Bells. Spoons. Shenanigans here to I suppose.
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The
Pink Room: Thoughts About Intentional Living
Chapter
13/ Bad Days.
Part
2 (Previous post contain the previous chapters.)
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Some
bad days are normal days that I make into bad days. Sometimes for no good reason
at all—events will replay in my mind until I can “figure out” what exactly is
bothering me. Conversely, some of the days that should have been bad days
weren’t so bad. Like the day I was laid off from my Art Director job. It was
more of a relief than sad; however, finding another job is a pain. Then there
is the type of bad day that happens when you make a fool of yourself--nothing
life-changing just not your finest moment.
My
cousin was married in a Catholic Cathedral in Upper Michigan. The extended
family drove a few hours north to be guests. We stayed in hotel together, where
the reception was, and then drove to the church for the wedding.
I
have an uncle I’m fairly close to; somehow I didn’t sit with my immediate
family but his. Everything was going well--I was familiar with High Mass and
all the extras having grown up as a Catholic. He is Lutheran. Something about
my sense of humor is incredibly funny to my uncle. And it began.
It
started with small comments about gangly bored looking altar servers. They
really did look bored. Then came the comments about scantily clad cherubs on
the ceiling a few minutes later. Then he hoped, out loud, no one in the bridal
party had locked their knees—the ceremony was more than an hour at this point.
Then
the worst thing that could have happened, happened. A brown-haired young man in
a white robe, which was threatening to trip him, walked over to the right side
of the altar. His hair was in his eyes, his sleeves were too long, the robe was
just past his shoes, and the braided cord belt was about ready to fall off. He
reminded me of a character in “The Best Christmas Pageant Ever.” There was this
post; it stood over on the right. It had bells on the top. There were four
brass bells together around the pole and at the very top one more, which was
even larger than the rest.
There
is a particular bell noise that all Catholics know. It is present in times of
celebration. Normally, it is a rather cheerful, almost sweet sound. Depending
on the room, sometimes it sounds delicate and other-worldly. Not these bells—nope!
I
jumped right out of the pew! It sounded like those bells were hit by a
semi-truck. It was the loudest, most un-holy joyful noise I have ever heard.
And my uncle laughed so hard he nearly lost his mind or peed in his pants or
both. It scared him too, but the fact that I was shocked and jumped straight up
during this occasion which was supposed to be so romantic and beautiful—the
irony was too much for him. For the rest of the two hour service we struggled
to behave. Anytime that kid made a move to the right, it started all over.
That
wedding was the story-maker and lives on in infamy. It alone could be fodder
for a book or TV series.
It
was the only time I’ve seen my parents drunk—I guess they felt free because
they were stuck at the hotel. There was an open bar before dinner, so my dad
had lined up five or six Manhattans. He just kept going for more. When there
were no Manhattans left the fun began. My dad dropped his carrots on the floor,
by the buffet, and giggled. My dad giggled. He told everyone around about it
and made sure they saw his carrots. My mom interrupted the Maid of Honor’s
speech by loudly yelling “You go girl!” I believe I threw a spoon across the
circular eight person table to try to derail any further interruptions. They
had fun. And everyone noticed.
There
was other misbehavior that night--cousins fighting, unkind things being said
and other reckless silliness. It started fun, but it didn’t end that way. The
next morning the rumor mill was in full swing with half-truths and gossip.
Everyone had an embarrassing story at least most of them were funny.
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My
sense of humor brings me to the edge of trouble here and there. I rarely let it
get the best of me but it is incredibly challenging when I’m with people who
know me and know my weakness in that area—the ones who think it is funny. I was
selfish and did not consider the moment being bigger than me—it was about a
lifetime covenant promise between my cousin and his wife, and I missed much of
it.
We
are tempted in all kinds of ways to give into selfishness. We are not always
going to win but with practice it gets easier to win more often as we strangle
it out of our souls. If this truth is flipped on its head and we focus on what
is the most loving thing to do for others--instead of controlling the selfishness
in me--it is a really beautiful thing.
