"... handing tickets out for God"

I started writing (one day last week) about the Jesus Freaks who stopped by with their version of the "Good News" and somehow wandered way off topic and started going on and on about how I used to be a Jesus Freak myself, and therefore I don't mean the term in any offensive way, but more in the way former band geeks talk about current band geeks or ex-goths talk about emo kids: You've been there, so you know, and almost feel a sort of kinship, but you're really glad you're not there anymore. I don't think there's anything worse for a believer than a former-believer: all of my sarcasm and surety that I was made a fool for so many years is always right there, and I'm sorry if sometimes it slips out. I try not to be patronizing - I really am glad for you that you still believe - but when they start trying to convince me, all bets are usually off.

So that's the way the post was going, and then I realized that I'd written that post before - multiple times. Yes: the Catholic Church and I used to be BFFs and yes; I could probably write another 17 posts about that, but that wasn't the post I sat down to write, so it wound up in the draft folder (like a million other posts: seriously - my draft folder is a scary place). And now I'm back, attempting to tell you what it was about the Jesus Freaks that pissed me off .

It took me a while to put my finger on it myself, but eventually it boils down to this: It is the sense of judgment I feel when they're telling me how easy it is to fix who I am.

Here's the thing: Remember in the fall, how when I was living at Grandmother's house, helping her with her post-stroke recovery, things here at home were progressing on the 'build a ramp so NTE can get into the house more easily' front? Well, now we have this beautiful ramp that's slippery as hell in the winter, and takes up our entire front yard but makes my life about 200 times easier. And yet: it is a beacon for the 'people of the Lord.'

While we were building it, a woman walked by and asked my dad what the final product was going to be. When he explained that it was going to be a wheelchair ramp, she said "I'm so sorry," then returned a few days later to drop off some rosary beads and a scapula she thought I might like. I found them on my bed when I came home for a shower that week, and my dad didn't understand why I didn't think it was the 'sweetest neighborly' thing for her to do.

Twice (that I know of) since then, we've had various forms of preachers come to the door: The first time, the guy was Mega-pushy, and I felt no compunction about not letting him in the house or giving him a chance to speak: I kept him on the porch, while he started his spiel about 'those who turn to Jesus will find a way with him,' and how 'putting my feet on the path would help them walk again.' I know that you all know me well enough that I can admit I was sorely tempted to just walk out onto the porch just to see the look on his face, no matter that I would've fallen down eventually, or that it would've hurt like hell: I still am kinda sad that I didn't, because the "OMG: I AM TOTALLY WITNESSING A MIRACLE" moment would have changed one of our lives forever. ( I know, I am damned to hell, so I might as well enjoy it, right?)

This latest preacher though, was a very nice gentleman (and he came with a silent friend), and he specifically said "I don't want you to let us in, I'd just like to tell you some things, if that's alright with you. " Well now, I'm not a heartless bitch, so I opened the screen door and gave him the ok, give me your best lines, preacher-man, and I promise not to laugh. (Again: I'm good with you believing, but once you're trying to get me to believe, I can't promise that I'm going to be able to hide my skepticism.) So he starts off pretty swell, talking about God's willingness to help people, and how it was his job to try to find those that most need God's help and bring them his Word.

And then this well meaning fellow, with his quiet and (I could honestly tell) earnest sense of caring starts talking about miracles, and Jesus making the blind see and the lame walk, and I'll tell you. it took everything in me not to slam the door in his face. I just - can't hear it. I just... I don't even know how to explain how badly that makes me feel, how irritated it makes me just to hear it.

Just to have that experience of - once again - being a person, going about their normal day...I was making breakfast when the doorbell rang, playing with my 1 yr-old nephew and chatting with my sister... when all of the sudden someone interrupts your life to tell you how you are just not right, just not good enough the way you are, just not the way a person should be. I am not saying that that is what he said , because, again, he was kind of a sweet guy, but that is the way he made me feel. I had to sit there and be irritated and frustrated and ashamed, all because - in society's eyes, and I guess in 'God's' eyes too - there was something about me that was just wrong. Something that called for miracles and saving and the power of God.

That me, just being me, requires the intercession of God on my behalf, in order for me to be fixed? Pisses me the fuck off, I gotta tell you. Of course I wouldn't thumb my nose at a miraculous healing, should one decide to take place, but you know what? I'm not broken right now, or maybe I am, but not in the ways that you think I am. And if I am it's none of your damn business... I'm not asking to be saved just by virtue of living as who I am. Just by having improved my house to the point that I can finally get in and out of it on my own, I'm not giving you the right to comment on my life.

It's something I get a lot of, in a lot of random ways: people who see me 'walk' the steps to my chair and tell me I'm not sick enough to the handicapped parking placard, or strangers who tell me they'll pray for me when I'm out in public. When you're visibly disabled, everybody's got the right to comment suddenly. I didn't ask you for your opinion on what I'm eating - the fact that I'm having a cheeseburger is not in fact the reason I'm in this chair, but thanks for telling me all about how you stopped eating meat and your rash went away. I don't have to justify my applying for aid to some arsehole cousin who thinks that all social welfare programs are tools of the Communist Party, and I'm lucky that I get to spend his "tax money" on my "frivolities."

All I am trying to do here is live my life, and as nice as that preacher was, when he left behind a scripture for me to read and "think over with your heart", I was all too glad to close the door behind him. I appreciate his belief that I could use some blessings (because, holy hell, yes, I could use some blessings), but I don't like the assumptions he made about who I am, or the life I live, in order for me to earn his blessings. It feels like pity. It feels like ableism. It makes me feel like less than.

So I know I won't be opening the door to any more preachers, because their blessings tend to feel like curses, and I have enough of those. I'll take all the prayers and warm thoughts and fairy dust you want to send me, but don't assume that I need them because I'm in this chair... I'd much rather have a family that was kind to each other than a body that worked correctly. Or a baby that I knew I could provide for. Or an understanding of how to be happy, regardless.

I'd like to be healthy, sure: but I'm living my life the way it is, and that's not sad, or in need of fixing, or less than anybody elses, so don't make me feel like it is.

I be back

Hey everybody: I know it's been a little while, but have no fear, I have not (as Crazed Mom has worried about) been a part of the blog-apocalypse or anything like that. Nope, it's just regular, end of summer, everybody has their vacation at one time, trying to cram experiences into the last few weeks before school starts mayhem.

I told y'all we'd be having some visitors, and boy howdy*, did we have visitors. My sister and her boys came for about a week, and Lil Girl and her brother decided to stay with us most of that week too, because their cousins were here. Which is awesome and wonderful, and I'm so happy that they (mostly) get along because there is such a wide range of ages (8 months to 14 years), and that could be bad news, but (mostly) works for them. One of my most cherished memories of my childhood summers is the week in August that my Virginia cousins would visit... I can remember crying every time they left and almost holding my breath every summer till it was time for them to come back. I'm so glad that my niece and nephews can have the same kind of connection (and, since Sister S's boys only live in New Hampshire, get to have more than one visit a year).

But that's not to say that it didn't take a lot out of me, and really made me realize that I am still - three months post-op - definitely still in a recovery phase. I just didn't have (what passes for) my normal level of stamina or strength, and, by the middle of the week, I was getting lots of concerned questions from both Sister S and Oldest Nephew. They kept asking if I was mad, which is the question I tend to get asked a lot if the pain is showing up on my face. I had to keep reassuring them that I wasn't mad (because I wasn't), just really, really sore. Since I have had 15 years of practice in covering up how badly I am feeling (particularly around the kids), it has to be pretty horrible for that much to be leaking out. I also don't necessarily think it was bad for it to be showing - Sister S, and her oldest boy, to some extent - still don't really "get" the whole chronic illness thing, mostly because they only briefly lived with me while I was ill. They don't quite understand how bad it can get, because I mostly hide it when they are here, so as not to put a damper on the visit. Which is possible on a weekend visit, or a day trip, but for a whole week? Never gonna happen. Eventually it catches up with me, and in this case, it was definitely sooner rather than later.

While they were here, we managed to get most of the whole immediate family crew together (minus Sister K who went to Montana with her boyfriend) for a little trek to a local old timey amusement park. It's a place that holds a lot of memories for most of us, as Nana (5th grade teacher extraordinaire) used to take her classes there on a field trip every year. She and the other chaperones would bring beach chairs and park under a giant willow tree, while the kids ran across the parking lot to the arcade with the warnings of "Absolutely no one goes to the beach!" and "If you don't come when I blow this whistle, we leave without you and you can explain to your parents why you didn't make the bus" ringing in their ears.

This trip we all had a great time, we took lots of pictures, and I will talk about it some more in a later picture filled post. But it was a really special day.

Added to that, I got a visit from College Roommate/ Best Friend, and her two little girls, who I haven't seen since before Christmas, because of various illnesses (on my part) and busy social calendars (on hers). We had a very nice visit, and definitely won't go so long this time in between. And then one of those fore mentioned Virginia cousins - who now lives in Maine - came down with her mom, husband and little boy and we had lunch together at Grandmother's house, with her kids and the kids my heart says are part mine running around in the yard while we - the grownups!?! - watched from the porch. It was pretty awesome, although I still really, really don't feel like a grownup.

So that's where I've been: visiting with sisters and brothers and nieces and nephews and best friends and their kids and Virginia cousins that now live in Maine, and taking field trips down memory lane. As exhausting, punishing and painful as it has been physically, it was definitely worth it. Although I am still recuperating - from both the summer and the stupid surgery - I'm glad that we got a chance to get everybody together, and that so many people I've been missing managed to make their way to me this summer.

Plus, now I have a ton of photos to edit, and some of them I actually love, so it's bonuses all around.

*I have no idea where the Southern accent came from: I apologize for the "boy howdy."

Wish me some energy, please: I'll need it!

I want to thank everybody for their condolences and well wishes: I really appreciate it. And now, like I said, I'm going to try to get back to normal a little bit, and post about something totally different.

I'm working on a pretty full week of visits, starting this weekend and going right through next weekend, as SisterS is bringing her boys down, and staying for a while; and then my cousin from Maine and her family are coming in for a day; and College Roommate/Best Friend and her kiddos are finally going to make it over here again (I say finally because I have literally been moving her kids Christmas presents from one box to another for eight months). I don't like to have everything crammed in all together like that, but I wasn't the boss of other people's vacation plans (shocking!), so what can you do? Plus, it's been a while since I've seen any of them, so I don't want to beg off unless I really have to, healthwise.

(Also? Having some positive interactions at this particular moment in time is going to be hard to pass up.)

So the plan for College Roommate/Best Friend and my cousin from Maine and their families is just "hang out... eat food, maybe? Let children roam and stuff while grown ups have actual grown up conversations?" Very low key. Low pressure, with a dose of "here are your Christmas/Birthday presents: I hope you have not outgrown them, because I wrapped them so long ago, I no longer remember what they are" thrown in.

SisterS, however will be sleeping over for four or five days, with an infant and a teenager: both Creepers, just in different ways. (And also not quite as low pressure for me.) BabyB is trying his hardest to crawl, and Oldest Nephew is just one of those kids (when do you have to stop calling them kids? 14 isn't it, but I know it's getting there) who is always just... There when you turn around. Not in a spooky way, really, just more of a 'Holy Shit where did you come from?' type of way.

And when Oldest Nephew sleeps over, that means (No Longer) Youngest Nephew will want to sleepover. And when her big brother gets to sleepover, Lil Girl will definitely want to sleepover as well. But, as much as I might like to, I can't handle four kids - of four really different age and maturity levels (14,10,4,and 9 months)- for five nights and still expect to be a functioning member of reality at any point during their visit. And I want to have some fun too, so I'm putting my foot down at a one - two night Lil Girl and her big brother sleepover visit, which still gives them a chance to all hang out together (hanging out with my visiting cousins was always the highlight of my summer, and I'd love it if they had the same opportunities!) without it being too much for me to handle.

On Sunday, we're taking the whole lot - plus everybody else except SisterK who is on vacation in Montana with her boyfriend and won't be back in time - to a local old-time amusement park. There's no adult rides, although I think there used to be a Ferris wheel, and only three or four kiddy rides: The place is mostly centered around it's video games, it's arcade, and it's skee ball. (Mum is a skeeball fanatic, so we never have to searching for her when it's time for lunch.) There's also lots of great food, and it's right on the shore, so we'll be able to have a nice picnic lunch.

The overall goal for me this week is to a) try to take it easy and enjoy myself as much as possible and b)take a TON of pictures, which is something I haven't really been feeling inspired to do lately, with all the heavy stuff. But I know, with all of these fabulous people - not to mention more than a few adorable kids - around, I'll be itching to pick my camera back up.

Plus, since I'm promising to post a few of the best ones, I'd better get busy.