Close Enough

I may have mentioned that my family of origin? Not so much into traditions. Perhaps the way some families aren't into vegetables. I've seen them line up their offspring at Souplantation and allow all the kids to fill their plates with shredded cheese, olives, and eggs. One day, one of those kids is going to become a raw foods diet enthusiast. Just wait. And I'm not sure whether it will be an act of rebellion, or an attempt to end years of malnutrition.

So maybe it was rebellious of me to want to attend Midnight Mass. Maybe I was just soothing a latent longing for the scent of myrrh so strong it burned my eyes a little. For processions of priests and altar servers in special Christmas vestments. For an Advent wreath and Mary looking out over a hedge of poinsettias. It was almost okay that only one person stood briefly when the choir started singing the Hallelujah Chorus and my don't-stand-out-in-a-crowd part of me had to fight with my this-isn't-right part throughout the entire, very beautiful song. Every sensory detail of the service was wonderful.

Just as Father John began the homily, at about 12:10, I think the police report reads, a friend of ours came up to the pew and called d out of the church. Of all the cars in the parking lot and down all the nearby streets, someone thought it was a lucrative choice to break into my twelve-year-old vehicle and steal my worth-almost-nothing stereo. And my husband's sunglasses. And a birthday card which contained a five dollar gift card to Jamba Juice. They left my cool new basketball which claims that it will stay well inflated for over a year. And they passed over my ream of canary photocopier paper. They also left my CPR mask. My husband came back in and sat through the remainder of the mass with me. Instead of heading to Denny's afterward for pancakes, which I had thought might be fun, we helped our friends (who ironically are in charge of security and therefore felt doubly bad about the break in at their church) clean out enough of the glass to drive home. Without a driver's door window. In the cold. Then we had to make room to park the car in the garage, which took awhile because all the junk that used to be in my office hasn't quite made its way to the Salvation Army yet.

Not exactly how I pictured Christmas Eve, what with being burglarized and getting to bed past 3 am, but not too far off either. I got my infusion of tradition, and a fresh reminder that things are replaceable and aren't really so important.