Your Story IS My Story!

This morning I carried my still-warm laptop in my arms like a baby into the broken-computer shop, laid it on the counter, and as soon as he'd typed my name and address into his system and lined my computer up with other computers to be diagnosed, the stranger behind the counter said, "This year they took out my bladder, my kidney, my colon, my urethra, and my prostate. Yeh! I have bags hanging all over me!" I bristled with antennas popping out all over me. And I couldn't help it. I looked at his mid-section to see if I could see the bags. (Wouldn't you?)

For the next 30 minutes, I listened to him with focused intent, as I'm doing more often these days. I wonder if people can see my antennas, because before I can think of a question to ask, they tell me amazing stories and teach me so much! In my earlier years, my frenetic energy kept me blabbing all the time to anyone who would listen. I loved listeners then; sadly, I wasn't one of them. I missed a lifetime of stories and information from never shutting up.

This time, I was listening to this intriguing person, to learn who he was and how he's been coping with his years of struggling with cancer. He told me all that, and so much more! He showed me his external computer drives and how they attach to the computer in a USB port. He told me that I should never leave files in my computer. He told me the best anti-virus program to get. 

Serendipity! I've been planning to help my friend Pat reconnect an external drive she already has to her old, slow computer (because my sister told me her son overhauled her old computer, which included adding an external drive). Until this morning, I didn't know what an external drive was.

I couldn't tell his age--he looked younger than me, so I asked--he'd soon be 70. I asked him if he is aware of his mortality. He said yes, but it doesn't have any bearing on his life. When I told him I have leukemia and will likely spend some years fighting cancer, he said that I must fight. I must never give up. He told me that even when he was on chemo, he came to work every day, even when he was so weak he couldn't have walked from the front door out to the telephone pole. He talked about his wife's worry about what could happen to him and his love for his grandson. He told me that when his chemo treatments started, his son-in-law who owns the computer repair shop shaved his own head.

I told him I was a singer-songwriter and still performed whenever I was asked.  He pulled some little device out of his pocket, scrolled through a list with his index finger, and then I was hearing a rich, beautiful baritone voice singing with a full band accompaniment: "Treat me like a fool, treat me mean and cruel but love me. . . ." It was Elvis Presley's style and voice, but better quality and in perfect pitch. "That'd be me," he said proudly, singing along to prove it. He'd been a musician most of his life until he took up wedding photography. His parents were traveling musicians, too. Our conversation stopped in the middle of the song when another customer came in with a computer.

I can only tell you this: it was a touching, happy episode--so happy, I would live it again, to share that person's life song, to be inspired to live my life to the fullest now, to witness his determination and use it as a guide on my way forward. It's moments like this that make life "Better than the Best." Now if my laptop can be saved. . . .

What Are You THINKING?

". . . once we see civilization for what it is--then it will be time for us to dismantle the gas chambers--and gas refineries, oil wells, factory farms, pharmaceutical laboratories, vivisection labs, and all of the other cathedrals of civilization--and to make certain they will be resurrected again."  --Derrick Jensen, Endgame, Vol II, Resistance


Our behavior is the result of what we are thinking, and what we are thinking is influenced by what we watch, read, and listen to. What are you watching, reading, and listening to? And why?

Do you believe that you are helpless to change world events, so you spend your time reading books and watching TV shows that allow you to escape pain in your daily life?

Do you believe that watching the news on TV and the Internet is a form of negativity, so you avoid watching in an effort to keep your thoughts positive?

Do you believe it is your duty as a global co-creater to stay informed and contribute whatever you can to every conversation and do whatever is yours to do in the arenas in which you are informed and skilled?

Curiosity hasn't killed me yet, but it has compelled me to be a life-long learner. I want to know what is going on now and what might happen in the future. I also want to be the silent witness to all of the changes that are going on, to give them my calm "witness" energy--have you read Tolle's New Earth?

Right now I'm hugely curious about the details of my disease, Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia (CLL). I want to know what is going on in my body and how it's going to change as time goes on. The course and complications of this disease are probably impossible to predict, since everyone is different, but I still want to be prepared.

My friend Jody sent me this most intriguing birthday present that I think she intended for my healing: a kit for awakening the consciousness of color, titled Color Intuition created by Laura Alden Kamm. It contains 2 audio CDs, a 47-page workbook, and 34 healing cards. I have read most of the workbook and will begin watching the CDs today. Something else to learn! Something else to think about! Something that gives me hope and opens a new world! Something I can do to take responsibility for my life and health! I am so blessed to have friends like you, Jody!  

I haven't been able to stop my efforts to encourage everyone who is brave enough to be my friend to continue learning new things, from developing new computer skills to learning to play a keyboard free from dependency of notes on a page. I will continue to push, drive, and encourage you readers of this blog to expand your horizons, and I expect you to do that for me.

If you're ready to expand your horizons and be shaken out of your complacent belief systems, here are a few of my recommendations:

1. For environmental issues and solutions, become the Facebook friend or blog supporter of my friend, Darryl Duffe. Darryl is a designer and builder of energy-sustainable structures using green materials. Throughout the day on his Facebook page, Darryl posts his comments on energy issues, along with links to web sites and videos. I hope all of you will become familiar with Darryl and his work. If you're reading this and on my Facebook page, let me know and I will recommend you as a friend to him.

2. Read Derrick Jensen's Endgame, Vols. I and II. Out of great passion and sorrow for the loss of human and non-human life, Derrick establishes a compelling case for the overall unsustainability of our life-style on this planet. He predicts the crash of civilization and advocates unravelling our culture and use of technology before it's too late.

3. Read Barbara Ehrenreich's Bright-sided; How Positive Thinking is Undermining America to learn the surprising origin of positive thinking, the role it has played in our economic crisis, and the importance of a commitment to realism.
With a Ph.D. in cell biology, Ehrenreich's flawless logic makes all of her books and articles compelling and thought-provoking. Read who she is in her bio on her web site:

Barbara Ehrenreich's Web Site

Below is the cartoon I drew after reading Bright-sided. Hope you can see it!

4. Watch Amy Goodman on her newscast, "Democracy Now," every day to keep up on what's happening in the world from a perspective that you will not find on the major news channels. If you subscribe to Dish or DIRECTV, you can watch her program on Link TV, or on Dish, either Link TV or Free Speech TV. If you live in the Melbourne, Florida area, you can listen to her newscast at 9 a.m. on radio station WFIT (89.5 FM). To watch the broadcast and a continuing coverage of world events, go to the Democracy Now web site below.

Democracy Now  

5. Now I know that reading about the Bible is not a priority for most of us, but a religious attorney friend of mine in Canton recommended this book to me, and I couldn't put it down. This book explains the beliefs that our culture and religious training (and yes, new-thought-spiritual teachings!) have embedded in our DNA, and why they don't make sense in the Bible.

Maybe the title will be all you need to grab a copy of this book and immediately read it:  God's Problem: How the Bible Fails to Answer Our Most Important Question--Why We suffer.

Maybe knowing who the author Bart Ehrman is would spike your curiosity. Author of 24 books and numerous scholarly articles, Ehrman earned a Ph.D. from Princeton Theological Seminary and has received numerous awards for his teaching and writings. He has taught religious studies and held positions at the University of North Carolina, including Director of Graduate Studies and Chair of the Department of Religious Studies. He is a scholar of the Bible in the Greek language. Google Bart Ehrman's name and watch videos of his interviews on YouTube.

There!  Those are my recommendations for today. Don't worry. I have more!

Read-listen-learn, and tell me all about it--I'm listening!

My Train and Yours

I've been dreaming about trains frequently in recent weeks. I wish I could describe in words how deeply they resound in my psyche. Trains are dark and powerful; they engulf the station platforms in shadows when they roll in. They represent freedom and escape, mystery and malevolence, deep love, sad losses and joyful reunions.

Songs and movies capture my sense of them. I include train songs in all of my performances. Fred Migliore's recent FM Odyssey show featuring train songs sent me into a euphoric trance. I run for my rebounder (thank you, Darcy, for that gift!) at the first notes of the "Orange Blossom Special." 

The movie "Schindler's List" stirred up my deepest sense of powerlessness when as a child in the 1940's, I stood on the dark cement platform in the shadow of the towering steel cars, eye-level with the wheels, close to the deafening hiss as white clouds of steam blasted out around the wheels. I watched my tiny hunch-backed grandmother, clutching her little train case, climb up the steps and turn to wave before she disappeared, while my mother stood beside me sobbing.

I went with my mother to the train station to meet my father when he came home for the first time, brain-injured in the war. I was 2 or 3 years old. Mother pointed to him getting out of the train. He was leaning on a cane. He didn't approach us, and then he wasn't in sight anymore, and the train started that chugging sound and rolled out of the station. Mother panicked. She ran with me to the car and roared out of the parking lot headed to the next town, the next station. "Your father's stuck on the train!" she said. "He went back in to help his buddy get his luggage off, but he can't talk well enough to tell them to let him off. He'll get off at the next station and we'll take him home."

In Alabama, as a 2nd and 3rd-grader, my friends and I played on the railroad tracks. We crossed them on our 1 or 2-mile walk to and from school. When a train was in sight, we waited until the last minute to run across in front of it. Yikes!

I remember lying next to my sleeping mother through a long night on a small bed in the pullman car. We were enroute from Ohio to Seattle to be near my father before he shipped out. I watched the tiny window through the night, listened to the sound of the wheels on the track, and took all the bobbi pins out of the curls in my Mother's hair. In the morning, she looked as angry as she behaved, with her hair sticking out in all directions. What was I thinking?

I have so many more memories of trains--riding into New York city in the smoking car with my Uncle Gene on his daily commute to his office; riding the scenic train to the top of Pike's Peak in Colorado Springs, and back down, with everyone who ordered food in the little grill in the gift shop on top getting sick (but not me--being anorexic has its advantages!); and the bumping, screeching, and clanging of train cars being loaded onto the ferry in the early morning blackness on the shores of Lake Michigan as my husband Whitey and I waited to board, one leg of our journey to our next gig in Minnesota or North Dakota, or back across from Wisconsin to Michigan or the Poconos.

I don't know what my train dreams mean, but it seems that I'm on a figurative slow train in my life, headed down the backside of a gradual mountain slope towards a bend in the road that I can't see around. Maybe we're all on slow trains--for some, a train of quiet desperation; for others, a scenic train that stops on the tops of beautiful mountains and rolls through lush valleys; for others, a party train full of revelers; for others, a train of diverse cars for sleeping, meditating, worrying, partying, and scenic viewing.

I've named my train "The Mystery Express." It's a rickety, clangy, squealy old chain of steel that struggles over every bump on the track. It would much rather be moving backwards than forward, but it never stops! All of my worldly toys and technology, sudoku puzzles and books are stacked in the cars on my train. One day I'll get off at my destination and leave everything behind for someone else.

What are your memories and thoughts about trains? What kind of a train are you on? How would you describe it, and what would you name it? If you're not on a train, what metaphor would you use to describe the forward movement of your life?

Finding Our Voices

When I was younger, I wondered why silver-haired older women still bothered to comb their hair and put on make-up. Surely the years of sex and romance would be over for them! Now I'm one of them, and was I ever wrong! Standing in the presence of my young, handsome, hotter-than-a-movie-star neighbor, with his quiet masculine power and soft southern drawl, I go from wishing I could get around in a wheelchair instead of walking, to resisting the urge to throw myself on the ground and do sit-ups to flatten my stomach. I look into his bedroom eyes, ready to move closer and murmur, "USE ME!" when he twists me back into current reality with a respectful "Yes Ma'am, I'll change out the locks on your doors." 

YESTERDAY!

Wasn't it yesterday when I could draw a hunky stud like him into my parlor? How can I forget that I'm now missing a few body parts and sporting a mask of wrinkles guaranteed to send "love at first sight" careening into a ditch? 

My continuing admiration for young and powerful members of the opposite sex seems to be more about a piece of my life that I was unable to fulfill, a regret that out of all my husbands and lovers, none were able to adore me--or was it the other way around--? Still, I'm grateful to have Mr. Eye-Candy willing to adeptly replace all the locks on my doors and fix whatever breaks, which for a change, won't be my heart.

Movie Recommendation
See the movie "The King's Speech," if you haven't already. It's an inspiring true story about the stuttering King George VI of England and his Australian speech therapist--a failed actor named Lionel Logue--who helps him find his voice.

This movie is inspirational on several levels. My friend Darcy wrote, 

Darcy

"The King's Speech was a great example for all of us in facing our fears to do the things that really matter in our lives.  I can relate it to how I am trying very hard to get over the fear of singing/playing in public by doing it over and over. He was my hero for sticking with it and not giving up. (I also liked the part where his daughters were proud of him for his accomplishment because they knew how difficult it was for him.)"

In many ways, we do for each other what Lionel did for the king: we help each other find our voices--that power and confidence we all have within us to shape our lives, influence others, and face tough challenges. We do this by listening, encouraging, validating, and supporting each other. 
  I also want to add here that this story came to all of us as a result of the real Lionel Logue's careful documentation of the events of his life. I saw a documentary in which his descendants showed the actual journals, including the king's speeches with his markings. Hmmm. What inspiration might your journal and/or life story bring to future generations?


Your Turn--Your Story!
 I think many of you have been unable to post your comments to these blogs. If it asks you to write in your birthday, it doesn't have to be the real deal, ya-know. 
Here's my question: Who has helped you find your voice? What did the person do to help you gain confidence in your skills and abilities?

Trailer Park Sunday Morning

My home with a yard that will soon be a garden

As usual on Sunday Mornings, I'm listening to Fred Migliore on FM Odyssey. Hmm. I don't agree with some of his selections of "cringe-songs." I'm sure I've written a number of songs that would fall in that category for some people, but not for me. Still, the music Fred shares always brings back memories and makes me want to get up and dance--I don't usually give in to that urge!

I'm feeling grateful for so many supportive, loving friends who have helped me in so many ways to turn my life from miserable to happy since June 2010. Here are a few highlights of the past nine months:

Ron VanDyke tears out an office full of shelves.

A number of dear friends, among them, Becky, Sue, Melanie, Mike, and Ron (more that I can't remember--forgive me!) showed up to help me clean out my mother's Melbourne, Florida, house that I inherited in June 2010. It was very dirty, in disrepair inside and outside, and full of the furniture and belongings of two deceased people. 

Mike Bailey and Ron load junk into Mike's truck 

My mother's husband, who had a life estate there, left this planet just in time! I was in living in St. Augustine, exhausted and hysterical from working 14/7, totally broke, living among criminals and druggie neighbors, days from being carless, and weeks from being homeless. If my friend Lew hadn't sent me $1000 the month before to help me pay my rent on time, I wouldn't have been able to move back to Melbourne. He also paid for the major repairs to my new house.

 I had to return my leased Honda to the company in October.

Days later, my sister Margo and her husband John in Frederick, Maryland, gave me their '96 Buick. They spent a considerable amount fixing it up to give to me, and more flying me to Frederick and back to Florida with the car on the fast night-train.

The roar of snoring kept me from sleeping on that 17-hour journey home. In the breakfast car, those same people were complaining that they didn't sleep. Could've fooled me! The train pulled into Sanford, and I had to choose my correct car from among 250 cars that were unloaded. By the time I found it, I was so stressed out, I couldn't figure out how to roll up the window. I called John, who suggested in a kind tone of voice that I start the engine.

The car and I made it home to Melbourne, and my now-departed rottie, Savannah helped me create a heart-felt thank you.

Margo also paid most of the legal fees to get the house through probate and to give me her 50% share, so it is now in my name. 

A million grateful thank you's to my family and friends, many whom I haven't named here. I'm comfortable and safe in my home, with a car that takes me to the grocery store and doctors' offices, and life is wonderful--for now.

Welcome to My First-Ever-Ever-Ever Blog!

My Turning Point

A Turning Point marks a life turn in the road, an event after which you're never the same. Mine was my February 2011 diagnosis of Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia (CLL). The hemotology oncologist told me outright a few seconds after he entered the room, "You have CLL." Even though I knew there was the possibility, I was stunned. He didn't want to have a discussion with me about it. He seemed to want me to get up and leave. I asked him about treatment. "You will come back to me every six months for bloodwork," he said. He wanted to leave the room, and so did I.

I know I'm already symptomatic, with night sweats, periodic unexplained high fever, and swollen lymph nodes in my abdomen that have shown up on CT-scans since 2007. Fighting cancer for the rest of my life wasn't my plan, but neither is dementia, an ailment that all of my descendants had at the time of their death. My psychiatrist told me in my session a few days later that all of us, including me, will die, and we can't choose our deaths. "Just watch me!" I thought to myself.

Shake Hands and Dosey-Doe

I've known that this is my year to send into cyberspace most of my creations over the 67 years of my huge life--children's stories, published stories and articles, an audio book, cartoons, and original songs. I never had a child, and I don't have a partner or companion. I'm Aunt Renelle: the dead branch of my family tree. Last week I decided that no matter what my self talk is (No one cares about what you've created! No one wants to see it anyway. Why are you doing this?), no matter how tired and achy I am (and I am very tired and achy!) I'm going to spend every day getting my creations out the door. Every day I'm going to shake hands with my mental boarding house full of surly, disapproving, sarcastic characters. Every day I'm going to do a quick little dosey-do step around them, and do it all anyway. No matter what.

My Stuff 

Already since January, I've published on the Internet an album of three extended meditation song tracks, "Divinely Guided: Meditation Music for the Day," posted two of my live singing performances on YouTube, registered all of my new music with BMI, set up my recording studio, and typed out most of my published magazine stories for my ebook/audio book, "Life with a Buckskinner. I've even tried to record my reading of one of them. What a surprise! I'm a lousy reader--too fast, jerky, stumbling on words just like I talk. And it sounds like I'm reading! Why can't I read in that easy conversation way that Bill Clinton read his audio book?   
 
Even if no one ever reads this blog, I'll write it anyway. If my story inspires even one person to shake hands with the thought-demons and get on with life, no matter what, I'll be happy.

Today's Main Event

3:00 p.m. EST. My new dog, Connie, ran away. I'd had her for 4 days, but I knew she was a runner. I'm tired and not always alert enough to keep doors closed. I brought her in after her walk and forgot to latch the door behind me. After I slipped her choker collar over her head, instead of walking up the steps into the main house like she always did, she saw the daylight through the cracked door and slipped out of my grasp. She was out of sight by the time I reached the back corner of the house. Several of my neighbors and I drove around in cars looking for her on the main streets and other neighborhoods. It's after midnight, and she hasn't come back.

I refuse to make up stories to explain why things happen, but I'm sure my New-Thought friends will have much to say about the dog knowing she needed to leave me for my own good--my lack of time, energy, and money enough to take care of both of us. The only story I tell myself is this: many dogs must see themselves as prisoners in homes, always waiting to escape. My rottweiler Savannah, who died a few weeks after my CLL diagnosis, seemed to knew she was to be with me for her lifetime. When she did get out loose, she would graze in a nearby yard or glean garbage at a nearby trash can. This new dog was a temporary guest, yearning for her freedom in the great outdoors. I wish you well, dear Connie.

Encounters with Truth

Sprouting Wings

If you don’t know my former housemate Jody like I know her, you’d think she was schizophrenic. For one thing, she’s sees fairies. She always told me there were fairies in my beautiful backyard in Canton, Ohio (see picture above). So when she called me last week and joyfully told me she’d sprouted a wing, I wasn’t surprised. Actually, Jody is very level and grounded, sane and competent to take care of herself and so many others! I believe that people like her are in touch with other levels of consciousness, and I accept all of Jody’s other-worldly stories as her truth.

Ground-Walker
In contrast, I’m a Mrs. Magoo Ground-Walker, blind to any other planes of existence. Any story like that from me would be a fabrication woven from the threads of my imagination. In an effort to become a truthful person, I deliberately stopped making up stories, or adopting anyone else’s stories as my own a number of years ago. Now I turn into an attack-Brillo Pad when someone offers an explanation for why an event happened. 

Once a friend told me that my mother had caused her own dementia because she didn’t want to look at her past (see my mother and me below). My mother had already written her life story by the time she started forgetting, which is pure gold for my family! I don't want to look at my past, but at least for now, forgetting who I was and what I did isn't an option.

 I refuse to make up stories around anything I don’t know about. I don’t know if some nebulous, unknown entity or concept, including God, Jesus, the Universe, universal mind, higher self, and Spirit, is orchestrating the events of my life and those of the planet. I'm comfortable with the idea that whoever or whatever is believed to be infused in and around us has taken an extended vacation and left us to the planet's tantrums and Killer-Goons stomping all over people for dominance and power; many of our own politicians are stealing our liberties on behalf of the multi-national corporations who will finance their campaigns and later hire them as lobbyists.

Yesterday's and Today's Event
So mid-afternoon yesterday (Friday) my new, perfect dog Connie, shown with me in the photo above, that I’d had for four days, bolted out the door after I brought her in from her walk. In the seconds it took for me to reach the back corner of the house, she was out of sight. I didn’t know which direction she had run. Three of my wonderful neighbors and I looked for her in all directions in our separate cars, even along the main highways. None of us saw her.

My friends might tell you she left for the good of both of us, or maybe that I unconsciously wanted her to bolt out the door, so I’d inadvertently left the door ajar. All I know is that she’s a runaway dog. For her, a home is a cage, and a walk on the leash is a form of torture. She spent the whole day asking to be let out. I was walking her every four hours, a large chunk of the precious hours of my life. The day before, I had taken her to the dog park where she ran like a free dog and played nicely with the other big dogs. I had planned to take her there again yesterday evening. I had also arranged for obedience training followed by agility training. And I was going to get her a kennel cough shot and have her properly licensed in Brevard County. My plans would have required an outlay of time, energy, and money.

Since she left (and hasn’t returned today), I’ve thought a lot about keeping dogs prisoners in our homes when all they want to do is roam freely. I don’t want another prisoner. I already have two feathered prisoners in cages, born in captivity, and totally dependent on me. Every time I clank shut the cage doors, I know I’m stuck in my warden role. I won’t have another prisoner.

I read on the Shands Hospital site that the average life expectancy for someone with my disease of CLL is 8-10 years--sooner if I fall and break my neck between now and then! It’s time to believe that my work will have value for someone and get it out where it can realize its potential.