Catching Up

I feel like I have to catch up now or I never will.

When we left off ... I went to my crazy exercise class twice last week and headed to see my boyfriend on Thursday afternoon since we were off on Friday. We had a nice dinner ... I had a salad with grapefruit slices in it and penne pasta in meat sauce. I hardly ever eat beef so it was a strange experience but also satisfying. We had some sort of scrumptious fruit and angel food cake concoction for dessert.

On Friday morning, he had a doctor's appointment so I went to La Madeleine and read Grace Eventually for a while and then walked up and down the street car line talking to Shelley. We stopped for pastries, and then later we split yam and chicken soup and the barbeque shrimp po-boy for lunch, and he headed to band practice.

I amused myself by enjoying some gelato and reading my book. Then I headed to City Park, where I sat on a bridge and read even more. While I was sitting out there, I knew that deep down my mom was probably distressed that I did not attend Good Friday services of some kind, but I felt more connected to whatever higher power there might be by sitting outside with an Anne Lamott book on a bridge in the sunshine than I would have sitting in a somber service on a beautiful day. I wished I could tell my mother that. And that she would understand.

We reunited and played a game of Scrabble in which he scored almost 500 points. We got Chinese take-out for dinner, and he headed to his gig. My little brother arrived and we headed to the Quarter together and had a great time at the gig. My boyfriend is definitely a fine rocker.

We turned in as early as possible and got up early for the race. I decided not to run, and I'm glad I did, because it was really stupidly cold. My boyfriend ran very well, making it into the top 350 of more than 15,000 runners. We had brunch ... I enjoyed my shrimp and cheese omelet, and he had strawberry waffles.

We got him home, which involved me following him on his motorcycle and having panic attacks, and eventually I headed home also. Thankfully I borrowed his CD of The Partly Cloudy Patriot to make the drive fly by. I am so in love with Sarah Vowell.

On Easter Sunday, I went to mass with my little brother. There were lots and lots of little babies and kids, and we weren't too thrilled with the musical selections. I really do like singing the songs at church, except for when they suck. Who picks a bunch of minor chord songs for Easter Sunday? Idiots, that's who.

My boyfriend drove in and we met up at my parents' house for lunch. My mom made crawfish etouffee, corn, spinach pie, fruit salad, honey baked turkey, and cabbage crunch salad, and my boyfriend supplied the homemade bread. It was a great lunch to be certain.

Last night I finished Grace Eventually in the tub. Thanks again to Grace for the gift. There is really nothing I can say about Anne Lamott but that reading her fills me with happiness and hope. I feel like I can see inside her heart and like she can see inside mine. She makes me want to write better, to think better, to behave better.

As my mom and I washed dishes yesterday, I told her about my thoughts on the bridge, and how I felt connected to a higher power much more meaningfully by reading Anne Lamott at City Park than I would have doing stations of the cross, and she said that she wishes I would say "God" instead of "higher power" because she doesn't like that expression. I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath and said, "Mom, I just wanted to share that with you." And she thanked me for sharing it with her. It frustrated me because I knew it meant a lot to her for me to tell her that, and that she probably wished she would not have corrected my choice of words in my sharing, and it frustrated me that she couldn't just accept without criticizing what I said because I only told her that because I thought it would please her. I guess criticizing is the wrong word, because she said it lovingly.

Ugh.

Anyway, work is very challenging right now, and all I want to do is turn on my Sarah Vowell audio book and for Anne Lamott to come over and teach my mother that she doesn't have to love George W. Bush to love Jesus. And to keep trying to use hot rollers to unsuccessfully force my hair to look like Tami Taylor's. And to eat Reese's eggs until peanut butter starts running through my veins.