Sunday I took my grandson, Connor, to see Secretariat. The movie was okay, nothing great, and it had the kind of sappy music score I can’t stand. But it’s a Disney flick, so what was I expecting, right?
Connor’s been squeamish about going to the movies with me ever since that little episode when I almost bit the heads off a young Asian couple for talking during The Karate Kid, and when the little 5-year-old girl behind us started getting antsy, he gave me a look that said it all. I assured him that I’m not gonna yell at a little kid sitting in a Disney film. Plus I was getting antsy, too.
After the movie we went to my sister Lori’s house for dinner, which she could barely get on the dining room table because she was on Day Two of being (justifiably) wigged out over losing her wallet Friday night. Once again I asked her the usual annoying questions like, “Where did you have it last?” (duh) and “When did you notice it was missing?” But this time I added, “Did you pray to St. Anthony?”
Seeing that we’re not Catholic, she hadn’t considered that last question, but seeing that in high school I had a boyfriend with a full-blooded Italian mother, I’ve been praying to St. Anthony to help me find stuff for years.
So in the midst of a house full of my relatives yakking away, I sat in the kitchen and said, “St. Anthony, please lead me to Lori’s wallet.” Then I quieted my mind after a few moments, I got up and walked out to my car, which she’d been in Friday night. I’d checked the car before, but this time I was guided by St. Anthony.
I went to lock the car, then caught myself. I had to look on the back floor.
Then for some reason, I looked in a nearly empty box on the back seat that had a few Bastard Husband books in it. There it was! Within minutes of praying to St. Anthony, I had her wallet in my hand.
Later that night on the way home, I told Connor that after you pray to St. Anthony, you have to be sure to quiet your mind. Otherwise, you won't receive his direction and know where to look; you can't hear anything if you're chattering away yourself, right?
I learned in my yoga training that when you pray, you talk to God, and when you meditate, God talks to you. Or, if you're not a big God person, think of it as letting your own intuition talk to your conscious mind. So if you need direction on something, you can't keep pray, pray, praying. You have to clear your mind of any thoughts so the answer can come to you.
Connor always listens to me very politely, and since usually I'm spouting this stuff off when he's trapped in the car with me, what's the poor kid gonna do? I like to think maybe some will stick when he gets older and he'll remember some of this wise bullshit from his granny.
The truth is, I have to talk with him about nice things like prayer and meditation. Connor's my Facebook friend--I have to balance out posts like this one.
Plus, I have to make up for harassing noisy movie-goers, right? Can't give him the wrong impression about his granny.