Ubi caritas*

This morning, I missed singing the second “Ubi caritas” — we’re doing three versions in choir – and I missed singing the first one for similar domestic reasons: it just seems like the better choice to stay home with my family.

I’m back singing more seriously after a few years’ hiatus, and I joined this new choir simply and purely to sing, nothing more. The choir director is a dear singing friend from my old voice teacher’s studio, gay as the day, the church requires nothing of me, unlike my old UU liberal hell that just about did me in, and I have made it a priority to practice, get to Thursday night rehearsals, and be there on the Sundays we perform. Singing is one of the things in life that truly feeds my soul.

I’ve been sick for about a week with some vague headache-y, vertigo-y, sore neck-y complaint that got so bad at one point I wondered if you can have walking meningitis the way you can have walking pneumonia. “C1 and C2,” said my chiropractor when I could finally get there (oh yeah – we’ve had a lot of snow here) and she grabbed me and wrung from my neck the sound of a machine gun, or perhaps a chainsaw. Recovery has been slow, despite this cathartic adjustment, and I’ve been missing from the heart of the family in a way I know is disconcerting for everyone.

“I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” whispered my stalwart husband last night as she kissed me goodnight. “I was starting to worry.” She, who has danced attendance, missing work to drive me to acupuncture and chiropractic appointments, brought me meals and reassured me when I started to freak out. And I’ve had to ask Martha** to step in for things like going to an accepted students afternoon at a local university with Seth, when I so dearly would like to be with him as he continues to freak out in various teenage ways about this very adult decision he’ll have to make in the next few months.

I was finally well enough this morning to get up early, as I like to do, muddle through some sudoku, write a little, read, meditate. It was snowing again, but that’s not why I stayed home from choir. I just wanted to be here, cooking, doing chores with Tex – who’s also been yearning for an at-home day to just putter and read – inhabiting the house. Shoring up the home.

*where there is love

**my ex, they boys’ other mom, she of the ever changing pseudonym

P.S. Noble sentiments indeed, from someone who decided not to stop reading out loud to Tex the chapter “Bernice”, about the heroic, renegade librarian, from our Queer Book Group’s current selection, Carsick by John Waters. The chapter includes a great deal of raunch, for example, the (fictitious?) book title, Clitty Clitty Bang Bang, had me and Tex falling about laughing hysterically, and sent a recently awakened and deeply horrified Seth back upstairs to his room for another hour.

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Published in: on February 8, 2015 at 4:20 PM  Leave a Comment  
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