Sunday Somethings

I'm not Catholic, but I went to Mass this morning.  I'm 99% certain today is the first time I've gone to church on Easter Sunday - any church.  Counting that wedding I went to in 2001 and the funeral we went to a few weeks ago, this Mass was the third I've attended in my life.  I expected waving palm fronds and lots of Hosanna singing - like in Jesus Christ Superstar.  It doesn't really go down like that, turns out.  (I've got a sudden urge to pop in that DVD.  Love that movie!)

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Jimi and I had a bit of a cometoJesus this morning as we drove to his brother's house before church.  He's worried about me, folks.  He's concerned that I read too much sad - blogs about infertility, about multiple losses, about children who've died, about cancer patients.  He's worried that I'm not happy, or that my grieving is overwhelming me.  "I'm coming out on the other side of it, baby," I assured him.  "I had a lot to work through, but I'm coming through it."  I guess I don't talk to him much about where I'm at in this process.  I don't talk to him much about where he is, either.  We've sorta been dealing with things on our own, in our own heads. I come here and spill my guts; to say the same words to him out loud would feel like repeating myself.  (Have I mentioned he doesn't read my blog?  No wonder he doesn't know where I'm at.)

He said the thing I've been thinking of but afraid to say - the due date approaches.  May 4th, May 5th - something like that.  "I've thought of it," I told him. "But I don't feel any real significance or connection with the date, honestly.  If we'd heard a heartbeat, if a doctor had given us a date to mark on our calendars, then it would be harder.  Now, it's more like 'Huh.  If things had worked out differently, how different would my world be right now!'"  But of course I've thought about it.

It's been a roller coaster of emotions and hormones for the last several months.  I don't feel the urgency I felt.  I don't feel the confusion or so lost.  I'm not empty; I felt empty there for a while, but I don't feel that anymore.  I don't feel betrayed by fate, or cheated, or punished.  I don't feel like a failure as a woman.  I don't feel like I've failed Jimi.  I know grieving is a process, and I'm glad that the veil is lifting.  I never would've thought I could grieve so hard for someone I never met.

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Brew day ended with an interesting twist yesterday - the cooling system the boys use, a large coil of copper pipe that's immersed into the brew keg full of raw beer and flushed with cold water to cool the boiling liquid, it sprang a leak.  The leak wasn't discovered until they had introduced something like 5 gallons of unfiltered water to their brew.  shitfucksonofabitch.  The BBC brewmaster was on hand, and he suggested an attempted save involving removing three gallons of the tainted brew, bringing the rest to a hard boil for an hour or so to kill off any bacteria, then adding an extra pound or so of honey to keep up flavor and gravity.  I'll let you know in 8 weeks or so if it worked.  (I hope it worked; a batch of beer isn't inexpensive to make.  Beyond the cost, though, they put so much of themselves into this stuff - it's tear-jerking to think of their efforts and hours of work all being for naught.)

Maria generously volunteered to pick up for dinner a selection of delicious yums from her brother's Argentinian restaurant.  I've never been to Palermo Viejo, mostly because I'm a picky eater and new things scare me, but dude.  If you're ever in Louisville, and you're in the mood for some out-of-this-world food, this would be a good place to start - Empanadas in four varieties, all of which were unbelievably tasty, a 10 oz. filet served with a vinegar based spicy sauce that her father makes, some breaded chicken/ham/cheese/tomato dish that almost made me cry, the mashed potatoes, the bread - Oh, it was all so freaking awesome.  I will be visiting the restaurant to sample his other wares, I assure you.  

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Jimi said he's going to send me for a massage this week.  And that was before he discovered the golf-ball-sized knot of tensed up muscle in my shoulder that I woke up with this morning.  Very much looking forward to that.  Also on the list of things to look forward to this week:  folding, stuffing, and stamping my own invoices; doing my own filing; screening my own phone calls.  That's right, friends, I'm once again on the hunt for a new administrative assistant.  If it wouldn't mean an extra 20 hours of work for me each week, I'd say fuck it and petition my boss for a small raise and do the shit myself.  But I don't want to work 55 hours a week.  And I refuse to believe finding someone to fill that job long-term is impossible.

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Is Easter candy on sale today, or do I have to wait until tomorrow?  And why is everything open today?  Even the Book & Music Exchange was open.  I remember way back in 1998, Kat and I tried to find some shit to get into on Easter Sunday and it was like this town was on lockdown.  Even Wal-Mart and Meijer were closed.  I told Jimi, "It's a sign of the times, yo.  We're all a bunch of Godless heathens nowadays."

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I'm leaving the giveaway up for another week.  I really want to send you all of this shit from my house, so you really should go enter.  :)  

And I'm obviously the worst blogger ever.  I've been awarded the Versatile Blogger award four times (4?!) in the last few weeks, and I've not made the time yet to accept or acknowledge any of them.  Ixy (at Illusion), Carlia (at The Stork Drop Zone), LJB (at CrankyMonkeys In London), and Crystal (at Never In One Place) - Ladies, thank you, and I have no excuse other than it feels like life has been really hectic and crazy and I'm way far behind on everything.  (Over 1000 things to read in my Google Reader right now.  1000!!!  Like that'll ever happen.)  Anyhow, I'm sorry for being lame-o.  I'll fix it, promise.   

I think that's all I've got.  Happy Easter, Friends.