I spotted the post above this week when browsing through my Facebook newsfeed. It immediately made me smile, breathe a huge sigh of relief and think of Barry Manilow’s 1977 hit song, “Looks like we made it.”
I was 11 years old when this song was on the charts, and I loved Barry’s whole album. At some point, loving Barry Manilow was a dorky thing. It wasn’t so much dorky, but my taste in music changed as I discovered new music on my own and not only the stuff I heard from the backseat of my parent’s smoke-filled car.
I jumped in and started liking all kinds of music my parents called awful; it was like when people shook their fingers cursing Elvis and the Beetles during their era. Unlike our parents. Marty and I keep up with the newest hard rock, metal, pop, Latino, hip-hop, and dance club music.
We are both musical people since we were young. We appreciate old, new, cultural, light, or hardcore music. We listen to music for hours, usually loudly, in our production kitchen, which is different every day. Lately, we’ve also been listening to music videos on the TV at work.
I remember when I was 11 years old, downstairs in our basement, pretending to be a nightclub singer. My parents had a bar in their basement; almost everyone I knew parent’s had one too.
Not ours, but I found one similar.
There was a couch and two end tables, and armchairs. The furniture was that horrible wooden 70’s looking shit everyone had back in the day. I set up pretend cocktail tables from random shit I found on the “work” side of the basement.
I had an invisible microphone, which I remember always taking my hand and moving the invisible cord out of my way as I sashayed in between all the tables of people. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! I want to sing you one of my favorite songs to start off our night with.” Then I’d belt out, “Looks like we made it.” Always a crowd pleaser.
When I discovered my biological history on my father’s side, I wasn’t surprised to learn he was a nightclub singer, bartender, and performer in the Catskills and later moved to California. He took off on his family with three children when my youngest brother Dan was not even a year old.
He turned out to be a deadbeat dad, sadly enough. He only saw his children once while they were growing up, taking them out for the day and promising to see them again. He died in California on his 50th birthday when my youngest brother was 12.
Ugh, what a shame. I have his performing gene and love of cooking to thank, and most importantly, three awesome siblings. I share so many things in common with them that it’s always mind-blowing when we discover more things.🤗
Back to Barry. It wasn’t until my adult years while listening to “Looks like we made it” in the supermarket that I really understood the words I belted out as a kid. It was a sad song. It was about two people making it alone and not together anymore. I muttered, “What the fuck?”
I thought of that song when I saw that post because we made it out of the darkest part of the year. Marty and I both suffer from seasonal depression, which worsens as the years fly by. I’ll bet it affects almost everyone else too.
The song is fitting for today, waking up to -20 degrees which felt like -36 degrees this morning at 5:45 am, which was the coldest period of this artic weather we are experiencing.
Marty went to the farmer’s market alone today; I stayed home and held down the fort with Klaus, who hadn’t left my side on the couch. The weather is warming up today, and it will be a balmy 41 degrees tomorrow. Thank goodness!
The artic freeze didn’t affect me as much, knowing there was a light at the end of the tunnel. We haven’t had a bad winter this season and have been expecting Mother Nature to say, “Take this, suckers.”
Royalty-free image.
While I love warm weather and look forward to summer, I realize daylight is what I love and need; even though we don’t get that much sunshine here in Vermont, we all need daylight.
I’ve felt like a tiny seed planted in the soil all week, and every day I am getting closer and closer to the warmth and light. Look’s like we made it!
***By the way, when we were in Vegas a year and a half ago, Marty asked me when we saw a billboard of Barry Manilow if I wanted to go see him. I giggled, said no, and thought I’d leave that memory alone and not ruin it.
The dinner I made when Noah and Aja came over. Porchetta Pork Tenderloin, Fondant Potatoes, Acorn Squash Puree with Candied Bacon & Pecans. A monochromatic plating but very seasonal.
Part of my heart is completely shattered after losing my sweet boy Otto last Friday, but another part is so full of joy and happiness. Thank goodness the two are balancing each other out to keep me centered.
At this point in time, as a mother, I am delighted that both of my sons, Noah and Sam, are moving on with new chapters of their lives. Noah met a wonderful young woman named Aja, who is beautiful inside and out. We had them over for dinner the other night, and I don’t think I ever saw Noah happier.
It was a fun evening spent talking while sipping red wine, eating, making each other laugh, and getting to know each other better. We are learning to know Noah as an adult, and he is learning to know us as adults, not just his parents.
When they left, I had such a happy heart. I told Marty that our evening together was better than any gift I could’ve received. Noah and Aja seem like a great match, and we like her very much! 🙂
The two of them are headed by train to NYC on Sunday, Noah’s birthday, to see the tree at Rockefeller Center and to experience NYC during the hustle and bustle of Christmas time. They are going to see the Rockettes and are staying right in the heart of Times Square.
Even when we booked this trip with Noah, I was so excited for him! We talked about their trip when they were here, and I told them I was as thrilled and psyched as if I were going!
There is no place like NYC at Christmas time with all the shop windows displays and excitement in the air. Noah having Aja to experience with makes me so happy. I am sure they will have a fun and memorable time.
At the same time, Sam is moving to Essex Junction, VT, to work in the ER at UVM Medical Center. He has a beautiful place to live and is close to many outdoor activities, bars, restaurants, and other new places. There will also be more people and things to do.
I am going to his new place with him on Saturday morning to help him move the rest of his stuff into his townhouse. We have to clean and organize. He has to pick up a few things at a couple of stores then we get to the fun part, the decor!
He and I have so much fun together whenever we do projects and die of laughter. I am looking forward to spending some time, just the two of us, before he leaves for good.
The thought of his new challenging job and a fantastic place for a young guy to live makes me smile. I am genuinely as excited for him as if I were moving up there. This job is the next step in his career, and he will learn and see so much, things he would never experience at his current position, although he will miss his coworkers a lot.
Growing up and even in adulthood, I never once heard my mother tell me, “I am happy or excited for you.” I don’t think she was ever truly happy for anyone. She would find negative things to say when something wonderful happened to her friends or coworkers.
The best example I can give is our wedding day. My mother spent the entire wedding day hysterically crying. Maybe she couldn’t bear to have me in the spotlight. She was, however, highly successful in drawing the attention of all of the guests at the wedding. Meryll Streep has nothing on Eileen’s acting skills, even in Oscar award-winning films.
Instead of being happy that I married the love of my life and starting a new life with him in Vermont, she only thought about herself. When everyone asked Marty why his mother-in-law was crying, he told everyone she was upset because she was losing her cleaning lady. This was a hysterical answer, but unfortunately, it was the truth.
We never said “I love you” in our house when I was growing up. When we started saying it in our little family, my mother and father followed suit. I remember wondering why it took them so long to feel comfortable saying it or even thinking of it.
As the kids were growing up, my mother said, “I love you,” frequently to my family and me. After her stroke, she said it all the time. Those words, I love you, were just words. Words with no feeling attached to them or what they meant. (This was not because of the stroke.)
This I know because she handed out “I love you” to people like candy on Halloween. People she didn’t like and complained about behind their backs. It was a manipulative tool.
When the “I love yous” didn’t get her what she wanted or demanded, she could whip up tears quicker than Ralphie in” A Christmas Story” when he broke his glasses.
Sadly, my mother never felt joy in her heart for me, and she couldn’t stop thinking about herself. I’ve learned through meditation that I played a crucial role in her soul’s life lesson in this lifetime. My job was to help her advance in her earth school lessons.
In a mediation journey, a female Spirit Guide explained that I agreed to take that role as a main character before I was born. We all know how that lesson ended.
Thinking about it this way helps me not to take things as personally. It was a pack made before I came here, like a business contract. Thinking about it this way also allows me to take one step closer to forgiving her, but it’s still hard, and I have a long way to go.
Becoming a mother was the best thing I ever did. Was it easy? No. Was it extremely hard at times? Yes. Did I lose myself for a while? Definitely. While parenting our children with Marty, I knew what not to do from my childhood.
I quickly realized those bad memories from my childhood didn’t matter. I was not Eileen; I was me. It wasn’t in my nature to be capable of speaking so meanly to my boys. I would never dream of degrading or emotionally abusing them or using preplanned guilt and manipulation tactics.
I never hit or beat them the way I was or called them names. My name growing up was, “You stupid son of a bitch.” That is 100% true. Nice, right?
Why on earth would a mother do those things? Instead, we raised our boys with rules, manners, love, laughter, respect, and fairness. We were far from perfect, but we did the best job we could do.
I love being their mom and look forward to stepping back and watching them live their lives as they wish.
We are officially empty nesters, and my heart is full of joy. It’s time for the next chapter in Marty and my lives too. ❤️
Klaus and Otto share the couch in our back room. The two of them never sat or laid down together until recently.
***This is the perfect title for this blog post. Please click on the link to read my friend Jon Katz’s Bedlam Farm Journal blog post before reading ahead. I am the friend in the post.
Jon’s blog post says everything I can’t right now. Jon is a dog expert, all you have to do is go to your local library, and you’ll find dozens of books he has written.
Jon is a famous writer, journalist, photographer, and former CBS morning news producer. Hell, HBO even made a movie about him with Jeff Bridges playing Jon.
His blog is a joy to read and to follow what’s happening on Bedlam Farm. You will love his wife, farm animals, and dogs. I’ve been reading his blog everyday for 5 years and look forward to his posts.
Today, I am super sad. I’ve been alone and have felt down all day. Marty and Sam are still up in the Burlington area. I’ve had time to digest what’s making me sad; Sam and Otto will leave for good shortly.
I felt sad when both of my sons moved out of Arlington for school and work. Luckily for me, Noah moved back from Connecticut, and his place is only a mile from here, and he often visits, usually to have dinner with us. Nothing makes me happier than cooking for people I love.
The thing is, I’ve never had an animal die before. After nine years of caring, nurturing, and always having him by my side, I am heartbroken. We’ve decided to cancel the vet visit we had scheduled for him.
Otto is traumatized by thunderstorms, fireworks, and wind. He freaks out when the power goes out and going to the vet. We have to give him drugs for most of these things since he is scared to death.
We respect that he is frightened of things and try to comfort him during storms and fireworks, but going to the vet is tough on him; that’s why we decided not to put him through that and a bunch of testing.
Whenever I look down, my boy is right there.
We are helping and caring for Otto since he can no longer hop on the bed or couch. We’ve made him comfy beds upstairs and downstairs. The stairs are getting harder, but he can still go up and down. He is still eating, drinking, and having no problem going outside to go potty.
Our boys never used the dog beds we got for them, until now. We put them together and covered it in his favorite blanket. Klaus likes it too. He’s been nicer to Otto in the last couple of weeks and not a dick.
I went back to making his food like when he was a puppy. He has lost a lot of weight and muscle. It happened quickly; I wasn’t ready for it since he seemed and looked healthy all summer. His coat was so shiny.
I know I’ll get to see Sam after he leaves since it’s only about 2 1/2 hours to Burlington. I won’t get to see my boy Otto again when he goes; this is terrible timing, with both things happening simultaneously. Death doesn’t give a shit about poor timing.
Thinking about the timing of death, is there ever a good time for a pet or someone you love to die? This is much harder than I thought it would be. I am a strong person and have been through a lot with human beings and will make it through this too.
Thanks for reading. Writing about what’s going on, both good and bad, helps me put things into perspective. My biggest fear is being the person who finds him dead and no one else is home.
Talking about it with my friend Maria the other night helped. She said I could call her if something like that happens and I am alone, she would be right over. I find comfort in that.
I don’t know how many times I’ve said I love prepping, food prep, that is. Today is a different kind of prep, colonoscopy prep.
I’m not going to talk about details to spare everyone, but I will say today has been the easiest fasting and prep day I’ve had in 40 years.
40 years? I’ve had to get colonoscopies regularly to keep a watch on my ulcerative colitis. It was embarrassing as a teenager, but I am used to it now.
In 2006, my doctor found a massive tumor attached to my right colon and appendix. I was awake enough during the procedure to know something was wrong. They gave me more drugs to keep me calm for the rest of the procedure.
Three days later, I was at an appointment with a surgeon, and six days later, I was in the OR having the tumor, right colon, and appendix removed. It was benign. Thank God!
It wouldn’t have been found if it weren’t for my bi-annual colonoscopy until it was too late. That’s why it’s essential to have it done for me and others without colitis.
What’s different about today’s prep is I slept in, then we went to work in the production kitchen making a slew of spätzle for this week’s delivery orders.
We weren’t done until almost 3:30 pm, which kept me busy and not thinking about food while on a liquid diet. I love food, cooking, and eating, so this is tough. I live to eat, not eat to live; in other words, eat to exist.
Yesterday, Marty got me a Kindle. I love reading, and even though I like the feel of a book in my hands, I don’t like buying and having books around. I tried the library, but they only had a few books I had on a long list.
I know I could get books from other libraries, but honestly, that’s too much work for me to do. I also don’t like driving to check out and return books.
I knew from my last colonoscopy prep back in 2020 any kind of social media was out since every post was about food, and I was starving.
After I publish this post, I’m going on Amazon and choosing my first book. I signed up for kindle unlimited and can also get magazines.
I never thought I’d be a Kindle person, but here I am. With the winter coming, I need to do something other than watch tv or be on social media.
My first half of drinking the prep went quickly and easily. The second half will be just as easy in a few hours. In the meantime, I am starving.
We plan to leave for Dartmouth Hitchcock around 6:30 am for a 9:00 am appointment. It’s a couple of hours away, with very few places to stop. This is stressful because what if I NEED to stop goes through my head the whole time Marty is driving.
Once tonight is over, and I am at Dart, the rest is a snap. I always look forward to the knock-out drugs, which makes me feel like I don’t have a care in the world.
That’s it; I’ll catch up with you when I am on the other side of this colonoscopy.
While I’ve been teaching cooking and belly dancing for a long time, I am always a student. I am constantly searching for new techniques and strive to get better every day with both my passions.
For example, I learn from each new student I teach at belly dance. What are their strengths and weaknesses? How do they hold their weight, or can they ground themselves? Do they have body awareness?
According to Healthline…Body awareness is how conscious and connected you are to your own body. It’s also known as kinesthesia or the awareness of the position and movement of body parts in relation to muscles and joints. In short, it’s how you recognize where your body is in space.
I use body awareness when teaching dance moves with this similar technique… A simple way to increase body awareness is to practice a type of meditationcalled the body scan. This is a technique of intentionally paying attention to different parts of the body in sequence, and to really focus on the sensations that are present without judging them. Source UVA Health
When I am teaching any dance move, I ask everyone to notice what side of their body their weight is on and what part of their feet or legs they are using. Is their chest lifted? Are they looking down? It goes on and on but makes people understand what I am feeling, not just doing.
In the last belly dance class my friend Bethany taught with me, I learned something new when making the ribcage rotation move. I heard her say she put her weight slightly back for a more extensive range of motion.
I am positive Bethany said something similar over the decade we taught together, but this was the first time I was ready to hear it. That’s right, hear it.
Three weeks ago, when we explained how to turn for one move, Kathleen shared with the students what she did with her one foot. We tried it, and it worked easier than how we were doing it. Has she always said that, and I wasn’t ready to hear that tip too?
When I say ready to hear, I mean at the point or level of understanding what your body has to do to better the technique of the move you are working on.
Students will always say, “Oh, now I get it; you never said that before.” I always reply, “No, you weren’t ready to hear it before.” Ask any of my students because this couldn’t be closer to the truth.
The same thing applies to cooking. I am a great cook. I’ve cooked professionally and love to cook at home and entertain. I am not a chef; I am a cook. I taught myself everything I know and have been practicing for decades.
I cook a lot, two meals every day. That’s a shit ton of cooking, but I love it. It’s my relaxation, how I show people how much I love them and how I can express myself through my food. Like dance, it’s my creative outlet.
Saturday, we had an unexpected absence from our farmers market in Troy. Marty drove himself to the ER because his heart was in A-fib. Did he wake me to go with him? Of course not. He’s a stubborn asshole of a German, that’s why. He wanted to let me sleep. That was a nice gesture, but I was upset, to say the least.
When he got home from the hospital, he asked me if I still wanted to go to the market. The first thing I think I asked him was if he was out of his fucking mind, then I went on to say it was too late to go to the market, he was awake all night, and my back was still killing me. I also needed to pick up a new prescription for him at 11 am.
How did we spend our “sick day” on Saturday? It’s easy to go down the rabbit hole when watching YouTube. Marty can get lost for hours watching foreign food factories make different products. With no talking, just machinery sounds.
One night when I got home from belly dance, Sam reported that Marty had been watching videos of Korean food factories since I left 5 hours ago. We died laughing when Marty said it was interesting.
On Sunday morning, we stumbled on a series called “Not another cooking show.” The guy was a guido-type chef from NY, and we liked him. We watched him cook a few dishes, including how he makes his Thanksgiving turkey, and he introduced us to mini meatballs. He blew my mind! Seriously, he did; it was brilliant! 🤯
I will be making my turkey stock for gravy and turkey his way. Where has this guy been hiding for so long? He has dozens of shows making many of my favorite or most popular foods. I can’t believe he never came up before on Youtube.
He is an excellent teacher who explains everything clearly and shows his technique using a dozen different cameras to catch the correct angles. He has a good personality and is cut to the chase like I am.
I NEVER buy a kitchen gadget based upon watching someone else using an item; I always thought it was a paid endorsement or a scam; until today. I went on Amazon and purchased the fat separator he used with a release button on the bottom. Again, where has this thing been for the number of gravies, stocks, and soups I make?
The spätzle orders are pouring in for Thanksgiving, and I started feeling overwhelmed today. I had to tell myself we needed to fill one order at a time, take one production day at a time, put our heads down and work our asses off. Our distributor has a reduced delivery schedule next week, so things must be brought to them sooner than usual.
Late this afternoon, while I made tonight’s dinner, I also made tomorrow night’s since I have a follow-up appointment at my doctor’s office in the afternoon. Having dinner almost ready to go will help make things smoother when I get home, and we are starving. This takes the pressure off me, making it worthwhile.
I made the mini meatballs and sauce by following the Youtube guy’s video. I followed the meatball part exactly but made my sauce the way I usually make it. I tasted one of those delicious little balls and was happy with how they came out.
The guy tells his audience this mini meatball dish is a dish of love, and it is. I like getting into the zone when doing kitchen prep and banging these suckers out quickly for the first time. Let someone else make it for you if you don’t like to cook. It is a lot of work if you aren’t used to cooking.
It’s late, and we must be in the production kitchen before dawn tomorrow morning, so good night! I’ll let you know if the mini meatballs were a hit or not.
For the last few years, I’ve been slowly getting rid of junk; I should say ridiculous shit we’ve kept around for decades. I no longer have a sentimental attachment to things; a few years ago, I did get rid of some kitchen items I regretted during the holidays.
I forgot I gave away things I used when making a holiday meal for more than 4 of us. I quickly made do with what I had, so keeping it wasn’t that important.
Ten years ago, I purged my personal belongings throughout the summer. It took nine contractor-size bags to donate or throw away things I didn’t need. Why in fucks name did I still keep stretched-out hair scrunchies in a drawer with other 80s shit. I lugged that crap four times when we moved.
My thoughts were that I didn’t want my boys to have to go through stupid stuff after I was gone. All it did was take up space and was utterly unnecessary to save. I didn’t want to alarm my family, thinking I was suicidal again, so I did it slowly, one bag at a time.
In 2013, my adopted mother, Eileen, had a stroke. It was determined early on that she would never be able to return to her apartment. I was grieving her loss of independence and dreading the thought of cleaning out her apartment. She had a lot of stuff!
Marty and I moved her by ourselves from NJ to VT to a 2-bedroom apartment after she sold her house in Iselin in only nine days. No inspections, sold as is. The good news was she sold quickly.
The bad news was that it was a HUGE, GIGANTIC job moving all her and my father’s things they had accumulated for 39 years in such a short period, with two young children to worry about.
We threw out, donated, and brought the rest of the stuff to VT. We hated it, but it had to be done. Was Eileen any help? What do you think? Not really. My role as Cinderella was making a comeback.
Then guess what happened? Two years after, she was living in her lovely garden apartment with a nice patio; she decided she wanted to be on the second floor right above where she was living in a one-bedroom apartment.
I nearly exploded and was barely able to hold it together. Marty had the same reaction when I told him she needed to be upstairs by the end of the month. UGH!! This woman thought of no one but herself. She had to downsize since the apartment was smaller. Not a problem for her; she sold her furniture to buy new stuff. For a shopaholic like Eileen, this was a dream come true.
We thought lugging her shit out of the moving van into the first-floor apartment was tough, but we had to move everything up a long narrow flight of stairs. She had an attic in this apartment where we needed to store many of her things using one of those pulldown ladders. Did I mention this was in the middle of the summer, and we both felt like we had heat stroke? UGH!
Over the two years after she moved to VT, it was apparent she bought many new clothes, shoes, handbags, jackets, and jewelry. So much I’ll jump ahead; she spent all my dad’s insurance money and the proceeds from selling her house; she had to go bankrupt in 2009. This was shocking to us. What a waste!
So back to the beginning of the story. Since she would be residing in a care facility, I had to move her belongings out of that apartment again! Alone because Marty was working up in Rutland, VT, and not Bennington like he did for the last move.
My mother had four large closets packed with clothes, shoes, scarves, and handbags. The attic was stuffed with more stuff. I was so overwhelmed and only had a month to get it done since I wasn’t going to pay out of my pocket for another month’s rent.
This almost killed me physically and emotionally. Plus, she was a constant, demanding bitch wondering why I wasn’t spending more time with her at the care facility. UGH! I almost had a nervous breakdown, which also tormented my ulcerative colitis.
In the end, I took an enormous amount of brand-new clothes, shoes, and handbags, all with the tags still on them, to a consignment store. I got a whopping $165 for all of it. I used that money to buy big storage totes at Home Depot. There were 27 oversized totes of clothing, shoes, coats, handbags, and other items.
I made 17 trips to Goodwill, getting rid of stuff that couldn’t go to the consignment store. I am not exaggerating; she had so many clothing and accessories.
She bought one in every color. Every top, turtleneck, sweater, pant, scarf, and shoe, you name it, was in every color she could find. A lot of the items still had tags on them. The funny thing is, she wore the same shit every time I saw her.
No wonder she went bankrupt; afterward, she must have used my dad’s pension and social security for shopping since she had no more credit cards. She always said she was barely getting by and was afraid she would run out of money. She still got her mani, pedi, and hair done, though.
After sorting through and moving, all that stuff made me sick. It made me never want to go shopping again. I still hate shopping. She ruined it for me.
Time ran out on me, so we had to rent a storage unit to bring her kitchenware, china, pots, pans, and the rest of everything.
I sold the furniture; there was no fucking way Marty and I were going to carry it down those stairs after struggling to get it up. People got a good deal since everything was in good condition. I used that money to pay for the large storage unit. The people who bought the furniture had to move it themselves.
The day I finished cleaning and closed up the apartment for good, I had a mini nervous breakdown. I sat on the wood floor and cried until I ran to the bathroom I had just cleaned and puked.
Then I cried more. Then I got angry. Then I cried more. I didn’t even have the energy to stand up and drive home. Did I mention that she was still badgering me about why I wasn’t spending enough time with her?
A couple of weeks ago, I decided to purge our basement. Back to the why should the kids have to clean out all our shit someday popped back into my mind. I made an announcement that no one could ask or look at what I was throwing away. If it were something important, it wouldn’t have been down in the basement for years and years.
This was week two; I decided to go through a large storage cabinet. Then I saw it. The twenty-pound bag of costume jewelry I shoved in there nine years ago. I went through her real jewelry when I packed her things up, which didn’t take long since I realized she had hocked it all to go shopping. WTF was wrong with this woman?
I took the heavy bag upstairs and noticed I neatly put items in jewelry boxes. I must have gotten sick to my stomach or mad at that point; I just threw the rest in a plastic bag, which ripped; because it was so heavy, I shoved it into one of her expensive sturdy tote bags.
Today, I was hoping to find some pieces of jewelry I liked since none of her clothing or shoes fit me; everything was too small or short. As I went through the shitty junk jewelry, I felt that same anger return again. I felt sick to my stomach. I never shed a tear when she passed away and thought maybe seeing this stuff may make me mushy and cry. Well, that didn’t happen.
I decided instead of throwing it all away; I would put aside dress-up jewelry for a few little girls I knew. There was plenty to go around. I found a few things I kept and decided that if I didn’t wear them in a year, I’d get rid of them too.
Dress-up jewelry for some little friends in a small number of trinket boxes she had.
I saved one small box of gold jewelry if I ever have a granddaughter someday. I also kept one small box of real gold items she must have missed when she hocked everything my dad ever bought her. I put the box of ugly gold jewelry in a safe to cash in someday.
The stuff I kept, which I will probably not wear. The cameo will go in my Halloween costume box.
The good news is I filled a recycling container and trash can with useless shit from the basement, too—a pretty good start with the purging project!
I needed to write about this tonight. I absolutely have to let it go. Everything is finally gone, so there is no use in staying angry or upset about it anymore. This woman pushed me over the edge so many times I honestly don’t know how I did it.
Oh, I know how and why I did it; I promised my father before he died, we would always watch over and take care of her, which we did for 21 years. That was a promise I didn’t know how difficult it would be.
My writing mentor and friend Jon Katz challenged me a while back and told me to think of why and how I am and to share it with my readers. I wrote over a year and a half ago about how I hated pampering. He challenged me on that blog post with a phone call. Lol.
Guess what? I finally know! Because my mother was a pampered princess! She got her nails done every week. Every month, she got a pedicure, haircut, and color. She didn’t do the dishes because of her nails. Dragged my father shopping or out to eat constantly because she didn’t like to cook.
After I moved to VT and she spent years bitching that she had to clean, she finally got a cleaning lady because she didn’t have me as her maid anymore. (BTW, she automatically thought I would clean her apartment when she moved to VT, and I asked her if she was kidding.)
I’ve lived my entire life since I was 9, trying to act the exact opposite of her, which isn’t hard to do since I am nothing like her in the first place. I am a lot like my biological mom, which I absolutely love. I am so happy I have her in my life.❤️
Thanks for listening; I really needed it. I feel better now.
I saved writing about the middle world for last, thinking it was the most over-the-top and scary for people to read about.
While it’s true, thoughts of haunted houses, ghosts that can’t cross over, and negative energies are frightening, especially how each is portrayed in movies and tv.
Am I a chicken when it comes to watching scary movies and reading horror books? You bet your ass I am. Funny right?
The last house clearing I did for my friends a couple of weeks ago helped me sort through my emotions, and I realized why I was chosen to work in the middle world. I say chosen because, as a healer and light worker, the middle world is not somewhere I would ever decide to go.
Over the last 15 years, I’ve helped hundreds of lost souls or ghosts cross over to the other side. The last 13 people I met and helped made me think of their situations compassionately, even if they were difficult, mean, or an asshole, putting it bluntly, something or someone made them that way.
No one wants to grow up that way, but shit happens to good people. It’s my job to figure out why they are stuck and who I need help from on the other side, such as spirit guides, angels, passed family members, and power animals. Most importantly, I must do my job so the ghosts can trust and listen to me.
At the end of all my clearings, I’ve been successful in helping them move on. Only in one situation, I saw something that scared the crap out of me. In another blog post, I wrote you will be unsuccessful if you are afraid and show any fear at all. I didn’t even try.
I will not give those fourth-dimensional evil entities more than a short paragraph. I was afraid, so after discussing with my friend and former house-clearing partner, while I was at the farmers market, she blasted the place with love and light, something that evil beings despise.
Ev lovingly sent them to a place where they can never harm anyone or anything through all bands of the time. Boy, was I glad she is such a powerful light worker and took care of this for me remotely by using reiki energy. What a relief!
Human souls or ghosts come from a place of love and light (God) and will almost always respond and return to it. These black blobs of pure evilness hated it. Good always overcomes evil.
So what and where is the middle world? I’ll do my best to describe it. It is on the same plane or dimension as earth. It is a parallel non-ordinary version of our world. Beauty, trickery, strangeness, horror, and lost or stolen objects and souls are in the middle world.
The middle world is where vibes and thoughts happen; the old saying thoughts become things is the middle world. It is also where psychic phenomena, extra-sensory perception, and unexplained things happen. It is where disease ad illness manifests themselves. Again, back to thoughts become things.
The first time I visited the middle world, I didn’t understand where or why I was there. It didn’t look like the earth; it was gray, dark, and gloomy. Right after I first went to the middle world, I began hearing voices or people talking to me. This is considered crazy. Well, then, call me crazy.
As soon as the thought or word of a place needed clearing, some of the stuck beings or lost souls began speaking to me. It’s always when I am awake and focused on something like driving or performing tasks that require little thinking, like cleaning.
At first, I was like, what the fuck is happening, and who is this? All the people who reached out were women who were traumatized, abused, very sick, or frightened. It figures it was the women asking for directions to go home, not the men. 😂
By the end of my drive or project, I knew their story. I was able to go to the middle world and help free them from whatever chained them to this world.
When it was time for the in-person house clearing, all the ghosts were gone already, and we were there to blast the place with reiki and do a physical blessing.
When we would arrive at someone’s home, I would always ask the homeowner and their family members what they saw. Before we got to the house, I gave Ev the details of who I crossed over.
We were both blown away when the homeowners’ kids described precisely what I saw. Confirmation at its finest, knowing I wasn’t crazy or wacko was priceless.
I mentioned I had to find out why the stuck beings were stuck in the first place. In my experience, it is because they were very sick, killed or tortured in a traumatic way, killed without them knowing it; some don’t want to leave a place or object behind, held against their will by another ghost, or had unfinished business.
Almost every ghost I’ve dealt with didn’t know they were dead. Some were scared, clueless, comical, anxious, stubborn, or too young to know what happened. It’s true; most stuck ghosts are between 16-30 years old, with a few grumpy old men and women thrown in for good measure.
Many ghosts I helped were women beaten, raped, or killed by men; others died of disease or sickness. The men were killed while fighting and shot their heads off either on purpose or without realizing when their guns accidentally went off. Some died of infections from wounds or sickness.
I describe the difference between spirits and ghosts as spirits are souls that cross over and can come and go as they please, showing themselves to loved ones how they think their loved ones on earth would remember them at their best, especially in dreams.
Ghosts are stuck in a house, location, or to an object such as a piano or piece of jewelry. I see them at the moment of their death, not like a skeleton or creepy ghoul but as a sick or injured person.
British cast.American cast.It’s hysterical how the ghosts are watching her smudge their new home with sage; they are like, wtf? Lol
This past winter, we watched a series called Ghosts. We watched the American version, but the original one was British. The series is brilliant and the closest thing to describing to people what it’s like to work in the middle world.
The ghost characters stuck on a property in upstate NY know they are dead and waiting to get “sucked up” to the light. They can’t figure out why they are stuck.
Each episode focuses on a different ghost. The show is a comedy and not scary at all. I highly recommend it as a feel-good series.
Back to the middle world, am I frightened or disgusted? Weirdly, not at all. While in ordinary reality time I can’t look at an eyelash in someone’s eye or hear or think of anything medically wrong. I don’t know why the non-ordinary time stuff doesn’t bother me for the life of me.
I did a lot of research on all the topics I discussed in this series. I found good and bad information. Some are legit services, and other money-making schemes are taking advantage of people and homeowners.
I am using my calling or house-clearing abilities how other people use their callings, such as ministries or missionaries—volunteers working with the needy at homeless shelters or food pantries.
Volunteering or working as a health care worker or in EMS agencies. I know some people who make a difference working with the elderly or refugees. Others donate money or services for free. Those in need are in need, whether in human or dead form. A calling is helping others the best way you can with your gifts.
This last house clearing made me think about why I was chosen by the other side to be a medium in the middle world. Let’s face it; I have a tough guy; I’m going to kick your ass kind of attitude sometimes. I am patient, kind, understanding, and loving most of the time, but get my “Jersey” up, and it’s all over.
You cannot be a wimp or show any fear; at the same time, have empathy, sympathy, and compassion, which I have. You have to think quickly on your feet and find the right words to say. You aren’t permitted to ever lie to the being and have to come from a place of love and light. That’s why I think I was chosen.
I walked home from the actual in-person house clearing last week and was filled with humility and happiness for the souls that finally got to go home. I felt grateful to be able to help. My heart was full of love. I learned a lot from the “people” I met, some of which I liked.
Well, that’s it for this series of healing and psychic abilities. I know some of you were fascinated or frightened; others must digest or try to understand it. Some may think I’m whacked and it’s too much. I get it.
My goal here wasn’t to rant and rave about the spooky things I do but to explain and have an honest discussion about topics most people don’t know about.
I want you not to be afraid of other healing modalities or trying new things. To think of life in a different way. To notice passed loved ones’ energy around us and acknowledge it; they love when they know you feel them.
Thank you for reading this series and encouraging me to continue each week. It took a lot of courage for me to put all of this out there; Marty never knew half of what I did exactly. He told me some of it was scary, and it is for people. I would be scared for sure if it wasn’t me writing this.
Please email me at julziestyle@gmail.com if you have any questions or want to learn more about this series. I don’t teach any of my practices but can surely get you steered in the right direction.
Please remember, I don’t work with spirits or loved ones who have crossed over, meaning I don’t get messages for other people. I don’t know who to bet at the races or lottery numbers. Lol.
They have been waiting at the mud room door for the guys to come home for two days. I am clearly only their private chef. 😂
Have a great rest of your Sunday; I am looking forward to my family coming home later today, I missed them, but Klaus and Otto really did.
Marty and Sam are away at an EMS conference this weekend. I am home, not entirely alone; I have Otto and Klausie boy to keep me company.
Being alone and feeling alone are complete opposites. From time to time, I welcome being alone; I never feel alone, even when I am; thankful since that is a terrible feeling.
When we moved to Vermont and felt homesick, I would call my parents. This may or may not surprise you, but instead of comforting me, my adopted mother would rub it in, making me feel worse when I hung up. She was really something.
Lately, I have been in a great place, and I welcomed this little retreat at home. I picked up some junk food I plan to eat whenever I want, with a bourbon old-fashioned.
Tomorrow, my friend Maria is coming over for lunch to spend some time together outside the dance studio. I set this up as soon as I learned of the guy’s conference away.
Halloween is and has always been my favorite holiday. It was the only day I could be anyone I wanted to be, and no one wanted anything from me except a piece of candy. I am going to a Halloween party Saturday night at the Inn across the street.
I asked our friends Arthur and David if they wanted to come with me since Marty is away. They are in the midst of permanently relocating to their home here in Vermont from the DC area and said yes! Yay!
The little neighborhood we have here in Arlington is growing and becoming to be a fun place to hang out since a great couple recently purchased the Arlington Inn. We also have the new community center, The Arlington Common, which is directly across the street from us with lots of gatherings and events. There has been a very welcome positive shift happening.
Sunday, besides writing my piece on The Middle World, I don’t have a damn thing planned, which is pretty awesome all by itself. Of course, I will miss Marty terribly, but absence makes the heart grow fonder. Yesterday, he told me he had already missed me for the weekend; I got butterflies in my stomach. Not bad for being together since 1985, huh?
Have a great weekend. Of course, I will be taking photos of my make-up and costume on Saturday night and maybe some pictures at the party as well. I feel so calm, content, and happy, which is all I could ask for.
I took this photo tonite from our deck. I didn’t use any filters; this is Mother Nature in all her glory.
This has been quite the psychic and healing week for me. Since I opened the veil to the other side and my third eye, I have been highly in tune with my gifts and abilities.
Last week, I wrote that I performed only one soul retrieval on myself. I did another one this week.
What is soul retrieval? I found this explanation on a website called Lulu Baba. You can click on this link to learn more in-depth information.
A soul retrieval is a powerful spiritual practice that heals soul loss. Soul loss can occur whenever we have trauma in our life. For example, we may experience soul loss if we are in an accident, undergo a serious operation, or if we suddenly lose a close friend or family member.
A soul retrieval is performed in order to seek out and recover broken fragments of your spirit that were severed by a trauma.
Emotional experiences that exceed the limits of comprehension can cause part of your soul to break away from you. Soul retrieval is a way to recover these fragmented pieces.
Soul retrieval is a spiritual journey that can take you anywhere from the astral planes of spiritual existence (places that stretch far beyond the cosmos), to beneath the strata of your inner soul, in order to recover the abandoned and forgotten pieces of who you are.
The soul retrieval I did this week went back a couple of lifetimes. The fact that Marty was there and watched me put it all together is reassuring I’m not out of my fucking mind.
When I do a retrieval, I start a journey but immediately see a door. It is the actual door as I travel through time and space. When I walk through that door, I walk into the time period in which a trauma occurred, something so traumatic I lost a piece of my soul.
The retrieval started with me seeing a huge archway door made of bricks with massive wood and black iron hardware. I pushed it open. I looked to my left and saw a long arched hallway, and I came out of the retrieval.
I got up the following day and found Marty sitting on the couch with the tv on. We took the day off to finish our taxes and work on other administrative work.
I explained the journey to Marty, then the phone rang. He paused the tv, causing it to show Amazon slide-show photos as the screen saver. The pictures are either places around the world or nature. What popped up on the screen made me bug out.
He was on the phone with our accountant, so I had to calm myself as I stared at the photo on the big screen tv. The title of the image was Ruin Wheal Tin Mines.
Image from Cornish Bird Blog.
I went on my phone, and I found it right away. I was shocked because it was the ruin of the doorway I had seen the night before.
I searched a few more images and saw the hallway filled with daylight and not dark when I saw it. Holy shit!
Image from Cornish Bird Blog.
Next, I looked up where it was located, which was Cornish, England. Marty hung up with Deb, and I told and showed him what I saw. He had a look of disbelief on his face. We were both stunned.
I returned to the Wheal Tin Mines the next day while working. I do my best Shaman work while having a soft focus on something else.
After I entered the door, I turned and walked down the long brick hallway, which got darker. A man came up behind me, “It’s your first day, isn’t it now?” How did he know? I guess I looked like a young, frightened kid.
The man went by the name of Clancy. He was older, then again, a 40-year-old miner was old since there were so many health hazards with the job.
Clancy showed me the ropes and told me the one thing I had to remember, “You cannot fall asleep, lad; you have to keep on your toes; here is trouble everywhere.”
In the mining tunnels, men as young as 12 years old lost their lives from accidents, explosions, and cave-ins, while many others died young of miners’ lung.
The work was back-breaking and exhausting. There was a long climb down a metal ladder to get to the mines, a climb that took twice as long to come back up. It was pitch black except for the light from candles, which produced smoke in the mines.
I researched that many miners, even today have problems sleeping because they are always in the dark, and their bodies can’t adjust.
Many men went back to work even more exhausted since they were acute insomniacs. Then the day when that tragic trauma event occurred coming back in this lifetime, making me a lifelong insomniac. So weird.
I sensed something was wrong and ran down the tunnel and found Clancy and a couple of the older guys asleep. I screamed for them to wake up; something was wrong.
They weren’t waking up; I heard a series of loud explosions. At that point, I knew my way around the tunnels; I ran for my life.
Everyone working in that section of the mine was killed. Body parts and clothing were pulled to the top, and the bodies were thrown into a big fire. The smell came back to me. I can’t explain how strange this is.
It was my fault they were dead. I should have tried harder to wake them. I shouldn’t have run; I should have gone down with the ship. I was devastated. It made me sick to think of my friend Clancy.
I got enough information from the series of visits I made back to Cornish. I challenged the other side with a strong sign that what I saw was true.
I questioned the other side why Clancy was Irish when they were in England. When did this happen?
I pulled out my phone and first looked up the years the mines were in operation. It closed and opened many times, but I knew from “myself” it was around 1848, give or take a decade.
Mining in the area began in 1692, but the Wheal Tin Mine left today is from 1815 – 1914. Immigrants fled Ireland during and after the Potato Famine from 1845 to 1852. They were poor and looking for work.
Here is where I got my strong sign confirming what I asked for; the name of the area where the Irish Immigrants arrived was Clare County. My birth name was Clare.
It can take 4-6 weeks for a lost piece of soul to fuse with the soul and more time for it to adjust to having that piece back.
I’ve added doing insomnia reiki hand positions before bed and have a small plate of gemstones and crystals to help with sleep on my bedside table.
I went back to Cornish, telling Robert (that’s me) it wasn’t his fault. He can’t blame himself; Clancy and his buddies didn’t know what hit them.
Next, I saw him in a cardboard-type shack with a crude bed, a small table, a pee pot, a bowl, a spoon, and a tin cup. Everything was covered in soot. He was poorer than poor. I sat on the floor next to him and told him it was ok to go to sleep.
Now, I have to wait to see what happens. I may never be able to sleep, but exploring another one of my lives was amazing.
The first soul retrieval I performed was from this lifetime. After thinking about it, I’ve decided there was too much hurt and pain during that time period to write about.
It didn’t seem like my life as Robert was real, but this was very real since it was about me. It took place while I was at Catholic Charities before I was adopted. I know my three spirit guides were with me for that month; therefore, I was never alone.
This is a few days after I was born. I never saw any photos before I was a month old. I cherish the photos my birth mother shared with me. I cried when I saw them and stared at them for days. I am so blessed I found her and she was open to me. Not everyone has a happy ending like me.
I love and respect my birth mother so much that I want to keep this private. She doesn’t need to think or have to relive that time in her life. Now, neither do I.
I am beyond lucky and grateful I found her back in 2014. I have a close relationship with her, and I would never want to upset her with this. The important part of that soul retrieval is that it solved the attachment disorder I was being treated for.
When I saw my therapist after the soul retrieval, she was amazed at what I told her. After two more sessions, I didn’t need to see her anymore.
Next week, I will begin to write about the middle world. I did my biggest house clearing last week, helping 13 people to cross over, and I got rid of two negative energies. Not too shabby. Lol.
Each week of this Sunday series about my healing and psychic gifts, I have gone further down the rabbit hole. Hold on to your hats for this one.
I mentioned in last week’s post I have three Spirit Guides. Cho-San is a Japanese Elder/Ancestor who, at first, I thought was Chinese. Walking Moon an Indian Chief & John the Baptist. Weird, right?
When I first met them, I thought it was interesting these were my Guides—digging more profound as to why it suddenly made so much sense to me.
My parents took me to the Elizabeth, NJ, Public Library when I was five. Each time I went, I would take out the same book over and over.
My favorite book was called Dance, Dance Amy-Chan. It was a story about two little Japanese sisters, Amy & Suzy Chan. I knew the book by heart and loved the illustrations.
About seven years ago, Marty surprised me with a gift. He found a used copy of Dance Dance Amy-Chan. Wowzers!
I haven’t seen this book since I was little. When I opened the package, I was shocked that he had found it. I was more shocked that he remembered and looked for my favorite book! He is a keeper!
I opened the book and read it aloud to Noah, Sam, Marty, Otto, and Klausie-boy. It all returned to me and how much I loved it and still do.
I damn near shit today when I opened the book’s first page, which is sadly stamped with the word discard. The photo on the right was taken last June during a photo shoot. We just did different poses for the photographer. This was my favorite one from the shoot. I am holding the fan just like Amy Chan!
Another thing to note is that when I was 5 or 6 years old, I thought that Asian girls were beautiful. I wished I was Japanese or Chinese with their shiny, straight, blue-black hair and porcelain faces.
Fresh ink!
After my father’s death in 2000, I wanted to have a tattoo done to represent how I felt about him dying at only 61 years old of ALS. I immediately wanted to do a sleeve of Japanese cherry blossoms, not pink, but red.
I found something close to this as inspiration; this one is from Adobe stock.
In Japan, a cherry blossom represents life, death, and renewal. It’s a reminder that life is beautiful but short, like the flower itself on the cherry tree. I had my tattoo done in a watercolor effect reminding me of paintings of cherry blossoms.
My tattoo artist Larry and I came up with the design. It was his first watercolor piece. He nailed the hell out of it! I can’t tell you how many compliments I’ve received over this piece of artwork.
After doing two past life regressions, I figured out why I have Walking Moon and John the Baptist. It was unbelievable and answered some childhood fears. Scary, awful fears.
When I was four or five, I had to go through a whole routine after my parents tucked me into bed. It was the only way I felt safe to fall asleep. I never told them this, or anyone for that matter.
As soon as I closed my eyes, I heard marching using my third eye—a muffled marching. I would start to sweat and panic. I would lay on my stomach, stretch my legs out to the sides of the mattress and tuck my hands under my belly. This was every night for a couple of years.
I was afraid someone would come and crucify me while I was sleeping. At this age, I wasn’t in school yet and never took a religion class. The only thing I knew about Jesus and Easter was from my Nana and going to church, but not the specifics of Christ’s horrific death.
At that age, as far as Easter went, I cared more about wearing a new pink dress with my patent leather Mary Jane shoes and little white gloves. Oh, and my little purse. Yes, I’ve always been like this.
In the early 2000s, while working on my healing and psychic skills, I began researching past life regressions, something I had never heard of before.
I started reading books written by Dr. Brian L Weiss. Next, I listened to his guided past life regressions. It was fascinating. I believed in reincarnation but learned it’s not like what I imagined.
Every soul is pure energy, and to continue our soul work in earth school, the soul needs a vessel or a shell, a body.
It’s like recycling energy over and over, either learning lessons or not until we get it right. This is why we can feel that loved ones are still with us; we feel and recognize their energy. They are still with us. It’s a comforting thought to me.
Eventually, after getting over the scary idea of actually doing a past life regression on myself, I tried it instead of just listening to Dr. Weiss’ guided past life regressions.
It took me quite a few attempts over a couple of months to get myself into the necessary trance-like state of relaxation and consciousness.
As a note, if you are frightened to journey or to do a guided meditation, you won’t be able to do it. It’s as simple as that. It’s like trying to put a square peg into a round hole. Also, they will not show you things above your skill level or are not ready to see.
In one past life regression, I was a woman. A regression starts from your death, and you work your way back as far as you can or wish to go.
I was a woman and face down in sandy dirt. My mouth was full of grit and blood; so were my eyes and ears. My body hurt everywhere. I realized I had been stoned to death and knew why.
Here is what freaked me out so much that I almost came out of the regression; I saw I was hiding behind a massive rock with my heart racing.
I heard the sound of marching, the kind I heard when I was little. I saw I was hiding from marching soldiers, the ones who had Yeshua.
I had never heard the name Yeshua before the regression. Yeshua was known as Jesus Christ, but our group called him Rabbi or Yeshua. I know, I know, this is a lot.
I go back further and found myself with a group of women. We were what you would call groupies and followers of John the Baptist before Yeshua came into the picture. Prophets predicted John as the forerunner to Christ.
Jesus and John were related; John’s mother, Elizabeth, who gave birth to him at an old age, was a relative of Mother Mary. The Bible doesn’t say they were cousins since there is no word in Hebrew for cousin.
As John gained popularity quickly, he was imprisoned and beheaded by order of King Herod. Actually, at his daughter Salmone’s request. She wanted John the Baptist’s head brought to her on a platter. It makes me sick to even type this, especially typing their names which I have never done before.
I could feel the pain and grief again after John’s horrible death. I was sad, heartbroken, and angry he was taken from us in such a cruel way.
When I came out of that regression, I didn’t want to share it with my Sunday meditation group. I was shaken up. I thought they would think I was lying or making it up. Who has a famous person as their Spirit Guide?
I decided to share it with them even though I was an emotional wreck about it. That huge childhood fear I had of being crucified was real! It was a soul memory!
I am almost positive that Walking Moon was an Indian Chief in one of the villages I lived in with my tribe in a previous life.
When I did another regression and went back to shortly before my death, I was an old woman with long white hair in braids.
I was sitting in a canoe-type of a boat with one oar. I was paddling down a calm stream surrounded by trees. It was as though I was gliding on the water. It was quiet and peaceful. I was content.
I remember hearing the sound of the paddle hitting the water. I came out of the regression quickly. It was a pleasant soul memory, finally.
Another regression returned to another childhood fear that went well into my teens. As you are regressing, it’s incredible that you can connect the dots in this life.
Whenever I went to a sleepover at someone’s house, went down the shore, or went on a trip with my friends, I would be overcome with the fear of my family dying while I was gone.
I would lay awake at a sleepover and cry because I was so afraid. No one ever knew this fear of mine. Even as a teen on a boardwalk ride in Seaside, NJ, I again became paralyzed with that fear. I pushed it out of my mind and went back to having fun.
I never could figure out why I thought they would die while I was gone and would find them dead when I returned home. Until I did the following regression, that is.
I began at my death, a spear killed me in my back, and I was lying face down in leaves in the woods. I could smell the leaves and recognized where I was.
I was a native Indian man out hunting for our village. All the women and children were slaughtered when I returned to the village. There was blood everywhere.
I ran into the woods to see who did this and looked for my other tribe members. Well, we know what happens next; I was speared from behind and was gone before I knew it.
Right away, that other childhood/ teen fear of my family dying while I was out of town was again explained and made sense.
Now, I know people think I am either an excellent fictional writer with a great imagination or completely off my nut. I get it. It was hard to believe what I was doing just by reading books and listening to guided past life regressions.
When I finally learned how to get to that state of consciousness, the regressions became more accessible, and I didn’t need recorded guided regressions; I could do them myself.
I did seven or eight of them a few months apart from each other. Each was amazing, and I felt connected to those past “me’s.”
I recognized my immediate family in my regressions. We all traded roles and genders, repeatedly trying to learn our soul’s lessons in earth school.
I haven’t tried to do a regression to find out anything about the biological family members I’ve come to know and love.
Besides my meditation group, Marty, and a couple of very close friends, I have never discussed this with anyone; for the very reason of people thinking I was crazy or as a person with a good imagination and storytelling skills.
I promise everything I write about is genuine, honest, and authentic. This is a lot for me to share and a bit scary. I never thought I would write and publish my experiences in a million years, but here I am.
It is an integral part of my blog, telling who I am, why I am the way I am, and how I got that way. In many of my past lives, I’ve seen myself outdoors as a woman cooking over open flames for either family or village members.
I live in a small town in Vermont where everyone will likely think I am a total whacked-out weirdo, but I don’t care; telling my story is more important. Some will think I am a witch, but remember, I promised not to be one this lifetime. 🤣
Have you ever met someone and felt like you have met before in another life? Have you had such a powerful deja vu moment that you felt like you did something before or recognized a place?
When my youngest was in elementary school, he had an evening concert at school. When we got home, he took off his tie and unbuttoned his white dress shirt.
He went into the kitchen and returned to the living room, holding a pretzel rod with the tip bit off like a cigar. He also had an old-fashioned glass with ice and juice in it, swirling it around.
He sat down on the ottoman in a way I never saw before. Then he said, “I’ll tell you, kids, I haven’t felt that good in a long time, not since I was in Chicago.” What?? WTF?
I asked Sam what else he knew about Chicago a few days later. He rattled off streets, buildings, and places. I went on the computer, and surer than shit, he was right. How could this be?
I always felt like he was an older, wise man or grandfather figure, so this confirmed my hunch.
So, what exactly is a past life regression?
Here is a link to Wikipedia explaining it in depth and better than I ever could.
There is so much information about it in books, YouTube videos, and the internet. I started with Brian L Weiss, MD, but many other safe guided meditations exist.
I finally have my anxiety attacks under control with the proper medication, but I still deal with terrible insomnia. I can’t fall asleep before 3 am, getting between 3-5 hours of sleep a night. I am beyond exhausted.
I sleep between 6-8 hours on Saturday nights into Sunday mornings since it’s our day off. I wake up well rested after 9 am, which I cannot do during the week. Sleep is highly underrated.
I am contemplating doing another past life regression to find the answer to my lifetime of insomnia possibly.
The hardest part of achieving that state of consciousness required to travel through time and space is complete silence with no one home, dogs barking, rescue scanners talking, or phone notification sounds.
I will have an opportunity the last weekend of October when Marty and Sam are away at an EMS conference. I will be alone and can turn everything in the house off.
Next week, I will write about the one and only soul retrieval I did on myself back in 2018 while in therapy for severe depression and attachment disorder.
It changed my life; I got a lost piece of my soul back that I didn’t know I had lost and when. I didn’t feel alone anymore or afraid I would lose someone else.
Have a great upcoming week! There is still plenty more to write about in this series; I haven’t talked about the middle world yet, my specialty, or my calling.
*** I took a big deep breath before pressing the publish button on this post. I don’t know why I am so nervous about putting it out there for everyone to see, but I am.
