I don’t think that’s the only reason, though. It’s definitely one reason – here my dream house is going up for auction starting at $10,000 and I can’t buy it. That’s grounds to be a little bummed.

For those who are wondering why not: terms of sale are cash, for one thing; and I already have a mortgage on the little condo Canuck and I are calling home, for another. Unloading a property in Michigan in this economy is the stuff prayers are made of (which is why that house is up for auction right now). Besides, on my salary we’re in no position to maintain a house like that. Even if we got the house for $40 or $50 K, and could finance it, what happens when you need a new roof, or the septic field – which I guarantee that house has – goes kaputt? Old houses need ready cash. (Just ask my poor dad, who has owned several, including a notorious money pit about fifty years older than the house we’re talking about, and a barn of a house from the 1920s that was, I gather, a nightmare to heat.)

Anyway. I can see that that’s part of what’s making me sad.

But I think more of it is that I’m looking at this 100+ year old house – maintained very well if the exterior is any indicator – that someone else has loved and lost.

People other than me loved this house enough to maintain it to last the past 108 years: through wars and the Depression and lots of lean times. And maybe it’s my imagination, but I think it looks like a house that’s held a lot of love. How do you fill four bedrooms, but with family and friends?

But the last someone who had this house…who knows? Maybe they couldn’t afford it when they bought it. Or maybe they bought a different house expecting to be able to sell this one (because it’s been on the market for some time), only to find that the bubble had burst, and they made two payments for as long as they could, until… Or maybe they lost a job – or two, or more - and simply ran out of savings.

I don’t personally know anyone who I know to have fallen in the first category, but I know plenty of people who fall in the other two. And I suppose a lot of what’s making me so sad about this house is that it reminds me of those people. It reminds me of friends and acquaintances who, through bad decisions or bad luck (and in some cases, both) have lost their financial footing and are trying to get it back in other, less economically ravaged areas. It reminds me of others I know who are on the edge, or near it, and who are living every day with the knowledge that that could happen to their house next.

Yeah.

I think that’s why I’m so sad to see it up for auction.

It’s Michigan in a nutshell.

“The florist called. He can’t get the one and only kind of flower that he thought would work perfectly with your impossible-to-match bridesmaid dresses, so he’s talking about buying white flowers and dyeing them. When can we go look at a sample?” (That would be “Tomorrow after work, Alex”!)

“This is the hotel where you blocked rooms. One room for your block has been reserved. The block will automatically lift today. Please contact any guests who might need rooms and encourage them to book quickly.” (I know darned well more people were planning to book rooms, but with the last two things, I didn’t have time to deal with it, and begged a 48-hour extension.)

Yes, this was all within a 24-hour span. The last 24 hours, to be specific.

(Jill, I’m running low on Cosmo and Canuck couldn’t find it at our Kroger. Think you could score me a couple more boxes? I’ve still got a bar and a quarter of Sympathy, but the way things are going, that could change quickly…)

My cycle is all wonky. I’m afraid I’m perimenopausal. Canuck thinks it’s stress. He’s probably right.

I’m feeling broke, helpless, and anxious. And I have to go to Confession.

Oh – and I’m still calling people who haven’t RSVP’d. I’m not sure how much credence to give the claims of never having received the invitations, but anything is possible.

Did you know my sister thinks I’m about the most laidback bride she’s known? I’m very afraid of the other brides she’s known…

I’m not sure I can catch up on all the Jaibee challenge missed days in one night, so let me just list off a few things and we’ll see what else I have to add on tomorrow and the next day:

Today (T minus 17 days and counting): I love that he “gets” why we’re doing this, and keeps redirecting me to the bottom line. Which, of course, is that even if the flowers are nonexistent, the reception venue breaches their contract, and we get a whole bunch of un-RSVP’d guests…we’re still getting married. If my dress doesn’t come in, we can still get married. If someone has a psychotic break and runs through the church singing Edelweiss, we can still get married (after we have our burliest guests remove the unfortunate person from the church and restrain him/her).

We’re getting married. Period.

The other thing that’s been at the forefront of my mind today in terms of what I love about him is how good care he always tries to take of me. He can’t always do it – sometimes it’s just beyond human capacity – but he always tries, and he usually does a really good job.

So that’s Day 16.

I’m too tired to come up with more right now. I’ll try to do a couple extra tomorrow. I’m off to have more Cosmo and Sympathy (that’s actually Symphony, but I like Sympathy as a name), and to snuggle up with my poor under-the-weather sweetie.

It hit me this morning as I was driving to work. The last few days – well, really, almost a week – I’d been having little pity parties. Poor me this, I’m so ill-used that. You know. We all have them – at least, every person I know does – and hopefully we do our best to keep them to a minimum and in reasonable check.

When I was finishing my undergrad, I was researching a paper that dealt with the Serbian Orthodox Church’s responses to the fragmentation of Yugoslavia. I never ended up writing the paper – long story. However, the research I was doing included delving into a lot of European news services of the time, and reading all the stories related to the conflict and the region more generally. (I was looking for evidence of whether the church had spoken out, and if so, what had been said.)

Anyway. So I’m burying myself in news reports of the time, which (not surprisingly) are dripping with quotes from Serb leaders from Milosevic on down, plus the commentary from the church (which was, also unsurprisingly, pretty Serb-friendly), all of which goes on and on about how the Serbs are the real victims here, yadda yadda.

When you’re that immersed in propaganda, it’s hard to keep perspective. At one point I found myself getting very indignant on behalf of the poor beleaguered Serbs. I mean, what did they really do, anyway?

And then I shook myself and said, “Hello, self – Srebrenica?!?!” (Among other things, of course, but that was the one that jarred me back to reality.)

Now, my point isn’t that we should all hate on the Serbs. My point is that, given sufficient exposure to deceit, one can sometimes succumb to it and deceive oneself. Sometimes one needs a reality check.

And that’s what I’d been doing with my little pity parties.

So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sit down and make myself remember at least a dozen big blessings in my life. I have a job, for one, and it’s even one that I like. I have a roof over my head, and a car to drive between home and work (and hey, gas prices are down!). Food in my cupboards and the ability to buy more. A much-beloved fiancé, who has already received his visa to come here and marry me. The freedom to marry him in our church, without having to post guards at the door to tell us if government agents are coming to shut down the service and arrest the attendees. Family and friends whom I love and who love me. Two very sweet, very affectionate (if sometimes obnoxious) cats, and several more critters in my extended family. The prospect of children. Both parents (and step-parents) still living and reasonably healthy.

And that’s just a start. Anything I might have to complain about seems pretty meager compared to all that.

No, natural-disaster-wise we do pretty doggone well. We get tornadoes from time to time, but nothing like they get on the prairies. We get an occasional tiny tremor, but if you even notice it, you usually think that a big truck just went by. We did have some flooding out in Clinton Township what, last year? But all in all, pretty good.

I’m really just taking a bit of a dig at myself. I live quite close to Lake St. Clair (hel-LO, fish flies!), and for some reason, presumably having to do with the waste-water treatment infrastructure, my condo association asks us not to do laundry when it’s raining.

Except that I am about out of work-appropriate clothes that I can bring myself to wear. And I stayed home from our parish novena tonight to do laundry, so that I can dress appropriately when I go tomorrow (and read the Scripture reflection, eek!).

Speaking of reading the Scripture reflection, the verses I’ve been asked to read are from one of the Gospels (specifically Luke 11:9-13). I know that within the context of the Mass only a priest or deacon with faculties should proclaim the Gospel. Does anyone have any particular knowledge of whether it’s appropriate for me, as a laywoman, to read from the Gospel from the ambo at a parish devotion like that? (Friendly neighborhood canon lawyer, I would surely appreciate it if you were to pipe up on this…)

I know I won’t be having a pity party for myself for at least the rest of the week after seeing this. Please say a prayer for this family.

Also, my co-worker’s husband is in the hospital (intensive care) due to complications from alcoholism; they need prayers as well.

Finally, I just heard that my aunt got laid off from her job. She’s 57; divorced; has a mortgage, several pets and two adult children of varying dependency levels; and is less than a year past having had a massive brain aneurysm that nearly killed her. She needs a job with health insurance – please pray.