Rondo for Harmonica

I was at work, eyeball-deep in the familiar comfort-zone of Excel spreadsheets, making the equivalent of free throws (i.e. challenging enough to be interesting and but very makeable) when my wife called. "Lenny died," she said. It sounded like a joke. The husband of my brother-in-law's sister was healthy and thin and fit. He'd just had a physical. How it happened was eerily familiar: on a treadmill, running, keeled over, dead before he hit the ground. And now another middle-aged widow. So sad. And almost a year to the day of Michael D... May Lenny, who was a true mensch and all around good guy, rest in the peace of God.

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I've an RSS aggregator on the iPod and it's a headrush to see a new Betty Duffy post. It's funny how a name can resonate after the proper positive associations, such that "Betty Duffy" can eventually sound as alluring as "Bette Davis". No plain Jane, her latest post quotes her confessor nailing it: "you have chosen well." She's living the textbook Catholic life and I'm somewhat envious. A thousand pardons begged for the Betty Duffy fanzine aspect of this blog lately.

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I've been reading Healing the Family Tree by Rev. Hampsch and am surprised to learn that my self-reported heroism should not be satirized. On my blogger profile, I said that the first heroic deed of my life was being born, in shucking the amniotic fluid for oxygen. But he makes clear that birth is a traumatic event and I suppose we shouldn't shrug it off just because everybody goes through it. Heroism isn't optional to the Christian life, but it's also not exceptional, which is a comfort. The saints were heroes, but then so are those who go through Purgatory and become saints.

Modern science is finding that that which is hidden matters so much more than we know. That the first 72 hours of life matter crucially, as does the time spent in the womb (Hampsch says a baby can tell if it's wanted or not). The life before we can recall is vital, including the event (for cradle Catholics) of our Baptism. Let us never take for granted the things we cannot see or remember.

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Cranked up Mozart's "Rondo for Violin" on the drive into work today. The smoothest of smooth commutes, the 40 degree air was scented with the slightest olfactory of spring. I think I'm actually becoming a morning person. I get so much out of things like "Morning Joe", the morning java, a hot shower and the iPod. Not to mention a a creamy cinnamon roll or a bowl of Cheerios.

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Found a Facebook entry for a girl I had a crush on in college. She looks different enough that I likely wouldn't recognize her in person, despite the fact that she hasn't gained much weight. Now she's so domesticated! Such a solid citizen! Married over 20 years to the same guy. A grade-school teacher all these years. The wild streak seems gone.