family

The Baker’s Birthday – Day 393

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Carol’s Chocolate BIRTHDAY cake – Photo: L. Weikel

The Baker’s Birthday

By the time I hit the ‘publish’ button on this post, it’ll be December 10th, which means it’ll be the birthday of the namesake of one of our family’s two favorite birthday cakes: Carol’s Chocolate Cake.

Sadly, since my sister lives in Massachusetts and I live in Pennsylvania, she won’t be receiving one of her chocolate cakes from me for her birthday. I know; bad little sister. But who knows? Maybe someone else will bake her one. In fact, I don’t even know if ‘Carol’s Chocolate Cake’ is considered ‘the’ birthday cake in her household.

I’m only realizing now that I should’ve baked one a few days ago and sent it to her. After all, I’ve gotten a lot of blog mileage out of her yummy delicious confection. I owe her one!

Photos Few and Far Between

Sadly, we rarely see each other. The last time I think we had our photo taken together was at Karl’s Gathering – so, eight years ago. I’ll see if I can hunt down that photo. I believe it has the rest of my siblings in it, so I probably shouldn’t post it. Some members of my family probably don’t want to be associated with me anymore.

Why?

Perhaps because I’m an unabashed feminist and liberal, and so do not apparently share the same sensibilities as some of my siblings. (And I’m undoubtedly thought of as an opinionated big mouth, too. Ha ha – not all that inaccurate, I suppose.)

Oooh, that’s so dangerous. Talking about stuff like this publicly.

Don’t worry you guys, I won’t publish your photos or mention your names. The fact that I even write that is silly. On the best day, I’m sure only two siblings, at most, read what I write. Ever.

Maintaining the Façade

It’s funny, isn’t it? The lengths we go to to maintain a façade that hasn’t been accurate in years (if it ever was). I know I always felt our family was indivisible, bonded by a love that could never be broken. Then…stuff  happened.

Probably the biggest thing, I guess, was the death of our father nearly 20 years ago. And no, it had nothing to do with what people might assume when they read that sentence. It had nothing to do with money or inheritance or anything like that. It was actually, simply, the breaking of the last thread.

Our mother’s death 30 years ago was a huge loss. She truly was the linchpin of our family. But losing her didn’t tear us apart. And our father’s death didn’t either, per se. Rather, his death merely led to us all focusing upon our own nuclear families and losing our central shared focus, the hub of our familial attention, which had been our parents.

Things happened in our country, too, which exacerbated differing viewpoints that apparently had lain undetected beneath the surface. At least I was blindsided by how different we could think about life, having been raised by the same people.

Death of an Illusion

When I was a kid, being the youngest (by a lot, the closest in age being nine years older than I am) was an idyllic spot to occupy. I adored my siblings. (I still do; I’ve just learned to employ some detachment, which helps.)

I also had what I always considered the best of all possible worlds. I was the youngest of five, so I had these amazing older siblings to learn from and look forward to having visit, and just overall have as role models in my life. But in many ways I also enjoyed the benefits of being an ‘only’ child, since I was only nine when the closest sibling left for college.

Christmas time was the best, when everyone would come to our house from states far and wide, bringing with them their children – my nieces and nephews – the first three of whom were closer in age to me than my closest sibling! I finally had kids to play with! And I was ‘the oldest,’ for once. (And yes, I hang my head in shame; I did lord it over them occasionally. We won’t go there.) But having so many nieces and nephews contributed to that pervasive feeling that I truly had the best of all worlds.

I would never have imagined us all going our separate ways so starkly, so unequivocally, and, dare I say it, so harshly.

But there it is.

Happy Birthday

I probably shouldn’t hit ‘publish’ on this. I’m sure it holds little appeal to you, the readers I appreciate so very much, and probably lacks any intrinsic value, either. But you know what? Every once in a while I deeply, deeply miss what I thought we had.

I remember each and every one of my siblings’ birthdays. So of course I will be thinking about Carol tomorrow (now today).

And I guess my point in writing any of this is to remind all of us – you who are reading it, and myself who is writing it – to cherish what we have. Because you can’t count on it lasting ‘forever.’ No matter how tight you think you are with any group of people, blood or not. Things happen. People change. And what you thought would last forever can be gone like the puff of a birthday candle.

The love I have when I recall looking up to my sisters and brother will never end. Just the expression of it, I guess.

Happy birthday, Carol! I love you.

(T-718)

Salted Caramel Filled Chocolates – Day Ninety

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Salted Caramel Filled Chocolates…           

are the only thing keeping me awake at the moment.

I’ve always stayed up late. (Yeah, a night owl. Go figure.) But pretty much since I started my 1111 Devotion, I’ve been staying up even later than I used to, and on a much more consistent basis. And by later I mean for the past 90 days I’ve not gone to bed before 12:30 a.m. at the earliest and 2:15 a.m. at the latest. On average, hitting the sheets by around 1:30 a.m.

For the most part, it works out. I’ve always done my best work at night. Since my college days, the dark hours when most other people are asleep were when I accomplished the most. So this isn’t a shockingly new development. The toll taker is the consistency.

And this week has been a particularly challenging stretch. Earlier in the week, I had to get up at 4:15 a.m. to take Karl to the airport. So my Wednesday was a little ragged around the edges, if I do say so myself.

Then last night I didn’t get to bed until 2:00-ish, in spite of how tired I was, and then got back up at 5:15 to make the pilgrimage back to Newark in order to collect Karl off the red-eye.

Sleep Deprivation Can Be a Bitch

Maybe it was that I only got three hours of sleep two out of the last four days. (Yeah, that might be it.) Maybe I just don’t have the EverReady Bunny mojo I used to have? Yeah, that could be it; I don’t know. One thing I do know: I’ve been borderline zombie today.

So here I am, listening to Karl’s rhythmic breathing/pseudo-snoring as he slumbers on the couch. I close my eyes to pull words from the ethers and find myself nodding off in what feel like micro-naps. I catch myself when my head bobs and I realize I’ve lost my train of thought.

Enter Chocolove filled Salted Caramel dark chocolate. Someone must have been watching over me when I went to Whole Foods on Thursday and discovered these bars of chocolate-y pillows of delight were on sale.

Probably the only reason I’ve managed to write this much is because I indulged.

A Shift in Perspective

Believe it or not, I started this post out expressing disappointment and annoyance with myself for eating chocolate so late in the evening. But I’ve deleted that garbage because I suddenly realize how lucky I am. So what if I’m overtired and need a little “chocolove” to help me follow through on my commitment? To add fuel to my Act of Power? To sustain my dedication?

I’m lucky because my husband is asleep on the couch. My sons are warm and cozy living their lives with their loves. I’m surrounded by my two dogs and three cats (even if they crowd me into a corner of our bed). I’m healthy and my senses are eager and able to indulge in the exquisite delight of a dark chocolate morsel filled with gooey salted caramel.

I have the extraordinary and magical good fortune of working with people and Spirit in the way I do. And how rich am I to hit the ‘publish’ button every night only to wake up to see that you have cared enough to walk another day with me on this journey?

So no. I’m not going to hold on to the sadness that swept across my brow last night. And I’m not going to lament the fact that I gave myself permission to eat some chocolate tonight. That’s just such an old, bullshit way of thinking.

I’m going to be grateful for the salted caramel filled dark chocolates with sweet little hearts embossed on top. I’m going to feel the love that permeates my life.

And I’m going to send it back out into the world: to you.

(T-1021)

State of Our Union – Day Eighty Six

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Photo: L.Weikel

State of Our Union 

Naah, I’m not going to talk politics. But I did watch it (the so-called SOTU); and I watched Stacey Abrams’s response. And all I’ll say is that I felt inspired listening to Stacey Abrams. I felt heartened by her vision of working together, searching for and implementing innovative responses to our country’s issues for the benefit of us all.

And it felt rejuvenating to contemplate just how quickly so many of our current, existential issues can still be turned around – before it’s too late – if we work together.

Our Ability to Share is Based In the Power of Knowing What We Have

We can do this. We must not give in to fear. We must not give in to the cynical fatalism that encourages people to take as much as they can from whomever they can get it because it’s every man for himself.

I loved the story she told of her father walking home in the pouring rain from his job, soaked and shivering when Stacey and her mom and siblings went out to meet him in their car. I loved that he gave away his coat, knowing he would be soaked and freezing cold, but knowing also that he was going home to his family; knowing they would take care of him, get him warm, and give him dinner. Giving his coat to the homeless man was a no-brainer for Mr. Abrams because that man didn’t have Mr. Abrams’s knew and felt certain of the power of greatest resource: his family.

I think that’s the single most important realization we can make in these times: we need each other. Whether we know each other or not, we must be family for each other.

We Need to Offer Of Ourselves

Yes, some of us are lucky enough to have that support system readily in place in the traditional sense. By that I mean siblings, parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins living in relatively close proximity to us. But a pretty significant portion of us do not have that comfort and sense of stability close at hand.

Instead, we’re asked to look to our left and look to our right. Some of us are starting to realize we need to reach out to our friends – and maybe even our neighbors. We need to offer our friendship and support, offer our unique skills. Offer our selves.

We’ve all seen that every time a catastrophe happens, people rally. We come together and offer what we have. We pitch in to help each other, scrounge up sustenance, and provide emotional and energetic support (if not also tangible and fiscal support as well). We don’t stop to ask about politics or who you voted for. We tap into our humanity. We tap into our shared experience.

Embrace Beaver Energy

I yearn to be challenged by our leaders to be visionary and innovative. Don’t you?

So much more is possible when we work together and hold each other up. So much more is possible when we embrace our Beaver energy.

Come on. You knew I’d bring some archetypal animal medicine into this, didn’t you?

Embrace your hope. Embrace your wit. Embrace your intelligence, your inspiration, and your passion. And be vigilant about giving your power to or believing anyone who would tell you that your woes and miseries are someone else’s ‘fault.’ That the ‘other’ (who would actually give you the coat off their back) is someone to be feared, hated, or bullied.

We are in this together. We need to believe. In us.

(T-1025)

recinet.ca

Commitment – Day Fifty

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Commitment

OK, I’ll admit it. I’m pretty much phoning this one in.

I’m nursing a slight headache, I was a little brought down by yet another day full of low hanging clouds and relentless rain, and this is my fiftieth consecutive post!

Actually, that last part makes me smile.

I’m glad I’m sitting up here on my bed, with but minutes to spare before the ball drops and 2019 begins, and I’m writing this.

I find it fascinating that I feel so connected to you; and I do feel that there is a ‘you’ at the other end of this post. There are eyes reading these words. And I’m intrigued by this relationship I feel we’re cultivating.

If I didn’t feel something, I wouldn’t be sitting up here all by myself, writing this. But I’m not all by myself, am I?

Thank you for supporting me energetically and otherwise over the past fifty days.

I’d like to invite each one of you to join me in some form of devotion to yourself in 2019. Maybe contemplate not giving something up as you enter this new year, but rather bringing something in, instead.

Turning off the television and reading for an hour before bed every night.

Keeping a journal and writing at least one page (and preferably three – wink wink), every day.

Drawing or taking a photograph with your phone every single day to document your joy.

Realizing you are loved. And appreciated. Even if it is ‘only’ by yourself.

Thank you for walking beside me. I look forward to 2019 – together.

(T-1061)

Hoarding or Holding? – Day Forty Eight

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Hoarding or Holding?

I’m struggling a bit.

I’ve been fantasizing for a few years about cleaning out what we call our ‘office’ and making it a place where Karl can paint and I – possibly, occasionally (probably never) – might read or write especially when I need some sunshine in the winter.

The reason I’ve been relegated to fantasizing about this for at least the last couple of years is because it entails going through files. And I am nothing if not exceedingly organized, with a file for everything – and occasionally a couple for the same thing. Also called inadvertent redundancy.

Filing Cabinet of Life Events

I started this post out with the intention of reflecting on that razor’s edge upon which I slip and slide (and often cut myself) when going through filing cabinets that seem to hold the history of our life as a family. You see, there is a filing cabinet I’ve moved from law office to law office, with a final resting place in my home office. For many years, it held my active legal files. Then as the kids got into high school and college, it started holding inoculation records, academic awards, test results, and newspaper clippings. Files were created for traffic tickets and leases, contracts and resumés. Some of the legal intermingled with the personal: my parents’ estate files, for instance.

Well, it’s time to move the filing cabinet out of the ‘office’ in order to transform the room into a studio. Studios don’t have filing cabinets. Ok, maybe some do. But not in this house.

And that’s not to say that I don’t have an effective filing system that is shifting to the ‘library annex’ mentioned in one of my previous posts. Nope; given that I’m the one that keeps all the records of all our businesses and family and home life, they’re of course moving with me to said ‘library annex.’ But I’m cleaning out that filing cabinet.

And I’ve been steadfastly refusing to clean that baby out for years now, precisely because of the nature of the files that made their way into it.

Without Proof Does a Life Disappear?

So today, I found myself in tears. Damn it; didn’t want to go there. I’m stuck, feeling the dilemma of deciding what to do with the files documenting Karl’s applications to colleges in 1999. His exchange experience in Norway. His grades at NYU; the details of his management contract in California and NYC. There’s so much history in those files.

Poor Sage – home for the holidays and eager to help me shift the life of the room to a studio… He checked on me at one point and realized I had tears running down my face, ridiculously wondering out loud if I threw stuff away that documented these milestones, would that erase all proof that Karl had existed?

And so I am left with that nagging question of how much to save and how much to feed the shredder.

I’m not inclined to scan this stuff, so that’s not an option. It will either survive as a real-life, tangible document, or it will be gone. <<Poof>> Just like he was. Just like we all are. From documents to artwork to green eyes and dazzling smiles.

Where’s the Edge?

So what is the edge between hoarding the memories in an unhealthy manner and holding on to some aspects of life as evidence for our future ancestors to literally hold and turn over in their hands? And why or for whom do I do either? Or neither?

Sometimes I wish I could just throw it all out with abandon. And then I think about the thousands of people who’ve lost everything in fire, flood, or other disaster, and I’m grateful for the torture these choices represent.

(T-1063)

Tradition and Evolution – Day Forty Four

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Tradition and Evolution

Overall, this Christmas was a grand experiment in shifting from one way of being to another. It felt like we were embarking upon a true transition from ‘the way we’ve always done things’ to ‘a new way.’ Just like any transition, it had its rough patches.

I’d say most of that evolution centered around the family ‘meal,’ which is probably where the vast majority of ‘tradition’ resides in many households.

Most of us in the family eat meat, but rarely. Others of us, however, eat meat never. And then there are those of us who not only don’t eat meat at all, but also do not eat anything even remotely associated with animals. No butter. No milk. No cheese. No eggs. Yes, there’s now a vegan in our midst.

Turkey Sandwiches Remain a Priority

We checked in before the holiday, and determined that turkey was still a hoped-for agenda item with those of us who still appreciate the sacrifices of our feathered brethren. Truth be told, it’s the turkey sandwiches on the horizon that are the real lure here. Piled high with stuffing savory and juicy from cooking in the bird, the turkey slices will nestle between a layer of cranberry sauce and mayonnaise, all held together with a multi-grain, seeded bread. Oooh yeah.

It’s hard not to feel sorry for those who no longer (or never did) enjoy the unparalleled goodness of leftover turkey sandwiches. But alas, that means there’s more for us who pander to our inner Neanderthal. (Which, parenthetically, 23andme tells me is part of my genetic makeup.) (Yeah, it explains a LOT.)

I have to admit, though, in preparing the mashed potatoes both the ‘old’ way and the ‘new,’ the difference would be something I could evolve toward. I’d miss the buttermilk and butter. But it could work.

The green bean casserole without the mushroom soup? Satisfied my vegan but not my vegetarian. I don’t know if I can make that leap yet either.

At Least My Stuffing Is Vegetarian-Approved

My stuffing is vegetarian-approved even when prepared as history dictates. It’s just the portion that cooks inside the bird that’s taboo. So that’s an easy compromise: that especially juicy stuffing can go on my turkey sandwich; thanks.

All, in all, though, I probably could have stepped up my game as far as the ‘protein’ I prepared for my ‘Vs.’ I thought sautéing some vegan sausages with onions and red peppers would make a nice addition to the stuffing, mashed potatoes and green beans, but the expressions on their faces said, “Meh.”

I’ll work on that for next year.

And who knows? As our lives evolve and we witness the cataclysmic results of accelerating climate change day in and day out, it would not be outside the realm of possibility to imagine us going at least totally vegetarian by next year. Probably not vegan; not yet.

Although, I suppose, stranger things have happened.

As a family, we’re game to honor and appreciate our traditions while also exploring ways we can evolve and expand the way we walk forward into the future.

All that really matters is that we do it together.

(T-1067)

Alchemy (Frenchtown, NJ) – Day Thirty Nine

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A Local Treasure

My favorite place to buy eclectic, eye-catching, and beautiful clothes is a shop called Alchemy, in Frenchtown, New Jersey. I’ve been shopping at this local treasure for quite some time – around 15 years, if I’m not mistaken. The owner, Cleo Sharplin, and her husband, Barry, bring artistry and visionary appreciation for color and unique cuts and fabrics to the Delaware River Valley, where I live.

In early November, I introduced my daughter-in-law to the treasures at Alchemy. I was sure Cleo would be able to find something amazing for her to wear to an event that was on the horizon. Based on my rave reviews, Tiffany was eager to meet Cleo and experience her ‘eye’ and perspective and the way she could ‘put things together.’

We were devastated to discover that Cleo had recently taken a serious fall down some steps in her home and was hospitalized with some dislocations and broken bones – including some vertebrae in her neck. Her recovery was looking scary and extended, and we could see the extreme concern and worry in Barry’s eyes as he described her condition.

Keeping It Together

For his part, in an effort to maintain normalcy, Barry was taking time from his own job to keep the store open, while visiting and staying by Cleo’s bedside when not at the store.

After making our purchases, we assured him that we would keep both of them in our hearts and hope for the best in her recovery.

Since that visit, I have thought of them often. Every time I’d go to New Jersey to put gas in my car, I would drive by Alchemy, wishing I’d gone at a time when the store was open.

Over the past week or so, both Cleo and Barry started popping into my thoughts on a much more frequent basis. I felt a twinge that I didn’t want to admit. And I kept thinking I needed to physically stop in and bring them something, some token to remind them that they really were in my thoughts – that I hadn’t just mouthed the words while at the store to shop.

The urge grew insistent this week. Indeed, yesterday I became a bit aggravated with the way my life became dictated by others’ demands, because I’d really thought I was going to get over to check in with Barry that day.

Finally, today, in spite of the pouring rain and dismal, 37 degree chill in the air, I made a point of getting myself to Frenchtown. With a few small gifts (I figured some delectable chocolate from Pierre’s in New Hope could bring a smile) and a card, I entered the store. I saw Barry in the back of the store, and went directly to him. I re-introduced myself, assuming he wouldn’t necessarily remember me from a few weeks earlier. But I also immediately launched into asking after Cleo’s condition.

Unexpected Diagnosis

His face said it all. I gasped, and whispered, “She didn’t pass away, did she?” No, she hadn’t, admitted Barry. But just last night he’d received word of a devastating – and completely unexpected – diagnosis.

All I could do was hug him. And hug him some more.

The whole time I’ve known Cleo and Barry, they’ve been a unit. Best friends. The love and chemistry has always been palpable.

Barry and Cleo will know more of what to expect in the days to come. I promised I would check in on them next week. In the meantime, Barry is faced with some profound and life-altering decisions regarding many things, not least being the fate of Cleo’s beloved Alchemy.

Facing the Future – How You Can Help

My point in writing this post today is this: If you have the need for an amazing outfit, ranging from something for the most elegant soiree to an evening at home (think New Year’s Eve!), please stop by Alchemy. He needs to move their inventory. I believe there is a 30% storewide discount, as well.

This is a win-win situation: you will find something cool that no one else will be wearing (and everyone will enviously notice and comment upon) and you will be helping out a wonderful pair of lovely human beings who are facing huge and terrifying transformation in every area of their lives.

There are many items there that would also make great gifts.

If you have the means, I urge you: Show a little love to this sweet, creative couple. Let them know we are a village – and connected in perhaps the most miraculous ways.

Alchemy Clothing – 17 Bridge Street – Frenchtown, NJ – 08825

(T-1072)

Tampering – Day Thirty Five

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Tampering 

Yesterday I described my particular ethical standards when it comes to doing energy work on clients (or anyone for that matter), including activity as seemingly simple as directing my energy or intention ‘toward’ someone with a specific intention, such as ‘prayer.’ Simply put, without the express permission of the intended recipient, I believe engaging in such behavior is ‘tampering.’

Quite honestly? I look around nowadays and I listen to what is said and done in the name of Gods, Sons of Gods, other people’s Higher Powers, and all sorts of belief systems (and non-belief systems), and I am appalled at how so many people inflict their beliefs and their judgments about what is ‘good’ or ‘bad’ or ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t’ happen in certain situations on other people all the time.

I distinctly remember the first time I encountered and saw first hand the actual harm this could do to a person without them even realizing it. This was many years ago and a friend of mine had suffered an extensive and life-threatening brain injury. His loved ones sent out a blanket request  for prayers, Reiki, distance-healing modalities of any and all kinds to be ‘sent’ to my friend as he lay prone in his hospital bed.

As it happened, I’d been receiving specific healing training and had been working on establishing a working relationship with Spirit and my allies for a couple of years, but was essentially using my knowledge for my own personal growth and understanding. (Never did I ever, at that point, envision myself doing what I do now.)

But even in my earliest days of metaphysical education some 15 years earlier (about 35 years ago now), I had been schooled in the tenet that directing energy toward or on behalf of someone without their express permission is a form of tampering, and therefore an abuse of power.

I was surprised when my friend requested that I come to the hospital Intensive Care Unit to see him; and I was even more surprised when the staff seemed to just assume that I was supposed to be there. No one questioned me. They looked me in the eye, they smiled, and they allowed me to simply ‘be’ in his room with him. Because of the nature and severity of his injury, he was barely conscious; slipping in and out of awareness, which made the fact that he’d literally said my name to his partner and asked for me to come to his bedside even harder to comprehend.

Opening Sacred Space

But I did. And I had no idea what I ‘should’ do or how I could be of assistance. So I stood at his bedside, and when he opened his eyes, said I was there and asked if I could open Sacred Space around him. I saw a glimmer in his eyes and the slightest nod, so I did so. Quietly. Discreetly. And I sat with him and just held space. I did not ‘pray’ or even hope for any particular outcome (and the prognosis at that time was very dismal – even if he survived, his quality of life might be horribly compromised).

After about 90 minutes (an eternity in an ICU – and another small blessing), I left – advising my friend that I was going to leave Sacred Space ‘open’ around him, so he would feel safe, loved, and protected.

Later that evening and for a few days after that, I noticed and heard about the continued cascade of prayers and assorted healing energies bombarding my friend. Almost all that he survive, that he pull through, etc. I wanted to scream.

The day after I opened Sacred Space around him, I was told that the doctors were astonished by his improvement, and he was moved to a Critical Care unit. About five days later, he asked for me again, so I went.

Installing Protection

He was in worse shape, to my eyes, when I saw him that day. (Again, though, I was almost welcomed by the staff – and definitely afforded privacy and respect. It was weird.) He seemed to be writhing in pain, and I was a bit freaked out that no one seemed to be noticing or doing anything for him.

I’d been taught a form of protection I could ‘install’ into a person’s energy field that would protect them from the unconsciousness of others (even if well-meaning). And as I sat by his bedside, I brought this up. As I did so, I delicately asked if he knew that he was very loved and basically a bazillion people were ‘sending’ him all sorts of prayers and energy and stuff at the request of his partner. He nodded. I asked if maybe he was feeling bombarded by it all; and that maybe even some of it was interfering with his own soul’s intentions or desires – or making it hard for him to know how and whether to heal. He nodded.

I asked if he would like me to install this protection. He nodded.

So I did. And before my eyes, it was like night and day. He settled down, the appearance of bombardment seemed to lessen dramatically, and within minutes, he fell asleep.

I – was – astounded.

He continued to flourish and healed better and faster than his emergency surgeons could have hoped.

Understand this: I do not claim to have had any impact in this situation other than, at most, providing a calming influence. But he and I both realized the immediate response that he felt when I installed (with his permission) a barrier between him and all of the varied intentions of a myriad of people, many of whom undoubtedly were invoking requests for very specific outcomes.

My point? It very well could have been his time to make his transition. It may have been his soul’s intention to experience life with substantial residual disabilities. And it may have been his soul’s intention to experience a remarkable – almost magical – recovery. Whatever…it was his choice.

This went way too long. But I hope it gives you some idea of why we need to just. send. love.

Anything else would be tampering.

(T-1076)

Familiars – Day Thirty Three

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Familiars

I need to admit something. I just fell asleep. Well, actually, I just woke up after accidentally falling asleep, and realize I have precious little time left to write my post this evening.

My pup, Spartacus, hopped into my lap about an hour ago, tucked himself into the nooks and crannies of my crossed legs, and fell asleep. When he fell asleep, the weight of his muscular Boston Terrier body settled in and he snuggled deeper and deeper. He sighed, and I could tell he was descending into his version of the dreamtime.

The funny thing is, I’ve been looking forward to writing this post all day. Not ‘this’ post specifically, obviously, since this clearly does not have a distinct point or purpose. But I found myself looking forward to reaching out and connecting in this fascinatingly compelling relationship I feel we’re engaging in.

I know some of you are reading my words, somewhere, be it in minutes, hours, or years from now, and I just love that sense. I can’t explain it. That sense of even one other person besides myself reading what I happen to share on this tiny piece of machinery in my lap (which has succeeded in ousting my deliciously warm, loving pup) is…magical.

Familiar? Or Connection?

I started out thinking I would write about my ‘familiars’ ~ my four legged family members who station themselves in such a way as to make me dance around them almost relentlessly, yet are such profound fonts of unconditional love and enthusiastic adoration. But now I’m thinking about you, my readers.

Hmm, what is the connection here? Maybe that’s precisely what it is: connection. With my pups and my kitties, the connection is, naturally, physical. There are words involved, but it’s debatable just how much they actually understand. Sure, they comprehend my tone and probably even facial expressions to an extent, and they certainly can ‘read’ the energy emanating from my entire body, mind, and spirit.

And then there is my connection with those of you who care enough to read my words. But our only connection, really, are those words. There is no shared eye contact, no touch, no warm hugs.

And yet, we’re connected. And it matters, to me at least, that you are there. Receiving my outreach, even if it’s only via words.

Thank you.

(T-1078)

Day Thirteen (T-1098)

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Sheila – the loved and literal Mommy Dog – Photo: L. Weikel

 

Mommydog 

I saw this video (click on the title, above) about a week ago, when my friend, Beth, posted it on FB. The video (which I love, and can’t get out of my head) is performed by her son, Asher Roth.

I’ve known Beth for about eight years now. Maybe nine.

In December, 2010, my son Karl and I drove cross-country from California back to Pennsylvania. Some of the encounters we had along the way may provide fodder for future posts, but not tonight.

My point in bringing that trek up is to give context to the fact that I gave Karl an astrological-and-tarot reading with Beth that month. He was just completing his ‘Saturn return’ (an occurrence we all experience every 28-30 years, which I’ll definitely write about soon) and he allowed me to sit in on the reading with him, which was fascinating.

Transits and Challenges

This was the first time he’d been home in at least a year, I believe, and it had been a tough one. I’m so glad he and Beth let me sit in, because I took notes during the reading – which I’d forgotten and only just rediscovered recently. This discovery proved particularly fortuitous, since Beth had long since deleted her recording of the reading when he lost his life eleven months later.

The tale told by the position of the stars at his birth and the transits that were bringing challenges and adventures for him to experience that next year (2011) were eerily remarkable, particularly in hindsight.

But I digress.

During that ‘reading,’ and many, many times since then, Beth has remarked how much Karl reminded her of her son, Asher. The creativity, the affection, the sense of humor, the depth. The talent.

When I watched and listened to Asher’s song last week, I knew I would post it today, because we held Karl’s Gathering in honor of his life on the Saturday following Thanksgiving Day 2011. So on this Saturday following Thanksgiving Day 2018, with the recent release of this heart-expanding and yet heart-rending video, I knew I wanted to post this in honor of all the sons out there like Asher. And Karl. Sons who venture out into the world to do their thing, make their mark, and create something unique to their hearts – yet ultimately realize the depth of their roots and what really matters.

What Really Matters

I have to admit, the first time I watched this I tried to maintain an emotional distance. I tried to pretend it wouldn’t touch me, even though I knew simply from the title that it would. I tried not to feel how much I wished I could feel the arms of Karl around me once again.

But the second time? Not a chance. I couldn’t not feel tears welling up in my eyes and a sob catching in my throat. There is such a beauty to this video. Such a reflection of love of family, of appreciation for what is truly valuable and meaningful…

There is such a reflection, to me, of what I had with Karl and what I’m lucky enough to have with my two other sons (and their father). And the two amazing young women I now consider daughters.

Family. Love. Roots.

This video is amazing and makes it almost possible for me to imagine Karl creating it for me.

Thank you, Asher.