My pal Julie gave me this beautiful print for my 30th bday. It was the catalyst for us painting the living room a solid shade of periwinkle. Yes, I do let my friends dictate my decorating choices. No, I have never once regretted the choice of purple gray for a living room. I love it.
And I love this piece. Titled “Sunday Morning,” Julie said it made her think of us, but let’s be honest, our Sunday mornings look nothing like the picture. No, ours are a whole lot like a fire drill or an evacuation plan. There is strategy and rushing and “Where are your shoes?!?!” and “GO! GO! GO!” I’m lucky to make it out the door fully dressed (I have been known to be carrying shoes/sweaters/belts/etc.) and forget hair done or make-up on. That is strictly for the car and if it’s a particularly crazy morning, that doesn’t happen either.
Each Sunday I give that little silhouette a longing look as I hurry out the door. Someday . . .
To top it all off? It used to be that arriving at Mass meant my heart rate could return to normal and my nerves could rest. Sure, there was the occasional melt-down or fussy baby, but those could be dealt with and we could continue on. NOW, well, now our pew arrangement has become a riddle. It brings to mind all of those silly word problems from school. “Erik can’t sit next to anyone in a blue shirt. Jose is wearing stripes and eating pb&j. Lafawnda is allergic to peanut butter. Lee is wearing red. Who is sitting next to Jamal?” Boo. I wouldn’t mind so much if it didn’t change from week to week or even minute to minute. It feels like Mass these days is an ever running game of musical chairs. Max and Tess can’t be together. If Philip is too far away from us, he forgets where he is (honest). Ellie smothers Gemma and Gemma pulls Ellie’s hair. Ellie must be with a parent. We have too few hands.
Anyway, that little piece of art keeps the hope alive. After all, it’s good to have a dream, right?