An Irish Lullaby

Greetings, babies. As always, its been a while. On Sunday, my ma-in-law, Pat, or as I lovingly refer to her, "The Killarney Killjoy", passed away.She was 79 years old. and I loved her.
She really wasnt a killjoy. Actually, she was pretty hilarious, as long as she was focusing on someone else. At about 4'10, and 100 lbs, she was small, but like a homemade M-80, she could kaboom with no warning. She was never loud, never profane, well unless you count the time she said"motherfucker" and even that came out "maetherfakr" shit, that was a night ill never forget, but she could administer an ass whooping you didnt know you were even getting till you got home and noticed the bruises. Passive/ Agressive doesnt begin to descibe her. On a recent visit, my dear friend Toni and I were talking with her and I mentioned someone who passed by, wondering who he was. "He  is just visiting his father" she said. " But if you were at Mass this morning you would have known that"  After 27 years I finally had an independent witness. Toni thought it was golden. That was Pat.
Pat was the mother of 7 kids, Grandma to 20, Great Gram  to 7. I came to the family, at 21, divorced with an 11 month old daughter of my own. Now, my husband was the pick of that litter, and Mom knew it. Her best child, only a baby himself, and here he is carrying someone elses life. It must have worried her sick. But she never once made me feel less than her own children. She loved me and punished me just like I was her own. And more important, she loved my daughter. Never did a day go by that she didnt make my child feel loved. She was and always will be "Sticker" to Tiffany, my oldest. Love notes in the mail always had stickers the kids loved to much. No event in our lives was too small for her. Maybe it was because she knew I had no family of my own, but really I think she just loved that much.
She was sharp, and oppinionated,  but she would be the first one to be confused as to why everyone just couldnt "get along" She would say something that would start a friggin shitstorm, shake her head and walk away wondering why everyone was so pissed off all the time.She was the first to point out any flaw, but the next minute she was telling someone you were perfect. Keeps you on your toes, and fully medicated to be around that, but, that was Pat.
A devout Catholic, there were two things you NEVER bullshitted about to her . The Pope, and her mother country, Ireland. In the early '80's  someone gave me a "Pope on a Rope" bath bar. I thought it was the funniest fucking thing. She was PISSED. Party foul of epic magnitude. That and when I refered to my dumping of bottles after a party as "Irish wind chimes". She  kicked my ass from here to the old county.  But she was the one, when I was having a hard time with my Catholicism, that I would go to. She would sit for as long as I needed, answering questions the only way she knew how.Some of the answers were just not good enough for me. Until at one point she took my hands and said " Thats why they call it faith". At 21 thats a head of cabbage being pounded up my ass. At 49, its my beacon of light. 
On Saturday we go to honor her. Everyone there will bring with them a lifetime of experiances they had with her. And i will bet my soul not one of us will recognize the Pat that the others knew. She was just that special and different. Im gonna miss her notes, her phone calls, her wheezy "Muttley" laugh. Im gonna miss her unsolicited advise about the evils of t.v. video games and too many potato chips. Im gonna miss her shitty fruitcake and her care packages that were wrapped in so much strapping tape i dreaded opening them.Im gonna miss her 5o'clock martini time, no matter where she was, she pulled out her fully stocked traveling mini bar, and mixed up perfect Bombay martinis, stired, never shaken. Im gonna miss seeing how proud she was of her son.Im gonna miss how she loved my children. Im gonna miss her honesty and her deception. She was the poster child for confused emotions. And I loved her. No confusion there.

"...And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson....."

Greetings again, babies. Glad to be back. Today, while going about my attempt at " livin' like I was dying", i met a woman who i had a conversation with. We  both commented that we are appriciating our lives more now in the end of our first half-century. I havent figured out if its natures way of saying, "Give up rat, your ass is trapped" and accepting it, or (my choice)if we really ARE getting better.

Now, for you who may not like reading about excessive menstuation, hair in places that no human being should have, and/or granny sex, you have permission to leave the classroom.

Seriously, because i'm a glass not only a half empty, but also backwashed in kinda gal,
 Im gonna give you the downsides first:

Shark week sucks when your old. you think it was bad at 12? You will be begging for the days when you were nomal and just writhing in pain. Add double-bagging and not being able to leave your house for more than one half hour at a time. Or risk penelty of having to have your drivers' seat cleaned by the car detailers. Again.

Vericose veins. I found the answer for that. Tattoo it, bitches.

Wrinkles
Sagging neck skin
Stretchmarks. What the hell, tattoo those too.

Acne. Yea that shit showed up at 30 for me. Right when i hated myself the most.
Fat.  Its not just a douchey relative that stays till you starve them out anymore. It likes it here and it takes some really crazy shit to get it to leave.
Add to that all the other stuff like losing your fucking mind, and Viola!!!  Yep. Welcome to my world. I just did not appriciate the fact that bouncing a quarter off my ass was awesome to say the least.Frig, if i would have known I would have charged for it. But thats me, a day later and a dollar short.
Now, lets examine just a snippett of the reasons we "women of a certain age" rock.

When i was young, I didnt know what I wanted to be. Now, well, I still may not know what I want to be, but i sure as Hell know what I DONT want to be.

We can look for the first time into the future without being afraid. We know that if the next 10 years are as bitchin as the last, we are lucky gals. Who does that at 25??  At 25 you dont give two shits.( Maybe because bouncing that quater has you a bit sidetracked) But, well , you know what i mean.

We have our God. and I say that in any way you wanna take it. For me, I know that I have a place, and many purposes in many lives. I have higher love. (I dig that song) We are strands in the weave, strong and important. I see it and I feel it. And I earned that right. I aint saying that i dont know alot of together kids. Im just saying, i really wanna know them when they hit 50. And for the other young 'uns, you are a constant source of amusement to us. Whats easier than white kid problems???? Fuckin'A. right.

Sex. I may not LOVE my body,yet, but I sure as Hell am having a ball in it.

Our convictions are pretty concrete. What i thought meant something at 25 makes me weep with embarrassment now. Im hopeing I give everything I see and experiance equal respect, not passing judgements on someone or something before I have enough information to do so. I thought i was so open minded. Frig.
But here i am. Now I wont just look at you and call you a hemeroid. Ill wait for you to open your noise hole then ill call you one. Evolved, I tells ya.

 We really know that"it"wont kill us. That old saying,"What dont kill ya makes ya stronger" Yea. One of a handful of truths. Bukowski said something to the effect of he had so many times thought he wouldnt make it through, and at some point laughed because he had said it so many times before. Wish I could find that passage.Uh, actually, we may wanna skip trying to quote him. Bad example, but, you know what I mean. It makes us who we are, and thats my point. At this moment Im seeing the sum of my days so far. Looking back on what was, seeing what is, and still strong enough to shape what will be. Living in the moment is still beyond my grasp, but I think I can swing living in the year. I can see things moving into place, see myself shedding what I carried with me, but taking a souvineer of it all. Placing it into the puzzle that will ultimatly be held for everyone to see. When that day comes, I hope that I will be what I cherish most. A good friend. A loved and loving member of the web. And if Im really lucky,maybe someone will say "...God, she friggin' made me laugh"

"We're on a mission from God"

Well, first thing this morning I open up my MSNBC,and whatta ya know? The heading of "How kids can ruin your marriage" hits me like a punch in the mouth. Dang.  Actually,this has been in the forfront lately of what little mind I have left. Freeking kids. Oh, it all starts out innocent enough. Little booties, soft blankets, sniffing their little Baby Magic scrubbed heads. Oh, the  siren song of the womb. Well, here is some advise. Muzzle your uterus, bitches, cuz that turns into "The song that never ends" real quick.Trust me, ive been digging out for real close to 29 years now, and  havent made it. and Im not even counting my 2 beautiful grandkids. No, im STILL a card carring PTA, i need a powdered wig made out of cotton balls, i spent my lunch money on cookies, you cant call the other alter boys "SuckSacks" (well, not during Mass, anyway) participant. I startred this shit in 1982, ya think i would have found the exit by now. This is all Gods doing, by the way. Yes, i mean it in all ways. My oldest was brought into this world kinda the old fashioned way,  with absolutly no thought other than "Wow, it seems like baby time!" My youngest, well, he is The Burning Bush Baby. And im not refering to the fucking 4 inch episiotomy they had to perform to get his massive head out of my chuckie, either. God TOLD me to make way for him. Swear on my life, hope to die, needle in the eye shit. . Almost 18 years after my first. So please pardon me if I laugh and maybe pee a bit (see aformentioned chuckie damage listed above) at all the shmachta about how these human Chupacabras complete us, bring us so much joy, will be such a comfort in our old age..... someone call me at least 12 hours before these beneys start up, will ya, cuz I wanna be sober for it. I guess the bottom line is, sometimes, we are just the vehichle. It all stops being about us, whether we know it, or ultimatley like it or not. And if were really lucky, every now and again, we do get a kick outta the job. But Lord, dont be making no more of those 2 a.m. calls to me anymore. Im hip to your tactics. And Ive got my phone on mute.

Someone to watch over me.......

Hey kids, its been a while. Not that i havent had shit to say, just then when im in my "creative" mojo, by the next day, Ive forgotten what the frig I was so impressed with the night before. Kinda like beer goggles for us literatti. Bwahaha. Anywho, my loves in the great altered-State of Utah  have refreshed my memory, and im baaaaak.

 Next month, my family will be celebrating something that folks do all the time. The baby shower for my niece Tisha and her awesome husband Matthew, in honor of our newest, little Zoe. This little girl is so special in so many ways, as all babies are, but, actually, shes kinda our special gift. On  Father's Day, 2009,  her big sister, Teigan, was murdered, by her own father, who's name I will never infect my mouth with, or honor that he ever existed on this Earth as anything but a messanger of ruin. On that day, everything that I thought I knew about was thrown into chaos. I watched in so much fear, scared cold that the people I loved the most , that there was no way they could survive this. My Big sis, Mikey, Teigan's grandmother, my closest friend, who raised me and saved my life more times than I dare think about, her reason for living was gone. Just, gone. What do I do? What do I say? Because of my own losses in my life, Ive got a pretty strong grip on what I believe is our destiny. Im the first one to speak up in my infinite wisdom....Father has his plan...The book is written..... all my brilliant, spiritual golden chains shattered by the sheer perversion of this moment in time that changed EVERYTHING. So we gathered, and we grieved. And believe me, up until that time I thought the reference "broken heart" was just something someone sang about. That week, with the people that mean so much to me, I laughed and cried more than I had ever done in my life. And once again, God showed his grace. We began to breathe again. Slowly, bitterly,for sure. And He stayed. And this time, Teigan became his messanger.
Since then, we have had some beautiful moments in our lives. Most notible the wedding of my dear Tisha to a wonderful, loving man named Matthew. Which, um, incidentally, I officiated. Hey, when I marry 'em, they stay married. Little did we know the day we stood before God, that our little Zoe was already there. And, yes, in some freeky way I take more than a bit of credit for that, too. Sorry, Matthew. Yep, that lil chica is gonna have a charmed life. This is OUR baby. Our gift from God, and from Magoo too.Because I never got a chance to tell her how special she was. And for that, Im the poorer. Teigan's life  is now the touchstone of how I love. Be open,honest, and never wait, not one second, to speak your intentions.No regrets. No shame. The people I love know it. I am a proud strand in every web . And that, Im telling you, is all I need.

Dear Big Mama...

Make a damn post. That is all. And I love you.