Fifty Years Ago

Once again, in honor of my mother... I started this blog because of her ten years ago. You can read it here. And today, it's 50 years ago since her passing. Fifty years? And it was on Friday the 13th that she moved onto another life, and it's Friday the 13th today too.

Dear Mom,
I still miss and love you.

And I can't believe I haven't posted since December 2018. I've been a bit out of the social media arena. Is that what you call it, arena?

Dear Mom,
I'm still going to the Post Office and receiving letters, and writing back anyone who writes me. As you know it's my favorite form of writing... my favorite love. I did find a new love though and I may have mentioned it before... quilting. I thought I had mentioned it in previous posts, but I guess not. Or at least I can't locate it. I call it my Letters of Love quilt.

The story... I was with Ruth (younger sister) who is the quilter, shopping with her for material for a quilt she was going to make. I was along for the ride. Inside the shop I spotted material that had writing on it. Whoa, I thought. Maybe I'll make a quilt with writing on it. I bought seven or eight yards of each writing material they had. FYI, I spent more money than Ruth that day. I stuck the material in the closet and it sat a year. I was waiting for the right pattern. Then on some blog I found the perfect pattern, bought it. And I believe another year went by. I decided I better do something with this or what a waste. I called upon the experts, mainly Ruth, Jan, and Elsie... what do I do? Where do I start? What should go where? The questions were numerous and the suggestions were even more so.  Ruth suggested I join the quilter's guild that her and Elsie belong to and then I could go to the retreat where all those who attend gather and sew. This seemed like the only way I would accomplish this task. I did what was required before the retreat: to cut out all the pieces, so when you were at the retreat, all you did was sew, sew, sew.  And so, so, so I was sure, sure, sure that I would have my quilt finished before the end of the retreat. HAAAAAAAAAAA. Little did I know. My quilt block required 8 small pieces to be sewn together. That doesn't seem too bad, right? But the size quilt I decided to make was for a queen size bed, and that required 240 blocks. I was still hopeful, until the end of the retreat and I only had 25 blocks sewn. Two and half days of straight sewing... okay not completely as one stopped to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner, and then there was exercise, and show and tell, and gabbing with various people. Who knew? I didn't do a lot after that retreat until Ruth told me that the guild was going to have a quilt show and they like all members to contribute. I decided that would be a good goal for me to have this quilt finished for the show. And by golly, I sewed every day, even if it was for five minutes. I'll share more about the process if anyone is interested, but I did finish sewing it, and then had a professional actually quilt it. It was too big for me to handle. And viola, Ruth and I both entered our quilt pieces. Ruth and I both won second place. Mine for the large quilt size and hers for the miniature size. How about that? I'm still in shock. But mostly in shock that I actually finished it and the quilt is now on the bed in my writing room. How appropriate, eh?

Here it is:

Well Mom, since you were a seamstress and could sew anything even without a pattern, I thought you'd enjoy this huge accomplishment. I must have inherited some of your creativity. Thank you.
Love, Lynn

REMAINDER

 For the remainder of my life, I hope to always give with love.

food for thought: What would you like to do with the remainder of your life?

Where There's a Will, There's a Way

The title of this post is a play on words, but it can mean many things. Lots of people in my close circle have lost loved ones—some expected, some not so. It’s difficult and my heart goes out to them.

The loss of my dear friend, Geoffrey still lingers as I prepare his memorial service. With all these deaths—or translations into a new life (them leaving this physical plane of existence) the details of what continues here falls on loved ones, which is why it’s important to express your wishes before you go. Sure, no one knows when that will be, and it’s not something we all like to think about. But I have, and I’m working on getting that in order. You may think, ‘oh, I’ll be dead, so who cares?’ A lot of people care, and laws and such don’t make matters as easy as you think.

Fitting that yesterday I decided to finally post. It’s been a while. Last night, after midnight, my husband said, “Love you the mostest.” A game we play.

I asked, “What day is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it March 12^th?” (even though technically it was March 13^th)

“Yes, why?”

“Just realized tomorrow is the anniversary of the death of my momma.”

“Oh. How long?”

“44 years.”

“Wow”

Yeah, that’s what I thought. Even though my mom’s death was 44 years ago, I can picture it like yesterday.

Today’s the fourth year that I began this blog because of her. A reason to blog… I started the posts, “Dear Mom,” as I felt it was easier to write to someone rather than randomly writing.

It’s been a crazy month, but where there’s a will, there’s a way. If I turn it over to Spirit, the outcome is a better way.

Memorial Service

Dr. Geoffrey Hilton

Saturday, March 22, 2014

1:00 p.m.

The Joplin Association for the Blind

311 S. Schifferdecker Ave.

Joplin, MO  64801

Happy Valentine's Day!

Image from: http://www.webweaver.nu/clipart/valentines/

Valentine's Day is my favorite holiday, however, I don't make a big ta-do about it. It's my favorite because it's all about love. What's not to love about love? So Happy Valentine's Day everyone, especially to those having a difficult time. 

Sending love your way...

Two Anniversaries

Dear Mom,

Today is the second year anniversary of the start of this blog to you. It is also the 42nd anniversary of your death. I started this blog on the 40th anniversary - Forty Years Ago Today.

It's hard to believe that two years have passed since I started writing this blog to you. I can remember being afraid to start, but then when I thought of you, all fear disappeared. Sometimes that's all it takes to push fear aside and go right through it. Just look what I've accomplished by not letting fear take hold.

If we could sit and chat, I'd ask you - "What were you afraid of, that you did anyway? What were the results? Was it worth moving through the fear?"

There's the old expression, "Where there's love, there is no fear." I guess that's a good thing to always remember. Because what's better than love?

Loving you on this day, and every day.

Letter Writing Challenge

Dear Mom,

I presented a challenge to those reading this blog—and today is the first day. I’ve made a list of all the people I’m going to write. My challenge is to write people that I don’t normally write to since I do write to a lot of people on a relatively regular basis.

Since I’m an introvert writing letters is a way for me to share without feeling awkward or self-conscious about anything. I remember after you died, too scared to talk to Dad (when it came to important stuff, like getting my ears pierced) I’d write him a letter.

I found a letter that I wrote to Dad telling him how sorry I was that some boys were over at the house. They didn’t come inside, but still… there was no supervision and I'm pretty sure the rule was not to have anyone over. I got “caught” by a neighbor. I didn’t do anything wrong, however, the shame of it all caused me to tell Dad that I’d leave if he didn’t want me around. I was 12 or 13. I begged him to trust me and love me and not to be mad. I was surprised to see Dad’s handwriting on a letter enclosed with my pleading. Here it is:

I still feared talking to Dad. I still wrote him letters. It also made me wonder why I felt he never really loved me and that perhaps my perception of what he felt was wrong... all these years.

I’d write my friends in grade school even though I saw them every day. I still have those letters. Stamps were six cents! I have a letter from your son-in-law (my brother-in-law) who wasn't at the time (he was dating Sue then) and they’ve been married for close to 40 years—egads).

I snagged my current husband because of a letter—too chicken to ask him out, I wrote him a letter. I figured this way he could have time to think of something good to say when “no thanks” would be his answer. It was sheer agony waiting for a response. I still write him letters.

I’m a letter writer through and through, so this isn’t a real challenge for me. But one I dearly love. If you can't handle writing a letter every day, what about just one? Who would you write to?

And More Postcards

Dear Mom,

Even though I can send postcards on my own time frame through postcrossing, it seems like I’m always behind. What? Doesn’t make sense.

As soon as I receive a postcard, I need to log it on the postcrossing website, which I do. I just have a hard time sharing them with you. You can see the first, second, third, and fourth one I previously posted, if you want.

Maya, who I met through postcrossing sent this one (not through postcrossing – we are sharing postcards outside of the postcrossing site). This is a traditional funeral ceremony of Hindu people in Bali, called Ngaben.

Next Victoria (your granddaughter) sent this from St. Paul, MN where she and her partner recently moved.

This card is a beaut (I’m partial to clouds) and comes all the way from Finland. I recently seen a cloud just like this and was in awe.

A card from Holland and the person wrote I should try a typical Dutch snack: treacle wafer. Anyone know where I can pick up one of those?

A card from Germany, showing Schlüchtern.

The next card that was sent to me is from China and on the back of the card it says: Wuyuan Scenery.

I have found that since I’ve started this, I get random postcards from people that have no idea I do this, like this card from a youth that my husband and I sponsored to go to Camp Wyman, although I think it’s now called Wyman’s Teen Leadership Program.

This exceptional card I received from Victoria. She thought it was beautiful and I have to agree, it is. Love Who You Are. Isn’t that something we should all do?

Now here are the stamps on the back:

Bali

St. Paul, MN (I was kind of excited because I thought this stamp was a watermelon, but it's not, but it sort of looks like one!)

Finland (that top stamp reminds me of any one of my friends and me.)

Holland

Germany

China

Part of the back of Love Who You Are

Yes, don’t forget, Love Who You Are.

Love, Love, Love - Part 2

Dear Mom,

Valentine’s Day was yesterday—it’s my favorite holiday because it’s about love. What’s not to love about love? I love ‘love’ quotes. I love unconditional love.

My daughter Rita’s half birthday is on Valentine’s Day. She celebrates at every turn. She’s pretty much a bundle of love. As are all my children, each in a different way. I love them all unconditionally. Truly. Don’t get me wrong, they can annoy me. They can bring out the worst in me. They have their flaws (as we all do), but I love them regardless. If they are the future, there is hope. They have heart.

Mom, they’d do you proud but then I’m a bit biased. Yet I’ve had countless people come up to me when they find out I’m their mother and have said, “You have the best daughter(s)/son.” They rattle on about how much they love—and they say LOVE—my daughter/son. I can tell they are sincere. These strangers (to me) do not have to say anything. I’ll sometimes chime in while they’re going on and say, “Yeah, they’re good.” Almost feeling like I don’t know them the way these strangers do because they look at me like, “That’s it? That’s all you have to say about your own children?”

Well Mom, I swore I was never going to be like one mother I knew who never shut up about her sweet little darlings. To the point where you wanted to run. And you prayed you’d never see her again. I decided I was never going to do that. Perhaps I’m doing it now, but this is to you—their grandma—if I can’t brag to my own mother about her grandchildren, then who do I brag to? Okay, so that’s enough… about my lovely darlings.

An upcoming event this weekend that I’m involved in is the Missouri Eckankar Regional Seminar (Feb 18-20 at the Marriott Hotel by the airport). I was in charge of getting together the creative arts portion of the seminar. Whew. We have an awesome group performing and I'm so excited. What I love about this spiritual path is the love. Learning divine love.

What’s not to love about love?

PS You know your husband loves you when he sends you a Pajama Gram and it’s a “Hoody-Footy”. If you come to my house unannounced, you'll probably see me sporting the all in one pink fuzzy bundle of warmth. I look like a giant bunny rabbit. But I'll definitely feel the love.

Love, Love, Love

Happy Valentine's Day to all of you - thank you for reading my blog, for supporting my writing and for all the love.

I wanted to share this short little video that I had received some time ago and I was going to try and find it, but then guess what - I received it again today! Coincidence? I doubt it.

Hope you all will be inspired by the love...

http://www.100-0principle.com/?cm_mmc=CheetahMail-_-Cons-_-02.14.11-_-HUZOMovie&utm_source=CheetahMail&utm_campaign=HUZOmovie

(I hope I plugged this in correctly - if it doesn't pop up, maybe copy and paste the site.)

Birds

Dear Mom,

As the weather cools, (okay, so it's down right freezing now) birds flock to our backyard because of the small ponds and waterfalls. We also have large high windows on either side of the room, and on sunny days the birds must think they can fly right through to the other side. They are in for a big surprise when they hit head on into glass. Sometimes I’m startled hearing a big thump. I look out to see if they’ve picked themselves back up or if they’ve met their fate and moved onto another life.

The other week one plopped right in front of the door where I was sitting. My heart went out to the precious little thing. I didn’t know what to do. I felt rather strongly about not interfering with one’s lessons in life, and yet the pull to help one in need was as strong. Sometimes there’s a fine line. Inwardly I declared myself a vehicle for Spirit and asked God, “What should I do?”

Thoughts were running through my head. Should I call my husband? Should I get a box and pick it up and take it to the vet? Should I let it alone and whatever happens, happens? I calmed myself and heard, “Just give it love.” Yeah, that seems to be the best thing to do in any situation really. I stepped outside and observed its heavy panting. I gently petted it and sang HU. HU is a love song to God and while I sang I asked for guidance on what was best for the little bird.

I observed its beauty—the various colors of soft silk like feathers with bright yellow and orange tips on the end of its back wing. As soon as I asked God for help, the bird sat up. I couldn’t help myself and went inside and grabbed my camera and took a few pictures.

The bird’s panting lessened. I then went inside to get some breadcrumbs. I thought how silly that must be—hear eat a few crumbs right after you've nearly knocked yourself out to death. I’m sure the little thing was so scared with this gigantic person hovering over it. Could you imagine if something that big hovered over you?

I noticed the filter to our pond was clogged with leaves and decided since I was outside, I may as well unclog it. I told the little bird to take it easy, grabbed the strainer and pulled out some leaves. After I finished, I put the strainer back and the bird was gone. I was happy for the bird. I hollered, “Be sure and tell your friends to watch out for the window."

P.S. I told my husband the story and he agreed that it was probably the singing—the bird had to get away. My husband thinks I can't sing. Cute isn’t he?

Journaling

Dear Mom,

I journal—handwrite—every day or nearly. Sometimes on busy days it slips by, but I try and make it a priority. It’s my life line, what keeps my sanity. I purchase composition books during school supply sales and pick them up for 50 cents. But to liven them up a bit, I’ll cut out pictures in magazines and cover them or paste in sayings or pictures throughout the notebook—and surprise myself when I approach that page.

Like the other day—“There are no traffic jams when you go the extra mile.” There’s a picture of the front of an old car along with the quote. I had been thinking about this during the holiday season with all the stuff to be done—but when I give 100 percent—with love—in whatever I’m doing, it all works out. No traffic jams. What’s hard is trying to remember that all the time. I get caught up in this or that and hit a road block. That can be good because it makes me stop and think—what’s really important here? There’s something so totally freeing to be able to drive over the road block knowing that I’ll arrive at my destination, and I can do it with my heart on my sleeve or a chip on my shoulder. The heart on my sleeve makes my ride much more enjoyable.

Birthday Blessings

Dear Mom,

I do believe I’m overwhelmed by all the sweet things that loved ones have done for me for my birthday. It started a week before my birthday when my “other mom” Elsie (that I wrote about when I wished my best friend a happy birthday) came over with a gift. About 20 plus years ago, I had started on this little quilt. Recently I found it and decided that I was never going to do anything with it and gave it to Susan to give to her mom who quilts. Some of the pieces of material came from Elsie’s mother and it seemed appropriate to give it to her. It just needed a back and to be quilted. I had already appliquéd the hearts on the squares. Now that little stinker finished it and gave it back to me—for my birthday.

The next day I met a dear friend who gave me a cookbook (The Route 66 St. Louis Cookbook by Norma Maret Bolin) and some beautiful stationary. In the cookbook is a gooey butter recipe that I’m anxious to try to see if it’s as good as mine ☺. Nothing like bragging, but somebody has to do it.

Sunday my little sister Ruthie drove on the snowy highway and delivered a homemade birthday/anniversary cake for Norm and me. OMG, it was so delicious that it is now my favorite kind of cake—Spiced Chocolate Torte wrapped in Chocolate Ribbon. She told me it came from the December 1984 Bon Appétit magazine. The cake has 42 ounces of chocolate in that baby—what’s not to love?

My daughter Rita knitted a lovely scarf—not the kind that keeps you warm as she has knitted me several of those. This one is to class up my looks! My stepdaughter Robyn created an owl necklace that’s absolutely beautiful—it goes along with my new role as Mother Owl. My granddaughter Logan wrote the sweetest note and letter to me.

Norm and I decided not to give each other anything—there’s nothing neither of us need. However we decided I would purchase the goods that are needed to go with a book that my sister Ruthie gave me some time ago (Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day by Jeff Hertzberg, M.D. and Zoë François). Anyone who loves homemade bread will love this. It doesn’t fit in the “trying to lose weight” category, but better for you if you’re going to eat bread, in my opinion.

Then there were many birthday wishes via email and Facebook. Real birthday cards were sent my way and phone calls all throughout the day. Such overwhelming love —who could ask for more?

Happy Birthday! Happy Anniversary!

Dear Mom,

You gave birth to me 53 years ago—on Friday, the 13th. You had mentioned more than once that you had appendicitis while in labor and we both came close to not making it. You were 40.

My husband, Norm’s mother gave birth to him 63 years ago—on Saturday, the 13th. No mishaps with her labor. She was 19.

Eight years ago, when Norm and I finally tied the knot after having been together nearly the same amount of time, we decided to celebrate that occasion on our birthdays. As we grow old together, there won’t be any confusion ☺ remembering the date.

I tease Norm that when we hit our 10th anniversary that it will be a record for me—I’ll have been married to him longer than all three of my previous marriages combined! He’s already broken the record strictly for the longest, period.

Norm likes teasing me too—and modified this comic strip depicting me with my girlfriend.

There was a time when I didn’t think we’d make it. I wondered what was wrong with me and that maybe I wasn’t the marrying type. Turns out I didn’t have the right one—someone who wanted it to work too! Every day I give thanks for I am blessed to have the best little stinker. And the decorative pillow that Norm gave me one year sums it up for me as well… “If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you.” Winnie-the-Pooh

Happy Birthday and Happy Anniversary Norm!

Another Family

Dear Mom,

It’s Susan’s birthday today. My best friend from grade school. After you died, Susan’s mom Elsie was like a mother to me, and I became part of their family—ha whether they liked it or not because Susan, being the oldest, always got her way. And now I’m really like part of the family since Susan and I fixed up her brother Bud and my sister Ruth. They have a son Josh. Susan and I always joke, if we were married that’s what our kid would look like. No one gets that—what we’re saying—it’s a friend thing from having had over 40 years sharing the good and the not-so-good times in our lives.

Before we could drive, we wanted matching cars. Susan a light blue Volkswagen Beetle and I wanted mine a bright yellow.

Susan and I went to different high schools. I was dating a guy, and went to a CYC dance at my old grade school. It was at the dance my date laid eyes on Susan and he fell in love—love at first sight. After high school the two moved to Hawaii and married. The good thing from that marriage was their son Steven.

Both Susan and I have gone through three divorces and are currently on our fourth marriage. We didn’t plan it that way. It seemed like when she was getting a divorce, I was getting married and vice-a-versa.

We’ve had a brief period of not speaking, but the love of our friendship was too strong to let that go on.

Even after 40 years I’m still discovering something new about Susan. There are as many differences between us as there are similarities, but we both accept each other for who we are—and that is a beautiful thing.

Happy Birthday Susan!

P.S. Mom, here’s a rendering of the two of us that your grandson Casey created from our grade school pictures that's below the painting.

Breast Cancer Awareness Month or Love Yourself Month

Dear Mom,

Forty years ago, I don’t believe October was Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Medical procedures, awareness, and the way in which patients are treated are so much different now than when you were going through treatment.

I recently read a friend’s blog (www.writinginthebuff.net) who talked about breast cancer. It made me wonder why I hadn’t thought about telling you about Breast Cancer Awareness Month especially since it took your life. Silly me.

I wanted to beat myself up about it, but then realized that part of my wrist problem (yeah, it flared up again) has to do with my self-loathing. I think. It makes sense to me since medically there is nothing wrong with my wrist. I feel like it is Spirit trying to say, See what you’re doing—all this beating up on yourself is turning into physical pain. Who knows, could it lead to disease such as cancer?

I plan to make a conscious effort to be more loving to myself. If I’m able to give love so freely to others, why not to myself? Did you do that to yourself? I often wonder what you thought about in terms of your self worth. When I hear your sisters talk, they never give their selves the kind of credit they so lovingly deserve. It’s with little things, but it all adds up.

So I’ve decided I’m going to change my awareness to: Love Yourself Month (or Love Yourself Year). It has a more positive ring to it—and certainly not to take away all the good things folks are doing to bring awareness to those about breast cancer—it’s just something I need to do for me.

Love myself.

Smeagol Likes to Help

Dear Mom,

The other day I was getting my Bunco gifts together and who has to get in on the action? Smeagol. He’s so cute, I could hardly get upset with him.

He follows me everywhere and wants to help with everything. Not that he really is a lot of help. When I’m reading or writing (with a pen), he’s climbing on my lap, trying to get right on top of the paper or the book. When I’m typing on the computer, he wants to walk on the keyboard. When I’m throwing laundry into the dryer, he likes getting in there.

If my husband is fixing something in the cabinet with the receiver equipment for the television, Smeagol’s right there.

Or when I'm in the kitchen.

Smeagol plays around in the sink when he follows us into the bathroom.

If he were quiet (like most cats) it wouldn’t be so bad. No matter where he goes or what he’s doing, he meows, meows, meows. I recognize his “I’m hungry meow.” Or his “Let me out on the back screened porch meow.” (Although that is usually followed with him running ahead of me so I will follow.) Most of the meows must be his begging for attention. Right now he is rubbing his face into mine—his way of kissing me—that beats when he bites me on the ankle for attention.

And like all of us who have pets, well… you just can’t help loving them no matter what they do.

Singing HU

Dear Mom,

I took my stepdaughter, Robyn to the Community HU at our (spiritual) center on Sunday. It was her choice, although I suggested it. I don’t care one way or the other what folks believe, or what they do or use to help better their lives. I just know singing HU (which is a love song to God) works for me and feel it can work for anyone regardless of their religious/spiritual beliefs.

This next story I always tell causes my kids’ eyes to roll. One night when I was a single mom, all three kids were pretty young when a big storm blew in the middle of the night. First Casey came into my room, “I’m scared, can I sleep with you?”

“Sure.”

A bolt of lightening lit up the bedroom and thunder shook the walls of the house. Jessica stood by my bed, “I’m scared.”

“Come on in.” I flipped open the covers. I had a double bed, and now it was full. I wondered where I’d put Rita, as I was sure she was next. Lightening continued to flash while the thunder roared.

I woke up the next morning, crawled over little body parts to go find Rita. Awake in her bed, I asked, “So how come you didn’t come into my bed? Didn’t you hear that storm? Weren’t you scared?”

She smiled and looked up at me, “I just sang HU.”

That still amazes me. Rita’s the youngest and was only 5 years old then. She’s 23 now. None of my kids follow my spiritual path, but that’s okay. Like me, we find our own way and what works for us.

But singing HU is one of my best tools.

Homemade Chocolate Chip Cookies

Dear Mom,

I baked homemade chocolate chip cookies while I was still on my cleanse. Not sure why I’m into self-torture. I didn’t even lick my fingers, although I’m not a fan of raw cookie dough, so that part wasn’t that difficult to resist. Just smelling the aroma made me want to pop them in my mouth. I could hear them sizzle while they burned my tongue and I wouldn’t have cared. But I was good. Ate some zucchini. That soup. Oh boy.

I made the cookies special for someone and doubled the batch to also have some for Norm, Mr. Sweet Tooth. I don’t think my sweet tooth is as bad as his, but he never gains weight and always has an abundance of energy. I don’t get it. Mr. Sweet Tooth is older than I am by ten years, but he’ll probably out live me because of the added sugar—he calls it his body’s preservatives.

Anyway as I mixed the batter, I added extra love. The person getting the cookies can surely use it. The extra love won’t hurt the hubby either. Probably need to throw in a little extra love for myself too! And always love to you.

My Poor Sad Babies

Dear Mom,

Did your heart ever ache when one of us hurt? My two girls were over the other day. One down and out over love and the other down and out over stomach issues. I fed them some homemade bread like little birds as they sprawled out on the floor. I couldn’t help myself and grabbed the camera. A moment captured—me wishing I could take away their hurt. One physical and one emotional. But such is life. They’re smart and will figure things out. They’re a lot smarter than I ever thought to be at their age. Smarter than me now in a lot of ways.

I sometimes don’t always know what to do to comfort them. No offense, but you weren’t exactly the warm and fuzzy cozy kind of mom. It probably turned out to be a good thing—helped us to adapt better with your loss. But I have a tendency to question whether I’m doing the right thing. Sometimes I feel rather heartless and cold. “Buck up, get over it, better things are to come. If you think that’s bad, well I’ve gotta few stories for ya!” I’m usually more subtle than that, maybe.

I can say my heart aches worse for them than it does for my own stuff. Maybe it’s my age or maybe it’s a mother thing. I don’t really know.

Here are the little stinkers:

Dream

Dear Mom,

I had the most incredible dream last night, flying all around. I was holding onto a pillow, I guess for security. It’s a personal dream so the only thing I can give away is that I felt immense love, joy, and freedom.

I wanted to stay in bed.

When I finally got up, the dream awakened me (once again) to know that I can do anything my heart desires, that nothing matters and that it all matters so long as I am filled with love. I need to remind myself of this when I have no self-love—when the whip in my head beats me with, Who do you think you are to write? You’ll never amount to anything. Nobody cares what you have to say.

Mom, did you have these kinds of thoughts? Were you doing exactly what you wanted to do or only what you thought you were capable of doing?

I need to fly right back into the dream and remember, always.