Lolly the Lamentor

Back in medieval times people were given strange names-
Like Pliney the Elder or Fiona the Fair or Sir Rodrick the Brave.
I've named myself Lolly the Lamentor.

Son-of-a-mother-inlaw but right now I surely feel like I have
quite a few reasons to lament.

I've got ants in my kitchen and weeds in my garden.
It has rained for 3 days and our basement is starting to collect water.

Our neighbors little boys won't stay the hell out of my garden
where I am growing 2 kinds of squash and 2 pine tree saplings.
I'm afraid those little tiny trees are going to be crushed.
There is a language barrier so they don't understand when I tell them to stay out.
To them I must look like the crazy mean plant lady.
I need to put up some fencing.

Last week my grown son and I lived thru a 3 day bout of gastric distress.
Stomach cramping and vomiting, loss of appetite and trips to the bathroom
that were distinctly unpleasant.

Today our girl Chihuahua has a pancreatitis flare-up
which means she's not eating and has bloody diarrhea.

Both grand kids developed high fevers mid-morning.
By noon my grandson had stomach cramps.
By 1:00 pm they were both fast asleep
due to their fevers and a dosing of Tylenol.
At 3:30 they were throwing up......

2 weeks ago, our girl dog got out the front door.
I caught her 3 feet from our busy street by pouncing on her.
Scraping up my elbow and my knee in the process.

3 days later, I was pushing my granddaughter on her bike
when I slipped on the loose gravel and fell on the same elbow and knee.

The day after that I opened the kitchen cupboard and 7 glasses
crashed down on me -1 hit me in the chin, 3 others hit that same sore arm
as I swung it up to protect the rest of my face.

Yesterday in church I found out that my church pastor is leaving and
I am heart broken.
This man is such a great speaker or preacher...whatever.
He is so honest and real and has brought me to tears on more than one occasion.
I truly don't know what I am going to do without him.

5 days ago my 31 year old daughter went in for an ultra-sound
for a mass near her ovaries. We are still waiting on results.
Hopefully no news is good news.

All I can say is Fuckity. (Thanks for the use of that word Birdie!)

Sorry for the profanity Lord...but I feel wrecked and tired and weary....

Guide Me into an Unclenched Moment  from Guerrillas of Grace
by: Ted Loder

Gentle me,
Holy One,
into an unclenched moment,
a deep breath,
a letting go of heavy expectancies,
of shriveling anxieties,
of dead certainties, that
softened by the silence,
surrounded by the light,
and open to the mystery,
I may be found by wholeness,
upheld by the unfathomable,
entranced by the simple,
and filled with the joy
that is You.

Derailed

I am alone for a few days.
The sad man went on his annual trip to a place
he calls The North Woods...somewhere near Lake Superior.
And it is a Thank YOU Jesus kind of moment for me.
By the time he is ready to leave I'm on the verge of a meltdown.

I am driven to the brink of madness watching him pack.
Mostly, he is fueled by a wild sort of mania.
There is no rhyme or reason to his packing, sorting and gathering.
He waits til the last minute to begin packing which drives me crazy!
Articles of clothing and much needed camp supplies are forgotten
in his haste and confusion to load the car and leave.
He becomes short tempered and sarcastic.
He becomes very self absorbed and "all about me".










It's a lot like watching a train derail.

Like how the engine puts out so much power and it plows headlong
over a large precipice without noticing how deep the gorge really is
or all the damage being done to the train cars rolling along behind it.
Crash and burn.

It's 4:00am. Every light in the house is on.
I hear pounding footsteps as he runs from room to room.
I hear the front door open and close what must be a million times.
I hear the car doors slamming shut every few minutes as he loads his gear.
I hear him chuffing, out of breath from exertion.
It. Is. 4:00am!

I am angry that he is going on this trip.
He has made it a point for the last week to talk incessantly about this trip
AND about how  ill he feels most days and the meds he needs to take.
Blood Pressure this and Diabetes that.
Sleep Apnea here and back pain there.
Here is a man who should not be in the middle of some godforsaken wilderness.




And yet when I question him about the wiseness of his decision he gets angry.
I'm fine he shouts. I'll be fine he insists.

Really?? He's standing in front of me, red in the face from overexertion
and the sweat is running off of his face. His eyes appear a bit wild.

The last thing he does before he leaves is to sarcastically say to me
"Thanks for the send off" before slamming the front door in my face.

I stand there mute and frozen in place, stunned.
I can still feel the coolness of the breeze from the door as it was yanked shut.
I feel like I want to cry but I don't.
This is behavior I have seen before.
Why it still surprises me I don't know.
The words Narcissistic and Passive/Aggressive
and Hypochondria float through my head.
So do the words Jerk and Asshole and Son of a Bitch.

He is sober, still. (Thank YOU Jesus)
But the dry drunk in him has enormous issues.
Which in turn become MY issues.
Perhaps it is time I ventured out on a Tuesday evening to reconnect
with the group of people that saved my life 4 years ago.
Perhaps it is past time.

All I know is that I'm feeling tired, and angry, and shat upon.
And there is no better place to be on a Tuesday evening than with
like minded people who love me and accept me and don't slam doors in my face.

Welcome back they will say.
And I will repeat those same words to myself again and again.
And I will wonder why I ever left this group.

Step one. Again.

60 seconds

10:36

The 2 year old throws her bottle of cranberry juice on to the couch.
It starts leaking red before it slides down the crack between 2 cushions.
As I grab for it she jumps on my belly eliciting a painful oomph from me.
The 5 year old standing on my right is reading to me from a book.
He is also doing what I call the "potty dance".  Go potty I tell him.
Doc McStuffins is doing a song and dance number on the TV.
My IPhone dings in my back pocket telling me that I have a text.
The Chihuahua sitting on the back of the couch over my left shoulder
drops her bone into the fray that is me trying to sit up with a 2 year old
on my lap while still reaching for the leaking bottle of juice.
The dog starts barking; wanting her bone back, and wagging her tail.
Granny are you listening to me? say the 5 year old.
Yes, I lie to him.
Go potty I tell him again.
I don't have to he lies right back to me.
The older Chihuahua gets out of his bed, turns and pees on it right in front of me.
Jesus! I mutter to myself sitting up.
Jesus.....

10:37

a sense of Entitlement

SPOILER ALERT:
There is another one of my ugly rants at the end of this overly long post.

It seems that all I do on this blog is bitch or rant  or complain about stuff.
In my heart of hearts, I truly don't mean to be a complainer.
Nor do I want to harp or rant as much as I do on here.
So what are my options?

I do use this blog as a place to process things that happen in my life.
Writing it down and getting feedback from my readers truly helps me.
It gives me another perspective, a different way to see things.

25 days ago on April 10th a tornado touched town an hour away from us,
In a tiny farming town named Fairdale, population 2902.
2 women lost their lives... neighbors, living right next door to each other.
Dozens of homes and barns were lost and by lost I mean gone, obliterated.
Tornado sirens were going off in our town too that night.
We were all of us (dogs included) safely ensconced in our basement.
We had some large hail and heavy rain and wind but no tornados.

Watching the news reports over the next couple of days was awful.
Seeing all of the storm damage seemed to ratchet up my gratitude factor.
I'm thankful that we as a family and as a community were spared.
I bawled when they showed a horse that survived although his barn was gone.
They found him standing in the pasture...his coat was matted and looked to be
blown the wrong way..he looked like he had some abrasions & sores on his body.
His mate didn't survive.
That horse looked so forlorn...I wondered what the poor guy was thinking.

The rest of the TV news coverage was just as harrowing...zooming in on others
misery and showing us, the TV viewers, what little remained of their lives.

As it always happens, the TV news crews go home after showing us the carnage.
Then people forget and no more pictures of the town are ever seen again.
Everybody moves on, the news crew wait for the next disaster to strike.

*************************

This past Saturday, my husband and I went on an escorted Harley ride.
An Escorted Harley Ride is a ride sponsored by a club or an organization
to raise funds for a local disaster or something of the like.
This ride benefited fallen Firemen and Police officers of northern Illinois.
The ride was mapped out and at multiple crossroads across different counties
the local fire or police department would block traffic to let all of
us riders pass uninterrupted. In total there were 250 motorcycles.

One of the towns we got to ride through was Fairdale.
Access to this town has been denied since the tornado.
There are construction and clean up crews still working and assessing damages.
Huge ROAD CLOSED signs were moved and 250 motorcycles slowly
rode right down the middle of Main St.
I got out my camera but hesitated as soon as the town came into my view.
I whispered to my husband that it felt invasive to take pictures.
I took three pictures then stopped, unable to take more.
I put my hand over my heart and left it there as we cruised through.

I saw families still picking threw the rubble of what used to be their homes.
I saw cars that were flattened... roofs caved in, glass smashed and gone.
I saw houses with out roofs. I saw houses with blue tarps as roofs.
I saw driveways with no homes.
I saw cement foundations with nothing on them.
I saw an entire town plucked free of all vegetation.
All and I mean ALL of the trees were damaged or broken or gone.
I saw a pile of yellow flowers placed near the foundation of one of the homes.
Someone had erected a makeshift shrine there with a wooden white cross.

It made me grateful in a way that I hadn't been in awhile.
Don't get me wrong...I am always grateful for morning and eating
and grandkids and life and trees and birds and jobs and our home.
But this grateful feeling was a little bit different.
This was me being grateful that we had been spared.
This was me feeling grateful that we even had the money to buy this Harley
and had a free Saturday to take a 6 hour ride, in the sun, with friends
past towns and grocery stores and gas stations that sold ice cold bottles of water.
That I had my husband in front of me and our kids and grand kids all safe and sound and living in their homes with jobs and groceries and personal belongings that were not strewn about the neighboring countryside.

Speaking of groceries...here is my rant-
Yesterday after church I stopped at the market.
I needed a watermelon, hot dog buns, coffee creamer and a bag of apples.
I wasn't in a hurry, so waiting in the grocery line was not a big deal.
There was 1 woman in front of me..her order was already rung up, and she was waiting
for the bag boy to finish putting her stuff in those horrible plastic sacks.
The bag boy got called away and the teenage boy who was the cashier, because it should be an easy job for heavens sake and he needs a little cash in his pocket, finished bagging her stuff albeit
he left her bags on the conveyor belt.

She turned her head and gave me a look as if to say "Can you believe this?!"
She then says to the cashier "Where's my bagger? Has he abandoned me?"
She's informed that the bagger has been summoned elsewhere and then her shit hits the fan.
She starts yelling! "Are you kidding me?! If I wanted to bag my own groceries
I would've  gone to the local discount store! Where's the manager? (Still yelling)
I've complained about this before many times. I'm never shopping here again!"

I was stunned. Technically her groceries had been bagged.
They just weren't placed back in to her empty shopping cart.
Wait a minute I think to myself...is this woman really bitching about having to load her own
full shopping bags back into her empty cart?
Is she really gonna just f-ing stand there and keep yelling at this poor teenage boy and the manager?
I'll be damned.... she did!
The manager placed the bags in her cart and the woman bitched loudly all the way out the doors about how horrible and lousy was the service in this store and how she'll never be back!


This woman had a manicure. (she had hands)
This woman had had her hair done. (she had hair and a head)
This woman was dressed in clothes. (not standing in a store naked)
Lemme say something nasty here-
This woman had not missed a meal or a snack in a good long while (do you get what I mean by this?)
This woman had driven herself to the store so she was able to afford gas and a car.
She also picked out, placed in her cart and then purchased these groceries from a store.
(which means that somebody, either her or her spouse, earns enough to pay $115.00 in cash)

How do people become so self righteous, so entitled that they demand what they want,
demand what they think they need, demand service that is ridiculous and bitch when they don't get it?

She looked a fool standing there as if she had no hands or arms or enough brains to figure out how to pick up a full grocery bag and place it back in the cart!

The whole thing made me furious.
Her sense of entitlement made me furious too.
Just the day before I had seen a family putting what was left of their belongings
into a single wheel barrow....A. Single. Wheelbarrow.

What is the matter with people?

And why does her behavior bother me so much?

Lord Jesus Christ,
Thank you that you are with us,
Every moment of the day.
With us in joy,
With us in suffering.
With us to bless us,
With us to confront us.
With us for confession,
With us for forgiveness.
Lord Jesus Christ,
Thank you that you are with us,
May we look and see and give thanks.

Christine Sine

A tisket, a tasket...

I stole a purple basket.
I didn't mean to.
But I did and it made me cry.

Last week I watched as the neighbors across the street moved out.
Every day, for 4 days moving vans showed up and people loaded them up.
Furniture, clothes, toys and home goods came out of both doors-
the front and the back.

On Friday, before they left for the night
they placed a huge stack of stuff next to their garbage cans.
A dolls house with its roof smeared with magenta nail polish,
2 chairs and a table without its glass top,
a child's motorized car, something that looked like a hammock,
a broken bathroom vanity with a shell shaped sink and
a stack of Easter baskets...yellow, blue, pink and purple.

After they left I asked my husband did he want to go garbage picking with me.
Truth be told I had my eye on that doll house.
He said "I don't think that stuff is garbage".
I said "Yes it is..Look! it's all sitting next to the garbage cans".
We waited til dusk because, you know, um.....garbage picking.

That is when we saw that most if not all of this stuff was damaged in some way.
Like I said missing glass, smeared polish, broken wood.
But I saw that basket and it was purple and sparkly and I grabbed it.
We linked arms and sauntered back home in the very near dark
with my newly acquired basket looped over my arm.

Imagine my surprise when later that night the neighbors came back!
They brought back the van to finish loading the rest of their stuff!!
They loaded everything except that broken bathroom vanity and sink.

In my ear, as I watch them thru the living room curtains with one horrified eye,
my stupid husband whispers  "I told you it wasn't garbage."

Crap crap crap!
My entire body went hot then cold...I wanted to throw up.
I wanted to run it over to them quick but I was embarrassed.
Too embarrassed to admit that I had gone through their stuff.
Too embarrassed to admit that I had stolen their purple basket.
They packed up the rest of their "garbage" and left.
I don't know where they went nor do I even know their names.
But I have their sparkly purple basket.

My husbands whispered words made me feel even more shameful.
When our grown son came home, I told him what I had done.
I asked his advice...what would HE do with this basket?
He suggested giving it to the Goodwill Store.
NO! I yelled. I like it....I want to keep it.
Except it isn't mine...it doesn't belong to me.
I don't know how I will ever enjoy it now.

I felt ruined. I shoved that basket in a bag and put it
in the spare bedroom, refusing to look at it, trying not to think about it.
I prayed to GOD asking Him what to do about it.
I confessed it to my sister at our Bible study and cried when I told her.
She said that I hadn't taken it in a malicious manner, and she believed
that GOD would forgive me for it.
My husband said-"I bet they don't even know that it's missing".
My son agreed with him.
They both also guessed that this family would assume that
this basket had accidentally gotten thrown out or lost in the move.

God forgive me, but I started to believe them.
I had to or the guilt I felt would have eaten me alive.

I realize that this really is a small thing here...
I hadn't robbed their home. I had mistakenly assumed that their
junk sitting by the garbage cans was meant as trash.
If I could undo it I would.
If I had the chance to go back in time I swear I wouldn't take it.
I have learned my lesson well. Garbage picking isn't for me.

So now that I still have this basket...what do I do with it???
Will I ever be able to use it or enjoy it without feeling guilty?

What would YOU do?


>Spray paint this basket a lavender type of purple and add some sparkly glitter...and there you have it.

1 plus 3 = I hate math

My husband came home for lunch today at noon.
He walked in the door and complimented me on how nice my hair looked.
He wondered if I liked my hair cut, and said that I appeared happy.

My hair cut appointment is today at 2:30..... (sigh, men.)

I had just finished changing our 2 year old granddaughters diaper.
It is her 3rd diarrhea diaper of the morning....(sigh, kids.)
As I was changing her, I saw our 5 year old grandson sprinting
for the bathroom...sick with diarrhea himself...he didn't make it
to the bathroom in time...(sigh) more shitty laundry.
(lest you forget, my husband stated that I looked happy.
I assure you...I wasn't)

Got a call this morning from our other daughter.
She needs a sitter for 4 days next week.
Her babysitter got called out of town on a family emergency.
She wants to know if I can babysit for our 1 year old grandson.

So in case you're doing the math folks...
That means that THIS granny will be watching all 3 grandkids next week.

3 grandkids all at the same time.

3

Three

A one year old, a two year old and a 5 year old.

So let's DO that math, shall we?!?

There is 1 of me.
There are 3 of them.
I will be babysitting 1 girl and 2 boys for 4 days.
One will arrive at  7:00 am and stay til 6:00 pm
Two will arrive at 7:45 am and stay til 5:00 pm

2 of the grandkids still wear diapers.
1 of the grandkids has daily accidents in his undies.
They all feed themselves...give or take a few bites shoveled in by granny.
How many cans of Spaghettio's will I need? How many juice boxes?
They all constantly take off and lose their little socks.
They will all need more than 1 change of clothes during the day.
How many loads of laundry is that?

How many fights will I break up cuz  "He's not sharing?"
How many times will I say "It's her turn, now?"
How many times will I shout "Stop chasing those dogs?"
Where are your socks? Pick up your toys? Do you hear me?
Give it back?  Go Potty?  Spit that out!   No No NO!

And 1 final question-
Granny is going to the liquor store after she gets her hair cut.
She needs to buy more Pinot Grigio for next week.
By the time next Friday rolls around, approximately how many
glasses of wine will she have consumed each night after all 3 of
the grandkids have gone home?

Little Bunny Foo-foo

Last summer we found a baby bunny in our yard.
Adorable doesn't adequately describe it.
Our neighbor started feeding it little bits of lettuce.
He would set out leaves of Spinach or Romaine,
sometimes stalks of Celery or Carrots sticks.
Every morning the leavings would be gone.

We would stumble across it on occasion, hiding under the lilac bush.
Poor thing in a panicked and frozen state...
So still that even the dogs didn't notice it was hiding there.

It was fun to watch it getting bigger over the last months of Summer.
I always wondered where it's mama was.
It seemed too tiny to be all on its own.

When Autumn and then Winter came around,
I must admit that I forgot about it.
Until one day when the temperature was freezing
and the wind was blustery and the snow was flying.
Looking out the window at the snow coming down,
I saw it running, its ears flat back, over the frozen mounds of snow
While the shadow of the neighborhood hawk cruised over its head.

The next day while I was shoveling the driveway I see
a tiny little pile of what looks like coco puffs...Yep...bunny poops.
I have to tell you that I was thrilled to know that the hawk hadn't caught him.

I realize that Rabbits can do so much damage to plants and shrubs
But I was pulling for the little bugger to make it, to survive and thrive.

Last week I noticed a carcass on the road in front of our house.
I squinted through the window trying (hoping) to make out if it was a squirrel.
We have so many squirrels in our neighborhood and our road is so busy...
There is always a squirrel or two laying in the roadway.

But the fur was different. The shape was different. And I knew.
And it made me sad to think that it almost made it home.
It was 100 feet from it's little hidey-hole under the lilac bush.
So close to safety when a damned car took its life.
I was glad that at least the hawk hadn't taken it.

I watched as the city truck came along and scraped up
what was left of it and I have to tell you that I cried.
I cried over a silly little adorable bunny.

What's the moral to my story you ask?? I don't have one.
Easter is a few days away and there are cute pastel bunnies
and chocolate bunnies in every single store.
It feels like a constant reminder.

I want this story to have a happy ending.
I want there to be some sort of redemption.
But there isn't.
And I'm sorry that I told this story so close to Easter.