Celebration Of Life ~ NY

One year ago today we celebrated the life of Florence ❤️❤️❤️
Through a broken heart this is what I was able to cobble together from her extraordinary life well lived and shared with the many who were there and for the many more who couldn’t be there (and for those since who have asked me to possibly share, with typos and all, today feels like the right time to remember her this way…

❤️ I’m so proud of her, Love truly won out! ❤️

Celebration of Life ~ NY

Thank you everyone for being here and thank you Ron, number 1 son, as his mom would say, for hosting this Celebration of Life for your mom. Really perfect energy.

Forgive me I will need to read most of what I have to share as I don’t share the same fearlessness of public speaking that Florence did…

Dearly beloved, It seems a bit cliché sometimes but then I realized it is so appropriate…Florence loved every single one of us here, dearly. And her capacity for Love was more then anyone I ever knew.

Now you will see some Hawaiian themed items around here today, just as we had on the beach here in August and on the beach in Seattle in October. Hawaii and Maui particularly were a huge part of our lives and our hearts. We spent a lot of time there in the 24 years we were together. So I have these fresh Hawaiian leis and some other little decorative items and even some sweet treats that Florence brought back from our last trip there in April. One of the many things we loved was the beauty of the Hawaiian culture and people. Aloha means so many things but simply it means both hello and goodbye…which feels appropriate today…In August with family on the beaches of Long Beach and in October in Seattle with family and friends on the beaches of Golden Gardens we cast out a lei with some of Florence’s ashes in a traditional send off. As per her wishes. Her final wish was for her ashes to be in Maui waters with the whales, the dolphins and the sea turtles that she loved so much. That will be completed in the not to distant future.

This heart I am holding is a gift she received from a dear friend on her 75th birthday this year in Maui. So I found that this would be the perfect talking feather like item I could find to hold while speaking of Florence. As I told the grandkids it is Gramence’s (that was Florence’s grandma name) or Florence’s heart…perfect… so you can hold Florence’s heart while speaking of her.

So We gather here today out of love and sadness but also celebration of our dear Florence, our dear Gramence – she was many things to many people, she was a loving partner, a mother, a grandmother, a singer, a performer, a teacher, a confidant, a colleague,, a friend…she was an incredibly loving person and fantastically joy filled and funny. And she loved to laugh!! A beautiful soul and a beautiful Angel that walked this earth plane for 75 years.

We are going to miss her tremendously. And though there is a giant hole in, and a huge gap to fill in our hearts and our lives let’s take a little bit of comfort from all the memories and the love and joys that will live on in us. And to know that though she has left us from the physical world she is still around us and in us through the spiritual world.

So, how do you wrap up the incredible person she was and the impact she had in a few minutes, a few paragraphs? you can’t but I will try too… And please forgive me if I bounce around bit as I have tried to consolidate a tremendously wide ranging life.

So she had an incredible range of talents and attributes and was an extremely creative person with many outlets to share her gifts with the world…singer, dancer, model, writer, poet, teacher, performer, healer, Angel channel, photographer and much more.

There was much she loved about life but, trying again to boil it down, I think her two major loves in life were…People, particularly her family, her friends and ultimately her community. Her second love was singing and performing. Both were a major part of her life.

She brought joy to so many through her singing and performing.

Straight out of high school in Florida she came back to NY where she had been born and began pursuing her childhood dream of singing, dancing, acting and performing. Working and living in the East Village during the 60’s.

Then after many years she made her way out to and ultimately laid down roots here on Long Island and raised her family with everything she had. She loved being a mother. And loved being a grandmother!!

During that time she gave birth to two sons Ron and Chris who she loved dearly. Mothered many and Loved and nurtured many more. And her adopted son by choice, as she put it, Ed held a special place in her life and her heart.

An activist for good from the personal level to societal level with equal passion Florence would help any one in need.

She touched so many people in a positive way we’re still learning about all the people that she had a positive impact on in this world. Of course we know firsthand how special she was, ultimately her biggest gift was touching our hearts and our souls in a loving and beautiful way.
She taught in the school systems, first via her company The Balloon & Bubble Gum company and then through the the Human Connections Institute teaching better ways for kids to connect and to communicate, feel love and be empowered. While working at the Human Connections Institute as a workshop facilitator for many years she developed the Warm Fuzzy workshop around her creation the Warm Fuzzy, which I believe still continues in some form to this day in the school systems on Long Island.

She was one of the Women at the forefront of working and raising a family.
She had to fight through a lot to win the right to a career and to pursue what brought her joy even though many in society including some family weren’t ready for it. Ultimately she was proudly part of the women’s and human rights movements.

She was actively part of the school system pta and such and many times advocated not just for her own but others she found in need.

She created tons of inspirational products via her company Conscious Concepts that she created for inspirational products… such as the Official hug pillow and shirts and mugs, Inner Child dolls, Expect Miracles products, Believing Is Seeing products, Angel bumber stickers, the light at the end of the tunnel is not a freight train Keychain flashlight, Warm Fuzzies, etc etc etc.

She wrote and directed plays and performances.

Later she was proudly part of the creation of the Long Beach writers group that she then participated in and enjoyed for many years, and which continues on strong as ever, but, with one less voice.

Here is what one member said of her that couldn’t be here today…

Florence was a unique woman who made us all like her right away.
I met her at one of my earliest LB Writers Circle classes, but she had been a member since the circle had been founded.
I was startled, but charmed, when she began to sing one of her stories, rather than just read it.
I didn’t expect that because I hadn’t seen it done before, but I was definitely impressed. I would have loved to do that myself, but I had neither the voice nor the courage. But Florence certainly, did. The lady could write and sing. A multi-talented woman.
She was sitting right next to me that Monday, too many years ago, but I did a lot of smiling during the session because of her.

And so with the advent of the internet of course she created in the new medium…
First we started YourAngels.com where we provided our Angel Readings and Energy Healing work the old fashioned way, in person, but also via the new technologies like email and instant messaging.
Then the eFlorence.net blog was created…e for Everything Florence, where she could share all aspects of her creative self, activist self and foodie.
So naturally …
FreshOffThePalate.com food blog came next,
AND then came social media…that kind of merged all these things…

In 2012 Hurricane Sandy sadly and abruptly took her long time house and family home, and then the ensuing nightmare of FEMA and the insurance companies was brutal and shocking and ultimately worse then the hurricane itself…social media became an outlet for sharing experiences and venting but also for helping each other and others that were going through similar. Or for those down the line who suffered flooding in other places around the country on what to expect and how to respond. One group was called Floodie Buddies. She became part of so many support and activist groups I’m still uncovering some!! It was all Soo Florence, how can I help someone else have maybe just a little less of a hard time then I?

She was always willing to help, always wanting to help, she could be counted on anytime day or night

She just beamed love and light and laughter and joy into the world, through tough times and good times always looking around to bring as many with her as she could.

Now when I said before that she was an Angel, does that mean she was perfect? Yes!!, she would learn from the Angels and no, she was in human form, so imperfect is perfection here. However she was always a spiritual being having a human experience, as she believed we all are. So, being in human form she went through all the challenges and struggles and good times and tough times that we all do. And though much of her adult life was filled with physical pain and disability and the challenges that come with that, she still always strove to be a better person.

When she saw or felt something she could improve upon she would strive to do better and if she didn’t know how, she would seek out learning more, or guidance and help from others so that she could evolve. All to the betterment of her self, her family, her friends and ultimately her community and society. Yes, the world is better because she worked to be better and she achieved that it in many ways. It was to the extent that she became a life counselor herself thru her healing work and Angel channeling and helped many others. Still though always looking to see how she could improve personally and in her relationships so she could be more fulfilled, offer more to others and by that example that others might take her lead.

Her creativity was sometimes sparked by the tough times…

For example, in her 40s while she was suffering through a tough divorce, she reached out and began a healing process that included some unfortunate forgotten childhood traumas. But in that process she discovered she had yet another talent…writing and write write write she did. Thru the discovery and healing process she wrote prose and poetry and short pieces and long pieces. She later compiled some of them into a book called Thorns Have Roses – Poems of Pain, Prose of Promise. Some became songs, that she then later worked on creating an album, The Promise, both are on the table in back. She later started working on a follow up book, More Roses, Less Thorns but we never did get it into finished book form. You’ll find in the back in her hand written notes that are now typed up, about what was to ultimately be a trilogy.

This is one of the many projects I will have over the next period of my life…sifting through the many creative endeavors and projects of hers. Most all projects we worked on together and it was always my honor.

In the end she truly believed that we wouldn’t be the people we are today without our experiences in life, and that we choose many if not most of them, the good and the bad, to create the best opportunity to become the people we wish to be in this life.

So, jumping a bit here… She also loved to travel the world, see new places and meet new people. Get new and different perspectives on life.

She was a foodie who loved to create for family and friends and try new things any chance she got, and then again share. nom nom.

She had the unique ability to make tough situations seem not so tough and could turn a good time into a great time!! Every day was a chance for a celebration, no matter what life threw at her.

Looking back and having discussed recently, in our 24 years together and over her entire lifetime she decided she had very few regrets. In our time together we did most everything that we could physically and financially do. Even with all the curveballs the universe and life threw at us we attempted to do as many of the things we wanted to do as we could. And I know she did this throughout her life. I know she wants all of you to live this way as well in your life times. Try to live each day as if it might be your last. That way you will have fewer regrets when it’s all said and done and it’s your time to go home.

As a creative person she always had multiple projects going either physically and/or in her mind. Forever in the creative energy flow. Always concerned that there wasn’t enough time or energy to accomplish all the tasks she was given. Fear that she would die with her music in her or with her words in her and that she would not accomplish everything she wanted to accomplish. Again she was always going to have ideas flowing through her.

But I came to realize in the hospital that Florence’s real role in this world, her real job and reason for being here was to spread the energy of Love and energy of Light around this planet.

Today we honor her for a job well done! she came to this world with many talents to share, ultimately they all really were simply vehicles for spreading love, joy and light through touching peoples hearts and souls in the numerous special ways she did.

Please remember that Florence, Gramence like any other loved one that has passed from this world as we know it, has only transformed back into the spiritual world that we all come from, she has simply returned home. And she is still with us in our hearts and all around us. We can call upon her anytime we wish, we can converse with her anytime we want, just as if she were still right here with us, because in reality she is, in spirit form.

Seattle

Ok, Ron suggested that maybe I mention just a little bit about Seattle and why she loved it, since most here know her NY story but maybe not her Seattle story…

Well, she fell in love with Seattle after we first started spending time there 18 years ago. And though I was born there I hadn’t been back as an adult until that time either. It spoke to our hearts immediately.

She loved the artistic vibe of the city and all the arts that are a part of the fabric of Seattle and are on display everywhere year round

Loved all the festivals and the low key nature of things there. The kindness of people.

Now this is a big one…The Thai food!! So many great restaurants. And as we discovered… a wonderful Thai community. Now we both had Thai food for the first time in the first week that we met, and were blown away by the spices and flavors. We then had Thai food at least once a week on average for all the years we were together. So we were in thai food heaven there. We made some great friends as well over the years with owners and members of the staffs of the many places we visited frequently.

For Florence sharing a meal was an event and when cooked and shared with kindness and Love she couldn’t help but befriend those who created and delivered it. And some even became like family.

Several owners and staff members of our favorite thai restaurants came to mourn and celebrate her there.

She loved food shopping in Seattle. There are many great markets, and she had her 5,6,7 favorites.

And we both loved the milder weather, less extremes, more beauty. And she never tired of the rain. Spring there is just amazing with all the long months of blooming flowers!!

And the place Golden Gardens, were we held her Celebration of Life…we watched so many sunsets there and shared so many memories. When times were tough we’d go there, when times were good we’d go there. The place holds a lot of our memories and energies.

She really loved the Seattle area and it gave her a place to rest and enjoy when other places in her life were tumultuous.

Being a social activist, Seattle was a community of like social minds.

One unique thing was when I was preparing the Celebration for her there I received emails from several friends of which a couple of them who couldn’t attend but said ‘thanks so much for giving us the opportunity to celebrate her” the response just surprised me and clearly showed how much they thought of her.

Some of her long time NY friends would frequently comment, they missed her being here, but could always see and feel the joy that she had and the peaceful energy of her while spending time in Seattle. It was kind of a common respite for us both, her from the strong and often tough and shifting energy of NY and me from the busy and changing energy of California. It is a beautiful place in the world…and we loved our time together there.

So, I could go on and on about my dear Florence. We were together for 24 years, brought together by an incredible experience of fate and then inseparable. And yet some days it feels like we just met and it’s impossible that she is already gone. But we did consciously know we were lucky and we did live and love…greatly. And with great daily gratitude. We hope you all do as well.

My Love, Florence, Gramence…we Love you, we miss you and you live in our hearts forever, until we see each other again…
❤️❤️❤️

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When Batlight Calls

One day my daughter in law, Hope, called to tell me that the children’s school was having super hero week and, knowing how I love to go see my grands in their second natural habitat, she told me parents and grandparents could go and read the children a story in their classrooms.  I’d read to their cousin, Benny’s, preschool class a while back and shared lots of bedtime stories with all of these beloveds, so she knew I had experience, heart and qualifications for the task proffered.  Also, knowing my love of school activities & being involved in the children’s lives by showing up to their events, she asked if I would like to do this fun sounding job.  
Would I!?! And how!

‘Please, Let them know that’s a resounding, Yes!’

Date and time set, my mind started whirling.  Hmm what to read? Level. Subject. Time needed. I’d be reading to Selia’s 2nd grade class and Jack’s kindergarten. How long? It’s super hero week. Which books? I checked out the artwork projects in the school hallway to get the drift. Did the adult readers dress up? As specific characters children would know? I’m no Batman. I’m just a grandmother with gumption and a love of children.

With it being short notice (no months or ability to make a full costume. And Superstorm Sandy had sadly taken all my stock of Halloween and stage costumes from various shows I’d done over my career.   It was next week!  and on further investigation, I found out it really wasn’t necessary….the focus was on simply reading.

Still….how to make it fun for the children? What books did I have left intact and unsodden by the flood from which I was still struggling to recover? If so, were any of them specifically about super heroes? Hmmm. No books on the totally lost first floor, survived. I looked through the 2nd floor, where what I could put upstairs on the day of preparation for the coming storm, I’d done as best I could. What a wreck to wade through! ”This would take a super power!’ I thought.

The few survivors I could find were old dusty ones from their Dad’s childhood. I kept searching until, lo and behold, I found a slim unopened Amazon book mailer among the piles of pillows, blankets and boxes. Upon opening, I found what must’ve been kept for Christmas or Birthday gift giving.  I’d always shopped well ahead of holidays and celebrations; keeping an eye out for sales! and stacked away the gifts until the fun days arrived. Friends fondly called this yearly clutter, ‘Gramence’s store.’

Staring up at me was a crisp glossy white-jacketed book entitled, “The Invisible String.”  
It had a drawing on it of 2 children and a heart on a piece of string flying above them. I opened and read a most wonderful story of children and loss and how ultimately no matter how far away we all may go or be, we are always connected by love in our hearts.

It was packed with feelings that every human has and I remembered purchasing this gift for the two of my grandchildren who lived through the night of the terror of the giant storm with 100 miles per hour wind whipping and whining in the night; rocking the 7 story building in which we sheltered;  hunkering down in the dark with flashlites when the power went out in the whole town and the ocean roared down every street; smashing into houses and buildings.

People got uprooted and friends and families got separated..in the storm and after.   
Many people had to find other places to live, away from their houses that got damaged in the flood. Kids couldn’t go to their regular schools. They too were flooded and wrecked. Everyone who knew everyone got scattered.

I wiped my eyes touched with tears as I finished reading and wondered if, as lovely as this book about hearts always being connected no matter how far away people can go; the next room, across the world or out of it when they die, might be too heavy for the elementary children of East School of Long Beach New York.  It had just gotten repaired  and opened again and was filling up with students who were returning to their home area as it healed. Yet no matter what other book I found, this slim volume tugged at my heartstrings and its simplicity and comforting truth gave me the courage to choose it.

Now to tie in the fun of the theme. Super Heroes with Super Powers! 
I borrowed a short red cape, I’d given Hope for a prior Halloween Super Woman costume, because she is a super Mom & woman.  I tied it around my neck, scrunchied my hair up in two pony tails; standing out, one on either side of the top of my head, wore red clogs, blue slacks and a bright turquoise, long sleeve top.  
And off I went to school!

Arriving and reporting for duty at the principal’s office, I announced myself ready for heroic reading to class.   
They cracked up at the ‘costume!’ and loved it!  Calling the teacher, for time to read and getting the ok, off I went; cape flying in the hallway breeze. Kids on errands turning like tops,  agog with the sight. Who was this superhero?!

As I knocked on the door, a teacher invited me in, introduced me to the children while another got their students seated in a semi-circle on the carpet of the story-time area of the room; a small chair awaited me at the front of this arc of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed kiddles who chorused “Good morning Gramence!”

I took my place and my grand daughter, Selia, took her special place for the visit, on a little chair next to me, as the privileged page turner.

After the exchange of the ‘hello chorus’ and book title introduction, I took a deep breath, centered and began….’Once upon a time…there were two little children who couldn’t sleep one night. ..who cried for their mother because she was so far away from them…in the living room!  So, their Mom told her not-so-sleepy, sleepy heads about how many ways people can be far apart and still always be close with each other. 
 The children in the story asked lots of questions and so did the boys and girls in my reading circle when the last page was turned.

What I thought might be possibly a tale too serious for young children,  turned into fresh-scrubbed, upturned faces of thought, understanding and inventiveness of their own, as I answered the end-of-story curiosity.  
 Selia was beaming from ear to ear; centered with me in the ‘stage-door-after-show-mob-scene’ on the reading carpet; holding the, now beloved, book up for her classmates to see up close and personal.

Questions, questions, oh, boy, did they have questions! Silly and serious. How far out into space can the invisible string go if you’re an astronaut? Does it work with pets? What about fish or turtles? Or Grandparents who live far way and only get to visit on your birthday?

One boy told us his grandfather had just died. Hearing that the invisible string could never be broken even when some one goes as far away as heaven, he was serious and seriously smiling when he approached me after the reading; adjusting the little yarmulke on his head; he nodded a tone of certainty that he and his grandpa were connected at their hearts. Looking all the world like he was a miniature Rabbi instructing me of his new knowledge; he was firm in repeating his new found positive clarity. Happy in his step, he strode back to his desk to inform his two friends. All three conversing on new insights.

At the moment before I left for my  next class, a tiny, wisp of a girl who had sat at the edge of the carpet circle in complete silence, came up and whispered haltingly in my ear, “The hurricane… broke my house and… we had to move away. I miss it …and my doll and …kitty. My best friend next door had to move away too… I don’t know where she is. Do you think she remembers me? Does she have an invisible string? Do I?… Everything is gone… I’m very sad.”  Visibly heavily burdened,  she barely got out this confidence through tears rolling down her sweet cheeks. Answering her in gentle affirmative; telling her that they both had invisible strings from their hearts to each other and that ‘when she was missing her friend, her friend was probably missing her too,’ evoked one of the biggest hugs I’ve ever received!  
 I enfolded her in my arms, thanked her for her brave sharing and good questions and told her that she and I now had an invisible string and that no matter how far away I was, I would always remember and think of her and that when I did, I’d send love through our special invisible string from my heart to hers…just like I do for Selia and her brothers, Jack and James and cousins, Sofia, Benny and Joey, when I go traveling.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught both teachers nodding and when I stood at the door to the hall, one said, “ Class, Let’s  all thank Selia’s Gramence and say good bye!” and the other whispered to me, “Thank you. You have no idea what a positive breakthrough you created. That little girl lost everything in Superstorm Sandy. She and her small family evacuated to a shelter and have been displaced ever since.  A shy girl to begin with, she hasn’t talked about any of the losses since. None of us has been able to get her to open up. Did she tell you?” I nodded.yes. “She rarely speaks. This was major. Thank you so much!”

As I waved goodbye and walked on air, down the hall from 2nd grade to kindergarten, I now knew why the Angels kept drawing me back to this book of choice… 
 For this boy and this girl…and for the kids in a community where children had been scattered and were first returning to the homes, schools and safety from which a major devastation had wrenched them.  
 My heart swelled with gratitude for the ‘super guidance.’

My grand son, Jack’s, kindergarten class was equally receptive and the children just hopped in on the reading of the last page with their own delightful additions as to who and what their invisible strings were attached.

Spontaneous happy hugs arose from one child’s assertion that hugs were also part of the whole equation and could be visible AND invisible; seen with your eyes… and stuffed in your pockets for when you went on vacation!  
 Such were the super powers of super heroes like themselves.

What a day in my ‘still struggling to survive 3 years and counting, Superstorm Sandy aftermath, where  not only possessions were ruined, but in the dealing with the wreckage of my own home and life, where they’d been no time or ability to even remember connection to beloved books, teaching and learning.  Fun had faded to a too distant memory.

What a gift these children, this school, this daughter in law gave me… under the guise of helping out a school project; helping children, I got the gift of opening of my own heartstrings!  Purposeful usefulness. Remembrance that, though, somewhat like that tentative little 2nd grade girl had felt, I too, had been storm lost; beaten by weather; stripped of home; bereft of friends being close; wondering if I’d ever see them again; tempest tossed by insurance crookedness and helping agencies hamstringing,’ which had narrowed me down to slim scope of ‘one-foot-in-front-of-the-other-recovery survival.’ This day, gave me back a gift of purpose renewed and clarity.  I was still connected by my own invisible string to people I love and the work I have been given abilities to do which can enrich others.

We all can and do make positive differences and can  be pleasantly surprised by that remembering when we get lost.

We are all worthy and we all have superpowers of our own, which we can choose to implement when need arises.

Children gave me back a clue in their response to a story.

I can now happily say: “My name is Gramence and one of my superpowers Is reading!” What are some of yours?

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Light Dusting Of Appreciation

by Florence Ondré    c. 9/5/11

 

Do they remember?

What do they remember; growing up; the good times; the bad; the joys;

the sorrows; the lessons I taught; the energy in which they were taught?

Do they remember the kindness; the silly; the serious; the laughter;

the love?

How do they perceive and pass on these things?

Do they remember the warp and the wealth;

the ills and the health?

And how did living with me affect them? In what ways were they shaped?

What ways do they pass on to their children?

Are their kindnesses, boundary settings with their children reflective

of my power of example, added to with the shine of joy they beam to their children?

What failing and mistakes of mine became their opportunities to find

their own better ways?

Do they remember?

Did they see the efforts on my Mother/Father part to give them more than I had?

Do they remember food stamps and welfare in proportion to prosperity?

Did they know the truth? Do they Care?

Do they have gratitude for the simple things?

Will they wonder these things years from now too?

I know I am eternally grateful for their being gifts every day of my life.

They grew to wonderful persons with family and paths of their own.

And I grew….older.

Do they have a light dusting of appreciation to occasionally waft my way in their busy lives?

I wonder.

I wish.

And then, at the end of a silver heartstring, I let go and simply keep on loving;

unconditionally loving… and letting go becomes the next gift.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Standing On Ceremony; Looking Back And Forward

by Florence Ondré

For years I made a formal burning bowl ceremony for all my New Year’s Eve gatherings and have had slips of paper for everyone to write their release wishes on and slips of paper to write what they would like their angels to help bring to them in the new year and an envelope to but their names and addresses on, so nearing the end of the coming year I could send them to them &/or give them to them at the next year’s New Year’s Eve gathering as we shared a feast at my home.

Even a tin foil pan large enough to accommodate safe fire-releasing was done outside in any weather…snow was present many times as we bundled up and trudged through the winter white to each take our sacred turn.

At each New Year we could share what we’d wished for and then, with the help of our dear friends, find that even if we thought we didn’t get what we wanted in the ways we’d written down, we found that angels had heard us and answered in ways, many times, better than we could have imagined.

Through tears and revelations; with a little help from our sharing, caring friends, we healed in addition to being included in a tradition of closeness, caring, kindness, compassion and enfolding in the hearts of each other.

No one was excluded and tables and chairs got added when needed….even one year when I had no heat in my house due to a heating system break, and an insurance company overlong refusal time for fixing what coverage had been paid for years, we few friends and people invited to join, who had no place to go; bundled up, sat on the living room floor, ate from a communal pot of of chilli and paper plates of salad and shared round a few candles, how we’d experienced the past year and what miracles we’d seen in any of it… the burning bowl tradition was started…in our modern day version of a long ago time in a manger, with people who knew and had never known each other; simple gifts of honoring and finding peace and joy for going forward with hope in our hearts, because we had come together. That was the first year with many to follow; each with more delight and sharing of food and friendship and holiday spirit enriched. How we all looked forward to that every year now traditions filled tradition.

There came a time when illness took that ability to be the open house of my open heart and a couple of people stepped up to step in and host the annual togetherness from the warmth of their abodes; a joy in tradition taking turns.

Differences showed up. The in-house-ness became..go to restaurant then perhaps back to someone’s house to play games & have dessert…or gather at a friend’s lovely bachelor pad, everyone bringing a dish to continue to enjoy another tradition of my instituting; gathering around the piano and singing together.

Since Hurricane Sandy demolished my home and swept away that sacred gathering open house, more things and people went out with the tide too.

The piano which sat in my lovely warm living room; where we all sang amidst freshly hung fresh, front door, pine-coned, red-ribboned wreaths, fir roping across the mantel and mistletoe in the hallway; pine scent wafting heavenly amidst aromas of home cooking & happiness… these were the visions and memories in my sad and numbed mind, as that, now sodden with sea, bay and sewage water piano got hauled to the curb and the contents and possessions of my home and life became garbage in dumpsters and high heaps of ripped and bagged, barely recognizable, wreckage.

Photos of family green and growing and all the wonderful gatherings blurred in waterlogged albums turned to mush.

Every letting go tore my heart out and yet reminded me of so much good over the years for so many.

I think when they took the piano out to the curb and a sanitation worker; spotting the broken musical instrument got down off his bulldozer, pried the lid off the keys and stood over it to play a tune, was one of the most poignant times for all of us present in surviving the biggest national disaster in the history of our east coast of our country in over a hundred years.

We were, bereft and broken & grieving & stunned into silence as our next door neighbor’s piano joined ours at the curb and the music stopped and the gatherings without kitchens and warm shelter and holidays and burning bowls stopped.

Survivors who were the open and welcoming, warm hosts for many years got left out of inclusion in the last two years.

Connection has dwindled down to a rare returned call or a call-in just for caring and connection.

Last year friends of ours who were always at our gatherings, went out to dinner and didn’t even manage to invite us to join them at a local restaurant minutes from our shelter.

That ripped my heartstrings and severed my illusions.

This year, a call to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving turned into a crabbing about how upset this woman was at my recent in-communication, as she wanted to vent her frustrations on my ever bearing ears…yet it never occurred to her that I might be depressed and ill, these 2 yrs later still displaced without hope of my still gutted to the studs house, cold and emptier than her own totally rebuilt arm abode.

The next disappointment was from someone I’d thought of for over 25 yrs, calling the nanosecond before Thanksgiving to cheerfully wish a happy holiday…this from one who has dimmed her closeness down from daily visits and sharing cheesecake, tea, cocoa and confidences and phone calls several times a day, just to share a laugh or something we see funny; like good girlfriends of close heart who went with tears and trials to the Blessed Mother statue on the beach to sit together in sacredness and closeness like sisters to gather hope and just to be happy in each other’s company… now boiled down to barely ever calling and avoidance of connection with rare returned calls in days or weeks.

And another who I introduced to my own friends who went on to make my connections her own, only to exclude me and still post happy pics of her with my friends, sans my mate & I…phone calls reaching in, which did not ever say ‘would you like to join us?’

Even if one knows you might be under the weather, it is still nice to be invited….but I only heard the whispered, ‘oh’ dear, so want to hear what is going on with you’ instead.
It sounded so unrealizing, or was it hoping i wouldn’t be aware that it had no feel of real concerned because there hadn’t been any regular connection or caring for a long while; knowing sadly that it was as it had been before… just to get the dirt and gossip about it later with my ‘old friends’ so she could say, ‘aww poor them’ and look into her own mirror to say, ‘see I’m a good friend. I called.’
Becoming aware that these calls were, strings attached; more about and for the callers than simple expressions of unconditional love for me, silenced me more than the pneumonia with which I’d just been diagnosed. No one took my quiet or silence for sacred time for me or possible illness or loss of voice or hope. Sadly, these supposed friends rife with promises of get togethers which never happened, just got crabby, angry and dismissive that they didn’t get their wanted on their schedules, self-centered results.

I got referred to this past week as ‘fussy’ and my expression of hurt spoken of as,’rants’ and dismissed with self serving anger from those who hurt me, judged and tried to ‘fix’ me, dismissed me and forgot the heart of the warmth and caring of years of sharing home and heart.

On this planet, my path has been varied leading ultimately to becoming a teacher of Spirit, an Angelic Channel and Reiki Master Teacher. Yet, after seeing firsthand, the tsunami sized waves cover the world and plunge it into darkness and devastation with no essentials left standing for human survival which devolved into anarchy and streets under armed guns, Marshall law, drove me to my knees. I lost myself and my beliefs; feeling a failed healer. Aspirtual person bereft of spirt or connection to spirit.

It is a long walk home in more ways than one. Yet, I am remembering. I am a sensitive, I can feel the real emotions under the facades from afar. There are those who forget that about me and count on me forgetting too or sweeping the dirt under a forgiving heart; forgetting, being and staying less than I was.

Years ago a spiritual mentor, once seeing my good and forgiving, generous heart getting tromped on, gave me this reminder, “My dear, you must remember that Jesus said, ‘I am the door’ …not the door mat!”

Until reading this lovely piece, I was so sad and in grief and mourning; wondering in all the let downs, what my life had been for, if anything, that I almost forgot that the tradition I started does not have to die along with the self centeredness of today or the friends who I now move into acquaintance areas of past as I let go of deeper layers of losing so much.

I am homeless in another level and, yet on the porch of my shelter/little off-site storage unit, there is a tiny terrace. I have a tin pan and scrap paper upon which my love and I can write what we want to release. We are still paddling together the rough seas of a recovery which is no where near recovered and healing only becoming apparent as bones are laid bare as my house bones.

Relationships may have gotten washed away. It continues to become apparent as facades crack and truth outs; so I place my energy to surviving and helping the storm homeless and hungry like myself that people don’t want to hear about.

Even though now outsider, treated as an inconvenient truth, I remember including all in my home and in my heart.

I am reprioritizing the minuscule energy and health and time on earth that I have left….

And thanking the Conscious Shift Community and Lauren Mclaughlin for reminding me that I can stand on a different ceremony which is familiar and soothing and honoring, which no one can take from me.

I can take the sadness, hurt, loss, grief, unfair treatment and selfish, compassionless, unkind, treatment, heart sobbing and write these things down on paper to step out onto the terrace of cold air and put match to make ashes of my heart lift up to the heavens to be taken by angels away to leave me again lighter and ready for better than I can imagine to show up in ways I can’t imagine at this time….

Free to be grateful and appreciative for all that I become awake and aware to…

To remember that I am a spiritual being in an earth suit having human experiences with a most wonderful angel at my side always, my dear Tom, a sensitive spiritual teacher too, who holds the burning bowl up for me and stands beside me though it all with unwavering light, love and honoring.

Standing on ceremony indeed, dear ones, standing in good company and honoring.

in light & love, enjoy reading : http://consciousshiftcommunity.com/standing-on-ceremony/

 

“Believing Is Seeing”

by Florence Ondré- 11/29/00

 

The day was gray and cold.  Wind cut through layers of clothing.

Who cared?  This trip of a lifetime was incredible and had presented itself in a most curious set of unfolding events.

First there had been the the fleeting thought of possibly going to England for Valentine’s Day.  That idea  had been scotched when we lost everything in the stock market crash.

How could we even entertain being so frivolous when we had no idea how we were going to live this coming year?

Then Tom found the vouchers for airline tickets in the back of the file cabinet.  They were from a trip that had been botched for us last year and had to be used by the end of February or be lost.   Free tickets for a trip to somewhere.  Great but what would we do when we got there? Where would we stay?  We’d been told that  the tickets were for travel in the continental U.S.  Upon investigation,  Tom found  they were transferrable for travel to the U.K.

England danced in our dreams again.  Not London of last year, but the Arthurian and Celtic countryside of Glastonbury and Stonehenge I’d always dreamed of seeing.

With his usual trust-in-the-Universe optimism, he said, “Hmmm. I can’t see how  but maybe there’s a way we can go.”

“Out of the question,” I said with practical opposition.  “Surely this is a time of tightening belts,  bucking up for a tough climb out of the hole and work, work, work.  No time for fun.”

That’s what I  learned in my childhood.  Seeing is believing.  If it can’t be seen,  it isn’t real.

As I sank back into  fear and depression; just when the cloud over us looked  blackest; when my brain was screaming,  ‘what are you crazy?’  the call came from London.

Our travel-guide friends were going to be filming in Egypt in February and they offered us their home in the countryside- 20 minutes outside Bath, half an hour from Stonehenge and an hour from Glastonbury.

“Just look after the plants for us.”

Wow!  Ok, there were the airline tickets and where to stay,  all for free, but how would we be able to afford a car?  Rentals’ notoriously expensive and gas prices through the roof in Europe.

“No.  We can’t go,” I stated; still the practical parrot.

Tom was not dissuaded.

After a few inquiries, calls started coming in like a bidding war for our business.  Messages on our answering machine sang out bargain prices that plummeted from $300 a week to $150 with free mileage no less!

“Yes,  we can do that but where was the money for daily needs?”

No sooner than I’d asked the question, two clients paid their overdue bills out of the blue and there was enough cash to carry us through a week’s stay.   All that was left to worry about was  being up to the adventure of driving on the left hand side of the road.

The house in Midsommer Norton turned out to be a wonderful greystoned estate.  Our thoughtful friends had left food for us, drawn maps of the surrounding areas, jotted down clear notes on how to find everything we might need, from petrol to marketing, and left stacks of books out for us to peruse for history and traveling.

In the town of Bath, after visiting the ruins of the Roman pools and lingering over clouds of clotted cream on scones at late afternoon tea, theatre tickets popped up for us at the very last minute before show time.

In Glastonbury, being part of the filming of an historical reenactment of the Passion play at the ancient cathedral where, Peter’s tree bears white blossoms from Jesus’ rood and King Arthur and Guinnevere  are buried touched our former lives remembered with incandescence.

Climbing round the Glastonbury Hill beyond the running red sacred waters and sitting  atop the windy Tor, treated to an impromptu, sunset didgeridoo concert; echoing inside the tower, while hawks circled and sheep ran round the steep, grassy slopes, more than fulfilled our dreams.

In each place,we met wonderful people who welcomed us and felt like dear friends and family.  Serendipity was everywhere and time seemed to blur between past and present.

We chose to spend Valentine’s Day going to Stonehenge and Avebury.

For the past 20 years walking into the center of Stonehenge had been off limits.  For protection of this wonder of the world, a pathway many feet away from the circle had been constructed so that people could walk around the circumference to look but not touch.

Some time ago, we’d heard a whisper that it might be possible to get special permission to enter but we couldn’t remember who  to contact.  We’d read it was open  to Druid gatherings at Solstice but you had to know one of the Druid priests to be invited as a friend of ours had been.

I would have given my eyeteeth for that experience.

Before we left NY,  Tom had called the  tourist board and any office he could think of to find a way to gain us entry- all to no avail.

We inquired at the National Heritage office in Bath and they’d never heard of any such thing.

“No.  That’s been ended for about 20 years now, dears.”

The London office was called to make sure no stone had been left unturned as it were.

“Sorry, no not possible anymore,”  was the answer.

“Any other places to call?” asked my determined Tom. Got to give him credit for stick-to-it-tiveness.

“No, see here, the rules state ‘off limits to the public,’ luvs.”  She kindly held up the directive for us to see with our own eyes.

Ah, well, just being there would have to do and at Avebury we could actually walk amongst the giants encircling the little village. A woman in Glastonbury said that simply putting your hand on them was an incredible experience and since we were sensitives and the energy so great, we’d be able to hear them sing.

I walked on air at the mere thought.

On February 14th, as we crested the hill to Salisbury Plain, it seemed to me that the hugeness I’d always read about had shrunken to a small group of grey hulks, huddling together on a flat stretch of land with a few mounds in the background.

“It’s dinky,” I said,  “I can’t believe how much smaller it looks than in pictures.”

“It’s Stonehenge, honey!”

“It’s dinky,” I replied.

From the parking lot we could see lines of people stretching before us to a little ticket booth.

“This is gonna take forever,” I moaned.   “We can see this from the roadside.  No need to pay to not even be able to get close to it.  Let’s go on to Avebury where we can hug those stones.”

“We’re here, honey.  Let’s just check it out,”  Tom encouraged.

Off he went to the front of the line, poked his head in the window and asked if there was any way to get in to the center of the stones.

“No. Next.”

Onward my man went to a uniformed guard with the same question.

“Go see the gent in the office over there in the back corner,” he whispered as he quickly motioned us away from the crowds.

A knock on the weathered, grey wooden door brought a silver-haired gentleman into view as the top half swung open like a portal from the Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz.

Again the question.

We were informed  that we’d have to read the quite strict rules, fill out  proper forms to request  permission and state our purpose.  “What month & year would you like to apply for?”

Omigod!  We can actually get in?

Filling out the paperwork in shock at having finally gotten an affirmative answer and writing the single word, ‘spiritual,’ under the heading marked, ‘Purpose,’ Tom replied, “Today, please.”

With a soft chuckle and a kindly smile reserved for maiden aunts gone round the bend, he gently told us that people like scientists, historians and filmmakers generally reserve months to years in advance.  To give us a visual confirmation, he hoisted a huge, ancient, dusty green ledger out to show us the pages filled with appointments for the coming years.

“See, here’s today’s date. There’s a party of two.”

“Only two people? Do you think they’d mind if two more joined them?” I asked.

“Oh, no, Miss, that’s not possible.  Just the people who’s names are in the book are allowed to go in at 4 PM, after closing, for a single hour’s time. Even if there were one name, only that  person alone would be allowed.  Sorry.”

Barring some miracle from Heaven, this was obviously  not going to happen.

He took our application and, as we disappointedly began to walk away, Tom  turned with one last ditch effort and asked,  “Do you ever get any cancellations?”

My immediate thought was, “What? Are you out of your mind?  What do you think this is?  The Holiday Inn?”  But the gentleman took pity on us poor foreigners and said , “Well, not really but you could give a call around 3  o’clock… to see.”

“Great.  We’re outta here. Off to Avebury and we’ll call later to see if we need to come back,” said I, not wishing to miss getting up close and personal with ancient stones.”

“Well, we’re here. Why don’t we just pay the admission, go through the tunnel under the road and across to take a quick look-see at Stonehenge,” offered my dear, Tom.”

I acquiesced.

Nothing prepared me for the energy that took me in like a kid gazing at the magic kingdom.  It held me in its thrall at every angle.  On each inch of that walkway, I was mesmerize; pinching myself to belief that we were actually looking at one of the most historic and enigmatic wonders of civilization that we’d only seen in films or books.  Tom couldn’t pull me away.  My feet were numb with cold and Avebury was forgotten.  This was more than enough. I felt grateful to my core for this opportunity as one of the guards described her experiences with the stones.  This was her last day and she generously shared facts and stories with us.

I asked, “What was your favorite time of day with them? Sunrise or sunset?”

Her answer was, “When the mist rises off the moor and rings the stones.  It’s magic.”

“Ooh, I wish I could see that,” I sighed, “That would be my favorite too.”

Feeling  blessed and radiant, as we returned to the entry gate, the keeper of the Register, came running up to us.

Visibly out of breath, “Oh good you’re still here. I’ve been looking for you,” he said as he motioned us out of earshot of the human herd.

Back in the private office, he opened the ancient ledger.

“See here,” he pointed to today’s date and then flipped the pages two weeks forward.  “This never happens.  The names are the same and I’ve no confirmation for today’s appointment, so I’m putting you in for today.”

He scratched out the other names and wrote ours in beautiful flowing inked script.

“You must be ready for the guard to take you over at precisely 4 o’clock.  If you are late, you will lose your time.  You’ll have one hour alone in the center of the stones and he will come again to collect you and bring you back.”

Stunned we paid the fee and went to sit in the car.

Tom was taking no chances of driving anywhere with the possibility of getting lost and losing this amazing miracle.

We sat for hours  in a pool of  wonder and joy, feeling the incredulity of the miracle which had just come to pass.

‘Breathe,’ we reminded each other as tears of gratitude flooded through us as we sat in the car looking out at the barrows in the surrounding countryside.

I wished I had brought my silver Celtic love knot ring to energize here.  Tom had given me one of a matching set.  Well, at least he could soak up the energy for the two of us. He always wore his.

I glanced over and noticed his empty ring finger.  He told me he’d left it in his suitcase.

‘Nevermind,’ I thought,  ‘We’re here together to experience this magical Valentine’s Day.  That’s what counts.’

Then at 3:30 it started to afternoon drizzle.  We watched people baggy up to go see the stones and run back as it became a steady rain.

‘Oh, no.  What’s the purpose of this?’  I silently asked the Angels.  ‘Why give us this opportunity only to turn the weather foul?’

Umbrella at the ready, we would go no matter what.  Cameras were loaded, video charged, extra film stuffed into carrying case and fresh batteries and tape put into the tape recorder.  I would get the fantastic opportunity to channel a meditation from the consecrated center of Stonehenge.  My skin tingled with excitement.

The car park emptied and only a few hardy souls hung around the outer fence across the road at the henge.

We tugged on layers under our raincoats and went out to meet the guard who silently escorted us under the roadway tunnel through the gate to the other side of the fenced in span of earth and stone.

We cleansed our energy, took a deep breath, and as we stepped over the rope of the outer pathway, touched the heel stone and stopped in awe as the reason why rain had fallen became apparent.

Before our eyes, the downpour stopped and the mist rose from the ground, just as had earlier been described as magical; ringing the stones with the ethereal quality of another time.  The hair stood up on my entire body.

Voices of people behind the fence gasped as we smiled at each other, joined hands and began the long walk up the avenue of grass to enter the hallowed hall of Stonehenge much as we realized we’d done lifetimes ago.

There was familiar sense of ritual as we chose to enter through different linteled uprights and we gave each other time and personal space within the ring, to simply be.  We felt the awe  of being alien and the sense of belonging all at the same time.  Tom’s walk  from stone to stone was the grace of a silent prayer.  A mantle of serenity descended upon him like invisible royal robes.  After completing  the entire inside circle, being afraid to touch yet unable not to, I stood still at the fallen altar stones sunken in the middle ground. The amazons’ energy vibrated and sang their tones into the air and into our being.  I sank to my knees and channeled a meditation of peace for the world from that sacred center.

And when I finished, my dear Tom came to me, gently lifted me up and knelt at my feet; his palm open; our two silver Celtic love knot rings shining there, as he whispered the words, “I have loved you for lifetimes.  Will you marry me in this one?”

Tears of surprise and love splashed a cascade of  ‘yes, I will’ down my cheeks onto his face to mingle with his own liquid prayer.

He had surprised me again and been prepared; believing without visible proof that we might  see this moment.

After setting our rings upon the grass to be blessed and thanking God and the Angels  for making possible the great gifts given this day in so much love,  we  placed the rings on each other’s fingers.

Now, here we were standing on the wind swept plain of Sarum with the saracens of Stonehenge drawing us into the magical energy of their ancient circle; shielding us from the cold.

Knowing the full truth of Believing Is Seeing, we held each other and sent the warmth of our love and appreciation out to light the world.

Wonder Full Whirlwind

Wonderful whirlwind….so much preparation for holidays and no matter how early I start, the time whirls into the wind of  ‘OMG! Will I ever get everything done that I wish to.’

It is a cyclone cycle of joy and fun, high energy and bone wearying exhaustion.  And oh, how fantastic it is to give everything you’ve got to make your rounds, to give gifts to your loved ones and those who benefit from cheer, heart generosity and the gift of your time and attention; to see the smiles; hear the shrieks of unbridled glee of the children opening and playing with presents and yums at the sharing of creations of a holiday meal; then sink into the glow of sighs of holiday warmth well done; ending all with a wealth of gratitude in every tired cell of your being.

It is a time out of time, each solstice: each pre year’s ending melding into new beginnings and, for me, while I’m stirring batter for homemade baked goodies, I’m stirring memories in between singing seasonings into culinary creations and silence into the rhythm of simply being.

In each moment, Earth time constraints dictate what will and what will not get done while elastic Universal Angel Time reminds me all is in divine order and, while I give full concentration on tasks at hand, focus being in each now in the chaos of creativity.
As I go a bit crazy, feeling like I’ll never get it all done, my dear Tom says, as he helps lift pans and bowls my now older, physically challenged hands cannot and mops up my tears, the floor and my arms and hair from the frustration of flying rosemary sage stuffing, “No worries, it’s the same every year and every year you do great!”

I feel and look like I’m stretched thin and wild in every direction, yet this year, this Christmas after last year of no holiday celebrations after becoming homeless in the devastation of superstorm sandy and a full year of physical and emotional displacement, within, I have a river of deep and abiding silent certainty that in change there is still the light of love guiding me and all of us to some higher good…better behavior and boundaries, healing, choices for closeness and the release of that which does not feel comfortable or honorable in every corner of life.

No more sameness for same sake.  This season, for me, it has been a time of cessation and reflection in the middle of the doing doing doing; a clear look at myself and others and a letting go of facades to home-in on happiness.
I give to each of you dear ones, on this day after Christmas and pre New Year’s Eve, my heartfelt wishes for health, happiness and wealth in all areas of your life… And room for change where Angels make their magic! 

Of Magnetic Memory

Today I saw a saying that spoke about not waiting until funerals to show we care and I remembered that when my mother retired to her Florida home, she placed a ceramic magnet on her refrigerator that read: “Appreciate Me Now and Avoid The Rush.”

I always loved that one.  It showed me that a) she was aware that she was worth appreciation and b) knew the worth of what’s important in the now.  With her gone from my life in this dimension, I still smile each time I think of that magnetic reminder.

Thanks Mom. 

Thanksribukkah

Woke up this morning in the afterglow of yesterday’s lovely, simple and fun Thanksgiving/ Channukkah afternoon.  I can still hear the laughter, see the smiles on everyone’s faces and smell and taste the delicious racks of ribs my son proudly cooked on his beloved bbq/smoker.
(right here is where I ask my dear vegetarian friends to please turn away. avert your eyes! please, don’t judge me)

Picture a tall, happy looking guy standing outside his garage in the freezing cold; bundled up for winter; scarf wrapped around his neck, hands gloved and a nice knitted hat covering his head and ears (ok. it was a bright yellow wool ‘minions’ hat; one half of a two part set knitted by his wife for him and his 3 yr old son for their duo costumes on Halloween, but it did lend the chef a jaunty, humorous air to his serious business of seasoning)

Not being much of a rib gal after Tony Roma’s closed, this newly acquired culinary artistry escapes me…until yesterday….

Watching my grown son lovingly lavishing his attention to tending his culinary creation at the finish line of 8 (count ’em, 8!) hours of basting, turning, temp checking with the precision of a surgeon, was enough to rope me in to at least trying this entree again.

He proudly took me into his kitchen and showed me his impressive array of spices, sauces and rubs; explaining his process of how he chooses which for what reason and how he makes his own combinations for just the right flavors of sweetness and spice for each rack.  I listened with respect as he described the stages of the cooking and reasoning behind each to bring about perfection.

In honor of tradition and with permission from the my son, the host, we’d brought a small roast turkey with trimmings. (and honestly, for me, just in case I didn’t fancy more than a polite bite of ribs…I mean, two whole racks of ribs! Who’s gonna eat them on Turkey Day?)

Under the heading of ‘O ye of little faith,’ he opened the promise land lid, plated those babies and ‘ta da’d’ them into the kitchen with the flair of Guy Fieri  confident in his grillwork or Moses parting the sea.

They looked falling off the bone delectable; tantalizing, scintillating, aromatic and tasted tender, sweet and woody smoked.

I went from ‘oh, I’ll try them because my son made them,’ obligatory to bbq sauce mustachioed convert with the first mouth watering bite.  I found myself thinking, ‘Will two racks be enough?’

It was a stand up feast in the kitchen and those bad boys were gone before you could say, “Let’s eat!”

Wow!  All those hours to make/minutes to devour; leaving only the scent of enjoyment, the sounds of lip smacking contentment and smiles on our sauce smeared faces.

Later that night, my nose still filled with mesquite and honey, I wished for more.  Turkey, my tush! I only yearned for what was gone but not forgotten.  We’d split the leftovers; the usual turkey for sandwiches, the sage stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans and cranberry sauce.

And all I craved was wispy dreams of ribs.

As easy laughter and warmth of the day spent in happy camaraderie came floating back to me upon awakening, I realized what a gift my son had given all of us in the invitation to gather at his home.  His was the same labor of love as mine was when, for all his growing up years, I got up at 5 in the morning to start the turkey roasting for as many hours as the bird’s pounds determined, in order to create a fine meal and the custom of giving thanks…. with the grace of the extra ingredient of every really good meal and family tradition…the ingredient of love.

And on this historic, double holiday of Thanksgiving and Chanukkah which will not occur for another 70,000 years, I am filled to delicious, overflowing heart warmth as I share the threads of light we pass along, each in our own way, to one another other; to our children and our children’s children; opening our hearts for better than the best we can imagine in all outcomes… Happy, healthy history with what changes may evolve.

For and from me and mine, to old and new ways of celebrating the good in life…. here’s wishing you a moment in history where new meets old…Happy Thanksribukkah!

If Your Name Is Patience Or Grace, Why Don’t You Have Any?

by florence ondré

In the oppressive heat of a hazy, hot and humid day in July, it’s hard enough for a person to get around, accomplish the day’s duties and still keep one’s wits and reflexes above functioning level.  Add to this recipe, a physical handicap, the lateness of the day or merely age and the human machine slows, glitches and/or crawls to a halt.

I believe most of us are aware enough to know this from probable first hand experience.  So, why is it that awareness and sensitivity take leave of the human experience at the checkout counter in a supermarket?

Firstly, what is so super about our food markets today?  The experience of shopping for our daily sustenance is hardly pleasurable.  Employees can be rude or ill informed; prices inaccurate and many cashiers could care less whether it’s important to you that your hard earned money stretch as far as possible or that your food be in good condition- i.e. grapes on top of canned goods and bread uncrushed when bagged.  Mostly, now it’s fast zip your groceries down the ramp for a meet and greet with metal armed hangers of plastic bags which you are expected to pack yourself.

“Express line” generally means smaller orders of fewer items to be expeditious to shoppers but to those behind the register it’s more of a “get out of my face fast and don’t ask any questions!” as in: ‘have no needs of your own.’   God forbid, you have the audacity to ask them to bag the stuff or to ask for for a double of those flimsy, chemical smelling sacks so your jars of marinara sauce don’t crash, and slash; sending you to the nearest emergency facility!

Any condition that might slow one up aggravates rather than engenders any compassion and seems to give register ringers a target for whatever pent up hostilities are lurking beneath their badges.

I experienced “The Shopping Trip From Hell” on one of these steamy July days when I had the chutzpah to take myself with my Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome to the ‘super’- sometimes referred to as ‘stupid’- market.

Having schlepped my tired self through the aisles, trudging behind my wobbly-wheeled basket, I placed my 6 items on the conveyor belt to the cash register on the ‘Express Line’ designated ’10 items or less.’  Feeling rather safe in doing so, I was shaken and appalled as I heard and saw the demeanor of the checkout clerk, whose name tag read, ‘Patience.’   She was anything but!

A grey haired woman stooped in front of me, was getting a tongue lashing about the number of items she’d placed for checkout-11!  Her hands which formerly may have cared for a home and children, created art or capably closed deals in a chosen profession, today clearly shook as she meekly apologized and tried to give the right amount of money for her tallied food bill.  In addition, she asked in measured speech for an explanation of the charges to make sure her receipt was correct.

The curtness and hostility of the cashier was overt and there was no mistaking the aggression of the loud, large, young woman at the register toward the small, quiet, elderly one who moved a few steps, struggling to get her change into her wallet, while her grocery bag was thrown harshly to the end of the checkout ramp by ‘commandant clerk.’

Then it was my turn!

As Patience totted up my purchases at the speed of light, I found myself aghast at not being able to find the cash that I had just gotten from the bank.  I searched my purse 3 times through every pocket, nook and cranny; knowing I had placed the bills there, yet fearing I might have either misplaced them or been robbed.

Inside, I had a sick, sinking feeling that I get when Chronic Fatigue cognitive block happens.  I know it mercifully passes but I also know increases with added stress, and here I am; face to face with ‘She Whose Name Is Patience!’

“Jaws” music begins to play in my head as she glowers at me for being less than perfect and lightning fast on Her Express LIne!

I begin to feel not so much slow and inept, but rather one who has committed a mortal sin.  She grouses loudly and instigates insurrection on the line behind me which now seems not to be just 2 men and 2 women, but an angry lynch mob of 400!

“O.K., Calm down,” I tell myself silently.  The bill is 14 dollars and 53 cents and,  Whew!  Thank God!  There’s the 50 dollar bill I put in my purse, right next to a 5!

I sigh with relief.  I haven’t been robbed.  CFIDS brain fog hasn’t caused me to mislay my money AND I say triumphantly to Clerk Mengele, “Here’s $50 and I have  the 3 pennies!”

Snarling, she snatches the bill, slams her cash drawer shut like a jail cell; loudly informing me that she ‘will not take my 3 cents’ and shoves the denominations of change, which she deems suitable punishment, into my hand.

I have no more rights for committing the crime of ‘slowness.’

When I say, quietly but firmly, “No, that’s not acceptable,” she imperiously barks, “You’ve taken up too much time!”

Standing firm on the outside but shaken on the inside, I ask to see a manager; even though the larger of the men in line behind me has become belligerent and is siding with the clerk to intimidate me.  Clearly, he would like to do her executioner’s work and if the guillotine were at the end of the bag ramp, my head would be in a basket with melons, to the delight of the onlookers!

I refuse to be cowed.  She glares at me with the intensity of a flamethrower.  I feel napalmed in New York.  I’m a stone-statue-still gunslinger at the O.K. Corral standoff til she finally calls.

The manager, a woman of small physical stature, shows up. hears my complaint of rudeness and ill treatment this clerk has dished out to me and the preceding customer.  She says nothing as I tell her that everyone, including senior, handicapped and slow people, all deserve to be treated courteously when shopping and spending their money in that store.

From the looks she sneaks at pistol packin’ Patience, I can see she will do nothing.  There’s not so much as an, “I’m sorry for your trouble.”

No amends will be forthcoming.

I notice her name tag reads, “Grace,” and what I see on her face is fear and dullness.  All in all, I’m sick to my stomach and I know it’s not from the heat!

Returning home with a lump of anger in my throat, I woodenly put away my groceries, which now seemed tainted with negative energy.  I slump exhaustedly on the safety of my comfy couch; an island of friendly, floral print in a world of khaki conflict.  A knot of hopelessness mixed in with a healthier dollop of defiance in my gut moves me to grab notebook and pen as the following declaration of dignity emerges:

I, hereby, put every cash register clinking checker,  or anyone in service positions, on notice to remember and, better yet, write this down and place it clearly where you will see it every day of your life:

THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF GOD GO I.

This means you and every blessed one of us on this planet!

No matter your job, any person who comes before you who is ‘slow’ is your opportunity to become still and practice compassionate patience.

Every person who asks you a question is your opportunity to practice tolerance and generosity of spirit, wherein you can be helpful in sharing your knowledge with others.

Those who shuffle before you with infirmity or age are your opportunity to treat others with the same kindness and respect you would like to receive when you are in similar circumstances.  They may be the mirror image of your future and deserve your admiration for their courage, willingness and commitment to show in the world; attempting to be as self reliant as possible.

These people, ( and remember, you are these people; if not now, later) need your help not your hostility.

O.K., so you got in the right letter of the alphabet.  Try harder.  You can do better.  Get the right word, the right attitude.  I have faith in you.  You can do it!

Anyone who vexes you is your opportunity to grow; to be the best you can be instead of the worst or most mediocre.  This is your chance to notice differences and samenesses of humans; to value everyone just the way you want to be valued and appreciated.  There’s no exact time allotment for getting ‘it’ right.  What is ‘it’ anyway and by whose timeline or definitions are we living?

I know that, even with this day; this experience of mine, I will not die of terminal uniqueness and, still, I feel strongly moved to speak out for all the times any of us has said or felt, “Why bother? No one cares anyway?”

Well, I do care.  I want everyday experiences to be peaceful, harmonious, gentle and interactions respectful of each other.  I believe kindness counts.  How much extra time does that take?

Call writing this my random act of kindness for all who can’t speak up or out.  I encourage everyone to say ‘NO’ to unfair, unkind treatment- one’s own or another’s; to courageously say, “I deserve to be treated courteously and compassionately.  We all do.”

And then, perhaps the market will be ‘super!’