Taking Them Home.

Today Thomas took Mom and Dad’s clothing and shoes to St. John’s Church Home for the elderly. I knew my parents would be happy that we donated these clothes but I never expected the reaction we would get. Thomas says he wishes I could have been there but he’s been hanging around with me long enough to have learned to tell a good story. His description brought tears and smiles to my face all at the same time. That in itself was quite a strange experience.

"I drove up to the home and two or three workers, men in uniforms, came out to help me. We were taking the boxes out of the van when a little old lady, about the same size as your mother, was standing on the balcony overhead. She saw the clothes and pointed at the shoes.

"Golden slippers! I could use those golden slippers!"

We took the twenty or so boxes into the building. There are about 200 apartments in that building, I think. Then a man came up to the table. He had one or two teeth left. He saw the box of your dad’s shoes and your dad’s slippers were right on top.

"Slippers! Slippers!" he smiled his toothless smile.

One of the managers had to come out and tell the workers not to just let them all take things.

"Spread it around. We have to make sure everybody gets something."

Imagine, crowd control over your parents’ clothes."

Thank you my sweet Thomas. My mom and Dad really smiled at that and you are one of my heroes.

The Compost Bin

The following story is an off-the-cuff creation after posting this picture and being challenged by a dear friend to tell what was taking place. Being a storyteller, what was I to do?

No *%$# there I was, minding my own business pretending to look pretty even without make up when I heard a strange noise. It was like a low growl or more of a moan and it was coming from the compost bin?

Egads, what could that be?

Hiding my unmade face from the neighbors, I rose from the swing by the pond, picked up the pitchfork that sat poised and ready beside my broomstick (oops, you're not supposed to know about that side of me) and slowly cautiously, after tripping over a tree root here and there, made my way to see what it could be.

Scritch, scratch. Scritch, scratch. Someone, something inside the bin began scratching at the plastic. More groans or growls and the lid started to rise.

Cobwebs spilled from the compost and a hideous nauseating odor assailed my nostrils. I turned my head just a moment, reeling from the stench that made me gag.

All at once the lid exploded from atop the compost bin, missing my head by a fragment of an inch and landing some fifteen feet away. One large black hair-covered foot twisted like a writhing snake and placed itself on the edge of the open bin, and then another and another and another (you can stop me anytime) and another and another and another and, well you get the idea.

Strong black legs pushed against the bin raising a huge body above them and many many eyes stared at me, red and horrible. I do not like big black spiders with hairy legs, but what was I to do, Thomas was not home and I knew there was no time to run, screaming would only cause the creature to attack. I stood motionless, trying not to blink. I would stare it down.

The pitchfork shook in my hand and the stench still oozed from the bin, and then I saw movement just beyond that great body, a lot of movement and as many tinier spiders scurried out from beneath their mother. She had young and I was lunch...stay tuned.

Healing Tales and Healing Touch

The following is a repost of an article from my Facebook page, so it it looks familiar to some, that is why.

I am thinking about stories where spells are cast that take away the will power of an individual. Often these spells steal a person’s ability to think independently or put them into a sleep so deep that only a healing touch from a specific source can wake them. Sometimes the "victim" is transformed into something those closest to them do not recognize. But there is always a key to unlock that spell, a way it can be broken, promise and hope for change.

While the "savior" usually comes in the guise of a hero or a lover, these too are only symbolic. The hero may be the other side of self, the victim’s inner hero. The lover may not necessarily be the opposite sex or romantic in any way, but representative of love in general. That love may be from someone outside self or it may be ones love for self. We must all learn to love ourselves, this is not selfish. It allows us to love others. And the saving grace is unconditional love. This hero or lover looks beyond the impossible, beyond the hideous, beyond fear and it does not matter if their healing works, they only know that they care enough to try, often overcoming huge obstacles to do so, and placing themselves in great danger, not only physical but also emotional. They risk connections, take a chance on love, trust.

The healing touch is often a kiss upon the lips, but this may not have been the story’s original form. This may be romantic but there are other forms of touch that might work equally well in the story. On the other hand, this kiss upon the lips may not be romantic at all, but rather like the "breath of God." That most powerful breath that can heal anything including sleep resembling death or death itself. It is the breath of life, very much like mouth to mouth resuscitation.

Science tells us that touch releases chemicals into the system. These chemicals tell us if the touch is pleasure or pain. Perhaps this is why a gentle touch upon the shoulder, a soft kiss, an embrace are such powerful images in story. And it may be that they not only heal the characters and break the spells but they release for the listener those same chemicals that speak volumes of truth about the value of love and caring, about compassion and courage.

So when people tell you that spells cannot be cast, that magic isn’t real or that miracles are just hallucinations, tell them a story and that is like telling the truth. Awaken a sleeping someone, transform an ogre, release a troubled mind, not only with a tale but with the touch of love.

Aftermath, Finale: An Epic Hero's Journey: The Determined Storyteller in the Battle against the Cave Monster

The Determined Storyteller (aka me) are still undergoing cancer treatments as I write this, but our transformation came earlier than expected. Here is the story of today's remarkable miracle, the only thing I know to call it.

The sweetest kiss I can think of is a gentle kiss on the forehead.

With everything that has happened to me, from losing my old dog in September to my parents in December and March, being diagnosed with breast cancer and cruelly treated by my family, I lost my sense of self. I knew myself very well before, but since all of this began I have had no idea of who I am and what I am supposed to do.

Each thing that has happened has been like one more piece of me being stripped away until I was naked and raw. It was painful but I knew a transformation would come, I knew that but I expected it to take years. Yet a few simple kind words from a fellow patient at the hospital today changed everything.

I won’t share what she said because that would seem like bragging, rather I want to express what her words meant to me.

All the hurt and pain was washed away when she spoke. It was as if God kissed the forehead of my soul. Thanks to her, I have found my way back home to me.

I’m still not sure what I am supposed to do with all of this, except that I am changed and I am whole again even though I still have a long road to travel.

As with Gandalf in the Lord of the Rings, I am now clothed in metaphorical robes of white light. And ready to look at who I have become.

Thank you my dear friend, whose name I don’t even know. You did so much for me today and I wish you blessings in great abundance for it.

They say we should be kind to strangers for we never know when we might be in the presence of angels. You are an angel and I thank God for sending you to me.

Transformation

A little longer to travel through this journey that began in January. The Determined Storyteller and I are in the final phases of our transformation and uncertain who we have become or what will become of us.

The only way to find out is to step back from self, to view the soul at a distance, and let go of ego while remaining grounded. It takes fearlessness, patience, trust, hope, and belief to do this.

Fearlessness: to face the true self.

Patience: to know that all is not revealed at once but slowly over time.

Trust: that a higher power is guiding you and you will not falter.

Hope: that what you will be is better and stronger that what you once were.

Belief: that this is where you were meant to come and be. It began the day you were born and now you have arrived.

And most important, you are not meant to stay in this place either, there is yet another journey you will take. Do not become so attached to this new self, this new ego, for someday it too will slough away and another self will emerge. Our souls are in a constant cycle of birth and death until the time they are released to travel home again.

My piece of Bayeux Tapestry

Some of you asked to see my piece of Bayeux Tapestry. Sorry this took so long and sorry it is so wrinkled right now. This is a hand drawn and embroidered copy of one portion of the tapestry. I've been working on it for over ten years but only because I don't have time to do it everyday. It is actually more like 100 plus hours. You can see I am still working on two figures.

The real tapestry was done on linen with wool thread. Mine is all cotton because that is what I had when I started as a demonstration for some children whose eyes glazed over when I mentioned embroidery. This section should have a border which I did not use and because it is hand drawn the proportions are off. The colors and stitch are as close as I could get using a picture from a book.

I doubt that many of today's children know how to embroider. I began when I was a little girl as my mother embroidered. I do know that many children knit these days, something I regretfully did not take time to learn from Mom.

One Last Joke on Me: Thanks Dad

If you've read my posts, you know my dad passed away March 13, 2010. We miss him a lot but he will always be with us, in our personalities, in our behaviors and in our stories. Dad was a huge fan a good joke, told many of his own and loved to play tricks on people, including his own children.

We gave one good final joke to dad just after he passed. My sister and I, and her husband were still gathered at the foot of his bed. Dad was gone and we had cried. Now we waited for a minister to come and pray with us. We needed it. The only religious person that could be found happened to be a Catholic priest, an Indian Catholic priest whose thick accent and rapid delivery made it even harder for us Lutherans to understand what he was saying. And he gave Dad last rights. After he left we laughed so hard, it almost seemed a sacrilege. But we knew Dad was laughing with us. It seemed fitting to laugh just once more with Dad. But that wasn't to be the last time he made me chuckle. That came in a motel room in Florida.

As executor, I traveled to Florida to visit my folks' place there. I cleaned out several bags of trash, carefully searching every nook and cranny for anything of either sentimental value to my family or monetary value to Dad's estate. And then I found it, the unexpected treasure, something I couldn't believe Dad had forgotten. In the middle dresser drawer, under a pile of Christmas decorations, I found a One Thousand Dollar Bill!!!! Man, I've never seen one of those before, how cool!

It was old and taped together. Dad liked to collect coins and money so I thought maybe this is a rare $1000 or maybe his emergency stash and he forgot it was there. Then I also saw a $20. Picking up the twenty and unfolding it, I discovered it was a coupon from a bank, not money at all. That made me suspicious of the $1000. Maybe it was some of Dad's joke money, but I had to be sure. I would take it to the bank.

I drove back to my motel a few hours later, very aware that I had what could be a lot of money in my purse. I immediately sent an email to my sister so she would have an accounting of what I had found, then I excitedly phoned Thomas. If anyone knew what a thousand dollars looked like, I figured it would be him, but no he had never seen one either.

Some time passed when my motel room phone rang. It was Thomas saying he had gone online and looked up one thousand dollar bills. He asked me who was on the front. I told him. He was silent. Hmmm, apparently that is not the correct president. I read the bill more closely and started to laugh out loud into the phone. "OH my goodness! Oh my goodness!" was about all I could say. Then I found my voice. "Thank you Daddy! Thank you." My dad had played one last joke on me and I am so grateful for that moment. I will never forget it.

The joke? Take a close look at this bill and see why I laughed. Daddy, I am really going to miss you but I also know you are always very close by.




Not the United States of America but the Untied States of Anemia. Signed by A. Phoneybill and U. Cantcashit. LOL!