“A Nation of Bullies”

First off, this blog today has no political agenda.
I am not posting for Trump…..I am not posting against Trump…..
This morning on social media, all I see are posts mocking the mistakes in his speech yesterday.
I wonder how many of those who mocked have stood in front of the world and made a speech?
As a girl, I was petrified to get up in front of the class…I was bullied and called names every day; getting up in front of those bullies was terrifying. Oral book reports sent a chill of trepidation down my spine…. I botched the perfect report I kept in my head when saying it aloud.   Thankfully, teachers were forgiving, they knew I read those books.
In high school, I was asked to teach lessons; as I was writing on the blackboard, I could hear the bullies mumbling names……I drew all courage from within and continued teaching.  I carry that feeling inside me; those bullies have long forgotten the words they mumbled and chortled over, I never have.
As I grew older, I chose professions where I would have to speak in front of others…….I led tours and gave talks at the zoo and held workshops and presentations at my office on Metaphysics and Reiki. I led ghost investigations in Gettysburg.
Now, it is so disheartening to see……
This country has become that classroom of bullies……name calling and mocking…..
As I said, this is not FOR OR AGAINST TRUMP…….I don’t write this politically, I write it as someone who wishes some Universal GPS could get this world back on track…..we are traveling on that wrong road that doesn’t end well….
We are giving our children the okay to act this way…..I see parents battling it out at elementary school sporting events, I see news stories of road rage and punching in the streets.   When adults act in this fashion, of course, the young will follow suit……
I heard firework explosions last night.    The ones I fear most are the explosions of anger and cruelty festering in man, waiting to be released in a society that has traveled down that wrong GPS direction and seems to like the destination.
Shirl
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“Do People Really Speak Their Minds?”

The night before last, I watched an indie film.   I like to scour the internet for indie films, maybe because I am an indie writer.

This one, which shall remain nameless, tells the tale of a wife, husband, and her lover trapped in a house together.   The premise sounds intriguing, right?   Wrong.   This film might just be the worst I have put my mind and seated body through for 90 or so minutes.

I looked at online reviews.   A few people agreed with me.    But the majority followed the first reviewer with accolades of dark humor, quirkiness……..

Dark humor, quirkiness????   It was like I was reading about a different film……..But then again, I watch how engulfed people act when looking at an abstract red circle and black line on a canvas………The art critics rave………so, if you don’t, are you stupid?

Never appear stupid on a review…  I really think people who hate a film go along with the crowd…..pretending to feel something they do not.

Now, this doesn’t apply to my own book reviews, where each highly intelligent soul has given me 5*****’s.

I started questioning my own mind.   Had I really missed the boat on this one?   Was it really a good film?    It had no message, it had no ending, it was just horrible…..quirky, dark humored horrible………..though I didn’t find any humor, of any shade,  in it.

Indie films and indie books can be wasted hours or priceless pearls in an ocean of creativity.   Search them out, but let your mind guide your thoughts; don’t think because Ms. A and Mr. B raved about them, they have worth.   And if a pearl turns out to be a speck of grit……don’t abandon the search.   A lot of publishers and producers miss strands of pearls that way.

Blessings,

Shirl

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“Knit and Purl”

My mother knit.   She knit constantly, but not many of her creations were handed down to me.   She knit for everyone, each family member who had a baby received a sweater set and blanket.   There were a lot of new babies in our large family.

She would sit and knit while watching television until her hands fell asleep.   I always wanted to learn, but never realized that moment of parent/child tutorial in this process.   I picked up crocheting as a young woman, but knitting always evaded my hands……until several years ago.   I only had a few pieces of my mother’s handwork, but I had her yarn…….skeins and skeins of it.

When my daughter was expecting her baby, I set about on a quest to learn to knit and used these skeins for the grandmother who would never knit her that sweater set or blanket.

Now, I knit a lot of little gifts.   I realize the time it takes to make a little token gift; my mother spent so many hours and hours for others, I wonder if all my cousins really understood and appreciated the time she took to create each one.

She made me sweaters when I was a little girl, but she gave them away as I grew out of their fit.   I have only one small sweater left, a pink mohair one, too small to button, but always a favorite.

Knitting for me is meditation.   It is impossible to have a busy mind as you are counting stitches on a row.    For those who have tried meditation with little success, knitting is a way to meditate and create at the same time.   Studies have proven the validity of the relaxation benefits two needles and a ball of yarn provide to lower blood pressure and stress in one’s life.

I think when their hands are ready, my own daughters will pick up the needles, pick up the skeins and skeins of yarn, and continue…….Once hooked, knitting becomes a part of you, or a recapture of the DNA that threads within your soul.

Here is my latest creation…..My mother’s sewing stitches were perfect, her knitting without mistake.   Me, my stitches aren’t always in line, as my life, I live a little out of the normal boundaries as an Intuitive Medium anyway.   I make mistakes in knitting, they glare up at me, as a knitter’s own eyes are the most critical.   Mistakes are repairable; they take patience and work….

Regrets sometimes aren’t……….I regret not learning at my mother’s hands…….I regret her not being here to show me intricate stitches……..I regret her not being here to help me read difficult patterns………

Today,  she and my dad would have celebrated their 78th wedding anniversary……..years of memories, regrets, and countless creations never finished…..

I finished this sweater yesterday.   Now, my hands wait for the next Knit, the next Purl.

Wool sweater

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“What Happened to Moldy Bread?”

I have noticed a worrisome phenomenon lately.   My supermarket bread doesn’t get moldy.

Year before, you could always count on that lunch moment when you open the package and say “oh sh**” the bread is moldy.   Now, no kidding, I have ends of loaves on my counter sitting for a couple of weeks, waiting for that mold to appear.   I usually buy a fresh loaf, so the fresh one sits next to the ends of the weeks old one, until I have a lovely assortment of bread on my counter……….but no mold.

What are they embalming bread with nowadays.    I noticed some brands are really great at this preservation and stopped buying them.   Potato bread lasts “forever”…….maybe it’s the chemical residue in potatoes……..sigh ……

Yes, it’s great to have a loaf of bread that lasts for months, but who really wants what they are putting into that loaf inside their own body………..

Is it me, or have any of you noticed this same occurrence.   Apples should get dark in the air, lettuce should wilt, and bread should get moldy…….that’s just the way it should be…….shouldn’t it??????

Excuse me, I have to go make some toast with that loaf of 3 week old cinnamon bread on my counter……… “oh sh**“, my jar of jelly in the refrigerator has a layer of mold on top   🙂

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“I Miss My Woody Station Wagon”

On a morning news show, a host mentioned she bought her husband a vintage woody station wagon for his birthday; the car looked a lot like mine in decades past.   It was a good car; I could lift the back and easily put all my groceries inside.   Now, I need orangutan arms to lift the back hatch of my husband’s SUV and giraffe legs to climb inside.

Okay, it wasn’t all wine and roses, as the song states.   The windshield wipers didn’t work; one blinding rainstorm I had to continually sweep my arm out across the windshield to see.

We said goodbye to the woody and I got a newer car…….I couldn’t put my groceries in back anymore…..but I could see in the rain…..(there were other things wrong with it, I am certain, though my eyes are glazed with the “rosyness” of time.

I packed my three kids in that woody……..without car seats, probably without seat belts.   I packed them without traveling water bottles, (how they didn’t perish from dehydration I will never know.)   We didn’t carry plastic water bottles back then; we didn’t carry snack bags filled with the now necessary Goldfish crackers or fruit.   Somehow, we made it home without starvation setting in……..  We traveled light; me, my kids, and I, and maybe sometimes my toy poodle, along for the ride to Grandma’s.

Now, Grandma is gone, the woody is gone,  my toy poodle is gone and my own children carry child car seats,  water bottles, snack bags, and dogs in crates to Grandma’s house.

Life just seemed less complicated then……..when you checked to see if all children were in tow as you locked the front door, without enough tote bags and accessories for a cross country journey to the grocery store or Grandma’s.

Blessings,

Shirl

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“Talk with Spirits, they do listen”

 

Yesterday, I found a rock at my farmhouse……an ordinary rock, not a pebble, but of a good enough size.   What’s so strange about that, you ask?   Well, I found it in my kitchen sink.    I know it wasn’t there the last time I was at my Gettysburg home.   So why was there a rock in my sink.

Well, yes, farmhouses have mice.   But this rock was a bit hefty for a mouse, unless it was Rocky “Stallone” Mouse.

Yes, I have logs that form my ceilings, with spaces between……did a rock fall down from mice bowling with rocks in the attic?   The spaces were too slim for this to easily fall through, unless it was Harry Houdini Mouse…….plus, it would have to fall through to the second floor, then find a hole large enough to make it to the kitchen…..I would call that one hell of a bowling strike……  🙂

So, I ask again, how did a rock find its way into my kitchen sink?   My farmhouse has spirits.   They have been quiet lately.   Yesterday, I went about the day talking them, asking them to show me a sign or give me a message that they were listening.

Nothing………quiet as a rock, you might say.

Then, last night, driving in the darkness on the Garden State Parkway, a car changed lanes directly in front of us…….too close to do anything but brace and wait for the impact and think about all the things that fly through one’s head at these moments……..

I still do not know how we didn’t collide…..there must have been an inch between us……

But maybe I do know…….I think spirits watch us and listen and sometimes protect us if they are able to do so.

Sometimes, they show us signs……like a rock in a sink.   Sometimes, they move a car an inch sooner……..

Even in the quiet…… they are there.Black and White Me

Blessings,

Shirl

 

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“A Spiral Staircase”

What is happening in our country.   It seems like a spiral staircase is climbing up to that glass ceiling and men are shoring up the seams and cracks that women have worked so hard to attain.

It’s lovely to fantasize about times past when Mr. Darcy rode his horse to your door and whisked you away to the mansion.

Women forget that women were often locked away in those mansions, their property lost, their brains deemed insane because of the depression of being locked away or the hormonal effects of having child after child after child………..

Women were beat, were imprisoned, were killed at the hands of back alley practitioners, wielding hangers instead of sterile, surgical instruments.

You don’t have to agree with a woman’s choice…….but you must agree in a time where she is allowed to make it.

I hope a vampire bites the neck of Ruth Bader Ginsberg…..I hope see lives forever…..

It’s nice to dream of old times and wish for Mr. Darcy………just remember what those old times entailed………It’s nice to be able to buy your own horse and mansion now……. and make your own choices concerning both…………. 🙂augusta

 

Shirl

 

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