What You are Made Of

As I grow older, textures, scents, scenery, good foods, and dynamic sounds are important, even more important to me. This approach is a long time in coming. For so long I thought, whatever, just make everything work, make do, and enjoy what is there. Now I understand that whatever you ask or expect you get....so...I am asking for the high quality I know I am, we all are. I heard a wonderful statement the other day and apologize in not being able to recall who said it, but this person said to imagine within each of us a flowing lava stream of gold. We are loved and made of abundance. It is not wrong to want to reveal it inside and out. And then give it away to more and more and watch it all come back.

To your abundance and self care.

A Good Day to Continue

Thankful. I have learned so much since my mother's death last year. I left Texas a day after her funeral on April 20, and returned to NYC to a full-blown work schedule after experiencing the opposite before leaving for five weeks to attend to my mother. Things change like that. Embracing the changes and making right choices is vital for peace of mind, harmony, and happiness. So I worked hard and strong right through the spring, summer, fall, winter, and now it is spring, again, and I have just completed my evening ESL classes and my tutoring position at a college in the Bronx. There was a time I would be worried, but no more. Now I see, as Jack Canfield suggests, "I believe the world is plotting to do me good today. I can't wait to see what it is."

I've already been asked to substitute for two ESL teachers during the summer so that satisfies much of the hours just ended. And I am excited about a memoir video project I conceived, much like StoryCorps, only I would go to the storytellers rather than them going to a certain site. I will make a Kickstarter video and put my fishing rod and line out to see who bites. And I will look for a sponsor for this project, too, so that those who most should be participating and engaging with me, will.

Most of all, I have written up my goals, specific and time sensitive. If you haven't read Jack Canfield's The Success Principles, I recommend it:http://www.thesuccessprinciples.com/

It is changing my life.

That's the beauty of it. If you keep going, keep awake and stay in your boat going downstream, you will find answers and messages coming at you all the time. Staying alert and aware is the difference between evolving and regressing. You want the former.

But, most, most, most of all, I am listening to my daughter, Leila, who tells me if I put my personality and person out there for the world, everything will happen for me that I desire. Yes, I've hidden my light under the basket long enough. As a teacher, I find my students indeed connect and love me. So why should I hold back on my dreams and goals if I have the essence of connectivity in me as a human being and spirit all rolled into one?

So for this next leg of the journey, I am pulling out all the plugs:

* First and forever, I am a writer. I am writing the memoir on my mother and me and creating big and strong deadlines, and by meeting once a week with another writer committing to fulfilling my goal. And then I will start on the next book. I will also submit articles to magazines and journals. Anywhere I should, I will.

* I am reading my goals every morning and night. (The subconscious mind LOVES goals and the more you remind it, the more active it becomes to make it happen.)

* I am believing that the world is plotting good for me. Only good.

* I am listening, meditating, and exercising (yoga and walking).

* I am letting go of bad eating and drinking habits.

* I am reading a book. When finished, I am picking up another.

* I am earning more money than I ever have and then earning some more.

* I am repaying kindnesses and creating even more.

For everything you do or are involved in or up against, use this quote by Canfield, "What's the opportunity that this is?"

See the glass not half full or half empty, but filled to the top, and even spilling over.

Memorial Majesty

Angels in my Hair by Lorna Byrne

I love this video so much because if you watch it clear through you see the ego in this gentleman just bursting out of him. Fear. Fear of the ego keeps him from hearing her. If he or the female host had read her book they would know the magnificence and know that Lorna is simply allowing the message of God and the angels to come through her. I find this video fascinating and heartwrenching. The fear that keeps us or tries to keep us from  knowing how much support and love we have with us all the time is intense. I urge you to read Lorna Byrne's two books, Angels in My Hair and Stairways to Heaven.

When the interviewer was grilling her over taking money for seeing people...in Angels in My Hair, she talks of how utterly poor they were once her husband became ill. So for someone to give her a cake or piece of meat must have been such a ransom of blessing at the time.

I love Lorna Byrne. I thank her for allowing this beautiful knowing to come through. I am stronger for it. I am changed. I know how much protection, love, and help we have 24/7. I shall never forget again.

One more time

Every day we decide what we want from life. We can live it with big gaping holes or we can live it whole and free. I choose the latter and spend my days aimed at this. I listen to everything, taking what I need, discarding what is not meant for me. Each day I awake I give thanks and request more. And when I do right by my body, mind, and soul, I get it. I am a living testament of how not to give up. Keep on! Keep on! Keep on!

Te amo

Until it's over and done....

I must have been 20. I was at a student journalism conference in Beaumont, Texas. We were at an awards dinner on the last night of the event and a slew of random photographs taken at the conference were being shown on a big screen.

I looked up and there was my face. The music cued to the photos was Kenny Loggins' "This is It." I sat there -  and did then as this song does for me now -  and woke to the idea that I am a writer - maybe not a journalist - but a writer, and the notion is not going to go away nor do I want it to depart.

It has been a struggle to internally embrace this as much as I say it out loud. But, being a writer, a communicator, is enmeshed in who I am and everything I represent. "The waiting is over" happened for me when my mother passed and the culmination of our lives together became apparent to me that my ability and faith as a writer is strong, capable, and intended.

Kenny Loggins and Michael McDonald co-wrote this song, first as a love song, but at the same time when Loggins' father developed a severe heart problem and was giving up, Loggins knew the direction the song had to go.

I love how meaning is there for us to find like a brightly colored egg, hidden.We simply need to look and to enjoy the search, as freely as a child.

Two for One: The Spirituality of Discomfort

Yesterday, while leaving my ESL gig, I was trekking home when only a few buildings down the street in Harlem and a man stood inside a doorway with a bar of a scaffold above him. He was doing chin ups and it was dark. I watched him and walked on, but as soon as I crossed his path, he stopped, dropped to the sidewalk and said to me, "Do you have the time?"

I looked at the screen of my phone. It was straight up 6:00 pm, and when I told him, he said, "Thank you," and I moved on.

Later that evening, I thought about him. And I considered how the numbers 6:00 resonated with me, so I went to Doreen Virtue's Angels Book of Numbers and flipped to 600. "Give your worries and stress to God," it read. I sat on the edge of my bed and smiled and said a silent "thank you."

Whether the man doing chin ups had any relevance to it, did not matter. I simply knew it was time to drop my fears and to land feet first on the ground, solid and on purpose.

Take a Walk on the Child Side

Every tomorrow has two handles. We can take hold of it with the
handle of anxiety or the handle of faith.
-- Henry Ward Beecher

Oh how I wanted to post last night, but had to rest. This morning, I happily return to tell you about my walk on Monday. I'd been inside the apartment since Saturday, so it was time to get out and move my legs. Snow mixed with rain was expected last evening and the air was thick with cold.

First, I walked to the bank in my neighborhood. A very tall woman, possibly a man was inside opening the door for anyone needing to enter the 24-hour ATM section. I'd seen her before. She was hoping for any change those banking could give. I am tempted each time to tell her how that might not be the most opportune place to ask for money - as odd as it seems - because any cash withdrawn is at its minimum a $20 bill and as generous as I can be, have not risen to feeling comfortable handing that out, yet.

I have never given her money, and quite honestly, feel bad about it. And even more direct, I am judging her. She has an anger about her that tells me she knows she could manifest what she needs, yet there is a strong resistance. She is articulate and able. I want to tell her how talented I suspect she is, but I grow timid and simply tell her, "thank you" as she opens the bank door for me to leave. I want to tell her I know how she feels, but dependency never wins or provides what you think it will.

Next, I went to retrieve my laundry. Yes, at 55, I have stopped schlepping my laundry to the laundromat and physically washing and drying it. I drop it off and pick it up, happy as a pig in mud. It costs about $8 more than if I stayed and did it myself, but the freedom it provides is worth it. I began doing this when I had only one day off, and time on that free day became very important. It is a luxury, and one I value and choose to fold into my budget. I always tip, too.

Finally, I went to the grocery store and bought pie crust, cat food, and pasta sauce. I had baked three chicken cutlets the day before and planned to dice half and make a robust amount of chicken pot pie with lots of vegetables. Walking home, I swung my little bag of goods and felt the icy breeze. I was back in Michigan, walking on the thick ice of Lake Huron. Images of my youth are resurfacing and I eagerly welcome them. I know a rebirth is occurring inside me, and I am thankful.

This morning I awoke at 3:23 as I've been doing for the last few weeks before falling back asleep. I looked in Doreen Virtue's Angel Book of Numbers and turns out 323 is a message from the angels that my "childlike faith" is recognized by the ascended masters who are by my side to help me fulfill my dreams.

The cold air of yesterday invigorates me just as much as does today's and reminds me of the ever newness of life; to find my center, and to humbly carry on. Most of all, have the faith of a child and relax to the wonders of the awakening.

Light of Day: Brilliant

It is the combination of the pristine coldness matched with a blue sky filled morning that shows me the brilliance of the day. A thick-tailed squirrel sits on the ledge of my building. I can see him or her from the window inside my fire escape. "It's Scratchy!" I say to no one as I watch the squirrel vigorously scratch. Poor thing must have fleas or worse. I've seen that same squirrel ferociously scratching for a couple of years now. Or they all scratch, I think to myself. But it is the light reflected from the squirrel's dark eyes that I see. So much intense light on this winter morning. I see a gleam even in Scratchy's eyes. I only wish I had a photo, but gone is the squirrel, not touching the almonds I'd flung.

Play Day - A Movie by Moi

Memories

It is the early 60s and my older brother and I are out on the ice of Lake Huron. Our mother is inside with her two younger children. We are the only family on the summer lane since my Air Force father loves taking us off military housing.

During this frigid winter, my brother and I are walking along the lake, marveling at the tiny huts of frozen ice. He moves closer to where the tops of the high waves are now solid. I follow him, leaving my ice skates and I catch up to him just as he nears the crest. He is staring down, leaning over, too far, I think. I look down to see the waves rushing up to the ice. I still feel the cold air and the vibrant water's slap against the frozen structure.

My brother slips for a second, and he looks at me as it appears he might fall over the edge. But just as soon, his belt buckle catches, digging into the ice, and he can pull back to safety. We silently move off the wave, towards home.Years later, we tell our mother who grows pale with the story, her hands to her face.

Two years ago, on a plane to Texas for her 80th birthday, I watch a batch of cumulus clouds from the airplane's window. They look like the frozen waves of Lake Huron. I see a thin flicker of one wisp who could be a person sitting atop the clouds. It could be my brother. He is sitting there, but this time, he is waving me on. "Go! Go! Go!" he shouts like someone urging a runner to go faster, faster, and to win the race.

I want to help my brother down, but he is telling me to go on. I want to pull him from the edge of what I know is headed his way. I want to rescue him, but I can only sigh and ice skate away.

Food for Drought

The guys in the hole in the wall in the lobby of where I work in Harlem make a mean egg and cheese on a roll. Peppered and toasted, the breakfast sandwich gives me the fuel to go through my current subbing gig. I ate half before class, and half after, biting into each morsel thinking about the day. Once back in Brooklyn, on a lark I buy Chinese food: General Tao's Chicken with brown rice. And I drink lots of water and even milk. Now, I am ready for bed and my belly hurts a bit. And I don't know if it is from the food or the subbing.

But more water helps. It is all I'm craving, anyway.

Almost Home

I woke up this morning and looked out the window. The supposed big snow storm didn't appear very threatening and I had not set my alarm the night before sure there wouldn't be work tomorrow. But there was. It was 8:48 when I called in and the receptionist answered. My heart fell to my chilly feet. "When the public schools are open, we are open," she said. "I am going to be a little late," I stammered, throwing off my pajamas. I made it to Harlem at 10:20.

I'd had plans to transcribe the writings of the writers of my memoir workshop. I was going to meditate; write on my own memoir, and clean the apartment. Mainly, I was going to hibernate inside my apartment with what I thought would be a foot of snow outside.

I got to the classroom and the adult learners were working on an exercise given to them by another teacher. I was thankful and hurriedly pulled my morning lesson together. And then it happened. The lesson went smoothly, and the learners listened, took it in, and responded. And then during lunch, the teacher across the hall suggested we might show a movie to both groups and call it "A Snow Day." I clapped my hands and exclaimed, "Yes!"

We showed, "Bruce Almighty" after rummaging at Blockbuster on our lunch hour. And as I sat there watching the movie with the more than 30 adult ESL learners, I smiled, remembering the theme of the movie:

"Be the miracle."

So, in retrospect, I hadn't been able to work on any of my plans today, but instead, helped dozens of people. I went to my evening class, and helped more. Walking to the train for home, tired, but smiling, the day had been full and grand. I greeted my kitty cat inside my apartment and welcomed the time left of the day, the warmth surging in my toes. I knew my upcoming days off would be richer as a result of today.

Step Lightly Into That Discomfort Zone

Today I had lunch with my older daughter. We talked. Ate. Did a little shopping. Had a glorious time. I let her be 26 and me 55. It felt good. We discussed a troubling couple of conversations a while back. We  looked at photos of her recent trip with her partner. The grief of the past was gone. The relief of the future had arrived.

A Walk in the Cold

Last night, it was a Northeast-make-you-wanna-wrap-an-extra-scarf-gloves-hat-layer-layer-layer-night in New York. I stepped out of the school where I teach an evening ESL group and began to walk to the train station on 36th Avenue in Astoria, Queens.

I carried the bag of another teacher who had asked if she could walk with me. She was not feeling good, and wanted to meet her husband in Manhattan. "Of course," I told her and off we went, at a slower pace than usual due to her illness. She'd eaten some pineapple the night before and it was hurting her stomach. She is in regression from colon cancer. "I knew I shouldn't have eaten it, but I thought maybe I could try," she said.

We walked and I let her talk. She spoke of how she doesn't tell her grown children when she is in pain because she doesn't want to upset or trouble them. "They want to know," I told her, thinking of my own mother and father and their respective health problems, and how my daughters can smell my troubles.

"You know," I said to her, "we have these babies and then realize that they are beings who love us more than anyone on this earth. Truly gifts." She smiled and continued walking. "Yes," she said, "they are. Mine bought me an ipod this Christmas." We laughed, understanding.

We walked onward to the train and boarded. She asked me about my faith and if I was raised to have a religious belief? I told her I'd been brought up in a Fundamentalist Christian atmosphere, but now I was a "spiritualist." She looked at me, wanting to digest what I'd just said, but she had no more energy. She had to let it ride.

I told her it had taken me five decades to realize how easy life can be by simply asking God for what I need. She looked at me. I think I'd taken some of the fun of conversion from her and I didn't mean to. I, well, simply do believe. On this cold night, I believe.

"Well, thank you for holding my bag," she said, wincing as she stood up. "This is my stop." Riding alone, I thought of how thankful I was to be on my journey. The night air did not feel ruthless, anymore.

Friday - Sunday - All Rolled into One Sushi Post

Time, that slippery eel, has gotten past me again. But, alas, I am still smiling for while I missed three posts, I also was living, and so will roll up my three-day experiences into one big delicious Boston Roll!

Friday.  Awoke to a light snow coming down outside my bedroom window. I remembered how happy the children in my fourth grade class became my first year in Texas in 1965 when they saw snow! Running to the windows, jumping on the counters, they pressed their faces to the panes of glass, shrieking with joy! A transplant from Michigan, I stared at them in wonder. It was just snow! Forty-six years later, I bluster with the same happiness every time it snows in New York!

Saturday. My daughter was in a West African dance performance Saturday evening in Boston, so I traveled by bus to see her. She and the rest of the dancers, along with the teacher, Mama Fatou, just about killed themselves in extreme African dance. We, the audience, watched and applauded, our spirits connecting, realizing we all truly are ONE.

Sunday. Driving home from Boston to New York, we were gliding into the sunset. The clementine orange colors blending with the winter blue sky bled my heart free of any pain. I had to take it in and heal. It was mandatory.

Monday's post coming tonight!

Thursday's Child is Full of Pork

Main Street, Flushing, Queens

Subbing for an ESL teacher and in order to make it to my memoir workshop, I found myself scrambling from classroom to senior residence without lunch. So being that I was in Flushing, Queens, I stopped and bought a roast pork bun and a soft drink at Happy Dumpling. I  drank and ate while scurrying toward the workshop. Oh the cola tasted so wonderful and the bakery bread of the bun satisfied the comfort seeking gal in me. The pork pieces were clear to one side of the bun and gushing out so I walked into the residence club with a mouthful of pork; happy as a pig in mud.

I left the workshop two hours later, still hungry, but not feeling the kind of hunger where devilish deeds are committed, but, rather, instead went home and grilled a chicken cutlet, made mashed potatoes (with a little cheese)and zapped creamed spinach. I drank lots of water, too. No sweets for the day; I noticed I was quite evenly chilled and centered. I am heading to the fridge now for a Clementine. All in all, it was the ending to a - um perfect sort of  food day. Just don't tell my daughters about the pork bun. I can trust you, right? Right.

Two for the Price of One

Hello!

Last night, for whatever reason, my computer would not let me access Sensory Wholeness, so I will post now for yesterday and later for today.

My spiritual moment on Wednesday involved the constant reevaluation of seeking the light in each person. I am subbing for a frustrated group of adults who are being wrangled into learning English and many can't even read. So of course their tensions and angst are spilling into troubling behaviors. Today, I am going back in, equally frustrated now, but determined to find their light and to connect and find a way so that everyone in the room is treated with respect. Pray for us.

Shake it Up (and Smile)

I was advised not to offer what I don't deliver. Such is the case with my attempt to provide a cheeky niche a day on this blog. But! I am known for my persistence and resiliency, so I hereby declare a new start and a new set of topics:

Sunday - the lighting of the day.
Monday - a walk.
Tuesday - stepping out of my comfort zone.
Wednesday - a spiritual moment.
Thursday - the fun of food.
Friday - memories.
Saturday - play day.

So, there you have it. For my Tuesday post  - since it is "stepping out of the comfort zone" I present this blog direction and vow to stay on track.

Believe it or not.