The spirit that resides in all of us......

is for real.....I heard it in a song....


"O Come O Come Emmanuel".....that was the song. A Christmas carol. I have no idea what the words are. But, my Uncle Patsy does.




So, as I was saying...
I've been in this grand funk the past few weeks. Believe me, if I knew why, I'd tell you. One minute I think I know. The next minute I don't. Then, the next minute, it's something else. Then, the next it's not. Well...you get the picture...my grand funk seems to be fickle. Add this fickle grand funk to everything else that's going on in my world and then top it off with the holiday stuff and what you've got is a teary, anxiety-ridden, moody Judi. A Judi who can't sleep, can't concentrate and can't remember if she put gas in her car. I find myself *this* close to crying every hour and I'm having waves of panic grip me. It's not a good feeling. At all. So, I've been thinking--I either need chill pills, a month at a spa, one of those personal assistants the stars all have or a good night's sleep followed by a problem-free, unchaotic, noise-free day. What I didn't need was a day like yesterday. But, that's just what I got.

And, that leads me back to the song.....

So, without going into details as to how it all happened...I'll just say this---I had charge of my dear Uncle Patsy yesterday. Now, I think I've told you about him. He's my dad's younger brother (he's 86). He lived a colorful and madcap playboy life on the trendy side of town. A life filled with the kind of girls you don't marry, politician friends, glitzy parties, fancy cars, dapper clothes and good Irish whiskey. He had the smooth good looks of a movie star and the debonair personality of a count. His life was so full that he never had any children---just my 2 sisters and I--his 3 nieces--who he dotted on when he wasn't whisking away to some exotic place or partying too hard. And, we adored that man like crazy. He was a walking party in our sedate little suburban life. About 8 years ago, he married a wonderful woman. About 5 years ago, he slowly began to fall into the grips of dementia. His blue eyes still sparkle. He greets people with the same polished manner he did for years..."Top of the Morning to Ya..."--and his conversation is peppered with charming one-liners, appreciative thank yous and sweet compliments. He treats everyone as a friend and is an impeccable gentleman. Yet, the only person on this planet who he knows is my father--his brother Frankie. He has no idea what day it is, where he lives, how he got to where he is and what's going on at any given moment.

Okay...okay....I'm getting to the part about the song. I just had to set it up...

I'm not crazy about going to Sunday night Mass. I prefer Saturday night or early Sunday morning. But, with a slew of parties on Saturday and the fact that my father just can't seem to get himself out the door earlier than 1 pm, we went to 7:30 Mass last night. Since I had charge of my uncle--he was coming with us. Even though he had been to Mass earlier in the day with his wife. But, he didn't remember so it was no big deal. I just hope there's no Catholic law that would forbid someone from having Communion twice in one day. Maybe if you don't remember the first time, it doesn't count. Vatican III might address that...

Anyway, as I was saying....I'm in this grand funk. Add that to not wanting to go to Sunday night mass and having to deal with my uncle on a day when I had a list as long as my arm to get done and well....I was not very pleased. I had this woe is me attitude all day and I was feeling mighty miserable. Not at all in the Christmas spirit.

I'm getting to the part about the song....

As I was waiting for Mass to begin (another pet peeve of mine...my dad insists on getting there extremely early so he can say the rosary)...the choir was practicing. They were singing carols. I sat and listened--hoping to ward off my grand funk and my relentless anxiety. As I lost myself in my thoughts...I heard it. The strong, velvety and melodic voice of my uncle. Singing. Clear and precise. Filled with emotion and beauty. I checked to see if he was singing from the book. No. He was singing the words on his own. Singing those words not from memory but from somewhere else. From his spirit....the spirit that remains. The spirit that resides in each of us....
I heard it last night in his song....