I’ve been diagnosed with an “ism”!

Yes, I have. But before I tell you what I “have,” I want to share something with you.

A while back, a friend mentioned how it isn’t helpful to say negative things about our “conditions.”  You know, like, “My left shoulder sucks,” “I have a bad heart,” etc.

Instead, be positive and supportive. (They might hear you speak negatively about them)

I thought about that when I tore the meniscus in my knee. So, instead of saying “I have a bum knee,” I said, “Left Knee, don’t worry. I will take care of you.”

After all, I’ve known Left Knee all my life and it’s worked as hard as Right Knee. So I joined a gym and strengthened the muscles around it. For the last few years, pain free.

I thought about my right big toe that lacks cartilage in the ball joint. I said, “It’s okay, Big Toe. I’ll buy you comfortable shoes and I promise… no burpies at the gym that will force you to painfully bend.”

So, now I say this.

Dear Thyroid,

You’ve worked hard for me all these many years. Now, you are finding it hard to get moving. I get it. You’re tired. You can’t help causing me fatigue. So, dear Thyroid, the fact that you exist under the Hypo (meaning below) Bridge surely makes you frustrated. I just want to reassure you. You are not the only Thyroid who must endure the trolls beneath that bridge.

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Thyroid, please know this. Trolls can act scary but they are actually harmless. So, before you give up and succumb to the trolls demands,  I want you to know something.

Each morning I am swallowing a little orange pill. Trolls don’t like little orange pills. It makes them claustrophobic which means that in a month or so the trolls will nudge you away from that confining crevice beneath the Hypo Bridge.

And then, and you will rise once again.

With Love,

Your host, Carolyn

P.S. I am here for you.

The reflected image of my life

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Serendipitously, I looked over toward the mirror in my bathroom and saw this — the reflected image of my past with my husband and kids — a reminder of where we were and how far we’ve come. As I like to say, “there goes that universe again.” Once again, the awareness of life, love, and the passage of time, deepens. I am grateful.

Do your loved ones visit you after they’ve died?

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None of you will question that as we live our lives – go to work, parties, travel, have relationships, etc., –  experiences combine and create how we view the world and ourselves. And grieving the death of loved ones is an experience we all share.

First, let me say that I do not call myself a “religious” sort. I consider myself more as spiritual and intuitive and I never considered the possibility that a deceased love one would contact me. Until it happened.

In the 1980’s, when I thought going through infertility would drive me over a cliff, I had an early morning phone call from my grandfather who had died in the 60’s. “Grandpa,” I said. “Why are you calling? You’re dead.”

“I’m calling to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

My husband woke me to get up for work. I was furious and sad that my call had been abruptly ended. The “dream,” was not like a real dream made of scene or stories.  I only saw Grandpa’s face, and I felt him as real as the pillow my head rested upon.

Not long after, my deceased grandmother “called.” I said the same thing. “Grandma, you’re dead. Why are you calling?”

“I’m calling to check on you. How are you.”

“I’m fine.”

Then she asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes. Will you ask God to give me a baby?”

There was a long pause as if she were thinking. Then, she said, “I have to go now.”

(Today, I have two grown children, two grandchildren and another due in May.Who knows, right?)

Mom’s first contact with me was different. I had just left the cemetery when a song I’d never heard before came on NPR radio. To this day, I cannot find that song but its words were something like, “don’t worry, we’ll see each other in heaven.” The song made me smile.

Later, in a dream-vision, Mom had simply smiled at me, looked youthful and happy, and pain-free.

As my father lay dying, I asked, “will you check on me after you’re gone like Mom, Grandma and Grandpa did?”

He said, “I’ll always check on my babies.”

Wherever Dad is, he must be very busy since he has yet to “contact” me.  That’s okay, too. He’s probably teaching Mohammad Ali how to play checkers or dominoes.

Some people call these signs “Pennies from Heaven.”

Knowing my experiences, I recently ran across this article. Take a look. Perhaps it will apply to you as well. And please, let me know if it does.




When Mother Nature thumps you into awareness

Yesterday morning, when I woke up, I couldn’t talk. This morning, when I woke up, I still couldn’t talk. I mean, NOT AT ALL. Laryngitis is an interesting condition. Perhaps it is nature’s way of telling you to listen, to be still, to be contemplative.

I counted my blessings.

But damnit, I wanted to add to the lunch conversation! I had things to contribute, information to share!

“Ha Ha,” the Universe laughed.

“Holler if you need anything,” a friend laughed.

“Now she can’t yell at me,” my husband said, laughing in the phone with my doctor.

My mini Aussie cocked his head at my silence, but could still read my body language as I could still read his. “Ball time! Ball time! Ball time!”

I counted my blessings.

This evening, I count my blessings. Not because I can now croak out a couple of words in a lengthy sentence.

I count my blessings because they are there. Silence did not destroy even one.


Be still and silent when you can.

Otherwise, Mother Nature will make you.

She’s clever like that.