a raging Celtic brood....

The glorious Celtic music coming from my living room is doing little to dispel my gloom.....I am privy to an impressive practice session with College Boy on guitar and his former teacher/mentor on harp. Normally, Celtic music stirs my Irish Blood - leaving me feeling simultaneously empowered and relaxed - today it only serves to remind me of dreams long dead and far off lands that I will never see.....It started on Christmas Afternoon - a sense of malaise and melancholy. At first I attributed it to how sick I have been (Nasty little upper respiratory bug, that still has me sounding like I belong in a TB ward), we had a lovely Christmas, all of us together, so that couldn't be it.....I still can't put my finger on the "why", but that vague sense of sadness has become a full blown case of the blues. Yesterday, I took desperate measures and declared a Pajama Day with a Harry Potter marathon....that ALWAYS makes me feel better - until yesterday. Baby Girl and Babiest Girl were scheduled to help deliver Mobile Meals today, with some folks from Church.When I awoke this morning, and Baby Girl was too sick to go, I thought "That's just what I need - getting out and doing something for someone else....I'll take Baby Girls' place". I was paired with an older woman that I have long admired - she took the drivers seat - I became the navigator....I glanced over our route sheet - well done, with detailed directions. The more closely I read, the more uneasy I became - for on our list were people I knew....parents of kids I grew up with - one, a parent of a boy that I dated in High School. Some of the folks were still in their homes - homes I had ridden my bike to... others were in small, ramshackle apartments. Back in my car after all of the deliveries were made, I gave in to the tears that had been threatening for the last 2 hours..."That will be us....John and me" - I said, over and over in my brain until it became the cadence of my tears. Once home, I cleared the kitchen table for lunch, and that is how I found myself staring down into a picture of a green sea, cradled by an azure sky - the cover of John's Men's Journal (I don't know.....is this somehow the male equivalent of Southern Living?)...there, in the middle of the water, resting on a gossamer bar of sand, was a sea plane...and sitting on the wing, gazing soulfully out towards the horizon, was such a specimen of man flesh that it momentarily roused me from my self centered well of woe.Unfortunately, the headline above this photo read "Climbing Mount Impossible"....and those three words sent me right back into the well. Because some days (and these days especially) that is exactly how I feel.... Climbing Mount Impossible - with a fiscal cliff on one side, and general mayhem on the other...and today, in my state of blue, I see my Mount Impossible ending with me sitting in a ramshackle apartment, waiting by the door for the knock that will signal that some nice stranger has brought my lunch, in a styrofoam to go box....one that is mushy and smells strongly of institutional canned food. Call me Debbie Downer, and I will answer, cause today.....that's just where I am - in a raging Celtic brood - morose as any Irish poet....On the up side, my mood has an outstanding soundtrack, emanating live from the next room, and I take hope from the fact that as I type, I am tapping my feet to the mesmerizing Celtic rhythm... directly to my right, in my oven, is tonight's dinner -  two wonderful looking Quiche Lorraine's, made with eggs from my very own back yard (The Chickens have turned into such wonderful layers, that I have forgiven them for any resemblance they might bear to birds....). In my pocket book, on the hook by the back door, is a gift certificate for a massage at my favorite day spa - a gift from some  friends (and in the words of one of the givers - "you look like you could use it!" - he was being kind...what I really look like I could use is a week at an extreme makeover show, or several days in one of those hyperbaric oxygen chambers), and while I surely do not have a pocket full of sunshine at the moment, my coat pocket does hold the most beautiful pair of red leather gloves with kissy red bows - a gift from another friend. I will eat my supper.....I will clean the kitchen...I will kiss all three kids goodnight, and I will go to bed and read (Harry Potter) until I fall asleep (These days, it is usually less than ten minutes!), and I will hope that my Irish Blood will take a turn for the happier - because, to quote another Southern Irish lass....."Tomorrow IS another day".......