December 24th, 2007 | 12 Comments »

This card, showing Grammie on a Harley, with my little bro, is one that my family sent for Christmas one year. It was my favourite, and I am sharing it with you to wish you all a goofy, happy, wonderful Christmas.

December 21st, 2007 | 16 Comments »

This is where I send the newcomers back to Part One and Part Two Those of you with good memories, just rip this puppy up with your bad selves reading.

Now where was I? Oh, yes, the soon-to-be-deceased is down on the lower level of the barn, when he hears a noise on the upper level. What he hears is the opening noises of the huge door that is on the road level.

He goes up the stairs, they are rough hewn stairs. It’s cold, and the wind blows through the very large barn . I see through his eyes two men just inside the double doors. It is dark just outside the door.

The dirty old bugger recognizes the two men. He is enraged that they have come to his barn. They have parted on bad terms. The elder of the intruders was fired from the farm. The younger, a hanger-on, helped himself to some tools belonging to the old man, and the old man shakes his fist at the youngster, demanding his tools.

The younger man says he has a right to those tools after what the dirty old bugger did to him. The old man turns purple with rage, then he sees the gun in the kid’s hands. It is a 22 rifle, what I called a rabbit gun. He immediately turns and runs toward the lower level, and in fact, makes it down the stairs.

I break it off at this point. I know in my mind that I, myself, won’t get shot, but the emotional intensity is well, intense. That tends to ruin the detached observation in remote viewing.

I pick up later to follow the two, and am very puzzled that it is light outside. I can see the truck they pile into. It is an old, navy blue Ford pickup. It’s in pretty good shape, all shiny. I sketch it for the police. They say that the licence plate makes it impossible, because the initial letter “U” on the plate is the designation for antique vehicles. Neither of these two own such a vehicle. I say they must have use of one, because this is what they drive away in. I recognize the back roads they drive down, and the community they are going to. The police discount this entirely, because it does not fit into their understanding of the people involved.

They also tell me the reason it is daylight is not so much the amount of time lapsed, but rather that the dirty old bugger was shot just before dawn. That helped, because I was beginning to doubt myself for a bit.

I show the police the sketch I had made of the barn layout. They ask me if I would recognize it if I were to visit the scene. I absolutely would.

Now that the police have some confidence that I actually can see something, they reveal what it is they really want of me. They want me to pinpoint the location of the murder weapon. I’ve never done this, but I do explain that I need someone who would recognize the place I will describe, because it isn’t anywhere I have been before.

I describe the place, and am drawn to an outbuilding. There is a space under the floorboards, but it is accessed from the wall. The policemen are very excited. They already have information that this is the older guy’s hiding place, where he stashes his liquor so his mother won’t find it.

I tell them that it is imperative that they act very quickly, because he is antsy, and considering moving the weapon.

There are complications because these two policemen have me in a secret file that their superior officers will not ever see. They aren’t going to be able to get their search warrant on my say-so, because their superiors do not know about me. Even though I feel cheapened by this, I agree to meet them at the actual crime scene later for several reasons. I will go into these later.

Yes, there will be a part four. Don’t hate me. I told you that this is a long story.

December 20th, 2007 | 12 Comments »

My younger son, Ass Burger Boy, has made it his mission early in life to find out who he really is. I’m not sure if this is peculiar to him or to Asperger’s Syndrome.

His journey has taken some interesting turns, to say the least.

When he was about nine years old, he was fascinated with black people.

He talked black, he walked black. He did what he could to gather information. He wanted to know about black people on a personal level. This, of course, means engaging in conversation. His conversation skills are noteworthy in that he is articulate, but needs polish.

Every black person he saw, he struck up a conversation with, beginning with the ice-breaker: “I see that you are black.” What? What does a person answer to that? “Good eye, Ass Burger Boy.”????

We live in an area where there is some racial tension. I’m sad about this, but it is a fact of life here. I felt it necessary to advise him that some people might interpret his opening gambit as round one of a fight.

He takes everything literally.

ABB was at my mom’s when I brought a lovely new acquaintance with me for lunch.

ABB, always the social butterfly who Must.Dominate.Every.Freaking.Conversation. gives his dazzling conversation skills his new opening: “I see that you are not black.”

Except that she was.

I lost a potential friend that day because I didn’t have the chops to explain how this whole situation came about.

A few years after that, he became a Back Street Boy. Wore white all the time. Sang all the songs. Attended his prom dressed in white.

Now he thinks he’s Greek. That might be funny if it weren’t true. He switched to the Greek Orthodox Church, serves on the altar, is learning the language, and dreams of living on the Greek Islands.

My wish is that he will discover that who he is can be just fine, without assuming an identity. So far, he’s not buying it.

Whoever said that children don’t come with a manual was so not kidding.

December 18th, 2007 | 14 Comments »

If you’re not up on Skinny Bitch, you need to go for an introduction and for a follow-up

She’s totally worth it.

SB is not somebody you want as an enemy. She remembers wrong doings for a long, long time. Even unintentional ones. Her poor husband. He suffered through her pregnancy. Why? Because SB suffered through her pregnancy. This woman is tiny, not just skinny. There is not much room for a baby in her tiny body. She found it very hard to breathe at night, and could only breathe a little when she slept sitting up.

All the while that SB is throwing menacing thoughts of “You did this to me!” to Mr. SB, she is begrudging him his easy slumber and breathing. Sometimes she would wake him up and accuse him of taking two breaths. Two! The nerve!

When she told me about this, she acknowledged that she had a few scores to settle with Mr. SB, but she couldn’t really enjoy the torture she put him through because she was so miserable herself.

This is when the diabolical scheme was hatched. She decided that when she went through menopause, she would most likely be too miserable to enjoy Mr. SB’s torture. Yes, it appears that my very presence will trigger hateful schemes against your loved ones. I guess everybody has a talent. Who knew?

Her plan is to fake her menopause before she actually goes through menopause. That way, he will suffer twice, and she will be able to enjoy his suffering at least once.

I’m so grateful I haven’t gotten on her bad side. She’s scary that way.

For all those who are feeling sorry for Mr. SB, he is a gorgeous, hard-working man who is so besotted by their daughter that he believes every word that comes out of her teenage mouth. He overruled SB on matters of the daughter’s Dirtbag Boyfriend. For that, fake menopause is getting off easy.

December 17th, 2007 | 11 Comments »

We have all experienced altered states of consciousness while awake. Any time you are so absorbed in something that nothing else exists you are in what I call sacred space. It is the state of who you really are.

You can set about deliberately to achieve this state of grace with a few simple steps.

First, plant your feet firmly on the floor. You need to be anchored to the earth so you will remember your journey. Imagine that you have roots coming out the soles of your feet, and they are extending all the way to the centre of the earth. Now, feel the slow, steady heartbeat of the earth through your feet, and allow it to move up your legs. It may feel like a throbbing, or even a tingling. It’s all good.

For those of you who have given birth, this next part should be a cinch. The breathing is key to an altered state. LaMaze or even Yogic breathing are recommended. To check that you are breathing properly, place your hand just below your navel. As you breathe in, direct the breath to where the hand is. It should come out as your lower abdomen expands. As you breathe out, your hand should go inward. This is the cleansing breath of LaMaze breathing, and hey! It calms the mind, emotions, body, and spirit!

I always like to intensify my experience. I breathe in love, and give it a colour. I make it brighter and larger with each breath. The love I breathe in is that which I felt when I first beheld my newborn babies. I like to give it a golden/white colour, sprinkled with sparkly fairy dust, because who can’t use more fairy dust in their life?

Now that your whole energy field is vibrating to the frequency of love, no matter how upset you may have been earlier, it isn’t present in the presence of love. There is only love that exists in this state. When you have a good love vibe going on, you are on the same frequency as your guides.

Imagine the energies of your spirit guides and guardian angels about three feet above your head, and allow their love to come down, and settle on your shoulders like a warm, soft blanket. Accept, and allow this.

You can use this altered state to ask questions of your guides, and wait for an answer to come. It will probably be in the form of a thought in your head. Doesn’t matter what form it takes. You are protected by love, and only loving entities will connect with you.

I recommend this exercise as a five-minute vacation for you, anytime you are stressed. Surely you can find five minutes? In the bathroom, maybe?