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.