There are so many ways in which I’m grateful for the experiences I get to be a part of in my everyday life: they are about as interesting and diverse as any man could hope for. I should think that there is no better example of diversity than the three seperate outings of my last 24 hours.
Last night I attended Johann Sebastian Bach’s St. John’s Passion performed by the Chicago Bach Project at St. Vincent’s in Lincoln Park. To say it was a special event within the confines of Holy week would be a bit of an understatement. This same ensemble has performed during Holy week at Notre Dame in Paris for the last ten years. What a special privelege to hear them in our own hometown. Despite my lingering illness I decided to go because a kind friend had secured tickets to this rare event. I told him that it was an experience I would have never opened my mind to in my old days, but oh how grateful I was to have grown new eyes. I returned home at night invigorated and exhausted all at once.
Then today I had the great good fortune to get a nice lunch at Hub 51 with an old friend before heading off to opening day. It’s my second year of having a portion of a Cub’s season ticket package, another experience I’m quite sure I never would have previously explored. My partner and ticket holder for my second consecutive opening day was a co-worker and giant Cub’s fan who also co-writes the Cub’s Den blog for the Tribune. I’m lucky to have such a knowledgeable seat partner. Our conversations are engaging whether they are about baseball, work or life in general. Click on that link above and check out his work when you have a minute. Last year we swore we would never go back on opening day because it was so cold. Today we made the same promise. I’m pretty sure that next year we’ll make the same promise yet again.
I got a short visit in with my girl after the game and before she had to leave for the night. Then after I dropped her off at work I was looking for something to do since I’m still forcing myself to rest up from yoga classes or working out. I stumbled upon a Holy Thursday service at a church I’d never been to called St. John Cantius on Carpenter Rd. at Chicago Ave. The beauty of this church in my mind surpassed Chicago legends Holy name and Old St. Pat’s. It was like stepping back in time with mass said in Latin and kneeling at the altar to recieve communion. All of the statues of Jesus and the crucifixion were shrouded in plush purple velvet. Dozens of celebrants participated in the Holy Thursday mass ceremony down to and inculding a re-enactment of the washing of the feet from the Last Supper.
I came home, made my current favorite dinner of Vietnamese noodle soup and un-plugged from the world for a few before I sat down and started writing. A fairly active schedule I admit for someone who is resting up and trying to heal, but how can you pass up all these opportunities to feel so alive? I’ve got a few more tricks up my sleeve for the weekend and there will be stories I’m sure. For now I’m off to use that 4-letter word again and get some r-e-s-t. Stay tuned…