The Power of Life!


Is the power of life a happy accident, a real miracle, or a measured phenomenon?

We realize what we are supposed to understand as we approach living life to the fullest. So, you’ve heard it, and you’ve tried it, and living life to the fullest is only possible when you allow yourself to be satisfied.

Listen to what the 14th Dali Lama says: “Man. Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money. Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health. And then he is so anxious about the future, he does not enjoy the present; the result being that he does not live in the present or the future; he lives as if he is never going to die, and then dies having never really lived.”

If you are going to appraise your satisfaction with life, as you know it, you will have to rate it as a whole rather than how you currently feel. We have our ups and downs, our ins and outs, but if you are going to rate your life be very generous. In generosity you will find satisfaction.

It is suggested that you not lie in wait for satisfaction, give it to yourself immediately, so you can start now living in virtuous satisfaction with your life.

Give them more than the Heck Word!


If you can figure out how to stop Robot calling, one of the major phone companies will give you a million dollars. I hope one of you reading this has some ideas and can put to together a package that will ease our fury at the number of horrible calls and pad your bank account with lots of $$$.

Yesterday morning on a quiet second cup of coffee morning, a call came through and I answered it. The voice on the other end said, “Hi, Grandma, this is your grandson. No way possible, I know the voices of my grandson’s, so I answered back, “Who the hell are you?” He said, “Now why would you talk to your grandson, your oldest one like that.” I said why don’t you talk with Grandpa and he hung up. It made me very sad to think that there are grandmas and grandpas so starved for a call from their grand child; they would fall for this scheme. When they have Grandma in their claws they tell here that *&% has been in a little accident and needs her to wire him some money. He says he will get home and come to see her. This scam has happened often and grandmas across the U.S. have sent money to these Grandma scammers in order to help their precious grandchild. Tears are in my eyes.

Another scam is that you will be called and told that your computer is sending out thousands of naughty emails and they can help you to stop it. You have to turn on your computer and allow them to control your screen and meanwhile all your sacred data is confiscated and you have been scammed. I recently yelled into the phone some obscenities and the scammer got so mad he said in a harsh voice, “Open your damn computer.” I hung up. Hanging up has such finality to it and holds such a sense of control.

You know well about the construction scammers, right? They tell you how nice you were to them in January, this being May, and that you said you had work for them when they call back. Sure! We actually had a scammer plumber recommended highly. He was going to chip up all of the tile flooring and re-pipe. When the person heard that his recommendation went so badly, he came over, dismissed the contractor, and did the work himself at half the price and no digging up tile floors. Saved by the bell. We had already decided not to do it that way, but didn’t know where to turn. Lucky we have such a knowledgeable friend who is a plumber.

Have you had a persuasive call from the IRS? Well you know that the IRS has bigger fish to fry and is not going to call you.

But if you need to be contacted you will be contacted by mail.

The scammer on this one told our friends that they had the sheriff already on the way to arrest them. They waited in fear all night. Oh my, oh my!!

Wireless phones are receiving calls from phone numbers with a three-digit area code that looks domestic. Do not return the call! If you call and they answer you will be charged a fee for connecting and a charge per minute fee, if they can keep you on the phone. How long folks does it take to say the f-word and hang up?

So, if you are out there and can figure out a Scammer Buster, welcome to the million dollars. I applaud you all the way to the bank.

I Told Them What I Wanted to Tell Them!


Last night I started to speak with you who I have lost in this life. I don’t care if you heard me or not, I hope you did, but I said what I wanted to say, did what I wanted to do and you heard me. I told you what you meant to me, each one of you. You have changed my life and helped me to see blue skies and not wallow in the cloudy moody weather so much. You, I have missed. I long to tell you things I know you would have been delighted to hear. The light on my nightstand gave a couple of on, and off flickers, so you do hear me. I’d like to believe that.

I told you that you have helped me to satisfy many longings and to stand up in my life. You gave me courage to face my fears of inadequacy and my stinging muteness. You told me to act as if I were walking down the street so straight, so tall, and so confident, I would signal my aggressor to cross the street and look away. Oh if that were only true. I told you that I have made strides in all the areas we held dear, and that you would be pleased. I told you I forgot to tell you how very much I would miss you, and how much I depended on our little talks captured here and there. I told you that my life, my internal life, has changed. I live as you lived. If you like what I say then, it is good, and if you do not, it is good, too.

Some of you who were nervous and afraid, I remember you and your longings to show your real selves. So you did and it was lovely when the sparkling dust from the ancient fairies shone down upon you. Now that you are amongst them, where does the light shine?

When the shroud of the angels covered you and kept you safe on stormy nights, you prayed to them and thanked them. Now that you are one of them, to whom do you pray and to whom do you thank?

When you felt God walking beside you and in your exhaustion, he carried you, you thanked him. Do you still have encounters with God? Do you still have the opportunity to thank him?

When you are on a journey up there, do you ever find your way a bit muddled? Do you whisper in your inside voice, asking God to guide your way? When you are with God, do you still have to ask for directions?

Pablo, you had guts of steel. You lived your life in the fast lane. You took chances and reaped the rewards. Finally, somehow, something caught up with you. Are you at peace now, or do you still enjoy the fast lane? Now, do you know you can win all of the time; are you reaping the rewards or do you take it easy in a rocking chair?

You all lie dead in your graves. Some of you purchased sites before the death event and others did not. It does not make a bit of difference to you whether you did purchase or you did not. You are each the same. You are dead. Whatever dead means, is something debatable, but none of you have come back to tell us anything to go on in our search for the meaning of life and the death of it.



There on top of a pile of photos from sixty years ago, I found a small photo featuring my mother’s three children. In the photo, we are climbing on monumental stones in Yosemite National Park. I’m a head taller than Taylor who is two heads taller than Stuart. However, this story is not about her three children, but about my mother and her many other children, as you shall see.

I have many fond remembrances of my mother. She loved cheese, and was a very calm and quiet person. She was a very good friend and neighbor and learned to drive a car later in life. She was president of several organizations, after learning to overcome paralyzing shyness earlier in her life. She prepared only the freshest of foods and disliked fish. She fiercely loved her children and would go to the ends of the earth for them. What I did not know about my mother was what I will call her secret life. A life that was lived parallel to ours.

We also had another woman living in our home for 28 years. She was my parent’s housekeeper, Lula. Having someone perform all of the household duties gave my mother a lot of freedom during the daytime hours. My father usually arrived home at exactly 5:30 p.m., and our mother was always waiting for him, dressed to the nines. For many years, I never really could get a grasp of what my mother did with her free time. Whenever we went somewhere together, so many people would greet her and show their love to her. They would gush and smile while blessing her, thanking her and hugging her. I never fully understood what my mother did to deserve all of this love, but I knew that she must be doing something of vast importance.

I wanted to know more about where my mother went and what she did, so one day I made a fake excuse of being at death’s door and stayed home from school. When my mother slipped out the side door, I slipped out right after her. I had to rush because since she did not drive in the earlier years, she had become a speed walker. At first, I followed her to the poultry market on the corner of State and California. As I watched through the window, she was given some sort of paper, and then read back the information to the man behind the counter. He nodded to her in agreement and off she went again. She did not slow down for anything or anyone, even speeding across busy streets. I nearly lost her a few times, but eventually enabled myself to speed along almost as fast as my jaunty mother. She slowed down to read the paper that she had received at the poultry market, and then made a turn into a building that housed several families. She disappeared into one of the doors and did not come back out. I waited as long as I could but finally became bored and headed back home to the comfort of my own bed, since I was supposedly sick.

During those days, it was not common for a child to question the comings and goings of their parents so I never had the nerve to ask my mother what it was that she was doing during her many daytime outings. But every now and then, throughout the years, my curiosity would again get the best of me. At those times I would pull my fake sickness act and again follow my mother. The story was always the same. She would return to the poultry market, receive a piece of paper and off she’d go, again with me in hot pursuit. And each time, she would repeat her disappearing act at a different location. I started to suspect that she was a spy for the FBI. And if she were a spy, then I’d have one of my own dreams realized in my mother.

When my mother decided to get her driver’s license, my father surprised her with a little dark gray ladylike car. She practiced and practiced. She had an obsession with proper hand signals and for months, wherever she went, she could be seen with the driving manual tucked away under her arm just in case she had a spare moment to study. After awhile, she became very confident behind the wheel of her car and passed her driving test with flying colors. I had a sinking feeling inside knowing that I could never follow my mother again once she drove off in her car. There was something more to her life than what we all knew, and her eyes showed it. Her self-confidence started to shine and she was becoming a very special person with many admirable qualities. She was often the center of attention wherever we went and everybody treated her with much love and respect.

One night after my mother started driving her car, she called to say that she would be late and to ‘go ahead without me for dinner’. After that night, more calls started coming with the same message. She started receiving regular telephone calls and would jot down an address and take off in her car without letting us know where she was going.

I vowed to myself that when I was old enough to get my driver’s license, the first thing I’d do would be to follow my mother and see what it was that she was doing when she got the addresses and disappeared. Well, I finally did get my driver’s license. Occasionally, I’d borrow my dad’s spare car and follow my mother. But as usual, I never saw more than her arrival at various residential destinations. And every time, she would do things in the same sequence. She would take her bag from the back seat, disappear into a residential building or home, and not come out for hours. My impatience would always get the best of me and I’d drive off without being able to uncover her secret.

My brothers had no idea that our mother had a parallel life. My father was seemingly unaware of whatever his own wife was doing. When I asked him if he knew where our mother had gone he would answer, “She has a household and children to attend to.” I respected his answer and did not ask again. Life progressed and I ended up moving from our small southeastern town to the west coast of California. There I finished my degrees and settled down with a job, family, home and friends.

Our mother died on August 24, 2009, during the early morning hours. Our family decided on a small graveside service since our family is small and there were very few of my parent’s friends still alive. On the day we buried my mother next to my father, there were over a thousand people lining the burial site. It was astonishing to see this large crowd of people who had all turned out to remember my mother one last time. I thought maybe they had the wrong site. But no, in fact, they were indeed there for my mother. Before the service began I made it a point to connect with as many of them as I could. Through several conversations with some of the mourners, it was made clear to me what my mother had been doing for all those many years. Her secret was that she had been a midwife. She had been very well suited for this position and had all the skills and abilities to perform these duties. From what I learned, she loved her work and had a very sympathetic disposition for all of the women in labor that she dealt with. She was a quiet person and had a very calming effect during such high anxiety situations. It is still astonishing to me that my mother was a midwife. A midwife!

All of the people at her graveside had become very connected to my mother throughout the years. They had all become her extended family through the work that she had done for them. When it came time for the eulogies, many of them had their own stories to tell about when and how my mother had helped them to have a healthy pregnancy and a natural childbirth experience. Many of the children delivered by my mother, now of varying ages, were also there to pay their last respects at her funeral. All of these wonderful people were there to help send her on her way to the almighty.

It took me a bit of time to process the fact that my mother had performed so many amazing miracles without the knowledge of either her family or her friends. I question how she was able to do so much work without any of us ever knowing. She has become elevated to supernatural status in my mind. Alas, I often wonder why did she keep it a secret? Did she know that my father would have put an immediate end to it? Did she think that her children might not understand? Did she want something that she could do just for herself? Perhaps my mother knew that she was on the right path and had the approval of God, as well as the love and cherish of the many connected souls that she dealt with. May the power of holiness and the spirit of the almighty carry my mother to her just reward.

Lighten Up!


My readers have asked me to lighten up. One said I was leaning into an all too depressing reality. I have tried to think less depressingly and it does not present much depth. So, here I go anyway. Something lighter?

Our sons bought us a very fancy Jura coffeemaker. Going from boiled water poured into a mug with instant coffee crystals at the bottom, mixed and cream added, to fresh ground beans before each cup of coffee is a big step on the wild side and a gigantic leap of faith.

Oh the coffee is good! It is truly yummy in fact. It is rich, full bodied, tangs your tongue, tickles your insides and has you aching for more.

The only problem is that this machine that has entered our lives has it in for me. Not Mr. C, just me. I have proved it time after time. Mr. C. and everyone who puts their dainty little cup under this machine gets a piping hot, creamed top, hearty cup of coffee. I get a message. If it were just one message here and there, okay, I get it. But most times for me to get a cup of coffee I have to refill the requests of this machine nearly everyday. Why me? I do not know, but finally Mr. C agrees, the machine has it out for me. For example, this morning, like no other morning, the machine answers my call for coffee. The message is FILL BEANS. Okay so I do and then the machine says fill water. I fill the water and growl obscenities when finally the machine in its benevolence rewards me with a small cup of coffee. If I press the double cup I get a regular size coffee.

There are many functions on this machine that need to be filled before it will offer you the coffee reward. I hope this is more upbeat, but can be taken as downbeat if you wish. When you get a message instead of a cup of coffee, is it really laughable? It is not.   How about after you fill the beans when you can almost taste the pure ground ingredience, a message flashes on and says fill water. Thank goodness thus far; it has only shown two messages for one morning cup of coffee. But I am going to list the possibilities and see if you think having a coffee maker of this stature is upbeat.

Take a deep breath and read through the possibilities for your pleasure. You must familiarize yourself with the bean container cover, the bean container with aroma preservation cover, water tank with handle, power switch and power cord at back of machine, coffee grounds container, drip tray, cup platform, fineness of grind switch, cup tray, cover of filler funnel for pre-ground coffee, filler funnel for pre-ground coffee, Professional Cappuccino Frother, height-adjustable coffee spout and hot water spout. Allow me to continue to make you aware of other control elements. There is the display, rotary switch cover, on/off button, Maintenance button, 2 Expresso button, 2 Expressi button, 1 coffee button, 2 coffees button, Coffee a la Cate button, pre-ground coffee button, selector switch, hot water portion symbol, hot water symbol, Cappuccino button, Milk portion symbol, Milk symbol, Latte Macchiato button and Professional Cappuccino Frother.

Now once you become familiar with all of these symbols, you would think you would rule your coffee world. Perhaps you can and do, but for me it is a constant battle.

Once you are ready each morning, lessons learned, you press the on button, machine heats up, rinses with water streaming out of the coffee spout, but you have beat the machine to the punch. You have a rinse cup in place to catch the rinsing stream. Not so fast sweetheart, the message switches to read, empty grounds. So you empty grounds, wash out the tray and hope! Coffee button pressed and coffee granted. It is not exactly upbeat to live in fear of your “Good Morning” coffee machine’s message to you.

The directions say that with Impressa, you can prepare excellent coffee or milk specialties. Oh you can if, fill beans, fill water, rinse, empty grounds, fulfill all maintenance items such as, rinse, clean machine, decalcify machine as well as change filter. Any one of the here-to-fore mentioned chores not executed would stop you from receiving a delicious, mouth watering, aroma filled cup of coffee.

Thanking you in advance for your kind attention.



At State Street Elementary School, fifty and more years ago, we had a principal’s whose name is Mr. Wells. He used to sing a song titled, “Oh What a Beautiful Morning.” I always thought it was called: The corn is as high as an elephant’s eye, but it is not.

It sings about a bright golden haze on the meadow, and oh what a beautiful morning, day, feeling and everything is going my way.

It sings about the cattle standing like statues, they don’t turn their heads as they see me ride by, but a little brown mav’rick is winking her eye.

It sings that the sounds of the earth are like music, the breeze is so busy it doesn’t miss a tree and an ole weeping willow is laughing at me.

Then it ends with: Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day, I’ve got a beautiful feeling; everything’s going my way.

It as you read, only says one line with: The corn is as high as an elephant’s eye. Only once, and to me it is the whole of the song as I remembered it. On further study, I see that the message is not about corn, not about being as high as an elephant’s eye, but a positive and beautiful message about waking up in the morning to a beautiful day, having a beautiful feeling that everything’s going your way.

I am glad to have re-visited this childhood song sung at every assembly during my elementary school days by Mr. Wells.

Now, Mr. Wells was not just a singing principal, he was a strong disciplinarian. A little group of hoodlums at the school harassed all who dared to step into their territory. Mr. Wells seemed to approve of them. I want you to remember as you read; this is elementary school grade 5. As I look back, it seems young to have had such a difficulty. Some people have asked, did you tell your parents? No I did not. I did not want them to think badly of me, as the hoods made me feel about myself.

I dared myself to do lots of things, and one of them was to take my chances with the hoodlums. One of them was so cute; I couldn’t catch my breath as I walked by him. Barely breathing at the sight of the cute hood, one beautiful morning when the corn was as high as an elephant’s eye, I stepped into “Hoodlumville Territory.” They jumped on me and pinched my breasts, spit on my face, kicked my knees and as I scrambled away on all fours, I yelled: ” You Son of a Gun.”

The next morning, I found myself in Mr. Wells’ office with the Hoodlum Gang. Mr. Wells asked me if I cussed at these boys.

I stated, “No.” He said did you say,” You Son of a gun?”

I stated, “Yes.” He asked the Hoods to leave his office and as they did, he took off his belt and slapped my upper body three times. As I turned to leave the office, I coughed out words through my tears, ” I did not know guns had sons.”

It was not such a beautiful morning, it was not such a beautiful day, I didn’t have a beautiful feeling, and everything was not going my way. But, the corn was as high as an elephant’s eye and it looked like it was climbing up to the sky!

Rest In Peace, Mr. Wells.



What is the Pre-Departure Lounge? For now, I will liken it to the lounge at the airport where you are sent to wait for your flight. In the case of this story, I will liken it to the ancient souls waiting in semi darkness all day long in holding pens across the planet. They are sent to these places to await the Lord’s call to begin the trek to St. Peter’s gates for admittance.

It is a dreamlike state where you wait and identify that you are in a state of waiting, for the next level of departure. Where does it take place? You wait in your mind of course. Why are you in this state? You want to make some last minute decisions? Not really, you have done all of that in black and white, but this is a place to wait in semi-comfort and analyze all that you are, have been, and are to become.

You sit and wait. No one comes to tell you anything. No one comes to give you the kindness of a wink, a pat, a kindly touch; nothing comes your way but occasionally a small swift breeze circles around to assure you and your blank stare that you are still waiting. Your stare is not blank, don’t they know? You are still there. You are telling them, but they act as if they do not hear. You have been many things to many people in your lifetime. You have created wonders on God’s green and blue earth. You have suffered humanities elations and ills. You really want someone to look into your fading eyes and say hello. How are you today? That would be enough. That would give you confidence to hope for the next passage. You were on the bestseller list with Reader’s Views for 10 days with your silly little New Age Novel. You re-wrote an enchanted gifted program. You had no idea you were doing it by living it, but they give you the credit. No one knows anything about you in this dank hallway as you sit head dropped nearly to your knees and drool on your thighs. Where are you anyway? Again, remember, my friend Xavier said it is the Pre Departure Lounge. He said it is where you sit and wait. Are you taking a delightful flight over the pond to see friends you have made over the years? Not at all, you wait here for the final departure of your living, breathing, thinking, and physical days on this planet. They are all gone, and if not gone, still considered gone. That is enough whining. You’ll go if you were good or if you were bad. Nothing you can do, but imagine yourself elsewhere.

Will you have an after life, you cannot say. No one who has promised to come back and let you know how it is over there, have come. You wait and are left wondering. You have had dreams of what a heavenly place will be and how it will feel. You hope to meet others, especially hoping to meet those who have preceded you.

You hear laughter. It reminds of you of the raucous family parties with children and grandchildren running, hopping, skipping, and jumping. You imagine you hear them squealing and your mind is seeing smiles forever on their faces. They are lodged deeply in the recesses of your memory mind which is still left for you to ponder, or is it? You try and remember the name of the park where four generations of your stock met, exchanged wishes, told lies, shared visions and aspirations, then tarried long after the sun went to the other side of the earth. When it was all said and done, the memory in bits and pieces remain, but where are they now? They could be on the moon for all you know, but what you do know is that here you sit in the Pre-departure lounge saving seats for them.

Who says you Can’t Mix Apples and Oranges?


Your friend is sweetly angry. You are not behaving the way she wants you to behave. You have not been your usual attentive self and you are becoming self-centered.

Oh dear, what shall I do?

Really? You are asking what shall you do? Be your contented self. Are you all the things she says? Hell no you are not. Perhaps in her minds eye, you are not her idol anymore. It does not happen the way it used to happen. You have taken several steps up on the ladder of serenity and do not need all of the psychodrama so many are capable of spewing. So, as you move up, someone will tug at you and hope to take you down to their level once again. If they can rise, give them all the details on how you have moved and if it does not accomplish what you hope, close your eyes, thank God for your enlightenment, and move along on your appointed rounds.

You will meet many who are working to expand and enter new ways and means. Who says, “You can’t mix apples and oranges.” Why not? I mix them in my fruit bowl always. Oh perhaps because they are so different and rarely do you eat them together. I will leave you now for a lunch break where I will prepare apples and oranges together. Have a cup of coffee. I’ll be back.

I’m BACK. Apples and oranges are delicious together and even attain ambrosia status if you mix in a tablespoon of vanilla yogurt and a teaspoon of honey. It is lip-smacking good as a main dish or a stand-alone. So why have you and I believed all of these years because someone is quoted that all they have to say is true? Can you not look, see, and taste? Make up your own mind? I hope so, and from now on we will be stronger. In fact here is one for you. How about putting potatoes and tomatoes together. Yuck right? Wrong. So, to you I ask, who said some things you think, either you rethink them, say them as your truth, or I must ignore them.

When all is said and done and before you go, the real truth about apples and oranges is that you need to separate them to extend their shelf life. Apples and oranges stored together will omit a gas that will break them down faster. So, as a matter of perspectives, it is right and wrong. I assume right for some who wish to breakdown sooner and wrong for those who wish to remain crisp and fresh as long as possible. I’ll take my apples and oranges together, and eat them sooner before the breakdown.

An Educated Heart


What is an educated heart? I thought perhaps the article I presumed I am to write would naturally say write about the educated mind. Talking and writing about the mind is an easy task especially if you put educated in front of it. Soon you will bear witness, this is not the case, but I will say this much, your educated mind is what you know, use to create, live, say, and perhaps use on the basis of producing data of some sort or another, perhaps the use of “intellectual tools.

Now, the educated heart is a hidden gem that I notice more of us than a few own. The person that possesses an educated heart is a joy to know and they shed light wherever they go. They know when to explain an action. They know when to call. They know not to melt down and spew accusations; they know how to clear a path so you pass unscathed. The educated heart is never trying to hurry you through; they let you take your time. They explain, describe, and enlighten you along the way. They offer you a full, uncomplicated friendship with a free spirit. They ask for nothing in return except for your understanding and your alliance. An educated heart gives mutuality, neutrality, hope, charity and clarity.

Throughout my life people have silently, yet purposefully modeled an educated heart. I was watching and gathering. Many of them are gone beyond the great boundaries, but I have copied them and know how to model back.

I see you out there doing the same and recognizing the educated heart in many others. I see you sharing harmony and affection, and modeling it as well. Exceptional, admirable, worthy!




When I was in high school, I lent a boyfriend two hundred dollars. Do you think I ever saw him again? No I did not. He was not from my hometown, just visiting his aunt and uncle. Off he went into the wild blue yonder with my heart and money in his hands. I had no idea someone could be so heartless and take your money and run. Certainly, you all are laughing by now, but you shouldn’t be, because now, I know there are so very many more horrors of human heartless, callousness and I realize my two hundred dollars is a childhood drama. I want you to know that this little early performance led me on a path to gratitude for the information given early in life at a cut-rate price.

I used to keep my money in the bottom of my underwear drawer along with other valuables. My mother, bless her heart, wrote a poem and left it in the bottom of my underwear drawer for me to eventually find. It said, “Hearts and flowers fade away when the bills come to pay.” How right she is to this day.

Allow me to add to my mother’s poetry:

“Hearts and flowers fade away when the bills come to pay.”

When it is time for breakfast, lunch, and dinner to be fixed a new and appetizing way.

When children join the fray and the laundry climbs to the sky

It is not time to run away and say goodbye

It’s time to get the clothes washed and dried

Whose crying, nobody has died.

Life insurance, car insurance, house insurance, medical insurance.

A test for your pocketbook, and your mental endurance in order to gain peace of mind and assurance.

Your family talks back right at you, everyone not necessarily taking turns

You’ve worked all day to make everyone happy, especially the money you earned.

The house needs a good pick up, a put away and a cleaning.

Look everyone complaining about his or her injuries, bodies leaning; can’t do any pick up or cleaning?

It seems like the days are filled with competition and playing the same rendition of Hearts and flowers fade away when the bills come to pay…

Yet today we are all having nice encounters. Tonight out to dinner, the real winner.

So when hearts and flowers fade away, pay the bills and live another day.

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