As angels fly ...

It was just an ordinary day.

 I was driving ... on a two lane highway ... a back road.  It was dusk when one of those summer thunderstorms blew through dropping a whole bunch of rain in a very few minutes.
As quick as it came it was gone.

I approached a T in the road.  Main highway curved to the left and a secondary highway fed into it from the right.  There was no stop sign as the road curved but I slowed down anyway
to get my bearings.

Up ahead ... at the dead end ... there were a bunch of trees.  Really tall trees towering over the pavement. I was definitely in the middle of nowhere.

There was water standing on the road from the pop-up shower. As my tires connected with the first puddle, the hydroplaning started.

It's a helpless, out-of-control feeling ... hydroplaning.

I was sliding towards the trees at the top of the T.  Hitting the trees head on didn't seem like a such a good idea to me. I resisted the urge to put on the brakes and pulled hard to make the right turn ... thinking if successful, I would avoid any oncoming traffic on the secondary road.

Good thinking.  But not really a success.  I was now sliding rapidly towards the trees with an anticipated broadside impact to the driver's door.

I was sure that I was a goner.

I really didn't feel any panic.  It was more of a sense of peace that came over me as I let go of the steering wheel and leaned back into my seat. This wasn't exactly what I had planned for the day.

"If this is it, Lord, I guess I am ready.  But let's make it fast, ok?"

I am pretty sure that I spoke the words out loud.  That's what I do when I am talking with
my best friend, God, Creator of the Universe.

It had only been a week or so since the whisper had come while I was driving on a different back road ... "It's really wonderful here, MJ.  I can't wait for you to be here, too."

That encounter didn't cause me any great distress either.  More of an acceptance than a concern.

Much of my drive time on this particular day had been spent reflecting on that thought ... pondering what the reactions of various people who love me would be if something were to
happen to me.

It all happened so quickly. 

Have you ever had that stomach-in-your-throat sensation ... like when you are riding a roller coaster and that suddenly begins to dive?

That's what came next ... in place of the collision with the trees.

What couldn't be seen from the road was the ravine that was waiting on the other side of the shoulder.  Just a foot or two past the pavement ... there was nothing but air. All those really tall trees were ... REALLY TALL trees ... growing a good 12 feet up to the road ... and then enough more height added to appear as a highway-level forest.

The car was falling. Falling.

All around me was crackling ... rustling ... vibrations.  It was very loud!
Lasting for seconds that seemed to linger on and on.

Then I hit bottom.  Not once. Twice. A big bounce and then everything was still and silent.

I opened my eyes to find myself ... in the car ... wedged in the midst of the trees ...
and the road, well, it was way above me.

It took a bit of effort to get the door open and to get out. Adrenalin was pumping.  I was sure that there was going to be an explosion or something.

I remember thinking ... what if I can't get the window to roll down so that I can reach out and open the door?  Funny what you think at such times ... and what you remember.

Once out of the car, I was able to look around ... to try to figure out what to do next.  It was overwhelming.  The trees were really thick ... and the embankment was steep.  There was a man standing at the edge of the shoulder calling down to offer his help.

Without giving any thought to my actions, I began working my way back up to the road.  It was about a 12 foot drop ... pretty much straight down. There was really no easy way out.

The man that met me at the top was an off-duty EMT.  He said he saw me go over the edge.  He couldn't believe that I was able to climb out of there on my own.

Starting with my head, he began checking for injuries.

"Where did you hit your head?" he asked.  "I didn't hit my head" was my response.

"You had to hit your head on something," he continued.  "Did your head go forward or back on impact?"  "I am pretty sure I didn't hit my head" I said.

Frantically he continued to query me about my head.  He said it was important to find where I hit my head to determine if I had a concussion or other serious injury.  Even after a careful once over with his hands, he was unable to find any evidence that I had hit my head.

Except for a little blood on the tip of my nose. 

"It's impossible that you dropped over the edge like that ... hitting the bottom with such impact ... and didn't hit your head," he said.

"Did the air bag deploy?" he asked as he dabbed my nose with antiseptic.  I told him that both airbags had deployed.  He said that must have been what hit my nose.

Amazed he was to discover that my nose wasn't really injured.  It was just a minor scrape that took the skin off the tip. Shaking his head he said ... "That's impossible."

Impossible that I didn't hit my head on anything ... not forward or back.
Impossible that I took the full impact of the airbag AND the crash on my face ... with nothing
to show for it but a skinned nose. No black eye ... no bruising ... no cuts ... no broken nose.

"Do you hurt anywhere?" he asked next as his concern moved to the rest of my body.  Before I could answer, he said that it was obvious that I hadn't broken a leg because I had climbed up the ravine all on my own.

I didn't really hurt anywhere ...except for a bit of pain in my left thigh.  Rolling up my pants leg we discovered that I had a skinned knee but no real injury.  He determined that my thigh had most likely slammed up against the bottom of the steering column on impact.  There would be some bruising over the next few days ... that's what he said.

But there wasn't.  In the days following the accident ... and the weeks since then ... there has been no bruising ... anywhere ... and no pain once the soreness left my thigh.

Other people had begun to arrive by now.  All wanted to know if I wanted to be transported to a hospital.  "No, I'm not hurt." That's what I said each time I was asked throughout the evening.

"You're in shock," I was told.  "Look down there ... you dropped 12 feet and hit the bottom hard."  "You have to be injured ... somewhere." "It's impossible that you don't have anything broken ... at the very least you should have a cracked rib." "Are you sure you don't hurt anywhere?"

Each time I was asked "How do you feel?" ... my reply was the same ...

"Blessed.  I feel very blessed."

The only thing I climbed out with was my cell phone.  Calls were immediately made to my brother to come get me ... and to my insurance agent ... even though it was after hours.  My insurance agent ... rocks.  His response and the impact it had on all of the people gathered around me was significant.  He is a great friend and there is no doubt that he is also a personal gift from God ...
to me.

The deputy sheriff arrived and began asking his questions.  An accident report had to be made.  His first concern was ... my injuries.  Same song, second verse on the questions concerning head injury, air bags, broken anything, pain anywhere.  After giving him all of the same answers, he scratched his head and said ... "It's just not possible that you walked out of there with no injury."

"How do you feel?" he asked.  "Blessed", I replied.

Obviously baffled by the whole thing, he began to tell me about other accidents that had taken place at that spot.  Seems he has been serving the county for 17 years or so.
He's seen a lot of things.

About 1 car a month goes over the edge somewhere along that stretch of road according to the deputy sheriff.  On average, 90 percent of them are traveling too fast and simply miss the curve.  When the front wheels run out of pavement, the car drops suddenly forward and the aerodynamics cause it to flip end-over-end before hitting bottom.

The other 10 percent come across in a sideways manner ... similar to my approach.  Thing is no one ever goes over the edge completely even when they are sliding sideways.  Either the back end or the front actually runs out of pavement before the other causing an off balance situation that sends the car rolling horizontally down the embankment.

"Never pulled a car out of here that didn't flip or roll," he said. "Least not that I can remember."

I was ready for the punchline by this time.  So I smiled and waited.

"It's impossible that your car didn't flip or roll," he observed. "It's as if someone carried your car  across the edge and then dropped it straight down ... and it landed on all four feet ...
just like a cat."

Hours passed quickly.  All of the appropriate emergency crews came and went as we hung out in the dark with a light rain falling ... waiting on the wrecker ... and my ride home.

Around midnight, the wrecker arrived to pull my car out.  The driver was a little stunned when he saw the situation.  "The dispatcher told me I was going to be pulling a car out of a ... ditch," he said.  "This is something more than a ditch."

After getting his bearings, he said he was sure he could do it with the equipment he had and headed down the side of the ravine.  From above, we watched with interest as he did whatever he was doing down there that we couldn't really see from up top ... it was very dark.

When he came back up to begin the process of pulling the car out, the deputy sheriff shook his head again saying, "I can't understand how she didn't flip or roll."

The wrecker driver looked at us incredulously.  "I can tell you why she didn't flip or roll," he began. "But before I do ... let me just say that what I found down there is ... impossible.  There's no way that what happened with her car could have happened ... there is no logical explanation."

When the car went over the edge, it was going sideways and with some momentum.  Apparently it cleared the top perfectly even.  There was no forward or backward motion.  When the car began to drop it fell evenly through the trees.  The trees were taller than the car.  Somehow ... a tall tree managed to implant itself ... dead center ... in the front hood.  It wedged itself about half way to the windshield.  That was his story.

"The car rode that tree all the way down," he said in amazement. "When it hit the bottom it bounced and rode the tree back up ... and on the second trip down, the tree snapped."

The tree stabilized the car during its descent ... providing the balance needed to keep it from flipping or rolling ... which should have been the result of the dynamics of the incident.

"It's impossible for that tree to have done that," he said.  "But I'm telling you that's what happened.  I saw the evidence for myself while I was down there."

The people in the community where my accident took place were the nicest people ever.  They were kind and concerned about me.  As it began to rain harder, we tried to get everything out of my car before it was towed away for good.

A few things were overlooked and were sent to me in a box later in the week.

After sorting through it all, I discovered that there were three things that didn't make it out of the wreck.  One was a crystal ... that Abbi had found years ago ... and left in a baggy with some plain ole rocks when she moved into her grown-up home.

It seemed out of place and special so I showed it to a friend who knows about crystals ... along with the other rocks in the bag ...

"It's a very nice crystal, MaryJane," she said. "You should keep it with you because you don't find crystals ... they find you ... when you need them."

So I put it in my car and it had been riding around with me ever since.

My little ladybug that rode on my dashboard ... as a spiritual GPS didn't come home either.

The last lost thing ... was a sweet visor clip that Abbi gave me for my birthday last year.  It was a ceramic angel ... with the message ...  
Never drive faster than your guardian angel can fly.

Hindsight is 20/20.  After taking the inventory ... it was crystal clear to me ... what happened.

All that noise ... on the way down ... wasn't coming from the trees.  It was the thunderous sound of angel wings ... feathers ruffling furiously ... fully protecting me ... in ways that seem ... impossible.

A miracle is an unusual or wonderful event that is believed to be caused by the power of God. There is no doubt that a miracle took place on that day in June.

It was witnessed by many. Lives were touched in ways that I can't even imagine.  The blessing ... wasn't just for me ...
I was simply the vehicle.

It was just an ordinary day, you see ... as angels fly.

www.lifelessons-mj.blogspot.com
(C) August 2014

"

Feather ... wise

One morning last week ... I set out knowing that the day's adventures ... were going to feel like
deja vu.  Funny, I know ... premeditated karma ... or something like that.

Coffee ... conversations ... riding together from place to place ... opportunity to opportunity ... with the top down.  Laughter ... lots of laughter ... intertwining with the plotting ...
the plans ... the dreams.

It felt like old times & it was re-assuring to discover that some of those things ... weren't really imaginary  ... after all.  The more things change ... the more they stay the same.
I found comfort in that.

This time, the boundaries ... will be the fences ... that have replaced so many of my walls.

The temperature soared over 100 degrees outside, so it became necessary to put the top up in order to remain fresh into the afternoon.  Top up ... windows shut ... a/c on.
No possible way for a natural breeze to reach inside. 

It must have been the winds of change ... that carried the little feather ... leaving it on the floorboard ... over there on the passenger side ... that had been vacated hours before.

A simple black feather.

It startled me ... when I glanced over and saw it resting on the floor mat.  And I wondered ... how in the world ... did it get there?!?!

How in the world, indeed.

I figured that surely it must have blown in while the top was down.

... the voice of truth ... tells me a different story ...

the voice of truth ... says Do Not Be Afraid ...

Under my breath, I was humming along ... to a song that wasn't on the radio ... hearing the words ... as if spoken ... directly to me.  I replayed the afternoon ... from the time the top was put up ... to the deployment of my passenger ... to right that very minute.

There was no way possible ... that the little feather had been there ... undetected.

I left it there for the rest of the day ... undisturbed.  Later in the evening, I took a picture of it ... thinking I would post it on Facebook to see what kind of response I got. I know I have at least one friend there who has some feather awareness.

But then ... for some reason ... I didn't.  I kept it to myself.

Of course, I did do a little bit of online research .. to satisfy my inquiring mind.

A feather is one way angels try to get your attention.  A black feather is a sign of a stronger attempt to reach you.

Feathers, in general, indicate ascension to a higher spiritual plane. One feather tradition revolves around prayer.  In Christianity, feathers represent virtues ... such as ... faith ... hope ... love.

Hold the phone! Faith, Hope & Love.  Really?!?

My three little angel bears ... that sit in my kitchen window on their tiny little porch swing ... have been vying for my attention for over a week!  First they turned their little swing around ... so that they were perched there with their backs to me.  Then when I tried to readjust the strings holding the swing ... one of them frayed completely ... dumping Faith, Hope & Love ... unceremoniously into the sink.

It was an awkward moment.  I wasn't sure what to make of it ... even though I know that the age of the swing & its strings make it totally believeable that it was just something that happened ... naturally.

The three little angel bears ... have a story of their own.  They showed up one year ... in the mid 90s ... on the front seat of my car ... on my birthday.  Three sweet pastel bears with satin rosebuds on their collars ... angel wings intact ... tags attached declaring their names.

A plain card was across their laps. "Faith. Hope. Love.  These ARE you!  Happy Birthday!"

Finding them there ... was one of those awe & wonder moments ... that take your breath away.

It was obviously a gift from someone who knew me well ... knew that I have always collected bears ... and that angels have been given to me since birth ... when my father declared me his ...
angel fluff.

Years have passed ... and the mystery is still unsolved.  Those who would seem the most likely suspects ... have admitted time after time .... that they wished it was them  ... who had surprised me with such a special gift ... but it wasn't.

The little swing didn't come with the bears.  I found it on my own.  But for well over a decade Faith, Hope & Love have been a-swingin' in my kitchen windows ... and now they've bailed on me.

Let go of the past ... was the first thing that came to mind when it happened.  Just now it occurred to me that maybe they are simply longing for a new window ... with a different view.

According to legend, when you find a black feather, it means that your guardian angel is near you. The feather is supposed to remind you that you are not fighting the battles of life alone
 
A presence ... is present.

Last weekend, on two separate occasions, I was alone in a room in my house while others were elsewhere ... when I strongly felt that I wasn't alone in the room ... that someone was waiting patiently and quietly for me to acknowledge them.  Turning ... I fully expected to see one of the others in the house standing there.

Both times.  I was alone.

Another entry suggested that black feathers relate more to the soul than other feather colors ... and that finding one indicates that you are entering a new level of spiritual awareness.

And there was this one that caused me to raise an eyebrow ... Native Americans say black feathers are an invitation to send a spiritual message for help or answers.  Which really means ... pray.

It's certainly in keeping with all of the little tickles of the last couple of weeks ... the not-so-subtle insinuations that is God waiting with the answers ... on me  ... to ask the question.
  
Angels are often sent to help us. Because we have free will, they cannot step in to help unless we ask.  That's what the next source offered up.

I wonder, could it be that simple?  A bolder... more deliberate nudge ... for me to ask the question ... because God is waiting to reveal the answers?

At Signs of Angels, Karen Borga has a video on Receiving Black Feathers From Angels.  Watching it, I was reminded that technology today allows anyone ... who has the desire ... to be a celebrity expert ... about something.  Don't they know that staring into the camera ... unprepared & rambling for more than 5 minutes ... really isn't a great way to convey information?!?

I only lasted about 2.5 minutes but did come away with this insight.  Karen says that a black feather is a sign that some situations are coming up that are going to change you at a soul level.  And that your angels are letting you know that they are with you ... that they have your back.

That's especially reassuring.  I am pretty sure that once the answers come ... the what's-coming-next that I've been waiting on ... is going to wash over my life like a monsoon ... rushing me forward ... even if I find that I am not really ready.

Another source put it this way .... a black feather is a gift to let you know that someone close to you perhaps even as a child is present and watching over you.

Interesting.  Verrrrrry in-ter-esting!
 
More Friday nights than not, I play cards with a group of friends.  It's been going on now for several months.  These are new friends ... who have no connection to my past.  Well, one does in a round about way ... but that's not part of this story.

Card night is held at the home of our host couple.  The play is lively and competitive. The husband is particularly focused ... he takes winning very seriously.  Time has proven that I am a skilled opponent & a worthy adversary.

It keeps things interesting.

Pretty much, we all sit in the same chairs each time.  And he labels the score columns with our first initials ... in order ... beginning with the player on his left.

Friday night ... the cards weren't coming his way.  It wasn't me that was getting them. But I always sit on his right ... so his cards are often coming through my hand. And I am always the ONE he wants to beat.

Intense as the play often gets ...it's a friendly, casual game ... with lots & lots of distractions ... and breaks.  After returning from one of those breaks, he began a fresh score sheet for the next game.

As the cards were being dealt, I glanced over and noticed that in the first two columns were the initials of the other two players as usual.  In our columns ... it was obvious by the number of letters ... that "names" were written.  

Above his column was WINNER.  Of course.  That's what he wrote there.  Declaring the victory in advance.  My column header was something else.  It was a compound word ... S____H____.  

Even though it wasn't SweetHeart ... I knew that it was a term of endearment. And more importantly, it let me know that over time I had been accepted as a friend.

I waited to point it out ... until mid-way through the game.  It was good for a laugh all around.  And maybe it was a good strategy, too ... he DID eventually win the last game of the night.

It was the wee hours of the morning, when I finally got settled somewhere.  Sleep wasn't going to happen ... so in the quiet, I opened my mind to pondering the events of the day.

Most of the afternoon had been spent poring over the papers of a former Arkansas governor ... on a treasure hunt ... searching for clues to confirm that what I remembered about one of my father's stories was actually based on fact ... and not fiction.

The discovery ... was mind-blowing.  What had always seemed like just another hand poorly played ... turns out to be an epic case of knowing-when-to-hold-em-and-knowing-when-to-fold-em.

Amongst the papers ... was a well-crafted letter ... about integrity ... and doing the right thing for the greater good ... that was sent as he pushed away from that particular table.  I remember later that he told me that what seemed to be just another one of his failed attempts ... was actually his greatest achievement.  Time has proven him right.

Discovering that he really & truly was who he said he was ... after all these years ... reminded me again of one of those lessons I learned from playing cards.

A hand well-played ... is far more memorable ... than simply being dealt a winning hand.

I cut my teeth on card games.  Lessons in life were learned over hands of spades, hearts, poker, gin rummy ... and a game that one of my high school friends had written on a folded up note that he carried in his wallet.  

Strategy. Playing to win. Respecting a worthy opponent. 

Thinking back to the card games of my youth ... my mind's eye wandered to the score sheets of my father.  Much like my host earlier in the evening, my father always kept score.  It somehow made him feel in control of the table.

He had his own style of doing it.  Instead of initials at the top of the columns ... he drew icons.  Each of us had a special icon that he created uniquely for us. Yet another reminder that ole R.J. was way ahead of his time.  He drew personal icons ... before icons were cool. 

I don't remember what all of them were ... but mine ... was always a tomato.  

A tomato ... that's what he called good looking gals when he was talking to the boys.  He never said it ... but my guess is that I was always a TOMATO to remind the boys that even though I was nothing more than a sister to them ... I was still something special ... and beautiful ... to the world.

And dad ...he was ALWAYS ... the black hat.  The often misunderstood "bad" guy ... never to be mistaken with the boring, predictable play of the "good" guy.

Wide awake ... in the middle of the night ... I could see the little black hat ... on skads and skads of score sheets.  Funny.  I haven't thought about those card playing days in a long time.  My father ... he's been gone for 27 years.

Did I mention that when I brought the black feather in from the floorboard of the car ... that it wasn't real.  It was one of those stiff plastic feathers ... much like the type you would find in a child's Indian headdress ... or something like that.

It has puzzled me all week.  There seemed to be some logic to finding a bird's feather in my car ... since I spend so much of the time with the top down.  But a fake feather?  That does not compute.

Driving later, in the early morning light, those images of the black hat ... on the score sheets ... fluttered through my mind ... once again.  It was like when you would draw a picture ... over and over ...  on the sheets of one of those little pocket notebooks ... then riffle the pages with your thumb ... to make your own cartoon ... 

 There it was ... cartoon Jerry's black hat ... with the crooked arrow ... poking through from back to front ... taking on a life of it's own.  That's when I saw it ... the black feather.

As usual, I was blindsided ... by the punchline.  There is no doubt who left the black feather in my car.  It was R.J. (Jerry) himself.  And, of course, he left one that wasn't real.  It's dead giveaway. Pun intended.

He's NO angel ... after all.

Together we laughed ... my father ... and I ... and my best friend, God, Creator of the Universe ... for miles and miles.  And I cried a little bit, too.

A black feather is a much stronger message than a white feather.  I totally get it.

White feathers are the most common of angel gifts.  If an angel wants to draw your attention to the fact that it is there, it will leave a little white feather in an unexpected place. It means simply, "I am around.  Everything will be ok."  

It really wasn't terribly surprising ... that I found two little white feathers ... upstairs on the landing ... beside my big plant in the window ... this morning.  Still ... it took my breath away.

With awe & wonder, I bent down to examine them. 
I never want to lose the breathless awe & wonder.

There is really no explanation for those feathers being there.  Sure I have a feather pillow on one of the beds.  And when the pillowcase is changed ... little feathers flutter out. The pillow is no where near the landing nor has it's case been changed in the last few days.

Still ... I went to the bed ... shook out a few feathers ... and carried them back to the landing.  For comparison.  There was nothing similar about the pillow feathers and the white feather duo on the floor.  Imagine that.

A little more research tells me ... that white feathers are also a sign of a fresh start.

Each angel visit is as unique as the person visited. The best answer I found about what it all means ... the black feather ... the two white feathers ... is to find the answer by seeking within myself and to always go with my gut.

It is just a matter of believing, letting go, and staying aware.

...so I will listen ... and believe ... the voice of truth ... YOU are ... the voice of truth. 

www.lifelessons-mj.blogspot.com

(c)August 2013

Where Are You Christmas?

Two angels.  Top my tree.  Always.

Two very special angels ... one blonde ... one brunette ...
it's a family tradition.

Surprisingly, it wasn't my idea.  It was their father's idea.
It's important to give credit where credit is due.


There have always been an abundance of angels in our house.  My collection started when I was just a small girl and my own father lovingly called me ... Angel Fluff.

Once Abbi came along ... so did some delightful angels ... that belong to her.  One of them ... a blonde beauty in a velvet dress ... graced the top of the tree.

Each year, the tree was installed in it's stand ... and the lights strung on the branches ...then  the decorating was left to me.  Until it was time to put the angel up on top.  That was always Dad's job. He was taller ... and he took great joy in the specialness of the task.


He said something like "There she is ... my Abbi-angel!"... as he began to position her in the branches. And Abbi said, "What about Jess-A-Mine?"  (That's what she called Jessi that first year.)

Never missing a beat ... he wandered over to the counter where all of the Christmas pretties were spread out ... and spotted a sweet brunette angel.  Picking her up, he secured the angels together in what appears to be a sister-hug.  With a kiss on her cheek, he declared her ...  his Jessi-angel.

Together ... the Abbi-angel and the Jessi-angel ... were carefully perched on top of the tree.

In that a moment ... out of love & laughter ... a family tradition was born.

Christmas.  I've always loved Christmas.

The trimmings.  The trees.  Baking.  Old memories.  Making new memories.  And all of the traditions. Season after season ... full of hope, joy and love.

It's been many a year now ... since I've been able to feel Christmas. And I wonder, what are you supposed to do with those family traditions ... when that family no longer exists?

The first couple of years ... after the ice storm ...  the best I could do was put up the tree.  If it hadn't been for Jessi ... I might not have even managed that.  The last couple of years ... I have made the effort to at least rummage through ALL of the boxes ... shuffling ... sorting ... and selecting a few more things each year ... to bring out ... in an effort to recapture the joy.

A live tree kind of gal.  That's me.  There was never an artificial tree in my home ... not when I was single ... not when we were a young family ... no matter where we lived ... we always managed to find a great ... live ... tree.

The Arkansas years were always special ... we'd go tramping through the woods with Uncle Bill and Uncle John ... make our selection ... cut it down ... and bring it home.  Even that one Christmas ... early on ... that the girls and I spent alone, we went to the farm ... and we had a real tree.

I'm not sure why I've denied myself ... the real tree ...during these years.  Somehow it has seemed like too much trouble.  Of course, when I recount all of my humorous artificial tree stories I realize that none of my ... real live trees ... have ever been as much trouble as all of them!

Hindsight tells me that it's because I haven't really been ... living.  My heart's been frozen ... far from fully ... alive.

Heard a discussion on the radio a week or so ago ... about real trees versus artificial ones.  The numbers were heavily weighted towards fake trees ... for a variety of reasons.  One caller observed
that ... faux is the new real.

There I was ... sitting in traffic ... with tears running down my face ... as the reality of the situation set in.  I've been trying to ... bluff my way ... through Christmas.  Not in a full blown pretender kind of way ... not even in a fake-it-til-you-make-it fashion.

Just enough ... of the way we were ... to satisfy Jessi ... and not enough ... reason for the season ... for my heart to heal.

And, of course, right on cue ... came that song .... on the radio .. you know, the station that insists on playing continuous ... holiday ... music but no Christmas carols.  Guess they, too, are selling out to the whole ... faux is the new real ... concept.

Where are you, Christmas?

Why can't I find you?

Why have you gone away?

Where is the laughter

you used to bring me?

Why can't I hear the music play?

My life is changing

I'm re-arranging

Does that mean Christmas changes too?
Where Are You Christmas? Faith Hill

The song gets to the heart ... of my situation.  And, of course, that's it ... that's what you have to do ... re-arrange.  And, yes, MaryJane, that means Christmas changes, too.

In her own way, Jessi has been sharing her heart.  It's been a long time coming.  She's finally saying ... outloud ... the troublesome things that she's been carrying around ...
trying to figure out on her own.

In a moment of total distress, she emphatically stated ... that she was sad because ...
"I really love Christmas, Mom!"

With her words, the final shards of ice ... that have been holding my heart hostage ... splintered and shattered. It took me a day or two to realize ... that it wasn't actually my heart ... breaking.  Sure, it sort of felt like that ... there was quite a bit of pain.

Pain is a sign of healing. Healing means my heart is ... breaking ... free.  It's part of the process of getting my whole heart back.

For the first time,  Jessi & I are both being real.  Together we are grieving the loss of Christmas' past. We are accepting that things are never going feel the way they used to be.  And that's ok.

This Christmas has already taken on a life of it's own.  So I am going to simply go with the flow.

Each box will be unpacked ... we will pick & choose the things that make us happy ... that conjure up memories that make us smile.  And those things that hurt too much ... well, I'm not sure what we will do with those things.  

Maybe Abbi will want some of them.  Her life ... her memories ... aren't all tangled up with ours right now.  Or possibly we will share a few of them with their Dad.  There are bound to be some empty spots in his Christmas' these days, too.  

Next year ... I am going to have a  ... real ... tree.
And up on top ... will be a single angel ...
one that Abbi gave to me.

A new tradition ...

www.lifelessons-mj.blogspot.com
(c) December 2012 

A Little Bit Of Magic ...

Yesterday I was reminded by someone who knows me really well of how very blessed I am to have good friends ... who love me.  I know that.  Of course, it never hurts to be reminded every now and again.

The coolness of my friends is reflected in the very special gifts I have been receiving this holiday season.  One of the first gifts I received was a rock paperweight thingy with the message:

Sometimes you just have to

take the leap

and build your wings on the way down.

And then there was the very fun ... very SMALL ... t-shirt that arrived in the mail from an out-of-town friend.  The image of the icky ole witch being crushed by the Ho Ho Ho's ... is so very MJ ... it's perfect!

Abbi, who knows me best of all, showed up on Christmas Eve with a handfull of

tree-shaped pine-scented air freshners that she hung throughout the branches of my humongous artifiical tree so that on Christmas morning when we all got up to open gifts ... the tree would smell ... REAL!

... I really loved that!

It's awesome to receive things ... even the simplest of things ... from someone who really knows you ... and goes out of the way to give you something ... chosen especially for ... you!

Beautiful candles on a handcrafted tray ... exactly the same cinnamony color as my kitchen ... made up another special gift from a friend who has known me for at least two lifetimes.  The gift was thoughtful & lovely ... but it was the boxes that captured my imagination.  Printed on the outside of each one was the name of the studio of the artist who designed the piece as well as the message:

Be A Part of "THE STORY"

 I went to the website to find out what the tag line was all about ... to explain why that was printed across the front of the box ... nothing was there. 

And it wasn't just one box ... the candles were in a box that said "Be A Part of THE STORY" ... and the tray was in a box that said "Be A Part of THE STORY" ... 

It's as if the artist knew me ... personally. Seriously. I am all about the stories!

No doubt the message was there ... just for me!

People have been giving me angels since the day I was born.  My dad called me "Angelfluff" throughout my childhood. Gifts have come from my Mimi and my Mother addressed to "my lil angel" and "my angel" all of my life.  Abbi & I have exchanged angels for most of her life, too.

This year, there were three special angels. 

One from Abbi.  A beautiful creature with red hair and a handful of stars ... it's an all-year-round angel ... she will sit out somewhere special to remind me every day ... to dream big ... to reach for the stars!

There were two cards inside of the box with the next one ...

I hope this piece has

personal meaning for you

... a little reminder ... a reflection ...

a gesture that marks a memory ...

Gosh, there was no way I wouldn't be liking a gift that came with a note like that in the top of the box!  And inside, was a beautiful Willow Tree Angel. 

Arms spread wide ... her name is Happiness ...  free to sing, laugh, dance ... create!

And the personal, handwritten note from my friend ... that so touched my heart ....

 To: Mary Jane

... for showing me how to choose happy!

Wow!  It's always wonderful to discover that a little bit of difference was made in a friend's life by something I say or do!

My last angel was a totally random gift.  I know that because when the gift was offered up, the giver said from across the room...."You're going to laugh when you see what it is ..."

The box was really terrific.  It was triangle shaped and was one of those gift boxes that's got a pre-printed design on it.  This one was an abstract pattern with mauves, tans & grays running together. Very interesting.

I LOVE fun boxes.  People who really know me know that often I get more excited over an unusual box than what's inside.  So I was "ooohing" and "aaahing" over the box when the disclaimer came out-of-the-blue.

Gently I lifted the lid. 

Wrapped in tissue was an exquisite crystal ball with a crystal angel inside.

It took my breath away. 

Crystal things have always been my most favorite things. Aunt Julia started giving me pieces of crystal when I was about 13.   Somehow along the way, most of those pieces have been packed away as we moved from one place to another and have never been unpacked here.  I am going to find those things once I am done taking the Christmas things down.

That's a lost part of MJ that I am ready to unwrap ... & re-discover ...

The giver of the gift made another comment from across the room ... about the irony of it ... seems she had observed another gift being opened in our midst that she thought had been given by me ... a crystal angel ... only it wasn't ... from me.

Stunned.  How is it possible that this person ...who has known me for most of my adult life ... really doesn't have a clue ... about me?  About this gift?

It wasn't actually a snow globe.  Instead of shaking it up to see the snowflakes fall .. it had a switch on the bottom.  Push the button ... and presto ... a fiber optic light show plays out inside the globe.  Brilliant, jewel tone colors flash randomly ... bathing the little angel ... in a kaleidoscope of colors ...

a rainbow inside of a crystal ball ..

The tears came.  I simply couldn't help myself.  I was totally caught off guard ... and was immediately overwhelmed ... then the whisper came ... it's too personal to share ...

... it was of very great significance ...

Now I know ... without a doubt ... that I am somehow getting it right ... the moving towards the life I want to be living ...

  

It would have been different, I guess ... if the giver had really thought ... really known ... how special the gift in the nifty box really was going to be ... to me.  But ... that person ... didn't get it ... so there's no doubt who was behind the gift ... my Best Friend ... making His presence known ... once again.

Cool.  So very cool.

Yes.  I am blessed by friends & family who love me.  My gifts this year reflect those intimate connections. 

Of course, my true Christmas wish ... made a year ago... for a little bit of magic ... to be found at some unexpected time during the year that is now ending ... remains elusive.  It's not something that someone can wrap up in a box ... and put under my tree ...

However, tucked way down in the toe of my stocking ... wrapped in some very old, yellowed tissue paper ... were a pair of ruby slippers ... ceramic ... salt & pepper shakers ... with a collector type stamp on the bottom ... they aren't bejeweled or sparkly ... ruby-colored, though & totally functional ...

Neither of the elves in my house who might have participated in the stuffing of my stocking had any knowledge of their origin. 

I know ... you are thinking ... one of them must have been responsible for the neat little gift ...

The one elf isn't capable of keeping a secret of that nature ... and the other one was as totally surprised as I was at my discovery ... so I am positive that she wasn't responsible for the surprise ... either ...

... a little bit of magic ...

I'm sure there's a message there ... in the ruby slippers ...

in all of my other gifts ...

The Wizard of Oz has always been one of my favorite stories ... so I went looking for something other than the obvious

"there's no place like home" meaning ...  

I was pretty sure that I had vivid & accurate recollection of all of the memorable lines ... imagine my surprise when I visited the AMC Classic Film website and found this descriptive passage ...

She (Glenda) descends to the ground in her familiar,

shimmering, rainbow-hued bubble from the sky.

Glinda steps out of the ball of light and kindly tells Dorothy that

she has always had the power to go home

with the magical power of her ruby slippers,

but she had to discover it for herself.

Dorothy: Oh, will you help me? Can you help me?

Glinda: You don't need to be helped any longer.

You've always had the power to go back to Kansas.

Dorothy: I have?

Scarecrow: Then why didn't you tell her before?

Glinda: Because she wouldn't have believed me.

She had to learn it for herself.

Dorothy insightfully explains what she has learned from her experience -

during her dream of being in Oz.

In a self-revelation, she realizes that everything she could ever have wanted was right in her own backyard -

IF she had wanted it hard enough. She relinquishes the miracle-working power of the Wizard -  he has floated away -

and relies upon her own power and personality

to find her independent identity and way home.

She has confronted her childhood fears and grown up emotionally

with strength enough to meet her adult future.

In some ways, the journey was as rewarding

as the accomplishment of her goal.

 

Dorothy: Well, I think that it, that it wasn't enough just to want to see

Uncle Henry and Auntie Em,

and it's that if I ever go looking for my heart's desire again,

I won't look any further than my own backyard because, if it isn't there,

I never really lost it to begin with. Is that right?

Glinda: That's all it is!

Scarecrow: But that's so easy! I should've thought of it for you -

Tin Man: I should have felt it in my heart -

Glinda: No, she had to find it out for herself. Now those magic slippers will take you home in two seconds!

Dorothy: Oh! Toto too?

Glinda: Toto too.

Dorothy: Now?

Glinda: Whenever you wish!

Everyone who knows me ... knows that I don't believe in coincidences ...

Dorothy found her way ... home ...
,,, with a little help from her friends ... & so will I ..

Take a look again at my very special gifts ... follow the yellow brick road ...



Be a part of the story ... a personal meaning just for me ... ruby slippers ...

a crystal globe full of rainbow colors ...

 choose happy ... reach for the stars ...

I just had to learn it for myself ... 

my heart's desire ...

whenever I wish ...

Three days left ... until the new year begins ...

... there's still time ... for a little bit of magic ...

I believe!

http://www.lifelessons-mj.blogspot.com/

(c) December 2010





O Christmas Tree

Putting up the Christmas tree ... it's always a commentary of how things are going in my life ...

I always had a REAL Christmas tree ... every single year ... no matter what my circumstances were ... or where I was living ...  it was one of the things that made Christmas magic ... and special ... for me.

In that first little apartment in Dallas ... in the cute house in the quiet neighborhood in Edenton ... during my Mary-Tyler-Moore years ...

And every single dwelling that we pretended was home as we ping ponged back and forth during the years of my marriage ...

Arkansas ... East Coast ... Arkansas ... East Coast ... Arkansas

Sometimes they were bought from friendly folks at a local lot ... from tree growers ... or members of nonprofit groups selling trees to raise money for their cause ...

Other times ... mostly Arkansas Christmas' ... we would tramp out into the woods ... locate the perfect tree ... cut it down ... & drag it home ... only to find that what looked like a reasonable size in the open air was several feet TOO TALL for any room in our house.

One year, Uncle Bill & Uncle John tooke me & the girls out to find a tree.  To two toddlers ... it was a grand adventure.   Once the tree was located ... there was much discussion about the height.  The house we were living in had 6 ft ceilings ... and my two Uncles wanted to be sure that I didn't have to wrestle with "making it fit" once I got home with it ...

Overwhelmed ... I was ... with life ... and things...

They were so afraid I was going to unravel ... even though I never let on ... that I was anything but ... ok ...

That was the first Christmas that the girls and I spent alone ... on our own ... and it was my job to share with them the wonder of Christmas ... hope ... magic ... miracles ...

There was only one other Christmas that it was just me and the girls ... it came midway through the story of their childhood ...

Until the one that ... we will always choose to remember as the one with LOTS of snow ...

So there we were ... on a cold December day ... tromping around in the woods.  Finally the tree was cut & laying on the ground.  After much a-figurin' and a-fanaglin'  ... my Uncle John did what any right-minded man would do ... he stretched out on the hard, cold ground ... next to the tree ... so we could measure ...

You see ... if the tree was as long as him ... than it was TOO TALL for my house ...

It wasn't really a special Christmas for me that year ... yet amidst the hurt, confusion & hardship ... a very special Christmas memory emerged ... one that makes me smile on every remembering of it ...

I loved my girls ... there was no way I wasn't going show them what Christmas was all about ... believing is very important at 1 and 3. 

My uncles loved me ... there was no way they were going to let me down ... believing is very important at 30-ish, too.

I miss those days ... of live Christmas trees ... of wonder & hope. 

The year of my divorce I decided that it was just too much ... for me ... to handle ... to deal with the finding and maintaining of a live tree ...

... somehow nothing really mattered ... not any more ... what was the point in believing ... it was so much easier to pretend ...

So it was that a few years ago ... into my life ... came the artificial tree.

The first one came from my mother's storage room.  It was an extra one ... that traveled back from Dallas when she returned to her life ... here.  I brought it home ... and set it up.

It didn't really do much for me.  Seriously.  It wasn't real.  Still somehow it worked at the time. 

I mean, it looked ok ... once the lights & ornaments were on it ... so what if it wasn't real ...

That silly tree had it's own set of issues ... year after year.  It's flimsy little stand was cracked when I got it ... so it was shaky ... at best.  So the second year I put it up ... I bought a regular tree stand and struggled to make it fit.

Artificial trees don't have thick, solid trunks to work with ... so screwing the posts tightly enough to hold it upright was somewhat of a challenge ... always.

And it wasn't prelit ... so putting lights on the tree was still a part of the holiday tradition ... real or not.

Last year ... the artifical tree came out ... and it was installed in it's stand ... lights were strung ... ornaments hung ... and in keeping with the unstable story that has been my life for the last few years ...

Humpty Dumpty ... had a great fall.

In the middle of the night ... the trunk on the tree snapped in half ... and there was a tremendous crash.  It looked as if a little woodcutter had simply chopped the tree down ... the plastic trunk was splintered ... there just above the tree stand.

Gathering up the ornaments ... it was amazing that only one was broken ... which was a tremendous relief to me.  You see my Christmas tree is what you would call a "traditional" tree ... decorated with a conglomeration of decors ... lovingly collected over several lifetimes.

There are ornaments that were once Mimi's ... and ornaments from my childhood.  There are ornaments that came through the grown-up MJ years ... and ornaments from the childhoods of my children.

Each one is special.  A reminder of a special time ... a special friend ... a special something.

The only thing that has been real about my Christmas trees over the last five years ... has been the rememberings of special things past ... memories found in the decors on my tree.

Decors. Everytime I open the box of memories ... I remember a Christmas a long time ago ... when the sweetest little preschooler ... who became my daugher ... helped me put up my last Mary-Tyler-Moore tree ... in Edenton. She oohed & aahed over ever pretty that came out of the box ... she called them our "decors".

Humpty Dumpty was the ornament my mother gave to Jessi on her first Christmas.  Funny.  It just came to me that THAT was the very same Christmas that my Uncle Bill & Uncle John cut down the tree.

So last year when that tree came a-tumbling down, ole Humpty .... well, as the story goes ... he "couldn't be put together again" ... that was the ONE ornament that broke.

One more lousy Christmas ... with a tree ... that wasn't real.

This year, I was going to just settle for a little 4' tree ... artifical ... that I had always put in the upstairs window ... just for fun ... with the little waving Santa ..

Somehow, I 'm still not ready ... for real.  Maybe next year.

I knew that Jessi was going to be disappointed.  She likes a BIG tree.  And all of the decorations ... that have always been a part of Christmas ... her whole life ... ever since that first Christmas ...

So for these last few years ... while it has been too overwhelming for me ... to DO Christmas ... she has doggedly & deliberately drug in ... box after box ... of decorations ... and in her own special way ... she has made sure that the season never passes ... without a little bit of hope ...

In a random series of events ... the week of Thanksgiving ... a new tree found it's way into our house ... it's a very cool story ... and somehow everyone involved was blessed through the experience ... even though the tree's not real.

It's the biggest tree ... I have ever had ... longer than Uncle John ... nine feet tall!  And, yes, I have the ceilings to accomodate it. 

It's prelit ... with most of the lights burned out.  That's how come I got it ... you see ... the previous owner decided replacing the tree was more practical than replacing the lights.

A week ago, I unpacked what turned into a humongous tree.  And started plugging in the lights.  Three sections were totally dark ... and one mid-section was partially lite ... with one little group doing a random blink thing.

I love lights.  Lots of lights.  Bright ... luminescent ... covering up a myriad of flaws.  Since I've never had a prelit tree ... lights weren't a problem for me. 

So I set down on the cold concrete floor ... in the front room where I have been ripping out carpet ... and began the task of de-lighting the prelit tree. 

It was my Survivor challenge ... of the season.

Most of my friends suggested that I just string a bunch of lights over the top of the burned out ones.  That just wasn't going to work for me.  And, as in each previous year of my life, there were lessons to be learned from the Christmas tree.

If something is worth doing ... it's worth doing right. 

I am pretty sure that was one of the lessons waiting there in the two boxes that the tree came in.

And ...

It's the tree that's important ... not the lights.  Sure the lights are pretty ... and on the outside ... where everyone can see them.  The tree is what's on the inside .. underneath all the glitter.

... and it's the genuiness of the tree that counts ... strong ... confident ... straight ...  Or maybe wobbly ... listing a little ... yet courageously confident in the balance of it's stance ...

The tree is up.  And it's beautiful.  All of my stories are hanging there on the branches.  And brand new lights ... along with a few strands of old ones ... give off a warm glow. 

It's better than last year ... which was better than the year before ... and the year before ... and the year before ...

Still it's a fake tree ... pretending to be real.  Just like me.  Living an uncertain life ... struggling to find my way back to something that's real.

I came in last nite .. to find a stack of books on my chair ... from the bottom of a holiday box ... stories that we shared in seasons past ...

There amongst them ... The Velveteen Rabbit ...  just waiting to weigh in on the whole Christmas tree thing...

.... and me ...

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly,

except to people who don't understand."

Jessi continues to decorate the tree ... the house ... in her own special way. She drags in the boxes ... and picks out the things that she likes best. And once again, she has lined up ALL of the angels on the mantel.

MY angels. She tells me the angels are there for me ... to watch over me ... it's our own special tradition ... from these healing years ...

... and the whisper comes ... "All is well, MJ."  And I know that somehow ... along the way ... I must have done something right ... that I AM real ... even though I don't feel it ...

You see ... it must be true ... because ...

Jessi believes.

http://www.lifelessons-mj-mblogspot.com/
(c) December 2010