Susan Jeffers was a psychologist and best-selling author. Although she died in 2012, her universal messages of love and gratitude continues to touch us, along with her belief that joy, not happiness, is the goal of life.
From her book, Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway:
And what is joy? It is something that expresses the ebullience of the spiritual part of ourselves. Joy is characterized by lightness, humor, laughter, and gaiety. Lighten up. If you have ever been around a person who is centered and enlightened, you are struck with their humor and ability to laugh at themselves. All the brittleness is gone and only fluidity remains. So commit! Commit yourself to pushing through the fear and becoming more than you are at the present moment. The you that could be is absolutely colossal. You don’t need to change what you are doing— simply commit to learning how to bring to whatever you do in life the loving and powerful energy of your Higher Self.
Yesterday’s bizarre event gives a whole new meaning to dumpster diving.
Driving home from a few errands, I was about a block away when I noticed a GIGANTIC truck blocking the street, backing a GIGANTIC dumpster into someone’s driveway.
I first thought to myself, “I wonder who’s getting some work done” and then I thought it seems to be right next door, which is weird cos they’re having their first baby any day now and nobody would begin a major remodeling project with a newborn to care for.”
As I got a bit closer, I said to myself, “HOLY SHIT, THAT”S MY HOUSE.”
The driver began to unload the massive dumpster as I drove up and from my car I frantically (as you can imagine) told him to STOPSTOPSTOP!
I jumped out (after snapping a photo) and asked him what the heck did he think he doing and he needed to take it away IMMEDIATELY.
He showed me the work order which definitely had MY address, but the account name was my neighbor who lived three doors up the street. I guess it was a typo or a careless, not-very-thorough employee who didn’t do his/her due diligence.
We both walked down the street to double-check with said neighbor who confirmed that they ordered it and with a bunch of apologies to me, the driver successfully deposited the dumpster where it was supposed to go.
If I had been just one minute later than I was, I would have come home to an absolute disaster, a true dumpster diving nightmare! Timing is everything.
As it was, I’ll never get back the twenty minutes of my life I spent on the phone with the company to make sure that I wasn’t charged for a dumpster I didn’t request.
After that, I needed to take a few deep breaths, calm down, and lower my blood pressure…disaster BARELY averted, thank goodness.
How, It only takes One precious little soul To light the way For so many of us, to see
A Little Poem by Athey Thompson
A true artist, Athey Thompson strips language down to what is most moving and emotional, at least for me. There is abundant beauty in its simplicity. Her words deeply resonate.
Out of the mouths of, well, not babes exactly, but out of the mouth of my Angel Boy second grader.
A long time ago, even before there was an Angel Girl, AB and I would hug when we first saw each other and then at various times throughout the day and before bed.
I always asked first, “can I have a hug?” or “would you like a hug” because of course it’s all about body autonomy and if he didn’t feel like being touched, it’s his right to say no. That’s a good lesson for all of us, right?
Then he started to say, “I need a Grandma hug” and my arms would open wide.
When Angel Girl came into the world, she would stretch out HER arms and say, “Hug” and who could ever say no to that? Definitely not me.
Now they both jump into my arms and just about knock me over. I tell them I have two arms so there’s plenty of love for both of them. Yes, there’s a bit of sibling rivalry because AB had me all to himself for almost four years and sharing his grandma has caused some angst. Actually, learning to share anything is an ongoing lesson for him…
Recently, Angel Boy has become a bit more thoughtful about what it means to be his grandma.
He told his sister, “With Grandma, the hug store is always open. Right, Grandma?”
I hugged them both and said, “That’s a really cool way to describe it and you’re one thousand percent correct. Best of all, it doesn’t cost a single penny. My hug store is always open, night or day, 365 days a year.”
After that beautiful moment, I told him we needed to write a story about The Hug Store, and that’s exactly what we’re doing.
There’s an endless ocean of love with these two angel kids. ❤️
It was a warm night and the patio doors were open…
I’m used to hearing coyotes and the occasional hoot of a pair of Great Horned Owls that live in the ‘hood, but last night I heard what could only be described as a MONKEY — but that’s crazy, right?
I turned off the TV, grabbed my phone, and pointed it outside.
You can hear it too, the monkey sounds in tandem with very faint owl hoots. The hoots didn’t get picked up as I was recording though the screen door, so you might not catch it. Definitely turn up the volume.
I did some research: What is a bird that sounds like a monkey — and thanks to the brilliance of Google, a zillion results popped up.
It turns out that I might have been lucky enough to hear a Barred Owl, which is more rare here. Or it’s another vocalization from the Great Horned Owl, one I’ve never before heard.
Barred Owls are huge, between 16 to 25 inches long, with a broad wingspan of up to 60 inches. Since I’m five feet tall, I cannot even fathom that.
Whoever it was, I’m overjoyed! It’s one more animal friend helping to rid my garden of disease-ridden rodents. Bon apetit!
Apologies again for the crappy video, as this was my screen door and I couldn’t turn off the flash because I didn’t want to mess around and lose the capture.
So what is it? Monkey? Owl? Monkey Owl? Or something else?
I woke up this morning to a glorious blood-red sky.
It was about 6:30 or so, and I realized what day it was.
This was about the same time, twenty-two years ago, that I had taken my first sip of coffee and turned on the news to learn that the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center had been crashed into by hijacked jets.
I woke up my son and while we huddled together watching TV, there were other reported terrorist attacks on the Pentagon and a crash in Pennsylvania.
The September 11 attacks of 2001 caused the deaths of nearly 3000 victims and nineteen hijackers. Thousands more were injured and long-term health effects have arisen as a consequence of the attacks.
This sky is a poignant reminder of that tragic day.
William James Collins is an American poet who served as the Poet Laureate of the United States from 2001 to 2003.
The Names is his poem about 9/11.
Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night. A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze, And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows, I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened, Then Baxter and Calabro, Davis and Eberling, names falling into place As droplets fell through the dark. Names printed on the ceiling of the night. Names slipping around a watery bend. Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream. In the morning, I walked out barefoot Among thousands of flowers Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears, And each had a name -- Fiori inscribed on a yellow petal Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins. Names written in the air And stitched into the cloth of the day. A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox. Monogram on a torn shirt, I see you spelled out on storefront windows And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city. I say the syllables as I turn a corner -- Kelly and Lee, Medina, Nardella, and O'Connor. When I peer into the woods, I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden As in a puzzle concocted for children. Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash, Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton, Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple. Names written in the pale sky. Names rising in the updraft amid buildings. Names silent in stone Or cried out behind a door. Names blown over the earth and out to sea. In the evening -- weakening light, the last swallows. A boy on a lake lifts his oars. A woman by a window puts a match to a candle, And the names are outlined on the rose clouds -- Vanacore and Wallace, (let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound) Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z. Names etched on the head of a pin. One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel. A blue name needled into the skin. Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers, The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son. Alphabet of names in a green field. Names in the small tracks of birds. Names lifted from a hat Or balanced on the tip of the tongue. Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory. So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart. -- Billy Collins
Full of #gratitude and being #grateful with a poem by one of my favorites, Becky Hemsley, to help dispel any lingering Saturday blues and also because it’s too hot to stay outside.
Photo of Big Sur by Enchanted Seashells
When the ocean waves engulf you And there’s water all around And when you feel you’re in so deep You might as well swim down When the forest’s looming darkly And you can’t see your way through When the trees are overbearing And they’re closing in on you When every path is dangerous And treacherous to tread And you decide to stop And stay forever lost instead
Well…
I hope the sea is sapphires That buoy you with their blue I hope they shine a little Of their precious light on you I hope the forest prides itself On all its emerald leaves And helps you see your brilliance Through the darkness of the trees I hope your paths are gilded And are lined with golden hues Where ruby roses grow through grass That shines with diamond dew I hope you feel the sunshine And the warmth that it possesses I hope you see the way the clouds Are shining at their edges ‘Cause there’s richness in the darkness, When you’re lost, beneath the surface There’s treasure waiting for you And I promise you it’s worth it So don’t give up or in ‘Cause pressure builds a precious stone You’ve everything you need And you are stronger than you know So please keep going up and through Keep walking, swimming, climbing And keep on searching clouds for silver Sewn into their linings —Becky Hemsley
The greatest thing you'll ever learn
Is just to love
And be loved in return.
I just learned the most incredibly interesting backstory about “Nature Boy”, Nat King Cole’s first big hit.
George Alexander Aberle (1908-1995), known as eden ahbez, was a songwriter and recording artist of the 1940s to 1970s, known to friends simply as ahbe.
In the late 40s, there was a rumor that there was a sort of hermit, disenchanted and disillusioned with the world, living in California in a cave under one of the Ls in the Hollywood sign.
No one really cared about this strange man until one night in 1947, he entered backstage at the Lincoln Theater in Los Angeles where Nat King Cole was playing. The man said he had something for Cole and he gave whatever he had to Cole’s manager.
Later, Cole tracked him down in New York City [no explanation about how he got from LA to NYC]. When Cole asked him where he was staying, the man declared he was staying at the best hotel in New York – outside, literally, in Central Park.
He said his name was eden ahbez (spelled all in lower-case letters). The song he gave Cole was titled “Nature Boy.” It became Cole’s first big hit, and was soon covered by other artists through the years; Frank Sinatra, Sarah Vaughan, Tony Bennett, and Lady Gaga.
The media went crazy about the mysterious man who handed Nat King Cole one of the biggest hits. Everyone tried to find out more about him.
What little they found was that he was once an orphan who never stayed at one place very long, living in various foster homes. He explained he just never fit in and was always searching for something.
“They say he wandered very far…Very far, over land and sea…”
They found out he would hop freight trains and walked across country several times, subsisting solely on raw fruits and vegetables.
“A little shy and sad of eye…But very wise was he…”
ahbez would eventually get his message out when the hippie movement began, with other artists such as Donovan, Grace Slick, and the Beach Boys’ Brian Wilson sought him out. He also wrote songs for Eartha Kitt and had another song recorded by Sam Cooke.
IIn 1974, ahbez was reported to be living in the Los Angeles suburb of Sunland. He owned a record label named Sunland Records, recording under the name “Eden Abba.” From the late 1980s until his death, ahbez worked closely with Joe Romersa, an engineer/drummer in Los Angeles. The master tapes, photos, and final works of eden ahbez are in Romersa’s possession.
Ahbez died in 1995 at the age of 86, of injuries sustained in a car accident.
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
--RL Stevenson
This haunting photo of the ocean is a total mystery. I don’t remember where or when I snapped it, but it’s intense.
I can certainly relate. I’m working on the shadowy crevices between total darkness and the love and positivity that shines a light into the murky gloom.
Embrace and make peace with our shadow with a lot of love and self compassion.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 