Tethers and Tornadoes

Dear Hearts,

YAWN. YAWN. YAWN.

I just worked at Burning Bed for three days covering the front desk from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m.

I am not used to getting up at 5.30 or going to bed before midnight. I did it for years and I worked full time—often more than 40 hours a week. How did I get it all done? Dinner, ironing, cleaning, chores, bills, phone calls…I guess that’s why I was just tired all of the time.

And over the last three days, I wasn’t even “working” eight hours a day. I answered phones, wrote up referrals, etc…but when I was busy I was drawing or on my iPhone. So, I got off pretty easy. I was ON STAGE, though. I wanted to do a good job. I wanted approval, because I want to be an employee of Burning Bed. I was “tense” in that I didn’t know everything I had to do; I had to ask a lot. I offered to do “office work,” but no one took me up on it. A reminder on the wall in the office suggested office staff can always clean when there is spare time. Fuck, pay me, then I’ll clean. Maybe. Yesterday, in the morning I was literally falling asleep at the desk. Literally.

I think there we put way too much expectation on ourselves to work too much. I place the blame squarely with the Puritans and their ridiculous work ethic. As a society, we talk about “Self-Care” and shit like that—we also have a collective resignation to being stressed and working all the time.

Why? Who says that is the only way?

I don’t want to live my life a 70 MPH all the time. That’s why I broke down. Maybe I am so much weak or lazy as just—not built for 70 MPH, 40 hours a week. I a freely admit that I cannot work at 12 a.m. to 8 a.m. night shift. Lots of people do. Societally and Culturally, casual sex is the thing to do. Maybe just because “everyone” else is doing it, doesn’t mean that is the best way to do it.

#602 Emily Dickinson

Much Madness is divinest Sense -

To a discerning Eye -

Much Sense - the starkest Madness -

’Tis the Majority

In this, as all, prevail -

Assent - and you are sane -

Demur - you’re straightway dangerous -

And handled with a Chain -

There is still guilt and worry and shame…

Last night was Ash Wednesday. We start the 46-day journey to Easter, the Holiest of Catholic Holy Days. Easter is WHY Christianity exists. PERIOD.

Lent is not this time of giving up things we enjoy and sacrificing. Lent is the Greatest Miracle of All Time. Christ’s Crucifixion was essential to God’s Plan. So I am not going to fast or sacrifice chocolate just to go back to it after Lent. I am going to add something to my life every day—I am following Dynamic Catholic’s Lenten Program and Doing a Seven Sacraments Program via St. Paul’s Theology Center.

According to Matt Kelley (author) and the Catholic Catechism (27), God created Man for Happiness.

Huh.

Father, last night, talked about being in a hot air balloon—apparently, he loves it. Whatever. Freak. I love Father, but still…He said that God wants us to soar above the mundane. But, we have all these tethers that we have to cut in order to allow ourselves to fly.

Cutting the tethers that keep us from Happiness.

I ain’t soarin’ in no hot air balloon, but perhaps I could throw off the albatross or cut the anchor.

Wow.

The couple with the little baby was there again last night. They sat in front of me. Toward the end, the little girl, safe in Grandma’s arms. Just leaned back and looked up at the ceiling of the church. Her eyes sparkled. Here mom and dad found her back-bending amusing. She was smiling. I thinking she was seeing Angels. That little, sinless, perfect baby was seeing The Angels and maybe Christ himself.

Ya’ know when a cat, dog, or baby (not suggesting all are equal—cats are way better) stares at something intently or just darts out of a room (not so much a baby)? Also those with Alzheimer’s  or those close to death in some cases. I think they can see what we can’t. I think that is the real consequence of being exiled from The Garden of Eden: Knowing right and wrong, having logical knowledge, growing up…prevents us from seeing what the Sacred.

Without a doubt, Angels were in St. Patrick’s last evening. Without a doubt, my Pop saw his dead brothers and angels when he was dying. We may catch it out of the glimmer of our peripheral or in dreams…but just because we can’t SEE it, doesn’t mean it ain’t there.

Tuesday night here in the Holy City was Mid-West Storm at its best. My fucking phone just started this high pitching “EEEEEEEEEE.” I hear the tornado siren. NOAA was saying to take cover like NOW. Not maybe, but like this is happening NOW. TAKE COVER IN A BASEMENT OR INTERIOR ROOM. THIS IS GONNA HAPPEN AT 9.35 P.M.

A little background…I am truly scared of tornados--why isn’t it spelled tornadoes—I guess that is an alternative spelling—huh. I digress.

I am truly scared of tornadoes. A hurricane I can hunker down; an earthquake, unless I am on the crack, I can hold on—but a tornado is Thumb of God coming down and saying “You live,” “You die, “This house goes,” “This barn stays.”

G-Pa was in the basement showering. I was waiting for him to finish because I wanted by bedtime cigarette and I was watching Shameless.

I wasn’t afraid.

I made sure Angel was in a safe place. I knew G-Pa was in a safe place. Well, showering during a tornado and lightning may not be the smartest idea—but he’d rather die—seriously—than have me come to see him in the shower. He was in the basement anyway. I was sitting on the couch, which is in front of a large window.

I wasn’t afraid.

I looked at all my Barbie and things—my HOME. I ain’t going nowhere. I have been run off and caused to hide one too many Goddamn times. If I were gonna die, then I was gonna look that Motherfucker in the Face.

Fuck. The bullies didn’t kill me, abusive men didn’t kill me, my job didn’t kill me, divorce didn’t kill me, I couldn’t even kill myself.

(Years ago when I didn’t know that tornadoes were surrounding The Holy City I unsuccessfully tried to sit in the garage and have a cigarette.)

I wasn’t afraid.

When I told Mom that I had turned and looked out the window, she laughed in a certain way and said, “Oh, Kate! I see a blog here.” My first thought was why?

I unplugged my electronics and I watched.

I did not see any tornado-like window or activity. Hey, I saw Twister (Rest In Peace and God Bless Bill Paxton).

A woman at Burning Bed yesterday said I was brave and kind of stupid to do what I did.

Germs scare me. Door handles scare me. Letting go of My House scares me. Life scares me. Not Death.

I am not afraid of Death.

The way I looked that Storm in the Face—that’s how I need and want to look Life in the Face.

How? Tethers? Albatross? Anchors? CD?

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 got my fucking “Womanly Time” today. What the fuck? I just had it!

Grateful For:

Father at St. Patrick’s

Health

Family

Angel

Storms