It was Christmas break, 2007. At that time we were in the student transportation business and the time off for the holidays was always a welcomed event.
My husband left that morning, like he did everyday, to make sure all the buses were in good working order. When he left, I noticed the music playing.
Our children had given my husband an under the cabinet combination radio, CD player for Christmas. He had wasted no time installing it in the kitchen. The man likes his music. I, on the other hand, rarely have music playing in the background. I attribute this to the fact that there is usually a loop feed of some song playing in my head and I just listen to it. Right now, it's "Once I was seven years old.....". I thought about getting out of my chair and turning the radio off, but my mind drifted to another place and I left it on.
I don't think I had ever been so sad in my entire life. Mother had been gone nearly four months. It did not seem possible. Her passing had left me with a vacancy in my soul that I didn't think would ever be filled again. I sat in my chair, book in hand and began to read. I was reading a book by psychic medium, John Edward, titled The Other Side. I had been a fan of John Edward for quite awhile, so his stories were not something new to me.
I was just finishing a chapter in the book about a man who had gone to John for a reading. This man wanted to know if his father, who had passed, was at his wedding. The man said someone told the DJ, at the wedding reception, to play a song different from the one that had been prearranged for the Mother/Son dance. He took the DJ around the reception hall, looking for the man who told him to change the song, but the man was nowhere to be found. He finally asked the DJ to describe the man to him and the DJ described this man's father to a tee.
The song that was played was, Wind Beneath My Wings. That song had been this man's parent's song. The information the man was looking for did not come through in the reading. The man and his wife left the reading and went to their car. He said while they sat there, they could feel the presence of his father. When he turned the key to start the car, Wind Beneath My Wings was playing on the radio.
I put the book in my lap and just sat there, thinking about Mom. Suddenly, I felt something. It felt like static electricity in the air. I looked at my arm and could literally see the hairs beginning to stand on end. I uttered out loud, "What the h....." and that's when I heard it. My head snapped up and I stared across the kitchen at the radio. The first words I heard were, "Did you ever know that you're my hero?"......Wind Beneath My Wings was playing.
I recently wrote about finding feathers. Feathers have a significant meaning to my family. They let us know that we are never truly alone and our loved ones who have passed are never truly gone. My oldest daughter had the first feather encounter and she knew they were from one of her dearest friends who had passed a little over one year ago. Her finding led me to find a feather the very next day. I was then inspired to write "Tale Feathers". When the friends' mother read it, she shared the following with me:
"Interesting that you should post this article today. I am in a hotel at a conference this week. I was in the bathroom Monday morning, fixing my hair, when a white feather floated down beside me. I picked it up, pondering the meaning, then laid it on the silver tray on the sink. I left the bathroom and got dressed. When I returned, the feather was gone and I was unable to find it anywhere. The next day, at the conference, I received a surprise award that my family attended without my prior knowledge. I then knew where that feather came from and why."
At the precise moment she told me this, I found another white feather identical to the first one. I have done a tremendous amount of walking in this new place of residence and those were the first feathers I have seen.......and believe me when I say, when you live in an area where there are many dogs and the many of the owners of said dogs do not clean up after them, you always walk with your head down.
There is no sense of time on the other side of the veil. Things that are past, present and future are all rolled into one. This gives way to the Heavenly chain of events that take place, in order to let us know, that love is eternal.
Thursday, March 24, 2016
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
Tale Feathers
A book titled, "Into The Light" by John Lerma M. D. is a favorite of mine and my family. One of the many stories it contains is about a priest who had been entered into hospice.
Throughout his life, the priest had the opportunity to travel extensively. Whenever he found a feather, he would keep it and place it in a large glass jar in his study. He said the feathers were reminders that God's angels were always present.
Upon his death, the hospice nurses reported that a sphere of bright white light danced around the room before shooting upward and out the window. Then, the room was full of white feathers. It was also reported that the feathers from the large jar in his study were strewn all over the room at he precise time of his death.
Since reading that story, finding a feather now has a significant meaning. I started my own collection and even the grandchildren will come with a new found feather to add to the jar.
Our oldest daughter shared a recent experience with me. She and her husband were sitting on their front porch when, out of nowhere, five white feathers drifted down around them. It is pretty safe to say there are few, if any, all white birds in the area and the feathers held a special message for her. She said they made her smile.
After a North Carolina downpour, I took the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, Runtly, out for a walk. The street was covered in damp piles of pine needles that resembled motionless waves where they had washed down from the hill side. The air was clean and crisp and full of the promise of Spring. Imagine my delight when I glanced down and there, along side of the curb, laid a beautiful white feather. It was in pristine condition and not the slightest bit wet. Since I had left my original feather collection behind, I decided to start a new one and this was a perfect specimen to begin with.
When I arrived back at the apartment, I placed the feather on the table and took a picture of it. I then sent the picture to my oldest daughter and we were both overjoyed to have such close, 'back to back' feather experiences.
A few minutes later, I went to retrieve the feather and it was gone. I looked on the floor and it was nowhere to be found. Was this some sort of miraculous sign? As I spun around to further my feather search, I noticed the above mentioned ever so entertaining Runtly. He was ever so slyly stretched out on the back of the couch, with one hind leg dangling off the edge. He looked at me as if to say, "You lookin' for this?" That's when I saw the feather, hanging out of his mouth.
It certainly was no longer in pristine condition, but I have it taped to the glass on the patio door. Even in its mauled state, it can still be a reminder of "For He shall give his angels charge over thee..."
Throughout his life, the priest had the opportunity to travel extensively. Whenever he found a feather, he would keep it and place it in a large glass jar in his study. He said the feathers were reminders that God's angels were always present.
Upon his death, the hospice nurses reported that a sphere of bright white light danced around the room before shooting upward and out the window. Then, the room was full of white feathers. It was also reported that the feathers from the large jar in his study were strewn all over the room at he precise time of his death.
Since reading that story, finding a feather now has a significant meaning. I started my own collection and even the grandchildren will come with a new found feather to add to the jar.
Our oldest daughter shared a recent experience with me. She and her husband were sitting on their front porch when, out of nowhere, five white feathers drifted down around them. It is pretty safe to say there are few, if any, all white birds in the area and the feathers held a special message for her. She said they made her smile.
After a North Carolina downpour, I took the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, Runtly, out for a walk. The street was covered in damp piles of pine needles that resembled motionless waves where they had washed down from the hill side. The air was clean and crisp and full of the promise of Spring. Imagine my delight when I glanced down and there, along side of the curb, laid a beautiful white feather. It was in pristine condition and not the slightest bit wet. Since I had left my original feather collection behind, I decided to start a new one and this was a perfect specimen to begin with.
When I arrived back at the apartment, I placed the feather on the table and took a picture of it. I then sent the picture to my oldest daughter and we were both overjoyed to have such close, 'back to back' feather experiences.
A few minutes later, I went to retrieve the feather and it was gone. I looked on the floor and it was nowhere to be found. Was this some sort of miraculous sign? As I spun around to further my feather search, I noticed the above mentioned ever so entertaining Runtly. He was ever so slyly stretched out on the back of the couch, with one hind leg dangling off the edge. He looked at me as if to say, "You lookin' for this?" That's when I saw the feather, hanging out of his mouth.
It certainly was no longer in pristine condition, but I have it taped to the glass on the patio door. Even in its mauled state, it can still be a reminder of "For He shall give his angels charge over thee..."
Monday, March 7, 2016
Holy Guacamole
The Voice, that lives inside my head, walked into the small galley style kitchen. I was just going to glance at it, but when I did, the glance turned into a full blown, jaw dropping stare.
The Voice was dressed in a chef's hat, full length apron and had oven mitts on each hand. Not only that, it was wearing safety goggles and hip waders. "Seriously?", I said. "Good grief, it's deviled eggs. What could possibly go wrong?"
The Voice made an effort to raise its eyebrows under the goggles, then sauntered over to the corner and sat on the counter. I ignored it and went on with a new, super easy, deviled egg recipe. Four ingredients....doesn't get much simpler than that.
Seven eggs had already been boiled and cooled. All that remained was to remove them from their shells, slice them in half and save three of the yolks. Then came the best part, an avocado.
I do love avocados and I could hardly wait to taste this new recipe. The other three ingredients where cilantro, lime juice and a bit of chopped onion.
After mashing the avocado and egg yolks together, I added the rest of the ingredients and stirred them together. I found a colorful plate and arranged the egg halves on it, grabbed a spoon and filled each one with the, sure to be delicious, green mixture. There was an optional ingredient, paprika, to be sprinkled on top, if so desired. Why, they wouldn't be deviled eggs without paprika and I shook the container of said spice over the top of the eggs.
They were just lovely, although they did kind of put me in the mood for a Dr. Seuss book. I grabbed my phone, took a picture of the eggs on the pretty plate and posted it on my favorite social media platform. Then it was time for the taste test. As I turned to place the dirty dishes in the sink, there it was......the onion.
"SERIOUSLY?", I exclaimed and the Voice left the kitchen to go lounge on the deck. I got out a clean bowl, scooped all the filling out of the eggs, chopped the onion and started over. When I had them refilled, I noticed the paprika got smeared in the process so I added some more. Satisfied that the eggs were right this time, I covered them with plastic wrap and stuck them in the refrigerator.
I then proceeded to make a favorite dish we have enjoyed many times. I had concocted this recipe myself and it called for a homemade taco seasoning.......something else I have made many times. When I was done and had all the ingredients in the crock pot, I realized I had used the wrong measuring spoon for some of the spices. I looked out the kitchen window towards the deck. The Voice was sitting in a chair reading a book titled 'Why Some People Never Learn'. I closed the blinds.
Random thoughts roll through my head during the sleepless hours of the wee morning. It was 3 a.m. and I could not think of Fred and Wilma Flintstone's neighbor's wife's name. I could come up with Barney and that was it. The next thought that drifted through was that of the eggs........they were still in the refrigerator....I had forgotten to get them out at supper time.
Later in the morning, my husband remembered her name was Betty. Barney and Betty had Bam Bam and Fred and Wilma had Pebbles.......And I had deviled eggs for breakfast.
The Voice was dressed in a chef's hat, full length apron and had oven mitts on each hand. Not only that, it was wearing safety goggles and hip waders. "Seriously?", I said. "Good grief, it's deviled eggs. What could possibly go wrong?"
The Voice made an effort to raise its eyebrows under the goggles, then sauntered over to the corner and sat on the counter. I ignored it and went on with a new, super easy, deviled egg recipe. Four ingredients....doesn't get much simpler than that.
Seven eggs had already been boiled and cooled. All that remained was to remove them from their shells, slice them in half and save three of the yolks. Then came the best part, an avocado.
I do love avocados and I could hardly wait to taste this new recipe. The other three ingredients where cilantro, lime juice and a bit of chopped onion.
After mashing the avocado and egg yolks together, I added the rest of the ingredients and stirred them together. I found a colorful plate and arranged the egg halves on it, grabbed a spoon and filled each one with the, sure to be delicious, green mixture. There was an optional ingredient, paprika, to be sprinkled on top, if so desired. Why, they wouldn't be deviled eggs without paprika and I shook the container of said spice over the top of the eggs.
They were just lovely, although they did kind of put me in the mood for a Dr. Seuss book. I grabbed my phone, took a picture of the eggs on the pretty plate and posted it on my favorite social media platform. Then it was time for the taste test. As I turned to place the dirty dishes in the sink, there it was......the onion.
"SERIOUSLY?", I exclaimed and the Voice left the kitchen to go lounge on the deck. I got out a clean bowl, scooped all the filling out of the eggs, chopped the onion and started over. When I had them refilled, I noticed the paprika got smeared in the process so I added some more. Satisfied that the eggs were right this time, I covered them with plastic wrap and stuck them in the refrigerator.
I then proceeded to make a favorite dish we have enjoyed many times. I had concocted this recipe myself and it called for a homemade taco seasoning.......something else I have made many times. When I was done and had all the ingredients in the crock pot, I realized I had used the wrong measuring spoon for some of the spices. I looked out the kitchen window towards the deck. The Voice was sitting in a chair reading a book titled 'Why Some People Never Learn'. I closed the blinds.
Random thoughts roll through my head during the sleepless hours of the wee morning. It was 3 a.m. and I could not think of Fred and Wilma Flintstone's neighbor's wife's name. I could come up with Barney and that was it. The next thought that drifted through was that of the eggs........they were still in the refrigerator....I had forgotten to get them out at supper time.
Later in the morning, my husband remembered her name was Betty. Barney and Betty had Bam Bam and Fred and Wilma had Pebbles.......And I had deviled eggs for breakfast.
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
Drivers, Dryers & Gratitude
When riding in a vehicle, the passenger always has the advantage. They can do many things at once while not having to worry about being behind the wheel. The passenger can tell the driver how to drive, regardless of which seat they are sitting in. They can sleep, riding along with their mouth hanging open for other driver's amusement. Probably the best thing about being the passenger is being able to take in all the sights and scenery. They can gawk all around and do the occasional sucking in of the breath, when they see something they think is awesome. This usually has a detrimental effect on the driver, but the passenger can always say, "Didn't you see that?!", knowing full well, the driver did not see it.
The one disadvantage to being a passenger is not paying attention. When I arrived in this new place, the largest metropolis North Carolina has to offer, I was amazed at how my husband navigated his way around the area. This man, who before, would not drive 60 miles to the capital of Illinois because of the traffic, was now zipping around like he had been here forever. "They drive crazy down here.", he told me, while driving. He obviously did not see that my knuckles were white from hanging on to the arm rest, because from my view point, he was right there with the 'crazies'.
My husband has mentioned, on more than one occasion, that he was amazed he had ever driven anywhere without my help. With that in mind, I had to remind myself that he had been here for nearly a month and had gotten along quite well without my vehicular driving assistance. I needed to pay attention to where we were going, not how we were getting there, because one day soon, I would be navigating these busy streets by myself. It seemed like a daunting task at first, but I've finally learned the lay of the land and when in doubt, the navigation system on my cell phone sure comes in handy.
I have no focal attachment to washers and dryers. If the clothes get clean and the clothes get dry, I don't give a rat's pa-toot what the outside of the machine looks like. It's not like they are going to sit in the living room to be used as a lamp stand. The washing machine that we found had been left behind by a recent tenant. Why on earth they left it is beyond me, maybe they left in a mini van and it would not fit. Regardless of why, it works like a charm and that is all that mattered to me.
I was extremely grateful for this washer of clothes, but, I must admit, having a clothes dryer would be another grateful experience. Wet clothes are really heavy, especially if they have to be packed down the stairs, put in the back of a truck and then hauled into the laundry mat.
We drove to a place that sold used appliances on a Sunday morning, two hours before the NASCAR race was to start, and found a dryer. It wasn't pretty but the owner assured me it worked and that's all I needed to know. We loaded the dryer into the back of the truck and set out for 'home'. When we got out on the 4-lane beltway that surrounds the city, I asked my husband if he knew the way back and he said he did, so I turned the gps off. As our exit was coming up, in less than a quarter mile, we were still in the far left hand lane.
I tried really hard not to suck in my breath when I exclaimed we were not going to make the exit. The next thing I knew, we glided across three lanes of traffic and onto the exit ramp. The dryer was still in the truck and my fingers were clenched deep into the upholstery. "They drive crazy down here." echoed in my head.
Getting the dryer up the flight of fifteen stairs went almost as well as the washing machine ordeal, albeit, this time we did not have a two-wheeled cart. My husband took the lead, and I followed. By the time we reached the top step I truly thought I might die. My mind began to drift to the front page of a North Carolina newspaper, Death by Dryer, the headlines would read.
Twenty minutes later, with two minutes to go before the race started, the dryer was hooked up. Like its new mate, it runs like a charm and I was indeed grateful to have lived to use it.
The one disadvantage to being a passenger is not paying attention. When I arrived in this new place, the largest metropolis North Carolina has to offer, I was amazed at how my husband navigated his way around the area. This man, who before, would not drive 60 miles to the capital of Illinois because of the traffic, was now zipping around like he had been here forever. "They drive crazy down here.", he told me, while driving. He obviously did not see that my knuckles were white from hanging on to the arm rest, because from my view point, he was right there with the 'crazies'.
My husband has mentioned, on more than one occasion, that he was amazed he had ever driven anywhere without my help. With that in mind, I had to remind myself that he had been here for nearly a month and had gotten along quite well without my vehicular driving assistance. I needed to pay attention to where we were going, not how we were getting there, because one day soon, I would be navigating these busy streets by myself. It seemed like a daunting task at first, but I've finally learned the lay of the land and when in doubt, the navigation system on my cell phone sure comes in handy.
I have no focal attachment to washers and dryers. If the clothes get clean and the clothes get dry, I don't give a rat's pa-toot what the outside of the machine looks like. It's not like they are going to sit in the living room to be used as a lamp stand. The washing machine that we found had been left behind by a recent tenant. Why on earth they left it is beyond me, maybe they left in a mini van and it would not fit. Regardless of why, it works like a charm and that is all that mattered to me.
I was extremely grateful for this washer of clothes, but, I must admit, having a clothes dryer would be another grateful experience. Wet clothes are really heavy, especially if they have to be packed down the stairs, put in the back of a truck and then hauled into the laundry mat.
We drove to a place that sold used appliances on a Sunday morning, two hours before the NASCAR race was to start, and found a dryer. It wasn't pretty but the owner assured me it worked and that's all I needed to know. We loaded the dryer into the back of the truck and set out for 'home'. When we got out on the 4-lane beltway that surrounds the city, I asked my husband if he knew the way back and he said he did, so I turned the gps off. As our exit was coming up, in less than a quarter mile, we were still in the far left hand lane.
I tried really hard not to suck in my breath when I exclaimed we were not going to make the exit. The next thing I knew, we glided across three lanes of traffic and onto the exit ramp. The dryer was still in the truck and my fingers were clenched deep into the upholstery. "They drive crazy down here." echoed in my head.
Getting the dryer up the flight of fifteen stairs went almost as well as the washing machine ordeal, albeit, this time we did not have a two-wheeled cart. My husband took the lead, and I followed. By the time we reached the top step I truly thought I might die. My mind began to drift to the front page of a North Carolina newspaper, Death by Dryer, the headlines would read.
Twenty minutes later, with two minutes to go before the race started, the dryer was hooked up. Like its new mate, it runs like a charm and I was indeed grateful to have lived to use it.
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