Prayers for my Conversion, The Beatles and Other Random Thoughts

Some time ago, I noted that I do not drink coffee, and someone left me an adorable comment about praying for my conversion.  Well, sweet little anonymous person, your prayers have come true.  In my effort to lose some weight, get more energy and lose some bad habits, I decided today to begin drinking iced coffee.  This, you see, in place of the addictive poisonous beverage (the name of which I won't mention) which has no nutritional value and packs on unwanted pounds in no time, particularly around the mid-line.

I have tried giving up my favorite drink before and I succeeded for awhile, but like sin, it beckoned me to have just one sip, and one sip followed another and before I knew it,  I drifted back into my bad habit and became addicted again.  I have been wanting to give up the sweet sugary drink for months but I just didn't have the fortitude to deal with the caffeine-withdrawal headache that usually comes with that particular effort.  Last week, the oldest left behind her iced coffee drink and it looked so enticing I gave it a sip and I thought: I could do this.  So today, I got up, went for a look hot walk, and stopped by the local donut purveyor for a cold cup straight up.  It wasn't bad and despite the long walk in hot and humid conditions, I didn't have my usual brink of collapse at Mass.  In fact, I felt pretty good, with no hint of a headache.

Anyway, I'm going to try and stick this out.  I just ordered a bag of Carmel-flavored coffee from the Mystic Monks (they spell it Carmel, a fitting play on words) via you-know-who's blog. (I can't help it, I'm a sucker for people when they're down, and he seems very down.) I have a couple of weeks off before I start the new job, God-willing, and there's no time like the present to try to get my act together.

I really do feel like an enormous weight has been lifted from my shoulders.  Now it's time to lift some from the rest of me.

Friday, the little miss spent the day in NYC with someone who is like an aunt to her.  She went to her 3rd Paul McCartney concert in as many years.  I saw Sir Paul once, back in the early 90's in Philadelphia, and while it was a great concert, once was enough.  All of my kids grew up singing Beatles' tunes, but only Rebecca has carried her interest into her teen years.  I love that though she is a teenager, she does not care enough about her appearance not to wear Union Jack socks, peace sign earrings and Fab-Four t-shirt topped off by her Beatles shoulder bag.  She was in her glory.

The other day I was listening to the radio on the way home from work and I heard "Norwegian Wood" and noticed some things about it I simply hadn't heard before.  I was a small child when the Beatles came into their own and I spent hours listening to their 45's on a little record player I had.  I often thank God I wasn't a teenager then because I don't know how I would have reacted to their music.  I enjoy their music as much as any Beatles' fan, but there are times when I wonder about their influence on pop culture and subsequently, on morality and social mores.  If the organ is the instrument designated by the Church as the only appropriate accompaniment at Mass, what, then, is the electric guitar?  I might prefer not to know.  I love sacred music, but it would be an enormous sacrifice to give up listening to rock.  If asked, I would do it, but I don't know that I could voluntarily refrain from hearing "Please Please Me" again.  (The harmonica and the vocals make that song, not the evil electric guitar).

I am enormously grateful for the fact that tomorrow is a Monday, and I will be able to spend it away from work.  Now if the Phillies don't completely collapse and give way to the Mets, it will be a pretty good weekend.  God-willing, I will try to finish it off by some time in Adoration this evening.