The best thing I've ever done

At the present moment I'm sprawled out on our family room carpet, my laptop groaning under the weight of Casa Bigelow* dial-up and my lungs aching after seizing a couple hours of no-one-else-home to catch up on some Vision musical practice, forgetting about how little oxygen the air actually contains at a mile above sea level. And here I thought I was immune to the altitute. And I dare call myself a native Coloradoan. So disgraced right now. Dis. Grace.

*Oh that means Bigelow House. DARN IT no rrrrr's to roll in that one, I HATE when that happens. WHEW, good thing I was here to translate. I figured I'd start warming up now if I'm going to make it big as next year's Rachel Jurkowskanandez [pronounced "yurrrrrr-KOW-ska-NAN-dez-puerrrrrto-RRRRRICOOOO"].

Tour ended yesterday and I got home this morning after a glorious 4 a.m. wake up call and ride to Chicago with Josh and Clarissa. Amid the goodbyes and hugs and the reunions and the more hugs and the past 12 hours (to the minute, would you believe) of getting reaquainted with the little sister I guiltily abandon for 9 out of every 12 months of the year, in all the little silences and moments of peace (including the one right now) it's the words of Andy Lawton that continue to ring in my mind.

"This is the best thing I've ever done."

Maybe it's just because I remember saying the same thing to Jessica after we left the Grotto that night of the Senior Concert. But of all the seniors' beautiful words during wrap up, none rang as true for me as Andy's did. Nothing profound. Just true. Of all the things I've done in my entire life, of all the teams I've been apart of, all the clubs, all the groups, of anything I've ever said or written or accomplished in all 20 years of my life, this is the greatest thing I have ever done. This is the greatest gift I've ever been given. All I've been able to think about since that moment is how grateful I am. Grateful for the seniors, for the choir, for Steve and Karen, for everyone. For the look on the deaf kids' faces in Schaumburg when Matt started signing during the concert. For the guy who came up to me in Red Wing and asked me to teach him to play the bodhran. For the joy. God, for the so much joy, for answered prayers, for the miracles that just happen, without burning bushes and earthquakes and halos and stuff, and for the world that goes on its way and doesn't even realize that everything is new. For the brightest moon ever and the list of all the incriminating things in Mary's purse for Michele to find, especially the original manuscript of Rosa Mystica. For Jessica Mannen who is the best tour coordinator in the entire world and also just... pretty much the best in the entire world. For Cassie's kind words after wrap up and the quote book and getting to teach a 2nd grader named Graham how to play the tambourine on African Gloria. For Andres and his 'fro, hugs and naps and back massages, for nuns and modern art and for the old ladies who made us sing for them after lunch in the middle of the MOA Italian restaurant. For my aunt and uncle who came to the last concert, and for Dismissal Amen, and for that one kid right front and center at Holy Family who fearlessly sang along to everything even though the rest of his peers looked like they were waiting for the perfect moment to storm the gym floor and kill us all. For being initiated. For Sean Pietrini talking and being hilarious. For host families, the Kirner family, the Folk Choir family, for my family and all our families, for Holy Family Catholic High School. For shattered preconceptions. And for not letting go yet and opening our eyes and looking around. If I live to be 15o, I'll never forget that moment.

St. Cecilia, pray for us.


I'm gonna go ahead and refer you to Jessica, who deserves like a twelve minute long standing ovation and the most glorious back massage in the world right about now, for a more comprehensive tour wrap up. I just realized that this blog serves no purpose whatsoever other than to chronicle with poor use of punctuation whatever half-formed thoughts happen to roll across my heart at a given moment and also perhaps to immortalize in cyberspace my passionate embrace of the run-on sentence. I'm glad you're here though. Add you to the list. I'm grateful for you. I hope your day is filled with miracles and wonder.

I'm glad this happened.