I could listen to this song all day, all night and then some. Lord I love these girls; their harmonies are like a symphony to the ears, and their songs are so relatable, at least for me. I’d love to see them in person, but the chances of that happening are between slim and nada. I have been begging my husband to PLEASE take me to see Mumford and Sons-one of my very favorite bands. The old excuse was he didn’t want to camp at a festival for three days, which I partially agreed with. Apparently, they have arrived, but the new excuse is financial practicality.
The feelings of melancholy have had their way with my psyche. Probably not the best time to cut my Zoloft dosage in half to save a few bucks. Why, why do I do it and what was I thinking? I saw a video the other day, a man called Nubreed was preaching about demonic spirits. I usually love his stuff, he is a righteous dude, but the subject of depression/anxiety/mental health issues being demonic possession is a pretty, pretty, pretty loathsome one for me, for the obvious reasons. These videos are about as joyful to watch as the ones about pagan holidays, and why we must ban Christmas, Easter and every other beloved tradition known to humanity.
I mean, haven’t these dark forces taken enough from us already? Good grief! I’ll be the first one to tell you that, as far as I know, you will not go to hell for going to Christmas Eve mass. Pretty sure, just don’t quote me on that. I am not a pastor and I have no intention of having people’s souls in my hands. Just making an observation.
Don’t even get me started.
I can tell you, I am 99.9% sure that I do not have a demon within. Rid myself of them years ago, and I do my best to put on the full armor of God. Am I a sinner? Yes. Does Jesus love me anyway?
Yes, Yes, Yes!!!
So, we had a lovely fall day together-me, my husband and the pooch. I repotted a gimongous succulent, and we considered picking our pumpkins from our patch, but I wanted to watch them grow for a few more days. I know, and yes, I am as ridiculous as I sound.
And yes, she does take after her Aunt Michele, God bless her.
So, if you are new to my blog, I must preface this story by telling you that I have lived across the street from the monster in law for the past 30 years. The first words she ever spoke to me were to say that Dwain was still in love with his ex wife. Thins went downhill after that. I don’t want to overuse the words, but if ever there was a narcissist? It would be Miriam Hoffman. I’m just beginning to believe that she may not, after all, be the anti-Christ-but God knows she’s something. Something else, as in, eleventy hundred on a scale of 10.
For years and years I thought it was me. Au contraire mon amies! You see, I didn’t know what a narc was three years ago; and it was quite the nausea inducing surprise to find out that I was surrounded by them. I own my crap when it comes to my codependency-a child of an alcoholic, and emotionally abused for a time by my mother. Mom wasn’t a narc, not even close. I now know that her empathy and love for us would have made that misnomer impossible.
My monster has ignored, belittled, aggravated and gossiped about me since the day I married her son. How do I know? My friends would tell me, my husband would tell me for crying out loud. As the years went on, she knowingly and with malice put me through freaking hell to the point I thought I’d commit Hare Kari.
And then? It happened.
I always knew that there would come a day when she slipped her mask, reaped what she had sown. I just didn’t know how forcefully things would proceed-I had no way of knowing that God would take a church service to put it to her good, but that’s exactly what he did.
I must have been really stoned when I had the idea that, yes, why don’t we join Dwain’s parents at their church. Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise, a loving gesture? Unfortunately, we liked what we saw and began attending their church regularly. One day I decided to wear my brand new, vintage Kentucky Derby hat-polka dots and all. Dwain had just bought it for me, and I was tickled to find a dress that matched fashionably.
I don’t wear hats to church to show off, nor do I want the attention of others. While I can’t say that has been true my entire life-you know. I wear them to honor my mother, who looked like Audrey Hepburn, even on a bad day. As we entered the church, Dwain’s parents were greeting. I told his mother of the gift I was wearing, don’t ask me why. God forbid I have an enthusiastic moment, for crying out loud.
It wasn’t until a few moments later, when I mentioned my animosity towards Bud’s girlfriend, that she snapped.
That’s not something you say in church! That’s not something you say in CHURCH!!!
Coming from a woman who openly mocked an autistic child during last year’s children’s choir Christmas pageant. A woman who said,
I know where I’m going.
when approached by an out of her mind with grief daughter in law.
Nough said. The next day I happened to be down at her coven. She gets this snarky look on her face, but still, I don’t see it coming.
You looked nice yesterday. I could have done without the hat.
Well, that was the icing on the cupcake. I have never been spoken to by such a viper, and I’ve had some vipers, let me tell you, in my life.
And so it was, when Dwain informed his mother that I would not be attending tomorrow’s “birthday celebration.”
“What did she say,?” I wondered out loud.
She’ll just have to change, honey. She has to change.
And my heart broke just a little bit, when I saw the sadness in his face.
I thought there would be joy on the day of reckoning. No joy, it comes at the cost of my beloved~