Today, friends, I am 50 years old.
Alex and I had planned to go to Paris together to celebrate, but then the wheels fell off the world. Recently Elwood and I joked about making a trip to Paris, KY, where I lived briefly as a kid. From that Paris it's easy to pop over to Versailles, though you have to pronounce it Ver-SALES if you don't want to give yourself away as an out-of-towner.
But this is not a great week for visiting Kentucky, so I am staying home and counting my blessings: I am alive, I am in good health (at least for now!), I am employed (so employed. very employed. summer-class-employed is a particularly intense flavor of employed). I am living happily with almost all of my family and they love me very much even after our 4+ months of constant proximity. And I get to talk to Alex today, even though we will not be ordering lapin à la moutarde in a cozy bistro. (Huh, that was a weird thing for my fingers to spew out. I was never going to order lapin à la moutarde, because I dislike mustard and tend to be a little squeamish about things like eating bunnies. But I am missing the option nonetheless.)
Maybe I will celebrate my 52nd birthday in Paris.
The music directors asked me to play bass for the vigil Mass yesterday, so I went back in person for the first time since March 14. It was good. It was weird. But mostly good. The bassist's seat is right next to the monster amp, which is a fun little bonus that I wasn't expecting. Do you happen to remember last summer when I wrote about the incarnational joys of making music? The blend of music at our church isn't especially bass-heavy, but it's different when you're sitting right next to the monster amp. It was a novel and entirely delicious experience, creating a gentle rhythmic floor for the ensemble and feeling it deep in my bones as the sound poured out of the amp. They don't need anything fancy, so it was stress-free despite my inexperience. I have really missed making music with friends to help people worship. I'm glad I went back.
(Though can I tell you one small grumpy thought? Our church has been allowing people to receive on the tongue if they go at the end of the communion line. But the volunteers all receive after that, once the folks in the pews have left. Did the deacon sanitize his hands in between? No idea. I would be pretty grouchy about it if I picked up COVID that way, preeeeeeetty grouchy. But hey! We have enough community spread now that I'll probably never know where it came from if I do get COVID. I'm going to pretend that's a silver lining that will help me to be charitable instead of a public health catastrophe that will kill a bunch of people in a wholly avoidable way.)
Okay, that is enough grumpy thoughts.
After he goes to Mass, Elwood is making crêpes for brunch at Stella's request. I am going to practice the bass with the amp dialed up nice and loud, in anticipation of the day when we can sing the Mass parts again. And I am going to pull some weeds with Pete, and maybe I will start Swann's Way. In an ordinary year I might have gone to see an outdoor Shakespeare play for my birthday, but of course all the plays are canceled this year. So instead I think I will ask my family to go with me and my Complete Works to the lovely local gardens where the plays are not happening. I will stand on a bench and read the St. Crispin's Day speech out loud, and maybe "Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks" for good measure. And because they love me they will go along with it, and then we will come home and have takeout Thai food together.
I am resolving to blog four times a week across my fifty-first year. Say hello and tell me what you might like to hear about, please!
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