Entries Tagged 'Signs' ↓

My mother died a year ago last Monday. When someone so close to you passes away it seems the world should shudder to a stop. Or come crashing down with loud, harsh fanfare that rattles you to your core. It seems the world should sense this enormous loss, recognize it, quiet down and wait. But it did not. The cars passed by and the birds chirped outside my mother’s home the day I stepped into her bedroom. She had been taken out of that very room only 24 hours before.  But the sun shone in. The breeze blew by. Her recently planted bulbs fully bloomed swayed in the yard below.

****

I inherited my mother’s camera after she passed. And I still have not deleted the last pictures she took. They were of branches strewn across her yard. They were also of a tree. An enormous tree in front of our house had been the object of her recent frustration. This tree, one that towered over and awed me as a child, was not well. The root structure was compromised and the city had been pruning it on the street side only. She knew it was not viable. And so in her usual determined way, she pressed the city, wrote the mayor and rose as much of a ruckus as she could about that damn tree. They never responded.

****

This past Monday I was on Cape Cod, with family all around. My aunt called me. “How are you today?” she asked. I was ok. I figured this was the best place to be to honor her that day. I just wished I could get some sign from her, you know? Just so that I knew she was still around. She understood. She told me she loved me and we hung up.

****

An hour later I stood in front of my mother’s parent’s grave. And my father’s parent’s grave. Both are buried in the same cemetery here on Cape Cod. I dropped a hydrangea bloom on each stone and packed the kids back into the car. We were on our way to collect my father from the airport.

****

I stood in the wind at Race Point on Cape Cod, the northernmost tip of this peninsula. There was a small airport and we expected my father’s Cape Air flight at any moment.  And at the top of the visitor center I finally found cell phone reception. “What do you mean the tree is down????” My brother had just called. There had been a terrible storm a half hour earlier and the tree – my mom’s tree, the one I still had pictures of on my camera in my bag – had fallen into my parent’s home. An entire telephone pole had snapped in half too. Wires were down and alive in the yard. The entire root structure exposed. No one could even see my home. No one knew the extent of the damage. There had been a great deal of fanfare this July 25th. Thundering crashes, traffic blocked, the everyday was stopped for the time being, total chaos.

****

My father was on the phone. We were all gathered in the living room of my family’s Cape cottage listening to him on the phone with my brother. “Who is there? Channel 7???… The Mayor????” We stared at each other. With live wires still sparking in my parent’s front lawn and the downed tree blocking the entire view of the house, the Mayor had arrived and had just held a press conference. Right there. At our home. He promised the city would be taken care of and that power would be restored.

****

The tree is off the house now. The power lines are being restored. The damage doesn’t seem to be anything desperate. I think it’s going to be ok.

A sign. I had only asked for a sign.

I get an adult night out tonight. That’s right. Stop the presses. Morningside Mom is actually going to be child free for an evening. And its going to be all about fun and games. What game specifically? Well, my bad ass sister (in law technically, but shes my girl, my sister) has hooked us up with some tickets to game five of Magic – Lakers finals game!

Lets all take a moment and do the running man. Oh yeah. And now the cabbage patch. Ok, bust out the sprinkler.

I am fired up!

Ok, I’ll fess up. I am no massive, crazy basketball fan. It was my brother who had all the Jordan and Pipen posters on his wall growing up. It’s my brother who seems near weeping when he calls me with reports of seeing Magic Johnson at a Magic game or getting a picture with Rashard Lewis.

But now, with my sister working for the Magic and both she and my brother going to every game, and us finally watching from home – our family is officially a Magic family.

And now we get to go to the game.

BECAUSE LET ME TELL YOU, I need this night out. My three year old has driven me to the edge of insanity this weekend. We’re talking 1 1/2 hour screaming rages and time outs. Stubborn refusals to share. Blatant toy taking and train track smashing. Hitting. Screeeaming. Flipping the frock out.

Even sitting at the edge of my seat during a nail biting finals game (which, if it ends badly, could mean the Lakers winning the finals) is nothing compared to the frustration of corralling my three year old. Nothing I tell you.

So in a couple hours, my Magic Superman Dwight Howard shirt is getting slipped on and I’ll wave giddily to the sitter as we peel out of here for a parents night out. At game five of the Magic Laker’s. Not too shabby.

Oh and I almost forgot. While my sister and I were out buying our Magic gear, we ran into a rock star mom. And who would that be? None other than Dwight Howard’s mother walking through the Magic store checking out the gear. I spoke to her briefly, she was so nice, a lovely woman. A very cool moment indeed.

But I also took it as a sign. I mean, this mother didn’t have Superman as her son always. I am thinking Dwight was once three years old too and I bet Dwight had his fair share of time outs. And now here she is, walking through a store displaying racks of shirts with her son’s name on them, beaming with pride. I take it as a sign that my son will get through three someday too. Whether his name is on the back of a t-shirt or not, I think I will find myself beaming with pride at his accomplishments – and these groundhog days of timeouts and tantrums will be long forgotten.

I take seeing her as another sign too. That mother’s need nights out with the Magic too. Moms can rock Magic pride. So. I am.

Go Magic.

While I pulled my son’s shirt over his head this morning, I eyed the news. A band of severe weather was making its way ashore directly west of us. And they were talking about Tornado threats. I pulled my boy close. That was the direction my son and husband were heading for school drop off.

So they saddled up, my son’s backpack slung over my husbands shoulder, I gave my them both extra kisses and warned my husband. “Keep an eye on this weather. Please.” Yes, yes. And off they drove. While they drove off, I pulled the potted plants out from under cover. They could use a watering.

Then I went back to watching the radar. A severe weather alert had been issued by now and the Today Show had been cut off. That’s about when the heart palpitations began. That line of bad weather had moved further inshore and a collection of about 30 or so rotating circles now rested along it. Those rotations were a sign of rotating winds, potential tornadoes – and those circles were headed due east. My son and husband were headed due west.

Maybe I was over-reacting, but I had a very bad feeling about those circles. I started to panic. Those circles. They kept moving east. And there on the radar map was the road my husband was driving on. And there, yes, that’s about where my son’s school is.

Uh uh. Oh my God. My baby.

I felt my throat tighten and the tears threaten. So I dialed my husband. In a sobbing rush, I asked him to find some shelter. “I don’t care if I am over-reacting. Just get cover, ok? Please?”  He agreed and said he would stop at the local barber where he needed a cut anyway. The news would be on there and at least my son would be with him.

Ok. Phew. Ok.

When the weather hit, it just seemed like some really intense thunder storm. Yes, the skies were green and dark, yes rain hammered the side of my house, yes the trees twirled and whipped about, yes there was very loud thunder and lightening. But I didn’t hear any sounds of a freight train coming. Toto and a little girl in brown pig tails never raced by. And I never had the urge to scream out for “Auntie Em, Auntie Em!”

Once it passed, I checked in with my husband.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. We watched it all here. But you know the intersection I was at when you called?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, minutes after we talked, a tornado was reported to have touched down there.”

“….Really?”

“But we’re fine. I’m taking him to school now. Everything has passed.”

“….Ok. Um. Ok.”

It seems I have been posting about panic a lot recently. And that fear of suddenly losing your child. I felt that today. Whether the threat was real or not, I believed my husband and child were in the path of real danger. And I couldn’t bear that thought. I didn’t want either of them gone in an instant because I never demanded that they stay home and wait out the storm. That panic. That fear of loss. THAT was real.

And during it all, of course I was on Twitter nervously tweeting away. There were all sorts of Floridians in the path of the storm. And news stations were following up with us, 20 homes in our area were damaged by a reported tornado. Were we ok? Did we have any pictures to share?

Laughing to myself and thanking each one of my lucky stars, I posted my “damage” (see picture to the right).

I was laughing but the taste of adrenaline was still there, at the back of my throat, reminding me: You thought you were going to lose half your family this morning, didn’t you?

Another mother on twitter posted about the snow coming down in her area. Huge amounts of it. I commented back that for mid April, that seemed hugely unfair. But then she replied back to me “I’d like to think that all the sun is in L.A. right now for Maddie.”

Today is Madeline Spohr’s funeral. Bloggers from all over the country have flown into L.A. Friends and family are gathering right now and laying 17 month old Maddie to rest.

So is that was this is? All of this crazy severe weather? Has it all come roaring ashore to wake us all up? Reminding us of what we have?  How dear our families are and how quickly they can be taken from us in an instant?

And IS the sun just busy right now? Shining on everyone gathered for Maddie today?

I can’t help but think so.

And while this tornado business was happening, and I was laughing about how little it seemed like the Wizard of Oz (this was before I heard about homes that were actually damaged only miles from me), someone posted a song for Maddie on Twitter. The song was Israel Kamakawiwo’Ole’s’ “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”.

Well. Honestly? No other song could seem more fitting right now.

Rest in peace over the rainbow, Maddie. You have taught me to hold my gifts close and remain forever grateful for all that I have. Thank you.

As much as I try to deny it, my children are growing up. (Damn.) My sweet little two year old C.  is going to be three this summer. I have even begun the process of enrolling him in school part time this fall. Its hard to believe that in a mere nine months, I won’t have a child home with me full time.

How did that happen?

And where does that leave me?

In 2003, I quit my full time job to be home with my children. And soon, over five years later with two kids in school and a huge gap in my resume, I have to figure out how I am going to help earn more for this family. Times are tough everywhere. We are lucky my husband is even employed. I am an able bodied person, so back to work with me. If this all sounds familiar, it should because I have been stressed about this issue before. Its one I go round in circles about. I think we all do.

But here’s the thing. This past year, some amazing things have happened for me. I am beginning to feel that I need to pay careful attention to whats going on around me. The signs are there.  It seems that something real may waiting for me in my future. I know this sounds like I am buying into some new age hocus pocus… *Shrug* Well. I don’t know. Maybe I am. Because I almost feel like the universe – and all that is beyond me - is quietly trying to tell me something. You might remember I have noticed this before. And all of those crazy signs I was talking about then still just keep popping up everywhere.

This way, this way. Over here. Come this way…

So, if we are going to go there, and get all spiritual up on this blog, I think I am going to go ahead and practice a tried and true lesson from the heavens. I have heard that in order to get what you want, you must ask for it. So that’s what I am going to do. I am going push aside those feelings of “I shouldn’t ask for anything, I don’t deserve anything more, I have enough” and just simply ask the powers that be for a little favor.

To all that are listening, whether they be up at the pearly gates or right here next to me as I type this post (cue the inspirational Enya music, switch on the hallowed lights from the heavens) - this is what I hope I can do to earn my keep around here:

I want to write.

(Shocking, I know.)

But I want to be paid to write. And I adore blogging, really I do, and I plan to keep doing it. But am I the next Dooce? I don’t think so. My life is really not interesting enough to have a well paying blog about… err… little ol’ me.

But I would love to write articles, be paid to post on other blogs, write reviews, write editorials in magazines or online… shoot, whatever it is, I just want to write and make some extra scratch for groceries or (eeks, this seems like a lot to ask) maybe even a car payment.

Now if you are a parent blogger, writing from home like I am, I am betting you are having a good laugh right about now. Because this is probably exactly what you want too. You know how great writing is. You can work from home and then be there for your children when they get home from school. You set your own hours and you take on as much work as you can handle. Its kind of ideal, right? Yeah, that’s what I think too.

Well, even if every other parent blogger wants to do what I hope to do, so what. It still can’t hurt to ask, right?

So. To the powers that be. Whoever is out there, up there, over there, right here pushing mystical buttons and pulling heavenly levers… could you just make a note? Maybe tag me and set me aside for something that seems to fit my needs down the road a bit? I’m not asking to be Editor in Chief of Redbook or the next Jen Weiner, I just want to love what I do… and write. Then maybe I can help pay some bills around here and make sure T. is getting his homework done before he turns on the Wii. It’s not too much to ask, right? I hope not.

Anyway. Back I go to stumbling down this path, with no clue where it will take me, uncovering the tiny little signs that are pointing me this way.  I know I keep checking myself, questioning my faith in it all, saying “Well, I don’t know, I’ll try it for now but lets not get our hopes up.” But then, right at my feet, another sign will appear. And if I look very, very closely it says the same thing that they all do. It simply says ”write, write, write”. So I am.

Last night curled under a blanket, my husband and I sat and watched the stunning footage of flight 1549 bob in the Hudson. While watching smiling passengers step off the ferries that rescued each and every one of them, my husband said something to me.

“Its a strange karma, symbolic thing, don’t you think?”

“How do you mean?”

“In Bush’s first year as President, we witnessed the worst plane catastrophe in history. And now… we are witnessing the most miraculous plane catastrophe in history, happening only hours before Bush says his final farewells to the public.”

I looked at him. “Wow. You’re right.” He absolutely had a point.

I don’t cry at the drop of a hat usually but everytime I see yesterday’s plane footage, I feel tears threaten. And I know that this entire country has been awed by this miracle, we are all equally emotional. But it seems to represent some level of hope for me also. It seems as if a message is being sent. It seems the impossible can happen. We can survive this mess.

And as for Bush’s farewell, seeing him go is simply anti-climactic. I thought I would cheer the day. I thought I would be over the moon. But I’m not. I am left puzzeled by his rationalizing, heroic “I made the tough choices, even if they weren’t the popular choices” sense of self. Honestly, he seems sadly delusional. If he really believes he did right by us, well, there is nothing left to say. Except, “Goodbye”.

Tuesday will represent the beginning of a new era for this country. But do I expect Obama to stand in front of the nation, tap his magic wand on day one and make everything all better? Hell no. I am worried for him. Really worried. And I am concerned about all the hope we have inside us. I know that he is an amazing leader, but this situation our country finds itself in could be an impossibility for any leader.

And yet, yesterday, everyone got out of that plane. Everyone, including one infant, is alive today. The impossible happened.

So this morning, I am taking a deep breath, I am watching out the window of my television as our nation dips and bobs over its troubles. I am holding my family close. And I will brace myself. But flight 1549 has inspired me. Just as our President elect has. It seems the impossible can happen and perhaps there will be a way out. So here I sit, clinging desperately onto a concept which has kept this country afloat before. That perplexing and amazing concept called: hope.

During one of these “not so beach weather” days, my family and I took a drive up to Provincetown to poke around. It’s a favorite spot of mine, where you’ll find generations of Portuguese fishermen and historical homes along side contemporary restaurants and galleries. A place where you will find couples walking hand in hand down the street, in open adoration of one another, whether they be grandparents in fanny packs or gay men in assless chaps. Open, welcoming, cool stores, cute New England charm and the perfect solution for an otherwise dreary day.

Provincetown is also home to my favorite book store of all time. A far cry from Barnes and Nobles or Amazon.com, Tim’s Used Books is a little gem. A home converted into a bookstore, it is nestled off the main road, awaiting avid readers of every persuasion. I was thrilled to get a chance to visit once again. I put in my request for a quick 15 minute respite of “me time” and my dear husband took the kids to go look at boats.

I stepped through the doorway and was in my glory. As I wandered around, stacks upon stacks upon shelves upon shelves of books greeted me. There were hand written labels here and there on shelves declaring some level of organization. But really, it’s a place to wander quietly, shuffle about lost in your thoughts and find that wonderful book you’ve always wanted, gently used and reasonably price. I found two. While not book titles I had always wanted, they were of interest. Both “self help” books of sorts to help myself with two loves of mine: raising boys and writing. I knew very little about either title but they might be something to curl up with if the rain refused to cease but, miraculously, my children’s wrestling did.

When I was ready to pay for my treasures, I found a woman reading next to a very old register at the front of the store.

“Oh, you’re interested in non-fiction writing.”

Shyly (I felt a bit outed) I replied “…Um, yeah, I guess.”

“Well, the key is to use a lot of description. That’s really all it is.”

(Sidebar: Use a lot of description? Uh-huh. And if that’s what I have done so far in this post, I hardly consider this a successful tact in a blog. All this chatter about P-Town and you all don’t even know what my point IS yet, do you? My guess is that she soooo doesn’t know very much about blogging, now does she?)

And then, oh so confident, the woman at the till exclaimed that she was, in fact, a writer. And then, while she hand wrote the titles of my books in a log next to her, she read the various names of the non-fiction writers I would be reading about outloud – some of whom had been in that very store.

“Oh, well. I am kind of new to this writing thing anyway. I am actually blogging now so… I am just trying to get better… um… you know…. express myself…”

She stopped what she was doing and looked up at me.

“Oh. Blogging. Well, I don’t write for free.”

And with that, this smug bookstore keeper – oh I’m sorry - this smug writer, sent my post-BlogHer brain into a spin of questions.

Is writing for free really such a bad thing? Is there a point to blogging for free? What IS this blogging thing for? Why do I spend so much time doing this anyway? And is blogging considered a legitimate form of writing? Is it respected out there amongst “real” writers?

After all the time and energy I have focused over the past few months on blogging, where the hell am I going with this?

Now, not every blogger writes for free. During the conference, there was a great deal of discussion about how to make money from blogging. Whether that be advertisements, blogging for specific companies or snagging an elusive book deal, all of my fellow conference attendees seemed to be scrambling to learn how to grab their piece of the pie.

(Forgive me, another sidebar: I have a theory. While I went to Blogher on someone else’s dime – again thank you wonderful BlogHer women – I know my fellow conference attendees got a fair amount of crap for going to this conference. I heard time and again how loved ones asked fellow bloggers why they were spending money to attend a conference about something you do for free. So my guess is that most of the women there, while adoring their blog, felt some sense of responsibility to learn how to earn a buck while doing so and then tell their significant others that’s why they attended this conference in the first place. Shoot, I was at those sessions too, I get it.)

Regardless, even as I sat in those sessions, I know I ultimately struggled with the whole focus on blogging for money. And after reading Slouching Mom’s recent post, I am obviously no the only one. I worry what happens to the integrity of the blog once the author starts writing for money. Does it stop being a love and start being more of a grind?

…I gotta get more advertisers, I gotta get my readership up, I gotta write something everyone will like, I gotta write everyday…

If it’s that much work, it’s just not fun anymore, is it?

But let me be clear. If I could blog and be paid enough for one trip to the grocery store or one trip to fill up my Saturn or make enough to pay one monthly electric bill… cha-ching. What a glorious thing even that little bit would be. And if a fellow blogger manages to make more than that? Well, you go, more power to you. If I could be so lucky. As long as the heart of that blog remains and the money is just a nice benefit on the side, be the blogging business you wanna be.

But still, I find myself back at my starting point. Blogging for a tank of gas is hardly a job. And it’s hardly justification for the hours I spend writing, editing, thinking and hunched over my computer.

And to underscore my point, do you know how long this post has taken me to write? I have two children. I am in charge of them. THAT is my job. Blogging away hours of my day is NOT my job.

So where am I going with this? While I used to write some copy for my previous real-life job (many moons ago before kids), I have never been officially paid as a true freelance writer. Apart from my undergraduate liberal arts degree (in Neuroscience and behavior – super helpful in real life, no?) I don’t have any degrees or official documents stating that I can write. And I wouldn’t know where to begin to start as an official writer. All I got is my new used book about how to write and this little self serving blog. Where I write. FOR FREE.

I guess I am just having a bad blogging day. 

I guess I have had to explain where I was last weekend a little too often.

“What kind of conference was that?” “What exactly IS blogging?” “Where do you even find time to do something like that?” “Don’t you worry about sexual predators stalking you and your family on the internet?”

Oy.

As a quick reminder to myself, I know there are so many reasons why I blog which do justify all the time and effort I have invested here. There is no price tag on sanity, right? Blogging has given a little bit of that back to me. You all have heard it before, it has released me from the circular mommy groundhog day that I was living in. It is an extremely satisfying creative outlet indeed. So yay me. I should keep doing it. And I will keep doing it. And all the planets, and stars and signs are telling me I MUST do it.

But I think it’s ok to question it. And truly determine why it is that we do blog before we are peppered with questions about it, before we sign on for advertisements, and before we run into smug shopkeepers that don’t quite get it. Like some sort of blogger’s mission statement, we should all carve out, own and proudly display our reasons to blog.

Cripes, I think I might even write a mission statement. Anyone else interested in doing so? If you are, post it below. I need a little inspiration today.

And in my next post – which may not be fore a few days now – I hope to recapture the energy and excitement of BlogHer 08 and link (which is blogger lingo for “introduce”) you to some really amazing women I happened to meet. I need to remember and just get PSYCHED again, dammit.

Because we should not have to apologize for blogging. Even if it’s for free. Blogging regularly makes us better writers. Blogging for nothing means we truly love to write. Blogging is taking the first ammendment to heart. Blogging should never be exploited or biased. Blogging doesn’t have editors hasseling you over your every word. Blogging shoots straight from the hip and is as honest as anything you will ever find. Blogging is something to be respected - not snubbed.

Well, enough from me today. It is 4:30 in the afternoon, we leave tomorrow and the sun has finally come out. Can you believe this? Time to actually go find the bathing suits and untangle my wrestling boys on the floor next to me.

My parting words? Blog it, mean it, love it and then leave it. Now finally, off to the beach.

When you think “vacation”, fun images of beaches, watermelon and relatives usually come to mind. What probably doesn’t come to mind is an hour spent in a dusty third floor office in Western Massachusetts talking to a Medium. Yeah, that’s what I said, a Medium. You know, the John Edwards, Sylvia Brown, “I see dead people” kind of person that I would bet 75% of most folks think are a scam? Yup, I met with one yesterday. Some months ago, my wonderful aunt had a reading with this woman at a gathering with friends. After being fairly amazed by her experience, she signed both of us up for a reading while I was in town. So, my HIGHLY skeptical, grumbling husband (“if you guys leave there with both of your purses, I’ll be amazed…”) dropped me off for a kid -free evening of talking to those on the Other Side. Intrigued? Come on, admit you are. I sure was.

Now before I go on, let me just lay down my own kind of disclaimer of sorts. I am not into the occult or anything remotely evil. I believe in God, goodness, karma and know there is something beyond here more wonderful than anything we know here. And while I am spiritual in nature, I also don’t claim to assume I know diddly-squat about anything in God’s ‘hood. I’ve got no idea about what he’s (um… could be SHE!) is up to or what might happen to us once we are no longer living here. So I am open to anything because I am a humble enough to know that we simple humans can’t know everything, can we? No way. So, if there is a possibility that our loved ones may want to chat with us from the other side, well so be it. Who am I to stop them? Who am I to say it couldn’t happen? So, I was game and ready. A psychic reading? Bring it!

My aunt and I arrived a little early for our reading and sat down in a sparsely decorated waiting room. There were small prints of angels here and there. A water cooler, a plant, a carpeted floor, a window and one bee lazily buzzing about the ceiling. I was nervous. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Maybe at any moment a woman named Zorba with a scarf wrapped around her head, a thick Albanian accent and long decorated nails who would swoop into the room and beckon us forward while whispering mysteriously ”zeees way…”. Or maybe we’d be meeting with a ”Whoopi Goldberg from Ghost” type of clairvoyant? Could be! Helllooooo Patrick Swayze, come send me a message! Or what if we were about to meet another version of the notorious  Miss Cleo, psychic reader and sham queen of all sham queens? 1-800-I’ll take your money, thank you VERY much. Oy, what were we getting ourselves into? But actually, a very nice welcoming woman came in and introduced herself. She was kind and quiet, possibly even a bit shy. Hardly a Zorba or Whoopi type, she had us follow her into her room which was small but comfortable. We found three chairs, a table stacked with various decks of tarot cards and one lone pink crystal. We sat down. She smiled. I took a deep breath. Ok, let’s do this.

She asked my aunt and I to pick some cards from a deck of our choice and she laid them out. But then, as she was looking over our cards, she almost bashfully claimed that “well, it seems that we will start with our medium reading first.” She then admited that a woman, who had already passed, had been with her on the ride over. She looked up at us and said ”you two are related” (it wasn’t a question), and this woman was connected to us both – either as a mother or grandmother figure. And we were off.

Now I could go on about the entire hour’s worth of what was said, but it may not mean much to you since you would not have any reference point about their validity. But I will say that I was surprised by the strange bits of accuracy she laid out before us. My first memory of my grandmother was mentioned – a moment when she gave me a plastic butterfly which only I remember. Odd little, random details, personalities, habits, funny intricacies about people we knew who had passed all came forward. Some things we could not place or find a connection with. Other things dawned on us on the car ride home. And there were even moments that stopped us dead on our tracks. How could she know that? How could anyone?

And during those moments, when it seemed in fact my great uncle or stubborn grandmother was coming through, I felt right at home with it. It never scared me, I never felt overwhelmed by it, in fact I felt quite familiar with the whole scene. Of COURSE one grandmother would be hogging the spotlight more than the other. Of COURSE my great aunt was still gossipy. Of COURSE Uncle Bill didn’t have his pants on. Somethings never change. And I mean NEVER.

So how do I feel walking away from my experience? Do I think it was all a sham, like assuming it could only be card trickery when she popped up the ”animal” tarot card right after mentioning my last dog was in the room with us? And do I think the details she gave could have been relatable to ANY family really? Or am I, in fact, sold on the science of clairvoyance and will I refuse to make my next career, financial or parenting move without the advice of my personal psychic?

No on both accounts.

Let’s put it this way, I simply feel more affirmed in my beliefs about life after death. I do think she said some things that certainly made me want to jump up and say to the empty space in front of me ”What-up Grandma!” I also think there were times where she rambled on about a topic to give me comfort but wasn’t sure whose advice this was, my Great Aunt Elva’s… or hers.

However, I also think that even if the connections we made were for real (and, seriously, I think they were), I also think there is certainly a human factor influencing the reading. The Medium seemed to put her own bias or interpretation on what she was getting at times. And, of course, so did I. When she said a grandmother was mentioning “The Flintstones” being connected to a male name, the Medium kept thinking Barney or Fred or something to do with stones – and we left confused. We had had no idea what this meant. But later, as I was falling asleep last night, I remembered my father’s nickname growing up had been “Rock”. Have I made a leap here? Or was this the reference my grandmother was trying to make? The Medium interpreted that information one way and I interpreted it another. The human factor is unavoidable. So if you are able to interpret the diffused information correctly and glean its meaning, then a reading like this might work for you. If you are expecting to sit down and get a direct Skype link to your parent on the other side and chat about what you’re making for dinner, then don’t bother. That’s not how it works.

Finally, I will leave you with a few tips that she gave me. Take them for what you will, but I will only ask that you keep an open mind about this world around you. Our limited five senses do a fair job picking up the empirical information we receive. But just as we miss seeing certain levels of light or we miss hearing certain ranges of sound, we should only expect that we may not perceive all the various forms of energy around us everyday.

Tips for reaching out to your own passed on, however still pantsless, Uncle Bill:

• A person’s spirit still keeps the same personality on the other side that they had here. The louder family members always tend to come through first.
• If a family member was skeptical of Mediums or psychic readings on this side, they will be on the Other side – so don’t expect them to come through very quickly if at all.
• If you are open to signs and communication from your loved ones, they will very often work very hard to reach out to you.
• They often reach us through electricity since they are energy also.
• If you are open to communicating with the other side, expect to receive messages from loved ones of your skeptical friends.
• Animals pass on also and visit often.
• There is no pain, worry, guilt or unhappiness on the other side. Our loved ones are able to resolve their troubles after death.

SO. Yeaaaah. If my more skeptical readers haven’t already groaned and Xed out of my blog never to return, I promise, I will try to get back to more meat-n-potatoes and less hocus pocus in the future, for now. (Hey, at least I DID catch up with some more relatives, however unexpected, this vaca after all.) Thanks for reading and we will now resume our normally scheduled blogging and vacation activities.  I’m off to set up the slip-n-slide.

Have you ever paid attention to the universe around you? I mean, REALLY paid attention? I am not sure if it’s something supernatural, something religious, something mystical, spiritual, or a big mish mash of hocus pocus mumbo jumbo, but if we are paying close close attention, the universe does send us signals. And, while taking the risk of sounding completely coo-coo for cocoa puffs, I have a feeling the Powers That Be are trying to tell me something. And I’m not getting subtle smoke signals in the distance either. Something big has been laying down a runway, with lights, and huge arrows, and blinking neon signs with the words “GO THIS WAY” all in caps, and all the gods and goddesses and wonderful souls that watch over me are jumping up and down at the end of that runway screaming: “C’mon! Yoooo whooo!!!! Over here… OVER HERE!!!!”

I know, this is a nut-so idea. I know it sounds like I’ve been spending a liiiitle too much time sniffing my kids markers. But, for real, I believe it. So let me tell you what’s going on.

I started blogging about 5 months ago. And reading back in my recent post about thanking Blog Her, you know I feel extraordinarily humbled by the fantastic opportunity I was given to attend Blog Her. It felt as if the universe opened itself up and dropped this trip in my lap. I was completely caught off guard and have been beyond appreciative. It’s honestly all I have been thinking about over the past couple of weeks. I just can’t wait. And right about when I found out I could go to Blog Her, I think that runway vaguely seemed to be coming into view.

And then it happened to me again yesterday. The universe opened itself up and dropped another fantastic opportunity in my lap. I was contacted by a PR firm representing HP and Microsoft to try out some of their products and bring them to Blog Her. What kind of products? Ohhhhh…. a laptop and video camera. For me. To use. No strings. Just see if you like them. And I don’t even have a laptop (remember, my 6 million dollar computer pieced together with parts, some dating back as far as 8 years?) and then - a video camera? Are you kidding me? I just about fainted dead away. Yup, the runway is clearly blazing with super mega watt lights. *Bing* *bing* *bing*, this way, this way, this way!

So, ok, I’ve got a free trip to this conference. And then just when I was feeling like HOW could I ever POSSIBLY be cool enough at BlogHer without a laptop but, whatevs, I’ll figure it out… um… one is now being magically delivered to me? Yup. Poof, the universe drops one from the sky. Of course.

And then there has been the support for this blog. The wonderful comments and unsolicited encouragement I’ve recieved, well, I am immensely grateful. I have made new friends and have learned amazing tips from other blogs that I have incorporated into my life. Yup, I take this positive experience and the amazing connections created with fellow bloggers as another sign. It’s honestly as clear as day, right? No doubt, the Powers That Be are absolutely doing their “over here dance” at the end of that runway.

Maybe you’d call it luck. Or a crazy coincidence. Or serendipity. Or Karma (that would be nice). Or something from a religion you believe. Whatever it is, something BIG is trying to tell me something IMPORTANT. And what do I think that is? BLOG. Write. Create. Keep doing this. If you blog it, they will come. For real folks. I think this is what some people might describe as: “A CALLING”

Too many magic (they don’t call ‘em magic for nothing) markers, I know, I know. But I had to share what’s rattling ’round in my brain. It’s what bloggers do, right?

And that’s the other thing. You see, when good things happen to me, I need to acknowledge it publicly. Why? Because I am truly grateful. I need to call right back up to that hole in the universe, where so many things seemed to have fallen out of recently, and say THANK YOU.

So those are my deep thoughts for the day. And you know I will be looking “fly” with my new gear at BlogHer too, just be sure to come over and smack me if I seem a tad too smug. But what’s more likely is that you’ll have no trouble spotting me from a far. Why? Well, I’ll be the one in some crazy hat that has a sign on it blinking “THANK YOU” out at the world around me.

I’ll let you know if that hole in the universe opens up again. Shoot, a nice family sized hybrid might fall out of there next! But in the meantime, I am going to be paying attention to these signs around me and keep heading down the path I seem to be on. It’s certainly well lit, there’s no trouble there. So, I hate to tell ya folks, blogging it is. I’m going to be around awhile.