HER I'm afraid of, rather my susceptibility to this unbelievable venom. I'm not a rock. I can brush off more of it than most people, not always for the holiest of reasons either. But I'm feeling stronger self control of late and hope I'm not deluding myself about it.
A funny or at least cheerful way to look at it is that this extended experience has convinced me even more of where I most truly belong. The UMC is hardly around the corner from my house; only a couple hundred feet if I cut across the alley. A lot of them are very nice, even nicer now that we've gotten to know each other better and they realize I don't actually have horns. But it's still not my home and never will be. I will call the office as you suggest. This is such a small mission, only one part time staff, so I don't want to get my hopes up too much. But it's worth a try; I can't very well continue pining for what I miss if I don't keep trying to press forward, can I?
I heard once how many thousands of years it will be before they coincide again.
But that's not the point of my little OP this afternoon. I want to give public thanks for a special blessing received, one that presages better times ahead.
Our local parish mission holds a big dinner on Thanksgiving Day itself, and I wondered whether I'd be able to enjoy it this year. That's a 3/4 mile roundtrip walk for me, the weather promises to be frightful, and I don't feel entirely up to the challenge right now. So I threw caution to the winds and called a lady who'd actually always been very nice to me there, to see if by any chance she knew of someone who might be able to swing by and give me a ride. Ohhhh, how I hate asking for a ride even one way! I did that several years ago with a lady I'd been able to help with her computer, and she raked me over in public for my audacity even though she lives 3 blocks on the other side of my home from the church, so she goes right by my house on her way home. Well, I guess that's what I get for pigging out and not feeling up to a long walk, but the memory still makes me twitchy.
The lady I called yesterday is the sister of the woman who made it her personal mission to get rid of me, even down to denouncing me as a heretic one weeknight Mass when she and I and the priest were the only ones who showed up. Yeah, heretics are known to walk 3/4 mile in the dark and cold for Mass.
Anyway, even though the nice lady invited me to Thanksgiving dinner with her family that first year, it didn't work out too well with the unholy inquisitor there. She knows if she invited me again, I'd have enough sense to arrange to be busy otherwise. But what she did this year was the best she could do under the circumstances; she said several of the people coming to her house were going to deliver dinners to shutins anyway, and they'd be delighted to swing by and provide transportation both ways for me. I almost cried.
Presumably I'll get to meet the new-to-me priest from Korea, and there are always other nice people around. The meanest woman typically stands at the serving table and stomps off to the kitchen as soon as I appear. That I can handle easily compared to what she used to do if she found anyone sitting with me. She'd rush over and run them off with that sharp tongue. Most people are afraid of her.
Anyway, my fondest hope is that at least occasionally someone will think to offer me a ride to Mass. I miss it terribly, but feel in control of myself enough now to be certain I wouldn't blow up if Mean Lady keeps being herself. I did chew her out one time elsewhere when she caught me off guard. Don't know that I'd ever get over it if I lashed back at her in church. I'd never be able to show my face there again if I did that. Part of the trouble is that I know I'm too capable of outdoing Mean Lady if I lose my temper with her. So I've been praying for patience.
One reason I prefer Thanksgiving Dinner at church is because most people won't start political battles there, and if they do I have the right and obligation to insist on tabling the subject. In a private home, where I have been invited on occasion, I don't have a leg to stand on so far as quashing hate speech because it isn't my house or God's house or anywhere public in the secular sense. I hate fighting, especially on holidays, and know things will be safer in church - if I can get there. Not only have I been working on my own temper, but ML has lost a couple of times already when she pushed her game too far, and she remembers it, from what others tell me. Her long suffering brother-in-law secretly gave me a thumbs up after the last round.
Maybe it's terrible for me to even mention the situation online, but I could use everyone's prayer help regarding my own deportment. And that things might eventually smooth out enough for me to darken St. Luke's door again! Lord help me, I do miss Mass. And I know how wrong it is to take communion with hardness in your heart toward anyone.
I long ago gave up being surprised by President Obama. Impressed and thankful, yes. Surprised, not so much after all this time. He just keeps surpassing himself.
As a former professional in the strictly-legit (shoestring) indies, I'm always entranced with cinematography. Having worked continuity, it's hard for me to suspend disbelief due to a bad habit of still looking for flaws and bloopers. 'Romero' is that rare movie that makes me totally forget the camera. That's the highest accolade possible.
is only the start. I'm not having the problems I feared with the dogs; I just let them out when they want out, and they bark at the door again when they want to come in. Even when indoors, they 'fight' and quarrel over anything within reach. I can throw them an old rag that isn't even fit for cleaning with, and they'll finish shredding it for me. I don't need a garbage disposal! They even let me know when it's time for a nap by standing up against the side of the baby bed and wagging their tails. Brigid could probably jump in if she wanted, but Molly Maguire's so short she couldn't. And they stick together like glue.
So long as my furkids are happy, so am I.
Oh, if only they could vote!
indeed all Democrats. Their own followers are bound to them by negative emotions of greed, fear and mutual hatred of the 'other'. No real love and respect involved. But they can also see that President Barack Hussein Obama has earned the honor and devotion rightfully showered upon him. In short, somewhere deep in their bones they know they're hardly fit to tie his shoes.
Those bottom feeders cluster around their prime targets. I've read where enlisted military personnel make up the highest percentage of predatory payday loan sharks' victims. This wouldn't be such a deep seated problem if military pay were more adequate. Those commissaries and PXs are a critical necessity and shouldn't be cut anywhere! The families of officers won't miss the PX as much as the others, but it's still a necessity.
At least when we were at White Sands, the nearest 'family type' shopping was miles away. My life as an Army brat and later wife was wonderful despite the usual challenges, but I really feel bad for people today. Predatory, vulture capitalism is not our friend.
especially of Mere Christianity (wherein he says some form of socialism is necessary for Christian living) and of course the Screwtape Letters. Another favorite, The Great Divorce.
I also think it's neat he married an avowed Communist, which most fundies don't seem to know and deny if I tell them, because they like to co-opt Lewis for their own purposes much as they're trying to latch onto JFK after a suitable waiting period. Most of them hated JFK when he was alive, and they'd turn on Lewis just as quickly if they ever read his entire body of work carefully.
President Obama early on asked for a prayer cover, and we certainly owe the Pope no less.
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About IrishAyesStill an ardent Irish-American Catholic damnYankee Yellow Dog Democrat socialist after all these years. (cue Simon music) Army brat and wife for many years, now have been on the loose far longer than I was married. After my two red chows died, I took in a mini-beagle cross that I named Molly Maguire, thinking she might need a good Irish name like my original real one. Later she got a baby sister, a smooth-coat JRT I named Brigid after the greatest of the ancient Celtic goddesses. My great-grandfather and his son fought for Michael Collins and barely made it out of Ireland one step ahead of John Bull. They slipped over to Wales for new identities and then forward to the States for a fresh start. That makes me second generation of illegal but certainly justified immigrants. There are precious few people to whose defense I fly immediately, but the list includes Hillary Clinton, President Barack Obama even when I disagree with him - it happens! - and living Irish patriots Gerry Adams and Martin \\\'Mind Your Kneecaps\\\' McGuiness. I pray earnestly for a united and free Ireland rescued from all official British occupation, with every square inch of alleged \\\'ancestral lands\\\' now held immorally and illegally by the invaders returned to the rightful owners. Irish-only rule for Ireland. No foreign masters anymore! I find it passing strange when Brits chide ME about \'interfering\' in Irish politics!
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