The 13th Apostol

Cross and Crown Mission...Christ is There Right Now, if You Hurry You Can Catch Him

Yesterday, I walked right back into the Barrio for the first time in two-and-a-half years.
God literally turned my truck around in the middle of 10th street, leading me up to the steps of a great and powerful place.

There is magic, healing, Christianity happening in Oklahoma City, right under our noses.
I have found the place where Jesus would go if he came back today.
Some people would say these healers are crazy. Before  you do that, read their blogs ('Staff' on their home page), go down and talk with them...see the ancient walls, hallowed as any I've ever seen.

Walk past the faces, the mothers with newborns, they look you square in the eyes. The old men, waiting their turn in prayer, the teenagers wrestling on the floor of the youth center...this is holy stuff.

This is the holy stuff I've spent the last year searching for...cutting check after check to make the Non-Specific Mega Church more mega, mega-er. Sitting in on power P.R./Marketing meetings with Pastors who, if a someone was tele-ported into the scene from a land far, far away, the teleportee wouldn't have a clue these people were involved with a church, let alone Christian Pastors.

My heart has been heavy, with one disappointment after another by these trusted servants, these leaders. From bold face to blatant...all in the name of saving the lost.

So I left the Mega's, and went to a neighborhood church.
Other than having trouble staying awake, a common theme, I felt all right about it.
That is until I looked around the sanctuary and realized I was sitting in a full box of Peach crayons.

In all honesty I think Jesus would be so sad coming back, seeing what's happened.What WE have has done with His instructions...and it's no wonder were all falling on our butts.
We talk about all this love, but treat each other like holy hell, the rest of the world see this, then we wonder why they aren't responsive to our proselytizing.

I don't want to hear how your church does this and that, helps so and so, blah, blah, blah...I'm weary with excuses for the body of Christ.

I felt the Holy Spirit for the first time in, well... maybe ever yesterday. The action of love was fully present in this mission. I can't begin to express the profound impact meeting these modern saints had on me.
In saying that, in calling them modern saints, I can feel my neck heat up in fear. Fear I've crossed an invisible line of blasphemy somewhere in the sand of my imagination... the end result of this year long quest for the true Christianity: Fear.

No longer will I tithe on-line.
Is that even tithing?
Does just clicking a mouse do anything other than offend a passionate Lord?
Yes we are to give, the more we have, the more of an obligation we have to our fellow man.

Not the church.

Who are these people kidding?
They were kidding me...
When was the last time I got my hands dirty? When was the last time I honestly, faithfully, lovingly dropped to my knees in the dark of the night and wept for my life, the lives of my children?
If all I have to do to receive absolution, is go to a Virtual World as my alter ego and type in my "Sin" in a glass house, then life really is just a game isn't it?

My question is, who's throwing the virtual rocks?

I commented on a Mega Church Pastors blog one time about his front page bio, in which he regales the joys of meeting his wife for lattes as one of his favorite pastimes.
I informed him, as a single mother, I could feed my boy and I for five days straight for the price of that famous latte. Not comfortably, but we wouldn't starve. Apparently this "Mega Man" believed my comment unworthy of rebuttal.

Am I the only one wondering what's wrong here, when the Pastor of a major Urban city's Mega Church, where the homeless could be a city themselves...shows his self absorption so mightily?

Yesterday afternoon saved my behind spiritually, made me, will make you, recall the true meaning of our lives as a Christians...it's not to worship God by tithing online...it's love our neighbor PERIOD.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with tithing online or buying $6.00 coffee drinks (if they're in your budget). The problem arises when we believe our lives are somehow more blessed and faithfilled, than those who's budget omits lattes' in lieu of the following:

one loaf of bread,
one dozen eggs,
one 1/2 gallon of milk

2nd Grade Valentines Day Angst

(Conversation between Al and I while filling out Valentines for his class)

Al - "This ones for Stevie, I'm her 'Back-up Boyfriend'."
Mama Rose - (me) "What do you mean 'Back-up Boyfriend honey?"
Al - "Well, in case she breaks up with James, then I get to be her boyfriend, you know...back-up?"
Mama Rose - "Who's James?"
Al  - "Number 22" (pointing to the list of 2nd graders in front of us)
Mama Rose - "Your not too thrilled about #22 are you honey?"
Al - "He always finishes his work and takes it up to Mr. H's desk before anyone else...always! I don't even have my name written, and there goes James, flying past me.
Mama Rose - "So James is the smartest kid in your class?"
Al - "Uh huh."
Mama Rose - "And he's got your girl?"
Al - "Uh huh."
Mama Rose - "That's gotta suck honey."
Al - "It's so not fair mom, no matter what I do, I'll never be as smart as James."
Mama Rose - "Do you think that's why Stevie likes James, because he's so smart?"
Al - (voice on the upswing) "The only reason James is her boyfriend and not me, is because he did more gross stuff than me."
Mama Rose - "Break it down Al."
Al - "Stevie picked James because he sat in the mud longer than me. I was tired of being muddy and got out, then that's when Stevie said "OK, James, your my boyfriend, and Al, your my back-up boyfriend...if I'd just sat in the mud longer, Stevie would've picked me."
Mama Rose - "There's a difference between smart and intelligent, and from what you've told me, your much smarter than James."
Al - "Mom, I said he finishes his work first every time, every single time!"
Mama Rose - "You also said he sat in mud longer than you."
Al - "So?"
Mama Rose - "So... why did you get out of the mud?"
Al - "Because it was gross."
Mama Rose - "That's pretty smart Al."
Al - "So... James is intelligent, but not smart enough to get out of the mud.
Mama Rose - "Otherwise known as common sense."
Al - "So what does that make Stevie?"
Mama Rose - "Brilliant."

Return of The Giants

My favorite Brit Jonathan Beckett of Life and Times fame, has written a rather racy, and somewhat erotic piece about Moleskine. Jonathan muses:

"The Moleskine notebooks have something of a history - they were “the legendary notebook of Van Gogh, Chatwin, Hemingway, Matisse and Céline“. Perhaps through owning and using one I might stand on the shoulders of such literary giants, and channel their talent through my pen."

I started wondering what those literary giants, and others would say about this medium of ours if they returned today? What might they be inclined to write in blogs, given the opportunity?

Create with todays technology,  Say Ernest out to Sea with his Mac book Pro, Frida and Diego at opposite ends of The Blue House, each with Photoshop and Dreamweaver...

Gauguin telling his Islanders to hold on while he re-booted, Van Gogh ordering Oxycontin from off-shore Pharmacias, Klee and graphics, Picasso and fractals,

And all the while,  apprenticing under a mommy blogger from Toledo. Ending sentences with smilies, what would Emily Bronte's text message to Matisse read like...

"henre wats up? R U goin out 2 nite? call me l8tr; )"

Could the giants function at all without us? Would they love or hate our current state of technology? Would Virginia Woolf know the same freedom of expression the mommy blogger from Toledo knows?

Do we take for granted the ability to express in full, the ease with which we exercise our first amendment rights?

I can't imagine my world without this communication form, this art medium. We have tapped into something so expansive, the possibilities for growth are endless. I suspect the giants, if returned in full regalia, might feel likewise.

One can only ponder whether or not there'd be shoulder-standing upon their arrival, and in light of technology, who would be the standee?

Wasted Away Again in Rationalizationville

I'm going back to work on Monday, for the first time in almost a year.

I'm really concerned about this place falling apart without me here. I mean what about the cat for Christ's sake? Or the mailman, I always say hi to him, like clock work...we have this hi-saying thing, you know stuff like that's important to ones mental health. This is where you ask me (if I had my comments on) how well is that working for your mental health?

Who will chat with the Car hops at Sonic every day, I mean every day?! These young ladies count on my words of wisdom in their lives...sort of a Car hop mentoring program I've established, (501 (c) (3) status pending) offering humor and support in lieu of much needed tips.

Hey, some things are worth more than money.

What I'm most concerned about, other than who will sit at this monitor and worry about money all day...is this damn NaBloPoMo  (crap that's hard to type) I mean I'm finally doing something here, finally participating in something communal, and I'm probably going to be so emotionally distraught from the above mentioned concerns and pure physical exhaustion, that I won't be able to post.

Isn't that funny Wilma, she's going to experience reality... ten bucks says she caves the first week...you in?

You don't understand how sick I am. To me, NaBlo Fussy's gig is a good reason not to take this job, but then Dolly Parton's birthday is also. "Sorry, can't accept your job offer, It's Dolly Parton's  birth-month"

That image will wake me up tonight. Go back and look at that again. Now it will you too.

This blog saved my life, and that's not an exaggeration. (Mmmm, yes it is)

When I started writing posts back in April, I was  trying to deal with some big losses in my life.  Out of  fear of facing the pain, I quit writing about those losses, and have gone a different direction with this blog entirely. (or all it takes to heal from life-shattering events,  is writing 3 0r 4 posts about it in a blog)

So basically, you get to watch me dance around my issues until my head implodes or Al graduates from High School and moves out. Then and only then, will I be in a position to commit to the necessary histrionics involved with unearthing the bodies of the dead, I thought I'd hidden so well.

What does my baggage have do do with starting a new job on Monday?

Absolutely everything...when you live in Rationalizationville.

Much Ado About Blogging

NaBloPoMo  kicks off next week, and just in the nick of time Maggie's  book arrives! WooHoo! God I hope that check clears.

If you don't have this book, you better get Santa on it quick before there all gone. Maggie Mason is brilliant in her descriptive of everyday do-ables, making the reader (you) feel as if she, and she alone, cared what you had for lunch today...

I was a hard sell, a hold out, while the rest of the blogging world romanced Ms. Masons prose. Even sideways -ing a time or two. My ego got the best of me, for I surely needed no silly book to help me come up with idea for posts! (Said the woman who has her comments turned off)

What I'm learning out here, is that big egos don't survive or succeed. For months all I did was write posts and read three blogs, rarely even attemping to find new ones I liked. I was stuck in a zone, neither comfortable nor 'un'...simply stuck. Maggie's book does one very important thing. It nudges you out of your zone.

Throughout her book, just like Mighty Girl , Maggie pays respect where respect is due. "Linking" to other blogs in hard copy. Maggie is polite, funny and genuine, as she climbs...taking time to reach a hand out and say "Welcome."

My amends are from the heart, as I stroll down my own memory lane with Ms. Mason as my guide.

Very nice work Maggie!

Is  it me, or do I look like Steven Tyler?

OMG I do look like Steven Tyler, and before he got Sober too.

This is bad.

 

The Moderation Myth

I'm in one of those moods you get in, when you feel so festive you even light candles in the bathroom.  It doesn't exactly count for me since, among cigarettes, Sonic cherry slushes (Route 44-er's), Starbucks quad, grande, caramel, breve, latte's and soup (pretty much all soup) - I am addicted to candles.

Did you notice most of my addictions are fluids? Weird. But the candle thing seriously is a problem, I go through a filter a month in my HVAC unit's, and at my old place it was such a junker, I had soot on the walls from all the candles. Can you imagine my lungs? (like the cigarettes have competition now)

I've tried to not burn so many candles, but it's honestly depressing without them...maybe I'm a witch? Huh? No. Well I think it stems from when I was soooooo poor, all I had to make me feel better were candles. I could light that scented wax, and drift away to some cabin in the mountains, or pretend I wasn't soooooo broke.

It's a "Homey" feel, as my dear dead mother used to say. Everything that wasn't God damned catastrophically life shattering, was "Homey". Black or White. Glorious or It's the end of the fucking world. Those were my childhood options.

Sometimes I know I've gone too far with the whole It's-almost-Halloween-so-I-can-burn-willy-nilly, idea. Like this morning I woke up, and could smell the burnt wax in my nose...I'd fallen asleep with a few tea lights burning. Just a few. Eleven, but they're tea lights, they have the little safety tins so candle addicts don't burn themselves up.

Throughout my life, I've often wondered what moderation feels like. Does it hurt? Do you sweat the first few days...or experience flu-like symptoms? What about others, can they tell you are in moderation, do you look a certain way, all non-virginal and shit? Can you operate heavy machinery in moderation, or jog...no, wait, what about Yoga in moderation what about that?

At 42 I'm almost convinced I'll never experience moderation of any kind. I'll just file it away with that good old vaginal orgasm I've read so much about. But just in case, you know, that I'm wrong...I think I better get Baptized again.

Black or white.

Glorious, or it's the end of the fucking world.

Ode to a Trophy...

Thursday's evenings are Al's dads. This is a new "Big person" thing I implemented in an attempt to salvage what was left of the relationship I've been trying to destroy, by demanding his father participate in The Mer's financial rearing. I do not however have to enjoy it.

Now in addition toThe Sea Monster's  sporadic Sunday's, I get to learn to keep my opinions to myself on Thursdays also. The rules are, I am not allowed to ask T.S.M to do any hardware oriented, software compliant, could-you-please-hang-the-300 lbs-Gothic-mirror-while-your-here-kind of stuff.

Last night we both failed miserably.

Sigmund arrived, Firewall in hand, ready to roll..."I am Firewall Man, come to protect the family...Aarrg!"   Apparently this firewall thing is the equivalent of having a rabid Pit Bull at your side as you surf the wild blue net...or, a Chastity belt, I'm undecided. And seeing as how it's software he installed while I wasn't looking,  I'm thinking it may be the later.

The large picture window in my office looks out to the front, something I've come to accept as a blessing, as this way I am able to work and still keep an eye on my child, the moving target . Last night there was a moment, albeit a short lived one between his father and myself.

We watched , our hearts full of love and admiration, as our son rode his little bike around in circles in the drive, then, checking both ways just like I'd taught him, he rode across the street to Katie's house to see if she could play.

Me - "Isn't he beautiful?"

Sigmund - "Yeah, our trophy's all grown up." (yes he did)

Me - "He's so free...look at him just dancing up to Katie's porch."

Sigmund - "Yeah.  Oh, it looks like Katie can't play"

Me - "Oh, poor little guy, but he's so beautiful, just look at him go...dancing, running so fast, so free...I guess he's coming home"

Sigmund - "Yeah, and he's got ADHD...  ran right past his bike all the way home."

The evening progressed into an attempt to install wordpress, while The Mer yelled from the living room..."Is anyone going to watch this Halloween movie with me?!"

"In a minute...it only takes five minutes to install!"

As I carried my sleeping child up the stairs at 2 a.m., I thought to myself "Nothing on God's earth is meant to be this difficult...period."

Then I slept on the couch, and dreamed of men with technical know-how beyond my wildest imagination...with ADD.

Gargoyle = Paperweight

So... I was having a bad day, and was just now at the Abercrombie & Fitch site, visa in hand ready to make myself feeeel better. When out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of the water bill peaking out from underneath my Gargoyle.

Now keep in mind, I've already been to Borders yesterday, and then Target this morning, where I actually succeeded in making a purchase. Then 30 minutes later once clarity had returned,  took the velour camouflaged lounge pants back for a full refund ...because it is after all Target.

The Abercrombie & Fitch thing was a progressive decline from Old Navy...I need Jeans you see, and I'm an odd fit, er, shape. I have never had an expensive pair of jeans in my life. I realize that to the average woman $70.00 is not an expensive pair of jeans. I am not your average woman.

When I was fat, I could only wear men's jeans. Levi's 501 button fly size 48 x 30. Yes, I was bigger around than I was up. Hysterical, but not really. So it wasn't until I was down to 145 lbs. that I purchased my first pair of women's jeans - Old Navy sz 12.

I'm now a size 6 or 4, or 2, or 7, or 5 ... I have little to no butt, and or hips. And in the last two years I've obtained this, this, this gut thing. It's gross, but well, I'm way too lazy to do anything about it, so I'll just look a few months pregnant instead.

The two stores that can occasionally fit me, are the above mentioned two. Old Navy is hit or miss, while Abercrombie is dead on every time. I also hate to shop, which is another reason I need jeans so desperately. I am the only female on this planet who hates to shop. Why?

Is it some throw-back from the years when I dwarfed your average Linebacker? Is it residual trauma from dressing room attendants exasperation at my inability to accept the fact I was no longer a size 6x...to the point of ripping seams with my adorable, yet furiously chubby pre-pubescent arms?

Or perhaps it's got nothing to do with the EXPERIENCE and everything to do with the funding of the event. When your a single parent, the very last thing there's money for is Abercrombie & Flippin Fitch jeans.

And even though they ARE the absolutely ONLY jeans my stomach hangs over comfortably. And while I'm all for those moms who can pull the money for a pair of Madison low rise destroyed flares out of her ass...I (long sigh)...am not one of them.

How old will I be when The Mer is in Graduate School?

Work with me on this visual here, K?

A sixty five-year-old woman, wearing a pair of those...not bad, huh? Yeah, real bad your right. Some dreams must die my friend, some dreams must die...

Sid and Marty Kroft Family Reuniun

Sweet mother of God, WHY is he here? What have I done to deserve this vexation? I'm a "Good enough" mother...I do my best. And yet, here comes the only human being on the face of Terra firma known to make my cranium contents explode through  my left nostril. Of course he didn't call first, why give me an opportunity to not answer the phone?

Odd isn't it, how I love The Mer more than I loved Leif Garrett, circa 1972, and yet his father...well, remember "Sigmund and The Sea Monsters"? Sid and Marty Kroft show, same era. The Mer's dad...The Sea Monster.

Maybe that explains "Mer-boy"? Hmm.

Conversation overheard just now, as The Sea Monster is trying to help Mer get to the next level on "Sponge Bob-The Yellow Avenger":

Mer-boy- "Dad, did you really used to live in Japan?"

The Sea Monster-"I made a gadget and when it got to Japan it didn't work, so I got to go live  where the gadget lived so I could fix it when it broke."

Mer-boy-"What was it like?"

The Sea Monster-"And all the women are this tall, have black hair and look the same. Oh, and you can buy Vodka on every street corner in soda pop vending machines."

Mer-Boy- "Mom and I watched "Kill Bill" last night."

"Two Men on Meth" Attempt Feng Shui

I spent the day yesterday rearranging the furniture that "Two Men on Meth" (the "moving company" I used last month) had ceremoniously, as to completely piss me off for being such a stressed out, demanding, psycho bitch, dropped sporadically around my home.

I'm still finding broken shit.

Last week I had to take my bicycle of all things in to be repaired.

How do you break a bicycle moving it?

Two men on meth.

These guys were throwing shit, running with couches, carrying beds on their backs...it was ugly.

They got me moved though. You know it's desperate times when you have a deadline, and the only guys you can find to help are flippin HIGH. My life. Anyway.

So yesterday I decided to empower myself and move the shit to make the place more homey, you know, not have a couch blocking the front door type thing.

Mer-boy was directing, and somewhat anxious, because he knows from past experience these attempts at home improvement usually end up in a screaming match.

Me vs. the cat, me vs. the wall, me vs. the non-specific, inanimate object of my choosing.

Basically, I scream. Stress out, and then the house gets left half finished in whatever I was doing.

One year it took three weeks to get the Christmas tree up, start to finish. I decided after that to pursue Hasidic type faiths.

I had a strategy yesterday though...a plan four weeks in the making.

First, I would slide rags under the feet of the couch to make it glide smoothly across the newly finished REAL hardwood floors. (breathe girl breathe)

Then I would load the heavy assed antique steamer trunk onto a blanket to achieve the same effect.

Next, the monolith of a dining room table left behind by the stalker (which reminds me, that vpo is about up) will have to be slid on the oriental rug beneath it, to whatever destination(s) I decide.

Brilliant right?

The moving part worked swimmingly... the feng shui part, not so swimmingly-ish.

Anyone who knows me, knows I am very sensitive to, how can I say this...placement of objects, yeah that's good. I'm sensitive to the placement of objects in my home.

Some call this anal retentive, while others call it enlightened.

Needless to say, when the architecture is resistant to my enlightenment, there's very little I can do, and my frustration builds.

At this point,  Mer-boy took the cat, a vase, a small house plant and went outside to play.

After five hours and two lost toe nails, I finally achieved feng.

The shui is waiting for someone to help me hang a 200lb. Gothic mirror.

While I still don't know how I could ever qualify for for this place, and deep in my heart pray to the spheres there's a home and hearth angel just waiting to bestow countless blessings in her department on my fam...I must make it mine, at least temporarily.

For however long we are here, as hard as it is to look at it that way, I am a rooty person. Home is an important part of who I am, my life, my safety, creativity, spiritual health.

It's been two years since I had a "Home", because of my experiences with Slummy, (Slumlord) I never unpacked all the way. Now I'm unable to because we may have to move in the next few months.

If I could whore out my writing somehow...just a way to make some money doing what I love beyond all things material.

Write ebay ads for Christ's sake...anything!