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I’m thankful for many things. Among them, I’m thankful my mind has settled on fixing a Thanksgiving feast.

The bright green Granny Smith apples are waiting to be sliced for a pie.

The dough will be rolled out on wax paper. The top hasn’t been decided. It will either be a French crumb or a fancy criss-cross.

Cornbread sausage stuffing is an old family favorite. This year I’m thinking of adding chopped pecans.

I have three little piles of potatoes: sweet, red, and golden.

The fresh turkey will be rubbed down with a sweet navel orange, and then seasoned before it goes in the oven.

The French green beans are clean and thin. The cranberry orange relish is already made.

I’m thinking of splurging on a store bought centerpiece: a cornucopia of flowers.

My father died June twenty-second (6/22). This was the first weekend of my summer break. My father’s wife was well prepared to handle the details of death.

I was not looking forward to summer. My mother was 83 years old and getting ready to undergo chemotherapy for a second series. She had been in remission for several months after her first series. It came back with a vengeance.

Even though my parents lived about forty minutes apart, they had been strangers for years. My mother had not been a witness to my father’s decline. She had not seen his slow march to death. She didn’t have to watch the vacant look and emaciation take over my father’s face.

That summer I was forced to watch that same look of death close in and begin to consume my mother. My mother’s husband was less prepared than my father’s wife to handle the details of death.

Time began to warp for me that summer. When I look back and try to order the events that began to happen to me, I can’t be certain of their sequential order. It all gets fuzzy in my mind and memory. I can remember fragments, some of them very vividly. However, the time stamps were missing. It was as if time had stopped for me, and I was living in a vacuum of jumbled events.

I had a dream that summer which in my mind was the initiating event that made me begin to question reality, and specifically my reality.

It was a summer day, and I had laid down for a nap. Maybe it was mid-morning. I was dressed for the day.

It’s difficult to describe what happened because it doesn’t compare to any dream that I’d ever had before this time. I’m not even sure if it was a dream. I’m calling it this because I don’t know what else to call it.

I had a vague awareness that I was lying on my stomach on my bed and my eyes were closed.Something ethereal was within me and within my mind. I remember trying to reach out and touch it. I remember trying to hold its hand to my heart. I remember it reaching back and touching me on my lower back. I had a vague sense it was placing something within me, possibly in my lower spine. Strangely I was not frightened. I kept trying to touch it and have the sensation of feeling flesh. Finally in the last seconds of this dream, I felt its fingertip and saw a flash of light. I heard or sensed it saying “thank-you”.

The last image I saw before my eyes opened to my bedroom floor was the image of a floor somewhere else. I remember seeing the bottom of file cabinets for a fraction of a second. I have no file cabinets in my bedroom.

I have no idea why this ethereal entity was thanking me. After awhile I began to speculate whether my unconscious brain had made some sort of deal. I began to remember fragments of conversation where I thought I was agreeing to something. However, I never could really understand or fully remember what all these conversations entailed. I had to face the possibility that it was all in my imagination.

After awhile I began to think that this entity had seen my future, and was somehow preparing me for it, and ensuring my survival. After this strange dream my reality began to feel as if it was shifting in front of my eyes. There were times I felt like I was in a trance or a waking dream.

During this same time frame my mother had encouraged me to open a financial fund. When I met with the financial adviser I felt like I was in a trance state. At the end of our meeting he handed me a yellow strip of paper where he had written my account number, and then we shook hands. At the moment of our handshake I had an odd flashback to touching the finger of light in my previous dream.

This yellow strip of numbers became attached to an unexplained mission that I felt I needed to explore. I could not shake this foolishness. I fell or was pushed down a rabbit hole of a number obsession. It has taken me years to climb out of it.

My mother died on November tenth (11/10) after a hard and grueling summer and early fall. After this my obsession shifted into high gear.

I have had to face all of this knowing that I’ll never really know what happened to me. I’ll never really know whether there were external forces acting upon me or whether this was all an elaborate creation of my mind alone.

 

 

 

 

You pull out a thin white strip of paper from the cracked cookie shell.

The words, type written with ink, relay a message.

It can be advice or a warning, sometimes it sounds like a prophecy.

The back-side of this strip holds a set of lucky numbers.

The randomness of fortune cookies appeals to my whimsical nature.

Though, I’ve come to feel that it might not be as random as we think.

There was a period of time when I took it all so seriously.

I felt the presence of a guiding overlord. He was my personal genie.

In the end, I never could determine whether his origin was external or internal.

He has gone away now for the most part. Occasionally I sense remnants of his lessons.

Part of his heart and mind remains with me in my memory.

From this point forward, I’ll need to be my own soothsayer and navigator.

*Note: We ordered Chinese food last night. At the end of our meal I was disappointed to find that our fortune cookies were missing from our bag.

 

I woke up this morning feeling out of sorts. I had a dream where I was in a class,

And the teacher handed me my grade on a piece of paper. I saw a red F.

I felt confused and upset for we had taken no tests nor handed in any work.

I’d been working on a big project, and the due date had never been announced.

I approached the teacher, she shrugged, and said the grade could change.

There was no resolution at the end of my dream.

These days every letter has a number. I pondered the number six (6).

To me the number 6 represents the beast of mankind/womankind.

Though, I often thought men and women should have different numbers.

It was then that I realized that the number five (5), also known as E, was missing

From our standard grading system. A ‘D’ means you need improvement, and an ‘F’

Means failure. The E ( or 5) had escaped somewhere between the D and F.

It was not a recognized grade. I decided I wanted to be an E, and

Escape from this dream class. I laughed at this thought and was cheered.

I shook the dream off and labeled it not real.

My number obsession had me creating elaborate stories. The numbers needed stories

In order to have meaning for me. However, over time my stories changed, and certain

Numbers fell in and out of favor with me. The only certainty was change, and

The constant cycling, and switched associations.

My current favorite is 5. Now it symbolically means I can escape the judgement of a grade.

Possibly I could be a 516 or 111 or AAA.

As a teenager, my first paying job was working for Triple A (AAA).

I made trip-tiks for travelers.

 

This morning as I looked out my window, without my glasses, I could see a figure struggling in the treetop.

Its leafy head and arms were flailing and thrashing. Its fighting comrade was the wind.

I could almost hear it shouting: “I want my freedom.” It was bound together by all the other branches, connected in such a way to make it one.

It still struggled, but its voice became muted with a silent resignation.

It knew that its freedom would tear the tree asunder.

As I put these words together in my head, I began to hear the birds sing.

It felt as if they heard my words.

When I stepped out into the garden the gentle breeze stirred around me.

The cloak of moisture had been blown away. Even the biting bugs were hiding.

They were holding on in shelters, not wanting to travel with the wind.

I stepped back inside to put these words onto paper.

Now, I can clear my head and proceed with my day.

 

When I awoke this morning the idea of negative noise came into my head.

This is the best description of how I felt.

I keep seeing images of being behind a waterfall. My physical body is not in the picture.

It’s my spirit there looking out through the flow of water and light.

I’m standing at the entrance of a cave. The roar of the waterfall is so all consuming,

I’ve become deaf to it, and all the noise it cancels out.

I keep contemplating what this means for me, and I’m still undecided.

I shook off all these thoughts, and went to the kitchen to fix breakfast.

Out the window I saw my garden, and I was filled with peace.

I stepped outside and over to the pond. I counted six blooms today.

The heat and moisture clung to me, and reinforced the stillness of this day.

Even my husband’s feral cats were all hiding somewhere in the dark corners of shade

Edging the outer boundaries near the fences.

I went back inside, and ate my breakfast, then shucked all the corn I bought the other day.

I placed them in the steamer, and let the steamer do its job of softening all the kernels.

It will be refrigerated, so we can eat cold corn later in the day.

As the corn was steaming, and the day seemed like it would drag, I experienced my first

Sighting of a hummingbird this summer. It was drinking from the Queen Victoria Cardinal

Flower near the pond. Then it flew away.

I sat down at my breakfast bar feeling happy at what I’d witnessed. When I looked up I was

Somewhat startled to see the hummingbird near the window in front of me.

Inside my head I heard the message: “Where did you go? I was putting on a show for you.”

I grabbed the binoculars and went over to the window and followed its flight.

It landed in one of the Crepe Myrtles and sat there and let me have a good look at it.

Suddenly I remembered; I needed to make more sugar water for the feeder.

Contact and communication was successful.  I found my bag of sugar and measuring cup.

The feeder is now full of a fresh supply. After this encounter,

My spirits rose to meet the day.

 

 

Yesterday I took a short day trip to The Great Falls National Park. It’s about fifteen minutes on a late morning drive.

It’s summertime and I’m off work. I went alone. My companions were both working.

The park had lots of visitors, though not overbearingly so. Everyone was friendly. Locals and tourists all looked the same.

I casually took my camera, leaving my tripod and special lenses behind. I wanted to take in the experience as widely as I could. Focused on photography often leaves me with a very narrow memory.

Walking into the woods requires a patience of mind, a willingness to just sit and wait for all the little inhabitants to reveal themselves.

All the fallen logs and branches, weeds, leaves, and wildflowers provide ample places to hide.

I followed a path along a side stream. The water was mostly peaceful with congregations of rocks and boulders creating little dams and mini falls.

Sitting quietly, I saw many little skipper butterflies. Some looked as if they were having foreplay. Damselflies were everywhere. The blue tailed and green tailed were easiest to spot. One with dark black wings kept popping up. One large yellow Swallowtail landed in the mud and probed around.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted movement many times. When I turned to look I saw the royal blue end of a five-lined skink. Three times they got away, too quick for any picture.  I was far too clumsy to capture one.

The only reptile picture I took was of a tiny frog – well camouflaged. Rather than run, he froze.

I had to watch my  watch for my time was limited. Later in the day I had other duties to attend.

I found peace with my short get-away, though my pictures were only mediocre.

Asymmetry surrounds me in my garden, in my home, and before me in my face and body.

Simultaneously there appears to be an underlying level that multiplies it all.

A natural flow that can defy logic is more pleasing to my eye than a predictable pattern that endlessly repeats.

An  unfaltering, unaltered pattern can draw you in and hook you in a loop. Mesmerizing. Hypnotizing.

Native Americans often put a purposeful mistake into their art. I’ve read this is to let the spirit of God in. I’m not sure if this is true.

Mistakes can be entry points to all sorts of things. In education, they are learning opportunities.

As a middle-aged woman my face and body is full of asymmetries. Compared to doll-like perfection, I’m sadly lacking.

Yet, my new perspective fills me with pride in my imperfections. They are my badges of living in the real world. They are the price of life.

Those that strive for perfect beauty begin to cross the line. In my mind, they look uncanny.

Some days I feel like the thread attached to someone else’s needle.

I’m a light-weight thread that periodically slips through the eye.

God’s hand keeps redirecting me back through the center.

My work is not done.

I can’t see what he’s making. I’m not quite sure why I keep blindly following.

I feel compelled, and there is something inside of me that is spurring me on.

I’m deeply embedded now. At times I wish I could unravel. However, it is too late.

The only way out is forward.

The past two days I’ve had some haunting dreams, and I awake knowing I must take action to move myself out of danger’s way.

The panic has been replaced with resignation – an acceptance of what I must do.

I’ve seen signs several times indicating that I do make it out. I’m not sure if this is true or merely false encouragement.

All I know is that I must hold tightly to my intuition, and keep blocking the signals meant to distract and mislead me.

And, by the way, my sanity is fine. These intermissions come and go.