childhood

As a child I was cautioned by my mom and the teachers at school: Don’t talk to strangers.
But my innate curiosity over ruled that dictum on a regular basis. I was an extroverted, chatty kid who liked people and asked a lot of questions.

And of course, just to confuse me, there were exceptions to the rule.

“When the nice lady compliments your dress, what do you say?”

Wait. Really? Okaaaay, Thank you strange lady whom I’ve never seen before and will most likely never meet again. *BIG SMILE

“Tell the nice man how many apples we want,” my mom would encourage, giving me the green light to start a conversation with the man in the produce department, who by the time we left the market was my new best friend. “See you later alligator!” was something someone had taught me and I LOVED it—and people LOVED it—so of course I used it as often as I could.
It became a hello and a goodbye, kinda like my own personal Ciao or Aloha.

All this to say: I detest that stranger=danger rule.
I know, I know! I don’t have kids, and it’s a different time, but…

When I look over my life, I have had some of the deepest, most interesting conversations with absolute strangers.

Traveling is well, an impossibly dry and hopeless mess if you don’t ask people—complete strangers who often speak a different language—directions, or food recommendations, or where they got that incredible hat!
I can’t even imagine it! Mute adventures? Why bother?

I’ve ended up hugging complete strangers after we’ve bonded over a “conversation” made up almost entirely of charades due to a language barrier. Italians have mastered this skill and have forced me on occasion to up my game.

What I’ve learned is that humanity is mostly good, kind-hearted and eager—almost to a fault—to help out a stranger in any way they possibly can. Truly. I see you shaking your head, but I kid you not.

On one trip to Salzburg I bought TWO enormous, extremely overstuffed down pillows, you know, like you do—and instead of having the good sense to ship them home, I carted them all over Europe for the next two weeks.

One day as I was struggling to catch a train out of Italy with my luggage, assorted bags—and my pillows, I spotted the face of a gentleman I had struck up a conversation with at an espresso bar an hour earlier. He was dressed as dapper as I’ve seen anybody dress in. my. life. —And I had commented on his bespoke suit as we both shared a laugh about all my bags and the jackassery of my enormous pillows.

Later when we locked eyes across the train platform, he saw the look of sheer…exasperation on my face, got up out of his first class seat in the train across the tracks, and helped me get settled on my train back to Austria. As he lifted my three ton suitcase and stowed my fucking pillows in the metal racks overhead— I watched HIS train pull away.

I had talked to a stranger and he had gone out of his way and missed his train to become my train station savior. (Thinking back, he wasn’t from this timeline of that I’m sure. He was a chivalrous gentleman from a different era.)

Some strangers have even made it into the inner sanctum =friendship status. Wherever I go I talk to the people around me–and we become friends.

Most of my dearest friends started off as strangers—as did my husband—it doesn’t get any stranger than a blind date!

If you never talk to strangers—how do you meet people?

Think about that, and don’t email me about all the serial killers and bad guys out there looking to do me harm—it won’t change my mind.

Carry on,
xox

*This is from last summer but they’re baaaaaack. The magic wands are flying outta the bucket!

The most charming and interesting social experiment has been taking place
In. My. Front. Yard.

About three years ago I saw a picture on Facebook I think, of a bucket full of magic wands, made from dried flowers from the garden, which I thought was so clever, I just HAD to borrow the idea, because….

That is SOooooooooo up my alley.
I’d use a magic wand AND I’d wear a tiara every day, even on a Thursday, even with jeans, if I could get away with it.
AND
We really need some magic in the world right now.

So, I cut my Agapanthus in the summer, when they’re done flowering, and I put them in a bucket marked:

FREE
MAGIC WANDS

I live on a tree-lined residential street, where contrary to popular belief, people really do walk in LA.
Neighbors walk their dogs and young families stroll with their kids when things cool down around dusk, so I had me some high hopes about the wand reaction.

The first year…meh. Reaction was tepid.
They just sat there. My wands of magic.
I was very disappointed.
Fine, more magic for me.

Last year, the wands got a little better reaction, but if ten were in the bucket on Monday, five were still there on Friday.
I saw people look at them, AND KEEP WALKING. Can you believe that shit?

Free.

Magic wands.

There for the taking.

I was gobsmacked.

When I put the bucket out a month or so ago, I had to have a little talk with myself.
I had to remind me about the nature of people, and the too cool for school factor, and how some parents don’t want their children to believe in such a thing as magic (or carry around a spiky dead flower.) But I put it out anyhow.

To my delight, this year has been extraordinary!
I can’t keep the bucket filled.

There were eleven in the bucket yesterday morning and when I went out to run an errand at three….gone.

The other night when one of my friends came by, she sat in her car and watched a family, a mom, dad and two small kids, very deliberately and gleefully choose just the right wands.

That makes me want to cry.

I can’t keep the neighborhood stocked in wands!

Magic is rampant here in the City of Angels.

I wore everybody down, until they could resist no more.

“Magic wands for everyone!” cried no one in particular – but, I understand supply and demand, and there’s a run on wands, so I may have to cut some of the neighborhood Agapanthus late at night while they sleep.

I don’t want summer to end, because that signals the end of the wands of magic.. *sniff, *sigh….

Maybe next year I’ll paint them gold or add glitter! (that just made my heart race, seriously)

Love Janet the Good Witch,
Xox

Happy Friday Everyone!

In case you’d rather listen 😉
https://soundcloud.com/jbertolus/spread-your-magic

* A re-post from last year, with an even greater appreciation of life after death life and the fact that he is still extremely interested in what goes on here on this tiny blue marble.
Carry on,
xox

My dad.
The enigma.

He passed in his late sixties from cancer in 2005.
Too young.

For most of my adult life we maintained an uneasy truce, where we agreed to disagree on pretty much everything.

He got a kick out of me and my sister when we were small, singing our camp songs and wearing our hair in “piggy tails.”

I loved to make him laugh.

He expected good grades, clean rooms, and no sass.
Oh well, two out of three.

His blood runs through my veins, so I know that’s where I got my work ethic, ability to fix stuff, love of science fiction, his colossal sweet tooth, temper, love of cars and driving, his goofiness, skinny legs, boney feet, blue eyes, control issues, and lack of respect for authority, and tolerance for stupid people.

I actually feel him more and have a better relationship with him now that he’s on the other side. It’s just the two of us, so it’s so much less complicated.
From that perspective, he really “gets” me, which in turn helps me to understand him that much better.

You can’t help but love people who love you, and love never dies.

Happy Father’s Day Dad!

Love you.

Xox

I don’t know if you guys saw this essay by Liz Gilbert on Facebook yesterday, it’s an important topic and if you’ve already read it — go make yourself a sandwich and then read it again because you probably missed something.

It is my belief that our tolerance for someone being less than kind to us starts in childhood when we are powerless to stand up to authority or “sass” back a teacher or family member who lobs something unkind our way.

But there’s no excuse for putting up with that shit once you’re an adult — no excuse whatsoever!

The unkind words of others can cut you to the core (because really, isn’t that their intention?)

Other people grow a callus, a hard surface that the unkind words just sort of roll off of, I’m probably one of those people; but don’t let anyone tell you it doesn’t hurt — because it does.

Please take a minute to read this, it’s really good.

Here is the takeaway in a one sentence:
“Generally speaking, people are pretty much what they show you they are — not what you wish they were.”

May I also say right here, right now, that you guys, my readers, my tribe, are SO freakin’ kind and thoughtful, and…nice! It’s a rare commodity on the Internet and greatly appreciated. Love you guys!

Take it away Liz—
xox

“Dear Ones-
So I saw it happen again the other day.

Last week I watched as a friend of mine got (quite savagely) verbally attacked by a friend of hers. As I was comforting her later, she said, while brushing away tears of pain, “It’s OK. I know she didn’t mean to hurt me. I know that deep down she’s a really nice person.”
To which my question was: “HOW deep?”

I mean, if you dig down deep enough into ANYONE, you’ll find some traces of decency and humanity buried in there, right? (As they say, Hitler loved his dogs.) But how deep do you have to dig, in order to find that goodness?

How much toxic waste do you have to claw through with your bare hands, before you reach any evidence of hidden kindness?

How many layers of concrete do you have to blast through, before that person will let you see their one deeply hidden molecule of niceness?

And how much abuse do you have to take, in the meanwhile?

And is that really how you want to spend your life? Exhaustively trying to excavate scraps of decency from someone who has basically buried their goodness beneath a rubble of darkness?

I have the same reaction whenever I hear someone make these kinds of statements:
“I know she seems rude, but deep down she’s actually really kind.”
“I know he acts stingy, but deep down, he’s truly generous.”
“I know he lied to me and cheated on me, but deep down he still loves me.”
“I know she has a horrible temper and says awful things to her children, but deep down she’s a sweetheart.”

I don’t know, you guys. I don’t like it.

I’m not saying that you should throw people away or condemn them. Every major religion in the world asks us to search for the common light of humanity that is hidden within everyone. Of course you should always look for the best within people. Of course it’s enlightened to give people the benefit of the doubt. Of course it’s the highest virtue to forgive others for their shortcomings, as we would be forgiven for ours. Of course it’s compassionate to look at the difficult circumstances of a person’s life, in order to better understand why they may have turned out so broken, bitter, and mean. (Remember, though: Lots of other people had equally difficult destinies — or worse — and still find ways to be kind and generous to others.)

But it doesn’t mean you have to voluntarily expose yourself to abuse and cruelty.

Without denying the possibility that every thorn has its rose, I think it’s wise to keep your distance from people who repeatedly and consistently demonstrate injurious, neglectful, or flat-out cruel behavior. You can pray for them and wish the best for them, but you might want to cross the street when you see them coming, just to be on the safe side.

I don’t think it makes you extra spiritual to keep putting yourself in the pathway of degradation and suffering just because you have decided that — against all available evidence — this cruel person is actually a sweet person.

Generally speaking, people are pretty much what they show you they are — not what you wish they were.

People who behave cruelly toward you are more or less cruel people.

People who behave nicely toward you are generally nice people.
(Unless they are full-on sociopaths, of course, which most people are not.)
You can almost always count on that.

That being the case, I think you’re allowed to choose what sort of people with whom you wish to spend the precious waking hours of your one rare and beautiful life.

I choose to spend my life with people who are not afraid to wear their goodness and their niceness on the OUTSIDE.

I choose to spend my time with people who aren’t afraid to show love, or to receive love.

I choose to share my life with the nice humans.

I don’t find nice humans to be boring; I find them to be an oasis.
Keep it simple: Be nice to others, be nice to yourself.
ONWARD,
LG”

(No that is not a picture from the 1930’s Grapes of Wrath, that’s my brother and me, post Camp Fun Time one summer in the 1960’s)

It felt like summer here in LA last week.
With temps in the nineties and clear crisp blue skies, we’ve seemed to have skipped spring and jumped straight into July.

I’ve noticed that summer or anything resembling summer, does something to my molecules.
It makes them…dance. The longer days, the warm nights, all conspire to make me…restless.
And …happy.

Why? What does summer mean to me?

The feelings run deep, stemming all the way back to my childhood, which got me to thinking…

Summer is visceral, it’s cellular memory, and as a kid in the San Fernando Valley in the sixties summer meant:

Lemonade stands;

Sleepovers;

Looking for lady bugs armed with my bug jar and figuring out just the right leaf to ladybug ratio for their survival;

Walking all the way to the dime store for an Abba Zabba;

Bare feet so dirty we had to wash them before bed;

Flip flops (always blue) and ice cream cones (rocky road) from Thrifty’s;

Zinc Oxide on my pug nose (sunscreen hadn’t been invented);

Watermelon;

The street lights coming on after seven;

Hosing down the cement walkway to make it slick enough for our own homemade Slip N Slide;

Running thru the sprinklers and the smell of wet grass;

Collecting and then spending hours wetting and pasting green stamps in book after book in order to get ourselves a kiddy pool;

Short pink cotton pjs;

Root beer floats at the Drive In;

Red Vines at the weekly kids matinees at the band new multiplex in Panorama City where I saw my first movie made from a book I had read and LOVED, Islands of the Blue Dolphins
(totally radical concept for me at the time);

Staying up late,(sneak eating Red Vines) and reading the latest Nancy Drew by the dim light of my little desk lamp so my sister with whom I shared a room, could sleep. (I just saw some of the same old editions I used to read at a little neighborhood second-hand store and I teared up. Those are some gooooood memories.)

Charcoal and lighter fluid barbecues;

How different the classrooms and the entire school for that matter felt during summer school;

Culottes and tanned legs so skinny they look like pipe cleaners;

Camp Funtime (war-paint, beaded necklaces, and lanyard see the picture above);

Frozen grape Kool Aid Popsicles;

Selma’s (our neighbor’s aunt) beautiful built-in swimming pool;

The long drive to the beach with a car full of kids and then shlepping all our shit down to the water’s edge.

Egg salad sandwiches at the beach;

The hum of air conditioners;

Dodger baseball games on the radio At ALL TIMES (the voice of Vin Scully);

So when the weather gets into the nineties like it did last week and it releases all these great childhood cellular memories, I’m suddenly reminded that summer is my favorite season.

Until I think of Christmastime…

What triggers your spring or summer fever? What’s your favorite season and why?

Carry on’
xox

Its come to my attention lately that many of you are re-reading books from your childhood either with your kids or late at night with a flashlight under the covers, only to discover their deep, hidden meaning.

They may have marked us as children but they deliver a whole NEW meaning to us as adults.

Mary Poppins – Believing in Magic– Ditto Harry Potter

The Little Prince — So many people I know were marked as children by this book including my husband.

A Christmas Carol — which is the story behind one of my all time favorite movies, It’s A Wonderful Life

The Velveteen Rabbit — Great lessons in self acceptance.

All the Cat In The Hat books, really anything written by Dr. Seuss is genius and ripe with life lessons.

Just to name a few…

Kinda makes me wonder, was it always the intention behind these books to deliver a sort of one-two punch, by subtlety seeding our dreams with their hidden wisdom as we listened as children at bedtime, only to bestow an even greater, better understood message upon us as we read them to our kids?

Wouldn’t that be something?

Here is a great example of what I’m talking about in a short essay by Pam Grout. Harold And The Purple Crayon.
Take it away Pam!

“World’s best “how-to” book not found in the self-help section

“Your opinion of yourself becomes your reality. If you have all these doubts, no one will believe in you and everything will go wrong. If you think the opposite, the opposite will happen. It’s that simple.”
–50 Cent

“My favorite how-to book will never be found in the self-help section of the bookstore. It was written long before the term self-help was even coined.

It’s a children’s book called Harold and the Purple Crayon and it rivals Oprah when it comes to addressing the possibilities of the human condition.

Written by Crockett Johnson in 1955, this little 65-page masterpiece tells the story of a little boy named Harold who decides to go out for a walk one evening. When there isn’t any moonlight (and, of course, everyone knows a good walk requires moonlight), Harold just takes out his purple crayon and draws the moon.

He also needs a sidewalk (which he draws) that leads to a forest (he only draws one tree because he doesn’t want to get lost) that turns out to be an apple tree (or at least it is after Harold’s crayon gets ahold of it). Unfortunately, the apples aren’t ripe yet, so Harold draws a frightening dragon to guard the tree.

When he falls into the ocean, Harold is able to grab his wits and his purple crayon to draw a boat and set sail for a beach, where he draws a picnic lunch with nine kinds of pie.

The whole book is about Harold’s great adventures scaling a mountain, soaring in a hot-air balloon and touring a city, all created by his ever-faithful purple crayon.

It’s a powerful book because it demonstrates a great spiritual truth—we are the authors of our own lives. We draw every detail—even the dragons and the oceans we “accidentally” fall into.

Harold could have gone on his walk, noticed there was no moon and sat down and pouted. Isn’t that what most of us do? “Damn, no moon. Better call my therapist, hit some pillows.” Or he could have drawn his moon, compared it to El Greco, and said, “I’m a hopeless sham. What was I thinking? Me? An artist?”

Instead, he kept reaching for his purple crayon and drawing every event, every answer, every friend he needed. We all have that power.
Harold was only a kid. He hadn’t yet lost his imagination, his sense of wonder and awe. No one had explained yet that he couldn’t have whatever he wanted. As long as he had his purple crayon, he could ride the universe.

Remember that big box of Crayolas with the 64 awesome colors? With that one small gold and green box you could have absolutely anything-—navy blue carousels with peach prancing ponies, magenta castles with yellow-green drawbridges, puffy white clouds and purple grass although your teacher might have frowned on that kind of thing. “Grass is green, don’t you know.”

Each year of school, the Crayola stash gets smaller. By the time we graduate from high school, we’re wielding nothing but a blue Bic for figuring our checking account.

Let’s go out this week and get some crayons. Let’s create our world the way we want it. And if we happen to fall into an ocean or run into a dragon, we’ll just draw ourselves a lifeboat and head for the beach, where at least one kind of pie will be waiting.”

Pam Grout is the author of 17 books including E-Squared: 9 Do-it-Yourself Energy Experiments that Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality and the recently released sequel, E-Cubed, 9 More Experiments that Prove Mirth, Magic and Merriment is your Full-time Gig.
Pamgrout.com

I believe with every fiber of my being that we ALL have a superpower. The thing or things that we are better at than almost ANYONE else.

Mine is my memory. I remember every word you said, the shoes you wore, and the song that was playing on the radio when you dumped me.
And then there’s my ability to weave that into a story.
Ouch. Oh relax, I’m only joking…sort of.

I have a friend that can make a box of Girl Scout Thin Mint Cookies last for more than three days — I know — UNBELIEVABLE. Yet, I have seen it with my own eyes.

My mom, and for that matter most mothers, are able to hear the spoken and often un-spoken mischievous musings, whispered plans and naughty plots of their children clear across the house; sometimes from out in the backyard with a cocktail while listening to the Dodger game; or even from the neighbor kid’s treehouse.

“No, you most certainly are NOT going to rig that old clothesline and beat up beach chair into a neighborhood zip line!”

Is she kidding? Could she have cracked our code? How did she know that was our plan? She’s making baloney sandwiches — in a house —down the block.

I was convinced as a child that her pink plastic hair rollers were some kind of sound enhancing devices.

Or how about this other widely demonstrated talent — the eyes in the back of her head trick.

“I see you…give your baby sister her cookie back. NOW!”

How is that possible…she’s driving?

Maternal Superpowers — used mostly in the service of good rather than evil; although as a child, that point was debatable.

My little sister is a kind of Culinary Wonder Woman. She can put together an event or party at the drop of a hint and I can guarantee you — it will be SPECTACULAR.

If you want to feed 6 or 60, it doesn’t matter call Sue.

She’ll cater it herself with eight to fifteen different appetizers, each more delicious than the next. Then she’ll serve a roast turkey AND a Prime rib, AND a smoked ham AND a goat; all lovingly prepared and garnished to perfection — with thirty-five gourmet side dishes — half of them using kale. That’s a talent.

Oh, and you’d better leave room for dessert. They’ll be seventeen pies, ten cakes, donuts, pastries and fountains of chocolate, both dark and white.

All of them homemade. In her spare time.

Every inch of her home will be decorated for the affair. Gorgeous fresh flowers (grown, picked and arranged by her own loving hands), tablecloths and centerpieces with white twinkle lights hung by Tinkerbelle herself.

You’ll receive a keepsake memento as you enter, and another as you leave (after she gets to know you better). They will be thoughtful and touching things that are personally selected for you and you alone. Things that will make you cry; items you will treasure for years to come. (We haven’t yet figured out how she does that; as far as we can guess she has a team of people who go through your drawers while you’re at the party, then shop, gift wrap and return before you’re ever the wiser.)

If you’re one of the lucky ones she may have put together a slide show of long forgotten but favorite photographs which will play on an endless loop — with a tear-jerking soundtrack.

Her parties are so inventive and fabulous that Martha Stewart has installed a top-secret party cam just to swipe ideas.

At Christmas, the elves at the North Pole have a Pinterest page of several years of her winter wonderland home and decoration ideas, which they present to Santa as their own — tiny lying slackers.

Susan’s undeniable superpower? — Making people happy with delicious food, beautiful ambiance and her over-the-top thoughtfulness.

My husband has the good fortune to have been blessed, as many of you have, with two superpowers.

He has his MacGyver Superpower and his Sparkle*.
Our friends and I tease him about it…but if you’ve ever been on the receiving end, they are both equally indispensable.

He can build you a house out of eleven Popsicle sticks, a random shard of glass, nine paperclips, one stick of Black Jack gum, and a sweat sock.
With those same exact items he can also fabricate a life raft, patch a blown tire, signal a rescue helicopter, fix a motorcycle, design a prom dress, start a signal fire, and end world hunger.

You want him on your team when the Zombie’s attack.

As for the Sparkle*(ting)…well, those that have been caught in its spell have given us the best table at a packed restaurant, upgraded us to First Class at no charge, overlooking the fact that our three bags each were over the weight limit, and found us front row tickets to a sold out concert.

Men, women, it doesn’t matter, his superpowers don’t discriminate.

Does it only work for he and I? Nope, whole groups of friends have benefited from his equal opportunity Sparkle*.

If he switched to the darkside…the man could rule the world. Seriously.

We all have ‘em these Superpowers; have you figured out what yours is?

Carry on,
xox

A message straight from my childhood — It’s all about letting things happen, about getting out of our own way.

It’s about believing…in mystery and magic, and nannies that fly.

It’s about Allowing.

Thanks Mary Poppins, I needed this reminder today.

Carry on, spit spot,
xox

Wow you guys!
Sunday’s post regarding the word DEVOTION  and all that it means really got our  blog family thinking…and talking!

Lots of great feedback in the comments, several emails and a couple of you were even compelled to text!

Many of us it seems, responded to a kind of Catholic Cosmic Memo, feeling a slight nudge, or in my case an insistent calling to Go Sit In Church.

More than that, it became a full circle moment, ripe with emotion, healing and even some tears – Who knew?                  

To get the memo, listen to it, share it with you guys and then get to hear about all the synchronicities, you guys, that’s why I do this!   

I went to bed Sunday night grateful and giddy, really happy that a bunch of us had shared that experience.

So you can imagine my surprise when I read that yet another soul had received the memo, and it was someone whom I really admire.

It seems that we can count the author, lecturer and life coach extraordinaire Cheryl Richardson, among our ranks. Her experience was very close to mine, which affirms the fact that we’re all connected, (but I have to admit, it still freaks me out a little when that happens).

So who else was with us? Although I’ve called it the Catholic Cosmic Memo, that’s only  because I’ve heard mostly from them (confession).

You Guys, it doesn’t have to be a church. Did you make a long overdue visit to a Temple for Passover, or visit a Mosque?

I’m so curious now about who else received this Cosmic Memo!
Please share.

God sure does work in mysterious ways!
Carry on
xoxJ

Take it away Cheryl:

~*~ How God works in mysterious ways

This morning I went to church for the first time in years.
I’d been thinking about going to celebrate Easter and a last-minute invitation from a friend who wanted company sealed the deal.
Raised Catholic, I spent every Sunday morning at church with my family. We’d file in, one-by-one, all nine of us, and sit in a pew near the front of the altar so we could watch the priest as he said Mass.

Today, staring at the coffered ceilings, the stained glass windows, and the mighty arches overhead, I was transported back in time.
My body knew the rituals by heart. Stand. Sit. Kneel. Stand.
My mouth remembered every word.
My spirit lifted as I listened to the thundering organ and felt the sacredness of ceremony.

When we sat down for the sermon, I stared at a young girl – maybe ten years old – sitting in a pew in front of me. She had long, dark hair and she wore a pale, pink dress with a matching ribbon tied in a bow around her ponytail.

Wiggling back and forth, doing her best to sit still, I smiled as I remembered my own restlessness as a kid in church constrained by the fear of getting ‘the look’ from one of my parents.
Watching her, I felt emotion well up inside me, bringing unexpected tears to my eyes. I lowered my head and squeezed them shut, unsure about what prompted this reaction.

I took a slow, deep breath and tuned in.

This is where my spiritual life was born, I thought to myself, the place that introduced me to the love of God and the belief in a power greater than my small self.

These are the rituals that formed the spiritual backbone that, to this day, supports my life, my work, and my soul.
This may be where my love affair with beauty began.
I felt overwhelmed with appreciation for my mom and dad’s commitment to instill in us a reverence for the sacred in spite of our resistance.

I’m sure we complained a lot about going to church.
It’s funny how things change with the wisdom and maturity of age.
Over the years, as my spiritual life widened and expanded to include the rituals and teachings of other faiths, I lost touch with my Catholic roots.

Today, it felt good to revisit them again.

At the end of the Mass, something beautiful happened.
As I walked out of the church, the priest who led the service smiled as I passed by and, when my friend stopped to introduce us, he threw his arms around me before she barely said a word. He hugged me tight and began to recite a blessing, asking God to fill me with love, to protect me, and to give me what I needed to continue making my way in the world.

I stood there, returning his embrace, a little stunned at his warmth and informality.

When finished, he stepped back and looked me in the eye. Then he started laughing.

“You get it, right?” he said to me.

I started laughing, too.

Yes, I get it, I replied, without a second thought.
My head unsure, but my heart and soul fully onboard.

God sure does work in mysterious ways.
Happy Easter to you and yours… may we all be raised by the Light.
heart emoticon Cheryl

You can subscribe to Cheryl’s blog here:
http://cherylrichardson.com/

Hello my Peeps!
Just wanted to share a quick message. Yep. I got a message from the Universe yesterday.
But I’m getting ahead of myself, because I love this stuff, and I’m excited.

This shit NEVER gets old! I’m telling’ ya!

So as you’ve read, I’ve been a bit blue lately, and I’ve just kinda been following it.
Yesterday, at the car wash I had an Ah Ha moment. You know, just like you do at a car wash.
Complete clarity (and a clean windshield).
It hit me like a bolt of lightning!
I knew what it was! Some old, childhood, feelings had been triggered. I could even identify them.

Security and stability, or lack thereof, and feeling dis-empowered as an eleven year old girl.

Then I had the realization that those feeling were like a program running in the background of my life, and just like what happens with your computer, it was slowing things (energy) down.

Eureka!

Now I’m going to be uncharacteristically non-specific with the rest of the details – for now.
But I know I’m on the right track. You wanna know how I know?

Later in the day I spotted an unopened 2014 calendar of inspirational sayings that was laying on my office desk. It had been hiding its inspiration under a stack of papers and old files. I grabbed the now useless box to throw it away, and then decided to have one last crack at it before it became garbage.

I opened it up, asked it what I needed to know, running my thumb rapidly through the entire year.
When it randomly stopped, I pulled out the page to take a look. What wisdom did 2014 have for me?

“Are you kidding me?!”

Well, that’s a picture of the page above. I’m covered with goosebumps again, just like I was at that moment.

As many times as this has happened to me – it NEVER gets old!

There are signs EVERYWHERE, letting you know if you’re on the right track.
Sometimes all ya gotta do is ask.

Love you guys, Have a great weekend!
Carry on,
xox