It’s so weird. I’ve been seeing this sequence of numbers (514) for a couple of years.
I see it all the time; on clocks, my phone, the oven, a timer, auto license plates — any and everywhere one might observe a series of numbers.
Since I was already aware of the significance of 11:11 and 1:11, I figured it might be symbolic to see recurring numbers — and especially 514, which is personally significant since it’s my birthdate.
I’ve always loved my birthday because every few years it falls on Mother’s Day, so I get a double celebration. A friend with psychic abilities told me that 514 could be a sign that my mom is around, offering love, support, and guidance. Whether it’s true or not (the jury’s still out on all that stuff), I appreciate the thought.
My life path number is 11 which means I’m supposed to be nurturing, highly sensitive, intuitive, a natural leader, an old soul, and a healer. That’s all good and fairly accurate, I guess.
What’s your life path number? Add up all the numbers in your birthdate including the year, and check it out. Is it accurate for you?
Besides my sweet lizard, there’s another eligible bachelor vying for my attention…
A few days ago as I was tidying up the family room, I noticed some ODD movement on a big corn plant leaf (Dracaena fragrans Massangeana) near the patio doors. There was no breeze so it was a bit unsettling to watch the leaf move up and down. I hastily picked up the plant and placed it outside on the deck.
Out jumped this little guy! I don’t know how long he had been living there, well-camouflaged, but I thought the outdoors would be a more suitable environment.
Mr. Toad is a very handsome young man, but not all that photogenic. He’s a bit camera shy and kept running behind a pot while I was trying to snap a pic.
I guess he finds enough to eat because he and my lizard love seem to peacefully co-exist.
In most ancient civilizations, toads were synonymous with transformation and renewal. These mysterious creatures are capable of shedding their skins and reincarnating in new ones, signifying rebirth and regeneration. In Chinese folklore, they were believed to be spirits of blessing and prosperity for everyone they encountered. Native American traditions also hold spiritual convictions about toads, which they view as messengers of the soul world.
Attracting toads to our garden naturally controls pests and enhances biodiversity, creating a healthier and more balanced ecosystem.
Frogs, lizards, toads; there’s lots of reptile love around here!
Every morning he waits for me on the deck by the patio doors. Sometimes I almost trip over him because he’s always underfoot, trailing me from the deck to the garden and back again.
When I first noticed this behavior, I thought he had somehow become stranded on the deck and was asking for help, so I put him him in a box and released him on the grass, but he came right back.
He turns his head back and forth as if he’s listening to me, “Good morning, little guy!” “Is it hot enough for you?” “Here’s a bowl of fresh water in case you’re thirsty.”
At night, he looks through the screen door, but that’s where I draw the line. He’s not coming in, not even if he shows off with a few sets of those lizard-y pushups. #boundaries
One occurrence would be nothing to think about, but this happens daily, so I guess I’m in a relationship now.
I brought him a green hornworm from my tomato plant and he gobbled it up. Since my love language involves feeding and caregiving, that made me happy (and a little grossed out).
Most of my research says that lizards symbolize resurrection and rebirth. In Egyptian hieroglyphics, the symbol of the lizard was representative of plentiful abundance. A lizard in one’s house is often seen to represent an old friend or acquaintance.
I do. I remember my first ballet class, my first pair of pointe shoes, my first ski trip along with my best ride down Stump Alley at Mammoth, and even my first bra, lolz
Not having grown up on the west coast, I didn’t have a connection to the ocean until high school.
I recall my first time on a surfboard…it did NOT go well, and I almost broke my nose. This was not the sport for me. Decades later, I gave it another try. Once again, it didn’t go well. I ended up rolling and rolling under some giant NOT BEGINNER waves, and the next day I was covered in the ugliest bruises. That was IT for me.
Angel Girl takes gymnastics and was obsessed with cartwheels. Tenacious girl that she is, she tried and practiced and kept at it until the mechanics of a cartwheel finally clicked and she perfected it. “Watch me, Grandma!” “See, I can do it now!”
What an amazing sense of accomplishment and mastery of a difficult skill. “Great job, girl!”
Even though we live so close to the ocean, the original Angel Boy didn’t really like to surf, mainly because without his glasses, he can’t see a thing, and it was a scary endeavor unless he had a buddy with him. He’d boogie board a lot, but never really got into surfing until he started wearing contacts.
Now he has a quiver of boards here and at his house, too.
To encourage AB 2.0, he’s been taken along for (gentle) rides on a surfboard since he was about a year old.
This past weekend, it finally clicked for him, too. He stood up and surfed his first legit wave!
This is a bad photo because I took it from the video, but I can feel T’s sense of pride. It didn’t matter that it was a small wave: HE DID IT, and OMG, he’s a carbon copy of his dad.
Predictably, you couldn’t get him out of the water after that. He’s completely hooked, and now Dad has a lifelong surfing buddy. As an aside, is there anything cuter than a little grom in a wetsuit?
I hope they never forget these significant firsts, and since we have video of all of it, I can imagine they’ll show their own children these amazing accomplishments.
“Grandma, I need to tell you about YOUR LITTLE BOY!”
It never fails to make me laugh when I hear both Angels refer to their dad that way.
It started a long time ago when I explained to them that not only was I their grandma, but that their dad was my little boy and he’ll ALWAYS be my little boy.
Ever since, and especially when they have some juicy gossip OR a complaint, he’s referred to as “your little boy”.
When he rode his skateboard sans helmet which is absolutely DUMB, Angel Boy 2.0 would call me and tattle on him. When he fell off his surfboard, I was told about it. When he ran through a red light, yup, I had a phone call.
“Grandma, you will not BELIEVE what your little boy did!”
They extract a great deal of enjoyment when I scold their dad about his small crimes and misdemeanors; I’m a constant source of entertainment: “DAD, GRANDMA WANTS TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT YOUR BEHAVIOR!”
Mom isn’t exempt either, but MY little boy bears the brunt of the scandalous chat.
This time was a bit different. AB is now in third grade and his sister will start kindergarten at the same school. Usually Dad walked him as it’s only a couple blocks away and Mom stayed with the baby, now not a baby. (This is a cool deja vu moment for both Dad and me, because HIS elementary school was also in walking distance, and it was a great time to chat and walk there every day.)
I got the phone call….“Do you know what your little boy is going to do when school starts?“
I literally had no idea.
“Because I like to get to school early – Grandma, you know I don’t like to be late — and you know how Dad and I race there every day and sometimes I win –and C can’t EVER wake up, YOUR LITTLE BOY is going to run me to school first, come home, and then bring C. Isn’t that funny?”
“Well, T, why don’t you just wait until your sister is ready and Dad will only have to make one trip?”
“OMG Grandma, you KNOW that won’t work! We have to leave at exactly the right time.”
The backstory is that Angel Boy 2.0 has always been an early riser like Dad (and me), but his sister could sleep all night and most of the day. Sometimes, we still check on her to make sure she’s breathing, but boyohboy can that girl SLEEP.
Her pre-school started at 9:15 and it was often a struggle to get her there on time. Kindergarten starts at 7:55 a.m. so she’s going to have to go to bed extra early to train for a new sleep schedule. There will no longer be an option to let her skip a day or two or come in a couple hours late.
The best part of this story is how much Angel Boy loves school. He can’t wait to get there and always wants to stay after to play with friends.
His dad loved to learn, too, and still does.
It’s markedly different than my experience, that’s for sure. I didn’t like school and couldn’t wait to get home. The only happy part of it for me was the night before when I chose whatever pretty dress I would wear the next day. There were always matching socks and ribbons for my hair.
Being a fashionista is a life long pursuit and I can’t wait to see what the kids wear for their first day.
My son is the classic dictionary definition of an absent minded professor (which he is). His beautiful brain has multiple trains of thought all speeding along at the same time, so sometimes, day-to-day mundane tasks fall by the wayside.
It was early morning and he had returned from a dawn patrol surf sesh. We were having a lively “discussion” about where to put his surfboard…”Mom, Mom, I’m going to leave it right here, don’t worry. I’m going to surf later, too.”
Whenever he says “don’t worry”, there’s an eighty to one hundred percent chance that it’s something I SHOULD worry about. I learned that after forty-three years of being his mom.
I told him I’d prefer it if he took the extra few minutes to put it away in the garage where it belongs.
This discussion took place as we’re standing in the driveway. It could have been today or a couple decades ago; some things never change!
We were at an impasse. Hands on my hips, I stubbornly stuck to my position that the surfboard needed to go back where it belongs or I would end up trying to lift up a longboard that’s twice my size. Something would break; either the board or me.
Finally, I said, “Look how much time you’re wasting. If you had simply put it up instead of trying to convince me to allow you to leave the surfboard in the way, you’d already be in the house eating your breakfast burrito!”
Well, that’s the kind of logic that works with him. He finally put his board away. Like I told him his entire life, he should take his arguing and debating skills and become a lawyer like his grandfather.
As we wrapped up a twenty minute negotiation, I looked down and found this perfectly formed heart leaf. I took a picture, picked it up, brought it in the house, and I’m looking for a suitable frame while my (annoying) child inhales his breakfast.
It’s all about love. It always has been, and always will be. That child IS my heart, whether he’s being annoying or not.
The end of July has brought a triad of unfavorable events, one right after the other — snap, snap, snap…
I feel like it might be about time to run to the forest, search for a circle of rocks, tune into a different frequency, and step into a completely different dimension.
If only I knew the magic words to reveal the gateway to somewhere else. I don’t feel exactly enchanted right now…
The day after I brought home those adorable Lagerfeld heels, I broke a toe on my laundry room doors so I won’t be wearing them for a while.
Somehow, I entered into another inadvertent situation, and by that I mean, my innate carelessness subjected me to a dumb unthinking bizarre accident. I somehow injured the ulnar nerve on my left hand, which can be way more painful than you think! Because it really hurts, I had to get a brace to protect and immobilize my hand as I kept aggravating the Cubital Tunnel Syndrome/ulnar entrapment.
Do you see it? That freaks me out JUST A LITTLE because “ulnar” is “lunar” and I’m desperately and compulsively trying to discern if that’s a MESSAGE from the universe — or not –and what it might mean on a cosmic level.
And finally, since I have a history of skin cancer and have undergone Moh’s surgery, I had my six month check with the dermatologist and she discovered THREE areas on my face and nose that were problematic. I have to use this gross cancer cream, (which is really chemo) for two weeks. It’s brutal, as it causes my skin to sorta look like I have leprosy — not a pretty sight, that’s for sure, and I can’t go out in the sun at all. DAMN those summers spent tanning on the beach because now I’m paying the price.
I’m not really complaining though, because things could be worse. I mean, they ALWAYS can be worse, right? At least I’m balanced–right toe broken, left hand injured, the exact same spot I broke a bone in 2013 when I ran up the hill to look for a coyote; slipped and fell in the ditch. BALANCED.
I hopehopehope August brings happier news and maybe I’ll finally find the key to unlock that door to another dimension, maybe to a day before I broke my toe or the day before I aggravated the ulnar nerve or before…never mind.
On the other hand, I’d be overjoyed if I could stuff my little toes into those shoes…
I needed a brain cleanse from all the pictures and chatter about J.D. Vance* enjoying an intimate moment with his SOFA, so I had to share this cute little anecdote…
My son is/was a fairly good piano player. He started taking lessons when he was five years old because my mom thought he had talent along with some interest, so we brought home a pretty cool piano.
He was OK but not a prodigy. Even though family legend has been that we might be slightly related to a world renowned pianist, it didn’t seem to be his joy and after a few years, he quit playing except to entertain friends.
Now that there are Angel Kids, they seem to gravitate toward the piano when they visit. This last time, eight year old Angel Boy was pounding on it, driving me crazy.
I’d say, “Gentle, gentle, Use a gentle touch, PLEASE!” but he didn’t really understand what I meant.
Dad was off surfing (of course) so I couldn’t ask him to play something, as he could have demonstrated what I meant. Since I absolutely can’t play a note, I’m useless.
I had a brainstorm. Thinking that maybe he needed to SEE how the piano ought to be touched, we watched some of Leon Russell’s videos where AB could see the light, gentle touch used on the keys, and the beautiful sounds it would make.
We listened to a lot of Leon Russell’s magical music, I mean A LOT. Like I said, I’m obsessed, haha!
Since kids nowadays know more about the internet than we did at that age, he saw the sign of the red line under each video, to indicate that I had watched a LOT of Leon’s live performances.
“Grandma, did you really watch all of this?”
“I DID, I told you he is a musical genius, and I love to watch him sing and play piano.”
The next morning as I was making his fave buckwheat pancakes, I heard Angel Boy open the piano and start playing.
I could tell that he was trying to emulate the way he observed Leon’s hands glide across the keys-not pounding out sounds, but allowing each key to speak and tell a story and that’s when I knew my little buddy was hooked.
His performance was extemporaneously lyrical. Was I in heaven, or what?
When their visit was over and I was driving everyone to the airport, I paired my phone with the car and started to play (what else) Leon Russell.
From his car seat directly behind me, Angel Boy pleaded with me, “NO MORE LEON RUSSELL, GRANDMA! NO MORE!” He said he’d rather hear my favorite Swan Lake than hear ANOTHER song that he had been “forced” to listen to for DAYS. (However, he really liked “Tight Rope”, so I know he was actually listening.)
It was pretty funny, but I had done my job. Mission accomplished. Whether he knew it or not, my Angel Boy, representing a new generation, was already inspired by Leon Russell’s magical genius.
The legacy lives on. Now his parents need to get a piano and start lessons with a great teacher.
At the very least, he stopped pounding on the keys, so it was a win for me.
Leon’s mind blowing version of Over The Rainbow, always the master of space and time.
*J.D. Vance is the orange turd’s incredibly idiotic choice for vice president, not that it’ll matter ‘cos I predict that Kamala will WIN by a landslide.
Featured photo is Leon Russell as a child at the piano.
I went to the dentist for my regular six-month checkup and cleaning with the extra nice hygienist who always makes me laugh. The good news is that overall, my teeth looked healthy, but an old filling had deteriorated and needs to be replaced which is annoying, but not traumatic enough to cause too much stress. That made me VERY happy. The dentist is as detail oriented (OCD) as I am, so I know she’ll do a fine job. No worries.
This morning started out to be one of those enchanted, simply special times where the good energy spirals and infuses the rest of the day.
After all of that, I usually like to go shopping as a reward– kind of like the adult version of the treasure chest pediatric dentists have available for children to “pick a prize”. I’m convinced that retail therapy is therapeutic.
A new Nordstrom Rack opened up in the vicinity and it seemed like a great destination for some browsing — you never know what treasure might catch my eye.
I stopped at the hair care aisle and had a pleasant chat with another curly girl about what kinds of products we use for our hair type.
Like a butterfly, I flitted from one area to another: children to workout wear to undergarments to sparkly dresses, and ended up at shoes, my holy grail.
My eyes were drawn to these Karl Lagerfeld embellished heels on the clearance shelf. I grabbed them off the rack, put them on, and instantly fell in love. A couple of women also trying on shoes commented that they were adorable and looked exactly like ME. I don’t know how total strangers would know that they looked like me when they didn’t know me at all, but I told them they were exactly right.
The only problem is that they were a little too big. I usually wear 5.5 but these must run large. Before I could even look for a half size smaller, one of the women found me another pair in the right size but in black. They were cute, but I liked the port color better.
Her friend searched and discovered the right color in the right size and brought it to me. Can you believe how friendly and lovely absolute strangers can be? It makes me feel that all is not doom and gloom in this world. There IS goodness.
I find the random chat in a store between strangers, people who just happen to be in the same place at the same time — consummately satisfying. We don’t know each others’ names, we have nothing in common but a friendly spirit that’s willing to share a few words and some kindness. It’s an insanely gratifying connection that happens quite often. Do you experience it, too?
Of course these shoes had to come home with me. I’m totally obsessed. The kitty (Lagerfeld’s emblem), the pearl, the sparkles; each shoe is slightly different. Yes, I’m OBSESSED with the design, but even with a four-inch heel, they are actually comfortable.
Joy was my primary emotion when Angel Boy 2.0 brought out the Scrabble board and wanted to learn how to play.
As soon as he grasped the basic concept, he became a fierce competitor. When his Dad wanted to create teams — my two Angel Boys– son and grandson — against ME, I knew I was doomed to never again win.
This is deja vu, history repeating itself in real time. I have never EVER won a game of Scrabble with my brilliant child. At this point I don’t even try because it’s futile.
This was only the second game we played. AB 2.0 was proud of MAX with no help from Dad, and because it was a double word score, he caught on really fast to the excitement of strategic placement.
When I play games, I do so for the joy of being together; when THEY play, their goal is to win.
We are not the same.
It’s a similar situation with Monopoly. I’m no fun to play with. This is a game where their Mom excels. I want to buy hotels and apartments to provide a home for the unsheltered, while everyone else tries to acquire money and real estate to build an empire.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 