Today we wrapped up St. Patrick's Day, but before we did that we had the weekend, which I feel compelled to record because the sabbatical year has drained me to such an extent that there is no other record keeping happening except for what happens between my phone and this blog. Oh, and the kids' journals that are awesome in their own right, but as things are happening other than museum planning/retainer kvetching and dog wanting/parents-not-allowing-dog kvetching, some subsidizing is in order.
Saturday was the cub scouts Pinewood Derby. The Boy undoubtedly has some skills, but understanding the principles of aerodynamics is not one of them. In his pursuit to create the perfect Bigfoot Patrol Vehicle (we left him alone with the tool basket) he completely lost sight of the concept of speed. He did earn a certificate for "Tallest Car" and some props for design. Later, I heard The Dad trying (yet again) to explain why a more streamlined vehicle goes faster, ergo is the goal for a pinewood derby car.
"Ah ha. So I should have made mine more streamlined." Boy
"If you want it to go faster." Dad
"Of course I would..." Boy
(The Mom is thinking: Oh, he's finally getting the gist of how the pinewood derby works.)
"Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to catch up to Bigfoot." Boy
Right.
For the past five or so years we've tried to hit at least one screening during the International Children's Film Festival (the year The Girl was five she sat through a three-hour subtitled movie without complaining once -- I committed to read the small print in future). This year we ended up down in the village at IFC where the seats recline back like at a planetarium. The movie we chose was From Up On Poppy Hill because we love My Neighbor Totoro, Kiki's Delivery Service, etc. At it's conclusion, the kids were lukewarm. The Dad, The Sister, and I all levitated out of the theatre and into the wispy snow flurries. It is a visually lush, emotionally sweet film showcasing a female protagonist with a stronger/not-whiny work ethic, and more poise and grace than any Disney princess, or for that matter any "real" female on TV (now that Oprah has stepped down, that is). My kids might not have loved it on this first viewing, but I'm glad that they were exposed to it.
Sometime during the night a Leprechaun named Seamus wandered through our apartment, and according to the note he scrawled on the mirror lost his wee hat. Somehow this happens every year, so the kids knew to find it and put it on the table (it was located on our felt snake/monster -- we think it might have fallen off while he was trying to get to eight seconds). They've learned that after they leave for the day Seamus will sneak back in, get his hat, write a new note thanking them and granting them a year o' luck, and leave some sort of small token of his gratitude (this year it was some bars o' Irish Spring soap, so they can continue with their soap carving).
To conclude our yearly green festivities we walked down to St. Patrick's cathedral today. It is in the process of a major restoration project. Pounding bounced off the stone, pleas to donate to the cause (be a cathedral builder!) were tucked in every corner, and scaffolding embraced the external as well as internal walls.
My children are drawn to Catholic candles like Mormon moths to the flame. I told them that we would donate enough for one candle -- so they would need to decide together who it should be for. When given such wide open options, I don't even try to guess -- I just wait for the decision. Considering that it could have ranged from the Queen of England ("She has corgis!") to Mike the headless chicken, I was pleasantly surprised that they chose their great-grandma. She's in good health, so I'm not sure if it is because she's our family's matriarch, as the oldest, or because their great-grandpa died two March's ago, or because she just sent them a new chess board. Whatever sparked it, a candle was lit for her.
We've been kind of interested in the papal conclave (anything that incorporates smoke signals is inherently awesome). While walking past the ABC studio that has monitors against the window I was intrigued to see the oath to secrecy being chanted, then just one day later, again walking past the studios, the announcement was being made. The crowd gathered in front of the monitor didn't gasp or cheer, it was more with a muted, "Oh," that people started sharing the news into their cellphones.
There was an enormous book for people to leave farewell messages to Pope Benedict XVI (yes, we did think that we were awesome -- we read those romans as easily as their arabic cousins). The Boy asked if he could leave a message. For those wondering I think it was along the lines of: "Thank you for being a good pope." It made me realize that I had no idea what the general feeling is for PB16. I hope that he mostly did good things, that Catholics were happy with him, and that the future is full of love and respect for Bergoglio/Francis. I think it is important to feel secure with the leader of your religion. I read an article in the Times about how Bergoglio sold his mansion in Buenos Aires and lived humbly. Living below your means is always a nice indicator of someone who is trying to be wise and good.
We of course saw the man himself, St. Patrick (or rather, the area devoted to him).
It made me think again how much I don't know about the saints. I think I had the same thought when we went to Little Italy during the St. Gennaro festivities... The kids are gearing up to do a research paper, and I'm thinking that I might do one right along with them.
While reading the prayer for the intercession of St. Elizabeth I marveled anew at what she represented for Mary. A cousin, yes, but more importantly a friend who didn't doubt her. Somebody who accepted Mary's outrageous story and immediately told her not just that she was okay, but that she was blessed. She underscored their connected missions by sharing that the incubating John leapt in her womb when Mary came. It is a story that demonstrates the importance of women in other women's lives -- the strength that we can be for each other when we believe each other. I felt motivated to make the 5th of November (Elizabeth's feast day) a day to write letters to women in my life who support me -- and I shall encourage The Girl to grow up doing the same. I know that some people make fun of "Hallmark" holidays ("I want my mother to know I love her everyday..." or "Valentine's Day is just to sell chocolate..."). To that I say: stop being a freakin' scrooge. If I don't write down: "go to the post office" on my schedule day after day passes without my packages being mailed. I think it's helpful to have a day on the calendar to establish: it goes no further -- on this day my good/necessary intention/goal will be achieved. If not for St. Patrick's Day I wouldn't have an excuse to conjure up Leprechaun antics, or put green dye in every food item that we make. Sure, I could do all that on a random Tuesday, but like that will happen... I'm glad that the holiday inspired us to walk down to St. Patrick's, because even with the pounding and the scaffolding, it is majestic in its grandness and its details.
And now a story. About fifteen years ago, I was in the city wandering by myself and went into St. Patrick's. Its beauty simultaneously mellowed me and thrilled me. In the middle of the vast sea of pews I took out my journal and started writing. I do not know why, out of all the patrons there that day the elderly custodian even noticed me, but with a broom in hand, he leaned in, tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I had enough light to see properly. I was so taken aback that I simply murmured something about being fine, and I smiled, and he smiled, and nodded, and walked on. How I wish I knew what he would have done had I answered, "Actually, I don't." Now that I've lived here I can honestly say that it could have easily gone in so many directions. He could have said, "Then look to Christ, my sister." He might have said, "I didn't think so, you stupid cow. Stop ruining your eyes and go somewhere else." He might have gone into some random cubby and come back and strung up a shop light over my head. He might have pulled out a flashlight and calmly shined it down on me for as long as I needed it. That is why I love this city. Anything is possible.
On our way out we stopped by the little "gift shop" and bought some prayer cards of some saints for $1/each ("Made in Italy"). But it wasn't just about buying the prayer cards: we helped build the cathedral.
My favorite part walking to St. Patrick's was passing Tiffany's and seeing some visitors taking pictures while drinking coffee and eating a danish. The Girl looked at me and smiled -- I felt grateful that we shared that reference.
My favorite part walking home was when, in the middle of the park, the kids remembered something exciting that was happening tonight, and The Girl did this crazy, jubilant spin that actually made her fall down.
And what might that exciting event be? I'll dedicate tomorrow's post to it, but for now, some teasers:
