Ever had the experience when you first awaken and you feel great for about two seconds. Slowly this feeling comes over you that something is wrong...but your brain isn't working well enough yet to remember what it is. Slowly, like a picture coming into focus, everything that is wrong or you've been dreading slowly invades your peaceful consciousness happy place? Well that happened again to me this morning, and this is what invaded my consciousness:
I've got one week until my mother-in-law arrives for Christmas. Did I mention my daughter and son-in-law are also going to be here a few days, and my son is coming in from Savannah? Plus my new step-daughter and her new husband are driving in from Florida. Plus the son who still lives here....And I'm the chief cook and bottle-washer, maid, hostess, event planner, entertainment committee, and referee? I'm exhausted before I start.
Well I decided this year would have to be easier. I mean, a girl shouldn't wake up dreading two weeks of her life, right? So I made a few phone calls.
I called a cleaning lady. She's coming Saturday morning to give the house a good shining. (The word shining immediately brought to mind Jack Nicholson and the images of his hatchet and I wondered if calling him in was a possibility...just kidding...)
I called my husband at work to tell him that I don't intend to cook every day. I'll pull off Christmas dinner, as always, but be prepared for some pizza and Chinese take-out. He said fine. (He knows better than to argue with me this time of year.)
I called my daughter and asked them to plan a trip to take the MIL to Opryland Hotel to see the Christmas lights and eat out dinner there.
I moved a loveseat into my bedroom beside my bookshelf, and put a pole lamp in there, so I have a place to "cornfield." (I read of a rural lady who, when she was overwhelmed with life, would hide in her cornfield, until her family sounded sincerely needy. Then she would reappear.) I also created a similar place in the guest room so MIL can retreat from us, too.
I also make a pact with myself that perfect Christmases don't exist, this one won't be either, that I DON'T care if they think I'm not perfect or even if they hate me for not cooking the perfect Christmas ham. I'll meet my expectations and not their's. My kids will love it anyway. The in-laws will have to adapt.
God, now I'm ready to go back to bed and get into my happy place again....
Ho Ho Hooooooo.....
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
God, are you there?
I have looked for God all my life. I know the saying is if you can't find Him, it's YOU who moved, but I keep moving and searching and not finding Him for very long. I've been a member of every kind of church imaginable. I've always gone in and tried so hard to do everything they told me and be the perfect Christian, yet it doesn't take long until I lose interest, and go looking for something else. I've been "saved" or "rededicated" twenty or thirty times (once I'm almost sure was real, but then wonder if it wasn't just the relief from guilt I felt) , have been through six baptisms (some churches don't accept other churches' ordinances). I've heard of people who had these life-changing religious experiences, but I know that doesn't happen to everyone. I know the Bible probably better than most people, can quote most of it. I have been in Bible classes of one kind or another all my life. When I have approached "religious" people and presented this problem, I mostly get scripture quoted to me. I KNOW ALL THAT!
There are times I am almost sure it's real. There are times I wonder if any of it is real. I wish I could say I have spirituality in my life in some real way. I go to church every Sunday. I sit in the pew. I listen to people give their testimonies. I watch them weep with emotion and wonder what's wrong with me? When called upon, I can give a pretty decent prayer. But even though I have done all the things I was told to do, it doesn't seem to "take" with me.
Is it wrong to want something REAL? Everyone has to find their own "path" but I seem to have gotten the joke map that goes around in circles.
There are times I am almost sure it's real. There are times I wonder if any of it is real. I wish I could say I have spirituality in my life in some real way. I go to church every Sunday. I sit in the pew. I listen to people give their testimonies. I watch them weep with emotion and wonder what's wrong with me? When called upon, I can give a pretty decent prayer. But even though I have done all the things I was told to do, it doesn't seem to "take" with me.
Is it wrong to want something REAL? Everyone has to find their own "path" but I seem to have gotten the joke map that goes around in circles.
Monday, December 13, 2004
Scrooge in Pantyhose
How can anyone say they love Christmas? One trip to WalMart this time of year has got to cure that. Who cares about choosing the ideal gift. The people I know have everything they need and what they really want is someone to come into their house and get rid of half of it for them, so they can find a place to sit down. It's the same at our house. Sometimes I just want to hire a dump truck and have him park in the front yard, open the front door and just toss everything and start over. (But that would mean I'd have to go back to WalMart again, right? No thanks.) I think the ideal Christmas would be to get away from all this craziness and escape to a mountain cabin with a fire roaring in the fireplace, a warm blanket, and couple of good books, some chocolate and Diet Coke (yeah I know it doesn't make sense, but I like them) and wait until it all blows over to come back. Or better yet, don't come back. Life's always better in your dreams anyway.
Journaling on Paper
So all the self-help junkies say journaling will help you "get in touch with your feelings." And deep down I LOVE the idea of a place to record all my thoughts in some gorgeous leatherbound book that will be found a hundred years after my death and become a bestseller. But the thought of someone in THIS time period finding that sucker, people who actually know me, who I actually have to LIVE around, drives me nuts.
Also, am I the only one who has the problem of buying the luxurious leatherbound thing and sitting there staring at page one all blank and pretty and thinking, "I don't have a frigging thing to put on page one that's worth messing it up for"? And what if I start and then don't like what I write? So all that indecision drives me nuts and I end up with pretty leatherbound empty books taking up space all over the house. (And having a computer journal just doesn't conjure up the same warm, cozy feeling. My computer has cords and wires and all that other outdated stuff that makes cuddling up with it in a cozy chair by the fire sound incredibly painful.)
The thing about privacy bothers me. Not wanting someone else to come along and read it. I don't mind perfect strangers reading it, but people I think know me and love me reading it? Yikes.
It's so strange that we can't write our truths on paper journals because of the reactions of those we live with if they really knew how we felt. Yet we think they do love us for ourselves. To me, that says much about the strong belief we have that unconditional love is impossible. (Maybe that is why the belief in an always-loving God is so appealing.)
The really frightening part is we don't just keep the truth from others. We also keep the truth about ourselves from ourselves, too. It's easier to believe in our motives as being honorable, than to say that our true motives are greed, lust, etc. So are we afraid that telling ourselves the way it REALLY is will also make us stop loving ourselves? Or did we ever really get a chance to KNOW and STILL love, with anyone?
I want to know myself. I want to know all the good and the bad and the light and the dark and
still be able to look at myself as special. Isn't that what we all want? To be special?? Is thinking of yourself that way possible? Gee, I am getting way too deep here. Must be time for a game show on tv or something.....
Also, am I the only one who has the problem of buying the luxurious leatherbound thing and sitting there staring at page one all blank and pretty and thinking, "I don't have a frigging thing to put on page one that's worth messing it up for"? And what if I start and then don't like what I write? So all that indecision drives me nuts and I end up with pretty leatherbound empty books taking up space all over the house. (And having a computer journal just doesn't conjure up the same warm, cozy feeling. My computer has cords and wires and all that other outdated stuff that makes cuddling up with it in a cozy chair by the fire sound incredibly painful.)
The thing about privacy bothers me. Not wanting someone else to come along and read it. I don't mind perfect strangers reading it, but people I think know me and love me reading it? Yikes.
It's so strange that we can't write our truths on paper journals because of the reactions of those we live with if they really knew how we felt. Yet we think they do love us for ourselves. To me, that says much about the strong belief we have that unconditional love is impossible. (Maybe that is why the belief in an always-loving God is so appealing.)
The really frightening part is we don't just keep the truth from others. We also keep the truth about ourselves from ourselves, too. It's easier to believe in our motives as being honorable, than to say that our true motives are greed, lust, etc. So are we afraid that telling ourselves the way it REALLY is will also make us stop loving ourselves? Or did we ever really get a chance to KNOW and STILL love, with anyone?
I want to know myself. I want to know all the good and the bad and the light and the dark and
still be able to look at myself as special. Isn't that what we all want? To be special?? Is thinking of yourself that way possible? Gee, I am getting way too deep here. Must be time for a game show on tv or something.....
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