Sunday, January 21, 2018

Morning Musings

Wednesday my area of the country, the US, was hit and I mean HIT with a snowstorm that was very reminiscent of my New Hampshire years.  I grew up in a wee town in NH where your arse could freeze to the sidewalk if you fell down at just the right time. 

A few days before the storm hit I could tell by the behaiour of the squirrels and birds we were in for something big.  My neighbors feed the squirrels and birds and they were coming in droves to feed and feed in big ways.  It wasn't the usual 3 or 4 at a time, there were often over a dozen around the feeders.  As I took my walks, I also noticed that they were shoring up their nests with leaves.

The forecasters called for 1-3 inches maximum.  The squirrels and birds were telling me we were going to get walloped.  We got walloped.  So far this year, squirrels 2, met office 0. 

The squirrels didn't come out that snowy day either.  They didn't come out for two entire days after it hit.  I noticed that too.  Their slow return was quite evident late on Friday afternoon. 

So today, as much of the lovely white stuff is melting and Southern Life is returning to something like normal, I'm watching those squirrels from the wee early hours of the morning.  As I get up before dawn most days, it's a lovely way to start the day.  Tea in hand, watch the sun rise over the treetops of the hill, and watch critters. 

As I watch them, I realize again, how they don't fight their intuition, their inner knowing, their inner "ding" as we humans far too often do.  Right now these little grey fluff tails are doing the following jobs: feeding (of course), carrying leaves from the ground as much as 50 feet into the limbs of the trees where their nests are located, and having a jolly good romp of play time with each other - a squirrel game of tag if you will! 

One particular nest I can see quite clearly from my chair and the male and female squirrels that own it are going up and down, up and down, dozens of times and each time up they are carrying leaves from a pile that was protected from the snow.  On the way up they are all business, yet on the way down they scamper with each other. 

They aren't worried about their calendar and getting their "to do list" done.  They aren't worrying about whether there will be enough leaves to do the job or the right colour leaves for that matter.  Up she goes, mouth full of leaves, stops on the first big branch, scratches, looks around, hope up and go again all the way to the top, another 30 feet in just seconds. 

You can learn a lot from squirrels if you watch and listen to them long enough.  If you think of them as souls/beings and not just little grey animals as society often teaches us to think. 

They know not to worry about things that make no sense really.  The 10,000 things Dr. Dyer used to tell us about in his books and lectures.  Lao Tsu's 10,000 things he described in the Tao.  The squirrels don't give a rat's arse about those 10,000 things. 

They don't worry about their butts being to big, small, round, flat etc.  They don't worry if "mom" will like our new wall paper/paint/sofa/chairs etc.  They don't worry if their hair is just right today.  They don't worry about how they look.  Down at the bottom of the hill there is a little half blind squirrel that always comes up to me to say hello.  He/She doesn't care about anything other than I'm kind and say hello to him/her that day. 

To us humans, they look like chaos we so, so try to avoid as they romp around chasing each other and going about their business.  In reality they are showing us how creator works at times.  Play, Work together, build together, work hard, play some more.  Oh you can learn a lot from squirrels any day and every day. 

Sunday, January 14, 2018

It's all in the vibes, even one's food

At a little over 53 years I've had all sorts of changes.  All the changes one can have in raising children, marriage and divorce, life with a partner and watching him cross over too.  I've through a good income as well as scraping it so hard you could hear the grind of pulling the pennies out of my pocket just to get cat food or dog food.  I've learned to live with and through those.

There's one hard change for me that even after all these years it caught me again tonight.  It's so ruddy simple a thing too.  Making myself dinner is still so hard at times.  After a couple of hours fiddling in my mind on what to make, I settled for rehashing some home made chicken soup. There wasn't any real fun in it though.

Over 40 years ago I started learning to cook, bake and make meals.  It was fun.  My dad and mum were the first to brave the trials of my cooking experiments.  Over the years it was usually for family of one sort or another and then my family.  I so loved making dinner for my girls and our talking over the table about our day.  I loved making them all the treats mums make their kids in school.  After they went off to university there were the "mom' trips where I would go and cook for them or their visits home.  In between there was cooking for my late partner and I which had slid downward as he became more and more obsessed with work.  So much so he missed dinner only to find it warm in the oven hours later.

Now, many years later there's no one to cook for but me.  Food is healing, it's Love on a plate or in a bowl.  Food is not only what makes up those new cells we grow every minute of every day, but it's also the vibration we take on as we go in life. 

That's why I KNOW it's so important for me to find the enjoyment, the fun in food for me again.  Although I share my baking with friends when I can, it's not as often as I would like.  It seems everyone is watching something or other on their doctors' don't list. 

So tonight I put into words that I need to find the fun, love and joy in my food again.  I've taken out my cook book by Denise and Meadow Linn one of the few books I've ever picked up that I could feel the radiant love from as I opened it the first time.  Playing and enjoying meals for me, I've got a lot of them to do in the years ahead and I want them to be healthy, loving and joyful years.  Food is just one way to interject that more into my life.

You see it's all in the vibes, even when it comes to food.

Thursday, January 11, 2018

It's all in a Dream

Near the end of this year will make 40 years since my first memorable dream visitation.  Soundly my 14 year old ginger head lay sleeping just around two weeks after my father's passing.  Then the miracle happened. 

My father walked into my small apartment bedroom.  The walls were mostly transparent but for the the glow of the corners and shading of the rest.  Dad stood there, just as he had in life, only more real, more alive and oh how wonderful it felt to see Daddy again!  I lay there in my dream looking at Dad and hearing his voice so astonished!  The next thing I'll never forget.  He said "Well, at least I know you can hear me now" as he smiled broadly. 

For how long we talked I don't know.  We walked around the apartment a little and I was so surprised no one was up but us.  It was so vivid and so real that he was there.  What exactly we talked about I truly cannot remember now.  I do know that if I need to remember it will come back to me some how. 

This memory I cherish more so now than I did all those years ago in some ways.  Still I remember how I tried so very hard at breakfast sitting around the old formica and chrome table to tell my mother and oldest brother Dad had visited.  I was feeling so charged and happy with his visit!  It's so typical that when we do have dream visitations they leave us feeling so light and happy as I learned many years later. 

My family tried to reason it all away as so many do.  In the days that followed I turned quiet about my dream so as not to rock the boat in the house as I was all too familiar with at the time.  However, I still remained very happy every time I thought about that visit, which was often. 

You see, in that wonderful visitation my father gave me all those years ago, he gave me something more than just a brief visit.  He gave me a wonderful gift.  He now knew and was happy about my abilities.  He acknowledged in "Well at least I know you can hear me now" that one little sentence, with that nonchalant grin was my first confirmation of my mediumship abilities from my father.  It's also something we all wish from our parents and don't often receive - loving approval. 

So from beyond the veil, with a wonderful smile, Dad showed me the benefits of being able to hear him now. 

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

A Little Morning Connection Magic

This morning I woke up at what my oldest brother would have termed “O’dark thirty.” My first chores of the morning are always tea for myself and breakfast for my feline crew. They have to wait for mum to have a good cuppa before breakfast however they may watch and not so silently complain sometimes. It’s the only way to ensure I’m awake enough to get it right and not trip over a tail twitching on the floor.

As I sit here with my tea, watching out the windows, I give thanks to the Creator for everything in my life. Every morning warm tea, warming my hands, bringing me around to a more functional me and being so thankful for just being here another day. This morning as I sat here I felt something more though, I noticed a little difference, a little shift if you will.

It’s not only me in here that is so very grateful for the warmer air. Early on as I sat here with my tea, I opened the window in my living room area, immediately I noticed my fur cats pick up as the twilight was upon us, the sounds of birds filled our space. Their energy brightened as mine was doing this morning and they helped me make the deep down connection within. As I watched the darkness give way over the hill in front of me, so too did the birds begin singing to greet their new day.

Slowly the silhouette of hills gave way to the light rising over them. The clouds, thin and dark contrasting the light coming underneath of them in that wee early hour. Then not just an epiphany but an all over deep understanding of why. Why I feel so closed off when the cold strikes and I have to close the blinds and curtains, battening down our hatches if you will against that cold winter air. “Yes,” I thought to myself, “I feel more disconnected from nature and her beings.” Inside me, my soul was delighting with the caw of the crows, the tweets and full throated songs coming from all the littler birds. I took joy in hearing the distant roosters crowing their morning salutation.

We may think we live on a blue ball in space, but the reality is we live with that blue ball in space. Everything and everyone has a connection with it and to it. Therefore, we have a connection with one another too.

Now as true light appears giving the thin strip clouds their golden edges to the beautiful blue-grey from their suspended place, I see the first of the squirrels descending from their nests. Skittering over branches that would make all but the bravest of tightrope walkers hesitant and jealous. I could feel their eagerness to get down and begin their morning for food and socializing. Their enthusiasm with the warmer temperatures radiating from them.

No wonder I feel so cut off when the extraordinary cold hit. But now I know I can hold onto this moment to teach me that all I have to do is reach out past the shuttered windows with my senses. Something I’d done earlier in my life instinctively but now I can hold onto it with more conscientious intention. This for me has been beautiful connection and true magic in the morning.  

Monday, May 29, 2017

Memorial Day Memories of Dad

For my family Memorial Day wasn't a day to go shopping, have picnics or cookouts, it was a day where we went to the village parade and perhaps a visit to the cemetery. Ours was a bit different than many but my father was also a World War II veteran of the Pacific Campaign. This young New Hampshire boy was sent to the Pacific after his conscription and basic training to fight the enemies of the day as a sharp shooter. He received for his actions 2 purple hearts, a sharp shooters medal and other badges or medals.

Rain or shine, warm or cold we would head to the Village's main street to watch the parade. TV wasn't good enough for my father. He had to be there in person. As I matured I understood why a little more each year.

He was relaxed when the high school band passed by, as well as the floats, the clowns and all the rest, but one. Whether it was the Veterans or active duty personnel in their cars or marching passed, Dad stood straight and still. When the procession came to a stop, in town square, he stood taller still. All 5 feet 8 inches stood at attention even in his early 60's when that was not as easy as it had been in the past due to his arthritis. Before any command had been given to those poising their rifles to fire the blanks in salute, Dad was standing saluting at perfect attention. Only once did I see a tear roll down his cheeks as “Taps” was played.

Dad saluted his buddies long gone to the grievous situation that is war. Dad never celebrated war, never watched war films, and never put on his medals. He didn't salute the flag, he saluted his friends memory. He felt too strongly the ache and pain that goes with war. Watching his friends taken by enemy fire or the results of stepping on mines even 30 plus years later was all too fresh in that ginger haired man's mind.

On Memorial Days, Dad took special care when putting our flag out for display. He was always a little slower, whether it was at the house with the tall flag pole or at the house with the front porch flag. Dad never wore jeans. Only in the hottest weather would he wear just trousers and a T-shirt. My father always wore trousers, a button down shirt and was always clean and well groomed in public. On Memorial Day he made doubly sure that his good trousers and shirt were pressed and his shoes polished. His hair kept the crew cut of those early army years. He made sure for them, his fallen friends, he was presentable enough to honour their memory. It was a kind of ritual for him every year that extra bit of attention he paid to his already well groomed person. I remember him tying his shoes very thoughtfully as he finished getting ready.

Off we would go to the parade. Sometimes he would bring a chair for me to sit on, but as I grew older I chose not to sit. We would always be early for the event and Dad chose the corner of the high street always. He wore no flag pin, no tie, nothing that outwardly showed the memories that must have been pacing to and fro in his mind.

Was it the young man from New York City that had stepped on a mine and left this world just feet from where Dad was about to step? Was it the fellow with the odd accent he liked so much that was taken out by a sniper that beyond hot day in the islands? Was it his friends who died in hospital from their wounds? Or was it the ones he watched fade from life in his company's hands as they dodged hell and bullets on those tiny islands? It was all of them, every single one my Dad was recalling although you could never tell it from the outside.

His slender build made him appear even taller as he stood to perfect attention. His salute crisp and rigid as the 21 gun salute took aim, then fired. Held strong and steady his salute remained, his stance stronger as “Taps” was played it's slow melody of “sleep in peace soldier boy.” As the company was dismissed from their part of the services in the parade, Dad too would go back to being Dad. Still tall for his 5 foot 8 inches. His demeanor a little different always with a hint of “I remember you” as we walked on home. His countenance quiet as he rarely spoke of “The War.”

Dad didn't have to speak about it on those Memorial Days, it was written in every inch of his being. He Remembered.

Friday, October 14, 2016

Spirit's Visit Through a Little Deer

This morning as I was getting ready for work, I had this amazing beautiful miracle happen. My neighbor Brenda knocked on my door and she said "Hi I have something I to show you!" I called out I'd be there in a second...I walked out and she said to me "I know how much you'll appreciate this..." as we walked around the front of Safari, there in plain sight was a young male deer, two small points on his antlers, and one LOVELY bright pink ribbon around his neck. He had just come straight up to Brenda as she was reading and enjoying her morning coffee.
I called to him from a crouching position so that he could smell me and from that position I let him know I was not going to harm him... With my mind I kept repeating "it's OK little guy..." He came straight over to me and sniffed me, then to my surprise he sniffed my face and gave me big kisses. I stroked him and realized someone had rescued him from a babe the way he had the pink ribbon on and also his behaviour. Rutting season starts soon here too I realized.
As I stroked him and Brenda and I talked, both almost in tears from this beautiful miracle before us, I sent him messages of staying where it's safe and telling his kind to also come here in this area. There's no hunting here on these many acres you see.
After a few minutes I went in and gave him a few bits of apple to show him it was safe here. He nibbled the apple and once again kissed my nose and face. Off he walked so beautifully....Brenda and I did take pictures of our miracle encounter she was so gracious to share....
Some may say I've done harm, but I heard the words today "When you have no thoughts of harm towards yourself or others..."
Today I asked the Angels to keep a watch for these beauties and guide them to here, a safe haven in this area.... A ring of Angels all around...
All day I've felt so touched by Grace with this....

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Healing in the Grieving - My Ginger Boys

Yes I'm a Psychic Medium. Yes I can communicate/hear/get messages from those in Spirit because of me having the Amazing abilities of a 5'6” antenna. Grief however, hits me like it does you – hard, fast and hurting.
Last weekend, three weeks after Baby Buddy's and Weasley's passings, I was able to pick up and pack up Buddy's new dish, coat, scarves and toys and put them in a box. I still have yet to be able to put up his collar, harness and leashes. Those things are still outside on the chair just as they were the day after his passing from my washing them. Every evening I know they are out there as I pass on my way back from work, but I don't see them. I try hard not to see them...but I know soon comes the time when I can finally put those in the box too along with his blankies and other things.
Weasley didn't wear a collar. There was never any need as he'd come to me and the rattle of the treat bag faster than you can say Meow any day. He was mummy's boy, always on my pillow at night just above my head until he became so unwell he just needed to rest. My Ginger Tabby Guardian is now resting on the other side with his winter blanket mate. They shared blankets and couch space in winter,s ometimes facing each other but most of the time backs against each other in quiet understanding, paws but no claws.
I've sat on the couch a few rare times since they passed. Buddy's spot was on the couch here in Safari. He'd be up there watching me unless he wanted to play or have tinkle times. He'd then stand up and just give me that look and then tap his paws happily and expectantly.
Tonight however, I was able to sit and truly relax on that couch. I remembered the time in New Hampshire when we ALL crawled onto and into the blankets I put on the couch because the power was out that Thanksgiving weekend. It turns into a bed with a couple of pulls and we all pulled into those blankets that weekend!  Twenty six degrees is a little nippy for any Southern Pup or Fur Cat. We all made space for each other and snugged down at night with extra blankets over ALL of us, cats, dog and me. We kept each other warm. During the day I did my best to do the normal things but we hunkered under blankets, Buddy and cats on the sofa. Me in the chair with two layers of socks and blankets with a cat or two snuggled up close.
Coming back south he laid on that couch being so good for my daughter, her other half and me. He was the best of boys always but on that trip he was Amazing. He did the two thousand plus miles with me up and back down with no frustrations only Love. He'd sniff new places and when my son-in-law took him for potty walks they went off and I knew Buddy was happy by his body language. Up he'd jump on the couch right after his drink of water at the end of his walkie.
So sitting on that empty sofa tonight and relaxing for the first real time while sitting there let's me know I'm healing. I looked around from that perch at my new make shift coffee table and watched Heidiweeness examine my handy work and approve by having a good clean on it first thing. Under two minutes made, that's pretty good for any home to get approval, I thought. My mind went back to all the times he rolled around there where I was sitting, all the times we were cold and I put an extra blanket on him and how he'd go to sleep warmer and relax on there too. I thought of how he'd jump up with a treat every time. He had me SO well trained. 
I'm looking at that sofa now and for three weeks plus it's been fairly tidy, no blankets or coverings all over the place in a pile/nest he'd made. I'd never fuss, but would kid him that he'd just mussed up 20 minutes of making it nice for him. He'd look and me and snitz then finish his handy work of making it a just right little nest.
Yes, I've seen him a few times around and about this home of ours. He's been on a few walks with me. Buddy showed up shortly after he passed laying in the bedroom complete with the tail he'd had amputated 5 years ago this month from an infection. He's shown up at work and had others bring in their dogs to my other job too just after he'd passed. One was even a little black dog, similar to him in size as well as a rescue named Buddy.
Weasley sent me a card of sorts. He's not let me go without his signs either. He's having Weeness do a few things at times. Animals will often have their furry brothers or sisters give them a helping hand with signs and oh he's been up to a few things there. He's also made pictures keep downloading even though the settings aren't supposed to allow that to happen and it's “funny” that they are only photos of him that do it. He's a busy boy too for mum.
Yes I'm healing but I'll admit there have been a few tears whilst writing this about my best golden boys in the Universe.
Weasley's momma was a show cat as was my Buddy boy...The joke is they “showed up.” Buddy was all that I'd asked for in a little dog when I knew Dixxie Marie was going to be crossing. Weasley was every bit my Ginger Guardian of a Tom Tom. Both boys watched out for mum as do their brothers and sisters still on this side.
After five and twelve years respectively how can I not grieve my two ginger boys? Yes I grieve, it's a process we ALL have to endure for those we love in human form as well as furry four legged, or feathered, or scaled. I know since working with those on the other side it takes a little less time. I know, not believe, not feel, but KNOW there is more to life. Even though I know I still want to smell their smells, rub their fur and even have to go out for one more late night tinkle in the cold rain...because of Love.