Madge, Mom & my 3 sisters

It's been awhile now, but I think I need to share the full story behind my homage to the Magdalene for her role in the reconciliation with my sisters which I blogged about back in November.

Long story short, I was on the outs with my sisters, like I've never experienced before. So bad that after skipping Thanksgiving, I truly saw no way out. So on the Saturday morning following Turkey Day, I found myself up before sunrise (I wasn't sleeping too well), talking to my 'Madge' (code for Mary Magdalene). I remember praying to her, saying, "I have no idea how this could ever, EVER be worked out! I don't know what to do! Take it!" And then I went about my morning, joining friends for coffee, but saying very little.

Afterwards, Mr. Mart called to report my mother had phoned the house. THREE times. Mom was searching for a way for my sisters and I to work it out. Given my prayers earlier that morning, when Mom tossed out the idea of me coming down to the farm for a talk, I knew Madge had cracked open a chance for change.

Now I won't rehash what I've already blogged, but I will say that I BELIEVE. I believe, deep in my soul, that Madge came through for me. She not only put an opportunity at my feet, but gave me the courage to go with it. Honestly, I don't see myself as some pillar of strength, I'm more of a noodle. It's Mom who's got the courage. When I left my parents home that night, hugged all my sisters good-bye, and then looked at Her waiting at the front door for me, I saw Mom choking back tears.

She hugged me and whispered into my ear, "Thank you for coming." It was then, in that moment, that I not only heard the pain she'd been in, but saw it on her face, heard it in her voice, and felt it in her arms around me. I saw, for the first time, how painful this rift had been for her, to watch her daughters fall apart from each other and, suddenly, miraculously, reunite. Whoa.

How are things now? Well, last week, A1 and I got together for pizza with our kids. Last night, K2 and I jawed for two hours, about nothing. Today, C3 called me for lunch. I can honestly say, if any of these women are talking about me, they're not stabbing me in the back, they've got my back.

And all this reconciliation, this re-newed bonding, this chillaxin' with one another, came about because of Madge and Mom's unwavering love for her daughters. It is my hope, my prayer that I never forget that day back in November when, from sunrise to set, I KNOW that I experienced the gift of grace delivered by my Madge, this amazingly holy Spirit. If it were up to me, I'd still be yelling, isolating, pouting, and hurting. And I'm not doing that today!

I head off to bed, smiling because I'm so damn blessed . . .

Namaste~

Playground privledges reinstated

Mo had her 5-month post-op check up today, getting x-rays of the bone graft done last August. Meeting with the entire Otolaryngology team is never a quickie. From 8:30 a.m. 'til 1 p.m., we moved from clinic to clinic. While some of the bone graft failed, a significant portion took root (yippee!!!). But Mo's got a powerful mouth and SUCK and until she's broken the habit of sucking wind through the hole in her palate, repairing said hole is on hold.

So, for at least 2 months, she's regained her phys. ed. and recess privileges and can also eat whatever she wants! And that's what this Momma Cat is focusing on. But speaking typing of playground shenanigans, I'm reminded of a little event that went down a couple weeks before Christmas.

We got a good dumping of snow, which makes for excited kids. One particular afternoon, Mac-Daddy comes in saying, "Mo's mouth is bleeding!" Mo comes in and sure enough, blood all over her mouth. Upon further investigation, I see it's coming from inside the mouth. More specifically, her tongue.

"Moira?" I asked, starting to laugh, "Did you stick your tongue on some cold metal?" Yup. "And I ripped it off!" she yelled. She laughed through the pain (probably because Mr. Mart and I were hysterical), but later admitted, "that wasn't the first time I did that."

Um, isn't pain supposed to be a teacher?

As with the Litterbox, so goes Marge

With a 10-week-old pup on the loose, unseen since Saturday at 8:28 in the a.m. I'm sad. But I must re-enter the fray of the blogosphere with a new sense of purpose: to be positive, to be prayerful, and to have faith. Which is why, after laying low for a month, it's time for Turbo to hold herself open to this new year and all the lessons that will come with it. And to lie still in the warmth of universe and bask in the glory of another day lived...

So is my first lesson of 2009 to be Marge's run-off? Yes. A lesson in listening to my gut, that small voice urging me to do the right thing, to stop and put her on the leash for her morning bidness rather than motor off for coffee with friends, late. But I ignored the voice.

I hate to be such a buzz kill as I launch a new Turbo, leaving the Litterbox in the past. But I must be real.

Missing Marge SUCKS and I'm so heartbroken over her absence...scared sick over the freezing temps here in Iowa...and pleading with the cosmos to keep her safe and in loving arms...

And so as I set out to knit my sister a scarf, I put prayers into every stitch, "Keep her safe. Keep her warm. Keep her loved."

Namaste

Colder than a bitch's ...

I've been watching the clock for the last hour as I ready myself for a 5-hour trek north to Minneapolis. One of my bitches is having her annual Jingle, Jangle fundraiser and the rest of us bitches decided it was finally time to get our arses up there and support her! But my left pinky finger is already frozen.

This post could've been titled 'A Cold Day in Hell,' given the insanity of driving NORTH during the winter season, but Waller's worth it, so it ain't hell! Though it is one cold mofo out there! With Monster House still torn up with all the painting, I'm sitting rather close to the dark fireplace and I can feel a bit of a draft/very cold, frigid chill (hence the frozen fingers).

But it feeds my soul knowing I'm gonna be with my bitches, soaking up their spiritual power and getting my own battery re-fueled. I have no idea or expectation about the event, only anticipation of being with my girls . . . mmmm, mmmm good!

Less news=less crab-ass

It was about 2 years ago when I found myself part of the XM Nation. I'd snagged a free subscription with my wheels and discovered that I totally dug it! Channels filled with specific genres of music, talk, politics, and then some! I loved the 90s on 9 for always taking me back to my college days. I dug the grungier stuff on Ethel and Lucy, igniting memories of my old Doc Martins and flannel. I loved the morning Bob Edwards and the afternoon Leonard Lopate. I enjoyed Mr. Mart's X Country.

I tried to quit the Nation, but like a cult, I'd already been assimilated. I cancelled my subscription, only to rejoin after a couple months. It had become a NEED. And like any good cult member, I set out to convert others and wrangled my husband into the fold.

But guilt was there and I started to feel it a year ago. The Nation felt so frivolous, such an unnecessary extra. But damn it! It was an election year and POTUS was giving me candidate info and race updates to and from work, keeping me posted until I could get home to tele! And lest I forget the 2 CNN channels (and I love me some Robin Meade and AC360). Was this frivolity? No!

With the election now over, not only has my POTUS interest dried up, but I've begun to experience how unhealthy it is for me to have all this news access. (Psst, most of the news out there is negative. Just so you know.)

As with many maladies, the symptoms don't surface until the disease has been simmering awhile. Hindsight shows that the negativity in me had been building for months, but I didn't see it until I found myself in a ginormous shit sandwich, much of which was brought upon by my sarcastic, negative fearful self. Pain is a good motivator for me, and the pain of having ALL NEWS/ALL THE TIME was really starting to kick my ass.

And I think that's what really did it, though the merging of XM and Sirius didn't help. Yesterday, I cut the string and by the time I'd left work, I was no longer in the flock. I listened to NBC radio on my drive home from work. I took in Morning Edition on my way to coffee today. And I survived.

For this impressionable, easily influenced wack-job, less is definitely more.

Kisses!

The walls are closing in

Oh House, Oh House . . .

Hickory, dickory, dock

The mouse ran up the . . .

There once was a man from Nantucket . . .

I got no muse, folks. The walls are closing in and my circuits aren't tolerating the burden of the upcoming holidays. It's a burden I place on myself, I admit, but it's crushing me! Hosting my husband's family for the holidays is something Mart's wanted to do since we upgraded to a bigger Monster House in 2005.

It's one of those fabulous old farm houses, infamous we later learned because of the cowboy who ran a horse ranch from it. Tales of saddles and other tack strewn on cool, fabulously decrepit antique furniture; car engines and oil pans staining the dining room floor; ducks swimming in the bathtub. And I'm not exaggerating. These are the stories that have been handed to us . . . and the stains, chewed wood work, and nicked porcelain are the proof!

It's a great old place, but so labor intensive! We took it on at a time when we were only half-heartedly looking for something bigger. 'Half-heartedly' because we were in the middle of some remodeling that would finally finish our work on our first home, a 160-year-old brick city girl (yeah, we like the old stuff). Then we saw our Monster House, and 4 days later, she really was ours!

Because we had to finish the remodeling at record speed, the thought of doing ANYTHING to the new place sucked ass, we just wanted to chill. But Monster House needed love. Sure, she got some electrical and water and exterior love. But the inside? Oh, her thirsty walls! A month ago, when Sidney shat up our bedroom, Mart and I dug in and started painting. Our bill is currently about $400. And that's just a bedroom, living room, and a couple of stairways! The first gallons weren't even poured! There lids were just popped and shown the walls, and the paint evaporated!

But this is such a good thing! It feels good to give her some love! I just don't know how much more I can take?! My hope for today is to finish the red living room, a portion of the stairway ceilings, as well as finish the first coat on some mauve-action in the entry. There's so much more to do, but the family's just going to have to deal! I'm done! Hopefully we'll get our "holiday fir" (a scarf to anyone who can name the book from which that comes, author's first initial is D) on Sunday so I can start deckin' out the joint in festive crap.

Ho, ho, ho, and the snow is a fallin'!

Namaste, little buddies~

Tic toc, tic toc

So, I'm experiencing another day of rising at 3 a.m. . . . I've unloaded the dishwasher, put other dishes away, and now I'm staring into the blog-o-sphere, and listening to the mice in the walls. Yeah, our two felines can't be bothered. (Bitches.)

Later today, my fellow staffers and I move back into our old office space that was destroyed last January. A major fire took out a good quarter block of the downtown in which I work. The Hallmark store that was the tall old brick building next to us, fell on our building. Except for my little corner, which took a direct hit, little was lost and we consider ourselves very lucky.

For the past 10 months, Bonnie, Bridget and I have occupied tight quarters in a great little office building where most everyone has been really wonderful to us. I did say "tight," didn't I? I don't know what the square footage of our old office was, but it consisted of 7 individual office spaces as well as both a break room and a group room. The "tight" space? Three rooms, about 15' x 15' each which served as office space, reception area, group room, break room and a little storage. But what could've been a total pain in the arse, has been very therapeutic for us.

Some of you may know me as lighthearted, free-spirited, even a little funny, but I'm not always like that. As I wrote once before, long ago, I can be a smidge of a white cunt. (Gasp!) I'm serious, though. I can be a real pain in the ass if I'm in one of those moods. And Bonnie, our glue-like secretary who keeps us operational, gets to "enjoy" that from time to time.

What the past 10 months have taught me is that I need to let others in. I need to let them get to know me so they can, at the very least, understand that on those days when THE MOOD hits, it's not them, it's me.

I have found both Bonnie and Bridget to be a shelter during the past months. When something was wrong, I couldn't hide in my office --- we've all been piled on top of each other. I had to force myself to be honest and share the pain I was in. And what I received was love, for which I'm eternally grateful.

Honestly, it's a little bittersweet to be returning to our old office, though I don't think any of us will deny the fun of having our own little corners again. But I think we're a tad tighter and really, if we can survive almost a year of living out of each other's pockets, a little space won't hurt us a bit.

So, cheers to pulled muscles, building shelves and unpacking boxes.

And now, to continue a little game started by one of my Bitches, Waller. Grab the book nearest you and turn to page 56, read.

My "Twenty-Four Hours a Day" was closest and while this little gem lacks page numbers, I took a guess and this is was the message:

I will start a new life each day. I will put the old mistakes away and start anew each day. God always offers me a fresh start. I will not be burdened or anxious.

Hmmm. . . One of this year's BitchFest themes was 'Expunge Regret.'. . Last Saturday, I reconciled with my loved ones. . . Later today will mark a new start at work. . . I'd say Waller's onto something.

Namaste, my loves~