After a hard day's work.. I always wish I had more time left in my day.

After a hard day's work.. I always wish I had more time left in my day.  

Being a full time Single Mom, Girl-Friend, IT Manager, Cook, Friend, Daughter, etc., there is seldom any day left after a "hard day's work".  Being a recovering alcoholic (3 years and counting!) I can't even spend the rest of the evening relaxing with my pre-recovery bottles of wine. (Yes, that was plural.)

But... given the chance to dream.... I would love to think I could...

• Take the 25 minute drive south to Galveston and watch the long smooth waves roll into the shore, taste the salt water breeze, listen to the seagulls scream for more, and smell the coconut lotion from the bodies on the beach below the seawall.
  

• Grab a favorite old poetry book and sit on the front porch swing, taste the Lemon-Perrier bubbles as they tang my tongue. Read the onomatopoeia and alliteration aloud; hear the bells of Edgar Allan again as the sun goes down over the neighbor's house.
  

• Find some old i-tunes songs on my i-pod and hook it up to the speakers, turning it so loud it makes the oven door vibrate, then dance around the house in my cotton nightie singing at the top of my lungs, "Risky Business" style.
  

• Pull out a frozen Stouffer's Vegetable Lasagna, heat it up in the microwave, and then sit down in front of a sitcom from the past (thanks to Exfinity, we can even get Murphy Brown now!) and laugh until my stomach aches -- with no interruptions about ANYTHING.
  

• Drive down the street to "US NAILS" and get a nice mani/pedi-massage from the wonderful Korean women working there, without worrying about what would be happening at home without me - in other words, guilt-free.
  

• Go for walk down the street and around the block. Taking the time to talk to my neighbors and learn the names of their children, pets, and husbands.  Actually getting some EXERCISE to work the spread off of my middle.
  

Instead, I will probably put together another dinner, bug my son to do his chores, make sure the dog is fed/watered/walked, and fall into bed, exhausted.

/******************************************************************/

Check out Kristi of Finding Ninee‘s (our host) Finish the Sentence Friday post here & Michelle of Crumpets and Bollock‘s (our co-host) here; at the bottom of each of their posts, you can click to see all the other blog hop participants’ entries. This week’s sentence was “After a hard day’s work. . . “

It started in the line at the grocery store..

It started in line at the grocery store...  I had moved out East, to Boston, after college, and was working most hours of the day and night.  I was teaching in a small inner city Catholic school during the day, and living in a High School for the performing arts at night acting as a dorm parent (~nothing like inheriting 12 teen-age daughters fresh out of college!).

I was at the grocery store buying some bagels and cream cheese, as my morning commute started too early for me to take advantage of the 'free' breakfast at the school where I lived. I was talking to the people around me in line and one girl seemed especially nice. She and I continued our conversation after we left the store, and she asked, that since I was new in town, maybe I would enjoy joining her bible study? Thinking this would be great - as I hadn't found a church yet, and was new, I accepted her invitation.

That next Tuesday was the first meeting, and I found it interesting and entertaining.  The people seemed nice enough - most of them young like me.  As I had been active in the youth group at my churches in High School, and somewhat in college, I felt like I had gained a group of people who would soon be my friends. The greatest part was they told me it was the "Church of Christ" - which was the church, back in Michigan, that I had attended and knew was "safe".

Time went on and I became closer to people in the group - even being asked to watch one couple's apartment and feed their animals while they went away during Thanksgiving break.  I did, and enjoyed the access to a full kitchen during the school break. Too soon, school started back up again full force.  -- Did I mention that I was teaching at a Private school in inner city Boston? That meant that the school had only the bare minimum of money to pay the teachers, so I made next to nothing.  The only breaks I got from the kids at work and the kids at home was my weekly bible study group.

Then a few weeks into December, the couple pressured me into actually attending a Wednesday night church service.  I had to make some changes, but wanted to make them happy, and found a Wednesday I could attend.

I was nervous, as it had been a while since I had gone to an actual church - but I was assured it was "come as you are" at the Wednesday night service, as it took place in a strip center location.  I dressed up anyway - as that was how it had been where "I came from", and drove to the location and walked inside. The room was much larger than it had looked from the outside, and there were a LOT of people, but the couple that had apparently become my "sponsors" found me soon enough and started to introduce me to other people.  Each one would give me a big hug and tell me how much they "LOVED" me, and how glad they were that I was there. This kind of freaked me out a bit - as I knew they didn't know me from beans, and to express "love" at a first meeting seemed an unusual behavior,  The service was rather normal though, so I tried to shrug it off.  The couple told me they would be coming to visit me the next day, in my room, which seemed weird again, but I tried to push those thought away, as these were my "friends".

The next day things got even weirder.  The couple, when they came to see me, began to talk to me about how important it was for me to give all of myself to Christ. (I am a very spiritual person, and pray daily. I felt that my calling was teaching and that, especially at that point, that by working with kids almost 24/7 I was doing what He wanted me to do.) I asked them what on earth they meant by what they asked, to which they insinuated that Christ would want me to quit my jobs and join the church "full time" to help spread the Word. At this point, I was extremely uncomfortable -what does one say to that? I told them that I would have to think about it, we talked some more, and eventually they left.

God does watch out for his own though. The next day at school I had a meeting with the parish priest to plan the Christmas festivities for my class.  As we were talking, I brought up to him what was happening in my personal life away from school. I felt really lost and alone at this point - my main friends being the people that I had met in the bible study group, so I didn't know where else to turn for another opinion. When I started to share, Father Waldren immediately asked for the name of the church, when I told "Church of Christ" he became very concerned.  He educated me on the fact that there was a "Boston Church of Christ" that met downtown on Sundays in Boston Garden and that it was considered by most 'outsiders' to be a cult - and that it wasn't associated with the churches of my hometown. He shared that based on what I was sharing with him about my experiences, he believed they were trying to recruit me to join.  I knew that the group did meet on Sunday's at Boston Garden - one of the reasons I hadn't gone as it was rather far from where I was living.

So, now how to get out of this mess?  I realized that I did NOT want to be a part of this cult, and the fact that I could now label it a "cult" helped to explain a lot of the weird behaviors of the people I had encountered.  I thought that perhaps I could just 'ignore' the calls and not go to bible study, and they would forget about me.  Oh - but if only it were that easy.  Unfortunately, they felt that it was their job to save me.  They would call and call and call. This was before the days of caller id, so eventually I answered, worried that it was my family or work or something else.  I tried to explain to them over the phone that I wasn't interested in attending the bible study anymore, and that I was "too busy" to do much else.

At that point they must have decided that I needed "intervention" because they said that a group of them would be coming to visit me the next Saturday to help me understand how important I was to God and to HIS church. I have to admit, by this point I was terrified and talking to Father Waldren almost daily about the intimidation and how scared I was to have them come over to my house to visit me.  He gave me strength and told me that God loved me more that these people ever could, and that He would see me through this as well.

That Saturday, I decided that I had to be busy when they came, so I went and bought some paint to paint my room so that maybe they would see that I was too busy and leave.  Not so lucky.  A team of six girls, most of whom I considered to be my friends, arrived at noon; just in time to prevent me from going to lunch.  I have to say that the next five hours were some of the toughest of my life.  I was told repeatedly that if I did not accept "HIS" way of life, and "HIS" church, and do what they said Christ wanted me to do, that I would go to HELL. I pushed back as hard as I could and found the mantra of "if that's what you want to believe..." was the safest response to their threats:

THEM: "You need to come back, or you will go to Hell."

          ME: "If that's what you want to believe."

THEM: "It's not what I believe, it is the truth"

          ME: "If that's what you want to believe."

THEM: "God commands you to .... see this quote in the bible...."

          ME: "If that's what you want to believe."

THEM: "It isn't my belief, it is the TRUTH, as God has revealed it!"

          ME: "If that's what you want to believe."

THEM: "If you don't listen, you are dooming yourself to HELL.

          ME: "If that's what you want to believe."

and so on and so on... for FIVE (5) long hours, with my stomach rumbling and my head aching. Eventually I was rescued by one of the girls in the dorm who came to ask me if I was going to join them for dinner.  I grabbed this excuse and told the "team" that they would have to leave, as I had to get back to work.  Reluctantly they left, promising to be back later to help me understand.

After dinner I called Father Walden - as I felt that I had been almost brainwashed and stripped of my faith, and really needed reassurance that God still loved me.  Father Waldren came through as I had hoped and shared back to me all that I was doing that was right and told me that God and Christ loved me for doing what I was doing and always would.

I lived in Boston for another year, and every month or so someone from the "church" would still call me to see if I had repented and was ready to come back. I used my pet mantra to reiterate my point and frustrate them into leaving me alone. Eventually I moved away to Texas, where they were unable to locate me again.

So.. when I say "It started in the line at the grocery store..." I really mean it did.  I am very grateful to Father Waldren and all of the other (unmentioned) people that came forth to help me recover.  I have to say, I am an educated and spiritual person, but the lure of being accepted into something greater than myself was very enticing.  I have since seen that cult mentioned in TV shows and feel extremely lucky to have escaped as soon as I did. I pray that others in similar situations may recognize the signs and pull back earlier than I did.  I had thought in my naivety , that I would be able to instantly spot a "cult' - but the reality was that they initially looked and acted like normal people.  They do not all wear robes and chant in the streets, but the outcome is still the same.

Today, I do still talk to people in the grocery store, but keep it to just that, and that is enough to spread the happiness and joy we all need to feel as a part of greater humanity.

 /********************************************************************************/

This is a Finish The Sentence Friday post: “It started in line at the grocery store . . . ” hosted by Kristi from Finding Ninee, Nicki from Redboots, and Dawn M Skorczewski.  Please take a few minutes to check out what some of the other bloggers did with this sentence!

No one was around when it happened...

No one was around when it happened...but Santa still delivered all the presents.

I remember being about 6 years old (per my mom) and being so excited Christmas Eve that I couldn't get to sleep.  I was SURE that if I didn't sleep, he wouldn't come, and Christmas Day would be a big disappointment. 

My brother, Brian, and I still shared a room, and my youngest brother, Doug, was still in the 'baby room'  (the one my Dad eventually would paint pink to get me to move into on my own).  We climbed into bed after hearing, "The Night Before Christmas", for what must have been the umpteenth million time,  and tried to fall asleep - knowing that "he" wouldn't come if anyone was around.  My brother fell asleep pretty fast - in my young opinion, but dreamland evaded me...  I hoped that if I heard the paws of the reindeer on the roof over my head, that perhaps some magical slumber would overtake me, so I wouldn't ruin it all. 

I worried that perhaps my parents would stay up too late as well, forgetting how important the night was and that they too had to be out of the way for Santa to work his magic.  Eventually I heard them come upstairs and go to bed - turning off the hall light - the one they kept on for me and my brother, in case we needed to go to the bathroom during the night.  I knew that it was always off in the morning, but hadn't realized until that night that they turned it off upon going to bed themselves.  (I tried hard on other nights to stay up until the hall light went off, but didn't manage to do it again for several years.)  All was quiet as I lay nervously in my bed, not knowing what the morrow would bring.

Eventually I must have fallen asleep, perhaps it was exhaustion, or perhaps Santa really did weave his magical sleeping spell, because the next thing I knew, it was morning - CHRISTMAS MORNING!  I don't think there is a time in my life that holds as much anticipation or excitement as I felt on Christmas morning as a child.  I woke up my brother as the sun began to stream in through the  window by jumping on his bed singing "Jingle Bells".  Both of us, full of energy, went racing into my parents' room - jumping up and down on THEIR bed, until they agreed it was time to go downstairs to see what Santa brought.

My Dad would always insist on going first - he said to make sure that there were no reindeer left, but really  so he could set up the camera and capture the joy on our faces as we entered the family room and saw our stockings and gifts.  That morning was no exception.  Mom called down the stairs "Are you ready, Dear?"  and Dad hollered back "Yes, nothing here but me."  Then Mom held our hands to make sure we didn't trip and fall, and guided us into the room.  (We were supposed to keep our eyes shut, but I learned quickly how to squint and make it look like they were closed so I could see everything first.)  I remember that morning and the amazement I felt as I looked around; Santa would have made Macy's proud.

The stockings we had hung with tape on the mantle the night before, now lay on the hearth, overflowing.  They lay on top of even more gifts - coloring books, story books, paper, crayons, water color paint sets, and more.  Strewn around the room - Santa had really taken his time - was even more.   There was a set of city blocks that Santa had set up on a plastic play mat as a small city - with matchbox cars weaving through the streets.  There was an orange, furry lion stool - the lion had big floppy ears that we could pull over our laps as we sat as pretend seat belts. There was a Fisher Price dollhouse with little furniture for me, and a garage and cars with little people for Brian.  There were several baby dolls for me - and magic baby bottles that would empty as I held them to my doll's mouth. There were puzzles and games and more than we could take in - even more than we could play with in one day!  I was amazed and happy and content - all at the same time.

I think that Christmas is the Christmas I have always tried to recreate for myself and my children, always seeming to fall short of the magic that was delivered that year.  I don't know how my parent's managed - or how they even were able to get to bed 'early' that Christmas.  I remember spending days putting together toys for my step-daughter, Caroline, to simulate that experience for her - never being sure if I could ever live up to that one day.   I will always remember the feeling though - I experienced it fully 3 more times in my life, in the minutes after each of my children were conceived, far before any test could have told me why, I felt that same joy.  Perhaps the greatest gifts of all had been delivered, and somewhere deep in my soul, I knew.

/****************************************************/

This is a Finish the Sentence Friday post, inspired by the prompt, “No one was around when it happened…” This week’s FTSF is hosted by Kristi from Finding Ninee, Lisa at Flingo and Jessica from Ramblings of an add mommy. 

What I used to love that now I hate....

What I used to love that now I hate... is hard to find, today.

I have to admit, I've had my moments.  When I left my husband of 18 years, there were moments when I really, truly hated him.

When I first moved to Texas it was because I was wanted to be close to the man that I truly loved.  I thought that he was larger than life, accepted me for who I was, and would be a great father for our future children.  Our social life was great, everywhere we went he knew people, and they knew him. I felt like I was living the dream.  We were married about 3 years after I moved to Texas and my Texan and I struggled through 18+ years of life and growing - our love seeing us through.

Somewhere along the line though, I lost me.  I tried too hard to become what others wanted me to be - especially what my Texan wanted me to be. I taught school, went back to school, became a 'techy geek', found a job that allowed me to learn and expand, and tried to "BECOME".  My Texan tried to keep up, but eventually I found I could no longer live in the confines of what our life together had become.

In July of 2011 I left, as he could not.  I moved closer to my work, bringing my youngest son with me, as I was home schooling him in addition to my full time job, and needed to stay on top of his school work. I still regret leaving my eldest behind with the Texan, but he had a summer job near the house, and I was afraid the Texan wouldn't let both of his sons go.

My Texan had had his own dreams of us retiring together, holding hands and walking on the beaches of our aging life. When I left, his dreams were shattered.  When he realized that the dream would not be reinstated, the divorce proceedings, which we still managed to agree upon outside of courts, turned ugly.  My children would come to me, asking me about the things their father accused me of - which were partial truths that detailed where I was guilty, and left out his parts entirely.  It was during this time that I really knew HATE.

I HATED the Texan. I HATED that he wouldn't let me go. I HATED that he would tell our children about the private failings of our relationship. I HATED that he was trying to turn my children against me. I HATED because I was afraid, and terrified that I would never be free, that I would lose my children, that I would never have peace, that I would never know me.

It was during this time that I also realized that I was an alcoholic, and became willing to make the changes necessary to BECOME.  By listening, talking with people, and working things through, I was able to truly forgive. Now, when the Texan tries to initiate arguments, and push my buttons, I find it easier to let him pontificate, and not agree, not disagree, but just let it lie.

I have learned to forgive, and not feed the monster that hate brings to my heart. Today, although there are still moments when I know FEAR, I have learned that the HATE doesn't have to follow.  I have learned to identify that the two go hand in hand, but if I leave my fears in God's hands I don't have to HATE.

Most days I am free of fear, and the hate that goes with it. I do my best to let go and let God - and really believe that HE can do what I can't. I do my best to believe and trust, and by doing so, free my heart from hate.

I wonder...

I wonder... On the best days, I wake up and I wonder.

When I wake up full of wonder and hope, my heart full of joy, I know it will be a good day.

When I can be surprised at the sun streaming through the window on a supposedly cloudy day, and Karmel, my lemon white beagle, snuggled up against me so hard she is almost pushing me out of bed, I wonder why am so blessed.

When I wake up knowing that I no longer have to suffer through hang-overs, upset stomach aches and multiple regrets due to too many drinks the night before.  I wonder how I am lucky enough to have discovered that I am  an alcoholic.

I remember all of the days I spent looking forward to that "nightcap" when I got home from work, and calling my children from the backyard pool asking them to bring me a "cold one" from the fridge, and I wonder how they ever made it through. I wonder, and am glad they did.

I remember getting lost at parties, and ending up with the wrong people at the wrong time. I remember flaunting my body, thinking I was all that,  using drinking as the excuse for my behavior. I remember the alcohol induced arguments, debating who was more sober and able to drive home.  I wonder how I didn't end up dead.

I wonder at how "Bill and Dave" the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous were able to come up with their unique ideas and create a culture that tells me I don't have to drink and supports me in that endeavor.

When I am able to wake up, with no regrets, no pounding head ache, not throwing up, not sleeping on the bathroom floor, I wonder how life can be so wonderful...

Now, I am able to...

Wonder at the seagulls squalling over head as I sit on my back porch.
Wonder at the hot, sweet, milky espresso in my cup.Wonder at the warmth of the sun kissing my back as I walk Karmel around the block.
Wonder at the cool damp grass wetting my toes when I walk barefoot to get the mail.
Wonder at the richness of the carnations and their perfume, on the way into the Kroger.Wonder at the hugs from my youngest son (now almost 15) as he lifts me into the air, remembering how small he used to be.
I wonder at the peace I feel in  my heart as I snuggle into my bed at night.
I wonder, and am glad.

This is a 2 weeks late entry into the "Finish the Sentence Friday".  I've been too busy lately to complete this, blessed with a job that consumed my lunch hours that I had been writing in, and blessed with a Sunday morning that I can use to catch up on my writing.  I wonder at how life works its way out, and glad to celebrate 3 years of complete sobriety as of May 2, 2015.