Premiere Lack of Easter
For the first time in my life, I didn’t celebrate Easter. My kids were with their dad and none of my family members who traditionally host our Easter celebrations were home this year. And I didn’t think it was worth hosting it, myself. And I’d already planned to spend the day with my boyfriend, and his people are Buddhist. And I’m trying not to eat candy anymore.
So I commemorated the day by waking up at 2:30 PM and telling my boyfriend about all the stuff we used to sing at Easter Midnight Mass when I was a teenager at St. Joseph Catholic Church.
Singing those songs at midnight was probably the holiest thing I ever did. When other people talk about spirituality, I think about my years in the choir. Even though I didn’t listen to the sermon half the time… even though I managed to avoid being baptized twice… even though our choir director would sometimes send me out the sacristy back door to buy tacos she could sneakily eat during the Gospel…
Even though, even though… Singing those songs felt good and right to me. I felt the words. I felt The Word, almost, maybe, sometimes. But then they told me that wasn’t enough, and I left.
Mini Adventure
I went to Texas A&M University in Kingsville last week to guest-teach a class and read from my book. It was fun. Kingsville itself was beautifully flat. Everyone told me they went to Wal-Mart for fun. Most of the students were very awesome. I hate it when older people bitch about the youth in America today… those older people obviously never take the time to hang out with anyone young.
The big surprise: I hadn’t realized that one of the most bad-assed bands in the world is based in Kingsville. I met two of the members and they signed my CD. So the whole education/bringing-my-art-to-a-small-out-of-the-way-town thing? Totally worth it, after all.
Whenever I travel, people spill their beans to me. I collected several life stories over two days, and by the time I got to the Corpus Christi airport, I was tired and resolved to keep a mean look on my face so no one would confide in me anymore. But it just made them confide that much more frantically, quickly, before the planes came in. At last I got on my own plane and turned myself firmly to the window. “Why does it smell like Mexican food in here?” my seatmate jovially asked. I resisted saying one of the first forty things that came to mind and instead gave him my most withering fake smile.
Then the plane took off, which is my favorite part of all, barely at all sullied by the fact that the people around me are oblivious to the fact that the plane taking off is so, so awesome. It’s like riding the teacup on the carousel. It’s like driving 100 miles per hour in my car. But better, because then you go up in the air. You’re flying, dang it. Golly. It’s magic. No, seriously – it’s the only magic we have these days. Unless you count singing in the choir. But I don’t… No, traveling in planes is where it’s at, these days, for me.
