Farewell, Old Friend...

One of the great tragedies (and there are many) of the scandal in the Catholic church the past few years is that the name of priest has been largely besmirched. We've heard about priest after priest acting in horrifyingly inappropriate ways, of abusing their posts and the trust that comes along with it. It's made many of us who grew up Catholic doubt the church as a whole, and priests in general. And that is a shame, because although far, far too many priests have indeed abused their posts, the tertiary victims here are the truly decent human beings who have gone into the priesthood with the most decent of intentions, those who have offered wisdom, guidance and caring to those of us who were (or in many cases, were not) members of their congregations.

One such priest, Father Clyde Chetwynde, was a huge part of my Catholic experience growing up. Whatever devotion I have left for the Catholic church comes largely from his teachings. He was someone I could discuss religion with, confess my sins to, ask my questions of, all without fear of judgment or reproach. He was someone who was devoted to bringing the youth back to the church, and whom parents could trust with their children, never having to fear that he would abuse that trust.

Father Clyde passed away on Saturday, and I, along with all those who were blessed to know him, will miss him greatly. Rest in peace, "God."

Simple Pleasures

It never fails to amaze me how much more simple pleasures mean to me since having my son. Honestly, I could easily spend a full day snuggling with him, smooching his cheeks, listening to him giggle and coo, and never be remotely bored. He's got about the greatest giggle I've ever heard...granted, I'm completely biased. He's such a little snuggle bug and he's got the sweetest smile and voice. It makes my Sunday scaries even worse than they've ever been because after having the weekend with him, I dread leaving him to go to work. I'd so much rather hang out with him. But I know it's good for him - he loves daycare and they love him. And it's good for me, too. Plus, I do like getting a paycheck. But...I think I could forego the paycheck for more time to listen to that giggle. Best. Sound. EVER.

BFF's

I've had the same best friend, more or less, since I was seven years old. I feel like that's somewhat rare in this day and age. We're really more like family at this point than friends. We drive each other crazy sometimes, we've had our clashes, we've gone for stretches not talking (not long stretches, mind you). But we've always made it back to being best friends. We rely on each other in a way that we can't rely on anyone else. We have a certain sensibility and sense of humor that we instinctively "get" with each other. And it's so comforting to have that - to know that I can write a three word email and she'll know exactly what I'm talking about - to know that I can cause her to dissolve in hysterics with a slight hand gesture signifying some years-old inside joke.

We went for drinks on Thursday night - our first cocktail night since I had my son. It was such fun. Then yesterday, I caught the scene in How Stella Got Her Groove Back when Angela Bassett's character is visiting Whoopi Goldberg's character in the hospital and Whoopi's near death. Scenes like that always kind of tear me up because I always think - what would I do if I lost my best friend? I mean, yea, I have the same thoughts when someone in a movie loses her husband or mother or child, but today I'm talking about my best friend. It just brings home the fact that I count on her in a million little ways that most of the time I don't even give a thought to. There is a certain kind of feedback that only she can provide. It's funny how you can know someone your whole life and most of the time, you don't even think to thank them for the million little things they might do for you, you know? So, I guess I want to thank my bff for being the funniest girl I know, the girl who got me through a million little heartaches, the girl who never judged me for my moments of bad judgment, the one who believed in me a million times I didn't believe in myself.