Nothing Here Has Changed…Just the Beat

It takes two to tango……..this song was running through my head this morning, as I slipped and slid through my morning hike.  The fallen leaves, combined with the morning rain, had made the bridges treacherous, and my golden retriever waited with great anticipation-if not impatience, as I crawled along at a snail’s pace.

Jesse sees something, immediately slows down, turns around to look at me.  So accustomed to being alone at this early hour, I never considered his eyes were on a human being.  Finding myself at the slipperiest slope, wet rocks crowding the trail, I look up:  there is indeed a man at the top of the hill.  I cannot see his hair, but I do see his metal detector.  I stop dead in my tracks.  Put down my back pack, and get out my mace.  I remember, instantly, that the man  who stalked me whilst half naked last Summer had one, and that the cops told me that this was against the law at MiddleCreek.  I thought, ‘OK, here’s where I faint, fall apart, run…….’  But the real shocker was this:  I had no fear.

I had just fallen, whilst trying to pee in the woods.  It surprised me how many leaves one can pull out of their naked ass cheeks, but they kept coming, my dog mildly alarmed, came over to aid in my getting it together, so I wasn’t operating at my full potential.  I decided to walk right up to him, hiding my mace in my pocket.  If he had red hair (as my stalker did) I would shoot him straight in the face….if not?  I would tell him that he was breaking the law.

Finally able to see the  man had dark brown locks, I stepped up to the plate.

“Excuse me sir, but watch yourself, those are illegal in this park,” I gently roared.

He reaches in his pocket.  I reach into mine.

“No Englais, por favor.”

With that he pulls out his treasure of the day.  One shell casing and two pennies.

I need to get a day job.

 

Home….

cropped-15095550_1812089809073862_3374301090125037312_n.jpgWe are finally here.  Up in the Adirondack Mountains, near lake Pleasant, in the sleepy little town of Wells, New York.  If there are two people who need a vacation, it is my husband and myself.   We began the trip with an argument, which stemmed from my hysteria about leaving my home.  I like to take my time and make sure I have everything.  Dwain likes to leave in such a hurry, that I fear he may spontaneously combust.

Aside from the fact that we were pulled over for a speeding (my weed was right there, in the front seat, my pipe in my purse.  I don’t think I took a breath for ten minutes straight- and after reviewing my husband’s driver’s license, the state trooper asked us this question:

“Can you two tell me what that white powdery substance is in that bag?”

I kid you not.  We looked at one another, completely oblivious to what he possibly could have meant, and we both turned our gaze to the silverware, wrapped in a white napkin, that my husband mistakenly took from a restaurant and has planned on returning since.

After receiving a $250 fine, plus points, we were told to have a great vacation.  The trooper followed us for twenty miles, and it wasn’t until he took an exit ramp that we both screamed- OH MY GOD IN HEAVEN HOW SCARY WAS THAT?????????

I am not a pot head by any stretch of the imagination, I only use it for my CPTSD, but because my career in donating to the Columbian drug cartels only began a few years ago.  I am patiently awaiting availability, as it has been legal in the state for a year, but very little progress has been made.  Hey, it’s Pennsylvania…

So I am sitting here, underneath the amazing pines, on a deck in the forest.  I was born in New York, and I have had the distinct feeling that I am home again, for the first time in way too long.  I brought my father’s ashes, as I couldn’t spread them when my siblings did; fifteen years ago in nearby Lake George.  I knew if I had gone on that trip that my drinking would have led to a very tense, if not tragic melee.  I feel grounded and at peace, and today I saw my very first waterfall-I cried for twenty minutes, the beauty too much for me to contain in my heart.

I won’t be on social media.  I refuse to look at my phone.  No checking of emails.  God is speaking to me and this is what he wants: for me to start concentrating on the good, the pure, the lovely, the laughter-no more tears for now.  I feel as if I am at the precipice of hope, and I know more clearly than ever that Jesus takes such great care to give us these incomprehensible blessings~and I want you to know, He loves you more than you could ever dream, or imagine.

My husband told me this morning that our neighbors were gone for the day.  He has been cavorting whilst naked, fell off the deck (long story) and thrown caution to the wind.  He just approached me with the news that the women have, in fact, been home the entire day.  I have to go, I’m in hysterics……….chow.

No Woman No Cry……

My poor, beleaguered husband…….I know it’s not nice to laugh at his expense, but this day will go down in the Hoffman archives as one of the most bizarre, criminally funny days of our life together.  I’m only laughing because he now knows deep in his bones not to laugh at my expense; because he was limping in my shoes today, and hey, if the shoe fits-  I am sure he will run to work tomorrow with joy and abandon,

“Guys, you know, I can’t say this with enough sincerity….(a tear or two sliding down his cheeks) it’s good to be back……”

This morning, while putting our dining room back together, Dwain (I don’t even know how to describe the supernatural phenomena that has plagued our weary souls and ass cheeks) slipped on an Outdoor Life magazine on our now bare, hardwood floor.  What happened next was so strange, so bizarro world-I am still shaking my head.  He hopped around in agony, and I didn’t understand how it was possible to hurt himself in this way-but his big toenail was somehow sliced away from the skin, and he bled profusely.  I told him to put pressure on it, and headed for the garage to feed the cats.  Cup in hand, I go to turn, but I am literally stuck in place, unable to move my head even a centimeter to the left or right.

“What the %$#*%@?”  I am stuck in a frenzy of fishing wire, perplexed and nonplussed at the same time.  This has become our way of living as of late.  Dwain doesn’t want to talk about it, but today he relented:

“I just don’t understand….(he’s talking about the fleas, the wipeout, his really crappy luck) I just don’t get it………what the hell just happened?”  I laugh and tell him, welcome to my world, this is my daily life, so glad you were here to experience this…….it’s spiritual warfare…….I am laughing my fool head off at this point.  Crying-laughing in all actuality.  I head for the garage to retrieve a lace runner from Aunt Betty’s estate boxes.  I can’t find them anywhere, and I begin to panic…….I go from cupboard to cupboard, searching, they were expensive and heirloom…….did HE THROW THEM OUT?????  I scream in my head.  Mood now serious it turns downright dour when I step…..on bubble wrap unknowingly and hear a flat out gun shot.  I am not laughing when I pick myself up from the cold cement floor.

Is it Tuesday yet?

Trying To Make a Fool Out of Me……

Well folks, we made it through the holiday weekend, but not without irreversible psychological scarring and emotional turmoil.  I woke up Sunday morning with a feeling of dread……like I have most mornings for over a week.  My husband pulled up with the dog after their morning hike, and judging by the look on Dwain’s face, I seriously wanted to turn around and run back inside, get under the covers, make it all go away.

“There are hundreds of fleas on the dog.  I don’t know what to do.”

This after we have tried EVERYTHING.  Dwain headed for Walmart in search of something we hadn’t tried.  He came back with oral meds and a flea collar, and before you say, That was EASY, no, no nothing has been easy.  Flea collars, diatomaceous earth, Frontline (I know you shouldn’t mix the products, and I told my husband this but let’s face it, he was a withered nub of nothing and a nervous wreck-I quietly explained to him that this has been my daily experience, but having no sympathy at that moment, we were caught up in the blame game, and I wasn’t having any of it.

We had ripped the carpet out of the dining room on Saturday.  Trying to think of what could possibly be causing this unholy war, I find a paper clip holder in the living room.  The paperclips had spilled all over the floor, and I couldn’t bring myself to pick them up…..but the mess caught my eye, about 267 times total.  I finally snapped out of it and read the lid of said container:

The Joy of the Lord is Your Strength……….

Then I began thinking, always a dangerous diversionary tactic……but it hit me, and it hit me like a ton of bricks……Earlier in the week, alone and screaming at Satan, (hey, my dog is my child, I don’t take kindly to anyone or anything that tries to come in between him and his well being) and I remember a coffee mug fell and broke open.

IS THAT THE BEST YOU GOT?  HA!!!!  JOKE’S ON YOU, YA BASTARD!!!!!!!!!!”

This explains the snake betwixt my frig and stove.  It explains why my dog was covered in creepy crawlies……..it explains my angst and return of  PTSD symptoms.   You see, the enemy knows he has done all he can to try and stop me-and he knows that I can handle just about anything he throws at me-but not any attempts to harm my fur baby…..no way, no how.

I am up in the back room.  I am FURIOUS.  I flip out:

“OK, LISTEN UP!!!!!  THIS IS WAR, OFFICIALLY.  I WILL NOT TOLERATE YOUR PRESENCE IN MY HOME!!!!  YOU HAVE NO AUTHORITY OR DOMINION OVER ME AND I REBUKE YOU IN THE NAME OF JESUS CHRIST.  DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?”

Aside from terrifying a neighbor or two, I wasn’t sure it made a difference until I crept down the stairs, singing the above song and noticed that Jesse was still, no itching, no harbingers of evil, just a Big Bang Theory rerun and, if only temporary, a respite from the unholy war we find ourselves fighting.

Come As You Are…….

Sitting in bed with a cold…….my husband off to the store for diatomaceous earth-yes, the more we do to rid ourselves of fleas, the faster they appear.  I am convinced this is a persecution of sorts, coming from the enemy, as my blog turns towards Christ centered writings.  I am a Christian, but I just came off of a tirade in which I yelled at God.

“Ok, mess with me-(meaning, allow the enemy an in) but what purpose does it serve to hurt my dog?  He is an innocent.  I cannot go through another day, can’t bare to see him suffer.”

I turn on Fox news and see a police officer speaking about prayer-in disgust I turn off the television.  Prayer doesn’t work.  Don’t talk to me about prayer.  Good luck with that.  I feel bitter and forlorn, angry and lost.  This goes on for maybe ten minutes.  I reach out for prayer to a dear friend, and then my entire Facebook family.  I apologize to my Abba, as I know he is allowing this for a reason.  I turn on the pc and find a video of Joel Osteen, a man I abhor, always have-even when I didn’t know why.  He has lied, blatantly, on national television about flooding in his church, and the Twitter posts are merciless.  I am no better or worse than that man, as each sin is equal in Abba’s eyes.  I repent, then ask His forgiveness…….but I am still shaken.

I begin to pray for the flood victims and am overcome with the parallel between those poor pilgrims and the plight of addicts everywhere, drowning in self loathing, remorse and shame.  I am one of those addicts, only now I am sober.  Each and every addiction begins with a pain that cannot be healed by his stripes-because we are unable to break through the cycle to pray.  We completely and utterly forget that there is a God, as fighting through each day becomes a task so great-well, it is hell, and the problem increases-day after day after day.  I remember laying in the hospital twenty plus years ago, crushed leg, broken arm and clavicle, contusions and broken ribs.  At the time I thought God was punishing me for leaving my first husband.  I had been hit by a drugged out motor cyclist who ran from the scene.  An hour later I am in the emergency room, I hear my husband’s voice, and then I hear:

“Are you the mother fucker who hit my wife?”

A scuffle, two police officers holding Dwain down.  I remember trying to raise my head and stop him, but the delicious and oh so dangerous honey that is morphine dripped through my veins, and I lay my head down.  I didn’t know back then that I would suffer for 20 plus years with opioid addiction.  And if you had told me that evening that this was coming?  I would have shushed you, and let myself be taken by the angel of mercy and doom.

 

 

 

In My System……………

Ladies and gentleman, I am in loveeeee……………………and I owe it all to my brand new, Shark Rocket Ultra-Light Upright.  Sweet baby Jesus I am over the moon and I doubt if I’ll come down from the clouds any time soon.

We are country mice, and we have no squares to spare for things like vacuum cleaners.  However, I have had the same burber carpet for 15 years-and as I’ve been using my in-laws twenty year old Oreck vacuum, complete with holes in the outer bag-for longer than I care to admit-well, I grabbed that Kohl’s 30% off coupon and ran for the jeep before anyone could stop me.  I was a woman on a mission, and nothing, NOTHING I TELL YOU, WOULD GET IN MY WAY.

You want to know about pure hell on earth?  Try living in a small farm house with 6 cats and a golden retriever without a workable vacuum.  If you’re lucky, you won’t lose your freaking mind, and if you’re really lucky?  Well, you won’t be seen cursing a blue streak whilst kicking the shit out of said crap vacuum on your front porch in your skivvies.  True story.  I hate that piece of shit like I hate poison, and I can finally say adios!!!!!!!! you mother effer, you are banned to the land of failed household appliances, forever.

My husband just laid mouse traps, that’s right, mouse traps under my settee and behind my wood stove, as the cats were so afraid of that monstrosity?  They would literally crap their pants-or, crap my floor is more like it.

I have become such a germ phobe that I wear flip flops in my own shower, for crying out loud, after I have scoured it with Clorox.  And God forbid the shower curtain touches me, I wince in disbelief each and every time it happens.

Did I tell you my brother, mon frere, my amigo is coming tomorrow?  I may be a withered nub of nothing when he arrives, but you can bet your sweet ass my house will be clean.