A slight departure…

Book and roseI’ve thought about this only briefly, but decided to take the leap. For many years – over 20 if truth be told – I’ve been writing a couple of books. The opening below is from the first one. My thinking is that I’ll write bits of this book over the next six months. You can tell me what you think, or not.

It still is in keeping with the intention of Re-do 365, too. I’m working toward being more accountable, and to doing what I’ve talked about doing for so very long.

Adopting Elizabeth

Chapter One

It was on the corner beside a Cape Cod style house. It was my favourite house. It sat on a bit of a hill, had gable windows and green shutters, and was surrounded by a hedge. Every day I tried to walk past this house at least once.

When we stopped I was facing the Cape Cod style house with the gable windows and green shutters. I was standing so close to the hedge that its branches poked my thigh. I remember the sky was blue and cloudless. Because it was after school it would have been around 4 o’clock in the afternoon. We stood in a circle, these girls and me, but I didn’t feel like I was a part of the circle. I wasn’t part of any circle.

“How can you know anything? You can’t. You’re just adopted!”

I didn’t know what she meant. Not exactly. But whatever it was wasn’t good, and any retorts I could think to toss back were pointless. From the cast down eyes, and stone faces of the other girls, I knew what I’d been told was true.

I wasn’t liked. I didn’t look like the other girls with my fuzzy hair, thick frame, buck teeth, and glasses. My smarts weren’t for socializing, but reserved for memory only. I was awkward at best and preferred the company of books and horses to people. In that moment, all that was different about me suddenly made sense. Somewhere deep inside I’d always felt I was a cast off. Now I knew why.

“You’re a liar. You can’t know that!”

She could know, though. She was older than me, and her father was the Catholic doctor in town. He would know about things like this and I guess he talked with his kids about what he knew. In my mind right then, I had an image of them laughing about me over Sunday suppers.

I looked at each face once more. It was all I could do. Nothing had changed. My body was going numb. There was no chance I could speak at this point, my mouth was desert dry and my throat was on fire. I could not allow them to see the tears that were ready to flow. I had to move. I turned my almost rigid body and began to walk away, head held high as if nothing had happened. I steeled my shoulders and kept that stance until I was out of their sight.

They could have no idea what was going on in my mind. They might have thought a lot of different things, but would probably be surprised to know I didn’t care about them. As the tears came, I forgave them.

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It’s time to…

MuppetsI really need to stop whining about the same old stuff so am going to infuse some fresh air tonight. Before opening the window, however, I want to thank the folks who sent encouraging notes. I’m still waffling, sadly. Today was the first day I actually said to myself, “What the hell am I doing?” I’m suddenly bubbling over with doubt and thinking, “Why now?” My best friend gave me a big hug when I spilled to her, and she said, “You’ve chased this dream for at least ten years. Maybe you’re afraid reality won’t live up to the dream? Well, you won’t know until you take the leap.” Goddesses are so wise, yes? But hey, I promised new horizons, so without further ado…

Let’s talk about muppets. How much do you love them? Minions pale in comparison to Kermit, Gonzo, Fozzie, Miss Piggy et al. I mean come on, what kind of mind thinks this stuff up? Of course, they were all born on Sesame Street so Oscar, Big Bird, the controversial Bert and Ernie, Elmo and Grover are part of the fuzzy soup. Colourful, iconic creatures whose personalities were delicately crafted to mimic the best of our natures – mostly. Developed with super-human puppet-making skill, they taught us more than real humans ever could. Henson was pure genius, but left the planet too soon. I imagine he’s back already, however. Perhaps he’s master minding a robot with feelings in this incarnation. Or maybe he’s cooking up a stew in a Swedish restaurant. Either way, his energy lives on just as mine and yours will. Best be sure my energy is worthy.

Sometimes I fret and voice jealous, poor-me sentiments like, “so, I’m no Oprah”. I’ve used lame excuses about not having JK’s imagination, or Austen’s motivation, for not working on my book. I’ve told myself it’s already been written by somebody else who at least showed up and did the deed. Gosh, what a time waster that thinking is. I’ve squandered a lot of time, and talent, with a lot of excuses. Few are original. But this re-do has me looking at this stuff from a slightly different angle.

I’ll never be, nor am I meant to be, JK Rowling or Oprah Winfrey. Frances – Mary Elizabeth – Sullivan is who I am and who I was meant to be this time around. I’ve screwed-up with superb precision, over and over again, but that’s not what I want to be remembered for. So I best get changing some attitudes.

Years ago, I remember saying I wanted to be a kind, gentle and thoughtful crone. We’ve all met curmudgeonly old folks who for some reason feel they’ve a right to be nasty, short-sighted, and belligerent. I’ve also been privileged to meet holy people whose time here has tempered their heat and smoothed their rough edges. They graciously share their wisdom and smiles. That’s the crone I hope to be.

My wish tonight is to understand gratitude intimately. Quantum physics suggests that if, on a subconscious level we accept and embrace what we have (whether we like it or not), we put ourselves in a position to release our focus from what we have, and allow ourselves energetically to focus on what we would like to be and have. We then attract more of what we soulfully desire. Seems pretty clear. If I am grateful for everything in my life in this moment in time, I free up space for even more possibilities. Yep. A home of my own, a finished book, and more Muppets. That’s a good start. So grateful.

Until tomorrow…

By the light of…

On this night of the eclipse, we’ve a clear sky so good viewing is highly probable. In fact, I think I can hear all the astronomers shouting excitedly from the observatory down the road. I’ve never seen a blood moon myself, so am looking forward to it, too. The prime time will be 10:47 PM. That’s the good bit. The less than good bit is how I’m feeling lately.

This week I’ve been steadily overrun with doubts and fears. Don’t ask me how or why, I just woke up one morning and there they were. It’s as if I inhale junky feelings while asleep. More accurately, it’s that I breathe in someone else’s junky feelings. That’s exactly what’s it like to be me. All’s well and then, finger-snap, I’m filled with worry, while grasping frantically for the good energy and positive feelings that are disappearing. I’ve described it as a veil, but you can imagine it, too, as mist rolling in across a field. One minute the sun is shining and then, fog.

I’m learning that it is not conscious. At least, not all the time. You can argue with me about that statement, but there’s no point. I’ve lived like this long enough to know when I’m feeling the energy of others. That’s it. And sometimes it is not fun in any way, shape, or form. The worst part about it is that there are residual effects, meaning it can take me a while to get my groove back. But hey, this is the life of a sensitive. And today was especially difficult for me.

If you’re thinking this messiness has something to do with my move, you’d be spot on. Of course, I’m envisioning this whole transition running smoothly, and much of it has. This week posed problematic for my UK girl, though, who was unable to figure out a few things with all my goods arriving. I did my best on my end to make things simple, but I’m not there to lend a hand. She is more than apt, but had a lot on her plate. Hence, I started to pick up on her concerns. The next thing I know, her wobble adds fuel to my doubts and…whoosh!

Here comes another lesson, and there goes another block.

I’ve written repeatedly that I’m a pretty solitary person. Working with others isn’t a skill; trusting others is not a strength. As a result, I’ve played well, the part of the woman who could do it all. Because I’ve been on my own for decades now, and because I’ve manifested money and assistance when wanted, I appear to be quite an accomplished manager. Part of that is true, but solo has its limits. I’ll be able to do so much more with the help and cooperation of others. But, I don’t know that me, yet! I’m still washing off the traces of the masks I’ve worn for most of my life. It will take me a while to recognize my new face.

So part of this week, and the extraordinary emotional upheaval felt today, allows me to expand further, or contract. I could pull back and not move, or I could forge ahead. In this moment, I’m leaning on the latter choice. Oh, and the fog seems to be lifting.

My wish is that we mindfully reach out to help. No excuses. No agendas. No expectations or attachments to outcomes. While it would be glorious to deliver world peace, or feed all those who are hungry, sitting still and complaining about how others are not helping means we are part of the problem. Reaching out is easy. Send love and light to all of those who can influence the big decisions, and then recognize the stranger standing beside you could use a smile. It starts there.

Needing a hug in the light of the moon…until tomorrow.

I. Am.

WaveToday was one filled with some unexpected rocks. Moving them is exhausting so I’m looking for a way around them. In time. The truth is, I pick up other people’s stuff and their energy can sometime become boulders. After all these years of living, it’s still the same story. I am, however, more aware of it and am trying out new strategies to side-step them whenever I can.

So today, in New York City’s Central Park, an impressive group of notables gathered for the Global Citizen Festival. If you’re quick, or living west of me, you might be able to catch live feed from the event. https://www.globalcitizen.org/en/festival/2015/

The brain child of two young Aussies in 2008 who believed poverty should be a thing of history, the Global Poverty Project has made strides. In 2011, Hugh Jackman flexed his wolfy muscles and pushed a campaign to expand awareness. Other voices speak for this worthwhile venture now, some fronting the festival which today, drew thousands. Does it matter?

Unlike the causes I attached myself to back in the day, solutions are addressed today in a grander scale. But real change is like a wave. Until the water gathers itself together, cooperating with the wind, it laps ashore still eating the shoreline, but slowly. A wave worth riding is a beautiful thing to behold. And it brings about some impressive changes.

Of course, I wasn’t there today and have nothing worthwhile to offer even if I were. I’m too old and too tired to try to care anymore. It’s too much of a struggle! And those itsy bitsy grains of sand I might shift, are hardly going to make a difference to anything. WRONG.

I am little and considerably inconsequential. My voice cannot speak wisely to hordes of listeners when most days I speak to no one at all! I am unable to act as a philanthropist because I can’t pay the rent. BUT, my spirit is colossally transcendent. My voice matters when supporting my own heart, or comforting another with kind words. And I have a roof over my head and healthy food still, so am among the wealthiest in the world.

My wish tonight is that we hold firm to our own power, never doubting its oneness with the divine. In Liz Gilbert’s new book, she asks that we consider curiosity as our actual driving force instead of passion. She suggests curiosity keeps us seeking, interested. Are you curious what your answer would be if you asked, “Can I change the world simply by changing my thoughts?” I am. Powerful stuff indeed.

Until tomorrow…

Looking back at my future…

goodbyeWalking forward doesn’t mean you never look back. It might be a quick glance, or a complete stop to turn around and stare. Whatever you do is okay. You’re still walking forward, you just need to take another look at something on the path behind you. Today, I’m looking over my shoulder.

When an adopted kid gets to meet her birth parent, or parents, it’s kind of like taking a line and making it a circle. It ends a pattern of wondering. Even if your long dreamt dream of the utopic family turns out to be a nightmare, reality is healthier than a never ending fantasy.

Just over twenty years ago, a representative from social services asked my birth mom if she’d meet me. She declined and said in closing, she wanted nothing to do with me. She has yet to change her mind.

Because she is from the UK, I’ve kept a particular piece of that story alive. If I had a bit more information about her, I could claim my right to British citizenship. In spite of trying, what I need remains a safely kept secret.

Taking off the mask of the Tragic Heroine means letting go of not just behaviours, but stories that fuel those behaviours. When I glanced back today, I saw that story of rejection and failed hopes, and realized it was time to let it go. I also realized I needed to say goodbye, once and for all, to my mother.

Being adopted means you have two moms, two dads, and so on. Being adopted means you don’t necessarily say hello to the lot of them, but you do have to say goodbye to all of them, at some point.

My mother may, or may not, have loved me. In the grand scheme, it’s of little consequence. That in my longing for her I passed other offers of love by, is a regret. That I have shone a light on that regret, brings me hope.

My wish tonight is that those whose hearts ache for love lost, be granted the grace to release the longing. Once gone, there will be space inside, space that can be filled with tender kisses, kind words, and the warm embrace of love found.

I love you, mom.

Until tomorrow…

We are never alone…

AloneOh goodness. Tonight’s blog will be about wishes only. It’s after midnight, and I’m superbly tired. I need to sleep. But, it was a beautiful day even though I accomplished little, except to reconnect with a remarkable ageless goddess. The best kind of sweet.

Wishing for connections, interactions, and meetings that affirm your value and ignite your soul. We meet all kinds of folks as we go about our day, but seldom do we feel a link to them. When we do, we must pay attention. There’s a message coming. What’s that? We are not alone on this big blue ball, you say? Good to know. We are one. Wow. Connecting is awesome!

Until tomorrow…

The best medicine…

Laughing baby buddhasI so admire people who are funny. Not the punking, pranking kind of funny, although that takes talent, but the witty kind of funny. Have you ever seen Hugh Grant on Letterman? He’s witty. It goes without saying the late, great, and utterly profoundly iconic Robin Williams was hysterical. And I could go on. It’s a long list I’ll not bore you with, but I’m sure you get the idea, and have your favourites, too. We all love a good laugh. And we should. It’s a super healthy thing to do!

I’ve noticed, with joy, I’m laughing more lately. It’s not forced. On the contrary, it’s spontaneous. My mind and body are happy about this. I dearly love to laugh. (A line delivered by Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice.) Those fits that engage the core and leave you breathless, snorting in between uncontrolled guffaws, are the best. Yes indeed. Laughter is a good thing, a very good thing. So why haven’t I been laughing?

A reasonable explanation could be that growing up, getting sensible, keeping emotions in check, pulls the plug on funny. But that’s not really true. Lots of responsible, respectable, productive adults make good jokes, and laugh easily. A lot of funny people are successful. Okay, that might be stretching it a bit. Or maybe not. I’ll bet there’s a great many Tina Fey types sharing the planet with us. In fact, I’m going to go with that idea. I like it. A world soon to be overrun by comic geniuses. Let’s high-five to it! Ooh! Let’s add an exponential increase in dancers, singers, and poets, writers, and painters who practice yoga and meditation. Sigh. Carried away? Nah, it’s real if that’s what I see. Ta da!

Answering the above question: I don’t know. Furthermore, it doesn’t matter why. I’m going to laugh more now. Period.

I was tired earlier and didn’t know how this blog would unfold. That’s what I like about this process. Every night’s a surprise.

Before wishing, I’ll fill you in briefly on the status of my move. Stalled. Ugh. I failed to coordinate movers this weekend for the western delivery, and for some reason I can’t seem to figure out the rest. Spending is getting to me as are the logistics of selling the car, delivering the last load for the UK to Toronto, and picking the last batch up once it arrives over there. When I sent the first load, although it arrived in Liverpool, the price included delivery to Devon. This time, I’ll have to pick it up at an arrival depot all of which, so far, are freaking far from where we are. Blah. I know I’m stuck for a reason and will sort it all out, but this is another reminder that I need people to help me. Oh well, all in good time.

Which leads to my wish for patience. I need to patiently hold on to my ultimate vision and keep putting one foot in front of the other. All will be well. I believe that. The energy I need will come, as will the direction on how to accomplish what needs doing. We often get in the universe’s way, thinking we know best. When I feel stymied, I know it’s because I’m not doing my part. So patience is advisable until my gut tells me what my part is.

Until tomorrow…

Togetherness…

HarmonyWhat secret do you hold inside that if voiced, even in the softest of whispers, would free your soul?

Can you keep a secret? Of course, I say. I’m agreeing to keep mum about a surprise party. Easy peasy.

We have reasons to hide information like this all the time. Christmas presents, special events, and even a new invention is kept under wraps until a designated date. But the kind of secret I’m asking the question about is not so innocent. There’s no end date.

I’ve a mind that believes secrets are kept by telling lies, and lies are told to keep secrets, secret. Makes sense. I’m a good Irish girl whose skillful use of the long held tradition of blarney is somewhat legendary. But surely most of us tell the odd fib, yes? Certainly getting caught is not fun, and heaven knows I’ve been taken to task for many a fabricated story. But I digress. The topic is secrets, not lies.

The type of secrets I’m talking about are those we’re afraid to expose to the light of day. Why? Well, mostly, I think it’s because we’re afraid of how others will react if they were to find out we did this, or said, that, or think this way. Problem is, we’re essentially holding ourselves hostage with this kind of behaviour, and so not the wisest choice.

Re-doing has forced me to take a gander at what I’ve been hiding deep inside. You know that because I’ve written about parts of the process, my hopes, and some of the results. But each day, a few more layers dissolve, showing issues far more clearly.

Today, the issue for me is a specific secret I’ve been dodging. I’ve touched on it, and some of you might have put two and three together, but I’ve not owned it; I’ve not admitted it in a way that will allow me to let it go.

I’m ashamed of behaviour over many, many years that was neglectful, sneaky, destructive, and at times, dangerous. When drinking I’ve been known to hurt others, but mostly myself. Twelve steps? Not so much. Just a woman coming to terms and trying to be a better person by treating herself more respectfully with love, kindness, and forgiveness.

Pushing the publish button on Word Press tonight is going to take some courage because I’m not looking to have a discussion about this – at least not a personal one about what I’ve “confessed”. I know exactly what I’ve done. I’m the one looking the lies straight on and releasing the secret. This is me being accountable and taking responsibility. It’s that simple.

My wish tonight is a word sent by an e-friend after yesterday’s vlog. The word is congruous. It means in harmony, a place most of us would love to find ourselves. Congruence results when we come together. Facing our deepest secrets and setting them free is one way to create togetherness, methinks. It opens space within, and the space created without allows for more honest relationships to exist. Harmonious congruity for one and all! Think I’ll put that on a bumper sticker.

Until tomorrow…

A spoon full…

Sugar-is-badIt amazes me how quickly sugar muffles me now. I remember reading somewhere that alcohol messes extremely with blood glucose levels. Besides being poison to the body which wants to immediately excrete it, alcohol negatively impacts glucose levels every time it’s ingested. Talk about imbalance! So, I’m thinking the tub of chocolate peanut butter Haagen-Dazs, and dozen oatmeal raisin cookies I scarfed down, even though not actually considered deadly by the body, hasn’t done my glycogen processes any favours today. By the way I feel, I’ll sure be happy when those sugary treats have digested and exited my lovely person.

So you might have guessed by the above that I’m not feeling great. I’m not. I’m all kinds of spacey. Clean living is absolutely the way, but I’ve only been squeaky for a short time. Straying seems to have immediate, and unpleasant, repercussions. I’ve got to get used to this and watch the cravings. And I’m happy to, if truth be told. As I wrote last night, changing means I have to make changes.

There’s lots of ideas swimming around in the pool of sweet goo that is likely my brain tonight, and hopefully I’ll write about them in the coming days, but I’m done for tonight. I’m all blurry-eyed. .

My wish is for the courage to follow the gut. Discerning the voice’s nuances becomes easier over time. Listening to our intuition can be easy, or hard. We’ve a choice. I’ve heard it said the gut can steer us wrong. That is false. That we don’t always hear or interpret the message correctly, or that we choose to disregard instruction, is not the fault of our intuition. We have choices and we make them based on our free will, or ego, or doubt, or fear. Our higher-self continues to  speak only truth. There’s no sugar coating that. It’s a fact.

Until tomorrow…