Sucking Wind With The Angels

convent bike

Go, can do it…what makes the bike easier to pedal..high gear or low gear?  Pant, pant..coming through.. middle aged woman racing to an early morning meeting with the angels today

They called me Sunday to set up an appointment, felt I needed to talk after a weekend of overflowing emotions. 

With little time to spare, I told the angels I could squeeze them in between school drop-off and leaving for work. 

Ride your bike , they insisted.  Hmm..faster than walking for sure..but those hills, oy vey..if y’all insist..I’m almost 50, and those hills..oh, o.k…

I arrived at their garden ,out of breath and embarrassed that I had to walk my bike up the final hill..with trembling legs i propped the bike, and dropped to a bench in Sister Hannah’s Angel Garden.

Nearby, a sister was kneeling in a garden, hands folded in prayer, her veils lifting gently in the breeze, the resident convent cat, also in black and white, purring around her hem.  She did not acknowledge my presence, did not lift her head from her folded hands..but I felt like she had my back.

Still sucking wind, I told the angels that my life at 50 is a tsunami of joy and sadness, gratitude and selfishness, contentment and agitation. I see how it’s going to be now.

Everyone is a preacher now…telling us we make our “choices” and I’m pretty sure “Thou Shalt Accept Every Piece Of Shit Thrown Your Way”  is the eleventh commandment..

I’m calling shenanigans on all of it.

Life is hard, unpredictable and sometimes just unbelievably sad. The angels wanted to know if I had come to complain..and did I know I had to be to work in an hour..get to the point.

OK. it’ friends..please help you only listen to the nuns?  I thought this garden was for sinners too?

The angels responded quickly.and did I detect sarcasm?  Of course..they were my angels, after all. 

“Wasn’t that you talking to your friend in aisle 3?”

Yes, that was me..the friend who has lost her husband and is raising her two young boys alone now.

“Go on”  

She spoke of  the small victories since her husband’s death, and she made me laugh, like she always does, when she and the boys finally figured out where the light bulbs had been stashed and changed their first light bulb without their Dad. She is such a good, strong mother..she always makes me smile. 

“Moving on..Wasn’t that you changing your friend’s bandages”

Yep..while nursing a broken heart from yet another husband gone too soon, she broke her shoulder.  I went to check on her . She has such an inner strength, a beautiful woman..every time I talk with her I want to be a better person, a more awake human. 

They got me..freakin’ angels..everyone’s a shrink.

Still behind me, I thought I saw a smile under the praying nun’s wimple. 

“Sometimes,” the angels said, “you have to get off and push the bike, you won’t have the strength to do will get there, a little slower..but you and the bike will arrive home eventually.  Get moving, dummy.”








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