the desire for hermitage
Ah! To be all alone in a little cell with nobody near me;
beloved that pilgrimage before the last pilgrimage to Death.
Singing the passing hours to cloudy Heaven;
feeding upon dry bread and water from the cold spring.
That will be an end to evil when I am alone
in a lovely little corner among tombs
far from the houses of the great.
Ah! to be all alone in a little cell,
to be alone, all alone:
Alone I came into the world,
alone I shall go from it.
Who can name the composer who set this text to music? I bet a bunch of you can, actually. This is fairly well-known, at least among musicians. Bonus points for anyone who can tell me what date this week is significant and why.
I've been craving alone time lately. I don't know exactly why. Probably because I don't get any alone time except when I'm taking a shower or in the car buzzing from home to rehearsal to home to get Daniel for preschool, from preschool back to campus...you get the idea.*
This is the plight of mothers everywhere, isn't it? I don't mean to complain, exactly, because I know I have things better than a lot of people. But this morning everyone woke up grouchy and impatient, me worst of all, and things have gone south from there, I'm afraid. I almost started crying when I heard a Haitian girl sing a praise song on NPR this morning. It's a song I don't particularly like (reminds me too much of church camp from adolescence) but this child was singing so clearly and beautifully and her pitch was so dead-on, and here I was standing in the kitchen looking at the fog and gloom outside feeling sorry for myself while hearing this beautiful singing from a person who has most certainly experienced devastating loss and upheaval...well. It put things in perspective for me, even if it didn't improve my mood.
I so desperately could use a whole week at home. Alone. Purely for selfish reasons, of course. If I had a week to myself here I would clean the house from top to bottom, have lots of distraction-free practice time, do some reading, some knitting, and lots of re-organizing and cleaning out of closets, shelves and desks, and get a good night's sleep for once. At least, that's what I imagine I would do. In reality, I'd probably get anxious and lonely and not accomplish much. Not that any of this matters, of course, because I won't be getting a week to myself, at least not any time soon.
I should just stop fantasizing about what I want and deal with the here and now. Sometimes, that is really hard to do.
*ETA: Maybe I should count practice time as alone time, too. And Stuart is pretty good about giving me a little breathing room on weekends, but I usually just take advantage of the opportunity to run other errands without having the kids along.
beloved that pilgrimage before the last pilgrimage to Death.
Singing the passing hours to cloudy Heaven;
feeding upon dry bread and water from the cold spring.
That will be an end to evil when I am alone
in a lovely little corner among tombs
far from the houses of the great.
Ah! to be all alone in a little cell,
to be alone, all alone:
Alone I came into the world,
alone I shall go from it.
Who can name the composer who set this text to music? I bet a bunch of you can, actually. This is fairly well-known, at least among musicians. Bonus points for anyone who can tell me what date this week is significant and why.
I've been craving alone time lately. I don't know exactly why. Probably because I don't get any alone time except when I'm taking a shower or in the car buzzing from home to rehearsal to home to get Daniel for preschool, from preschool back to campus...you get the idea.*
This is the plight of mothers everywhere, isn't it? I don't mean to complain, exactly, because I know I have things better than a lot of people. But this morning everyone woke up grouchy and impatient, me worst of all, and things have gone south from there, I'm afraid. I almost started crying when I heard a Haitian girl sing a praise song on NPR this morning. It's a song I don't particularly like (reminds me too much of church camp from adolescence) but this child was singing so clearly and beautifully and her pitch was so dead-on, and here I was standing in the kitchen looking at the fog and gloom outside feeling sorry for myself while hearing this beautiful singing from a person who has most certainly experienced devastating loss and upheaval...well. It put things in perspective for me, even if it didn't improve my mood.
I so desperately could use a whole week at home. Alone. Purely for selfish reasons, of course. If I had a week to myself here I would clean the house from top to bottom, have lots of distraction-free practice time, do some reading, some knitting, and lots of re-organizing and cleaning out of closets, shelves and desks, and get a good night's sleep for once. At least, that's what I imagine I would do. In reality, I'd probably get anxious and lonely and not accomplish much. Not that any of this matters, of course, because I won't be getting a week to myself, at least not any time soon.
I should just stop fantasizing about what I want and deal with the here and now. Sometimes, that is really hard to do.
*ETA: Maybe I should count practice time as alone time, too. And Stuart is pretty good about giving me a little breathing room on weekends, but I usually just take advantage of the opportunity to run other errands without having the kids along.
Comments
Be well…the fog & gloom will pass.
Animal, today was pleasant and almost sunny, so much better than yesterday. I think Michigan weather is twice as gloomy as ours this time of year. Thanks for the support!