The dignified silence of the strawberry.

One of the little baby girls in church today was staring with fascination at my nose.  I found out later that her latest obsession is strawberries.  Coincidence?

Yes, my face is singed with the Californian sun.

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Godmomma is a real fairy godmother of a godmother.  I have been utterly spoiled.  At one point during our stay in the monastery, my friend (oh, what to name her? hmmm …. ) said, "I saw Godmomma walking out of the bookstore with her arms FULL of books."  Later we each received a beautifully-bound copy of the "Spiritual Psalter" by Ephraim the Syrian.  I know a lot more of those books went into her suitcase to be distributed among friends and family back home.  She is so giving.  Not to mention, she wouldn’t let us pay for our meals/poolside drinks even once while we were staying in the hotel by the beach.

I don’t think I’ll ever get to luxuriate like that again.  It was glorious.

Quite the juxtaposition, though.  Three days of minor asceticism (eating only the vegan meals of the nuns – not that we were ever hungry; in fact they seemed to be overwhelmed with food, and endlessly contriving to use up fresh veggies before they went bad), followed by two days of hedonism.

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At one point I had a headache of repressed tears and general malaise, and found myself with my head in my friend’s lap, in our little guest trailer.  She was smearing my peppermint oil on my head, and I was sniffling to her: "When I finally said goodbye to the Friar, I felt like I was saying goodbye to the children that never would be."

To be saying goodbye to the Friar again while staying with the nuns – that was a complete surprise.  I suspect the goodbye will go on all throughout my passionate life, in intervals.

I had an appointment with the abbess just after that sniffly talk with my friend.  I really loved the abbess.  At the end of our talk she told me, "You are in a good place," and "Keep flexible – you never know what is around the corner."  My question for her had been if it was possible to be called to be a nun even if one dreaded it, in fact, was utterly sorrowful about it.  She had said to that, "I won’t say it’s impossible – I wouldn’t presume – but it would be very unusual.  Most come to the monastery with eagerness."  I had asked my question in the first place because I had had almost the same feeling, upon arriving at the monastery and slipping into their compline service, that I had had my first time in an Orthodox church.  A sense of utter joy, recognition, and ominous inevitability, quickly turning into wariness and caution.

Gallagher once told me "Clearly you were called to contemplation.  Don’t you dare call it cowardice."  when nuns were the furthest thing from my mind.  (Have I ever mentioned Gallagher and Ennis on OD?  Too much to explain if I haven’t.  If anyone knows about them, I have to give an update: Ever since becoming Orthodox, I have stopped receiving visits from them, largely because I think they have stepped forward into the light and let fall the masks.  They were what they were at the time but have stepped aside for something more real that they pointed to.)

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We left the monastery with promises to visit again someday.  Then followed two days of utter pampering.  The very first thing my friend and I did was to simultaneously have a shower and a bath (they were separate units in the bathroom).  I was in the tub covered in bubbles.  We tried to remember the song about the glories of hot water from the Fellowship of the Ring (the book).  We picked up and smelled every single free bath product in the hotel room, lounged around in the fluffy white bathrobes, bounced on the beds.  In the mornings we made coffee (they had a free coffee maker thingie in there) and sat out on the balcony, reading and sipping.

Godmomma and Matushka were nextdoor in their room, and our last night there, we went to visit them and watch Last Chance Harvey all together.  Matushka and Godmomma had a popcorn fight of sorts in their bed but my friend and I remained dignified with dark, bitter chocolate and strawberries.

The movie was good enough – not the sort of thing I’d want to see again, but satisfying at the time.  I thought of the abbess’ words.  "Keep flexible.  You never know what is around the corner."

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On our way back home, we stopped at a Macaroni Grill near the border.  Matushka is a constant doodler and water-colour-er.  I had watched, with admiration, the way she could set up her sketchbook and paints in a matter of seconds, and start to paint whatever scene was before her.  She could even do this sitting in the back seat of a car on the freeway!  And I felt my fingers itching to draw again.  I used to do it all the time.  In fact it was one of the things that constituted "Music Shivers."  One of the things I was known for.  So when we got our crayons and paper tablecloth at the Macaroni Grill, I said to Matushka, "I think it’s time to wake this part of me up again," and fell to.  I ignored my salad when it came.  I was too busy drawing a woman with lowered eyes holding out a bowl of clear water.  Then I picked at my salad and forgot about my main course as I drew a woman (to the left of my plate) kneading dough on a rough wooden table.  It was sheer joy to see thought turn to image through my fingers again.  Matushka leaned over from where she had been doodling rabbits, viney foliage, and mysterious faces peeping from behind leaves, and said, "Oh yes, you really must get back to drawing, Music Shivers."  I felt glowy and full of a sense of well-being.

One thing I had noticed while we were on this trip.  I had had absolutely no sense of trying to "put myself out there."  I never felt a need to explain to anyone anything about myself.  It was as if I had made a pact with myself not to speak, except to ask questions, or tell funny anecdotes if they came to me.  So it was right at the end of our time with the nuns when Matushka mentioned to them, "Oh, Music Shivers is a chanter at our church, and a fantastic musician."  One of the nuns said matter-of-factly "She had a lovely voice when she chanted for us."  It was nice to feel matter-of-factly myself, and gifted, and blessed, without needing to prove anything.  And it was a relief to deflect the conversation to the gifts of the people around me.  Each and every nun and novice was gloriously herself; we commented on how each complemented the whole community.

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I’m not really ready to be back home.

There’s still so much to be done.