Easy, Peasy. Not

This week I was given multiple opportunities to once again acknowledge that I am not God and don't know what's best for anyone else. How easy it is to think that I do! And how easy it is to forget that I can't see the whole picture. Even the most put together people can be fighting battles that are invisible to the casual observer or even friend. I got reminded of that this week. It was humbling.

And then I spent time with someone whose praise and applause I so desperately want and who I often feel judgement from. Someone that made me want to bang the table and shriek, "Change already, you thick headed fool."

I hashed it all out with my sponsor last night who knows everyone in the story and she gave me good direction in seeing my part in it. There's always a my part of it in any situation. I'd really be screwed wouldn't I if there wasn't? I mean trying to do something about someone else's part in it could be very frustrating. Just ask me. I know.


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Wondering

"I never believed you when you said alcoholics don't sip their drinks."

Only daughter and I had just come from my home group AA meeting. As a result of what she'd heard in that meeting she believed me now. (And there may be some alcoholics who are able to sip their drinks. I never could.)Because it was an open meeting and she hadn't been to one since she was a young child, I asked if she wanted to come with me. It was a good meeting. They aren't always. Some meetings seem deeper and fuller than others. If that makes sense. It does to me.

"Raw honesty. That's what stood out for me," she added.

I wonder if I take for granted what only daughter saw as incredible?

PS. I wrote this post way back in the summer and forgot about it. The photo is for only daughter. For once she woke up to the first snow of the season today while we...cough....cough...um, didn't. That may never happen again.

Roadie

I'm off on a bit of a road trip tomorrow so I might be scarce around these parts for a few days. I've been sick all weekend so I'm not looking forward to a 500 mile drive but all things considered I'll be glad at the other end of it. And the fact that I have the money to put the gas in the tank and food in my belly is not being taken for granted. I hope.


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She Is A Keeper

"We should be home early."

That's part of a text message my mother-in-law sent dearest one a few days ago. I laugh every time she sends one. Not laugh at her but laugh out of pure joy. My mother-in-law. She is a keeper. She tried to talk dearest one out of marrying me the night before we got married. The day after the wedding (we eloped, sort of. no family present) she welcomed me as a daughter even though her heart was breaking at the choice her son made. She showed me what grace looked like and I will be forever grateful to her for that.

I was an atheist. I hated Christians. I mocked them mercilessly. To their face. Especially these ones. No radio. No TV. Women wore dresses. No makeup. It was almost like living on a different planet. Archaic. We lived down the road in a little bunk shack with no running water. People still did that then and considered it normal.

Fast forward to 2010. We have a great relationship (thanks be to God. seriously.) A few years ago I was giving her a hug goodbye before she left on a trip. When I whispered in her ear that I hoped she got to at least one book store she whispered back that I knew her better than some of her own children did. We gave each other a squeeze like it was our little secret.

My mother-in-law still has no radio or TV. She'd get kicked out of her church if she did. But she got a cell phone so that she could send text messages to her children and especially her grandchildren. She loves keeping in touch with them this way.

I laugh every time at the idea of my mother-in-law typing out a text message. This is the way her grandchildren communicate and be darned if she is going to miss out. How can you tell relationship is first and foremost in her heart? How can you not love her? She is a keeper. Her birthday is this week. She'll be eighty-one.


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Making A Difference

When you read this I'll be on a plane, going to visit my family. My dad is having a milestone birthday and my sisters and I decided we needed to celebrate it. My poor mother is not in control of the gathering but we promised we'd do all the work so that all she has to do is show up.

Not too much has happened in my home of origin that was not my mom's idea. Excluding the stuff we snuck around behind her back to do. I was so convinced that she knew my every move that when I moved clear across the country once I turned 18, I sometimes thought she knew the shenanigans I was up to and semi consciously braced myself for the shit storm that never came. Turns out she really did not have eyes in the back of her head nor telepathy nor could she see all the way across the country. It took me many years to realize that.

My older sister and I had a comedy of communication errors and so my dad's celebration is two afternoons in a row, depending on which paper you read the announcement in.

I volunteered to be the one to tell my mom we had planned a party at their house, weather permitting, and were inviting the whole community. It was easiest to volunteer because I'm the daughter who lives far away.

The land my dad lives on has been in the family for nearly 100 years. Chances are there are not too many people in the surrounding communities who do not know of him, if they don't know him personally. We want to honour our dad because well, you only live once. And we don't want to wait to gather the community in his honour until after he's dead.

We want him to know he made a difference.

That probably pisses my mom off. I told her we wouldn't throw her a milestone party unless she wants one. She won't. That's okay. People are different. I just wish she could be happy for my dad. I need to let go of that expectation. People can only do what they are capable of doing/being. Myself, included.

One of my sisters came up with the idea that all the grand kids could write a note to their grandpa about what he means to them. My older brother wanted to be in on it, too. That lead to all of us being invited to contribute.

My dad was the nice parent. We used to talk as kids that if they got divorced (and could they please do it so we wouldn't have to wake up at 2 AM listening to their fights anymore?) we'd all want to live with him. They are still together. Had they divorced and had we gone to live with him he would have let us do whatever we wanted while he buried his head behind the newspaper. I doubt that any kid really wants that kind of nice. It's great in daydreams but not in real life.

And so when I got the email inviting me to contribute a note I came face to face with a whole whack of resentment towards him that I didn't even know was there. It just about convinced me not to write a note at all. As if the resentments cancelled out all the good memories.

They don't.

My earliest memories are of my dad. I was two years old and was coming home from the hospital after a serious surgery and my mom took me to his shop. I remember being happy to see my dad. All the men were really kind to me because I'd just about died.

When I was five I was in the hospital and my dad came to see me on his lunch hour. My room was several stories up and we pulled two chairs over to the window and my dad read me a book. I wanted to be on his lap but was too shy to ask. My dad was not cuddly and all that. But he showed up. That counts.

When I was six I broke my arm. It's really hard to change your shirt, (have to have a clean shirt on to go to the hospital you know), when you've broken your arm right near the shoulder. But change it I did because I was told to. I changed into a red shirt. At the hospital a nurse put me in a change room to get into a gown. I got locked in. To this day I still get a little panicky in change rooms that lock. My dad took me for ice cream after I was all fixed up. He bought a green ice cream cone and a pink one and I got to pick which one I wanted. I didn't have many choices as a kid so maybe that's why that one sticks out in my mind.

When I was learning to drive I once took a corner way too fast, so fast that my dad slammed up against the door on the passenger's side. He was brave enough to continue to let me drive after that even though he turned very pale as I careened around that corner. It's hard to keep a vehicle on the road once you turn a corner at 40 mph. We fishtailed for quite a ways and he never even raised his voice. Did you know my dad was prematurely grey?

Some of these things I will write down for him.

Fifteen years ago when he was having a different milestone birthday I wrote him a letter to tell him I wanted a relationship with him. That if he died tomorrow I've have to tell my friends I didn't know him; didn't know who he was as a person. I enclosed a little book with questions for him to answer that would help me get to know what goes around in that head of his. I was crushed when he didn't answer my letter and put the book on the shelf where it still gathers dust.

It took me many years to realize that I was asking something of him that he didn't have the tools to do. He had no tools to navigate the intimacies of below the surface relationships although my sister said once, when they were having an in depth conversation about how things were for us as kids, that she could tell by his face that he wanted to, he just didn't know how.

I thought realizing all that took care of the resentment but I can see now that it didn't. I am grateful to have the tools to know what to do about that.

I wrote this post over a week ago. I debated not posting it because of my obvious issues surrounding my parents. I alternated between wanting to pretty up the post and leaving it as is. Today I decided it is what it is. I am where I am on the journey. They are where they are, too. Lord have mercy on us all.


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The Leg Bone's Connected To The.....

It's been a full week. Only daughter was here looking after our place while we were gone and then stayed a few extra days to visit. I got very teary after saying goodbye to her at the airport. It's been a wonderful week.

There has been so much sunshine these past few weeks that I asked myself today if I was a little bit off kilter for being continually grateful for sunshine. Because I am. I can't seem to get enough of it. On second thought that's a little like being too grateful for life itself. That's impossible. I'll continue to be grateful for the sunshine. No questions asked.

Tomorrow will come a dose of daily reality. Back to dishes and housework and writing. I look forward to the routine.

Dearest one will fix the leaky toilet. We hope it hasn't rotted the floor to kingdom come by now. We discovered the leak just before we left on holidays. We know we need to replace this 40 year old trailer we call home but we hope we still have a few years yet to do so. It may be a toilet that decides our fate. You know that ditty about the leg bone connected to the hip bone and so on? Well the floor beneath the toilet is connected to a whole lot of other floors. And walls.

Last night we welcomed friends over for the evening. We sat around the camp fire and the 6 of us laughed and talked and hashed out life as it is. I am so grateful for friends with whom I can be gut honest with and who will journey with me no matter what. We've been meeting in one another's homes on a weekly basis for 10 years now. I hope to grow old with them.

We always end our evenings together with prayer. I don't like praying out loud among other people. It's just not my thing. I can't seem to get my ego out of the way and so I stay silent. It feels like the most honest thing I can do. I rarely feel like I'm talking to God in those situations. Mostly I feel like I'm trying to impress someone. If I were to talk to God in front of others like I do on my own, well, it just seems too private of a conversation. So I don't. There are other situations and times though, when it seems the exact right thing to do, to pray with someone and so I do. I don't even know why I'm talking about this here. I feel like I'm the only Christian who has an aversion to praying aloud with others.

At an AA meeting once we had someone from the US there and we all got fouled up on the Lord's Prayer at the end of the meeting. Afterwards he informed us that we Canadians didn't have the right rhythm when we prayed it. So of course I'm as curious as anything about that. As it is now there is one guy who is often at my home group and I have to block his voice out when we pray because I lose my place. What a funny thing to do, have private pissing contests as to who is praying the Lord's Prayer right.

Lord have mercy on us all.



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Stinkin' Thinkin'

It is good to be home.
It took a while to get here.
On the third leg of our journey
the plane turned around 10 minutes into the flight because of mechanical problems.
As I listened to people complain
all I could think of was
that we were alive to bitch about it.
(So quit yer bitchin' people.)

As I sat waiting for our luggage to start
making its way around the carousel I watched
people reunite.
Tears lurked around the corners of my eyes
several times as I saw people so happy
to see each other.
Everybody needs somebody to miss them.

****

Dearest one and I walked miles upon miles
along the sea shore. To see mountains and ocean
in one view was incredible.

One day I left dearest one on the beach
and went back to our hotel room to get ready
to walk to an AA meeting. The cleaning lady
was in the midst of cleaning our room
but I really needed to go pee.

If I had any doubts that I needed a meeting
they disappeared as I went to yank some
toilet paper off the roll and the whole thing
went flying across the room.
My very first thought was that
the cleaning lady was being passive aggressive
and had positioned that roll just so
it would go flying when I yanked on it.

I know. Total insanity.

How grateful I am that there is a place
I can go and tell that story
and people nod in agreement
because their thinking
is just as fucked up some days.



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Trippin'

In a few sleeps dearest one and I will hop on a plane and go for a bit of a holiday.I'm grateful our idea of holidays mesh.A remote cabin on a beach being ideal. Going where we know no on is a must.

Last night we sat around a campfire
with many of dearest one's siblings.
The women gathered in a circle together,
the men in another.

When the women found out where we were going they had all kinds of advice as to where we should go and what we should see. I sat there and wondered if dearest one would be interested. I didn't tell them that touristy things don't appeal to me much. I would make a scowly tourist on one of those bus tours. I just want to be left to meander on my own.

This morning when I listed off all the "must sees" of the group to dearest one he looked a little horrified. He then told me all he wanted was to relax and have fun. He didn't want to trade one kind of busy for another.
I was relieved.



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Perfect Timing

Someone from my AA home group is in San Antonio. It was very hard not to ask her to walk around with a placard, shouting out for Mary Christine and Pammie and a score of other bloggers. But you never know, maybe their paths will cross anyway.

A few weeks ago I went to a work related event full of hundreds of fellow employees. Most of my work communication is done by email or phone and I never meet these people face to face. I always like putting a face and name together. Dearest one was scrolling through my work site and recognized a name. Sure enough, when I contacted the person the next time, someone I email regularly, I asked if so and so was her dad. What followed was a flurry of emails about her dad, who passed away 20 years ago and memories of dearest one and I spending a lot of time with her very young sisters when we were newlyweds.

So the morning of the big work related to do I told God, "It's up to you if she and I are going to meet. I won't be able to find her in the crowd." I signed into the meeting and slapped my name tag onto my shirt. My vision is getting worse and I'm sure at my next checkup I'm going to go from wearing reading glasses to bifocals. I resisted the urge to squint at every name tag on every woman I thought might be her. Eventually I forgot about my email contact altogether.

Her eyesight is better than mine. Part way through the day I mosied along a hallway looking for a certain conference room. She was standing right outside it and recognized me from my name tag just as I was going to walk past her. Although she wasn't wearing her name tag I knew it was her instantly. As we hugged and talked I thanked God for doing His thing.


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Dealin'

When my kids were little I worked hard not show fear of any spiders, bugs and all things creepy crawly, including hamsters. That came about because of a memory of a neighbour when I was a kid, who had to come to our house until her husband got home, because Barn Swallows had built a nest above her front door and she was terrified of them when they came swooping down at her. She had three kids who took in her every fear.

So when I had my own kids, I took a deep breath and pretended that that Daddy Long Legs crawling on my hand was my new best friend. Lord knows I was screaming my head off inside myself. Did you ever hear that urban legend as a kid about the woman who never brushed her hair and a spider laid eggs in it and all those baby spiders came crawling out of her head? That story didn't help me get any less fearful. Are you scratching your hair right now? I am. But honestly? The little pitter patter of hamsters feet across my skin made me want to crawl out of my skin. I'm getting freaked out just thinking about it.

One day, when my kids were all teenagers and had proven fearless when it came to every living thing (well, except maybe for their mother) I told my daughter that no, actually I had no desire to hold her hamster and that I actually didn't like them. This after having cages of hamsters that I took great interest in. I think she still feels like I was a traitor, lier, what have you. (Do you daughter?)

Between last night and this morning we have caught 5 mice in traps on the counter. Sometimes they are still alive. Makes me shiver just thinking about it. Dearest one went on a road trip this morning to a family member's funeral so either I wait until he gets back to deal with the traps/mice or I will have to deal with them myself. I bet any one of my kids could do it without getting freaked out at all. Is this one of those things they'll thank me for later?


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Flippin'

"Is having a drink going to change anything or will it all still be the same tomorrow when I wake up?"
That was the question I asked myself in a dream last night.

I can't remember the last time I had a drinking dream but in this one I had 20 containers that looked like miniature oil lamp vials you see in restaurant center pieces. They were filled with vodka which I have no idea how it tastes. Once my sister and I found my mom's vodka stash under her bathroom sink and poured most of it down the drain and filled the bottle back up with water. I bet that pissed her off the next time she took a drink. It may be why vodka held no interest for me.

There was no one in my dream who cared I was going to blow my sobriety except me.
And once that question at the top of this post went through my head I put the vodka down without taking a sip, and shoved the tray away that held all the rest, too.

Dreams are so weird.

*********

It is beautiful and sunny here today.
I am looking forward to mowing grass and doing some writing.
My instructor says my novel has great potential to be saleable.
I am loving and hating writing it
as it has taken on a life of its own
that I feel I have no control over.
It's totally pointless to tell a character
"Hey, get back over here right now and do as I say!"
My main character may be living in 1912
but she still knows how to flip me the bird.

***********

By the end of the summer all my adult children will most likely
be living in towns far away. I feel sad about that although I
am happy they are making their own lives and are functioning
as fully independent adults. I never realized that was the goal
while I was raising them. Not kidding. It didn't occur to me.

I am grateful that I have learned that life after kids means
living my own life to the fullest.
I didn't manage to learn that until after they were grown.
Bafore that I was too busy telling them
to get back over here right now and do as I say.

There was a point when it would have served us both well
if they would have flipped me the bird.
It took me until I was 38 years old
to individuate from my mother.
I am grateful they have started that journey
far sooner than I did.

Home

It's ridiculously late but I need to unwind before I go to sleep.
Somehow it escaped my rational mind that we would drive 600 miles to spend 6 hours with family and then turn around and drive home.

Tonight as I hugged my parents and sisters and various children goodbye
it all seemed surreal.
"I'll be there in 5 minutes." I call to dearest one.
Five more minutes with my sister.

There is something about the prairies that calls to me and fills me with longing.
I really believe the landscape itself sears itself into ones' very being.
At one point today we stopped on a little side road that had wild roses and prairie sage. I took a deep breath and for some reason decided right then and there that when I go on a private retreat it needs to be on the prairies, surrounded by stubby trees and sparse grass. The wind needs to blow through my hair, too. A random thought out of the blue but one that settled within instantly.

Anyway it is way past bedtime and as luck will have it I will wake up in a few hours to begin the long trek home.

Strewn Along The Path

"I obeyed him, but I don't always. My newly married daughter said I wasn't being a good example to her when I disobeyed him. I think most women have trouble with obedience."

Stunned into silence I look away from her and into the room of couples. We are sitting in a corner visiting quietly. She is eighty years old and battling leukemia. A bout of chest pain had plagued her the day before so her husband had told her to do nothing today. Still, she struggled to obey him because it was Saturday; the day in her religious culture where floors demanded washing and bathrooms scrubbed. After I told her I'd done nothing that day she told me, as if we were keeping a secret from all the other women in the room, how my day of nothing made her feel better. Had I a litany of tasks completed she would've most likely hidden a sheepish smile behind her hand before confessing to doing absolutely nothing. She saw it as a victory of having obeyed her husband. As I gaze at the other women in the room I notice how angry and sad I feel that she most likely will die before ever owning her own life.

I didn't grow up in her culture but still, I see my own story in hers. During one period of my life, a time which I tell my adult children should have given them spiritual whiplash, I defined being a good wife by not having any thoughts about anything. I became opinionless because I held deferring to dearest one as the ideal. He didn't ask that from me. His observation of women trying to be submissive was that they often were skilled manipulators. I'd decided, after reading many books on being a good wife, that deferring to him was what a Godly woman did. Which is humourous in itself now that I think about it, considering I decided how best to be submissive without consulting him one bit. Oh, the irony.

It became one of the most manipulative, passive aggressive times of my life. One day a friend asked me about something and I told her I'd have to ask dearest one. Exasperated, she questioned, "But what do you think?" Her question startled me. I hadn't even considered what I thought.

But deep down of course I knew what I thought. I'd never lost my opinionated ways. I just stuffed them deep down inside while striving to be sweet and quiet on the outside. That was interspersed by episodes of going absolutely ballistic verbally. Oh, the joy.

One morning I looked in the mirror, weary of the facade, and decided I could either continue to put on my mask or I could shed the outward appearance of submission and begin owning my choices. I was both relieved and scared to step into my life.

I didn't tell this woman last night that I no longer relate to her view of marriage. She assumes because we are both women of faith that I too, wait for permission to have a life. I couldn't tell you exactly how I see it. All I know is that I don't see it how I once did. In the decade since I stepped into my life I continue to shed who I think I should be. There's no straight line between then and now. Just a crooked path with layers of onion skin strewn along the way.

Being in active recovery has shown me that I not only need to own my choices today but also my choice long ago to pretend to have no choices, too.

That doesn't stop me though, from feeling sad about an 80 year old woman feeling the need for permission to skip doing her Saturday work.

A Litany of Cooks

"We're going to be 9 people and Auntie is going to have 20."

It sounds like a litany every time a holiday comes around. My mom lists the number of people she will be cooking for and how many her sisters will cook for as well. I assume this is interesting for her although sometimes I've wondered if it's a competition, too. I find it a bit irritating although I couldn't tell you why.

Yesterday we spent part of the day with dearest one's family. We are over 50 people if everyone shows up. I always think of my mom at these gatherings. How she would be cooking up twice as much food as my in laws do. I have often admired how there aren't many left overs when my husband's family gets together. Food seems to be secondary to visiting. As long as there is enough to go around then all is good.

When I talk to my mom later today she will want to know what was served and all the details. I guess the difference between us is that I am not a cook and she is. I threw out my old and forgotten spice rack a few months ago and have only replaced a few since then. My mom has a cupboard that houses only spices. All 100 of them. Darn. The more I type the clearer it's becoming that I have many unresolved issues when it comes to my mom and food. Typed myself right into a corner again.

Giving My Head A Shake

I have a friend who I haven't heard from since I emailed her half a dozen group updates I had sent out this past summer when unbloggable things were happening in my life. She had been there in the beginning and then we lost contact until today.

I've had an occasional poor me moment over the fact that she never responded to my baring my soul to her. I wondered if she was judging me for my brutal honesty, wondered if she was shocked by what I had written, wondered if she had stepped back from me on purpose. I didn't think these things all the time but occasionally I wondered why she wasn't getting back to me.

Because it's all about me, you know.

Lord have mercy.

I phoned her this morning and found out that since we last spoke she had emergency surgery after an accident and is still recuperating, her husband had his own emergency trip to the hospital and has since been diagnosed with heart disease, her mother died unexpectedly across the ocean and her son who was in recovery has relapsed.

It's so not about me.
What a reminder, eh?

Possibilities

I am counting down the days until I am off work for the summer.
It will be so nice to get up and not have to get in my car and go anywhere unless I want to.
I am headed on a road trip to see family and back to big city far away for more medical tests. I found out today that there will be more a few months after that yet. So my prediction of it being November before I find out if they will do surgery to fix the hole in my heart is about accurate.

I could write now about what has been weighing heavy on my heart. The people who needed not to find out through my blog know by first hand telling now. And I am grateful that I don't feel any need to hash it out here. It's made me reevaluate what I blog about and why.

What I do know is that I have a strength I didn't know I had.
I have encountered all manner of gifts during this pain filled time.
Yesterday my therapist walked me through writing out a crisis mode list of beliefs, feelings and behaviours. Then she took the core hurt from that list and showed me how to change it into a possibility mode. She said every crisis is full of possibilities.
I did the work and she is right.

Life is not as I would have it.
My serenity isn't based on that.
What once sounded so pat and airy fairy
is now a reality in my gut.
Who knew it was possible?

Erasing The Tapes

"I shared how I moved out of the house because you and I had a falling out."

Youngest son is telling me about his personal sharing in a talk he is preparing for a men's weekend coming up. I nod my head and act normal but inside me old, worn tapes are gearing up to go around and around. The kind of tapes that tell me a pity party is my only sane choice. I totally forget what an old friend used to tell me - "enjoy that pity pot while you're on it Hope, 'cause you won't be there forever." At which I used to look at him with a FU glare for raining on my parade and then continue on with my pity party.

Which is what I was preparing to do on Friday. The old tapes in my head go something like this: "I am so sick of being the bitch. Being the parent that gave our kids so much baggage they can hardly put one foot in front of the other. Dearest one, isn't it your turn for a while? Why can't you be the parent they have issues with for a change?"

And on and on.
No wonder the tape is worn.
I've hit replay countless times since my kids reached adulthood.

And I would have played it again on Friday night but just as I was giving dearest one a hug and was getting ready to vent, a thought popped into my head. "What if you simply accepted reality? That you really were the bag who gave them that baggage? What if you did that instead of looking to side step reality?"

That thought was so swift and in my face that I stopped the tape before it had a chance to begin. For the first time I had a different conversation in my head. I admitted that well, dearest one, hadn't been a whatever the male equivalent of being a bitch is, to the kids. He hadn't been physically, emotionally or verbally abusive like I had been. Nor had he been control freakish or mean. I can't carry their baggage for them nor can I heal it. But I can stop having pity parties over reality. No doubt my chilluns have their own issues with their dad but their issues with me are there for a reason. By the grace of God my ego deflated enough for me to admit this and the old familiar tape not only stopped but I chucked it.
Well, almost.
Ego deflation doesn't leave without a fight.

I could not help myself. I later asked youngest son if he had at least told the men somewhere in his talk that I had changed and that things were different now. He looked at me and said, "Nope. To do so would have meant telling your story (of addiction and recovery) and that's not my business."

Lord have mercy.

Liberation

"What was your dad's reaction to your mom's addictions?"

"Nothing. Zero. None."

She was writing my family map up on the board, helping me make connections, asking me questions as we went. We not only mapped my family of origin but my mother's family of origin as well. We wrote about what patterns were carried from one generation to another. What patterns there were in our own lives, legacies that needed to be looked at and then decided if they served any useful, healthy purpose or if they could be let go.

As I told her my dad's reaction was nothing something within me went 'ding, ding, ding'. It was more like a jolt that made me sit up straighter and pay attention. Dearest one has had no reaction to mine, either. I know the day is coming. He's doing such deep, honest work in counseling that it is inevitable.
One day the shit will hit the fan.

Liberating shit.

As I told the facilitator how my dad had had no reaction to my mom's behaviour and simulataneously realized dearest one has had no reaction to mine either, something shifted within me. I went from being scared of the day that the shit hits the fan to being able to welcome it. Doesn't mean it will be fun or that it will be devoid of emotion. But in doing so, a cycle will come to an end. A new pattern established. Which is something I can embrace.

I was able to come home and share all this with dearest one.
Truth is liberating.
Lord have mercy.

Wake Up

Early, early, way too early, Monday morning.
I opened my eyelids and started planning my week almost immediately.
My body said, "sleep dammit", and my mind said "time's a wastin'".
My mind won.

Four years ago today I was received into the Catholic Church.
I rarely talk about that stuff here.
Why?
It's a toss up between it being intensely personal and private
and not wanting to offend people with what I believe.
What some people see as signing up for bondage
has been one of the most freeing decisions I've ever made.
Jesus' words: But who do you say that I am?
continue to challenge me on a daily basis.
Enough said about that.

In the comments yesterday Steve talked about how humble pie doesn't taste the best.
I agree.
I'd written that I'd take it over eating a hamster.

I've been thinking about that.
Had I simply eaten a hamster I would have come home and very likely torn a strip off of dearest one. At the very least I would have come home with a self righteous little attitude even if I never opened my mouth.
Both so wounding to our relationship and to our souls.
If you only knew the damage I've done over the years
with my triumphalism.
It ain't been pretty.

Eating humble pie, however.....puts things in perspective
and brings life instead of death to what really matters.
I just want to spend more energy on that in the end, you know?
Lord have mercy.

It doesn't mean I don't enjoy being right,
even at someone else's expense.
I can down right delight in it.
But the payoff has shrivelled over time.
In the long run it leaves me in a lonely, alone, smug place.

Oh, don't worry.
I'm not a saint.
Don't we know that.
A saint in the making, yes.
Aren't we all.
I have enough foibles to weigh me down
without eating another morsel of Christmas baking.

But the goodness that is inherent in all of God's creation?
I want that to grow.
In me.
When I enter into centering prayer I often visualize
a burning ember within me
a symbol of God's spark
alive and waiting.
I ask for the breath of God to blow on it
make it burn brighter, stronger, bigger.
And when all is said and done,
In those moments when I've climbed onto my high horse
and am looking down at whoever I feel self righteous towards
I have a choice.
Always a choice.

Lord have mercy.

Too Much Testosterone

I have a little snowman music box that's been sitting smack dab in the middle of the diningroom table for nearly a week already. It's been waiting for me to turn it around and around so it can dance the music out of its system. It plays "Let It Snow." And today is its lucky day. It's snowing as I type.

Youngest son bought that little snow man music box for me at Christmas time quite a few years ago. These days he'd most likely buy me one that plays music that would make me scowl at him. He does like to get under my skin in a most devious "I love you" way. The other night he and dearest one ganged up on me and had me going real good when I told them to phone oldest son to get his perspective. I still don't know how they did it because I sat there and listened to youngest son talk to his older brother and then he handed me the phone so I could plead my case. And wouldn't you know it but oldest son played right along with his sibling and father and strung me along a little further. And I believed him!! I told them I was surrounded by way too much testosterone (only daughter where are you??)for my liking and not to expect me to make them supper the next night. Such a terrible threat isn't it? As if neither of them are capable of cooking. I nearly followed through on that too, except I decided at the last minute that would be taking their good natured teasing a bit too personal. Youngest son did ask me what I put in his supper last night - like was there any poison mixed in it? I told him that he was very fortunate that I restrained myself. I am so, so gullible and they delight in teasing me every time I'm gullible enough to buy it. Which is way too often. And truth be told, I may bellyache about it, but I would miss it if they stopped.
Which is what they tell me every chance they get.
Last night I did tell dearest one though, to please put away the rifle that was resting against the couch.