It's really quite fascinating how our own perceptions color our memories the way they do.
I had this blog post all planned out to gush over how thankful I am that July has finally come to an end. And mercifully so. I was going to write about how it just seemed to take forever. I was going to go off on how boring and long and dead it was; how it was the month that just refused to end and how every day was just another horribly slow experience in running on the hamster wheel toward the much more interesting month of August and season of fall.
On some level, that is true. July is not the most hopping month by any stretch at the church. In fact, it is the least hopping. There is no hopping. There is standing still. It made for some excruciatingly dull office hours at times. Planning ahead was what I used to invigorate my spirit. Creating deadlines and tension for myself really helped me through at times.
To aid in what surely was going to be this cathartic release of pent-up hostility toward July, I pulled out my calendar. I looked back over it to see what I could point to in order to help my cause. And then it dawned on me that my perceptions of the month vs. what I've actually been doing are two different things.
Here's how I'm going to remember this July.
I'll remember Coffeeson getting his three-month pictures. Yeah. He's three months old already. We have this one 8x10 shot of him on the wall: he's next to a baseball and smiling right at the camera. That was a one in a million shot. I'll remember how much he likes to giggle now. He giggles at all sorts of things. I'll also remember the ultrasound that he had last week for a...ahem...manly issue. He decidedly did not giggle during that. But for the most part, he's a pretty happy little baby.
I'll remember going to jury duty, only to be told that I didn't have to serve jury duty. The guy was being brought up on various charges related to drunk driving. He actually stood around in the lobby with the prospective jurors beforehand--unkempt hair, scraggly beard, shirt half-buttoned so that his chest hair could pop out in all its glory. I didn't know it was him at the time, but afterwards there was no doubt. Another juror said that you could smell alcohol on him. Good times.
I'll remember meeting with the Emergent Cohort at a little hole-in-the-wall Indian food restaurant in Cuyahoga Falls. The discussion of the day was weighing the views of "the city" in scripture. If you want me to really explain this, let me know. I remember being disappointed when I quickly ascertained that my crab masala was made with the fake processed crab. I hope we don't meet there any more.
I remember attending a church member's graduation party, and the wedding the next weekend, both instances when I was invited to celebrate significant moments in young people's lives. I was applauded before I gave the prayer at the reception. There was "woo"ing involved. Those were fun. I'll also remember the DJ, who reminded me of actor Scott Caan, only playing bootilicious songs so that he could try macking on all the single women.
I'll remember working the Indians game and our spot squarely behind home plate.
I'll remember the Dave Matthews Band concert that I was just at last night. I'll remember the opening act, Ingrid Michaelson ("The Way I Am"...you've heard it, go look it up) rapping "Ice Ice Baby." I'll remember how heavily they seemed to favor "Crash," Tim Reynolds destroying everybody with his guitar solos, Carter Beauford doing likewise during a drum solo on "Two Step," Leroi Moore's conspicuous absence because of a recent hospitalization and being replaced by Jeff Coffin from the Flecktones, who also ripped it up during "#41."
So July was not the black hole of a month that I'd convinced myself it was. Granted, there sure seemed to be a lot of filler in between. But if I said that July was a horribly dead month, I'd be ignoring all of this.