Warning: rant ahead...

So, I was able to speak on the phone to the hostess (brides' family friend) who's allowing us to have the Rehearsal Dinner in her home.  Bride's idea.  Outside by the pool.  I'm thinking flies and heat.  We'll need to haul six tables and 40 chairs from the church to her house across town.  Do I sound a tad disgruntled?  Just a tad.  Need to dump this angst.

I was fine yesterday, feeling a little empowered by my ideas about the food, handling the pre-cooking and freezing of the BBQ, and buying little-by-little the odds and ends.

Then I spoke to her.  Was in my heart hoping she had some seating already.  Uh, no.  I will say, though, that she was awfully sweet on the phone.  Very Southern.

I think it's the actually getting of the tables/chairs that's rankling me.  Getting six heavy tables up from the church basement, not having a pick up truck anymore and having to depend on someone else to help us move them from one site to another.  The bride's mother has a new truck and offered, but I'm thinking, "Your daughter is getting married that week....do you really want to do this for us?"  So you say to me, "Well, she brought it up."

My life.  I'm just so darned irritable.

And with the hoopla regarding all the expense, I'm thinking I feel a bit like a redneck.  Okay, maybe I am sometimes a redneck, but I just want to get this right.  Feel in control and not manipulated by strong-minded women.  

I should take a lesson from my husband.  He's just doing his thing at work, not focusing on the wedding except to say, "Man, I'll be glad when this is over.  Do we have to be in any of the pictures?"

Yeah, so much enthusiasm.

Do you understand?  Marriage to an unbeliever is unfortunate.  I believe our son has a working knowledge of the Lord, but hasn't made a firm commitment, and his bride has no interest whatsoever.  Focus on buying so many things (bride and parents) and the Lord isn't any part of it.  Rent-a-preacher to perform the ceremony.  I'm sorry, but this doesn't make me happy.  I try for everyone to appear glad, but in private (and here on this blog), it's not that way.

Okay.  Today and tomorrow I'll walk away.  Give it some air.  We meet the hostess and see her house Sunday night.  That'll be good.  One step at a time.  

Time to think on something else.  Ready, set, go.

Friday morning

Fridays.  One of my favorite days of the week.  Today there's a tiny bit of stress, though, not having heard back since Tuesday from the couple who have offered their van.  Supposedly they're hunting down the title.  I so get that mentality---me, the person who never remembers where I put things.  The husband shared with my woodboy some issues with the van over and beyond the transmission being rebuilt 20,000 miles ago, being very blunt, and it makes me a bit antsy.  He won't let his wife drive it with the kids in it, but is okay giving it away.  Gary flew right by that comment, but I was left scratching my head.  Given that we'll have to drive it from their house over the river to get it here, I don't know, maybe I'm just paranoid.

Okay, I am paranoid.  Life has been too paranoid-producing these past few months (and I'm sure you're tired of that old song and dance) and we're in the mode of just waiting for the next slap-down.  Not a healthy attitude, but it's the only one I've got to go on now.

Now, don't fuss at me.  Just trying to build up my courage again.  A daily challenge.  Gary and I both feel as if someone consistently has their foot poised to trip us up, and we keep falling over it.  Literally.
  

I read a quote in The Reivers last night which was so spot on, I could've written it myself.  Correction.  I'm no Faulkner, but the quote was perfect for my mental state.  And is today.

"Because what I wanted was to be back home.  I wanted my mother.  Because you should be prepared for experience, knowledge, knowing:  not bludgeoned unaware in the dark as by a highwayman or footpad.  I was just eleven, remember.  There are things, circumstances, conditions in the world which should not be there but are, and you cant escape them and indeed, you would not escape them even if you had the choice, since they too are a part of Motion, of participating in life, being alive.  But they should arrive with grace, decency.  I was having to learn too much too fast, unassisted; I had nowhere to put it, no receptacle, pigeonhole prepared yet to accept it without pain and lacerations."

When you feel as I do (we do) now, folks who are living comfortably have the tendency to try to set you straight, get you out of your doldrums.  Commiseration is more appropriate now.  Understanding and compassion.  I'm waiting for the eternal shoe to drop, and unfortunately, it keeps on dropping.  A quiet weekend with no, absolutely no, drama would be nice.

Positives:  We have the money from the girl's insurance settlement on the Suburban in our hot little hands.   A blessing, and you wonder what the heck's the problem, huh?  Indecision, I guess.  We have the rental until Thursday, which is nice.  I think we need dinner out. :)

Rebel

Okay, so I'm about to get a tad controversial for a minute.  I'm hacked that there's all this furor about the Confederate Flag.  For many of us, born and bred Southerners, this is offensive to say the least.  I realize everyone won't agree with me, but down here, the issue of whether the Confederate Flag should be flown is old as the hills. I live in Tennessee. Give me a break.  Everyone's got an opinion.  And for corporations, such as W*lmart and eB*y, to have a knee-jerk reaction and remove all Confederate merchandise is, to me, asinine.  I know.  We won't all agree.

If the murderer in Charleston had been holding up a BigMac, would McDonalds take that food off of their menu?  Yeah, I know.  BigMacs aren't too contoversial, except in calories.  But you get my point.

The problem isn't the flag, but how folks perceive it.  To me it's my history.  And oddly enough, one of my great-great grandfathers, who lived in Tennessee, fought for the Union along with some of his brothers.  Think on how he was welcomed back home.  The neighbors might have not been too happy to see him, yes?  Still, I'm proud of the history of the South.  And me, married to a Yankee.  We do have some conversations regarding such.

And while I can admit to having several ancestors who owned slaves---surprisingly found through census records, it is part of who I am.  Erase the flag if you will, but it doesn't change anything. Take it down from Southern courthouses, remove it from state flags, but the pride (or arrogance and ignorance) will stay the same.  It'll never be enough.  Southerners won't ever be able to remove the stain of slavery, but let's rise above, can we?

I have a childhood friend who's a huge fan and protector of the Confederate Flag.  He's in groups that defend the rights of folks to fly it.  And he was even fired from a job, which went to court, because he had a Rebel flag sticker on the back of his car.  Seriously?

We can express ourselves using the flag if we want to.  It's not illegal, and it's just one in a tremendous pile of things that folks won't let alone.  The world can't be so disinfected as to protect everyone from offence.  If things tick a person off instantly, maybe it's time to look at the reason.  I'm thinking 'get over yourself' might be a place to start.

Not much grace in this post, but a necessary rant for me.

Today's mutterings

When I got up the second time this morning (after first getting up to let out the chickens at just after six), the phrase "If you don't like something, then change it" came into my head.  I've been so dissatisfied with myself for such a long time.  See, I'm a reactor.  I react to what's put up in front of me, not initiating, but responding to those I live with, or take care of.

When my mom says something upsetting, I react.  When the kids do/say something that goes against the way they were raised, I respond to that situation.  When Gary comes home upset from something that's happened at work, I react to that as well.  Rarely do I make the first move.  I'm the responder.

Do you know how much that becomes a habit?   And does what I'm saying even make any sense?

I was sitting out back late last night with Romeo, our dog who's not a Pug, and was praying.  The thoughts came to me, asking what I really had a passion for.  I've spent years and years taking care of others (a mother's purpose and lament at the same time), and have shoved aside my own desires.  Not anything big, but things that are personal.

And when we got hit with grand rebellion from some of the boys beginning just over two years ago, followed by my mom's stroke, I gave up on myself.  It just felt pointless.  My sons weren't interested in what Gary or I had to teach them, rejecting their upbringing, and my mom became such a burden (sorry, but it's a fact), and there's been little room to breathe.

Yesterday we were at her house, leaving her groceries, making her bed, etc., and she asked me if I'd made her doctor's appointment.  Dang it.  I'd not even thought of it after having Jury Duty, seeing Jacob off and all.  It had totally slipped my mind.  I had paid her bills yesterday, so was glad of that, but it bothered me that I'd forgotten about the doctor.  I told Gary later that I was just a

 suck egg daughter.  He said it wasn't like I didn't have things going on.  Perfect answer.  Yes, absolutely true.  Didn't help long-term, but it did help.  Life is full, even besides caring for my mom, who I have a bad attitude towards, most times.

The truth hurts, but it's a relief to express it.

I read a blog the other day written by a young woman who's had a very challenging year.  She talked about how she used to try to make everyone happy, putting aside her own needs/wants in order to keep the peace.  I so identify.  I've so squished down my own life, that I can hardly see me anymore.  I've disappeared a bit.  

And with my mom being of a narcissistic personality, even after a stroke, I have to stand firm if I don't want her to paralyze me.  She asks things of me she won't ask my brother who lives near.  I've said it before, but she will never ask anything of him that causes him to adjust his plans.  I realize she can't take herself to the doctor, this is just an example, but she'll never ask him.  I have the time, am always available, and my kids are grown to the place I can leave them.  He, on the other hand, lives alone, and is more able to change gears.  See my frustration?  It's the old male/female thing.  Her generation is more apt to lean on the women, mostly because they're used to it.  Men get to do their manly thing, uninterrupted by women's needs.  

Okay, so this is just a small example of my personal exasperation.  As I said in the first paragraph, "If you don't like something, then change it."  I need to love myself enough to lose the excess weight that's been bugging me.  To adjust my eating habits, to care enough, to make the change.  To not run to food when life hurts.  See where I'm going with this?  When I begin to respect myself once again, learn to say no, and stand up to life in general, I think results will follow.

Done with my diatribe.  The trick will be daily.  To not make sweeping changes that I promise myself of for months and months.  Just today.  

Week's end

I read something recently, but can't remember where, about someone feeling as if they were walking in the shadow of God.  Picture that.  God's shadow.  As close as His breath.

That's the image that came into my head the other day.  I've prayed so continually and hard lately about our kids, and even yesterday the most curious thing happened.  I'd been looking for some records of the younger kids'---school papers, and couldn't put my finger on them. I needed them right then for something important.  I was frustrated.  Anyway, we looked everywhere, and I just knew where I'd left them, but they weren't there.  So, foolishly the last thing I thought of was to pray about it.  I stopped, I prayed, and instantly was told to look in this certain pocket in my notebook.  There they were.  In minutes I just went ahead and asked Him where the other set of papers were, being that I'd put them elsewhere.  Immediately, I knew where to look.  That small, still voice.  

I can be so slow.

That's how it's been this week.  

My heart is broken.  Who knew children could do that to you?  I thought that was the territory of our husbands, or as the case may be, wives.  But no, the children do hold our hearts in their hands.  

Sleep is a welcome escape.  

God has this one.  My shoulders aren't broad enough.  But His are.  Thanks, Diane, for reminding me of that the other day when I'd mentioned a problem.  Can't remember what it was, but your words 'God has this one' or something similar rang true to me.  It was a comfort to hear.

What's so awesome is that He's been preparing me for this, having me keep my face in His Word.  Disciplining me so that this isn't as hard to bear like it would be if I was having to move near Him, rather than already being at His Side.  (Ridiculously long sentence, but I think it just might make sense.)

Now then.  It's a holiday weekend (well, if you call football a holiday---one son is off work and will cook for us, but as to whether we watch the game---unlikely).  I'm going to apply myself to enjoying it.  Put up Valentine's Day decorations tomorrow, and make good food to enjoy.  Capisce?