Wednesday, February 03, 2016

A Shameful Joy at Lacking the Housekeeping Gene

Lately I've been faa-faaing around doing very little. The hand/thumb is better but I still cannot write more than two words with a pencil, I cannot use scissors and typing, using a spoon in a pot, a potato peeler, etc is still a challenge.

I finally got around to vacuuming the entire house for the first time since this latest health thing started happening on November 27th last year. Plus I'm spending a load of time mopping. I have been mopping all along (or nagging Jim into it) since getting sick but for some reason when we get big snows like Winter Storm Jonah every kind of road grit, sand, salt and mud ends up being tracked all over the wood floors. No matter how many times you steam them or run the swiffer it's all a smeary mess.

It's not like I love housework at all. I actually hate it, distracting me from important things like quilting or painting. But it is a necessary evil.

During my Fundigelical years I tried to make myself like it, tried to tell myself to be thankful because I have my own home and family. But it never worked. I was never joyfully happy and smiling to be mopping those floors or baking a pile of bread. It's always felt like uncreative drudgery to me. Something to rush through so I could read a book.

You know what, I'm okay with not 'loving' housework, unlike what Nancy Campbell and Debi Pearl insist. Not everyone is cut out for the same things. Ask me to weed the garden or wash the car and I'm there. Ask me to iron your shirt. Hmm, not so much. That's what the dry cleaners is for.

I'm in the middle of a house reorganization, hauling several boxes to the community second hand store daily, no matter if it's something valuable. I'm in merciless mode. So far I've halfed all my kitchen things and am moving on into the bedrooms next. I'm going to half the bedding and in six months do it again. Just do not let my maw in law know that her fancy china is going to the thrift store. I have no use for it.

In many ways it feels like I'm shedding some of the heavy baggage of my days at the old fundigelical church. Especially the day I took the punch bowl, 35 punch cups and 35 fancy dessert plates to the thrift shop. Once upon a time I hosted the church baptism every single year at our pool. It was always a drag and days of baking and making on top of cleaning and making sure I had a huge pile of waiting towels. No one would help and it was always assumed that I would gladly do the heavy lifting so a few kids could be baptized and their families have cake and punch.

I like this, I like living without a punch bowl, too many cups and the expectations of the 'must dos' Since leaving I've learned I can say 'no' when asked to do things for the church. I've learned it doesn't matter if I take time for me to heal and do not dust for a couple of weeks. That the dust bunnies will still be there waiting for me when I get out of the bed.

All those leftover towels are about to be shredded for a rag rug.

The other recent change is in how I handle the ruder members of my former church when I run into them in this small town. When I first started being approached and told I was going to hell for leaving the old church I'd crumble, be devestated by the verbal attacks by them. It hurt badly, death by a thousand tongue lashings.

Then I moved into a phase where I'd reflect a question back to every rude hostile remark. This was particularly effect in shutting up some rude gossiper.

But now I'm finding it merely annoying, not hurtful when I'm approached and receive a hateful screed about hell mixed with a 'come to Jesus at our old church' Now I will usually say some version of 'I don't know what the f*** you're talking about and I don't f***king care' and I walk away while they are still in shocked jaw dropped mode.

My friend Joanie is sweet to them. I've seen her in her Lady Bountiful 'Bless Your Heart' mode. She has that ability. Not me, I just want them to shut up and leave me the heck alone.

This week I was treated to encounters with two former members where I busted out my 'zero fucks' reply. One lady was angrily ranting because I'd spoken to her husband in the grocery store a couple of months ago. I'd been nice to him because I've never received anything but normal treatment from him since leaving the old church. So now his wife is upset that a heathen like me dared have a conversation with him.

The second encounter happened this morning. I ran into Mr. Scammer and he immediately started babbling about how he's been made a church elder at his new Church of the Holy Basement (home church with just a few members) before issuing a 'Come to Jesus at the Church of the Holy Basement. Again, I gave my 'zero fucks' speech. He wasn't rude, he was just humble bragging, not realizing I know about his family trying to scam the company he did work for on a phony workers comp situation, I know about his wife embezzling at two different places she worked and I know all about their borrowing money and other things from various church members and paying zero of it back. I didn't want to pause long enough to listen to him lest he lift my wallet off me.

With the insistence that I 'go back to church' I get, totally ignoring the fact that I do go to church, just another church, and I'm only nominally believing much of anything I'm tempted to make the Evil Eye hand gestures and shout 'Hail Satan' and end by singing Book of Mormon's 'Hasa Dega Eebowai' the next time. But that would just reinforce their views that I'm on a  slip n slide leading right to Hades.

But it might be fun to watch their heads explode.

I'm done taking any guff from them.





No comments: