad as usual. Hildegard didn't cross her arms in front of her and change the subject. Miguel didn't straighten and re-straighten his pen alongside his binder. Sr. Vanda kept talking. And Hazel didn't sit in sleepy depressed judgmental silence--as much as I probably disagree with Hazel's opinions, so often Lynn is so loud that nobody else adds anything anymore. And that's disappointing. We don't have to be all in agreement. We just, well, it would be nice to be able to say something and not be shot down in the rudest manner possible.

After December's disaster of a meeting, I never wanted to go back. But one of those little aphorisms kept coming to mind, like "evil flourishes when good men do nothing" or something like that. Not that she's evil, but it was sort of like that. If I walk away, then eventually it'll only be staff members and Lynn at worship meetings. And then what.

So I'll keep going. And I'll keeping showing up jittery and without filter because it's better that way. At least for me.

43/365 History: A Nemesis Develops

"I can't stand it," Martha whispers through her mournful hands covering her face.

"What's wrong with it?" Piper asks her. Fr. Bill and Joey sit uncomfortably in the little atrium with us. Joey's face is stern and Fr. Bill has on his priest power suit. He leans forward, gathering himself up to say something. But nothing. We wait for Martha.

"It. Looks. Like a grave."

I think about the school portion of the garden. It is somewhat grave-like, but it's October. We haven't planted there yet, for goodness sake.

"What can we do to make it better?" Fr. Bill poses. But I've had enough meetings with Martha. Nothing will make it better now. She has cried at too many meetings. I regret ever saying yes to Bill's suggestion that I join this committee.

I can tell Piper regrets more than that.

"Bridgett's right. The railroad ties would have fallen apart. Now, I'm sorry if the end result isn't exactly what you were looking for, but," she stops. There's nothing more to say. We have talked it to death. All of it. Mushroom compost and drainage and permits and every little detail has made me sick of gardens. We shouldn't still be talking about it.

"Well," Joey shrugs. "I'll buy some mums. I'll have the kids plant them and there you go."

"What exactly about mums is--" I begin but Bill catches my eye. We are done talking about this. Who cares if mums have nothing to do with education. It doesn't matter any more. Quit it.

At the next faculty meeting, Joey is there. She's there to explain the garden.

She's also there to announce that another anonymous donor has offered to buy computers for the school. And she has volunteered to help set everything up. Everything. She will do it all for us. Sr. Fern is so excited. She can't wait to announce it at the PTA.

I look across the table at Ina and Terri, two of my team teachers. I roll my eyes. I am so done with having meetings with Joey. Terri grins back at me. She has misunderstood my irritation. I ask questions. Joey can't answer them. Questions about the internet. About guidelines for use. About from where in the school day computer time will be carved. Sr. Fern's smile is fading but Joey knows how to handle me. "We're going to have a committee. You're welcome to join."

I think about what Fr. Bill said to me at the first Renew 2000 meeting. "I want to hold you and Mike safely," he said, and I didn't understand. "I don't want you two to get cynical about church, about the parish. If it's too much to be on this committee, you tell me."

At the time, it had seemed unnecessary. But not anymore. I tell Joey I'll be there. Just call me and tell me when.

68/365 Worship Moments

"Thank you to Lynn for keeping minutes last month," Fr. Miguel says even though Lynn isn't at the meeting. "And thank you to Hildegard for making them readable."

We decided that perhaps we should cut out a few of the Easter Vigil readings, from 7 Old Testament readings to perhaps 5. And then everyone started flipping through and nobody wanted to cut any of them. "We shouldn't leave this decision to liturgists," Bev said with a shake of the head.

We talked about how to accent the Exodus reading, since it's the one that cannot be changed. We have in the past gone straight into this song called the Canticle of the Free, which I like but it has been done many many times in a row. Bev mentioned that in the past, we've broken up the creation story with the psalm interspersed. We let that settle into our minds for a moment and then I remembered my first Vigil, when I was confirmed: "One year we had a slide show accompaniment to that reading." Revulsion all around the table as I described with giggles how awful it had been.

At the end of the meeting, I was putting my glass in the sink in the kitchen and Fr. Miguel said he'd been reading and that, no, the homily was not focused directly on me. But, he pointed out and I agreed, if it seemed that way, then maybe...

101/365 Stewardship

"When's your meeting?" I ask Mike, looking at the clock as I get Leo ready for bed. It's 7:30.

"Ah, crap," he replies from the computer room. "Half hour ago."

"You should still go," I urge him. "It's only a half hour in."

"By the time I get there, they'll be done." He has that look I know I get when I've forgotten something on my calendar.

"Really?" I ask, the tone I use when Sophia or Maeve is trying to get away with something. Because no meeting at church is only a half hour long.

He gathers his things up and goes.

107/365 Worship Commission May 2010

I hate meetings.

No, I really do like meetings usually, at least ok enough to keep going. Worship, though, the tension drives me crazy and all attempts to be somewhat relaxed or normal are thwarted by this sense of irritation and doom all around me.

Ick.

I guess I'd better type up those minutes.

161/365 Gate Keeper

I do want to say, just to say, that when it was first put together, I was all for the little toddler spot back in the Utah Vestibule. It's only in recent practice that it has really gone downhill.

But in other news, I got this mysterious email today. It was a reply to all, from one of the children's liturgy folks, to all the children's liturgy folks. It said she wouldn't be attending the meeting tomorrow.

Which puzzled me. Do I have a meeting to attend tomorrow? Hmm.

163/365 Worhip Meeting Cancelled

Sr. Hildegard, Bridgett, and Bev are unable to attend, and their presence is important to us.

From Fr. Miguel's email canceling the worship meeting. I was glad it was canceled. It's become kind of a train wreck for me. Lynn irritates me but I know she irritates many. And so it's kind of ok.

Or maybe it's only ok because it's been 2 months since I've been to one...

169/365 Stewardship

"Remember, I have a meeting tonight," Mike says into the phone.

"What meeting?" I ask, clueless.

"Stewardship."

"I thought that was on Thursdays," I protest.

"This month it's today."

"Dang it."

170/365 Stewardship Report Leads Me To Thinking

"So we're up to over 500 families," Mike mentions after the meeting.

"That's great."

"And this weekend, we realized, is Pride Fest. And then there was this debate about bottled water," he sighs. "And I suggested big coolers of ice water with dixie cups, but this was mostly ignored."

I reflect on past Pride Fest weekends. The parade starts right there, practically on the steps of church. It tends to be a circus. A hot crowded circus. But this is what I love about our neighborhood: it is a hot crowded circus.

And I think about our church's (big C, actually, not our parish) attitude about homosexuality. And it makes me glad that we live here, that the parade starts right there, and that we were having a debate about ice water. Instead of posting threatening messages on our marquee like the Lutherans down the way ("Jesus died for the sin of pride") or being absolutely crazy and bringing in, say, a loud speaker and a big wooden cross to drag around and antagonize people with.

There are things to get all riled up about, and there are things not to.

229/365 Stewardship August

I'm cleaning the girls' room when he comes home. Wants to know if I'm hungry. I think probably dinner sounds good. It's the end of summer, the girls are out of town, and it's after 8. He half-heartedly suggests going out, but we've been biking and Leo is tired. I give the list of what's in the house and he goes down to make something.

He comes back up while I sort through minutiae of childhood.

"What happened at the meeting?" I ask.

"We think we might get the volunteer appreciation thing catered."

"That's cool."

"And there's going to be a few nametag Sundays coming up, one at the park and one on a Sunday in October."

Nametag Sundays. At the church where I was baptized, it was always nametag Sunday. It had been a brand new parish in 1973 and folks didn't know each other. Everyone was new. My mom still has hers and my dad's nametags, in her jewelry box. They were pinback, gray with raised white lettering, done on a machine probably in the rectory office.

Too bad we can't pretend everyone is new. Too bad a great wave of amnesia can't come through and wipe it clean. Not our skills or jobs or family life. Just our membership at the church. Everyone can forget it all and start over. Sometimes I wish for that so strongly, usually after a meeting I wish I never had to go to again.

But there's something to be said for continuity and the tapestry that's woven with longterm parishioners and newcomers, people who stay and people who don't. Something very powerful to be said, in fact, in an era when this just doesn't happen anywhere for any reason anymore.

But we should still have nametags.

289/365 Worship Commission October Ramblings

As Miguel put it afterward, it was going so well...

It was a catch-up meeting. Lots of dates. Lots of things coming up, with Advent and Christmas and all that. November alone is a meeting's worth. We went through things bit by bit and made decisions and set up meetings for specific needs. Decided on a Christmas novena this year instead of weekly prayer services, which I totally went for, and the only moment I flinched was when Hildegard turned to Lynn and asked if she was ok with that. I thought to myself, please don't stir the anthill. But even that was fine.

We were almost home free and clear. Sr. Vanda had details about November and the mass of remembrance (and other details from last year we, ironically, couldn't remember). I love decorating for November more than any other month of the liturgical year, with December right behind (but December takes more work). But then, we were almost done and had a light laugh about the tradition of the monthly prayer focus--something that was started a few years ago for one reason, but now is just something that goes in the bulletin. But now we do it and it's a tradition! And the last thing on the list was the changes to the languages at mass.

Now, me personally? I think that changes here or there are a symptom, not a problem. The problem is that the hierarchy has decided that a specific English translation of a Latin version of a ritual is better than another--for God's sake, what is wrong with us that we're so caught up in this? But, on the other hand, it's happening and this is not where I'm staking my excommunication claim. If I'm forced out of the Church, it's not going to be over "and with your spirit" instead of "and also with you." I can rattle off a dozen things that would come before this. Well, maybe not a dozen, I mean, I do still belong to the Catholic Church. But there are things I disagree with. There are things I wish we did better. There are things my local church does so well and other places just don't and I wish that weren't true. But the changes in the mass? That's not why I'm Catholic.

But Lynn got her panties in a big wad over it and said it was a great loss for the Church. That people were going to be angry. That she was angry. Miguel told her she could choose to be angry, or not be angry, and then she said that anger was an emotion, not a choice.

Upon reflection, I think they're both right. I think visceral emotion is something that happens, it's like the fight or flight response or maternal instinct. We get angry. We get sad or shocked or joyful--if I witness a decapitation accident on Grand on my way home from church, there is a reaction I don't control. But on the other hand, if I'm still seething 18 years later about something that happened that really didn't matter in the end, then that's a choice. Or maybe she was confusing "emotions are a choice" with the talk about emotions not being necessarily bad or good, that anger in and of itself isn't a sin, it's what you do about it that matters. Or maybe she's just Lynn. Either way, I flipped through that book quickly looking for what I could possibly be angry about, and I decided right then that this wasn't where I was going to be angry. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised at most of it. Not at the big words they used in place of small words, but most of it was just fine. Whatever.

Whatever.

Lynn left in a bit of a huff. I wonder if she'll be back.

Oh, but the best part (besides the after meeting drinking and chatting) was right after Lynn left. I took out my drawings of the Advent banners and showed them to Miguel (I waited until Lynn left because I'm tired of flinching). I'd shown him, sort of, badly, on a napkin after the mass last week during the mission, and he'd been skeptical. But when I showed them to him in color, drawn for real, he said, "oh, these are so much better!" and liked them. Hildegard too.

So now I'm ready to put them together. And the Presbyterian ones. They'll be nice too.