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Showing posts from February, 2020

"Thy Beasts and Singing Birds..."

Thy Beasts and Singing Birds… This morning I was out for a run. I was miles from home. As I ran, I said prayers. I thought happy thoughts that meandered in and out of my soul.   As well a line from a song was playing in my head, whilst I ran. Then at about midway through my run, as I was discovering some new roads. An old prayer came to my lips. It is one I’ve said for animals either injured, alone or in general. I had no real reason to know of what made me say this prayer three times. But it occurred into my soul and out through my lips. I whispered it as I ran.   Too, a picture of a deer in my backyard came to mind. At the time I thought nothing of it. I wondered only for a second what made me think of the prayer and say it seemingly at a whim. Miles later, I arrived home from my run. I had gotten unusually chilled on my cooldown walk. So, I decided not to go into our backyard where our chin-up bar stood. Instead, I entered our front door, and placed some of my gear dow

I Run

I Run… I run to face life...   I run to face my problems… I run to evacuate the suffering I’ve witnessed… The congruency to move the body and stay quiet.   I relax my breathing. You run to pray… there is a prayer of nature…to mother nature…to the all that is Divine… Even when you are broken… you run…you run through the brokenness… There is nothing but effort, yet peace, even in personal rage and anger…you will oscillate back and forth between Anger, Love, Rage and Peace… You begin to dig deep into the why’s of life… The guts of humanity… It drives me…when I don’t want to run…when I’ve been told you can’t run…you shouldn’t run… You will die if you run… Yes, I’ve been told that, now nearly thirty-five years ago…And I’m still alive… Your heart is no good… You have fractures in your back, ribs, legs, feet, arms, hands, face, collarbone… Running through kidney stones, burst ovarian cysts, internal bleeding, asthma attacks… You defy the tumor…you defy the auto-immune disease

What Are the Chances...?

What Are the Chances…? Early this morning as I drove. I realized I needed to get gas in my car.   There’s this little service station not too far from our home.   However, at seven o’clock in the morning at this one local service station, it’s awfully busy handling landscaping trucks and the like.   That poses an issue if you want to get gas at that time in the morning there. It gets crowded fast because of its good service and size.   The politeness is really what I’m going for.   Okay laugh.   Yes. I get gas at a specific station or two or three based on politeness. Not because I like to say ‘hello’. Although I do like to say, ‘good morning’.   But because I love to just sit there as my car is being serviced and watch the clouds.   The sky can be dramatic. Yet, it is sometimes subtle in its changes arriving for those few minutes. It’s time to breath just a tad more. Taking in a sigh or two. So, today as usual every day is different for me. I pulled into the service st

The Big Heist

The Big Heist I have told this story only a handful of times. One to a client who was a grandmother, another client recently who has three young children, and one other client over the years. It was about twelve years ago. Our daughters were about five and a half and three and a half at the time.   I have to say it was one of our roughest years, stress was at an all time high. However, thank God we’ve been there before. Norm and I, that is.   I say this laughingly. Yet then, I realize it was a rough year. It’s funny how we nearly forget the most horrid things at times. And then remember the silly ones such as the one I’ll write about here. It was a cloudy Saturday afternoon in early spring. Dampness hung in the air.   The cloud coverage appeared heavy, with dark patches held in its nearly bright glow for the day. Our two young daughters and I pulled into the parking lot where our favorite toy store lay in wait for our arrival. Even I get excited when I get to buy gifts fo

Warning, Mature Subject Matter: "If You Haven't Been..."

If You Haven’t Been… If you haven’t been down this road, you may not be able to relate.   As well, you probably, most likely shouldn’t comment. Yet, of course it’s a free country.   Well, partially. I don’t really feel so free. I am the watch dog. I grew up thinking this.   Actually, I knew this intuitively.   The first intuition at age four.   However, I won’t dive into exactly where I was when I didn’t feel safe. One day after I’d turned age eleven just weeks after, my mother asked if anyone had ever bothered me.   I stated a truthful emphatic, “No.” She sighed with utter relief. I was the untouched.   The not molested. One of the few she knew in her circle. She wondered how I did it, I’m certain. I never told her what I’d felt around certain people that she knew. It was just a feeling I had. I remember the first time it arrived. It was indeed creepy. And at first, I felt ashamed. Ashamed that I would think anyone would try and harm a four year old little girl like me

This One Life

This One Life Right here. Right now. We have this one life. Most of us, if not all of us in America have choices.   In November 2010 I had a parent teacher conference with our youngest’s kindergarten teacher and her assistant/aide. It was pointed out to me that our child’s behavior was just fine.   That she appeared to be able to handle all assignments.   She participated in class well.   That she was inquisitive. However, then came the ‘BAD’ news.   Hopefully, you people reading this have just played the music that goes with ‘BAD’ news conundrum. I’m being snarky. Over the years, when I’ve gone in for a parent-teacher conferences concerning our children. I really don’t care about their grades. I bring paper and pen. I have questions written down ahead of time. My questions go like so, “Does my child raise their hand when appropriate or are they rude?” “Do they interrupt you or disrupt the class?” “Is their behavior appropriate?” “Are they helpful, without being asked?”

Put Some Lipstick On

Put Some Lipstick On It was a time in the 1960’s when I was growing up. As I was taught,   that you didn’t demonstrate to the outside world how you really felt. You didn’t speak of illness, neither yours or either someone else’s. Nor were women’s health issues discussed, as well.   I’ll call it, “The Dark Ages of Life’s Unpleasantries”. As I grew up, I noticed no matter what, my mother always put on lipstick. She made certain her teeth were clean. Her hair was either brushed out nice or in a decorative kerchief. Her favorite was this lavender kerchief.   I actually dreamt about her wearing that lavender kerchief in some of my dreams as a child. By the time I was age six, my mother had started working part-time at our local drugstore. The owner, Sam loved her creativity. She did the Hallmark card merchandising. She was a cashier in between merchandising, as well she was a cosmetician.   That is, what she truly enjoyed being and doing. I believe even to this day, she

Joy is Paradise

Joy is Paradise Every once in a while, you meet someone who you never thought would become a friend. And then something magical happens. I have a few close friends. The friends I have now are few and they are older than I. Older doesn’t always mean wiser. It all depends on how they have lived and how they live   currently. Two of my dearest close friends, appear nearly complete opposites. Yet, they have a few things in common. First, I met both of them after a race. Second, is they are both long distance runners. And next, they have open mindedness. Such the open-mindedness that has surpassed nearly everyone I’ve ever known in my life. I find that fascinating. Their differences are their lives. One is married, and has six children. As well, she is a grandmother. The other, never married. He stated to me that he never had the urge to father a child. Both of these friends are as honest as the day is long. That is gratifying to me.   A rarity in any realm, of any culture

Puff and a Miracle

                                                                                         Puff and a Miracle In late September 1970 I survived a house fire. It was before my eighth birthday. Initially, my brother who was age nine, my father and my mother had forgotten  about me. I had been in a deep sleep from two injuries and an allergic reaction I'd  had from a medicine for one of the injuries. I was dead to the world for four hours. I woke up stairs to smoked filled rooms I was groggy from a drug I was given after school  As I got to the top of the thirteen stairs that lead to our kitchen that was on fire, I  heard a commotion. Standing at the top of the staircase I realized  having trouble breathing that I  couldn't see a thing. It was what seemed a thick white smokey film. I yelled at the top of my lungs, "Mom!!!!" I took three steps  down unable  to see, then my my right arm was grabbed.  I saw nothing, yet felt the pull. As I was on my butt, the grab dragged

What it Takes

What it Takes Early this morning, before our oldest left for work she overheard my husband and I speaking. It was about a record I still hold and another one I didn’t realize I set that same day nearly fifteen years ago. She wanted to know what it took to set such records in running. I didn’t go into the injuries I’d incurred. Neither the demons one fights, whilst in the process of attempting to set records. Yet, I went into the amount of time and money that it took. The sacrifices. The commitments, to EVERYTHING. Time. The time on your feet.   The time you sacrifice not going out to a movie, nor to eat out. The time you don’t have to sacrifice.   All that time while working full time.   Then add in raising children, as well as wanting to be there for most of your children’s ballet, karate and other organized activities. Then the time you should and do spend taking the children to playdates, the zoos, the farms, the playgrounds, the fishing excursions. I explained giving

"The Healer"

The Healer I’ve restarted doing all house calls in my business nearly two years ago. It was something I started out with in the early to mid-1990’s.   What made me restart this aspect in business, it was two-fold. First, I saw my clientele getting sicker, getting older. I wanted to lessen the impact on other family members of the sick, injured or dying persons of my clientele. It was something I began to ponder in 2013. It was something I hadn’t done since 1999. And I had not worked full-time outside of my office since early 1996. However, a few factors helped push me again in this direction. First, was the level at which I saw my clientele and their families needing me to do this. The next was I had to consider what would be a smarter move, as I saw the economy, the greed of rents and keeping an office going, as the rates went up.   When the owner of the building would not repair the heating system in the building, which effected my office. Yet, over an eighteen year t

The Wrath

The Wrath I had this sinking feeling over two years ago. I knew if he took care of her too much, that I would lose him.   Not to another woman. No. But to a disease. I understood the wrath of the caregiver related to the terminally ill, the dying. The Wrath. The Wrath is the repercussions placed on the related caregiver of someone dying. I’ve known enough about it.   That I’ve warned many people in those predicaments. Even the ones I loved. Most don’t listen to me.   The closer they are to me, the less they listen. It is sadly, to their demise.   They refuse to see what I say is true. They think they’ve sinned and that is why they are now dying.   But that’s not the truth. Everybody sins. Some more than others. It’s not that. If it were that, then the most heinous of criminals and the most dastardly greedy men and women would now be dead. Real soon.     We’d live in a utopia. But that’s not how the physiology of the human spirit and body work together. When someone is

We Collect Things

We collect things Kidding around recently, my husband stood in front of me with his workboots on.  He newly had shined them. He stated, “Other men have their antique car collection. Some men collect motorcycles. Me, its shoes.” The shoes he was wearing ready to go for a six mile walk, he’d had them at least for a good two decades and had them resoled just this past year. I’m not a things person. I’m too busy and too poor to collect things. Around the house I wear clothing with holes in them.  When I go for my daily run, I wear layers because there are holes in the clothing. If it’s under fifty-five degrees outside, I wear some glove or something at least in the beginning of my run on my hands. Sometimes my running gloves have holes in them. Sometimes my gloves are one dollar cotton gardening gloves.  And in the winter, quite often I wear an old pair of socks on my hands when I go running. I’m not cheap, it just feels good.  And besides I’ve made myself so NOT picky, that i

"Your Mind To My Mind"

Your Mind to My Mind If you’ve watched any of the Star Trek series. Which there are at least I’m going to guess, four different Star Trek series that have been developed since around 1967. The one that has a Vulcan named Spock in them. You may understand the line, “Your Mind to My Mind”. If you don’t. By the end of this writing you may understand the emphasis here. Many times, in my life I’ve wanted to heal people who were quite ill. So, my tool earlier in life was prayer, positive thoughts and mental imagery. It wasn’t till later in my life that I actually began working on bodies with my hands. As well as learning other levels of meditation in my twenties and so forth. Meditations such as Qi Gung, Hypnosis, and the like. I have learned to use to dig deeper into understanding one’s pain and predicament. Along with doing various bodywork therapies for people with all sorts of ailments, injuries and diseases. Over the years of my life developing an arsenal to help others. In

Millennial’s Last Stand

Millennial’s Last Stand I've heard how great these generations that came before 1980 were. It's nice to hear someone honor a generation other than their own. Conversely, I find it ill-advised to throw the baby out with the bath water on a whole generation. It shows me ignorance, short sidedness, arrogance perhaps. And I sense as well, jealousy.   Why would anyone want to be jealous of a generation because they aren't lacking things that you feel you lacked in your childhood? Why would you call someone soft, who actually made that smart move to work exact hours that they were employed for? Or they called in sick because they were smart enough to recognize that their illness was contagious, as well realizing they may be less productive if they’d arrived to work sick? The put downs I've heard about Millennials are unfounded. They are often contrived as well as derived from a lack of understanding of a generation that has grown up in a different age of science, medicin