Priorities

On my To Do List for at least two years, has been Call Attorney Re: Special Needs Trust and Guardianship. I moved that sucker from list to list to list never once picking up the phone. Didn't want to open Pandora's box, didn't want to start the ball rolling, not knowing just where it would roll, didn't want to do it, period.

Finally, the pain of not doing it, became worse than the pain of doing it, and so I made the call. STM and I met with the attorney on Friday, and let me just say this about that: I had the best sleep that night that I've had in years. 

I know the issue of guardianship can be controversial - declaring your child incompetent is not something we take likely. Who wants to declare that? Who doesn't want their child to achieve independence, to be able to make good adult choices on their own? We all want that, but not all our children are really headed that way, anytime soon anyway.

To us, the question came down to this: Does Wil want and need us to keep doing what we're doing, after he's 18? Yes.

The attorney was trying to get a general sense of Wil by our description, so he could guide us and answer our questions. I should have just showed him this picture, as it's a common sight in our house. Wil often gives me his "son," Elmo, to watch while he's at school - tells me when Elmo needs to take a nap, what he needs to learn from me as he's homeschooled, and when he might want a snack. Sometimes he's worried I will forget the ever-important snack, so he provides one for Elmo, himself.

On Sunday the family gathered to honor the one-year mark since STM's father's passing. We met at the cemetery, said a few words, then gathered back at STM's family home to eat Snickers ice cream bars, and toast a man we all loved and miss. As brief as it really was, we were all exhausted when it was over - grief is an ass-kicker. In the car, STM asked, "What's everyone going to be doing when we get home? I will be watching football."

"N-A-P-P-I-N-G!" I answered.

Wil piped up from the back seat, "K-I-S-S-I-N-G  E-L-M-O!"

While he may be "incompetent" when it comes to making his own health care or financial decisions, while he needs help brushing his teeth and putting on a belt, while he cannot prepare even the simplest meals for himself or use both a knife and fork, he is quite competent in his endless ability to demonstrate and teach how to love.

Where to Start?

My life is so exciting, I hardly know where to start. Should I start by telling you that I finally got those stubborn stains off the toilet bowl, using a pumice stone? That the "stone" was $3.00, it took about 2-3 minutes per toilet, and I'm as happy as a clam every time I take a glance at the pristine, white bowls?

Should I start by telling you that I have five special-needs-related meetings this week and I'm grumpy about each and every one of them?

Should I start by telling you that I am tired of the educating, the advocating, the planning, and the getting of ducks in their nice, little rows?

Should I start by telling you that I think I found a paint color for the living room? That after six tries at one paint store, I went into a whole different one, bought the fan deck, picked a color in about 2 seconds, and it's perfect? Should I tell you its name is "Essential Gray?" Essential. That is what that color is to me. I need to make that room neutral and calming. I need it, badly. That being said, our grand plan (which is going to take 5 years to implement at the rate we're going) is to have bright, bold art and upholstery. We want chairs in one bright, print fabric and the couch in a contrasting bright, print fabric.

Should I start by telling you that I am actually looking forward to getting back into my basement and chucking 50% of the stuff still left in there? I am so over it. I watched two episodes of "Hoarders" recently, and that cured me. One of the women featured said the most interesting thing, "I buy the stuff because I think, If I have that, my family will come over for Thanksgiving. That will be nice to use when they're here. I finally realized that the stuff was the problem, not the solution." That disconnect astounds me. Having buried a father who died with at least 50 used styrofoam coffee cups he was "saving," I am well aware that I could go either way on this one. They do say there's a genetic link.

Should I start by telling you that I broke my No-More-Netflix rule and watched an episode recently of "Call the Midwife," and I love it, and there are many more episodes in my future?

I think I should start by telling you that it's officially time to wrap this post up, and commence with Beer O'Clock.

Cheers.

Autism in Love

Do yourself a favor and spend 4:27 watching this poignant film about autism and relationships. It's the perfect length film, because any longer and I would have been beside myself - this issue is so close to home. Wil mentions daily, if not several times a day, his plans to marry and have kids (triplets, don't forget!).

Just like the mother in the film says, and I'm paraphrasing, I don't know if my son can get married, but I don't want anyone telling me he can't. I need to believe it's possible. In fact, I need to believe that all of his dreams are possible.

Top 10 Ways to Drive Yourself Stark Raving Mad Picking Paint Colors

10.  Don't buy a fan deck

9. Bring home 10 different swatches and get 10 different opinions

8. Go back to store and select 3 colors, paint them in three different places

7. Hate all 3

6. Repeat

5. Have everyone that walks in the door tell you which one they like best and why

4. Try to please each of these people

3. Pick a color you love, then pick carpet

2. Decide the color you love, does not work with the carpet

1. Repeat until you relent and buy a fan deck

Please join me over at Hopeful Parents today. Thank you!

The Reason I Jump

I had been hearing about this book, and this amazing human, Naoki Higashida, and "jumped" right on ordering it from my local independent book seller (Julie Wallace at Wallace Books - go there!). However, I found that I didn't jump right on actually reading it. It sat in the pile taunting me. The last thing I want to do after finally climbing into bed, is read about autism. So, I did the opposite. I got up early for a few days (not many, it's a quick read), had my coffee, and read the book as a meditation.

I highly recommend this beautiful book to anyone and everyone. It's written in a Q&A format, and Naoki answers many of the questions associated with autism, at least as they apply to him. Wil doesn't have classic autism, but there was enough of what Naoki said that clicked for me, and I realized he put to words what I have felt in my soul.

One such example is, "Why do you memorize train timetables and calendars?" His answer was because it's fun! He loves the simplicity, clearness and unchanging nature of numbers. They are fixed. They are predictable. Much of an autistic's life is spent managing anxiety, much of their behavior we consider "weird" is their efforts to do just that.

He was asked about free time, and his response was that for many autistics, free time is un-free time. What they spend their time doing is not so much what they want to be doing, as what they can do.

When visiting a Japanese town he came across a giant Buddha, and was moved to tears. "... it was the sheer weight of history and generations of people's hopes, prayers and thoughts that broke over me, and I couldn't stop myself crying. It was if Buddha himself was saying to me, 'All human beings have their hardships to bear, so never swerve away from the path you're on.'" He wants people to know that not all crying is sadness and meltdowns, or being upset, that people with autism can be moved.

But my favorite thing he says is the answer to this question: What are your thoughts on autism itself?

"I think that people with autism are born outside the regime of civilization. Sure, this is just my own made-up theory, but I think that, as a result of all the killings in the world and the selfish planet-wreaking that humanity has committed, a deep sense of crisis exists.

Autism has somehow arisen out of this. Although people with autism look like other people physically, we are in fact very different in many ways. We are more like travelers from the distant, distant past. And if, by our being here, we could help the people of the world remember what truly matters for the Earth, that would give us a quiet pleasure."

Amen.

15-Year Goals

Have you ever made 15-year goals? I've somehow managed to eek by all these years without goals of any specified length, but Wil has, indeed, 15-year goals, and they include:

1. Get married

2. Have children (one set of triplets)

3. Move to Anaheim (and live in the Castle at Disneyland)

4. Send my kids to day care


You love it, right? I know you do. I particularly love that he has his kids shipped off to day care as he enjoys some kid-free time in the Castle.

Hoarding

My mom and me at the Oregon State Capitol, 1965?

 Woohoo at 6, Rojo at 4*

On Thursday when I turned on the hot water, it came out scalding. In the shower I had to adjust the mixer knob thingy almost to cold, to keep myself from being burned to death. I asked STM to please adjust the temperature on the hot water tank, and he assured me he'd get right on it that evening.

Friday morning the "hot" wouldn't get past luke warm, so I very gently "suggested" STM re-adjust the hot water tank again, more to my liking. He confessed he'd forgotten to ever adjust it in the first place, and what was actually happening, was our ancient tank had gone tits up.

Not to worry, he had a guy come out and drain the old tank, and a new one was put into place. That was the easy part. What was hard about the whole thing was hauling all the crap away from the old tank, and making room for a new one to get dragged into a room with barely a breath of space between boxes of junk.

It was mortifying, actually, to have another living soul in our basement, a testament to our ways. "It's almost like hoarding down there," STM said.

"Care will get it," I answered.

To be perfectly clear, Care has "gotten" it any number of times in the past. The place fills up, Care clears it out, and somehow it mysteriously fills up again. For some reason, we're storing a bunch of stuff for someone I've only met once - a friend of Woohoo's. That's the easiest to identify and ship off to its rightful owner. Much of the other stuff is pretty cut and dry, too. Useless junk is useless junk. It's the sentimental stuff I can't part with, and by "sentimental" I mean teaching units I worked hard at creating, never mind that they haven't been used in over 14 years and are antiquated. I have a million pictures of every kid I ever taught. I rifled through a big stack of them today, and it was amazing how both their first and last names came back to me, even after 25 years.

I found old journals, brutal to read, yet I can't seem to toss them. I don't have all the kids' old toys and clothes, but I have their/my favorites. I have nearly all their books, and many from my own childhood, too. Heavy tote after heavy tote of books we never look at. What am I saving them for? Grandchildren? Am I going to open my own damn preschool?

I found three jigsaw puzzles that have never even been opened, and several that have only been put together once. Games, games and more games. VHS and DVDs. Will there ever be a point in time that we'll want to watch another Olsen Twins video on VHS? And if so, what's the matter with us?

Want to see printed drafts of a book I never published, and never will, so help me God? Got 'em!

How about components to old TVs and stereos we no longer own? Check!

Two million decorations for every holiday known to man? A few party hats and matching plates/napkins from birthdays gone by? Got all that, too!

The goal is to divide the hoarding mess in half, and be able to quickly find everything, should we ever "need" it. I'm guessing I have at least three carloads of stuff already, that needs to go to Goodwill, and I'm far from done.

I know that what I'll feel is relief, when the stuff is gone. I know I won't miss it. I know that when I go down there and can actually walk, I'll feel great - lighter, more able to breath, free of the past and all the stickiness that goes with it. Let me say it again - reading the old journals is so brutal, why would I put myself through ever having them around to read again, by me, and God forbid, someone else? I guess it's the hours and hours and hours that went into writing them that feels "wasted."

Woohoo is home for Fall Break and I made her go down there for two hours with me today. She made a nice dent in her own corner of the basement. All her old teeth that I so carefully kept for her? Gone in an instant. She was a little too quick to part with old photos, I'll have to save those for the next go-round in a few years. She was great about shedding a lot, though, and admitted, it's much easier to part with stuff you've acquired recently, than anything you've held onto for a long time.

And there it is, isn't? The longer we've held onto something, anything, an emotion, a grudge, a memory, a burden, a thing, a person, the harder it is to let go of.


* I pulled these pictures off of an old poster board from when Wil was in 1st grade and Star-of-the-Week

Care Will Get It

STM and I have had a joke for years, he would rip open a package of something, leave the remains on the counter and say, "Care will get it." Shoes. Socks. Dirty dishes, all things Care would get. Care being Care, would get them, too, because Care cannot stand for those things to just sit there, and STM counted on just that very thing.

Both kids have gone big with the Care-will-get-it way of life, and Woohoo has passed it on to her friends at college. When Woohoo, Noah and Marcie were at our house briefly on Friday before getting Wil, they made smoothies and left all the dishes/blender/etc. in the sink, with the following note:

Not sure just how much trouble three kids and two beers can get into, so I didn't get too worked up about the little PS.

Later this week Woohoo texted to say that Noah walked into the dorm kitchen and it was a mess, he said, "Care will get it." I'm sure whomever made the mess has a "Care" at home, too, that has picked up way too much after people that are way too capable of picking up after themselves. But it's hard to teach an old Care, new tricks.

Luxury Problems

Anne Lamott, in her marvelous book, HELP, THANKS, WOW talks about the how much time, effort and attention go to "fixing our toys." It's so true, and it's such a luxury problem to have that A) I have toys, and B) I have the time and wherewithal to either fix them, or arrange to have them fixed. That being said, it feels like that is all I really do anymore. It's enough to make me want to go off the grid, live in seclusion, away from the Internet and 3G, away from voicemail, email, text messaging, passwords and comment verifications, away from remote controls, alarms, reminders, alerts, DVRs, anything with a battery, cord, or button. I fantasize about holing up in a remote cabin with a fire, candles, a good (real, hold-in-your-hands) book, and a cozy blanket. I want only to hear the crackling of a fire, and not the buzz of technology.

I think the next up and coming professions will be those that help people break and/or recover from technology addiction/overload. Don't get me wrong, I love at as much as the next guy, I'm all over my Smart TV with the Netflix button on the remote. Next episode of "Scandal" ready and waiting for me at my command? Yes, please! I want to marry my iPhone. I adore text messagine. Emojis? Delightful. But when I walked with Kathleen this morning and we caught up on our weeks, all I could really report on mine were Comcast and Apple stories that I'm sure, bored her to tears.

I don't really know where I'm going with all this, other than to say technology is both a blessing and a curse, and on a continuum. To strike that perfect balance where it's working for us, not against us, where it's making our lives simpler, not more complicated, where it's connecting us in an authentic way, not inauthentic, manufactured, made-for-Facebook sound bites, that's the challenge.

The Marathon

Here we are oh, let's say, about mile 10? Not really sure, I just know it's when Kathleen's husband showed up, took our sweaty long-sleeved tops from us, and snapped our picture.

Her sweet husband, Jerry, showed up a total of FOUR times along the course, as well as chauffeured us back and forth to the race. I think this was the home stretch, mile 25. See how happy we were to be almost done?

The race was great, really great. The weather could not have been more perfect, and that's saying a lot. Just the week before it rained in sheets for days on end. Sunday it was dry, sunny, but not hot, and there was a little breeze.

That's Kathleen in the white, and her daughter, Michaela, in the orange. We were very happy she chose orange when we got there and were in our corals, trying to keep sight of each other. Also, during the first mile or two when everyone was bunched up and zig zagging all over the place.

The pink hats Kathleen and I wore say Love. As Wil would say, "Cute story." A few summers back, Kathleen and I were each in Cannon Beach, Oregon, at different times. We each walked into the same little store, saw those hats, and bought one for the other person for Christmas, months away. When we opened each other's gifts, it was a Gift of the Magi moment. We knew we had to wear the hats for the Marathon, so that Love. could be in every picture.

Jerry wasn't our only fan, STM, Wil and Flicka came out, we saw Woohoo's friend, Marcie, who was volunteering, friends from church found us three different times, liz, Tom and Nancy met us at mile 22 for hugs and high fives. It was a love fest.

I wish I'd photo documented some of the get-ups and the clever signs along the way. One couple had on black shorts, on her but were the letters SE on his were XY. Some of the signs said things such as, "You're running better than the government!" "Pain is temporary, but Internet results are forever!" "This seemed like a good idea 4 months ago!" "Your feet hurt because you're kicking so much ass!" "Sweat is liquid awesome!" "Toenails are for sissies!" There was formal entertainment, too, in fact, the whole event was so entertaining, the time went by quickly, all 5:37 of it.

We didn't break any records, but we were in the ballpark of our goal, we finished with pride, nobody got hurt, and we had a lot of fun!

College Visitation

The conversations started back in August, maybe even July. "Wil? Do you want to come and spend the night with me at college this year?"

"I will on October 4th," he answered, each time the question was asked, never once looking at a calendar. As we all know, October 4th landed on a Friday this year, and as luck would have it, Wil's high school football team had an away game (far away), so he was free.

Woohoo and Wil worked out the whole entire thing on their own, all I did was pack him a bag and leave it by the front door. Woohoo and two friends, Marcie and Noah, came and got his stuff, before they had a "wild" time at Trader Joe's, Safeway, Bi-Mart, and even the Franz Bakery Outlet (the apple doesn't fall far from the tree). Then the three wild ones drove out to Wil's school and picked him up when he was out.

Woohoo lives in a "coed" dorm, but really, it's a girls' dorm with a boys' dorm attached. They even have different names. Noah was one of Wil's student assistants his freshman year, and they've stayed in touch. Whenever we go visit Woohoo, we try also to see Noah. Woohoo explained it all to Wil that he would not be able to actually sleep in her room, but that Noah and his roommate had room and wanted him, and she'd be "right next door." He bought it. And when I told him he could skip showering, but not brushing his teeth, he was downright giddy.

Wil being Wil, rejected all spirit wear options from Woohoo's university I presented to him on Friday morning, and instead, wore a college T-shirt from a rival college. That's about right. I should have forbade him from wearing anything remotely in the color scheme of her college, and he would have been all decked out.

Woohoo, Wil, Noah, Marcie and a few others, had a great time. They went to dinner, they hung out in the different rooms, and at 8:30, Wil went to bed. Noah had an event he had to go to, but the sainted roommate put headphones on and stayed in the room with Wil, playing video games. Woohoo told Wil he could wake up whenever he wanted, but he couldn't be noisy until 8:00. He woke up at his usual 6:00 AM, and STM and I began getting texts. He quietly listened to music on his iPad until the roommates woke up, fortunately, they both had to be up early anyway. Woohoo took over, but the dining hall didn't open until 10:00, so thinking ahead, she had gotten extra "taco" from the commons the night before, and heated that up for him in the kitchen in the basement of her dorm, where he could be as noisy as he wanted to be.

When the commons did open, the gang all gathered there for the last hurrah, then she packed him all up neatly and efficiently, and brought him back home!

STM was banging around in the kitchen with a spring in his step, "I'm excited for the kids to come by," he said. I felt like I'd been picked up out of the present (and my fears of the future) and dropped into some alternate universe where we were happy empty nesters, excited for the kids to stop by.

I'm choosing to believe his words were more prophetic than just a case of him not really saying what he meant to say. Either way, the "kids came by" and it was fun. Then one of the kids left to go to her other home. Now, the next time someone asks Wil if he's visited any college, he can say, "Yes. I even had an overnight."

The Young Folks

Temple Grandin believes there are three types of specialized thinkers::

1. Visual thinkers (they think in pictures)
2. Music and Math thinkers
3. Verbal Logic thinkers

She herself is a visual thinker. If I had to pick one, I'd say I was, too, but certainly not "specialized." We've known with Wil from the beginning, that his mind thought musically. During the 18 long months he did little more than cry, he'd show a bit of interest in some jingles that came on TV, and even pause the crying for a blessed moment or two.

Fast forward to the age of the iPad and the birth of iHeart Radio. Wil could spend all day on that thing, and has become a music aficionado. He loves all types of music, truly, all types, and has encyclopedic knowledge of bands, their songs, their genre, and which station in which state is most likely to play their music. He loves everything from the Steve Miller Band to Katy Perry. He's good at math, too, no mathematical genius, but his mind thinks mathematically. He can add and subtract effortlessly. I, being visual, am still seeing the problem, borrowing, carrying, and all that nonsense, long after he's come up with the answer. He doesn't solve the problem, he knows the answer. He has math sense that will elude me to my dying day.

Wil plays the piano and sings all the time. He's never had a lesson (but he will, don't you worry, he will). His right hand never misses a note. His left is a bit loud and thumpy, but still, pretty amazing. When he wants to learn a new song, I put Scotch tape on the keys and then write with a Sharpie, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, etc. He follows the numbers to get the tune the first time or two, and then he's set. That song is permanently locked in his data base, and at his ready any time, day or night.

We were at the yogurt shop on Thursday with his former Resource Room teacher, her husband and new baby (the one for whom he's the godfather). We were all chatting away, and all of a sudden Wil broke through the conversation with the question of what was the name of the song on the radio. We all recognized it, but didn't know the name, let alone the band. He persevered and I brought out my trusty iPhone with the Shazam app and in a few seconds was able to tell him it was "Young Folks," by Peter, Bjorn and John.

This morning, four days later, he asks during breakfast, "Remember the Halloween video I watched when I was eight? They played 'Young Folks' on that video."

No. I do not remember the Halloween video. I do not remember him ever paying more than five minutes of attention to any video whatsoever at age eight. I do not remember the song from a video I do not remember.

But I do remember that he is always right about these things. It gives me some insight into the way he thinks, that a song from long ago could so lodge itself in his brain that he was able to access it nine years later when he had another piece to go with it.

I don't need to tell you that autism is on the rise, as high as 1 in 50 boys will be diagnosed with it. The young folks today ain't the young folks of yesterday. There's no telling where the world will be when we put to use the specialized brains of these people.

Imagine the possibilities.

Receiving

I might have to call TFBS on Brene Brown's claim, after all. I'm not sure I can get behind her statement that if you can't ask for help, your giving comes with judgment.

Some of my friends and readers have made some compelling arguments - many of us used to  ask for help, but the help came with too high a price, or we were let down, the problem made bigger, the help not helpful, the disappointment greater than the cost of going without the help.

We've been burned by "help."

Did I tell you about my hairdresser? She had this freak accident and ended up tearing her meniscus in her left knee, as well as really chewing up the bottom of her big toe. Walking was very painful and standing on her feet (which she does all day) was awful. She improvised, she brought in a chair to sit on, she got a brace, she did what she could. She met with her psychic friend, and the psychic said, "You injured your left side because the left side is our receptive side. You must learn to receive."

Every other hair dresser in the salon, as well as the receptionist, had offered to help. "Let me know if you need any help!" they said. She didn't "let them know," and eventually they just set about creating a system for her to reduce, if not eliminate, her going back and forth in the salon all day. Eventually, she conceded to the need for surgery, and they called all her clients and rescheduled everyone that was booked during the week she'd need to take off, and helped with the overflow.

She received.

I think at least half of the problem in the giving game is receiving help, not just asking for it. If I have judgments about giving, that's where they are - in my worthiness to receive. My judgments come in the form of deciding what others that offer help, can and cannot manage, and what is and is not too trivial, mundane and silly to even bother them with. I've got Nancy buying me things at Costco when she goes, and a friend ordering wine at wholesale prices for me. I feel guilty each time.

Guilty? What did I "do?" They offered, I accepted. I need a little judgement about that dynamic.

Judgmental Giving

I don't know if you caught the Oprah's Lifeclass with Brene Brown, or know of Dr. Brene Brown's work, but I am a big fan. She said something that really has me thinking, and I'm paraphrasing, but the essence was, if you can't ask for help, that's because you have a judgment about what help is and who needs it. Therefore, when you give, you are always giving with judgment.

At first I thought about all the ways she was wrong, and then I realized that was just a defense mechanism, because she's so right. At the very least, we judge giving help as good, and asking for help as bad.

Thoughts?

And That's the Truth with Dan Pallotta

This is a great interview with Dan Pallotta, conducted by none other than my dear friend, Terry. I watched Dan's TED Talk, and like Terry says in this interview, I, too, realized I held a common bias - that non-profits should have low overhead. If you share that bias, I would encourage you to watch his compelling arguments to the contrary.

A couple points in the interview particularly struck me, the first one being the misunderstanding that people that are gay and come out, do it once and are done with it. "Sometimes I come out four times in one week," Dan says. He gave the example of how he and his partner are raising triplets, and a cab driver recently asked him how his wife felt about having triplets. He could have side stepped it, he could have lied, but he came out to the cab driver because not only was that more authentic, it held more integrity for his family.

As a special-needs mom, I feel like my "coming out" days are increasing. I am not saying it's the same thing, don't get me wrong, but what I am saying, is it struck a chord with me when Dan said that. More and more I'm getting casual comments and questions about what my 17-year-old will be doing after high school, and more and more I'm torn between being honest, kind, full of integrity, and also self- preservation. There is just so much energy one has for this type of thing.

Dan is an accomplished man, and at one point in the interview Terry steals a famous STM line, "You're not watching enough TV, as 'they' say!" she tells him. I love that she has morphed STM into "they" and I love that she used it. STM and I use that expression a lot (I think I've even blogged about it), because there was a day (and by "day," I mean decades) where we, too, were not watching enough TV. We were doing/going/moving and shaking all the live long day.

No more.

These days we are watching plenty of TV, which brings me to another interesting point Dan made. "Look at your calendar and see what is on it that makes you excited - what are you looking forward to, and do more of that. Follow your passion."

These days, what gives me endless delight is looking at a calendar, and finding at least one day in the week that doesn't have much on it at all, and if it does, it's something like, "change the beds." Put me in my house with great music and candles, and point me towards the laundry room, and I'm a happy, contented, if not blissful, woman. Give me a day like yesterday, where I was running around from sun up to sun down, scarfing Cliff Bars in the car and calling them breakfast, lunch and dinner, and I'm, shall we say, not a happy camper.

Following your bliss isn't always blissful. I do think we make things more complicated than they need to be, however, and if you're at all interested in simplifying, here's a great list of ways to get started.

So, be inspired, be encouraged, be provoked, and enjoy the interview!

Please join me at Hopeful Parents today. Thank you!

The Reading

Ok, just got back home after the reading, and my head is aswirl, but I'll take a stab at telling you about it. I won't share much about my friend's reading, other than to say it went all the way back to Christ and the crucifixion. Fascinating stuff. She said my friend, Susan, and I are "twin souls," souls created at the same time, and alternating teacher/leaner roles throughout many, many lifetimes.

My reading placed me in a past life where I danced along side, Lillie Langtry, one of King Edward's mistresses. I'd never heard of Lilly Langtry until today. She lived from 1953 - 1929, which means she was still alive when my dad was a young boy, and I can bet my bottom dollar, he knew all about her.

One thing that Marie said, we tend to reincarnate with the same cluster of souls over and over, which, I believe I've written about before. Often our parents, our spouse/partner and kids, are in our soul cluster. We take on different roles and genders, being parents to our parents, and kids to our kids, etc.

If you were to walk the planet believing you've been every color, gender, sexual orientation, religion, intellectual and class level before, wouldn't you walk the planet differently? But, I digress.

I guess not only was I a dancer in the past life that came through today, but in many, many past lives. Funny, because as a kid all I wanted to do was sing and dance on Broadway. I lacked absolutely everything necessary to do such a thing, so abandoned that dream long ago, but something stirred when she said that. Maybe I'll take a dance class. In the meantime, maybe I'll just dance with a broom in my kitchen to the tunes on Pandora. She also said I could "dance" psychologically and figuratively, not just literally.

She said I didn't come into this lifetime to learn anything in particular, but to have another human experience. That was different from being "on holiday," which some souls are, meaning they are taking a "bye" this lifetime from the suffering they've endured for many lifetimes, and are just coasting along this time, before resuming samsara. Later, when I told her I thought I'd come into this incarnation to provide a way for Wil to "volunteer" as a soul to help lead us out of this mess, she agreed, and then she went on to say many lovely things about my mothering that I'm too humble to repeat. She also warned me about letting people suck me dry, and how it was essential I recharge by being 100% alone. She was singing to the choir on those points, I've learned both the hard way.

We talked about the deja vu experience, and she said it's actually our subconscious knowing what's going to happen before it happens, so when it happens, it feels like it has happened before.

I did a past life regression before, and was, apparently, the most difficult to "put under" that this man had ever experienced. That used a hypnosis method by which I was asked to pull up past life memories. I'm not saying it wasn't real or even useful, but it was a big challenge for me. This experience was different, Marie held my hands on top of her outstretched ones, across the table. We each closed our eyes, and for 10-15 minutes she "had one foot on the other side" and shared what she saw.

She said the same thing I've heard over and over again, we all have the ability to use our left brains to see/hear/know things, it's a matter of being open, practicing, trusting, and developing that skill just like any other.

Blessings on all your lifetimes.

Namaste.

Karmic

I have a dear friend, Susan, and we have a karmic connection. I don't know that for a fact but it certainly feels that way.

And, we're about to find out.

Susan has an incredible house and yard. She is generous with sharing both, and is often the host of lovely, if not magical, gatherings. She hosted my book launch, and that will live in my memory forever as one of the most love-filled nights of my life.

One hot morning last week, Susan had me over for espresso in French demitasse cups, with sugar cubes that had each of our initials on them. We drank water poured from a beautiful carafe into elegant stemware. We sat under a grape arbor at the perfect little table, with a beautiful, antique table cloth, ironed within an inch of its life. One reason I believe Susan and I have karma, is I am all about the, "Nothing fancy," and she is all about the, "Let's get FANCY! Life is for LIVING!" Her joie de vivre is contagious.

We had one of those glorious two-hour conversations that felt like two minutes. One of our most favorite things to talk about is spirituality. I shared my thoughts on reincarnation, and Susan was very open, but at the same time, a bit skeptical. We talked about a couple people that have come into our lives in such big and powerful ways, some briefly, some for the long haul, but the relationship's intensity defies the confines of this lifetime. To me, it only makes sense that it's past life stuff being picked up from where it left off, old lessons that haven't quite gotten to the finish line and are presented to us for another shot at it.

Susan texted today and said, "I know I'm breaking the no-call rule, but I just have to talk to you." I called. So glad I did. Susan was unable to shake our reincarnation conversation, and did some Googling. One thing led to another, just like it always does in a universe where there are no accidents, and she found a woman here in the area (sort of), that does past life readings.

Her name is Marie Friend. FRIEND of MARY! Come on. You have to go read that blog post of hers I just linked to, it's all about children (like Wil) that do NOT come back to continue on with the unfinished lessons from past lives, they come to help heal.

Susan called Marie right up on the phone and found she had openings coming up, she mentioned her friend (me) would probably want to come too, and Marie was all about making that happen. Long story short, they couldn't settle on a day that worked and then Marie said, "Well, I know it's short notice, but I could do tomorrow." As fate would have it, we were both able to slightly juggle (way less juggling than normal), and we are GOING TOMORROW!

Right after I got off the phone with Susan, I was thinking about some of the people that have come and gone from my life, and I put on Pandora. The song that was playing was one that always makes me think of such a person.

You go ahead and tell me that was an accident.

Removing All Obstacles

"I'm going to hit you cold with something," STM said to me in mid-August, "I think we should clear our Fridays at least until Thanksgiving, and get after the To Do list. I think we should also put on the To Do list, some things that are fun. We aren't having enough fun in our lives."

STM is self-employed, and has been for fifteen years. At times this has really come in handy in terms of  flexibility, and at times it's been a giant pain-in-the-who-ha (i.e. the five years he worked in the basement when I had two not-in-school-yet kids).

Because I am highly driven by a To Do list and derive endless frustration from watching it grow, I agreed. Sad, but the "fun" part was really just a bone I threw him.

For three Fridays now, we've taken the "day" (really, it ends up being the hours between 10-2), and tried to mix a little business with pleasure. For pleasure, we've test driven a car, had lunch, and done a little shoe shopping.

As I've said, we are trying to pick out new carpet. I think we're both gun shy because the carpet we chose last time, has been such a disaster, we don't trust our choice. I've now made two trips to the carpet store with knowledgeable friend/interior designer, two by myself, and two with STM. We are all over the map. I keep coming back to something similar to what we already have, and STM wants anything but.

Part of me is so deeply invested in what we choose, it's ridiculous, and part of me is so ready to have the decision made and behind us, I'm ready to just say, "Have at it. Get whatever you want."

It's carpet.

That tension between what I want, in the small sense, and what I WANT in a global sense, is ever-present.

Before taking off to go carpet shopping with STM yesterday, I popped in on my support group that meets one Friday morning a month during the school year. We hadn't seen each other since June, and I was anxious to hear the updates. I gave mine very quickly before I had to leave, and talked about the tension between wanting to really enjoy these two years I do have, with Wil in school full time, and not piss them away with anxiety about them coming to an end. By the same token, I can't sit back on my laurels, there are things, big things, to attend to.

One reason I probably spend way too much time obsessing about the carpet, is that it's way easier to focus on that, than the decisions I really need to make, that really make a difference.

I'm doing a 21-day mediation and today's mantra was, Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha, which is intended to remove all obstacles. I got up early today and relished in the fact that Wil had spent the night with my mom, so there was no bacon to fry, no Flicka to let out, no tapping, humming, singing, hyper start to my morning. I put my headphones on and settled deep into the meditation.

Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha.

Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha.

Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha.

I was well on my way to repeating the mantra 108 times, when my phone rang. It was Wil. It was also 6:32 AM. He wanted to button down every detail of the day, and in fact, the weekend. Which mass did we want to go to? What time did we want to go to Burgerville? Could we take Mike to Mike's Drive-In and get a milkshake? Mike's name is Mike so we should take him to Mike's. What about his Halloween costume? When will it arrive? We ordered it online, so when will it be here?

I got all his questions answered, took another sip of my now not-so-hot coffee, and put the headphones back on.

Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha.

Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha.

Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha.

Wil texted. He made plans to go to the park at 9:00. He'd see me at 10:00.

Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha.

Wil texted again, maybe he'd be home closer to 11:00.

Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha.

Wil texted again. What time was I coming over to get Flicka for a walk?

I took off the headphones and gave up on meditating. The meditation was keeping me from being present and Wil was keeping me from meditating.

Removing all obstacles.