B.O. and Bad Sushi…

I don’t know where to begin.  Ahem.  I don’t blame this on anyone but me, and I have come to the place of acceptance, and laughter-and a deeper understanding of my profound love for my husband.

The morning began with a decision.  Dwain had gone target shooting with his son, (thank you for your prayers, dear friends-that situation is healing) and I was left alone, looking at the darkened sky, hearing the rolling thunder.

“Should I risk driving to church with the jeep top down?”

I knew darn well that every time I stayed home because of the “weather” I missed out on relationships, the lunches, the shopping.  I decided then and there-I was going to chance it.  My friend Leeny awaited me.  A sinus infection had kept me away from the every other Sunday service (we are members of a church in Lititz, Hosanna A Fellowship of Christians) I had promised her, upon learning of her recent health scare.  I just wasn’t about to let her down, that’s what it came down to in the end.

At the service, just as the preacher began his sermon on the prodigal son, thunder shook the chapel-the congregation laughed.

“The Holy Spirit has joined me,” he chuckled, to the delight of the crowd.

All I could think, was crapstastic.  And oh, how tastic the crap became.  I left the church, in a light Summer frock, no jacket-to buckets and buckets of water.  On the way to my jeep, I see a poor woman fall-flat on her poor face-right down the backdoor stairs.  The EMT in me assesses the situation and kind men pick her up and set her on her feet.  Prognoses?  Possible broken nose.

I run as fast as I can in heels, on slick parking lot, without killing myself.  I open the door, the jeep has at least 2 inches of water puddled on the floor.  It’s pouring and I am chilled to the bone.  I see that traffic isn’t moving because a big, black truck is trying to come towards us-he is going the wrong way!  Son of a BITCH!!!  

Now I’m in full panic mode.  I reverse and try to go the other way.  It won’t work.  I see the car in front of me move, so I do a U-turn and try again.  This time the truck is coming alongside my vehicle.  The parishioner is asking if I want him to help me put the top on.  I just want to get the mojo out of there, and I brush him off.

“JUST GO!!!,” I scream.

And just then, it hits me.  The “parishioner” is my husband.  Later, he will tell me that when he hit the Pretzel Hut (a local ma and pa burger joint) he realizes that I am at church with the jeep top down and it is raining cats and dogs.  He says he drove 100 mph (frowny face indeed!) on slick roads to come to my rescue.  When I get home, he apologizes profusely, saying had he not gone away with his son, I wouldn’t be shivering and, well, drowned is the only word that comes to mind.

I tell him he’s ridiculous.  He needs to spend time with his son.  I am not a child, I am accountable for my own actions.  In the shower, I beam and my heart swells with love and gratitude.  I take my time in the shower, jump into warm clothes and my favorite bunny socks, take a little bit longer with my makeup.

I nuzzle up close to my man, and he is pleased.

“You smell like B.O. and bad sushi,” he gushes.

And he laughed and laughed and laughed, until I found the little piece of flesh, on his inner thigh, and twerked it-as hard as I could.

 

 

After Two Years of Writing, a Celebration

 

This missive contains updated information and a whole bunch of love!!!  After blogging for two years now, I have come to a place of  gratitude and acceptance.  Yes, I really am a writer, and this fact had to be hammered home a million times…before I would believe.  I have worked in virtually every field you can imagine: waitress, hostess, legal secretary, health food, private duty nursing, hospice, radio, advertising, and at my lowest point a janitor for a local beer distributor.  I am quite sure I’ve left a few vocations out, but my point here is:  I never understood why my employment always ended in hysteria and self degradation.  It is now my understanding that God did indeed want me to write; my only regret is that I didn’t listen sooner.

I want to introduce myself to my new subs, and also thank each and every one of you who took the chance and subscribed!  Here’s a few things about me that you may not know, and the categories I have listed pretty much describes the subject matter I write on, have experience with,  and blabber about from time to time.

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My hero and therapy dog, Jesse Bocephus Hoffman.

I have struggled with a few things in this life, but God has always been with me, Jesus has never abandoned nor forsaken me.  I am not proud of so much of my drinking/drugging career-yet it has given me the compassion and understanding necessary to navigate this world untethered-by anyone or anything that tries to hold me back, namely being my family, but that’s another story for another day.

I love nature, gardening, animals, worship, and my husband-who made it possible for me to attain sobriety.  Those were frightening days, and there were times where homicidal ideation floated around in my mind…but suicide attempts were what manifested.

I suffer from depression, CPTSD, anxiety and Lyme.  I do not consider any of this a handicap, and neither should you.

Rejoice in this day the Lord has made!!!  Be glad in the perilous times, as the Holy Spirit is within, guiding you-after the storm His blessings are out of this world.

And jeepers creepers, gosh almighty…

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

close up of pink flowers
These are for you~

Cold and Broken Hallelujah

 

I would like to dedicate this writing to the late William C. Elkins, my uncle, who knew a thing or two about family and loved them any way.  Uncle Bill was a Baptist-I never got the chance to grow close to him-and I am well aware of the part I played in dropping the ball.

Is family even a thing anymore?  I see so much devastation in the way people treat one another-it crushes my foolish heart into billions and zillions of pieces. After a moving sermon in church yesterday, I found myself in the loving arms of my sister Ruth-and by sister I mean exactly what I say.  She is kind, and loving…nurturing and funny…and, like me, spent years and years self medicating.  We share the same dark memories of family abandonment-we understand the evil machinations of betrayal, and we love with our entire heart.  We bleed for those who deem us unworthy-and when we tire of the heartache, the trauma and denial?  We head for each other.

There is something to be said of putting on a brave and stoic persona-and then there are the people who can see right through that mask:  they understand fragility, despair and low self esteem.  These are the minions who love you-no holes barred, and these are-more often than not-the very same people with Christ in their hearts.

I put on that brave face yesterday morning.  In all honesty, I can pretty much handle anything when Dwain is by my side.  And, to give myself some credit-I am as strong as they come, because I have had to be.  Each morning, while working on my routine of laundry, dishes, et al, I weep.  I put my head on my golden, and he comforts me while I cry countless tears, raging at the heartless attitudes of those I used to call family and friends.

It is not surprising to me that I drove over my phone on Friday.  As I was returning to the jeep, I was stopped, dead in my tracks-as I noticed a woman in a Prius taking pictures.  She was pointing the camera in our direction, I thought it odd and disconcerting.  So much so that I left the Android on the bumper, and found it later-in pieces, cracked beyond repair.  To those of you I talk to on Messenger, please bare with me-it could be weeks until I see the new phone-hey, it’s inconvenient-but in a way?  I find comfort in the idea.  How many times have I been happily relaxing when my phone lit itself up like a birthday cake.

An article from the Onion about a woman who became so radicalized by her skin care blog?  Well, gee whiz!! Her family didn’t recognize her any longer!!  This from mon frère, not two days after he said these very words:

We’re good, Michele.  We are on different journeys, but we’re good.

Seriously?  The constant critiquing, loveless dissecting of my thoughts and opinions.  Convinced I have lost my mind because he is the Flying Monkey to my sister’s Narcissist.  At 57, I think it time to take my life back.

I am reminded of the persecution my main man Jesus endured.  How a prophet is never accepted as such in their own town.  Yes, Jesus upset his family because even they had no sense of His purpose, that’s why he left his home town-to spread the Good News as far and wide as he could-until the day the Pharisees put an end to His life, thereby removing any competition.  To this very day I skip over the crucifixion-I become completely unhinged.  I am well aware of the fact that he died on the cross for our sins-a Savior  who had not sinned in his entire time here on planet earth.

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

Me thinks I have a chance at winning the Festivus Feats of Strength this coming Christmas.  (Seinfeld)

So, the moral of the story?

Run fast, far and wide…from anyone who hurts you, who cannot love you as you are, or treats you as if you are less than them.   These are the boogey men, the Jezebels, the narcissists.  They have convinced the entire world that you don’t have a voice.

Don’t believe them.  Not for one bloody second.

 

 

The Sun Goes Down Alone

 

Before I tell the tale (Passion, Intrigue, Flea Bombs!!!! Murder..) I have to share what happened in church yesterday.  You just can’t make this stuff up…so, I’m having a rough week in terms of my self esteem, snakes and figuring out what I want to do with my life…or, more like, what I am capable of doing for the next month or so while I recover from Lyme.  I am NOT a good patient, I do NOT rest nearly enough, and my OCD will not let me rest until my house is clean, the dishes and laundry are done…when I was hit by a Harley years ago, my father thrilled at any doctor’s orders I broke, which were many.  I think back and now I know why-my mother, may she rest in peace, took what the doctors said verbatim.  She didn’t quit smoking; I understand that now as well.  But when a MD said jump, she simply asked if she would need a parachute.

So, I am finally back to church.  I missed my family so very much, and a more joyous morning I can’t remember-until the sermon.  My pastor started out by saying:

“So, what if conspiracy theories are true?  Does anyone really care?  (He used Elvis Presley and Michael Jackson’s deaths to prove his point-what if they were alive?  Who cares right?”

Ok, you all know that once a week I write about supposed conspiracy theories.  I know they are true stories, but fighting against MSM and their insipid drivel is pointless.  God will wake you up in his timing.  But I do remember a line from Ezekiel that said

Tell them even though they won’t believe you.  Tell them anyway.”

Okay, he isn’t talking about me, that could not be.  And then this:

“No matter what venue, the news, radio or Christian bloggers; we Christians blather on about things of no importance.  We talk too much, us Christians.”

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Every member of that church knows I blog.  Actually, I am surprised I wasn’t run out of town-but nothing, no stares or put downs.  Ok, everything isn’t about me, and I know my pastor’s character, it isn’t like him to bash, well, anyone.  He calls Satan ‘Stan,’ for crying out loud.   Yet, as the day went on I became convinced that he was talking about me.  Had someone complained?  After all, I had been sick and I am sure I wasn’t expected at this particular service.

So, in a funk, I laid on the couch and watched old movies-a particularly light and funny one first-Chasing Steve-in which Sandra Bullock plays a delightfully bonkers but brilliant crossword puzzle writer, her parents set her up on a blind date and who comes to the door?  Bradley Cooper-and who in their right mind would say no to him???  Hilarity ensues, and I recommend this movie if you need a lift in your loafers.

Then we have the fucking bugs from HELL to talk about.  I haven’t met a tick or flea who doesn’t love my blood.  I hate them with a hatred that simmers and stews.  I become paranoid, neurotic and driven-if my golden is itchy, it’s bloody WAR.  An unholy war at that.  Diatomaceous earth rules the day-it is sprinkled in every crevice of my home.  Then we have the “natural” flea spray (which really does nothing but make me feel better and smells like cinnamon and cloves) and, finally, the Flea Carpet powder, which I use on rare occasions-like this morning.  Take that! you creepy, malignant blood suckers.

I’ll be AOK.  Soon as the boys of Summer are annihilated?  I’ll be sitting pretty-I praise God through the Storm.  My brother is coming to visit this week and diligence must prevail-either that or I’ll be checking myself into a nice padded cubicle.  I hear they have room service.

affection board broken broken hearted
Is this the end of us?

 

B.O. and Bad Sushi…

I don’t know where to begin.  Ahem.  I don’t blame this on anyone but me, and I have come to the place of acceptance, and laughter-and a deeper understanding of my profound love for my husband.

The morning began with a decision.  Dwain had gone target shooting with his son, (thank you for your prayers, dear friends-that situation is healing) and I was left alone, looking at the darkened sky, hearing the rolling thunder.

“Should I risk driving to church with the jeep top down?”

I knew darn well that every time I stayed home because of the “weather” I missed out on relationships, the lunches, the shopping.  I decided then and there-I was going to chance it.  My friend Leeny awaited me.  A sinus infection had kept me away from the every other Sunday service (we are members of a church in Lititz, Hosanna A Fellowship of Christians) I had promised her, upon learning of her recent health scare.  I just wasn’t about to let her down, that’s what it came down to in the end.

At the service, just as the preacher began his sermon on the prodigal son, thunder shook the chapel-the congregation laughed.

“The Holy Spirit has joined me,” he chuckled, to the delight of the crowd.

All I could think, was crapstastic.  And oh, how tastic the crap became.  I left the church, in a light Summer frock, no jacket-to buckets and buckets of water.  On the way to my jeep, I see a poor woman fall-flat on her poor face-right down the backdoor stairs.  The EMT in me assesses the situation and kind men pick her up and set her on her feet.  Prognoses?  Possible broken nose.

I run as fast as I can in heels, on slick parking lot, without killing myself.  I open the door, the jeep has at least 2 inches of water puddled on the floor.  It’s pouring and I am chilled to the bone.  I see that traffic isn’t moving because a big, black truck is trying to come towards us-he is going the wrong way!  Son of a BITCH!!!  

Now I’m in full panic mode.  I reverse and try to go the other way.  It won’t work.  I see the car in front of me move, so I do a U-turn and try again.  This time the truck is coming alongside my vehicle.  The parishioner is asking if I want him to help me put the top on.  I just want to get the mojo out of there, and I brush him off.

“JUST GO!!!,” I scream.

And just then, it hits me.  The “parishioner” is my husband.  Later, he will tell me that when he hit the Pretzel Hut (a local ma and pa burger joint) he realizes that I am at church with the jeep top down and it is raining cats and dogs.  He says he drove 100 mph (frowny face indeed!) on slick roads to come to my rescue.  When I get home, he apologizes profusely, saying had he not gone away with his son, I wouldn’t be shivering and, well, drowned is the only word that comes to mind.

I tell him he’s ridiculous.  He needs to spend time with his son.  I am not a child, I am accountable for my own actions.  In the shower, I beam and my heart swells with love and gratitude.  I take my time in the shower, jump into warm clothes and my favorite bunny socks, take a little bit longer with my makeup.

I nuzzle up close to my man, and he is pleased.

“You smell like B.O. and bad sushi,” he gushes.

And he laughed and laughed and laughed, until I found the little piece of flesh, on his inner thigh, and twerked it-as hard as I could.