Singing Dirges in the Dark, a Sober Realization, and Trying Not to Let the Bastard Win

I was a weird child. One of the first songs I ever memorized -and played over and over again- was Don McLean’s “American Pie.” Even a three year old who reads the dictionary is going to have a tough time with the historical references and metaphor in that song.

So, a dirge. Try explaining to a three year old what a dirge is when said three year old has never really seen death or mourning or loss. I may not have understood the meaning of a dirge then, but I get it all too well now.

This morning I had one of those lightning bolt sort of feelings that I am going to die abandoned and alone. My son, who opposed my marriage and hasn’t spoken to me in three years, could give two shits less whether I live or die. I don’t regret marrying Bruce, far from it, but my son simply can’t process the thought of his mother being in a non abusive relationship. He also didn’t appreciate Bruce reminding him of some of the liberties he has taken with his mother’s resources. I will leave that thought there.

The bottom line will ultimately be: Guess I gotta sing my own dirge.

There’s an odd comfort in that even though I can still go along with Dylan Thomas and his entreaty to go raging against the dying of the light.

I’m not dead yet, but in some ways I feel dead. Many doors are permanently closed and I need to be OK with that.

The world is different once the dirge is sung. 

Finding Joy, Hotter Than Satan’s Taint, and More Devolution and Depravity

Why do I bother to question just how low humanity is capable of falling ?

I know that political extremism can lead to rash acts, and that dysfunctional behavior occurs on both sides of the fence. There are squirrels on both sides.

Ideology can and does become so polarized that it gets difficult to find common ground. 

Anyone who knows me, even a little, knows I lean to the right and I don’t have much use for or respect for the radical left’s political policies. Communism and socialism are failed systems. The politicians who promote these systems for their own personal gain are accountable for their failures. Rogue assassinations are not viable responses to political opposition.

If you’re right, you have to take the high road, and the Democrat machine has taken the low road since the days of Woodrow Wilson, if not before.

And it’s not just the Clintons.

I pray for President Trump. Not because I see him as some sort of savior or even an arbiter of Christian morality.  We elect leaders, not pastors.  The standards for the governance of the left hand kingdom are not the same as those of the right hand kingdom. Luther was very clear on the differences in the roles of the church and the state.

God has therefore ordained two regiment(s): the spiritual which by the Holy Spirit produces Christians and pious folk under Christ, and the secular which restrains un-Christian and evil folk, so that they are obliged to keep outward peace, albeit by no merit of their own

— Martin Luther

While my faith cannot embrace the outright evil that the far left promotes, it also is informed enough to know that I am not voting for a theocracy. Societal order and the preservation of life and peace are the aims of the left hand kingdom. In this country the right and right leaning legislators are more on the side of maintaining law and order and working toward a peaceful society, though not perfectly. The spread of the Gospel is the work of the church. Don’t confuse your president with your Pastor.

This being said, it’s too hot. Nasty, sticky Ohio humidity that reeks of bugs and BO hot.

Bobby and everyone- except the Parka People.

The Parka People, you know who you are. The weirdo who is wandering down the sidewalk and it’s 90° with 100% humidity and you are wearing a hoodie with sweatpants and those tan-yellow work boots. The old lady with the North Face Parka and gloves on trying to navigate the frozen section of Kroger- in high summer.

Now here I am hoping and praying the Gold Bond will prevent chafing and stave off general sogginess and swamp ass as I wear a modest summer dress in a somewhat air-conditioned office.  The Parka Person I work with wears a heavy fleece jacket and runs a damned space heater under the desk like it’s the Blizzard of ’78 or something.

It’s 72° in here. WTF. And this chick is about the size of Shamu, i.e. about three of me, but neither as attractive nor intelligent. Ich verstehe nicht.

Joy is where you find it, and I need to improve my attitude.

Dogs improve my attitude.

The Fourteen Seasons of Ohio Weather: You Are Here- Satan is Farting In Our General Direction!

Hot, humid. and smells like used Taco Bell.

Did I mention I hate hot weather? At least over half of the year in Ohio involves cold and damp or cold and frozen. Those are easy to navigate because you can keep putting on clothes.

Heat sucks because there is only so much clothing one can safely remove. Even in the privacy of home behind closed doors, when you’re stark naked and still sweating like a whore in church, there’s not much more you can do.

At least I am doing better than right after my hysterectomy. I literally had the AC turned down to 59° – and was still dripping with sweat and tempted to sit in the freezer.

Blue does not care.

I am not sure what possessed me to get a heeler puppy last year. Blue is now a year old. (born 6-4-23) He was 10th out of a litter of 10, and the runt. The vet tech (who I have known 30+ years) laughed her ass off when I called to schedule him for a well check and the last of his puppy shots. Being a rural practice, and many of their customers are sheep farmers, they are very familiar with heelers, and heelers are not their favorite patients.

“You do know heelers are a handful, right?” She giggled about this. She breeds Rottweilers, and compared to heelers, they have a really mellow personality.

I replied, “But I have a Catahoula, and I know you remember Clara- the Malinois.”

“Oh, yeah. If you can hang with a Mal, you can take a heeler easy.”

I think the characterization of heelers, (or more accurately, Australian Cattle Dogs) as “miniature redneck Malinois” is pretty accurate.

Blue is a sweet boy. He will always be on the small side for a heeler- 35# and he’s likely done growing. He’s always active, always in motion, but not as serious as a Mal. He likes people and other dogs. And there is a hell of a mind behind those so brown they’re almost black eyes. 

Dogs make me happy. People, most of the time, not so much.

This is my attitude toward a disturbingly large swath of humanity.

God Bless This Dumpster Fire

Story of my life.

I’ve always been that person who just plods through whatever  and then breaks down when the crisis is over. I’m the one who can’t cry at a funeral but completely loses my shit twenty years later because my mind went wandering that way for no apparent reason.

This morning I had to take Bruce back to Columbus for another scan, another stop on his fight against cancer that began suddenly last November. That is another saga that is difficult and painful enough for me to observe even though I am not the one with the disease.

Take the Cologuard commercial seriously, folks, because the alternative isn’t pretty or fun.

I despise rush hour traffic even more perhaps than when it was a daily thing for me. I don’t miss living in the city or navigating in it, but I can do it if I need to.

We left early, so I took the back roads. It was refreshing to enjoy the view on one of those rare clear sunny days out in the sticks and to avoid most of the freeway traffic.

It was nice to step away from the dumpster fire for a moment.

I take comfort in the fact that this world, this life is not the end. The visual of Job digging at his sores with potsherds or of the dogs licking Lazarus’ wounds doesn’t sound as horrible when I realize trials aren’t permanent. God has lessons for us in them even when we don’t get it and can’t see beyond the pain.

Itching definitely sucks.

Pain is real, but it is also temporary.

It is an unfortunate consequence of both my ethnic background and my own messed up wiring that no matter how messed up a situation is, the knee-jerk response is to just say, “I’m fine.”

Not by a long shot.

If this life were a charter cruise, I would have to decline to recommend it. But my enjoyment isn’t the point of the endeavor.

Plus ça Change, Plus C’est la Même Chose- Except for the Scenery

I don’t remember much from high school French, other than the old saying that the more things change, the more things stay the same. Maybe if our illustrious French teacher, Mme. Novatny, could have gone out to smoke fewer than 3 Virginia Slim Menthol 120s per 45 minute class period, I might have learned more French in three years than je m’ennuie tellement. (I am so bored.) Apparently the Gen X ennui wasn’t confined to the Marion Harding Class of ’86. We were exemplary at it, but we didn’t realize it was a generational trait. We were told there was something wrong with just us.

Fast forward 38 years, and the ennui remains. For me, so does the depression and the sense of being deprived. Our heritage and history were stolen.

We lived the fall of the 20th century, just as we were coming of age. In 1983, as we were cranking up the Frontiers album and Steve Perry reminded us that all the heroes have gone east of Eden, we were in a very real sense being banished from the utopian idealism of the modern age.

We weren’t born with silver spoons in our mouths. We were thrown outside to fend for ourselves while Mom locked the screen door and turned up the TV.

We were born in the fallout of the end of a golden age, and we were denied our own.

I struggled from the beginning- overworked, underpaid, living in constant anxiety and existential dread. Add two failed marriages, near death in childbirth, working for insane employers for 20+ years, and dealing with years of chronic pain and expensive chronic illnesses, and I am just as downtrodden and hopeless as I was in 1986. I have absolutely nothing to show for all the aggravation. I am not beautiful or wealthy or successful or well liked. Nothing has changed there.

Only now I know that all my striving wasn’t worth a damn. If I would have known where I would end up I wouldn’t have tried so hard.

Granted, I have taken more of an interest in learning a second language. I have been studying German for about three years. Ich bin müde, und hoffnungslos. Je mehr sich die Dinge ändern, desto mehr bleiben sie gleich

I cling to God. That part is different because I was so confused and cynical about spiritual things when I was younger. I honestly believe that it is by the grace of God alone that I haven’t blown my brains out. Lord knows it has been a temptation at times.

If anything my life has been an exercise in futility. Perhaps I should read Ecclesiastes again, or maybe Job. I don’t have a right to question God. It doesn’t make the futility of life make sense though.

Yeah I’m Gonna Rag On the Butt-End of February Again

Soulless Joe, He Don’t Know!

It’s the most dismal time of the year…again. The weather sucks here in beautiful Central Ohio especially now that the 13″ of snow is melting and it’s Dog Shit Lake in the backyard. The snowbooger grey sooty melting piles are turning in to grungy flood water and mush. A good time of year to die, except I would not want to give my death to Dictator DeWine as another death to falsely record as death from COVID.

If you die in Ohio right now, believe it, COVID will be on that death certificate even if you’re found dismembered or die in a car accident. No heart attack or cancer deaths or OD deaths here any more either. Everyone who dies in DeWine’s Ohio right now dies of the COVID by the governor’s executive order. There’s too much greasy federal money to be had that way.

14 days of “stop the spread” has turned in to forcible mask mandates, closing down schools, restaurants and bars, and random cancellations (even outdoor festivals and fairs) for almost a year now. Completely politically weaponized propaganda, (I am still far more wary of strep with my history…) but we still have people jogging. Outside. Wearing masks.

But it’s still perfectly safe to hang out in Walmart as long as you are wearing that damned face diaper. Things that make you go hmmmm?

This year’s February is even more disappointing than a normal February. We have had Obama part 3 foisted on our nation by political fiat (election fraud) and the ineptitude and wanton economic destruction of Soulless Joe is even more grating than Obama’s sniveling and pompous pontificating.

Joe only does what his handlers tell him. The not-black hyena Heels Up Harris (that term of endearment for our illegitimate vice president- although it is very true she does have a lot of experience with vice- bought me 24 hours in Facebook jail for “offensive” aka truthful speech) is the madam in charge. A woman who slept her way to the top, who was even loathed by many in her own party, is in control. I think she could be Obama in drag. If she’s not she could be.

Trust not in princes, in mortal men who cannot save. (Psalm 143:6, my paraphrase)

‘Cause if you think Joe Biden or his illegitimate presidency is anything other than a train wreck, you got another thing comin’.

God help us all.

Welcome to Zombieland, Losing Our Collective Minds?, but I’m Enjoying the Quiet

1972

Even when I was three years old, I knew the value of stink eye. I hate having my picture taken, and I loathed it even then.  I also knew the value of staying on an escape vehicle when my sadistic sisters were nearby.

I still remember that pant suit.  Grandma made it, and it would have been great had it been made of a soft, light knit instead of a very thick, almost cardboard like, scratchy, hot, hot, hot polyester.  I had total body heat rash at the end of that day. It was August and about a hundred degrees outside. I wonder whose bright idea it was to take pictures that day (there are a ton more of them, especially of my obnoxious older sisters) because it wasn’t my idea.  Avoiding getting my ass kicked- and not sweating to death outside or fleeing flying, stinging insect life- was my idea.

I can still remember the way that old time polyester chafed. The early 1970s are a fashion graveyard for a reason. I remember the shoes too- little black patent Mary Janes with the oh so slick plastic soles, worn with white lace socks with elastic so tight it would cut off the circulation. Try to run…and land square on your face. Both sisters were wearing identical get-ups (isn’t it just adorable to dress your children identically, so it’s harder to identify the ass-kicker from the ass-kickee) but they could run better in those shoes than I could.  Then again, anyone can run better in any shoes than I could have when I was three.  The physical therapy didn’t start until I was four, when my parents finally were resigned to the fact that my motor skills were not going to improve without some kind of intervention.

In this current crisis I freely admit that I don’t miss crowds.  I don’t miss working in a fishbowl where God and everybody is constantly in my grill. I am thankful as hell that I can work from home.  I am enjoying the quiet and the autonomy.  I am still getting things done, although we don’t have the volume we would normally right now.

I would like to think that there will be lessons learned from the stay at home orders, especially regarding personal autonomy, space and work-life balance (things I have never had much of) but I am a cynical person.   I am sure the gropers and huggers are going to expect me to be physically present as soon as possible and they will be right back in my face as soon as they are confident I won’t give them a disease.

As an introvert and a person that isn’t really keen on group groping and huggy-kissy-feely stuff it’s kind of a relief, not having to worry about eye contact and body language and all the other things that vex me about navigating out in the world. The only people I need to be around right now are people who know me and care about me and for who I don’t need to run the scripts. I can blissfully let my guard down.

I will probably have the opposite problem than most other people will have.  It will be hard for me to go back to the constant scrutiny and constant presence of others.  My stress level has actually gone down knowing that I am not as much under the microscope and I don’t have to do nearly as much scripting.  I don’t know how I am going to adjust back when I have to go back to all of that again.

I like my ivory tower very much, thank you.

I think for the first time in a long time I’ve actually had some time to decompress.  I have time to read, study, pray, and just be a bit of a vegetable. The last time I physically had time away from work was in 2009 when I had my hysterectomy, and even then I had to deal with Jerry and his drinking and tirades, and his constant demands for me to go shop, cook and clean against medical advice.   So that wasn’t much of a hiatus either. Begging the Costco employees to load the dog food into the car for me because I wasn’t allowed to lift more than ten pounds, also isn’t my idea of a good time.

By the providence of God I’ve managed to remain somewhat free of respiratory funks this year which is bizarre because almost everyone else around me got that really nasty bug that was circulating, but “tested negative for flu” back in January. Yes it makes me think. I’m usually the first one to get any kind of respiratory funk- especially upper respiratory and sinus infections- even though I get the flu and pneumonia shots.  It makes me think that the Plaquenil I’ve been on for the past six or seven years for arthritis might be doing more than just mitigating my arthritis flares.  Just a thought.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Welcome to the Apocalypse, Take #354,427 (or so) We’re All Gonna Die!

the-plague

die

Got news for everyone.  The mortality rate is still 100%.  You’re gonna die of something.

The current pestilence- the coronavirus- is more or less a really bad flu.  It isn’t gonna kill most people. Millions of people get the flu every year and several thousand die from it.  That’s every year.  Four thousand or thereabouts die of flu every year just in Ohio.  So much for living in fly over country serving to any advantage.

I have my suspicions, and frankly I believe the dreaded coronavirus already made its rounds around here back in January when about 70% of my coworkers- all the outside sales people who were in one meeting, and all the accounting department- all got a really bad flu that held on for about 3 weeks.  One of the accounting ladies ended up in the ICU for a couple of days, but even she recovered. Yeah, that was a bad flu, and believe it, I had the Lysol spraying madness the whole time these people were wandering in and out in their various states of illness.  By the grace of God somehow I didn’t get it, but I stayed the flying hell away from everyone, even more than I normally do. I’m all about social distancing. You don’t have to tell me twice to put at least 6 to 10 feet between me and other people. I prefer it. Especially when I have Lysol to spray.

But since it’s an election year, let’s take a page from the Marxist handbook (desperate Democrats) and never let a good crisis go to waste.  Let’s attempt to destroy the economy, while blaming it on a particularly bad flu season, and try to sell socialism that way.

It will backfire.  The crisis will end, sooner rather than later, and that’s all I really have to say about that. I hope and pray that all the overreacting will serve as even more fuel to pour on the dumpster fire that is being created by the Democrats and their corrupt enablers.

dumpsterfire-1

Granted I don’t want to see people die.  I particularly loathe respiratory illness because I have chronic sinus issues even when I am well. My biggest fear is strep throat (which could be more lethal to me than any flu because of my history with rheumatic fever.)  So yeah, I wash my hands and use a lot of sanitizer anyway, especially in the winter when I am surrounded by the hacking and coughing multitudes.  I get the flu and pneumonia shots. I don’t like being in crowds or in loud places and avoid them when I can.  I’m not a huggy-feeler either, and I don’t go around fingering people, or kissing on strangers so I have that in my favor.

The bottom line even with precautions taken – and I have a sharp eye for the macabre as it is- is that we are all gonna die of something. 

I’ve already defied the longevity odds for a person with autism.  The average age of death for a person with autism is 37 years. I made it to 51. Yay me!  To be honest though, I remember my doctor telling me once when I was 30 that if I didn’t do a whole lot of things differently I wouldn’t make it to 35. I did change my lifestyle to a certain degree. Now I know why, but still, the fact that even with a boatload of meds that I am still vertical and sucking up valuable oxygen amazes me sometimes.

Part of the abysmal longevity projections for autistics, I am sure, is that we have a horrendously high suicide rate, as well as a plethora of co-morbid conditions such as heart disease, diabetes, various physical and mental illnesses, lack of social support, and the list goes on.

But coming from the perspective of an autistic, I think I can explain why we die very young.  We aren’t made to live in your world.

Of course everyone experiences stress.  But “normal” people don’t experience the stress of trying to live in a world that isn’t made for them.  Autistic people have to adapt to the “normal” world in much the same way as space travelers have to adapt to the unnatural atmosphere of space.

Some of us learn to navigate almost seamlessly- you can’t see the space suit or the oxygen mask- but they’re there.  We script.  We mask. We mirror.  We do what you do and perfect our acting skills…and it takes a ton of energy to hold up the faςade. Over time this takes a toll.  We have hypertension. We have stress headaches. We deal with anxiety 24/7 because we can’t script, mask and mirror forever without stepping away from time to time.

Those of us who can’t learn to navigate are even worse off than those who can. Those of us who are non-verbal and/or who have cognitive or severe physical deficits on top of autism are at the mercy of the medical industry (whose only “care” is the almighty dollar) or even worse, the public educational system whose lack of common sense and dearth of efficacy is only equaled by its lack of care.  So for people like me- you either figure out things and navigate for yourself, and live with an eternal stress meter pegged out on 11, or you’re doomed to a life of marginalized, institutionalized poverty.

No wonder autistic people die young.

And yeah, every single human being out there, whether you’re “normal” or autistic, we’re all gonna die.

Get used to it.

 

 

The Epic Fail of Liberal Ethics, or Antinomianism Doesn’t Negate the Law, Snowflake.

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The phrase “liberal ethics” is quite the oxymoron these days, unless one considers that there are good ethics and bad ethics. I will quantify right away that my political and social opinions are generally just to the right of Reagan, so there will be no tree-hugging, mollycoddling, brainless touchy-feely nonsense from me. Good and bad are black and white, and this is the first point on which liberal nonsense fails. Morality is not relative. It came from God in the form of the Ten Commandments. Not the Ten Suggestions, or Ten Things that are Kinda Nice to Try.

This being said, I will give a disclaimer before I am shot down as some crazy Bible-worshiping hag belonging to a Westboro Baptist or worse type church.

I am conservative both socially and politically in regard to the left hand kingdom. My citizenship in the left hand kingdom is necessarily related to and informed by my citizenship the right hand kingdom. If my personal assertions smack of confessional Lutheran theology, that’s completely correct and most intentional. Reader, be then forewarned.

If we remember that the Ten Commandments are God’s Laws- not options, not nice sentiments, we also know, if we are honest with ourselves, that every single one of us breaks every single one of these laws every single day.

Even though the best of us break these laws with impunity, the fact that they are laws doesn’t change. Try to break the natural law of gravity and see how that works. That may help one understand why human beings earn the penalty of death if we are left solely to the judgment of the Law. Save by the grace of God, humanity is completely corrupted and doomed.

pelosi

Crazy politicians are not helping anything. And BTW, she’s anything but Roman Catholic. Molech worshipper, maybe.

Liberal ethics openly defy God’s Law. It is as if they have intentionally taken the Commandments and turned them around into hedonistic, self-serving bromides.

Instead of the First Commandment- You will have no other gods, the liberal command is: Myself, my god. MY body, MY choice, MY entitlement-MY right to never be offended or challenged. The demands of so many screaming, mollycoddled toddlers.

Instead of the Second Commandment- You will not take the Name of the Lord in vain, liberals preach all sorts of false gospels in the name of themselves, and to the cause of obtaining the Almighty Dollar.

Instead of the Third Commandment- Honor the Sabbath Day and keep it holy, we get “all praise to the Almighty Dollar.”

Instead of the Fourth Commandment – Honor your father and mother, legitimate authority that belongs to parents is usurped by the state. Children are indoctrinated with all manner of subversive and dangerous ideologies via public education (that is, if they survive to be born) that turns their hearts and minds to despise their parents and reject sound authority.

Instead of the Fifth Commandment- You shall not kill- liberals celebrate the slaughter of unborn children in the name of “choice.” Except that the individuals being slaughtered were never given a choice.

Instead of the Sixth Commandment- You shall not commit adultery- every sort of sick sexual deviance is celebrated, from serial monogamy, to sodomy, to polyamory, to even pedophilia and zoophilia.

Instead of the Seventh Commandment- You shall not steal- liberals work to “legalize” theft through excessive and oppressive taxation upon the working poor to give resources and money away to illegal immigrants, those unwilling to work, and “protected groups” such as “refugees” from terrorist harboring countries whose aim it is to destroy our nation.

Instead of the Eighth Commandment- You shall not bear false witness– the news networks are alive and corrupt with lies that seek to make deviant lifestyles come across as normal, to demonize those who try to live in an upright manner.

Instead of the Ninth Commandment- You shall not covet your neighbor’s property- the race to acquire property and to have the latest stuff is all the rage- whether it is gotten by legitimate means or not.

Instead of the Tenth Commandment- You shall not covet your neighbor’s spouse, livestock or employees, the media glorifies promiscuity and disloyalty to one’s spouse with TV shows such as “Wife Swap,” and “Temptation Island.” The tabloids are thick with the who’s who of “who is involved with so and so this week.”

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I don’t claim to have the answers for sinful humanity, and I freely admit that I am part of the problem. I don’t follow God’s Law 100%. No one does. No one can. The only thing that knowing the Law can teach me is just how sinful and wicked I really am, and that I desperately need Jesus.

But just because no one can be 100% perfect does not mean that society loses its obligation to maintain order and standards.

Antinomianism- behaving as though there is an absence of law- does not negate the reality of the law. One can deny the law of gravity until one is blue in the face but the reality is that if one jumps off a cliff, no matter one’s view on the law of gravity, the bottom still comes quickly and rocks are still very hard.

This is the fail of liberalism and the fail of liberal ethics. Denying a that there are consequences for breaking a natural law does not make those consequences go away. And I can say that without invoking my faith. Natural laws- and the consequences for breaking them- can be proven by science and logic.

That sort of denial, that there are absolutes and laws that cannot be broken without consequences, only breeds more of the irrational self-glorifying navel gazing that is so prevalent today. The false concept of “multiple genders,” the acceptance of all sorts of mental disorders as being “diversity” and the straight up denial of history are just the beginning. John Calvin had it right about the total depravity of man. It’s too bad that in these days we are seeing it played out.

All That Really Matters…

It’s that time of year again. Most of my life I have approached the holidays with a combination of dread and loathing. From my earliest memory I still can feel the disappointment and fear that comes from being a child in tough economic times – money, or more rightly the lack thereof- was guaranteed to get Mom and Dad at each other’s throats.

Christmas time was always a really turbulent time of the year. Dad, especially, always wanted to do the large and lavish holiday things but the money wasn’t there. So he would get bitter and depressed. If only he would have known that a quiet and frugal observance of the Incarnation and birth of Christ with sharing and love would have been so much better than just another series of money fights.

It was better to put up simple decorations and lights and to make homemade candy with Grandma than to dance around the tension at home.

I have gotten to the point where I can barely tolerate the retail bonanza that accompanies the holiday season. I love Advent and the religious observance of Christmas. I can even get into the decorations and baking, but no, I am not into buying tons of crap for people who (like me) do not need tons of crap.  Meaningful, needful and useful gifts are one thing, especially for someone you know is in need, but simply procuring a piece of vapid kitsch to wrap up so you can say you gave someone a gift is just not my thing.

Maybe that sounds sort of Scroogish but there’s no need to get me anything either. I do not need any bath sets, Walmart knockoffs of colognes that give me migraines, or socks and granny panties.  I don’t mind a good gag gift, a raunchy calendar or good theological books (that I would have to choose…)   The only things I really want are intangible anyway.

And off to the intangibles. I really want that one thing I have found to be so elusive- to be loved, to belong, to be accepted the way I am even though I wasn’t made for this world.

That’s a lot to ask, and maybe even wrong to ask, but who know