Hail Mary and Agnes

If you remember Agnes from earlier blogs, you already know she was my Grandmother (on the Flaherty side) and she lived with the Madden family.

She was a self-appointed Priestess.  Before she joined the Madden family, she was a paid Irish Wailing Woman,, aka a professional mourner hired to attend funerals.

In her retirement, Agnes spent all of her waking hours praying for the souls of the faithful departed.  She could magically promote sinners from Purgatory to Heaven with her devotions.

She always had a rosary entwined  in her fingers.  The funniest memory I have of this woman was when the Madden family watched wrestling on TV.  She would swing her rosary around like a cowboy's lasso and yell:  "Kill him - snap his neck - step on his head - you God damn son-of-a-bitch."  Then, during the commercials she resumed her angelic pose and continue with:  "Hail Mary, full of grace."

Dysfunctional Defined

Singing is so joyful.  Why should it be limited to the talented?  I have no talent.  It doesn't stop me.

I just returned from my Zumba class, a place I go to to make a total ass of myself.  I sing and dance, tell bad jokes, and make up stories about taking my act to Las Vegas. My daughters, Molly and Calin would be apalled if they attended the class.  They're still scarred from high school when  I sang and danced for their friends. They never appreciated the fact that my talent is that I have no talent.  Rather, I have the courage to risk the possibility of humiliation. 

All of this is acceptable to my friends at Zumba who know this is truely who I am, just a dork with an understanding of the entertainment aspect of it.  I should have pursued  a career in show business.

Rededication

Every time I have to face adversity, a voice in my head reminds me that the problem belongs to the person who created it.  It has nothing to do with me.  I can allow people to live in their own story which is their truth, but not necessarily mine.  I'm free from all  beings who hurt me in the past because I simply let them go.  I choose to not spend time with anyone whose intentions are to inflict pain. 

It's no ones' fault.  There is no blame.  I simply was, for a time, caught up in anothers' drama.

Organized by a Stand-Up Lady

My kitchen is organized.  Here's how it works:  Victoria, owner of  Sparkling Homes, pulls everything out of my drawers, cupboards, shelves, and establishes piles according to what she thinks is garbage and that which is questionable garbage.  The things to be kept are obvious. 

Then, in rapid-fire succession, she holds up items to be discarded.  She doesn't throw away anything without my permission, but if I try to hold on to something she has determined for the junk pile, she rolls her eyes at me and asks:  "Really?  What are you going to do with this?"  I acquiesce with admiration for a woman who can stand up to me.

I was schooled, from the time I was born, in the fine art of intimidation. It's a Madden family special talent. People usualy don't mess with me. It's usually so much easier to placate a Madden rather than confront one.  I have learned to count on that.

My daughters, Molly and Cailin, figured it out years ago and I love them for it.  They're not afraid to challenge Mom.  Another generation of Maddens "question everything."  That's why I love and respect Victoria.  She's like my daughters, a stand-up lady.

Ownership is a Burden

I have done it.  I hired a professional organizer.  She's been helping me, off and on, discard that which I no longer need and live lovely with the things I do.  She's wonderful - Victoria - she'll be here on Thursday.

I'm not quite sure why I have no organizing skills.  It could be a brain function or a lack there of.  But, I prefer to think it's  because I was raised in a family that didn't value posessions, but rather, experiences.  Everything we had was used, broken, mended, mis-matched, passed along, and usually, worthless.

The Maddens were minimalists, with the exception of sports equipment.  We had baseball bats, gloves, catchers' masks, baseball uniforms, shin guards, cleats, basketballs, baseballs, footballs, more cleats, weights, a timing bag, heavy weight punching bag, helmets, a regulation hoseshoe pit, tennis rackets, golf clubs, croquet set, roller skates, and more.  All of this equipment lived in the garage.

So, for me to make decisions regarding the placement and value of material items is difficult.  Ownership is such a burden.

Release the Inner Bitch

I'm still grouchy.  I tried eating cookies - didn't work - January sucks.

Tried eating ice-cream - gained 1/2 pound.  Tried working out every day to burn off the cookies and ice-cream.  I'm more hungry than ever. Still grouchy - January sucks.

Next month, I'm going to Calfornia, Palm Desert to be exact.  I'm  going to swim every day.  I'll read books on the patio while sipping coffee.  I'll send pictures of the beauty that surrounds me to my freezing,  rain-soaked, friends back in Washington.  I'l sing and dance in the sun. I'll laugh every day.

Of course, I'll continue to eat cookies and ice-cream , but in California I can release my inner bitch.

Bouncing Back

I'm still feeling out-of-sorts, a little off balance, you know, grouchy.  I must have crossed myself in some way, done something I know was not coming from my true self.  There's interference in my energy circuits, a disconnect in the Universe.  So, I've come up with a set of rules for people who must (or through no fault of their own) inadvertently encounter me.  It can be scary to not know the governing principles of an Irish woman.

l.  Get out of my way!  Measure your personal space and triple it.

2. Do not laugh unless I say something funny.  I'll tell you when humor is intended.

3.  If you overhear me talking to myself, please make no comment.  Assume you're not included in the conversation.

4.  I insist that, should you choose to engage, you only say what I want to hear.

5.  A contribution of flowers is always acceptable.

Of course, I realize I'll bounce back.  One day,  hopefully soon, I'll be singing and dancing with my cat, gang namn style.

Cat Socks

I feel grouchy.  Christmas is over and there are no presents in January.

Perhaps I should buy some new socks.  Socks make me happy. I have Halloween  socks, Christmas socks, St. Patrick's shamrock socks, Valentine socks, hopping bunny Easter socks, polkadot socks, scented socks, cat socks, bee and butterfly socks, and more.  When I lose a sock, I still wear the remainder of the pair.  I can match bunnies to Santas and be perfectly happy.  I'm noted at Curves (where I work out) for mismatched socks.  It's a way to get attention when I feel needy.

Tomorow, my quest for new socks will begin with the hope that this irritable mood will lift, at least until the next fun event, the Super Bowl in February.

In short, January is boring, cold, and dark.  Even my cat is depressed.  Last night, he bit me and when I said:  "NO, NO" to him, he told me to "shut-up!"  What a grouch!  Possibly he just needs a pair of socks.