Day of Rest

Sunday is traditionally a day of rest. I try to be observant of this to the best of my abiliity. Even when there is a wedding or some other special event going on, it's good to know that people still think of the Greystone campus as a former monastery. Thankfully some people hold the property in reverential awe ( perhaps it's the pews or Georgian arches that make people think of this as a monastery. )As a concierge, I do NOTHING to dispel this romantic notion. It is a pleasure when the voices in the Atrium lobby are in a hushed tone. Children who run around yelling are the bane of my serenity.When I went to mass this morning in St. Helena, I missed most of the sermon because of two children behind me who were figiting, crying, complaining and yelling. Five minutes into the mass, a late arrival plopped herself down next to me reeking of cigarettes. She startled me, and I scooched over without appearing like I was trying to physically remove myself entirely from the vicinity. I realized how sensitive I am to light, smell, movement, noise and touch. Truthfully, my maturity as an adult is directly contingent upon my ability to exercise patience and tolerance in the most trying of situations.I am not the only one who suffers... we ALL do! Given that I do have a choice to react or respond every moment of my life, I do make every attempt to strengthen my emotional resolve.