It's eerily calm, eerily quiet, eerily game show free.
My ILs have moved into a beach rental for 10 days. I didn't kick them out, don't worry. It was all planned before they came.
I know. I know. That's cheating because I said 42 days, when really it's only 32 days, and actually I miscalculated, so it's only 30 days, and minus the 10 days of beach rental bliss, I've only got 4 days remaining. Easy peezy lemon squeezy.
What am I going to talk about after they leave? I got nothin'.
I'm totally sitting here in a stupor of thought.
You know what's weird. Don't hate me, but I kinda miss them.
I mean, I jest A LOT . . . but I kinda like 'em. I would never tell them that, but they grow on you, in a Kellee Pickler/Walter Mathau sort of way.
Anywho . . .
Miss Heidi has been asking me who Stephen is and why he keeps waxing philosophical in my comment box.
Stephen is my apostate brother. My sarcastic, philosophical, apostate brother, who recently got into a blog brawl with my twin, Shelle. He always did love a good fist fight.
But apostates are people too, and they need a little TLC in between the punches.
And I just now realized that I haven't told you much about my life, have I?
Do you want a bed-time story?
Okay, grab the fleece blanket you got for Christmas and curl up.
Right here. Next to me.
Once upon a time there was a fanatically religious, charismatic man who had a rare blood clotting disorder called Hemophilia.
He married his beautiful softspoken high school sweetheart and they moved from Long Beach California to Zion, Utah. And I mean Zion, as in Happy Valley. And I mean Happy Valley, as in P.R.O.V.O. --that barren stretch of land where no one blogs. At least no one blogs me. (It's all so clear now why I always felt like a stranger there. I AM a stranger there.)
But I digress.
The beautiful, softspoken woman loved him with all her heart. He was the only fanatically regligious, charasmatic man for her and she would never ever love anyone else before or during or after.
He, on the other hand, couldn't return the favor.
They bought a house on the humble side of the town and unpacked all their fanatically religious baggage there.
Sixteen years later, the beautiful, softspoken woman was alone with 7 children and a broken heart. Her heart had been broken so many times it was like Humpty Dumpty.
It's not easy being married to a charasmatic man. Add fanatically religious to the pot, and life gets complicated. Throw in chronic pain, a disabilitating disease and a drug addiction and life can be downright tragical.
Stephen and I are the two oldest so we had front row seats to the whole tragedy.
Before his mission he was a religious perfectionist, who confessed to the bishop the first time he french-kissed a girl. But after his mission he started pretending to be an apostate.
He had his heart broken too. For 8 years he tried everything to patch up a betrayed marriage. I never would have predicted he could be so forgiving and patient and extend so much effort in turning the other cheek and rekindling love. But in the end his wife left and married the other guy. I still love her and miss her.
I think he's pretending because he's a disillusioned believer. Just like I'm pretending to be a dummy, because I'm a disillusioned smarty.
Come to think of it, isn't everyone pretending to be something they're not? Take nudists. Nudist pretend to be naked because they're disillusioned by clothing. And take Mormon mommies. Mormon mommies pretend to be crazy because they're disillusioned by sanity.
And take my latest follower, Headbang8. He's pretending to be a gay German, but I bet he's just a disillusioned straight American. (Warning: DO NOT enter his blog because you'll only learn about wine and other nastiness. He's an uber good pretender. Kristina P could probably handle him, but the rest of you, keep as you are.)
Why would a disillusioned straight American be seen with a disillusioned sane person like me anyway? Doesn't he know I only let M.E.N read this blog if they're related to me or in love with me. Or if they build boring old boats.
. . . What was I talking about again?
Oh, I feel sorry for apostates, don't you? I mean I would totally pretend to be an apostate too but I'm afraid of social osternization. Plus, I don't know if I could handle all the home teachers and visiting teachers dropping by to fellowship me. That's why I'm sticking it out.
(Oh, people, you really don't need to call my bishop. I jest. I jest in truth, but I jest, nonetheless.)
There is one great thing about apostate brothers. They're very supportive! LY Stephen!
Everyone go to his blog now and get in a fist fight with him. Send your home teachers to smack him around too. And please try to re-convert him while you're there. He's kind of a jack-apostate who goes to church and has a calling, so he's half-way there.
Mahalo! (That's Hawaiian for bust a move, people!)
Oh, sorry. Forgot to tuck you in.