Some days

Some days, man.

This was one long convoluted meandering day. It is 10:30 pm and I am leveled.

I am too tired to figure out why I feel like crying. Exhaustion most likely. Low blood sugar? Probably.

I first went to watch an opera. I love opera. I love any opera by Verdi, the music is always, always the best. What I did not predict was the sheer ugliness of the sets and costumes. I had to close my eyes and just listen to get through some of it, Opera is kind of known for its beauty. But this director took a different approach and went rouge. I hope it was intentional so I can blame it on creative license, but this art was not beautiful. The time periods shifted and didn’t make sense. There came a whole religion part that had me googling to see if Verdi had a strong church affiliation (he didn’t, but perhaps the director does?) I truly wanted to get back to the barebones opera that it was intended to be. Lose the army helmets and surgical gloves and the terrible trench coat, but no.

I learned during the opera that the one easy part of my day had been replaced with a sizably less easy glitch. It got me out of the last hour of the opera anyway, but definitely did not make the rest of the day go better.

Then there was the baseball game. Luckily for us that went fast. For baseball. Our beloved player struck out each time he came to bat. We luckily had to leave Mudville a little early.

Then I had to hurry to get ready for the Galla. (In record time). I spent the next five, stress filled hours running around, I was there to see and support the grands, but ended up with a job I don’t know how to describe. I manned the lights, delivered messages, welcomed the band, soothed tearful children, quieted kids with nervous energy, checked in stranglers, directed parents, supported and thanked everyone doing their part. It was worth all of it, to see my kids, but wow, my feet paid a price, my brain did too. Emotions ran high. Kids were melting down left and right. We had a group of about twenty children there to preform for wealthy funders. If you know kids, waiting is not easy for them and this wait was long. They were kept out of sight in a big room with two in charge. The kids must have sensed the bigness of the night, because they just kept falling apart. Behind the scenes of an event is stressful.

When the band finally went on and the kids and parents had all gone home, I did not feel like dancing.

It was all fine in the end. There were many proud parents and real moments to be proud. There was an inspiring speech. A successful silent auction. A feeling that lives can be changed, schools could be built, kindness might matter.

One child, Helena, stood out. She was nervous, she told us. Everyone assured her that she would do great. It was a long wait, but when it was her turn, third speaking child, she froze. She got out two words then started to cry. The grown up with the other microphone filed in smoothly while Helena was absorbed back into group and you could see the back row consoling her. One nervous kid after another stumbled through their lines. There was a few pauses where the kids were still in front of the audience, but sitting off the stage. Then one by one they had to walk up and across the wide stage alone, take the microphone and say their lines to a real actor they’d just met.

Helena delivered her second part beautifully, with a big smile and no hesitation. Dispite what had just happened, she changed her energy and made what looked to me like the hardest, scariest thing, seem easy. My daughter-in-law and I held our breath as our girls made their way across the stage. We sighed audibly when it was over. All the parents did. The actor then took the microphone and addressed the kids. I think he was off script. He got emotional a few times. Something about watching all those kids do some hard things, inspired me. I won’t forget Helena.

As I make my way home, hungry and tired, after spending too long out of my comfort zone, absorbing too much stress and nerves of too many different people for way too many hours, my own energy is off.

Thank you, Helena for your shining example of changing energy under the hardest of circumstances. You made it look easy!

Epilogue

It actually took me the whole next day to regulate. The name Helena means ‘shining light’. I just looked it up, I thought it was going be bravery or courage. Shining light is better and truly more fitting. Helena’s shining light was inspiring, courageous, yes, brave, absolutely, but her ability to shift to a better energy in such a short time, is what I will always remember about her.