A Day in the Life

So you and I both know that - in order to win friends and influence people - communication skills are everything.  Right?

Listen carefully and see how A Mom on Spin did in just one day yesterday . . . .
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7:10 a.m. - Cheerfully ask Veggie if she'll be ready for work early because the family is short a car since her accident (may Percy rest in peace) and someone needs to drive Ponzi to school. Receive look of disgust in reply.  Drop Ponzi at the high school yourself.  Don't even attempt to talk to anyone in your family again until you report to work.

8:30 a.m - Bid a fond farewell to your new boss who is leaving for a few days of well-deserved R & R.  Tell him you hope he enjoys that new novel you shared with him.  Assure him that everything will be under control while he's away.

8:45 a.m. - Receive phone call from boss while he's on the road asking to make sure someone visits an elderly parishioner in a local nursing home in his absence.  Reply that it's A piece of cake.  Note that the day is off to a good start.

8:46 a.m. - Receive second phone call from boss asking you to organize the parish's response and collection efforts for victims of the Haiti Earthquake. Of course you can do that.

9:00 a.m. - Schedule a baptism.  Try your best to be thrilled that another baby has been birthed to the world. . . a baby girl no less.  Bite your tongue and congratulate the new parents.

9:01 a.m.  - Another call from the boss (he does a lot of thinking while he's driving, now doesn't he????) instructing you to order some take-home materials to arrive in time for next weekend.  Remind yourself that this is why you make the big bucks. 

9:15 a.m. - And speaking of bucks.. . .place a call to your friendly financial planner to ensure her that - yes - she read your fax correctly and she needs to send $13,441 to Trigger's university to cover her spring semester.  And, - yes- you're a tad-bit on the late side in faxing the request.  The tuition is due Friday.


9:32 a.m. - Another baptism call. . . always better than a funeral call . . .  but another baby girl. . ..feel your anxiety kicking in. . .

9:33 a.m. - Call physician and schedule an appointment for blood pressure check.

10:05 a.m. - Meet with a grieving family whose departed loved one was a well-known philanthropic pillar of the community to help plan her funeral service.  Hear yourself say that you only provide a simple one-page funeral program.  Then surprise yourself by hearing the following phrases emanate from your mouth: "Family photos?  Oh I could scan those!  Eight pages?  No problem!  Printer first thing in the morning?  I can do that!  When everyone else says "No"  a Mom on Spin says "Yes!"

12:25 p.m. - Take another call from a funeral director and book a funeral for Tuesday - knowing it will totally destroy all hopes of your long weekend.

12:25 and 30 seconds:  Inform all within earshot that - funeral or not - you're still going to the governor's inauguration on Tuesday because you ghost-wrote that invocation and you're damn-well going to hear it delivered!

Shortly Thereafter:  Daydream about new governor liking that invocation so much he invites you to be part of his speechwriting team. . . or - better yet - the Poet Laureate of the great state of New Jersey.  Reprimand self for daydreaming at work. You have work to do.

12:37 p.m. - Field call from Trigger who tells you that you need to pay her $750 in sorority dues immediately because she got "called out" at a meeting last night.  Poor thing.

12:38 p.m. - Place another call to your friendly financial planner to see if perhaps sorority dues are, indeed, a  "qualified" withdrawal from a 529 account.  When you hear her answer "no", meekly ask if beer money. . . or tanning memberships. . .or the cost of pedicures. . .  would be reimbursable under the college savings plan you have established in her name 'cause you're awfully broke right now and you need an infusion of moola.. . .

12:59 p.m. - Receive a call from old priest boss wondering if you could do him a favor and book him a flight to Florida for his upcoming vacation in February.  Play travel agent while typing frantically on your keyboard. . .  asking for things like credit card numbers, date of birth, and one-pass mileage account numbers.

1:04 p.m. - Put him on hold in order to stop the chairman of the parish finance committee from running yet-another error-filled tax letter to all contributors, by actually reading the first one that came out of the printer and pointing out errors to him.  Note that you still haven't shredded the 1,000+ error-filled letters which he printed last week.

1:05 p.m. - Resume making travel plans for old boss.

1:05 p.m. - Put old boss on hold to field another call from new boss.  Pray that your session with Continental airlines has not timed-out in the mean time.

2:35 p.m. - Receive text message from Ponzi which reads, "Get celery, cucumbers, oranges, and grapes at the store."  Find yourself unable to hit the reply button.

2:45 p.m. - Receive the first of numerous phone calls from the local nursing home informing you that a member of the clergy was due there to say Mass at 2:30.  Note that the activities director was not happy that the staff  had transported 35 residents downstairs for naught.  Think to yourself, Hey, that ride in the elevator was probably the highlight of those old folks' day! but bite your tongue. . . just like like you did with the baby girl thing and the Ponzi text. Apologize profusely for priest's oversight.


3:10 p.m - Field call from local newspaper wanting to know what your parish's response to the Haiti crisis is.  Proudly inform them of all your efforts, but no - damn it - you are not holding a candlelight vigil that they can use as a photo op.  Inform them that you will - however - be holding a funeral service for a well-known philanthropist on Friday.  And the funeral booklet will be done by you.  At some point.  If you can ever get off of the phone.

All Freakin'-Frackin' Afternoon! - Receive calls and emails from grieving family, clergy members, funeral directors, printers, and curious bystanders regarding or the program which you are hastily putting together, and will need 400 copies of, by Friday's funeral.

Sometime During that Timespan - Begin fantasizing about rich philanthropic family paying Trigger's sorority dues for you (Hey, a girl's gotta dream, right????) or old boss letting you use his credit card as a sort of travel agent fee. . . 

4:25 p.m.  - Inform Ponzi that you're swamped at work and will not be procuring the items from the grocery store as requested.   Tell her she'll have to fend for herself for dinner.  Hear her mutter something about you never making dinner for her anyway.

4:26 p.m. - Scoff.

Rest of Day:  Refuse to talk to anyone because tongue is now swollen from all of that biting.

All the better to curse you with, my dear. . . .

Happenstance? Or Twilight Zone???

Do you believe in happenstance?

Or do you think it more likely that I have crossed over into another dimension and fallen, unwittingly, into an episode of . . . 

Take - for instance - my friendly Psychic.   Do you think that when I happened to meet her in the grocery store on Thursday (a good 20 miles from her home) and she said,  Oh, I just felt drawn here!  followed quickly by,  And I thought I might run in to you. . .  it was simple happenstance???

And do you think that when I happened to spend the day yesterday helping a sister parish who lost their beloved pastor to a senseless and brutal murder . . . I should happen to meet a monk. . .who then happened to be the very one who greeted me later in the day by the front door of an Abbey three towns over. . .  when I happened to bring my father for the first time to attend evening vespers because my mother no longer felt physically able to bring him?

Was that happenstance?

 I'm thinking Twilight Zone here. . .

And - seeing that it's Halloween and the very night we mortals mess with time and turn our clocks back - don't you kind of wonder who I will happen to run into next?

I do.

And if, by chance, you require further proof. . . as I grabbed my purse from a kitchen chair to run out the door earlier, I noticed that it had been resting on a book I hadn't seen in months.

What I Want Today. You Know, Because It's Thursday. . .

I'm taking part in Sass' Things I Want Thursdays today because I totally might win a cool prize.  (I may also win the $200 million in the lottery tomorrow night, but I still want the prize anyhow. . .)

So this is how it works:  I write down the things I want, and Sass somehow magically sees that I get them.  You know, kind of like Santa. 


And so I'll let you get a glimpse into my head right now, but I'm warning you . . . it isn't pretty!   And I'm afraid poor Sass is going to have to be a little less like Santa and a whole more like God.

__________

I want . . . to never again have to write down the numbers "3" and "5" next to the words "age at death" on a funeral sheet.  I want big old numbers there instead. . .  you know. . .  like "9" and "2"  or "8" and "9".  Numbers like that.  And I want to never again have to wonder if a church that seats 500 will be big enough to hold all of the mourners.  The best earthly send-offs are those where the bigger party is the reunion taking place on the other side.

I also want . . . to turn back the hands of time just for a day and  be prepared with a different reaction when a convicted child molester walks into my place of employment and hands me a present because he likes my poetry.  WTF???  Did I hear my-stupid-self say Thank You????

I want. . . . all skinny-tall-elf-like-crazy-people-with-extra-long-fingernails who are looking for gas money to travel back to Connecticut to get there by some other means rather than to come around asking me for money.  I don't have an internal truth detector for folks like you .  I do want to warn you - however - not to drive thru the high-speed EZ Pass lanes on the Tappen Zee Bridge unless you want to get hit with a hefty fine exactly one year from now. . .

And while we're at it, I want . . .  someone to tell that sales guy who has been working out of  the conference room all week that he doesn't have to steal the bagels and splenda packets from the breakfast bar at his hotel and bring them to me like he's serving me breakfast in bed or something. . .


Oh, and I want. . .  my own office, 'cause how is a gal like me supposed to get any serious work done when she's working in a flippin' fishbowl.  Or nuthouse.  You decide.

And just a word to the Grim Reaper?  I didn't mean to upset the whole life/death balance of the universe again.   I just want folks to get a good shot at living before they die. . .

Hello God? Can We Talk?

Hello God?

I just wanted to commend you for being really funny sometimes.

Like yesterday at 7:00 a.m., after picking up the fourteen boxes of munchkins, ten gallons of apple juice, six quarts of half and half, and two fruit trays for a little after-church reception in the back room. . .well perhaps I was feeling a wee-bit inhospitable about all of my hospitality duties. . . or perhaps I was just plain old cranky from lack of sleep. . . but, in all honesty, I'm sure I was just feeling all kinds of proprietary about me being the top dog in the new order. . . and so I started to plan/plot/maneuver/sabotage the guest list for the first big staff meeting with our new boss.. . .thinking, of course, that some of my coworkers should not be invited because their jobs are not (and I'm sure I used the word) pastoral.

And then I went into church and heard the all-too-familiar story of those disciples fighting about which one was the greatest and was told in the homily that perhaps sometimes we just don't "get it" either and couldn't we all just benefit from a big old piece of humble pie.

So God?  I'm waiting for mine!  But did I ever tell you that I like it with a side of vanilla ice cream?

Fellow bloggers, the heavenly phone lines are now open!  If you feel you have a thing or two to discuss with The Big Guy, go ahead and give him a call.   Mr. Linky here will put you through at no charge. . .

A Top-Secret Copy of A Mom on Spin's email to her Hard-Working Picnic Committee

Hello all ~ ('cause I kind of feel a special kinship with that "all" word and that squiggly line thing. . . it's like my trademark, you might say. . . that , and ellipses. . . but I try hard not to use ellipses in my "business" correspondence. . . . )

Yes, fellow committee persons! The big day is fast approaching! I thought I'd give you an update on a few items that need to be shored up before our big parish picnic on Sunday: (Notice the colon, my friends, the colon is tres-tres-professionalle!)

• Well it seems that members of the Good Samaritan Ministry have refused to provide rides for the old ladies in the senior citizen complex. Is there a committee member who might just have a heart and decide to pick them up?
• Has anyone been able to pin down the magician? I'd like to know what time he plans to make at least one of the crowd of 1,067 (and growing by the minute!) disappear.
• Pay no attention to the man in the skirt. I have hired him to play the bagpipes.
• Ditto to the Knights of Columbus in their colorful capes and funny feather-plumed hats. They will be on site to . . . well . . . to do something!
• Reporters and photographers from both the diocesan and local newspapers will be roaming around looking for me. We all know how I feel about getting my picture taken, so feel free to pretend you're me - especially if you're skinny, and pretty, and well-spoken, and tall - yes, I think I'd like to be tall! I know that some of you gentlemen would like to try out for the role of being me, but let's leave it to the females, shall we????
• The garbage situation will be in the bag as soon as I make the call to get a dumpster. But, don't worry, that's on my "to do" list.
• So is confirming last minute details with the caterer.
• Shhhh! It's a surprise! Our retirement gift for our outgoing pastor is a trip to Africa to visit his missionary friend in Tanzania. At last glance the safari hat with the little motorized fan I ordered has not arrived, so the cub scouts have offered to provide us with one of those Beenie and Cecil hats with the whorlly-bird thingy on the top. No prob. . . .
• What's the poop on the Port-o-Pottys?? Does anyone know where and when they're are going to be dropped???
• Be prepared! The Bounce House and Obstacle Course have been secured for the children, but the company insists on some height restrictions for silly safety reasons. I'm not sure if we'll spend most of the day warding off infants or kicking off drunken adults.
• Come to think of it. . . does anyone have a first aid kit? We may need one.
• Are the Boy Scouts willing to walk the old ladies across the street? That may win us back some brownie points. Wait! How about the Brownies? What are they doing all afternoon?
• How about our representatives from the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick? Are you willing to take a turn manning the first-aid station? Oh. . . I forgot. . . you'll be the very same drunken adults we'll be kicking out of the kiddie's Bounce House. . . and also those most likely to be needing medical treatment. . .
• I never did really wrap up the dessert bullet item from my last email, and so I say, Let them eat cake! At home. They'll have to eat cake at home, 'cause I never ordered any for the picnic. Even though the tent guy had a number for a food guy, who had a deal with a cookie guy - I just never got around to connecting the dots . . .
• I've spoken with members of the Dixieland Band and - yes - they most definitely will play Oh, When the Saints. . . The rest of their musical selections may not be recognizable, but are guaranteed to get on your nerves for the entire afternoon.
• Yes, I know it's the first Sunday of football season. Tough kitty litter. You're all staying on-site 'til every last table, chair, and tent has been picked up!

And so I guess that covers it! Nothing like a good old fashioned picnic to bring the community together, hey???? Remember to show up on Sunday at whatever time I told you in my last email. (Details are fast escaping me . . .)

Until Sunday, I remain (without the help of medication . . .)

Am I forgetting anything? Please tell me if I am, 'cause I'm losing sleep anyway, and would welcome feedback. . .

God, Can We Talk? The phone lines are now open . . .

Okay, so it turns out that last week almost every one of my readers must have been perfect. . .

. . . or chicken. . .

. . . or perhaps no one wanted to take part in my For I Have Sinned Monday 'cause you plain-old don't like me. . . or felt I was being blasphemous. . . (I - personally - would like to believe you were all perfect.)

So this week I'm changing the link on my sidebar button to God? Can we talk?

Once again, this hosted-by-Monday-linky-fest is a win/win for everyone. It's good for God - he gets a break from the burden of being omnipresent, 'cause folks from around the world can come right here to talk to him. And it's good for you, because you can say anything you'd like . . . you know. . you can petition him for something. . . ask questions that only he can answer. . . ask for forgiveness. . . kibitz about your life . . . anything you'd like to talk to God (and the rest of the blogging community) about.

This way, even perfect people can take part. And we wouldn't want to leave them out of the fun, you know. The Perfect People. They're touchy about that. And very misunderstood.

Very.

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So, God? Can we talk?

Hello God?

You know how much I like my perfume?

I confess that there are times in my life when I've crawled into bed at the end of a tough day, rested my hand under my head, smelled the perfume still on my wrist and thought to myself, As long as I can smell this, everything will be okay.

Well, lately I have fallen in love with another scent.

It's fragrant.
Exotic.
Sensual.
Cathartic.
Restful.

It's a scent so powerful, it brings aromatherapy to a whole new level. . . but unfortunately, from now on we might have to call that new level, aroma-theft-apy. . .

You see, God, the problem is that I couldn't run right out and buy a bottle of the stuff because it belongs. . . to. . . well. . . to. . . you. The smell belongs to you!

It's one of the Holy Oils.

A heavenly mixture of olive oil and balsam. In fact, the on-line Catholic Encyclopedia refers to it as the Agreeable Odor of Christ (their words, not mine. . . I wouldn't think he'd have any disagreeable odors, but still. . . ) I never exactly knew about this particular Agreeable Odor until one of the priests accidentally spilled a drop onto the wooden counter in the sacristy. And I reveled in that smell for weeks.

And I wanted some. In my life. In my home. And in my brand new room where I pray. . . contemplate. . . live. . . and write. . . You see, Lord, I feel as though I have started a new life. . .what with the burdens of motherhood being eased a bit. . . I feel like I can breathe a big sigh of relief, and become more focused. . . and meditative. . . more zen-like.

And so I pilfered some of that Holy Oil (three drops to be exact) on a piece of cotton and brought it home. And then, in an act of consecration, I rubbed that agreeable odor into my antique desk. . . my cross . . . and the elephant in the room (yes, I have one. . . ) as a fragrant sign of my new life . . . of strength. . . of love. . .of forgiveness . . . and of a God that smells so good, you just want to hang around him/you . . . Forever.

Yikes! I never meant to get so deep . . . I just wanted to confess that I swiped some of the Holy Oils. . . And there must be other bloggers lined up to talk to you. . .

Fellow bloggers, the phone lines are now open!

If you have something you'd like to discuss, grab the button from my sidebar and add your name on Mr. Linky here. . . because he's the closest thing to a heavenly operator we have. . .

This Week's Sin? Gluttony

So this is the day God's been waiting for. . . the one when he can take a break from the responsibilities of being Omnipresent and let people from around the globe travel here to state their sins - all in one place! How easy is that?

While last week's sin was what you may have called, Not keeping Holy the Sabbath. . .this week's sin is pure and simple, Gluttony!

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Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It's been exactly one week since my last confession.

And you see. . . Father. . . it's really not a terrible sin . . . it's kind of like a little misdemeanor. . . but the other day. . .well. . . you know that Mrs. Fozzi who makes all those delicious lemon squares. . . well, she dropped a plate of them off for you and the other priests in the rectory . . . I think it was right around lunchtime. . . yeah! That was it! . . . It was right around lunchtime and I was starving. . . and so, anyhoo. . . first they were there. . . and the next thing you know they were all gone. . . so I need you to call her and thank her like you usually do. . . but this time you need to kind of pretend that you had one. . .'cause I ate them all . . . It's not like I'm asking you to lie or anything. . . you just need to tell her they were delicious. . . and they were!. . . you can take my word for it. . . the crust was perfect. . . and the lemon filling? To die for!. . . and the way she sprinkled that confectioner's sugar on the top in those little designs? Heavenly!. . . so you see. . . you really wouldn't be lying, per se. . . although in truth, it might be considered a small sin of omission. . .but you couldn't help it. . . I omitted you from eating them!. . . . it's like yours would be a tiny-mini-misdemeanor. . . and besides. . . can't priests just forgive themselves anyway???

The end.

What are you waiting for? Nobody's perfect! Grab your button, state your sins, and let Mr. Linky determine your place in the line for the confessional . . .

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Bless Me Father, for I Have Sinned. . . and it's kind of a doozie!

I think it's time for Bless me Father, for I have sinned. . . Monday edition. . .

Me: Well. . . you see, Father . . . I didn't quite make it to church yesterday because the power went out at home and I . . . well, I . . . I looked like an unmade bed without the benefit of my electric hairdryer. . . and plus . . . Trigger stole my make-up remover pads. . . and I didn't have my morning cup of coffee. . . and I really didn't feel like going to Mass . . . plus, I had already typed your homily for you on Friday. . . so it's like going to the movie when you've already read the book. . . but I felt guilty about it all-the-same . . . cause when you work for a church, you're supposed to set a good example. . . so anyway, I came up with a plan. . . ingenius, if I do say so myself. . . I went to church and kind of hung around. . . you know. . . so that you and Fr. Densin would see me and perhaps get the impression that I was attending the service . . . but when Mass started, I went into the office and blogged from my work computer instead. . . and I hid in the dark so you wouldn't see me when you brought the collection money in. . .


The end.

Bad "Car"ma. . .

I'm officially posting a Rambling, Run-on, and Random Tuesday Thoughts post today (even though it's Monday) and titiling it Bad "Car"ma . . .

If you want to see more Random Tuesday thoughts, click on over to Keely's (tomorrow, that is. . .) and join in.

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• Don't you hate in when you wake up in the morning to the familiar smell of homemade popcorn (a.k.a . old smelly burnt oil) and are quickly greeted by the sight of a kitchen and family room left in disarray after you went to bed? Wouldn't you just love to leave Ponzi a big note showing your discontent and telling her to clean it up fast?

• Or when you snoop on-line to see if Trigger has completed her math placement exam as promised (a pre-requisite to her college orientation tomorrow) and she still hasn't. . . no matter how long you've been bugging her to do it?

• And how about when, just for fun, you open your on-line banking to peek at your cell phone bill and see that it rolled in as a whopping $520 for just one month? Don't you hate it when that happens???

• And how about when your husband calls you at work to tell you that he talked to the mechanic, who thinks he knows what the problem with Roberta is this time, and wants to take the car home overnight just to be sure, but can't unless you pay $60 for him to perform the overdue state inspection, which he would be happy to perform but is unable to because he cannot find not a valid insurance card in the glove compartment due to the fact that the replacement ones you ordered haven't arrived in the mail yet?

• Or how about when your Priest-Boss gets informed that your two teenage daughters were among the minions who got caught drinking on the church trip to Appalachia even under your husband's watchful eye???? Bless me Father, for my daughters have sinned. . .

• Or when, out of the goodness of your heart, you go to drive a 450 pound woman to the office of temporary assistance to update her food stamp card and your 1999 minivan starts to buck and sputter on the way there and you're absolutely convinced that there is no way you're going to make it and you try to talk her into calling a cab for the return trip, but she's too timid, so you wait the hour and a half with her, but pour her into a cab at the end anyway cause you're afraid to have the car break down with her in it 'cause you didn't bring her motorized wheelchair and she can't walk more than five steps without having to rest? Are you not amazed when that happens????

• And how about when you finally get your car to the dealership (not the same mechanic who has Roberta, mind you. . ) and they say Hey, do you know this car's overdue for inspection? or Hey, would you like us to put on a new hubcap??? Don't you just not feel like 'splaining the insurance card part, but do feel like you driving down to Appalachia and moving into one of those trailers yourself?

• Or when, after a long tiring day, your sister picks you up from the car dealership and you arrive back home to find those old smelly popcorn dishes still in the kitchen sink and you call Ponzi repeatedly to no avail because she doesn't answer - only to find out hours later that she's been in the house and napping ever since you got home???? Aren't you glad you didn't resume the walking around the house naked you did when you knew no one else was home????
  

Now, don't you agree that any of these scenarios would be painful on their own. . . but when they all occur in the same day, it's even more than Bad "Car"ma. . . it's the peace and quiet of My Perfect Week unraveling faster than a roll of toilet paper on Mischief Night!!!!


And don't you just hate it when that happens????

Oh, and thanks to Veggie (who has indeed surfaced in the UK for all who were worried about her) for coining the "Car"ma phrase. . . creative phrasing must be genetic. . .

Salvation History According to Liz (a.k.a. let's just throw Eve under the bus and be done with her)

I interrupt my day in my sick bed to bring you more thoughts on my last post . . . But first, I need to give you a warning that - even though some of the characters and circumstances in today's story may seem hauntingly familiar - I would never complain about my own life.

That being said, we may now proceed to my revised version of Salvation History.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The life of womankind would have been much improved if our friend Eve had waited 'til Adam took the first bite.


You see, the minute that hussie led Adam down the wrong path and they were banished from that garden for good, suddenly the bone-from-my-bones and flesh-from-my-flesh thing was over. . . and so was the a-man-must-leave-his-father-and-mother-and-cling-to-his-wife-and-the-two-become-one stuff. . .


Clinging was now a thing of the past. . .


From that moment on, Adam decided to keep his own counsel, for it appeared that Eve had screwed him over pretty good. Adam pledged to himself that never again would he let a woman gain the upper hand. And so the deadliest of the eight plagues ever to hit mankind descended upon Adam - emotional constipation. (Seriously! Moses had nothing on this guy. . . . ) And Eve's punishment was to accept the consequences. . . for she now knew that her little foray into the apple orchard had gained her the knowledge that life stunk.


Oh, yes . . . and one more thing. . . Eve now knew that she would be a slave to fashion for the rest of her life, for now Adam saw some lumps and bumps where he hadn't before. .


But life, never-the-less, went on for our first couple. . . . Adam went to work in the fields. . . Eve stayed back to toil in the home. . . Cain, Abel, and Witchy grew to have some pretty infamous fights. . . And, through it all, Adam kept to himself. . . coming home at night. . . pouring himself a glass of single-malt scotch. . . and turning on ESPN.

Oh yes, and once a year - on Mother's Day - Adam sent Eve a greeting card saying something to the effect of. . . I know I don't tell you often enough how much I love you. . .


And - despite her somewhat dire predicament - poor little Eve tried her best to return to the bone-from-my-bones relationship which she had found so comforting in the pre-apple phase of their lives. . . perfectly coating herself with fig leaves in the summer and leopard skins in the winter. . . fashioning herself a pretty little thong from a nearby grape vine (Ouch!) . . . harnessing fire so they could cozy up to it at night. . . inventing the wheel so they could hop in the car and go places together . . . she even sliced bread so they could stop and have a picnic along the way. . . let's face it. . . that woman did everything she could - short of pouring a bottle of Drano down his throat while he slept. . .

But, my friends, a plague is a plague. And once God sends it down, there's no reversing it.

And so the only thing that ever changed for our leading lady was that - with each passing year - her bones-from-his-bones needed a bigger leopard skin in order to cover her flesh-from-his-flesh. (A condition - I might add - that was also a consequence of eating that apple. . .and one which might, indeed, qualify as the ninth deadliest plague. . . )

So here's the part where I throw Eve under the bus for good.

Why didn't she just leave Adam to his own devices? We all know that Adam would have tasted that apple sooner or later. . . and when he did, he never would have shared with her. . . cause guys are selfish like that. . . and Eve could have remained in the garden, while Adam was banished . . . leaving her with no laundry to do. . . so she could have invited her girlfriends over . . . . and they would have had one big fig-leaf-truth-or-dare-dance-party and stood sharing secrets and waving to their husbands and sending them greeting cards that said Wish you were here! from the other side of the wall. . .

Okay, I realize that we would have had a wee problem with the propogation of the species, but God's smarter than we are and would have figured that all out on his own.

And, yes, I am delirious from the fever. . .

p.s. and for all you perfectionists out there who may have a problem with my representation of a few facts. . . I realize that if I wanted to be geographically accurate, I would have had Adam pouring himself a glass of Jamison's or Bushmill's - for every one knows that the Garden of Eden was in Ireland, not Scotland!

The law of inertia

Being the mother of teenagers, I like laws. And a guy named Sir Isaac Newton came up with three of them.

1. A body in motion tends to stay in motion unless the body is compelled to change it's state.
2. 
   
   
   How fast an object moves after it is pushed depends on the force of the push and the mass of the object.
3. 
   
   
   To every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

I'll admit . . . I don't understand the second law for the life of me. . . and I don't think I really care about the third. . . but the first one is my absolute favorite because it's also known as The Law of Inertia.

I'm good at inertia.

I think we all must recognize by now that I needed change in my life - for I've been hopelessly stuck in this Spin Cycle for years. . . crying out for help. . . waiting for others to change their ways. . . expecting someone else to put the brakes on. . . press the stop button. . . bring the madness to a halt, and. . .well. . . start behaving for a change. . .

But I have suddenly/gradually come to the realization that I can be the force that changes my state of being (very Newtonian of me, don't you think?) And so, my friends, I have turned over a new leaf. I have changed course. I am officially a new and improved me.


~Suddenly, because I really must credit Braja's recent post on the "Quality of Life" for stirring me from my inertia.


~Gradually, because I have been traveling down this path without really knowing it for quite a while.


So what, exactly, is this new force that has caused me to change direction (or is scheduled to, just as soon as that book I ordered comes in and I am successful in my quest to get that damn plastic wrapping off of the Spirit Spa c.d. I purchased at Walmart today????)


Contemplative prayer.


Yup! I ordered a book on Centering Prayer - a method of Christian meditation that places a strong emphasis on interior silence.

Interior silence . . . won't that be beautiful???? I ran a test last night after a couple of glasses of wine and it was wonderful! I really could think about nothing!!!! (I just have to be careful that I don't have too many glasses of wine, or the room will start spinning all on its own. . . and that, I surmise, may defeat the purpose altogether. . .)

And in the face of my newfound peace and tranquility, did I work myself into a tizzy this morning as I purged Trigger's bedroom floor of twenty bath towels, one bath math, and eight hand towels????

No, I did not.

And so I'll raise a glass to Braja and Mr. Newton tonight and say. . . Thank you, my friends. . . thank you!

Doesn't Mr. Newton look at bit perturbed in that picture??? I think it's from all those planets spinning about him. Take it from me, someone should tell him to lay off the vino and teach him about the interior silence thing. . .

The coffee chronicles

I purchased a tea kettle today.



The reason for my new-found love of tea is that I never want to see a package of that Dunkin' Freakin' Donuts coffee again!!!

Did you ever hear the phrase Too much of a good thing???? Well, for the first time in my life, I understand the meaning behind the saying.

As you might recall, my parish was the recipient of eight cases of sample packets of the new Dark Roast from Dunkin' Donuts, and so - in the spirit of generosity (to myself, that is) I brought one home, where - after countless discussions, trials, and tribulations - my husband learned how to brew just the right pot of coffee.

And, because the first rule of thievery is always to make others share in your guilt with you (Try this shiny red apple, Adam, I think you'll really like it. . . ) I distributed a case to the teachers in the school and several cases to other employees at work. I placed two cases in the parish food pantry, and the remaining case in the parish kitchen for general use. And let me tell you. . . I became a coffee maniac - brewing coffee morning, noon, and night - whether I felt like having a cup or not!

So you'd think my overwhelming feeling of guilt might have been assuaged.

No dice.



For if I were, by chance, a believer in conspiracy theories, I'd swear that those little packets had banded together in solidarity simply to throw fuel on the fire of my guilty conscience!

On Saturday morning I went to pick up some food which I had ordered for the first time through Angel Food Ministries for seniors and local families in need. Let me just peek inside before I deliver it and see what kind of food you get for $30 thought I, when what should pop out all over the top of box??? You guessed it!

And then it hit me. . . this same coffee was being distributed to poor people and senior citizens and here I was - a brew happy queen - strewing it about like Mrs. Gotrocks with her cash!!!

Did I have no shame????


Later that night, I ran a party for the parish volunteers where one of them spotted the packets in a basket in the kitchen . . . . Oh! I think I know what that coffee is!!! she cried. (Yes, quite a few of my friends, co-workers, and parishioners are faithful readers of this blog) and so now she, too, is burdened with my misdeeds as I sent her home with armloads of the stuff.



The next morning, I happened to pass by our parish food pantry just as some volunteers were assembling Easter baskets for families in the area. . . when suddenly I heard another faithful reader squeal with delight, Oh, here it is! I found the coffee!!!

This - my friends - is my chance to set things right. . . to put the "q" back into "qi" . . . . to swing the pendulum of gracious karma back my way. . . .

Those poor folks are going to get all that remains of that coffee in their Easter baskets if I have to dress like a bunny and hippity-hop over to their houses myself!!!!

And just to prove to you that the karma with this coffee is not good, the other morning I went out to breakfast with my youngest daughter, who - upon alighting from the car inside my garage - brushed against the case of sample packets, spilling the contents everywhere and declaring, Mom! I didn't know you got that much coffee! before nonchalantly stepping over it and into the house. . .

Perfection with a cherry on top

As you all know - due to what I knew would be the PERFECT storm of my boss and all co-workers in my vicinity being out of the office - I had declared yesterday an official blogging day at work.
And then I had the extreme good luck of seeing the children of the PERFECT COATED ONE (like that name? Fhina gave it to her) misbehaving at the bus stop on my way to work.
And so I donned my blogging boots and sat down at my desk. . . but just how many people do you think tried to throw water on my PERFECT parade???? Let's recap the day. . . shall we?

• Well, first there was Fannie Dae Kell - straight out of the hospital with her discharge papers - and, while I did approve a prescription for an antibiotic and handed her $40 in food cards, I didn't reach into my pocket to give her any of my own cash. . . . and I considered that PERFECT!
• And then there were a rapid succession of potential hoodwinkers coming to us (the nearest church) to try to scam us out of money for "transportation" to some sudden "vital" appointment . . . but a few simple verification phone calls sent them packing. Don't you know that the bookkeeper and I can sniff out a lie better than a German Shepherd? We're mothers for God's sake!. . . . And although my boss probably would have handed over the train fare without blinking an eye - the fact that I caught a scammer who had told a lie. . . qualifies as PLUPERFECT! to me. (That's french people. . . or perhaps it's Latin. . . whatever, it really is the pluperfect tense. . .I looked it up! Honest!)
• Next, there was the phone call from the local mortician, that - thankfully - did not involve another funeral for me to work on (she just calls sometimes to scare me) . . . and I guess - in some sort of sick way - you could call that PERFECT!
• And then there were the people who called and actually expected me work (like on weddings or baptisms and silly things like that.) Did they not understand that I had declared it an official Blogging Day??? I was gracious enough to take a call from Friday's widow (you know what I mean. . . the widow of the deceased whose funeral we will have on Friday) but I let the rest of those sacramental silllies stay in my voicemail. . . and that was PERFECT. . . well, it was great for me - I don't quite know how the rest of the world felt about it . . .
• At let us not forget the predictable What's for dinner? call from Ponzi at about 4:00 p.m. . . . paired with the There isn't a thing in this house to eat! declaration, and - while you could never call that PERFECT - in the spirit of the day, I made an exception and called it ACCEPTABLE for one day only.
• And then came my arrival home. . . with countless bags of groceries . . . to an empty house. . . with both front and back doors wide open . . . and empty iced-latte cups and a bag of pretzels on the kitchen table. . . but, thanks only to the valiant efforts of my PERFECT dog, the house was un-robbed, so I swallowed hard and called that NOT IMPERFECT!
• And soon my daughters arrived on the scene with sewn eyebrows. . . . correction . . . threaded eyebrows . . . . that they thought were PERFECT. And, although I never asked how they paid for all that fancy needlework, all signs pointed back at me - and I was doing my best to keep my mood PERFECT.
• Until I had to write a check for Trigger's airfare to Florida for her Spring "Break" (Yes, life is tough for her, my friends, she needs a break - don't you think????) And then she left to go spend the night at a friend's house. . . to keep her company. . . on a school night. . .when her parents weren't home. . . for - after all - I let Ponzi do that just last week!

And so I decided, Who needs PERFECTION anyway?????
If my life were perfect, would I not - then - be like the Perfect Coated One???? And I would really want to be like her????

p.s. I think my ice dispenser is constipated. . . How could my life ever be perfect when my freezer is all stopped up??? Do you I need to make some prune juice cubes????

Just wondering. . .

The reason I like the Irish

Even best Haiku,

superbly written, can't win

the Lim'rick contest.

But you can!!! Submit your Limerick today!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Call to friendly Funeral Director this afternoon (to apologize for my inability to form a sentence when meeting his wife at one of the Irish High Holy Day events last Friday night, due to what I can only deduce from my headache the next morning was a little over-inbibement of the sacramental wine at the event . . . )

Me: Brian, I'm so sorry for being silly when I met your wife on Friday night! Jesus! I couldn't string enough words together to form a sentence! I was tongue tied! She must think I'm an absolute nut! I was up half the night kicking myself. (Of course, you know the other half of the night I couldn't kick myself because of having to keep my foot on the floor to stop the room from spinning. . . but still, the moment I could free my foot from the floor, I started kicking myself!)

Him: That??? Don't worry about that. She had about two bottles of wine in her anyway. . .I'm sure she doesn't even remember meeting you!

And that, my friends, is the beauty of the Irish!!!!

Correction. . . Correction. . . Correction. And another correction.

After posting Boyf and Ponzi rent a movie yesterday, I was up half the night wondering How could you blow bubbles from there???

Well, I You Tubed it, and I think those parental guidlines were wrong (and if someone could show me how to post a video on my blog, I'd have it here for you, but anyway I just searched for Zack and Miri Make a Porno Bubbles and there it was. . . )

After watching it, I am convinced that I heard a fart.

So rest easy, my friends. . . All's right with the world again!

OMG! Sassy Britches just set me straight.

Go google "queef".

Will wonders never end????