Erasing "Church Lady" from My Moniker

As many of you know, I've been on a family/medical leave of absence from my church lady job for 12 weeks now.    What originally began as a "family" medical leave for Ponzi's illness evolved into a leave for my own health as I began deal with the emerging and varied symptoms of Sjogren's Syndrome.

But as my scheduled time to return approached, I grew more and more anxious about returning to my job: anxious because I knew in my heart of hearts that I could never handle the stress level again . . . anxious because I didn't even want to try . . . . and anxious because every time I thought about it, it brought back flashbacks of a different time. .  .a different me. .  . a me that can never be again.

But you see, the saddest part is that I don't even want to drive by the building any longer.

Because I feel like I quit God.

I quit God and that beautiful and sacred space that used to be my second home.  I quit the floors I used to see polished to perfection . . .the weekly liturgies I used to put together with care. .  .the grieving families I used to help. . . the complainers I used to lend an ear to. .  .the plumbers I used to send in the right direction . . . the schedules I used to prepare . . . the altar servers I used to train . . .the poems and prayers I used to write. . . Christmas decorations I used to oversee . . . toilet paper I used to order. . .

You name it.  I have walked away from it all.

I knew every square inch of those buildings - inside and out.   I was baptized in that church and made every one of my sacraments there (except one - ironically enough, a fire erupted in the church the week after Drip Dry stepped through the doors so we needed to move our wedding to another church)  And my children have all grown up with that church building as a part of their lives.

You see, I'm a creature of habit.   And that historic building and all it encompassed was a huge part of my life.

And I would be one big, fat liar if I didn't tell you that I am now feeling tremendous guilt in the walking away part.  And I'm having a tough time distinguishing between my relationship with God and my relationship with my job.

A job which was literally sucking me dry.

In retrospect, I honestly can't say when my Sjogren's symptoms began.  I've read that saliva production needs to drop to at least 40 percent before you notice a dry mouth.  And could my production have dropped so dramatically that my lips were literally stuck together and my tear production was less than half the minimum just one month after encountering the flu?  I know my joint pain has increased dramatically (and still continues to do so) but I had been dealing with some level of pain for at least five years.  And the neuropathy in my hands and feet?   The truth is, I've been ignoring that for years as well.  Did I ever mention those mornings I would appear at work without the ability to grasp a pen hard enough to sign my own name?

No, I focused on my increasing anxiety levels instead - working my way through different therapists, anti-depressants, and Xanax strengths.   And that alone should have warned me to slow down. . . to say "no" a few more times (well, perhaps at least once). . . and to pay more attention to what my body was trying to tell me.

Instead I waited for the train wreck to hit.

And hit it did.  So now I can't go up or down a flight of stairs without pain.  I cannot walk through a grocery store without feeling fatigue.  And I cannot eat a mere cracker without liquid with which to wash it down.  (As if I needed yet-another reason to be thankful that God invented wine!)

Yes, back to God now. . . .

You see, God, I really didn't want or mean to quit you, but I needed to quit some things I thought I was doing in your name (but - in reality - was perhaps doing for my own reasons.)  I needed to stop trying to be superwoman in others eyes.  I needed to stop working seven days a week.   I needed to stop pretending I was strong.  And perhaps I needed to be a little less of a control freak.  You see, I always said that if I were God, I would like a clean church.  (For why else would they say that cleanliness was next to Godliness?)

But I'm not you, now am I?   Perhaps I needed to concentrate on YOU more.  Perhaps I even needed to attend Mass without thinking that the altar servers should tweak their bell-ringing. . . or worrying that I had left a typo in the announcements. . . or resisting the urge to run and pick up drooped flower petals off of the floor. Perhaps I needed time to sit down in your presence and just listen. . . to take the time to pray without other thoughts crowding my head.

Novel idea. . . now isn't it?

So God, I am earnestly asking you to help me though my little crisis of conscience here.   I know it may not be today. . . or tomorrow. . . or next week. (As a matter of fact, I'll be on vacation next week and will have tons of other stuff to worry about. . . like my children drowning in the ocean . .  .or getting in a car accident. . .or having the strength to go to the grocery store. . . or looking like a fool bundled up in sun-protecttive clothing while everyone else is scantily clad. . . .so don't even try to help me next week, cause I'm devoting the whole week to truly being undun.)

But I'm counting on you to see me through to the other side somehow. . .  someday. . .in some fashion.

Because I'm crying real tears here. . .
not ones from a dropper. . .

for the first time in like forever. . .
so that really must mean something. . .

Grim Reaper Signing In. . .

Now you've probably been wondering where A Mom on Spin has been these past few weeks.

And even if you haven't . .

I feel compelled to inform you that I've been a bit on the busy side with my job at church lately - what with all the preparations for Christmas and all . . .

And I was looking forward to taking some much-needed time off once our "busy season" was over and the baby Jesus was safely sheltered, birthed, heralded, visited, and resting comfortably in the manger.

But something got in the way of my planned relaxation and quality time with my daughters. For it turns out that I needed to cancel my vacation plans in order to attend to a few funerals.

Eight to be exact.

That's right.  We've had eight (count 'em - eight) funerals since Christmas Day (including - I might add - my very dear aunt who passed away on Christmas night. .  .) all of which, no doubt, needed my loving touch, compassionate planning, and never-ending-attention-to-detail in order to send a loved one off to the heavenly realm correctly.  (And besides. . . someone has to light the charcoal for the incensor-thingy the priest swings around. . . .)

And - yes - my funeral director friend from across the street is breathing a sigh of relief. . . knowing she can pay her bills after the Grim Reaper's sluggish pace of work before the holidays.  But I ask you - does the recent funeral frenzy justify this call I received from one of the funeral home's employees the other day when an 85-year-old nun visiting the rectory took ill and 911 had to be summoned???

Me:  Hello, this is Liz.  Can I help you?

Funeral Home Employee:  Hey Liz, it's Tim. . .at the funeral home.   What's going on over there?

Me:  What do you mean?

Funeral Home Employee:  I see ambulances and police cars from the window.

Me:  There's nothing for you here, Tim . . . Nothing for you. . .


Now HE, my friends, was a true "Ambulance Chaser" - was he not?

Here's wishing you all a safe, happy, and healthy New Year. . . 

p.s.  If you think I'm cold-hearted, or indifferent towards death. . .  I'm not.

I'm just funny.

And p.p.s. . . .If you think the funeral home employee was being cold-hearted or indifferent towards death, he wasn't.

He was just curious.

Doggie Printing. . . Our Hope for the Future

If you have been wondering why I have been a bit of a poor correspondent lately, it may be due to the fact that I have been working overtime on a project that has been spawned by a failed diocesan audit on child abuse safety practices, combined with a gruesome murder of a priest in a nearby town by an about-to-be-discovered child predator.

None of this is fun.

But - as is often the knee-jerk reaction  to such things  - we have now taken our new safety precautions to the E-X-T-R-E-M-E.   Don't tell the auditors, but some of us are refusing to fingerprint the nonagenarians in our ranks (people over 90 . . .did you not know that term????) and volunteers without sight.  Turns out, I did subject the blind lady to fingerprinting once-upon-a-time, but the results came back "unreadable" and so I am now giving her a pass and opting to  paw-print her guide dog instead. Paw-printing the guide dog ultimately makes more sense than fingerprinting the blind lady who sings in the choir - don't you think? We'll finally get a chance to find out what kind of sh*t that dog has actually been through . . . .

Of course, the other reason I may be a bit lacking in the blogging department is that I'm bored and my life - as a result - has also become quite B-O-R-I-N-G. . .without any head-spinning events to officially report.

But for all who care/wonder/or/have been losing sleep. . .   Veggie has resurfaced in Scotland and will be landing back home next Monday at noon. . . .Trigger is due home on Friday for a week-long Thanksgiving break. . . and Ponzi is going to a concert in the city on Thursday night.

Keep your fingers crossed for some curfew infractions, alcohol violations, checking account overdrafts, bodily possessions, or a "hit" on the dog's paw prints. . . would 'ya????

Until then, I nominally remain . . . .

Think about it. . . Do you think the State Police performed that fingerprint check in Braille?  And, if they had, do you think her results would still come out "unreadable"???

Or. . . consider this. . .  if we let the police dogs perform the background check on all of us. . .  couldn't they just do a "smell test" and declare us safe?

Just wondering. . .  .

How About We Let this Be Our Little Secret. . . .

Sometimes Christmas comes early when you work for a church.

Especially if you're a tad bit. . . oh. . . . angelic, shall we say?

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you already know about I have been the "recipient" of some free coffee. . . or that I brought home some of the holy oils for my own personal use. . . ("lovingly lifted" I like to call it. . . )

But today's bonanza was nothing like that.

You know, sometimes people leave some funny things in church . . . sweaters . .  .eyeglasses. . . scarves. . . gloves. . . umbrellas. . . cameras.. . .  all of which get immediately buried in the Lost and Found for years on end mind you . . . .

But never before has someone left a gift card to Victoria's Secret.

And so I ask you.

Would you have the nerve to call your local Catholic church - running the risk of reaching a priest - to ask if they, by chance, had come across a gift card that Aunt Suzie and Uncle Harold gave you to Victoria's Secret?

Exactly.

I thought not.

Perhaps I should offer it to SJP's SIL in return for The Cope????

And All this Time I Thought I Was a Christian

If there's a God of weather. . . . I would pray for sunshine.

If there's a God of knowledge. . . . I pray that I remember everything.

And if there's a God of common sense. . . I hope I've been blessed with it.

And - not that there's a separate God of thanks - but if there were, I would thank her/him for allowing me to stretch the gifts and talents he/she has given me to the MAX!

And if, by chance, someone up there is in charge of sleep???? Please send your abundant blessings upon me tonight.

For tomorrow is THE day, my friends, the culmination of my big week. . . the final event in the work/life/worship trinity. . . the "hello and goodbye" picnic for 1,200 of my closest friends. . . the day that I say goodbye to my old boss and usher in the new. . .

Wish me luck.

Oh yeah. . . and if there's a God of wine (was it Dionysus???) tell him I like mine chilled - Pinot Grigio to be exact. . .

So God (I mean the ONE God who handles all this stuff for me. . .) I'll be by to talk to you on Monday . . . . wait for my call, would you????

Tell Me Who. . .

Okay. So who was the brainiac who thought that - just because she'd had a good week or two of family life - throwing away her anti-anxiety meds would be the smart thing to do????

Did she remember that in this one week alone she needed to

• Say goodbye to her old boss
  
• Say hello to her new one
  
• Organize a luncheon for twenty
  
• Oversee a cocktail reception for 57
  
• and run a picnic for (at last count) 1,064????

What was that silly girl thinking????

and - in case you're wondering - I'm not panicked at all. . . not at all. . . 1,067. . . it's up to 1,067. . .

It's Not Easy Being a Boss/Mom

Remember how Veggie has been working for me in the church office for the past few weeks?

Well perhaps it's not a good idea.

The mother/daughter relationship is fraught with enough pitfalls and perils without adding the strains of an employer/employee relationship to it as well - for listen to what happened when a certain employee was late for work yesterday.

Oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself here. . .

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

At 8:00 a.m. I called to Veggie from the foot of the stairs at home. . .

Me: Veg? (I call her that for short, you know . . . it's somehow more endearing. . . ) Veg?

Veggie: Wha?????

Me: Listen. I know you were out until 2:30 in the morning again, but you have to get to work as soon as you can. We've got a big funeral today and I need you in the office before 9:00. I'm leaving now. Did you hear that?

Veggie: Yeah. . .

Me: Promise me you'll get up????

Veggie: Yeah. . . .

So when she still hadn't appeared at 9:25, I placed a call to her in desperation. . .

Veggie: Whaaa????

Me: Did I just wake you up???

Veggie: Whaaa???? Oh . . . I mean. . . . No. . . .

Me: Are you on your way into work???

Veggie: Almost.

Me: (Under my breath, 'cause I never curse out loud. . . especially in the church office. . . ) Jesus Christ!

Veggie: I am not a piece of crap!!!! And don't you call me that again!!!!

And with those parting words, Veggie hung up on me.

Priestess once again. . .

I will be Bloggerless, Twitterless, and Googleless for the next three or four days. . . not because I'm going anywhere exotic . . . but simply because I need to resume my Priestess duties once again. (Don't worry, it's not voodoo this time, but the plain old boring Catholic kind. . . )

But, you say, I thought you were going to the Shore for Easter??? (I'm from Jersey, remember? We don't go to the beach, we go to the shore. . . unless, of course, we're already at the shore and want to go and sit on the beach. . . )

Yes, my friends, I was supposed to go to the shore for Easter. . . but when the Associate Pastor has emergency eye surgery, it seems I need to step in to my priestess role. . .

And so, for the next four days, I will be the chief flower-placer, reading preparer, lighting dimmer, bell ringer, collection taker, candle lighter, and cup washer. I will personally oversee the decoration and re-decoration of that beautiful church (up there at the top of this post) about ten times within the next four days - as more than four thousand people come and go from its pews. I will come home each evening smelling like a strange mix of incense, hydrangeas, holy oils, and altar wine. . .

It's tough work being a Princess! (Whoops! I meant Priestess!)

So all of that was simply to tell you why I won't be hanging around here until after the bunny has left his little droppings at my house on Easter Morning.

Wishing you all a happy and holy Easter

and a blessed Passover,

I am - as always . . . .

p.s. And don't you be sorry for me giving up my shore weekend. . . the big guy has promised me lots of time off after Easter and I'm going to head there then . . . all by myself!!!!

The reason I know God has a sense of humor

I'm sorry to trouble you with extra reading, but if you want to know precisely why I know that God has a sense of humor, you're going to have to do a little extra work today.

First, I would like you to read the post that I wrote last night and planned for today. The post was in the form of a letter to a woman who is an acquaintance of mine through my job. . .

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

Dear Fannie Dae Kell,

This letter will serve a two-fold purpose.

First . . . I would like to thank you (in a long-overdue manner) for your Christmas present comprised of the not-so-gently-used-leather-pocketbook-with-evidence-of-someone-else's-life-in-it-in-the-form-of-tissue-droppings-and-the-two-tubes-of-already-used-lipstick-in-the-zipper-pocket. It was (in many ways) the most thoughtful gift I have ever received.
I hope that you don't mind that I passed your gift along to our parish secretary on her recent birthday. A gift like that is too good not to be shared. . .

Secondly. . . I need to inform you that I am hereby removing myself from your "case" (not that you have a "case" but somehow it seems right to call it that. . . )

Yes my friend, as of the writing of this letter, I am going to run into the conference room whenever I see you coming and declare myself in a meeting until you leave.

I can't help it, Fannie Dae Kell, I am - quite literally - giving away the store to you!!!! You know I can't resist it when you flash that gold tooth at me and pass me those little love notes when you think no one is looking. . . . the ones that read. . . need $ for wash clothes. . . or when you twist your face into that distorted look when I ask you if maybe you shouldn't get food stamps. . . or when you beg me to drive you home to the seniors center in the middle of a snow storm. . .

My heart goes out to you, Fannie Dae Kell . . . but the church and I are going bankrupt in the process!

Have you seen me driving Dora Schmalton around? Is that the problem??? Do you think I'm spending all my excess cash on her???? But you must have noticed, Fannie, that Dora is a good 400 pounds and needs some help . . . have you not seen her zipping around town in her motorized wheelchair? It's tough for her in all this snow and ice. Those wheelchairs don't come with four-wheel-drive, you know. . . One wrong move and she's toast! Besides, she has no one else to drive her around. . . God knows her husband can't help her at all because he weighs more than she does. . . and they need a lot of food - those Schmaltons. . . a few extra pork chops now and then are all I can do . . .

They won't take your place. . . Honestly!

Be grateful for your gift of health, my dear (even if I did have to give you bus money to go and have an ultrasound of your distorted stomach and to find the root of those damned nose-bleeds - the proof of which you always feel the need to show me in the form of a bloody tissue . . . See, my nose is bleeding again!!!!) for who knows when we may end up helpless like Dora Schmalton. . .

But - in all honesty - I can not stand it when you sit there looking like I've wronged you in some way by not financing your every move!!!

You remind me of my daughters!!!!!

And, for that reason alone, I am hereby declaring myself Off Duty! whenever I see you coming!!!!!!

With all hopes for your future success, I am. . .

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

So here is the reason I think that God is chuckling at me from upstairs. . .

This evening when I left work I needed to pick up some ingredients for dinner. Now usually I run to the pricey grocery store around the corner, but suddenly I remembered that my trendy minivan has developed quite an annoying squeak (yes, it's relevant, keep reading. . . ) and I'm tired of other mothers in their S.U.V.'s looking down on me (quite literally) thinking How could she drive around in that squeaky old thing? or Don't tell me she's still missing that hubcap! and so I decided to run to the cheapy A & P instead.

That's where God comes in. . .

I no sooner walked through the doors, but who should I see?

Now I know you're thinking off the bat, I bet she saw Fannie Dae Kell! but you're wrong!

I saw Dora Schmalton in her wheelchair with an overflowing basket of groceries on her "lap" and a loaf of bread dangling from the wheelchair's arm! (Shopping, of course, with the $40 in food cards that I had given her earlier in the day. . . )And so I cry, Hello, Dora! Are you going to be okay getting home with all that stuff? Do you need a ride or anything? (Although how in God's good earth I was going to put that wheelchair in my squeaky hubcap-challenged van, I just didn't know. . .you see, she's not lame or anything. . . she usually walks to and from the car when I drive her.) Well anyway, she declares that she's perfectly fine and off she zips. And I, in turn, go on my way. . . rounding the corner into the first aisle when who do you suppose I saw next????

If you guess Fannie Dae Kell now, you're right!!!

Liz! says she, I was just thinking about you! I'm out of my A & P cards and I don't have enough money to pay for my stuff!

And so I knuckled in and handed over $20, a ride home, and a promise that I would sneak her some more food cards tomorrow.

And that - my friends - was when I caught God laughing.

I don't care what you call the entity that I refer to as "God". . . Supreme Being. . . All-Knowing. . . Allah. . . Buddha. . . Creator. . . Brahma. . . Divine Spirit. . .

Call God what you will. . . but you have to admit, She's got one heck of a sense of humor!!!

Do you have Prince Albert in a can?

So I told you it was snowing in New Jersey yesterday and my daughters had the day off from school. But, alas, I had to trudge into work myself - because, God knows, some over-zealous Catholic might go telling the Pope if a church office wasn't open for a day. . .
And, so, for those of you who chuckled at my early morning texting antics, here's a glimpse of some of the fun phone calls I got to field once I got to work . . .

Like this. . .

Caller: Can I speak to Densin Foley?

Me: Do you mean Father Dennis Foley? He's a priest here.

Caller: No, I want to talk to Densin

Me: Well there's no Densin who works here. You're calling a Catholic church.

Caller: Well how about his wife? If his wife is there, then I'll talk to her. . .

Or how about those delightful calls from home . . .

Trigger: Mom? How do I boil water???

Me: Tell me, is your still father home?

Trigger: Yes.

Me: Well you march over to him right now and tell him that you just called me at work to ask me how to boil water!!!

Or this one from a daughter away at college. . .

Daughter Number One: Mom, I guess I forgot to tell you. The rent for our beach house is due. I need you to mail a check for $3,000 today. I can give you the address. . .

Or how about this one????

Elderly Mrs. Smith: I had a very bad reaction to some medicine and I've not been able to get to church now for over three weeks!

Me: Well would you like Father to come and visit you? He could bring you Communion.

Mrs. Smith: Oh yes! I would love that.

Me: Well how about tomorrow morning? Would that be good??

Mrs. Smith: No, tomorrow morning would definitely not be good.

Me: Why not?

Mrs. Smith: You see, I have to go to my exercise class. . . .

And then there was this one. . .

Trigger: Mom, you know that thing on the inside of a peach that looks like an almond?

Me: Well I guess so.

Trigger: Is it okay to eat it?

And, last but not least. . .

Trigger: Mom?

Me: Yes?

Trigger: How do you spell my middle name?

Me: I've told you before. . . K A T H L E . . .

Trigger (rudely interrupting) : That's not my middle name!!!! Kathleen is Ponzi's middle name!!!! My middle name's Christine!!!

Me: Well then smartypants! If you know so much, you can figure out how to spell your own name!!!

p.s. For all who are wondering. . . my daughters' school had a delayed opening this morning, but I never heard that strange buzzing in my ear announcing a text message. No, I heard that strange buzzing coming from the kitchen at 5:07 a.m. and had to stumble all the way downstairs only to discover that my daughter in the bedroom upstairs had sent me a text message announcing the happy news . . . Are you surprised????

Lessons Learned this Christmas Season

1. All fear of shopping is well-founded.
2. As lovely as you professed that Christmas tree to look in the living room for two straight weeks, it looks better with decorations on it.
3. Giving a goat through World Vision is ten times better than one of your daughters getting yours.
4. At 1:00 a.m. - in the Goldilocks insomnia search for the just-right bed - the couch in the newly-renovated basement room is definitely the most comfortable, but irrational fear of small rodents may still prevent you from resting comfortably.
5. You cannot force a cat to sleep on the couch with you.
6. You cannot convince your teenage daughters that taking your credit card to the Mall in order to purchase their gift to you is not "giving" at all.
7. If you leave the tips for the cleaning service on your Boss's messy desk at work, they will pile them neatly under his calendar - ensuring that he will forget to distribute them, leaving you to figure out how to say "Happy New Year" in Portugeuse.
8. If - by chance - you leave work for a personal Christmas luncheon you will find a sticky note entitled "Plumber's List" on your desk when you return.
9. The first item on that list will read "Urinal in the men's room is still not functioning correctly. Must be fixed by Christmas!"
10. If you dare to even think about writing a post about your Boss's last homily to children (you know,the one where he told the 8th Grade girls to imagine that they were "Pregnant by God!") you just might find yourself asked to write his children's Christmas homily for him - leaving you to toss and turn all night on December 22nd, wondering what on earth he should say!

There . . . It's 3:41 a.m. and I can cross tomorrow's (oh, God, no! It's today's!) post off my list of things to do. Perhaps now I can return to sleep.