Mercy and Grace in God's Country

Dear Hearts,

I am alone! Alone! Except for Angel.

Dad just left with G-Pa to go to Aunt Faerie’s for dinner.

I am passing up dinner to write my post.

I’ve been off the grid with my posts for a few days. And I not gonna recap everything. Sometimes I can over-analyze and over-think things.

“WHAT?” you say, “not you.”

“Yes, me. I can. I know I hid it well.

I love Blu E-Cigarettes. One of the best inventions ever.

I am having an episode—so bear with me. It’s not a bad one, it’s what I call a functional episode. I shake, but I can function mostly.

“Why?”

Because it’s dinner-time. Because it rained today. Because my cat is sleeping on my bed. Because it’s Wednesday.

Dad left to drive G-Pa to Aunt Faerie’s for dinner. Dad was fine with my staying home.

Fucking Miracles do happen.

(God, Jesus, Mother Mary, St. Peter—I try to follow all the commandments, but I am just giving up on the swearing and Thou Shalt Not Take Thy Name In Vain one. I’m not gonna say sorry—because then Aunt Faerie would make me put a metaphysical dollar in The Sorry Jar. [I’m broke—hence the metaphysical dollar.] Swearing is just part of who I am.)

“I don’t just swear for the hell of it. Language is a poor enough means of communication. I think we should use all the words we’ve got. Besides, there are damn few words that anybody understands. Inherit the Wind.

I digress.

Fucking Miracles do happen. 15 years ago my the idea that my father would drive G-Pa over to Aunt Faerie’s for dinner would have been an impossibility not even dreamt of. Like 100 years ago the idea of a Black president would have been an impossibility. But, Miracles do happen.

Family members love and forgive each other. Because, in the end, blood is thicker…

We can desperately hurt one another. Actually, no one knows how to us more than other family members.

Blood is not determined by biology only—it’s also determined by choice. Aunt Faerie and G-Pa ARE family to Dad. (You lost in the end, Nan. Love is not finite.)

I consider Johnny my family. He is G.’s guy. He is a good man. He is my family. Dr. Swede is my family. He told me that someone is harassing him via telephone. The cops are involved, yada, yada. But I was like, “Hell, no! What do you want me to do? I’ll put a stop to that shit now.”

(I just went to the bathroom—coffee—and left the door open, I love it! Alone. And I took a milligram of Xanax. My little pink pills.)

I digress.

Family. Blood. Grace. Mercy. Forgiveness.

Being 96 and deaf in 2016 is not easy. Being 96 is fucking old. The body is tired and the brain misfires.

“I’m not going to the church dinner tonight. I am embarrassed to go with (Dad). I am embarrassed for people to know that he is my son-in-law because of his big bushy mustache.” G-Pa.

(Hell, yes, Dad’s mustache is bushy and uneven and Sam Elliott on steroids. It suits him)

“Aren’t we all going to Thanksgiving dinner at the church?” G-Pa

Because of my, Dad’s, Mom’s, and Aunt Faerie’s familial history with—well, let’s just say War of the Roses would not be underestimating what happened between the respective families when the Mom and Dad got married.

Time, Grace, Blood, Mercy, Forgiveness, Family was the armistice.

G-Pa saying what he did was truly a PTSD flash-back. It wasn't 2016--it was 25 years ago. For all us--we were in the thick of the War of the Roses. In reality, it was a silly thing that G-Pa doesn't even remember saying. 

I am with G-Pa for the long haul—even if he thinks I should wear nylons with sandals (WHAT?? NEVER!), not smoke, and drive like a Jersey-ite.

The diamond bubble that surrounds the holy city has an inclusion, a blemish in it. Maybe even a crack. Even The Holy City isn’t perfect.

It was a bad situation this week: I asked God, “Why?” That is not a question I ask often—truly.

To make the lemonade out of the lemons (Queen Bey):

“Stop trying to fucking please everybody! Stop trying to fucking do the right thing all the time. You’ve done that all your life!...How did that work out for ya’?”

Not so much…pretty badly actually.

“So STOP IT!”

“G-Pa, I am going to buy a space heater to put in the garage so I can smoke and be comfortable this winter. But I promise the heater is safe and not a fire hazard.”

“You could quit smoking.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

No sorry. No permission. BOOM! goes the mic.

Mom said the wisest thing to me a while back, “Just because someone is angry with you, doesn’t mean you’ve done anything wrong.”

JUST BECAUSE SOMEONE IS ANGRY WITH YOU, DOESN’T MEAN YOU’VE DONE ANYTHING WRONG.

T. was mad at me because I called him out on his drinking. Did I do anything wrong? Hell, no. Well, actually, yes. I should have smashed his fucking teeth in. You don’t threaten my cat, motherfucker.

“Aunt Faerie and G-Pa, I love you. But, I hate church dinners.”

At the end, it’s just me and God. No one else.

*******

My anxiety is way up because Dad and I are leaving to go Buffalo hunting Friday morning. Tomorrow, I have to pack. We are going to stay in hotels that have germs. I won’t be able to have my same breakfast that never changes: yogurt, blueberries, banana, granola.

There is not Walmart where we are going. GPS doesn’t even recognize Q.’s (the rancher who is hosting Dad and me for the hunt) address. But his family has been there for 120 years. We will be out in the middle of bum-fuck-no-where-Nebraska.

What if my stomach gets bad? What if I forget something? What if I have to smoke outside in sub-zero temperatures? What is my stomach gets bad? What if the germs…What if Q. and his wife…what if I need a doctor…what if…

PARDON ME.

Adah here, Kate,

This is an incredible adventure! You are going Buffalo hunting with your father! All his life he has wanted to do this—it’s his dream. Last December he lost his brother and dog—it’s coming up on a year. This is a good thing. You will be on the road with Dad—you two drove cross-country three times without issue. And, that was “before the internet, iPhones, Amazon Prime two-day shipping, and Wi-Fi etc.

You can smoke in the truck—not that you will smoke a lot—but when you travel with Mom you never quite enjoy the cigarette because you know it bothers her. Dad doesn’t care. Dad understands your stomach issues. Dad will keep you safe. He is not going to let anything bad happen to you.

This is your retreat. You are going “off the grid.” This is time for you to look clearly at yourself, draw, write, color, watch shows and movies. You’ve wanted to go on a religious retreat for a while. You can’t get closer to God than a 30,000-acre ranch in God’s Country. You can scream and no one will hear you. (In a good way.)

You’re going on vacation! You are going to share in one of Dad’s most spiritual experiences ever.

January is coming. The big financial cut for you—that will force some decisions. What do you want?

The White Buffalo Woman is with you. Wankan Tanka is with you. God, Christ, Mother Mary, all your Saints, The Holy Spirit are with you. Dad is with you.

You are anxious and the easy way out would be to stay home—the easy way out would be to not get out of bed—but you are pushing through the anxiety. Dad said HE WAS PROUD OF YOU for fighting your anxiety. I can tell you, even if you don’t believe it, that you are being COURAGEOUS.

You’re going to get out of that well.

Love Adah,

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: I will be off the post grid for a week or so.

PPS: Adah, here again, Kate. God wants this for you. Yes, you can pack tomorrow. Take tonight off.

PPPS: Okay, thank you Adah. But I hafta epilate my legs. You cannot go buffalo hunting with hairy legs!

PPPPS: Adah here---have the extra cigarette. It's okay. Three months ago you wanted to die. Now, you want to live. That is God's Grace and you taking the Help He is offering you.