Last Sunday we had a really rockin’ sermon on finding time. I say rockin’ because we now go to “church lite” which comes complete with a rock band and disco lights. I can’t complain about the content because our pastor delivers the most loving, funny, informative sermons I’ve ever heard. I just miss the old hymns with all four stanzas in three quarter time, with the music director making those Baptist music gang signs as we sing.
This message pertained to how we live our lives and use our time. In it he quoted a book by a woman who has worked in hospice for years. The book is all about the regrets of the dying. Of course, everyone wishes they’d lived their lives differently and used their time for different things other than work. This caused the Goose to roll his eyes a bit and ask who would have paid for things if he hadn’t worked so hard, but the rest of us got a lot out of it.
I had already been thinking of this and have been trying to have more fun and less stress. The Goose will be really be rolling when he gets to this line because, apparently, I have a stress free life anyway. I am less stressed because I’m made that way. I am optimistic, usually see the bright side (except for those sad dark weeks of January) and know things will usually turn out okay. Still, it’s easy to slide into the drudgery of everyday life. Most mornings, my friend the Trophy Wife will call to see what i’m up to. Every day, I mean every single solitary day, we say the same dialogue:
Nothing, cleaning up the kitchen, you?
How does this happen?
Because no one knows where anything goes but me.
Same here, or to paraphrase, word to your mutha.
It’s said by every woman everywhere at exactly the same time. While men in other countries are simultaneously bowing toward Mecca, woman are muttering “why can’t anyone put anything where it goes?”. Someone really should work on getting us synchronized and it’d be a lot more fun. Maybe someone could add music like they did for that guy who said “hide yo kids, hide yo wife”. .
One of my favorite movie lines is from the Addams Family where someone asks Morticia how things are going. She replies, shrugging her shoulders, “oh, you know, I just wish I had more time to seek out the dark forces and join their hellish brigade”. I feel her pain. There is just no time for anything it seems. I am not half as busy as I was 10 years ago, but seem to get nothing done. Saturday night we had three delightful invitations, all would have been great, but 8:00 saw both the Goose and me, in our jammies, in the bed, watching mindless tv. This just is not right.
This sermon has made me renew my efforts for fun with great devotion. I’m really not sure what he was going for was that we try to party more, but that’s what I’m taking from it. This year, I’m going to have more fun whether my house is straight or not. While I am going to continue to berate my children into cleaning up their mess, I’m not going to restrict them from having friends over until a 24 hour “clean quarantine” period has passed after maid day. I’m going to sit in my yard, drink more wine and watch my animal kingdom cavort. I may or may not pull out old prom dresses, or I might try something new. This might be the year for big hats. I’m going to go OUT, into the big world, after 8:00 on some weekend nights. I’m going to wear my good shoes in the rain and not save them until my dog chews them up. I will use my grandmother’s crystal every time I have a pretty drink and sometimes just when I’m having water. I will visit friend’s houses and not look at the clock, feeling the need to pull a “homing pigeon” and run home to see that a stray crumb has not fallen on my floor. There might be days when I don’t make my bed, but most likely not as I want to enjoy life, not live like someone from 16 and Pregnant.
I am NOT going to lie around, in my lovely lavender bed jacket from Neiman Marcus (take heed, Cricket, the one that matches my purple earrings) and not have any (more) wild secrets to tell my hospice nurse. I want her scandalized enough to be unable to look me in the eyes.
World beware, I’m pulling out some stops.
OMG!!! Another nod for the “Sweet Talker”! What am I chopped liver? OMG!! I guess I’m a Blog Begger.
You are my ex running husband. You’re going to need to step up to get back in. Sending me a picture of chips from Chili’s is not endearing you to me. I do owe you a night out, although it’s not going to be out ’til three watching a cover band. There’s going to need to be pretty drinks and a pig costume involved.
I saw nothing that pertained to me, Blog Begger. But I do plan to drink more pretty drinks out of fancy glasses with her this year.
With that said, don’t pass on any party that can attend!!!!