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My Book! I'm Published!

"Dusty Angels and Old Diaries"

by Linda J. Meikle

A Book For Women Who Want To Be Strong

An amazing story that might change your life

This is the story of my life gleaned for a box-full of old diaries. It re-lives the terror of a three-year old child as I waited for my mother to return; the fight to stay in the orphanage and not be separated from my baby sister. Later, the abuse and injuries suffered at the hands of an unbridled angry grandmother; the slow death of a turbulent marriage; the birth and blessings of two wonderful sons; the agonizing search for my mother - and the pivotal moment when I found her almost 40 years later! It ends on a magical note of unexpected love found in an unusual place. A story of love and forgiveness rarely seen today!

Search Inside the Book at Amazon.com

My e-mail: bestnurse@usa.com (from your mailbox)

Book website: http://www.lindasbookshelf.com

Home Page http://dustyangels.blogspot.com

Claustrophobic Flying & How To Rise Above It!

A study done on claustrophobia reports that 10-20 percent of people who fly in the United States suffer from the fear of closed spaces. I am one of these people who becomes physically ill at the thought of being closed in. I can see a picture of someone in a small space and feel the quiver in my heart. The fear of flying is not safety related. I’m not bothered by stomach-displacing turbulence or strange noises erupting from the bowels of the jetliners, but I feel like saran-wrap is stuck to my face when I'm in small places and especially when I step over the thresh hold into an airplane.

It’s a powerful feeling of suffocation that grips me like a vice and squeezes tighter and tighter until I am paralyzed with a panic that feels like I’m trapped in a body that can’t breathe or move. And, that can be triggered by the tiniest thought of entering the doorway of any airplane and making my way to the isle seat nearest to the door!

My sister, Sandy, also suffers with this and we know it’s somehow related to our early traumatic childhood, but that does not lesson the physical discomfort and paralyzing life-changing fear that turns us into wild-eyed, babbling idiots with tears running down our pale face and white lips while we clutch our cold hands into tight fists and gasp for breath, seeking desperately to escape the oppressive prison that surrounds us and robs us of life-giving air! (And if you are out of breath after reading this sentence out loud in one breath, that’s just a fraction of how we feel in small places.)

But, I have determined not to let this disabling condition dictate my method of travel in this world. If I want to get someplace that requires more than five hours of drive time, I book that $59 flight and get there in time for supper!

So began one of the longest airplane trips of my life this last week when it was time to visit oldest son, Billy in Portland, Oregon from Columbus, Ohio! Perhaps I’ve flown to that city before, but due to the acute discomfort that comes with flying, it’s like my birthing experience with Billy, I don’t remember the details!

Months before (if possible), I book online and pick out my seat on the isle as close to the front as I can get. For some unknown reason, my sister needs a window seat so she can glue her face to the window the entire trip. Exit seats are the best, but they don’t let you select them online.

You may ask for one at the counter if you promise to lift heavy objects and throw them to the back of the plane during an emergency.

Because even thinking about being claustrophobic brings on the insidious terror, I must have all my ducks in a row before I get to the terminal.

I have read the first and last page of a book that is good enough to grab my attention and long enough to last until I get there. (It won’t be a religious book, so don’t look!)

Extra bags are checked outside the terminal so I don’t have to stand in more long lines than I have to and think about what’s ahead. The boarding pass has been printed out at home the night before.

During the mile-long security line that moves slower than a sick snail, and because they won’t allow us to joke anymore, and because they make us discard all of our comfort foods, I pretend I’m a spy and take careful notice of every detail around me. I memorize shoe colors, hair colors, idiosyncrasies, body odors, jewelry and sticker messages stuck on luggage. I check out old men’s hearing aides and young people’s piercings in odd places. I notice expressions, body language, cell phones, I-Pods and try to guess what’s in the packages that must go through the x-ray machine ahead. I make everything a game so I can forget where I’m headed.

When it’s time to board the plane, I’m last in line (even if they’ve called my “zone”) so I can let everybody get ahead of me. Or, I slow down and irritate the people behind me for the same reason (so there can be a lot of space ahead of me). I don’t want to be clogged up at the doorway when I’m going to be making some important decisions. And, I’m not taking a chance that I’ll kick the person ahead of me who takes five minutes trying to squeeze an oversized suitcase into an undersized spot while people pile up against each other in the minuscule sized isle!

Even so, as I enter the airline doorway, there’s this urge to turn around and run away. The number one objective is to clear my head of the question, “Am I staying here or not?” I don’t let any of the catalytic questions flitter completely through my head although the questions are banging at the forehead. “Am I going to stay here or not?” “How am I going to get out?” “Will my seatmate be really big and take up my space too?” “Is this plane going to close the doors and then sit on the tarmac with me encased inside”?

"I’m staying! I'm staying. I'm staying!", I say to myself with each step into the cavernous tank.

If the airline hostess (there’s that word “air” again) smiles and catches my eye as I step past her and turn right into the airless cigarette-sized coffin, I will explain that I have claustrophobia and would appreciate it if they don’t stop with the service cart beside me. Sometimes he/she will nod and smile in agreement, but most times don’t count on any empathy or sympathy from the hostess.

I sit without looking at the door, but I don’t buckle my seatbelt. I hide it under my blouse because they walk by and ‘look’. I turn on both air vents above my head and glare at my seatmate if he/she starts to reach up to turn it off. I open my book and start reading, not looking up for an instant. Right about then those air vents are going to stop hissing cool air and the swaddling blanket will start to tighten! If the suffocation gets too great, I close my eyes (first) and put my head back against the seat toward the air vents and envision a category-5 hurricane tearing recklessly through the aircraft, or I add creativity to a vast colorful ocean sunset.

Pink whales, orange iridescent starfish and gigantic cones of chocolate ice-cream fill the sunset scene. If that fails, I go the more subjective scene. A tall, handsome man in a really small bathing suit with a monkey on his shoulders and a parrot on the monkey’s head and a banana on the parrot's head and a fly on the banana and a flyswatter coming down on all of them…

“Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen. The doors have been closed and the captain has put on the seatbelt sign. We are number 14 in line so sit back and enjoy the flight.”

Create a picture for THAT one!

Next, there's always the little problem of having to pee during the 5-hour flight. They don't provide little pee jars, but the tiny cubicle provided is about the size of one! Just to prove I could, I actually fitted myself into the shell casing called the 'restroom', and didn't panic until the door stuck and I had to stop and read the little letters on the the door that said, "push here". By then I had the door pushed almost into the first class section of the plane.

Now I’m trying not to think about arriving at our destination when everyone will stand up and clog the isle and slurp my last bit of oxygen as they crush against the tide of people anxious to be the first off the plane.

So far, what works best is for me when that crush starts is to stand up in the isle and be a bit pushy myself. I put my arms out against the seats in front and stand with my feet apart leaning over so my butt keeps people away at the back, and my body keeps others from leaving their seats beside me. Look out the window and watch that airport employee driving that little go cart real fast, and notice how they all interact like little bugs on the ground. Hope the attendant knows how to open the door and be glad that people do move fast to get off the plane!

I thank the pilot for a 'nice flight', and step back into the sweet freedom of breathing again and suck in the bright sunshine of life. I'm finally free of the phobia grip, and can spit it's sickly bile into the wind.

Welcome back to earth!

Take Care on the Journey,
~Linda

Introvert/Extrovert

"Mommy Home!" That’s what I said to my tail-wagging, tongue-licking dog, Sheba, who was jumping between the front and back seat of the car when hubby met me at the airport in Columbus, Ohio last night! (Hubby was glad to see me too, but not quite as expressive…)

During this last week, my ‘birthday celebration’ has taken us to visit friends (Floyd and Tania) in Illinois by car; and then my trip (alas, alone) to Portland, Oregon to visit oldest son and his wife by plane, taxi, bus, taxi and plane again! Whew! I was only in Portland one day, so the trip was exhausting travel-wise, but wonderful to see the ‘kids’ again!

I’m posting a separate story titled, “Flight Across America” about the last leg of my trip home on a Delta airline that was a, once-in-lifetime experience for me because by some miracle, I was able to sit in a single window seat in an exit isle, and look out on the clear earth below from Salt Lake City, Utah to Columbus, Ohio! I even saw a UFO! I took careful notes and will explain in the story posted, "Flight Across America".

At my son’s home, someone asked the question, “Are you an Extrovert or Introvert?” The question wasn’t directed at me as I recall. It was just part a conversation, but it got me to thinking because I really don’t know the difference! Is one better than the other?

Later, I noticed a book on the same subject lying on the piano. Titled, “The Introvert Advantage” by Marti Olsen Laney, Psy.D. It answered the question for me!

While most who know me would laugh and tout, “Linda is an extrovert!” Hummmm. I don’t feel like a loud, boisterous, party-going, friend-seeking, fun-loving person who craves action.

But, I do enjoy striking up a conversation with the person who happens to be my seatmate on a plane or bus. (This got me into delicate situation on the plane, but opened an unusual opportunity on the bus). I’m the first to offer directions to someone who looks lost or assist someone who looks like they need it. Does this make me an extrovert?

While waiting for my flight out of Portland, I noticed a little white-haired lady sitting in a wheelchair all alone. I asked her if she wanted me to bring her anything. “Thank-you”, she responded with a beautiful grandmotherly smile, “but I’m being careful how much I drink right now”. That brief encounter got us into a conversation about her life.

She told me she was 93 years old and this would be her last trip to see her kids. “After this, I’m doing the cooking,” she offered with a chuckle. She lives only a few miles from our home and has eaten at the same restaurants near our town! As the skycaps wheeled her into the airplane, she used the tip of her silver-tipped cane to point out a bumper sticker stuck to her suitcase. It said, “If you’re living like there’s no God, You’d better be right!”

Earlier, on the flight to Portland, my seatmate sat next to the window with an empty seat between us. That was great because I suffer from extreme claustrophobia and always ask for an isle seat so I can look over everyone’s heads and imagine that I’m getting more air. Sometimes all the mind tricks in my head don’t work at all. Especially if they stop that snack cart right beside me, and even more so if I politely ask them to move away because I need air and they refuse. They have come close to having to drop out of the sky and remove me from the plane when that happens!

But this time, I had air and was able to control my head and concentrate on the book I was reading. It was only after my neck pillow “exploded’ splattering thousands of tiny white dots of Styrofoam all over both of us that my seatmate and I got into conversation. I happened to complain that the Bellingham (Washington) Airport had no public service to the bus station, and he offered to take me – not to the bus station – but to his town not far away and ‘arrange for a bus from there’.
Of course I refused and hoped he would go back to sleep and let it drop. But, he mentioned it again. I noticed he had a hat that said, “Retired Army” so I said, “Are you retired from the Army?” When he responded that he was, I used the opportunity to inform “Mr. Army Man” that "my husband was in the military and was in Vietnam.” That still did not deter his continued offer to take me to his home, so when we stood up to get off the plane, and everybody had their heads all close together in our direction, I responded rather loudly, “I don’t even know you. I don’t want to go home with you!” If I am a true extrovert, I don’t think I would have felt the least bit guilty for speaking to “army man” like that (but I did). I never saw him after we deported the plane.

I had to ride two different buses to Portland from Bellingham. I thought I had a good deal with a $10 ticket on Sky Bus from Columbus to Bellingham with “easy connections to where ever you are going”. Not so! Don't do it!

A few hours later on the Greyhound bus, I sat next to an older man who had just spent several days/weeks in Alaska! Hiking, I would assume from his clothing and other clues. He was a bit introverted at first and I wouldn’t have minded his aloofness, but I felt sorry for him trying to give me more seat space than I deserved, so I struck up a little ‘howdy-doody’ conversation to help him feel more comfortable.

From there, he eventually used my cell phone to make a call to his brother who works for the state department in Washington D.C. to let him know he was back safe and sound. After that, the young girl across the isle used my phone to call her mother and let her know she could meet her at the bus station. After that, the mother called back on my phone (using caller ID) and asked to speak to Crystal. “The girl who just borrowed your phone.” I passed the phone back across the isle for that unusual call which gave several travelers a good chuckle!

Later, a young man got on and sat next to me. He too seemed a little nervous-like and sat huddle tight in his narrow seat. At first I tried to concentrate on my book and avoid being pleasant and friendly. But, his comment that he was going to see “the old lady” kept interrupting the lines of my book about Lewis and Clark. Who is the “Old Lady”? Finally I put the book down, apologized, and asked the question.

“I apologize if this is none of my business, but who is the old lady?”

He laughed and relaxed a little as he explained it was his girlfriend. Then he started telling me how his ‘old girlfriend” was bringing his ‘new girlfriend” to the bus station because his ‘new girlfriend’ didn’t have a car. He wondered how he was going to react to that slightly uncomfortable situation.

Later, he confided that he had just today been released from prison and had great expectations to live by the law and get his life together and do something worthwhile with his life. “This isn’t just prison talk either,” he said with conviction.

I wished him well and encouraged him to stay strong. He pulled out a Bible from his small kit and said he was surely going to give it a try! He has a long road ahead of him and it will not always be sitting next to a kind lady on the bus who encourages him to stay strong!

Needless to say, 14 hours after my long across-the-country trip began at 6 a.m. in Columbus, I was delighted to give my tall, handsome Spanish Professor a big hug, and happily greet his pretty wife who takes time from her busy schedule to work out six days a week. You go girl!

Oh yes, I took the personality test. I got Introvert = 14 and Extrovert = 16. But, in short, what you are is based more on where you get your energy in life. Alone or with people. I like both! I highly recommend the book.

Now I need to get out my little airplane notebook and put together the, “Flight Across America” story. I think you will enjoy it very much. I have to work (as a nurse) later today, so 'stay tuned' if I don't get it posted right away.

Take Care on YOUR Journey,
~Linda

Going "Out On A Limb" For My Birthday!

Glitter Graphics - GlitterLive.comSeptember 3 is the day for me!
No one can GUESS just where I'll be!
Spending my birthday in a tree?
Deep in the woods is a key.

Happy Birthday! Loud and free
Going on a trip - Jim and me.
600 miles and we will see
Good friends, laughter, fun and glee!

Tania, Floyd and Ginger too!
Something old and something new.
Old friends - It seems we have a few!
New days are here and skies are blue!

We're going to Illinois - Won't stay in a tree!
We're gonna have some cake and tea.
With all our friends from Tennessee!
Happy, Happy Birthday to me!

Take Care on the Journey,
~Linda

Say Something Nice Today!

My friend, Becky, from Michigan, forwarded this story to my e-mail (The picture is from Flicker). My computer doesn't forward things like it should so I'm posting it here for everyone to read and enjoy. And, pass it on!

One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name.

Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.

It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed in their paper.

After class, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about that individual.

The next day, she gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. "Really?" she heard whispered. "I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!" and, "I didn't know others liked me so much," were most of the comments.

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. She never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another. That group of students moved on.

Several years later, one of the students was killed in Viet Nam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student. She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. He looked so handsome, so mature.

The church was packed with his friends. One by one those who loved him took a last walk by the coffin. The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin. As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to her.

"Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked.

She nodded: "yes" Then he said, "Mark talked about you a lot."

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates went together to a luncheon. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting to speak with his teacher. "We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. "They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it."

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him.

"Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's mother said. "As you can see, Mark treasured it."

All of Mark's former classmates started to gather around. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home."

Chuck 's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album."

"I have mine too," Marilyn said "It's in my diary." Then Vicki, and other classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group "I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said and without batting an eyelash. She continued, "I think we all saved our lists."

That's when the teacher finally sat down and cried. She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again. The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't know when that day will be.

So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is too late. Remember, you reap what you sow. What you put into the lives of others comes back into your own.

May Your Day Be As Blessed As You Are Special!
Take Care on the Journey, ~Linda

Sunrise Earth

(Photo from Flicker by phillipschip)

My schedule is somewhat crazy! Sometimes I'm up before the sun to clock in early for work. Other days I pull the afternoon shift (my favorite) and can sleep in. Of course, sleeping in doesn't happen much because hubby couldn't find his flash drive or the neighbor has to honk twice for his 6 a.m. pick-up who overslept, or the dogs simply want to go outside to eat grass or bark at the other dogs on a morning run.

One of these days I'm going to learn Spanish so I can open the bedroom window at 6:30 a.m. and yell (in Spanish) at the inconsiderate horn honker down in the parking lot, "No horn honkie! It wakie up 300 people and 200 dogs!" (Sorry, Billy.)

But, back to the title of this posting. I've discovered the the Animal Planet runs a program called Sunrise Earth for a couple hours every morning. It shows realtime sunrises in crystal-clear high definition and surround sounds of nature. No music and few interruptions!

Today I watched brown bears in Alaska catching fish and settle down for a nap - all before the morning sun hit the tops of the trees. Also today, there was an awesome view of a group of people welcoming in the sunrise on a hillside overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. They moved in unison and reached for the sky.

For various reasons, I don't get to watch this too often, but should you find yourself available to enjoy a living room sunrise, check it out.

Take Care on the Journey,

~Linda

The Gold-In Life

Sometimes I think, (as many bloggers do), that no one reads my postings. It’s just my mind rambling here in cyberspace to be redeemed by a passing voyager in yonder year – or maybe lost forever in time and space!

So I’ll ramble with my thoughts on this rainy Friday night the 27th day of July.

It was about 20 years ago that my editor at the newspaper office commented to no one in particular, this statement that has rekindled in my mind often throughout the years…

“Everything Linda touches turns to gold.”

I don’t know why that has resurfaced several times in the last few weeks. Maybe it was my mom's visit that sent me into a reminiscent mode. And, the fact that we didn't discuss the life paths either of us took - and now perhaps we never will. Or just maybe I’m getting to a time in my life when I'm reflecting back (more often than I used to!), and I'm thinking that that nothing I’ve touched has turned to gold.

There’s a joy-feeling I get thinking about some things I’ve accomplished and friendships made, but not that perfect ending that has brought spiritual fulfillment and/or financial freedom we humans seem to constantly seek. If anyone tries to make me believe they are spiritually free, I would ask them why are they still searching and what are they searching for? If I ever find someone who says they are financially comfortable, I'd ask why they aren't offering some of that extra money to me!

Throughout our life we often forecast a better future with words like...

When the car is paid off...
If the car didn't keep breaking down...
If we didn't have credit card bills...
If we didn't have to use credit cards...
If the house was paid for…
When the kids finish school…
When I finish school…
If we had $100,000 in savings…
If I didn’t have to work…
When we win the lottery…
If someone would leave us a lot of money…
When I retire...
When the Lord comes to take us home...

Does this sound familiar? Does any of this turn our life into gold?

I wrote a letter today for a friend who needed a recommendation for something, and to make an impression I signed my name with the additional titles. Licensed Practical Nurse, Published Author, Former Clerk of Oronoko Township, Berrien Springs, Michigan. (I forgot to add Professional Photographer!)

As I signed the letter, I chuckled to myself and said, “So what?”

* I never did get the fantastically beautiful photography studio with the flowering gardens and sparkling waterfalls, and all the whistles and bells a photographer loves to play with. But, I still love photography and photographing people!

* Politics wasn’t what it’s cut out to be although winning two elections was worth more than words can describe. Those eight years as the township clerk was beset with political head-ons because the township was run (and still is) by stubborn old men who think a woman belongs in the kitchen! The experience was more than most people get in a lifetime, though.

* My book looks like it is not going to make a best seller although that was not my purpose anyway. (Or I wouldn’t have given away 100 books!) But, writing my memoir was a dream come true. It's a step into the future for more to come!

* Sometimes I regret that I will never sign, RN after my name although it was very close at times. The incomplete education to become a Registered Nurse extended over at least 30 years, but I couldn't get past that darn algebra (and always having to work for a living!)

* I was a good newspaper correspondent - but not a great one. ( I guess that depends on who you ask.) But, it was a bright moment in time that I look back on with a smile, knowing it taught me more about people and life then I couldn't have learned any other way!

* My fingers will never flow across a keyboard to play the golden melody that I hear in my head, but pouring my spirit into the keys brings me quietness and relaxation. Today the keyboard is my "quiet companion' as I usually play it when I'm home alone.

* I’m not a department head or a leader of anything professionally, although I have done that and found that I was very good at leadership and organization. I worry that I should be doing something greater than what I am, but it has been my choice to step away from that path.

Sometimes I fret because I can’t cook very well (but I can follow a recipe). I don’t sew beautiful clothes anymore (but I still have a sewing machine). I have diaries that no one will ever read (and I’m still writing more). There are boxes of personal items that no one will ever open. Clothes in my closet that I’ll never wear again, and books on the bookshelf that I’ll never read.

Having said all that, I am very sure that the GOLD in my life is what I’ve left behind in footprints. In the simple acts of kindness, the fulfillment of some dreams, a few true friendships, some trusting family ties, and loving companionships I have enjoyed along the way. Most of all, I believe in the spirituality of nature and how it ties us all together.

I’ve learned that not all friendships are true. Not every family member will love in return. The past is always very present. The dog always barks at something. If it says it's FREE, there's a catch. The rainbow doesn't always show all it's colors. And I believe that deep down, everybody feels the heartbeat of God.

No, everything I’ve touched has not turned to gold. But they are golden moments if one looks at them that way. Maybe I’ll leave some golden footprints that someone else will follow because I was there. Hopefully the footprints will lead the way to a secret path through their mountain. A smooth trail beside a stormy lake. A rainbow with a thousand colors at the end of every day and sweet dreams at night.

Read about rainbows HERE

Listen to a beautiful song and view the words to "Footprints in the Sand" HERE

I always come back to the motto hanging by my bathroom door...

"If I can't do great things, I'll do small things in a great way.

That is my GOLD. What's yours?

Take Care on the Journey,
~Linda

Mom's Visit Pictures

Mom loves the white fences all over town. A trademark of New Albany.

I can't believe it's Friday! Mom's been here a week and we've had a nice, quiet, relaxing time.

I'll post more later. Notice it's almost 2 a.m.

Take Care on the Journey,

~Linda

Simon says I will never be rich if...

"Have You Seen My Mother?"
My how time flies! I seem to be busy from 'time up' until 'time down', and still don’t get everything done! People are so right when they say, “A woman’s work is never done”. I wish I had a week for photography! A week to write my book! A week to clean and do laundry and fun stuff. A week to follow up on mail and bills. And, time for friends and family. And, of course, WORK. But, I’m busy “keeping up”, just like everyone else I know.

My mother is coming to visit for a week starting Sunday. (July 15-22) I’m trying to remember the last time I saw her – and why it’s been so long. Anyway, this is a little strange – if you’ve read my book, “Dusty Angels and Old Diaries” you’ll understand why and if you haven’t, there’s not enough space on this Internet to explain.

She said she uses a cane and needs a wheelchair at the airport. I asked if she was sure she could climb the steps to our place and she says yes. “Once up and once down during the week”. So, perhaps not only will this be the second time (maybe the third) in my life she has come to visit, but we are going to be sitting across the table eye to eye for seven days. Does she like to play table games? (She plays Bingo a lot.) Can I play table games for a week? (My children would shout a resounding “no”.) Will I refrain from asking certain questions that have been burning in my mind for 50+ years? Will we amuse ourselves with wit and sagacity?

The first time she visited me was way back after our first family reunion in 1991. I was in a different environment with a different husband; and the kids were home. She went shopping while I worked and she cooked meals for the family in the evenings. Now, it’s just the two of us during the day for a week while Jim is at work. We can’t get out and about to entertain and regale ourselves.

Personally, personally I’m okay with her being here. But, not sure I can explain why. My ‘personal counselor’ and nail technician, Simon, had some choice words while repairing my torn off nails and buffing the new tips, but most importantly, he commented in regards to the visit, “If you are a yes person (and can forgive anything and everything and everyone), you will never be rich.”

So, I’ll never be rich but my mom is coming to visit. Burn candles for me to have clear thinking and discretion. Send vibes to the universe for keenness and ingenuity and resourcefulness. Pray for me to keep my wits and have maturity and use common sense (if one should ask for specifics in prayer).

Ironically in September, I’ll be the, ‘mother coming to visit”. I’m going to visit my oldest son and his wife for two days. We have a history. We have good memories, and we share many of the same ideals. There’s an intimacy that was developed through a lifetime of experiences shared and things learned about each other. There’s a difference, and now I can appreciate it even more!

Who is the one to say I will never be rich?
Who is the one to say, “Welcome home, Mom?”

Take Care on the Journey,
~Linda