Dueling Banjos

This last Christmas, Wil asked Santa for $45,000 to be applied to his debit card. "Do you want $45,000, too? I can ask him for $90,000," he told me, certain it was as simple as that. "I also asked him for two banjos, one for me and one for Stan--we can play 'Dueling Banjos.'"

This desire to play "Dueling Banjos" was repeated numerous times. Santa wasn't sure what to do about it, or the $45,000 x 2. Despite Wil's reiterating of the wants, both to us and Santa (via email) in the end, he received $45 in cash, with a note that said, "I don't work with banks, but here is $45." Santa tried to track down two reasonably priced banjos. He went to used instrument stores and looked online, but the cheapest he could find at the time, were over $200/each. Santa got creative and gave him two $35 ukuleles with a note saying, "Banjos are hard to learn, please practice with a ukulele and then we can talk about a banjo."

Despite the fact that he got a purple ukulele (his favorite color) and Stan got a red one (his favorite color), Wil was not pleased, to say the least. He tried to be gracious, but his disappointment was obvious, and you could see the wheels turning--he was looking for a work-around. "I already know how to play a banjo, Uncle Jack taught me, I've known for a long time how to play a banjo. Santa must have forgotten that Uncle Jack used to take lessons, and he taught me everything he knew."

Yes, Uncle Jack did take banjo lessons. No, while Jack was alive, he never taught Wil.

But the veil is extra-thin these days, and it's totally possible that Wil and Jack have been having banjo lessons in the astral plane. While that might sound a little out there to a lot of people, I am believing such things more and more these days, and more and more, it gives me great hope. 

A few days ago Stan, Wil and I were in the car, and he casually mentioned that Devohn (the Easter Bunny--you remember him, right?) would be bringing him two banjos for Easter. It had been confirmed via email, and he was counting the days. 

"I didn't know the Easter Bunny brought gifts," Stan commented, "he doesn't usually, does he?" 

"He's going to this year," Wil answered with total confidence. Stan and I looked at each other with a knowing that yes, with everything that's been cancelled for Wil, indefinitely, including his favorite three-day celebration of Easter in the Church, Devohn would be finding a way to get the boy two banjos. "He's going to bring us each a pick, too."

It occurred to Devohn's helper that eBay might be a good source, and one that had not been previously considered. Devohn's helper doesn't know one single thing about banjos, not even what type of "pick" is used, but Google proved helpful and orders were placed. 

Wil is not concerned with the details--those are all up to Santa, and if he doesn't pull it off, he goes to the next source on his list. He has utter belief that his desires are heard and will come to fruition. 

Believe in magic.

Subject to Change

I had a phone reading with Denise Correll, The Grateful Messenger and half of the Enlightened Empaths, what feels like a million years ago. It was, in fact, three weeks ago. 

At the end of her reading she said, "This is all subject to change and free will." 

I understood.

I didn't understand.

Not to the degree things have changed since then. My free will is working overtime to adjust to the rapidly changing developments in my world, and the greater world. 

I'm trying to hold on. What I'm being called to do is let go. 

I'm seeing lots of posts on how people are "trying to stay busy." I get that. I am by nature a busy bee. I can create work for myself like no other. If ever there were a time, however, to stop being "busy," it is now. We are quite literally, being called into life within a hermitage.

The re-set button has been pushed. We've been given lots of requests to do so, but most of us have not heeded those first subtle, then more imploring signs. That's my humble opinion. 

When I'm not playing Millennial Monopoly, Scattergories, Uno or our new favorite game, Just One, I'm sneaking out with Honey for walks, alone, to listen to my go-tos: Eckhart Tolle* and Richard Rohr** They are both responding to these times we're living in, with their deep wisdom, intellect and heart.

There are lessons galore in all this, and tremendous opportunity for change, creation, innovation, pulling together. Something new will emerge, it's the New Earth Eckhart has been talking about for years, and Richard Rohr calls the Universal Christ (a.k.a Another Name for Everything). 

Let's remain in our cocoons, socially-distant, like true hermits, so that when we emerge, we've been transformed into butterflies.

* Richard Rohr re: pandemic

** A Message from Eckhart re: pandemic

TAG

I haven't taught TAG (Talented and Gifted) students for over 20 years. Didn't like the name then, don't like it now, but did love the job. It was part-time and I had so much autonomy. I came in, did my job, and left. I loved my students and my funky boiler-room-turned-classroom.

A recurring dream of mine has been that I've forgotten I have the job, and have simply not shown up at work for weeks, possibly months. One day it dawns on me, Oops! I have not done my job! Then panic sets in and I don't even know where to start. Do I even actually have the job? Maybe I got fired! Would it be weird if I were to show up now? 

Had that dream again last night, but it had a coronavirus twist. There was no school being held, but I was still supposed to do my job--from home. The students were going to come to my house, so I was scrambling to prepare with what I had at home. I went through files and pulled out activities I thought they would enjoy, and I could teach from my dining room. 

Woke up before the students arrived, but not before I'd successfully prepared.

That's really all any of us can do--successfully prepare and wait. We are the students. We are the teachers. We are the lessons. We are talented, and we are gifted. We got this.

Be Hoppy

I walked around Sisters yesterday afternoon with Honey. The 60 degree day and the clear view of the mountains were discordant with the closed shops, handmade signs on the doors, the mail piled up on the sidewalk.

Honey knows something is going on. She can't settle down. She's picking up on the collective anxiety. She's an empath--most dogs are. 

If ever there were a time to practice presence, it's now. Things are changing so quickly, and there's only so much we can "do." After following all the rules and guidelines to B SAFE, it's time to B HOPEFUL BE HELPFUL & B HOPPY.

We Had a System

I have just come back from a self-created errand. Did I ever think I’d be doing this? Looking for a reason to run around town?

That was before the coronavirus. Less than two weeks ago I  felt on track. Since then, Wil’s volunteer work at the Catholic schools is on hold for at least six more weeks. The Archdiocese of Portland has cancelled all Catholic Masses for at least another month. His Monday class with Timmy at PHAME was cancelled for the rest of this term, and just yesterday, we got notice they will not be having classes in the spring.  It’s quite possible Portland will be one of the next “shelter-in-place” cities, forcing us to stay inside our homes except to go out for essential groceries. 

Every single thing on my calendar has been cancelled: appointments, time with friends, gatherings with my Sacred Circle. It was Chris’s idea to set us all up on Zoom and do a virtual gathering. While it will not have the same palpable energy in the room when we’re all together, it will be nice to connect. 

The last time we gathered was at my house. After we blew out all the white candles in tall glass jars—the ones Anne decorated with bits of twine and green ribbon she’d gotten from a trip to New Orleans—I let the wax harden before putting them in a box. It was my intent to bring them to the next gathering and leave them with that host. We had a system. 

After finally arriving on the second and fourth Thursdays of every month as our meeting time, the next gathering turned out to be Spring Break. I would not be in town. I’ll just drop off the candles to Cindy’s before I leave town, I thought. Then after they moved their meeting to Zoom, I realized I could “attend,” and maybe I would want my own candle to light while gathering. Maybe everyone would want theirs, too. We might all want to have our individual light join with our Circle’s both through the Internet and in ways that stretch far beyond. 

I texted the group before heading out the door. I was going to take the whole box to Cindy’s so she could light them all when we met online, or I was going to drive all over town and drop off each one separately. Regardless, I was leaving my house, alone. I would put on a podcast and look at the trees blossoming all around me. I would see signs of spring despite the fact the circumstances felt like the dead of winter. “I’m on my way to Cindy’s to drop off the candles, but I was wondering if you’d rather each have your own back? I am happy, (thrilled) to deliver them each to your front porches. Just let me know your preference.” They quickly responded that yes, they could use the light, they’d be grateful to have a part of a greater whole.

To plan my route I consulted Stan. To say I am directionally challenged is an understatement. I could plug in each address into my phone and rely on GPS, but I knew I’d be zig-zagging around in an inefficient way, and I also knew this was the kind of task he’d light up about. I gave him the addresses, he put them on a Post-It then numbered them for me. “You’re going to want to start with the one on NE 9^th. That’s right where Jeff and Jill used to live. You know that area.” 

Yes, I know that area. Our marriage began in a house right up the street from there. I got the candles and my list in the car, plugged in Enlightened Empaths, and set out. There were so few cars on the road it felt eerie, and I felt guilty. I was still practicing “social-distancing,” no one would see me or be anywhere near me. The six-foot-apart rule would not be broken. 

I headed over to drop off Number One, and within a few blocks I could feel the tension leave my shoulders. This felt good: having a purpose and being away. When the first candle had been delivered, I readjusted my GPS to find Number Two and quickly realized I’d be driving right by our old house. It looked good—better than when we’d sold it almost 24 years ago. The people were standing on the front porch, and there was a For Sale sign in the lawn. 

As I made my way through town dropping off candles, I picked up memories. First house. First child. First death of a parent. That house held all those and so many more. I turned off the podcast and cracked the windows. The sounds of birds chirping was mixed with the sounds of families walking and talking, riding bikes, being outside together on a day and a time they would not ordinarily be.

These are not ordinary times.

We had a system.

Now, we are charged with keeping our light going, and joining it with others’. 

A Simple Prayer

We have lost a beloved member of our community, Dottie. Not long ago she learned she had Stage 4 pancreatic cancer. Now, she is gone. Dottie and Wil had a special bond. She was a neighbor, parishioner, cool grandma-like person to him. They made each other laugh. Several times she and her husband had Wil over to hang out--once, I was invited too. The four of us sat around the table and had snacks and drinks and yucked it up.

She is deeply missed.

When Wil learned of her death, he suggested he write sympathy cards to Dottie's husband and niece--a family friend of ours. In the card for Dottie's husband he wrote, "SORRY BOUT YOUR WIFE WE HAD GREAT PIANO MEMORIES AND IPAD AND TV" In the card for our friend and her family, he wrote, "SORRY FOR A HUGE LOSS YOUR PRAYERS ARE WITHIN US" then he put a big smiley face. 

He may have meant, "Our prayers are with you," but who knows? I prefer "Your prayers are within us," anyway. I'm switching over. 

In kindergarten both my children learned a simple, yet profound prayer: "We pray for all those who are sad, afraid, hurt or alone." For all of you who are sad, afraid, hurt or alone, your prayers are within us.

Amen. 

Crossing to Safety

Had a dream I was trying to cross a bog, but the water was deep. The only way to get across was to hang onto the reeds. While in the midst, grabbing first one clump of reeds and then reaching for the next clump, slowly making my way to the land, I kept calling out to the people on the other side, "Which way am I going?" I was confused and disoriented, couldn't see or make out where I was in relation to where I needed to be to be safe. No one on the other side would answer me. It was all up to me. 

When I finally made it safely to land, I saw someone I recognized, someone I trusted. She had not offered one bit of help. "How would you have felt if it were your family you were trying to get back to?" I yelled. She had no answer.

I'm guessing the dream is coronavirus-related. Going to Trader Joe's yesterday felt very every-man-for-himself-y. 

Let's help each other cross safely to the other side of this--shall we?

Appointment with Peace

To say these are dicey times, is an understatement. I think we're all feeling it--some are tapping into the collective angst and adding it to their own, and, well, it's a lot.

Times like these accentuate our need to "do" something. It can feel counter-intuitive to stop, go within, and get still.

If you are looking for a helpful tool to use to quiet and focus the mind, I highly recommend this oracle deck by Sonja Choquette, Trust Your Vibes. Today, I drew the card, "Meditate." There is a guidebook that goes with the cards, that has short, helpful summaries of the cards. The guidebook ends the description of the "Meditate" card with the words, "It's your appointment with peace."

Book your appointment today.

Are You an Empath?

Took me 56 years to get the proper "diagnosis." Only after listening to the podcast, Enlightened Empaths, did I come to understand this has been what's "wrong" with me all these years. It's more than being "over-sensitive," it's actually picking up the feelings, energies, pain and suffering of others, and soaking it all up like a sponge. 

It explains the intense need to be alone. The tendency to get over-stimulated. The sensory system feeling bombarded and wanting to shut it all down. Things are too loud, too bright, too chaotic, too much input--enough to blow the fuses.

"Empaths filter their world through their intuition, and have a difficult time intellectualizing their feelings," says Dr. Judith Orloff, a renowned expert on empaths.

Here is a self-test to help you determine whether you, or someone you know, is an empath.

Regardless of whether you are or are not an empath, do yourself a favor and check out the podcast, Enlightened Empaths, available on all streaming platforms. You will love the hosts, Samantha Fey and Denise Correll. They are fun and easy to listen to, and have amazing guests and discussions. 

The Hole

I wake from a dream and it takes several moments before I realize it was a dream—it felt so real. I was driving my car to an old house I had once lived in. I had a lampshade that matched one we’d left there, and I wanted the new owners to have it.

In the middle of the wide street, is a gigantic hole in the road, big enough for a truck to fall into. There are no cones, blockades, caution tape, nothing at all to keep someone from falling right into certain death. That’s interesting, I think to myself, that wasn’t there when we lived there.

The new owners haven’t moved in, there is some construction work going on. The contractor is there but he’s watching TV and eating a snack instead of working. I go into the house and explain why I’m there, I have, as it turns out, not only a lampshade but a box of this-and-that: small wooden angels, bits of lace, it’s a box of heirlooms from my own life—things I was given or collected from my mom and grandmothers. 

As I sort through the box with the kindly contractor, we agree the new owners aren’t really going to want any of these things. Before heading back I sit and watch TV with the contractor, then look at my watch and remember I have to meet my family soon, I better be on my way. 

I drive carefully around the hole with my box of things in the backseat. Should I just toss them in the hole? That feels wasteful. I will take them to the antique mall and donate them. Perhaps there are things in there that the dealers will want, items they believe their customers are looking for. 

I know that I am done with the box, tired of lugging it around. I don’t need things to keep me connected to my ancestors—what they have left me is within.