J-Land Games

I found this at Brandy's.  Kinda neat! I copied it almost word for word since this was new to me, hope that's ok.

The game:  ASK ME ANYTHING !!

Here's how we play:

- Ask me 3 questions. Any 3, no matter how personal, private or random.
- I have to answer them honestly. I have to answer them all.
- In turn, you post this message in your own blog or journal and you have to answer the questions that are asked of you. <hence the finer details>

Okay they say I HAVE to answer any and all questions but that is not a guarantee, hello have you met me yet?  So you ask, I will answer and maybe I'll shock you, maybe I won't, I guess we won't know until you post your questions for me.

You know there is something you are just dying to ask me about isn't there?

I had to get out of bed for this

It wouldn't let me sleep!

I've met a wonderful woman through aol journals, and we have begun a corresponding.  She's witty, intelligent, thought provoking and interesting. Our topic of late has been religion.  Some of what she wrote in her last letter made me remember a faux pas or two I committed in church.  If any of you have similar funny stories, take the topic and run with it!

I was not raised Southern Baptist - I attended a Presbyterian church until I was a teen, and then switched to the Baptist church my friends attended.  From my experience as a kid, Presbyterians were a quiet and reverent lot.  You can imagine that it came as a shock when the Baptist congregation got jiggy with it and started shouting Amen! and leaving their seats to agree with an animated minister who was completely into his sermon.

One offense I committed involved a scripture I can't quite recall verbatim.  The minister was saying, And the sins of the fathers shall be visited on the heads of the sons...something like that - and knowing my dad the way I did, I thought - daughters too?!  and groaned aloud, Oh LORD, I hope not!

There was complete silence for about 30 seconds.  That 30 seconds felt like a month.

The second offense I committed was at my Aunt Doris's funeral, held in the same church, different minister.  Down here, every funeral is opportunity for a preacher to imply - this too, will happen to you - and convert the service into a drive for souls. Nothing wrong with that, they wouldn't be doing their jobs if they didn't at least try, but Mr. D. chose one metaphor, and stuck with it for 25 minutes.  It was hot, and crowded.  People were coughing and crying.  Mr. D's voice droned on and on and on...and I dabbed my eyes, leaned toward my daughter and whispered...

you know, there's only so much you can do with one metaphor

I honestly thought I had been discreet, until the man in front of me turned around.  And then the woman beside him...

and they gave me this withering, disapproving glare, but I swear, had Aunt Doris been able, she would have raised up, looked Mr. D in the eye and said - and just WHAT is your POINT?!

So she would have been proud.  I think.

I haven't been back in that church since.

I hope this doesn't offend anyone, but it was on my mind and I had to shake it out so i can SLEEP!

Good night!

a little humor

got this in email, thought someone could use a good chuckle, at least.

 

Ever wonder what you'd get for 7 years of med school?

************************************************************

A man comes into the ER and yells, "My wife's going to
have her baby in the cab!"

I grabbed my stuff, rushed out to the cab, lifted the lady's dress, and began to take off her underwear. Suddenly I noticed that there were several cabs and I was in the wrong one.

Dr. Mark MacDonald, San Antonio, TX.

***********************************************

At the beginning of my shift I placed a stethoscope on an elderly and slightly deaf female patient's anterior chest wall. "Big breaths," I instructed.

"Yes, they used to be," remorsed the patient.

Dr. Richard Byrnes, Seattle, WA.

***********************************************

One day I had to be the bearer of bad news when I told a wife that her husband had died of a massive myocardial infarct. Not more than five minutes later, I heard her reporting to the rest of the family that he had died of "massive internal fart."

Dr. Susan Steinberg, Manitoba, Canada

**********************************************

During a patient's two week follow-up appointment he informed me, his doctor, that he was having trouble with one of his medications. "Which one?" I asked. "The patch. The nurse told me to put on a new one every six hours and now I'm running out of places to put it!" I had him quickly undress and discovered what I hoped I wouldn't see . Yes, the man had over fifty patches on his body!

Now, the instructions include removal of the old patch before applying a new one.


Dr. Rebecca St. Clair, Norfolk, VA.

**********************************************

While acquainting myself with a new elderly patient, I asked, "How long have you been bedridden?"

After a look of complete confusion, she answered... "Why, not for about twenty years - when my husband was alive."


Dr. Steven Swanson, Corvallis, OR.

***********************************************

I was caring for a woman from Kentucky and asked, "So how's your breakfast this morning?" "It's very good, except for the Kentucky Jelly. I can't seem to get used to the taste" the patient replied.

I asked to see the jelly and the woman produced a foil packet labeled "KY Jelly."


Dr. Leonard Kransdorf, Detroit, MI.

***********************************************

A nurse was on duty in the Emergency Room, when a young woman with purple hair styled into a punk rocker Mohawk, sporting a variety of tattoos, and wearing strange clothing, entered. It was quickly determined that the patient had acute appendicitis, so she was scheduled for immediate surgery.

When she was completely disrobed on the operating table, the staff noticed that her pubic hair had been dyed green, and above it there was a tattoo that read, "Keep off the grass."

Once the surgery was completed, the surgeon wrote a short note on the patient's dressing, which said, "Sorry, had to mow the lawn."


(Dr. unknown)

***********************************************

AND FINALLY:


A new, young MD doing his residency in OB was quite embarrassed performing female pelvic exams. To cover his embarrassment he had unconsciously formed a habit of whistling softly. The middle-aged lady upon whom he was performing this exam suddenly burst out laughing and further embarrassed him. He looked up from his work and sheepishly said, "I'm sorry. Was I tickling you?"

She replied, "No doctor, but the song you were whistling was, "I wish I was an Oscar Meyer Wiener".


(Dr. wouldn't give his name)

It's almost her birthday

and in another 50 minutes, the seventh daughter will be 70 years old.

There was a time when I didn't think my mother would make it past age 54.  She had her first cardiac event then - underwent quad bypass surgery, and over the last few years, has surprised us all by surviving several more.

Her name is Jan, and half the time, that's what I call her.  Not sure how that started, but being a southern woman of the generation in which you revered your parents (or were scared hairless of them), I'm lucky she doesn't smack me a good one for calling her by her first name.  I think I do it because I see her not only as my mother, but as and individual in her own right - and a friend.

She was my father's right hand in business.  I take that back - she was BOTH hands.  Without her, the business would never have survived, and she knows it.  She was sharp at a razor back then, and no slouch now.

I remember her belting out Hank Williams Long Gone Lonesome Blues, or singing The Old Rugged Cross.  She gave us music when we were small.  She wrote poetry on the occasions when she was moved to do so, and sometimes, in scrap books, I run across hand scribbled verse. 

She was seldom harsh.  One look from those soulful brown eyes told you that you had disappointed her, and that was enough to make a kid (or adult) take a deep breath and cry like she or he had been whipped.

Her life hasn't been an easy one by a long shot, and that would make some people bitter, but the years have made Mama sweeter and stronger than I'll ever be.

Tomorrow, August 28, we'll celebrate that she was with us for another year of life, and we will hope against hope we're granted another.

Happy birthday, Jan. 

I'll bring you flowers
sprung from seeds
you've sown along
your path.
I'll lay them
at your feet
and, kneeling there,
gaze into the face
of grace and strength
I hope I've learned.
I'll pluck the petals,
scatter them along
this shorter trail.
I'll be your strength
when, breathless,
you must stop
for rest along our way.
I'll take your hand,
and comfort you.
Together,
we shall sow
more seeds,
and when our paths
diverge,
I'll gather our flowers
sown with love,
and remember.

I've not written about my dogs, Spike and Hey You in a while, but this morning I made a discovery that spurred me to bring them up.

Spike is more famous than I knew.

The mail lady had a package for us, so she pulled up in the drive.  Spike was there, all 95 lbs. of him, waiting patiently to see what this visit was all about.  As she fumbled for packages, Spike's patience wore thin, and he put both paws on the edge of the window, and peered in.

"Well hey there, fella, how've you been?  I haven't seen you in a long time!  Have you been doing ok?"

The way the mail lady was talking with him, you would have thought they were old friends, and I thought...this couldn't be.  We pick up our mail 1/4 mile away from the house.  They couldn't have met!

I asked her - You know this hoodlum?

And she said - "of course!  We know each other well.  I'm amazed at how well all of your cats and dogs get along."  She stopped talking with me and fished out a dog biscuit.  Spike politely took it.  Slowly.  That's his lazy, gentle way.

She leaned over and said, almost conspiratorially - "It's good you have a dog like him.  You need one out here in the boonies - you never know who will pull up in your yard, or what they might have on their minds.  He's protective!"

Spike nodded agreement and took another treat.

You, in the meantime, was properly cautious and barked every now and then, showing off.

I guess he just isn't the ladies' man that Spike is.

Lord.  I wonder who else knows him.

WOW!

Imagine my surprise when I opened my email and found a congratulations on being chosen as one of the guest editor's picks for featured journal.  You could have knocked me over with a feather and tickled me with it, too.

It rather makes me wish I had posted some interesting entries instead of the bits and pieces of late.

Thank you,  Brandy! Now I'm on my way to read the other journals you selected!

:-D

and so

ah, the small melodramas that crop up amongst co-workers.

i attended the medical record meeting at a different facility today.  the biggest issue on the floor was who determines where the meetings are held.  the manager wanted the conference room - it's air conditioned, located on the first floor, and it was empty.  the secretary, however, wanted to hold the meeting in the medical library on the third floor (so it was convenient for her) where there is no air conditioning, then refused to open the doors to the balcony so we could at least catch a breeze.  oh, and the elevator is broken.

didn't matter to me.  i'm on the committee, so it's my job to go wherever it's held - and it just seemed so trivial.  i don't mean to be judgmental, but none of these people are overwhelmed with work and wouldn't you think that there would be more important issues to discuss than who has more authority?

i guess power struggles are for those who have time for 'em.  my opinion - which nobody asked for and which i didn't give - is, that the manager should decide where and when, and the secretary should just show up.  otherwise, i don't really care.

 

sunday morning ramble

My original journal was Letters to the Internet (actually, it was southern fried, but the theme just didn't have enough behind it to keep it going) because most weblogs remind me of letters.  I spent quite a bit of energy looking for penpals over the last few years, simply for the love of writing, but they all petered out after a while.  Am I that boring?!  NO!  It couldn't be so! *wink* 

At any rate, here is my Letter to the Internet:

Dear Internet,

What a weekend.  Pardon the cliche, but it was hotter than a firecracker on the Fourth of July.  Had the dogs been willing, I would have hosed them down just to cool them off, but as much as they like swimming in ponds, they run like hell from the water hose.

I had lunch with a friend on Saturday.  It was so good to see him, but for some reason, I was so nervous my mouth was dry.  That's because so much has changed since the last time we met, and I wasn't sure how it would go between us.  I babbled like an idiot, noticed the eyebrows raise a time or two - what on earth is her problem?

But it was good to see him, no matter how brief the visit.

We went walking in the gardens, and it was really too hot for that...when my skin started prickling, I knew I was headed for trouble and needed to leave.

This August has gone beyond unforgiving to brutal.  I wish for autumn and its echoes of some undefinable...something..., the brilliant burst of life and the ashing of leaves, the balm after the burning,  and even the wistfulness you can sense on a crisp wind.

Soon.

 

Mara

weird wednesday

Chilly says:

"After I heard they had declared a state of emergency at the governor's mansion because of black mold and how everybody was instantly evacuated, you know I had to open my mouth.  When the maintenance man came to do some minor repairs on the hospital floor, he asked if there was anything else that needed doing and I said - yeah, sure is.  Could you do something about the asbestos that just landed on your shoulder?  He looked up at where the wall was bubbling, took a giant step back and said - ya'll shouldn't be in here!  That's asbestos!  And I said, no kidding.  The air conditioner is blowing it and it's landing on the staff AND the patients.  He wanted to know why nobody had reported it, and I told him - I did report it.  Seven times.  So far, nobody has seen the need to do anything about it.  and I said, Oh!  And when you get finished with the asbestos removal, you might want to take a look at the black mold here.  It's hanging lower than Walt Whitman's beard.  If this were the governor's mansion, we'd all be whisked out of here ASAP, but no, it's a prison with plain old rank and file state employees who can't get a decent raise for doing real work while dealing with convicts who committed real crimes.  And Mr. Maintenance proceeded to tell me that we could get sick breathing that stuff and I said, No kidding!  Do you know how many people have left here with respiratory ailments in the last 10 years?  He wrote down a bunch of notes and said he would get back to me. He won't be back. You'll see.  Just like OSHA."

Hurry Autumn, Part 2

A Crisp New Shirt

It is the first chill evening,
and I pull it 'round me
like a crisp new shirt
made from the billowy cotton
of an autumn blue sky.

From the woodline,
a lone crow calls back summer
and I listen to his plaintive cry
for things now gone or faded
with a dying season.

He must forgive me this year;
I cannot sing dirges for ghosts
that rattle on the wistful breath of October
or call them back
when their shadows tease
the corner of my eye.

Not this time,

when there are songs to be sung
in the cadence of whirlwinds changing
the look and feel of my world.

As the equinox moves closer,
the sun moves away
with the shortened day;
I bid those ghosts a soft
goodbye

and pull the shirt closer,
revel in its cool newness
and twirl in a skirt autumn-dyed
with all the colors of life.

Mara, 2003

wishing for autumn...

It's too hot to journal this morning, so I have chosen to post an old entry from my domain blog,  autumnsongs.org/weblog.  hurry, autumn...

 

Yesterday afternoon, my son dragged me to the back-forty to have a look at the new puppies. I seldom go to that part of the yard, since my enthusiasm waned after expending tons of energy keeping up the first five acres surrounding my house.

I had big dreams for that land – raised bed gardens, eucalyptus trees, a gazebo. There’s plenty of room for all of that and more, and if I go a little further back, I could plant my own forest, mini rose garden, and an orchard. But I’ve let it go. It’s overgrown with wild grape vines, crow’s foot grass and broom straw.

I think the enthusiasm began its decline about five years ago, but prior to that, I filled that remote part of the yard with mint, chrysanthemums, and a few scraggly rose bushes.

They’re still there; there’s a black rose and a Broadway rose, which is pink and yellow, some ragged mums and enough mint to harvest and market.

Despite my neglect, they’re still thriving, surrounded by enough nettles to make it appear I was attacked by a rabid porcupine.

But oh, the mint! The one pot from Johnny’s prison green house has covered the ground like  wildfire in a dry summer, and it smells so so clean, so out of place in the weed garden I gave back to nature.

After I finished admiring the puppies (their mother hid them at the edge of the woodline), I picked a handful of the mint. Just touching the leaves releases their scent, and the air, already cool from October, tasted more crisp.

I picked more sprigs. I named them spring and summer, winter and fall. I took them inside. The scent and flavor of all the seasons are now in a vase on my kitchen windowsill, sprinkled with water as if it had rained on them so I can smell them even better.

This morning, they’re as green and fragrant as they were when I stole them from the weed garden, and I’m enough of a dreamer to see symbolism in their delicate foliage.

I planted a fresh start when I moved to this house, and now I’ve brought it inside.

It just might be possible to go back and move forward at the same time.

Weekend Assignment

Favorite Dessert - Cake, or Pie?

Oh, writing this will probably add the recently lost 5 lbs. back onto my thighs, but this is important and must be said.

When it comes to which is best - cake or pie - there is NO contest.  If you want something of substance, something you can sink your teeth into and get the best of every world there is - the clear choice is cake.

I'm not talking just any cake (s).  I'm talking chocolate cake, with gooey frosting, three shades of chocolate and texture so smooth that you can't believe it's not butter.

Oh, how i miss it (them) - my famous 14 layer chocolate cake with boiled fudge frosting, that you can eat layer by layer by layer, etc.  And black forest cake - with all that creamy icing and whipped cream and just enough cherries on top - something you can dip your fork into, pop in your mouth and forget sex ever existed.  And carrot cake, with cream cheese frosting, heavy texture - and it's even healthy.  It has a vegetable in it.  And if you're looking for a religious experience?  Home made pineapple cake with seven minute frosting.

Pie just can't offer you that - it's like..one dimensional whereas cake has all those..layers... to it.  A new taste sensation in every bite - but if I had to choose a pie that would do in the absence of my favorite dessert, it would be sweet potato, with a large dollop of whipped cream on top.

And now I have to go exercise for a few hours.  Happy weekend, everybody.

 

excuse me while i rant

it's rant or explode.

i have been back at work for four days now, and things have been pretty good - until about 45 minutes ago when the superintendent called me to ask about orthotic boots.

we get our boots from a place called dr. 2 shoes, and in order for the inmate to get them, they have to be approved by the utilization review board - which they were.  three pairs for three men.  turns out, you have to have a justification at unit level to get these things.  i think.  hell, i don't know! so i ordered them, they came in, i presented the bill to accounting and they wanted a 704.  fine, we'll fill one out post purchase - no problem.

UNTIL the superintendent told me - i don't know who ordered them, but i'm not going to approve them.

and i, astounded, said - why NOT?  there's a proven medical need for them.

he shouldn't have been talking to me about it in the first place - he should have been talking to my supervisor who was standing in my office at the time and witnessed me losing it.

broadaway, calm down!

he pissed me off!

we walked out of the building together - she was grinning because she's never seen me angry before, and probably thought i had no fire in me at all -

he's interfering with medical care.  that is NOT going to happen.

aol journals keeps logging on and off. what does this mean?! journals are up and down? we'd best type quick if we want to submit anything?

Bleary-eyed and caffeine dependent

It's Monday.

Dang.

Happy New Week!

A co-worker, Mr. Mayo is one of those optimists.  Should you ask him - How are you?  his reply is unfailingly - Groovy!, and his philosophy is that Monday is simply a fresh start.  I do like Mr. Mayo....

and so i will adopt his philosophy - it's a fresh start.  in my absence, my work probably has not piled to the ceiling because they called Tina-baby in from the hospital to fill in (a first!) while I was out.   And Ava tells me that, we will be getting an additional medical record assisant.  good grief, things are looking up. (mr. mayo's influence, no doubt).  dr. h will be there ...i suppose...and i look forward to seeing Lynn, bill, atkins, tammy..yes, i can go back to work after a week away.  i can.  i can do it, it's a fresh start... 

not only that, my daughter and i are following Lisa Our Leader down the South Beach Diet Path starting today. 

but try as i might, fresh start or no, i cannot write this day into being.  time to get moving.

y'all have a great week.

 

Happy Weekend

I was browsing the poetry boards and happened upon this  poem by a man who was very kind, chivalrous and gifted.  He passed away a year ago, at the age of 45.  I remember him fondly, and would like to introduce you to his poetry.

I Remember You

I remember you as cinnamon and butter, maple sweet
from your eyes to the whims of your hair in the wind
I remember your lips as cherry waves curled to break
upon anticipation like turns smoothly polish a stone

Perhaps if I had been deliciously handsome
or could have kissed you in ways that made your heart pull
thunder from storms still deep in the seas
I could have folded time into a white bird of patience
that had no need to fly away until Spring

Perhaps if I had been kindly older
or could have touched you in ways that made your skin pull
shivers from strangers asleep in the streets
I could have molded time into a candle of deliverance
that had no need to burn away the nights

Perhaps if I had been mutely wiser
or could have loved you in ways that made your mind pull
silence from graveyards lost in the woods
I could have hollowed time into a flute of forgiveness
that had no need to play good-bye at all

Tony Spivey, Copyright 2004

 

OMIGOD I HAVE TO RANT

The House has agreed to yet another extension on this session in North Carolina - yet they all agree on one thing:  There will be a ban on inside smoking in prisons.

This doesn't affect me - our institution bans indoor smoking, anyway - but what burns ME is, they say "we are not providing a healthy climate for our inmates." 

Last year, the cost of inmate health care was 138 million.  Yep, there were inmates with lung cancer and copd - but you can bet your BOTTOM dollar that the number of AIDS cases far exceeded the lung ca cases. Have you priced the cost of AIDS meds lately?   I bet you the asbestos in the older prisons (like OURS and the hospital) is still there, and I bet you every time it's disturbed "our inmates" and staff breathe it in.  Removal is too expensive, you know.  And I bet you, too, that the number of foreign inmates who are coming into the system with active TB that goes undetected until an entire camp is contaminated with it - OH, well - let's look at that, why don't we.  You want to know what else raises the cost of inmate health care?  Well, I've got to let it out so here goes - inmates who like to take a ride on weekends.  They swallow batteries, razor blades, jam forks and pencils up their penises, or they cut themselves.  Or they get hurt on the basketball court - that's where most of our injuries come from  - that's yet another ER trip - and then they have to see an orthopedist who will recommend physical therapy.   And the fights!  Let's not forget the fights where noses and ribs are broken and there has to be a trip to the emergency room.  Oh, and lifting weights!  That results in back injuries that require the services of a neurosurgeon AND surgery - and let's don't forget the cases of hepatitis from drug use. And PLEASE let's not forget the inmates who say - well, i'm in prison - might as well get all my health troubles taken care of while i'm here!  I kid you not - I've heard them say it.  And then there's ophthalmology (one inmate was released with a pending appointment.  He didn't follow up after.  He came back into the system more than two years later and suddenly it was an emergency.  Danged straight, by then he was going blind.  That says a lot, too for availability of healthcare to people on the outside.  Trust me - if you're an inmate, you get top notch care), and the visits to the optometrist and the refused glasses because the state issued frames are not cool.  And let's not forget the malingerers and the drug seekers.  And multiply the number of inmates by the thousand bed facilities, and take into account the people who are serving consecutive life terms and are aging - NC has actually opened a nursing home for inmates...

No, smoking is not good.  Not at all - a definite health threat for anybody.  Another problem that will crop up if smoking is banned completely in prison is black market cigarettes.  My janitor, Ervin, informed me that at the mental institution, cigarettes go for 25 $ a pack on the black market.  And who do you think is bringing them in? The same people who are smuggling in the alcohol and marijuana and whatever else.

And God knows, I don't want to be in the same prison facility with Ervin if he goes into nicotine withdrawal - or ANY of them, for that matter.  There definitely will be a security risk. 

Ok, i'm all ranted out.  and now i'm tired and will get back to my vacation.  But I have a hard time with this, coming from a state that has no laws governing  safety regulations and age limits for operating ATV's, even after seeing the number of children AND adults who are killed while driving those things.  To be fair, they've decided on age eight.  I can see where an eight year old would be so much more mature than a six year old.  but that's another blog.

and now i will shut up.

before the weekend starts

I plan to be far from a computer this weekend, so before I hit the road, I would like to say to the people who told me i didn't look old - gemma, bert darlin and paula - i love you forever and am writing you into my will.

This has been a pretty decent vacation, but I'm getting bored now...I bolted from the house this morning in search of adventure, but couldn't find anyone to play with.  And so I found myself outside of yet another second hand store, but this one disguises itself as an antique store.  There are finer pieces of sturdy furniture in there, yes - a day bed to die for - but most of it truly is junk.  There was a patio table and chairs out front that had a 50% off tag on it, and I'd been eyeing it for a couple of weeks.  I decided to stop and ask the price.

There was nobody in there except the owners and a bunch of their grandkids.  It's usually deserted, so I wasn't surprised.  I asked - how much for the patio set?

And when the woman opened her mouth and said.."Well, it came from Seven Lakes" I already knew the price was waaaay on up there. "It was originally $600, and then we marked it down to $350, and so I think the price is $250."

I damn near fainted.

This was not something unique at all - it was plain, in fact - much like what you see at Walmart on sale at summer's end for 150 bucks. By the time she finished talking, i was thinking to myself - I don't care if it came from Hollywood where Brad Pitt sat naked on it - it is NOT worth $250.  Now, if Brad Pitt were sitting on it at that point, I might have considered  it, but it was out there on the sidewalk, dirty, and baking in the sun.

"Oh, and while you're browsing, you should know everything  is marked 50-75% off. It's our end of summer sale!"

I bet!

I thanked them, took a look at the daybed, well worth the $300 marked on the sticker, and walked out.

Man.  People sure do think a lot of their second hand stuff.

Y'all have a great weekend.

Oh! and this is me

yeah, yeah, i'm old

Family Album

I'm jusmessenaround with pictures again.  The Silver Bullet is my dad.  My mom is camera shy.  Crystal is my stepdaughter, Nikki and Paige are hers (my granddaughters too, doggone it).  Sara is my granddaughter, and Bethie is my girl.

 

The God Box

Yesterday was only Tuesday.  My husband was busy - he's a small engine mechanic and summer is his busy season.  My house was exploding with people and so I decided to escape for a few hours.  It was a good choice to make.  I don't know exactly what leads us to the discoveries we make, but I have a good idea of what that unknown force is.

It speaks to me in metaphors, it directs me.  Yesterday, after the haircut and the indulgent cup of mint iced coffee, I ended up at a second hand store called Fifi's.  They sell finer used clothing for an affordable price, but today it wasn't clothing I was in search of.  I saw a sign that said books were on sale for half price.  So off I went, through the arch and to the left where the bookshelves were located. 

There were popular titles by best-selling authors, but those are not the ones that caught my eye.  There, sandwiched between romance novels and murder mysteries - The Seat of the Soul and Hard Won Wisdom.

I thought I would have to choose between the two, because my cash was running low after my indulgences, but to my surprise and delight, I was able to afford both of them.

I started with The Seat of the Soul.  You might laugh at me and my propensity to latch on to new age anything - religion included - but this book mostly made sense to me.

It speaks of the Soul and reincarnation.

I have always been a believer in reincarnation...I have sensed Old Souls, Young Souls, and often wondered which one I was.  My conclusion is I'm somewhere in the middle.  The book's theory is, the splintered soul - one that at the end of the personality's life span is still not whole - voluntarily chooses a new personality through which to heal.  It explains some phenomena I have experienced - including 'intuition', or what we know as ESP.

What surprises me is, the author does not discount the existence of God, and for that, I am grateful.  I believe we spend our lifetimes searching, learning, evolving into an enlightened entity, and that God and His guides direct us.  I know that, at this point in my life, I feel the need for spiritual growth, to let go of voodoo dolls and pins, to be able to forgive, understand, ask myself the hard questions and give honest answers and learn from them, to follow a path that will lead to light instead of darkness.

A while back, I worked at a correctional hospital in the medical record department.  My supervisor was a sixty-three year old mixture of tradition and new age.  She introduced me to The God Box.  When she experienced an insurmountable problem, she wrote it on a piece of paper and placed it in The God Box - a physical form of Let go and let God.  I thought this was a wonderful idea, but still it did not confront the issue, and so I have fashioned my own box.  I write it on a slip of paper, give it over, but ask myself - why do I feel this way?  And the answers will come if I'm quiet and receptive.

But we also have to look beyond ourselves.  If the conflict is with another person as opposed to being internal, we have to try to understand the why of their actions and realize it has nothing to do with us, but with their own conflicts and insecurities.

I know this babbling ramble doesn't make much sense.  It is one leg of a journey to peace and to being whole, however many lifetimes it might take.  But to the sweet lady who inspired this, and the thoughts behind it that haven't quite jelled yet...you are more enlightened than you know, and you are very wise.