Beginning to feel that just the mention of the name of the day says it all. Awakened this morning not wanting to go to Mass; have been feeling that way last two weeks and it isn’t laziness it’s just that I don’t want to be around anyone to worship Him. I want to be alone with Him, feel that I need this. This morning sat in the living room not yet saying my rosary or chaplet while it was still dark and the sky beyond my almost wall of windows was a hushed indigo blue with a white cloud fringe for a lower border and I felt like I was already sitting in a vast cathedral with the Lord. I felt like I was a Native American sitting on a mountaintop talking to the Great Spirit. They were such a holy people.
The day is overcast, brought out the garbage and there in the kitchen window in the gray day glowed my little pumpkin with the fabric ghost glowing orange in its light. Lois, my neighbor told me that when the Old Ladies sit in their –what I call the loggia–they enjoy my pumpkin very much. Such a dear circle of friends; the youngest is 80. Yolanda went to court with me and was very scared and held my hand the entire time–she told me she was 87, and I thought she was only in her late sixties. She’s Hispanic and very sweet. Kathy moved out next door–no one stays there, it’s a very small apartment and a very young man moved in next. His first weekend there, that damned ghetto bass began shaking my walls–my bedroom and bath are at the back of my place adjacent to his living room and bedroom. We’re supposed to complain to the security guard but I just didn’t feel like reporting anyone so I took the hammer and pounded on the bathroom wall and it stopped immediately. Hasn’t happened since. He gets embarrassed every time he sees that old broad who banged on the wall. Live and let live, I know; that’s why whenever I wanted to blare music I always used headphones.
So dark and overcast and cozy, perfect day to cook soup. A pot of homemade veggie soup is on–always loved the perfume of that since a little girl–and a pot of pumpkin spinach curry soup–adding to the flavors is the divine smell of jasmine rice.
There has been so much stress the last two weeks, with people acting out at work in droves, egos, the aforementioned editor at Louisiana Life enraging me again to the point that I vented in confidence to a wonderful former editor of mine there, Dr. Meleg-Smith’s and her husband’s suicide that this morning I found it hard to catch my breath and went through my stroke symptoms checklist by how it had felt and decided this was due to asthma acting up, stress does kick up asthma, plus it’s fall and the ragweed is out–so I took two good puffs on my inhaler and my lungs opened up and I’m breathing fine. How’s that for a run on sentence?
A few minutes before I sat down to post this, I enrolled Dr. Meleg-Smith and Mr. Smith in Masses through the Little Flower of Jesus society, my good buddy, St. Therese and the minute I did, all my anger was released. I did the right thing. Rest in peace to both of them, and please move onto Jesus.
Right after I saw that dark haired woman in the resident’s room and learned her story, I got the keys and unlocked the room. I went in there and said the Lord’s Prayer and I told her she needed to go straight to Jesus and ask Him to forgive her for what she did and not to be afraid to do and let Him take her into Paradise. That’s nearly eight years ago and I’ve never seen her since. I wish the same for Dr. Meleg-Smith and her husband.