Newest and Most Precious Piece of Art

    The newest, and now most precious, piece of art to adorn my walls was recently gifted to me by my 13-year-old granddaughter when she arrived here for a summer visit with her family. It had been safeguarded in a cardboard tube for her flight from Spain. When she pulled it out and unrolled it before me, I was awestruck. She had drawn this beach scene using pastel and explained that from left to right, in birth order, the figures represented my three children: her mother, Auntie Kate, and Uncle Mike. And yes, those are wings on the back of his shirt. I knew that she had a talent for creating art and loved attending after-school classes but nothing could have prepared me for this incredible image. She captured so much in this scene - family, connection, nature, and love.

     A week later, she and I visited a local art shop to choose the mat and frame. When I picked up the completed piece a few days ago, I explained the significance of the picture to the staff member helping me, including the reason for the wings. Less than a minute later, while returning to my car parked right outside the shop, I noticed one beautiful, white feather lying directly in my path! It is now affixed to the glass, acting as another reminder of how strong this symbol of connection continues to be.

Precious Birthday Connections

     Early January marks three significant birthdays of people very dear to me (two now in pure spirit form and one here on Earth) - my mother's on the 4th, my son's on the 8th and a close friend's is on the 9th. Last year's incredible display of spirit energy related to these birthdays will be hard to beat. 
     On the morning of January 5th, 2019, I tied a bouquet of flowers to my mother's memorial bench in Edgemont Village as a belated acknowledgement of her birthday. I then strolled over to one of my favourite home decor shops, a fixture in this community for 30 years, run by a mother/daughter team. While driving by the shop the previous day, I had decided I would buy my close friend a gift card from here which I would pop in the mail for her birthday. As the daughter (who happened to attend high school with Michael) rang in my purchase, her mother asked me for the name of the recipient so that she could personalize the card with calligraphy. While she was putting the finishing touches on the present with cello wrap and ribbons, I began telling her that the gift was for my friend of over 40 years. Midway through, something caused her to freeze. A moment later, she proceeded to tell me what had happened to her shortly before leaving home that morning. She had been standing near her husband's computer area, looking up at the huge bookshelf filled to the brim with books. All of a sudden one of the books fell off the shelf and landed right in her hands. She immediately recognized it as my book, Diary of an Intuitive, wrapped in its protective cello sleeve. She mentioned that she hadn't looked at it for a few years and couldn't figure out why it had fallen. Then, as she continued telling me the story, she put two and two together and told me it had been my son. Being intuitive and sensitive to spirit energy, she realized why that particular book and why that morning.
      Then it was my turn to share details with her that would flesh out the entire experience. I explained that I had just come from my mother's memorial bench whose birthday was the day before, that Michael's birthday would be in three days time, and that my good friend, who was extremely close to Michael and celebrating her birthday the day after his, would for the very first time be missing our family birthday celebration at The Old Spaghetti Factory in Michael's honour. She had also edited my book. For the shopkeeper to share her experience with me made my day, filling my heart to near bursting, and gave me something precious to reflect upon for years to come.
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Photo credit: Bruno Glaetsch

Precious Bottle of Lotion

     While reaching into the medicine cabinet for my face cream yesterday morning, I noticed that the large container beside it had a puddle of lotion pooled at its base. I did a double take since this pump bottle of aloe lotion is something I have never ever used, lotion no one in this house has ever used. Two-thirds empty and more than five years old, it takes up valuable space in our one and only tiny bathroom. And anyone who knows me well, knows this - I am ruthless when it comes to purging items, a trait that comes in handy when living in a small space. But this, it stays.
     I discovered this bottle of lotion in my son's room soon after he and Kelly died. It had obviously been hers. Two years later, there was no question it would make the move here to this home since it was the only personal item of Kelly's that I had.  
     Now, a puddle. I have seen this happen once before, a year or two ago. Most likely, there is a clear scientific explanation for this, but both times it resulted in a cherished emotional and energetic connection to Kelly. The value of something so seemingly insignificant as an old, no longer in use, bottle of lotion ... precious and priceless.
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Even More Precious Now

     Since our move a couple of years ago, this petite garden angel had been lingering in the darkness, on a shelf in the garage. Its small scale meant it would have been lost in our landscape here, so it had been stored away.

     It had suffered an accident at our previous home, becoming separated from its base, as well as breaking both legs and both wings. Normally, my nature would have dictated tossing something so broken, but I really cherished the sense of contentment and tranquility it exuded, so I had carefully glued all the pieces back together and brought it with us.

     Last week, while moving some supplies into my newly finished backyard studio, I was searching for a door stop. When I uncovered this angel, I took it out and realized it would be a perfect fit. It has found a new home, nestled in the corner of my studio, facing the greenery beyond the glass door. Despite its cracked foundation, damaged wings, and broken limbs, this cherubic figure is still beautiful, still valuable, and feels even more precious to me now.

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Precious Days

Exhausted and content, I reflect on another precious day spent with my fourteen month old granddaughter.  Once a week, she and I enjoy an entire day together - just us two.  We have the luxury of being in the moment - no schedule, nothing that must get done.  We observe the birds descending onto the backyard feeders, attempting to mimic their songs.  We stroll to the park for a ride on the swing, stopping to smell flowers and touch leaves on the trees along the way.  We visit Boal Memorial, blowing kisses to Uncle Mike and Kelly.  We pick salmonberries, huckleberries, and strawberries, delighting in them all.  We snuggle up on the couch, reading books from her special cupboard in the den.  We get soaked during water play, with cups and a filled tub on the grass, pausing to watch the occasional helicopter fly overhead.  We wander down to the suspension bridge, crossing it hand in hand, 70 metres above the river - she, at times, stopping to dance.  So sweet, so lovable, so alive - my heart nearly bursting in her presence.

Another Precious Penny

On Monday February 11th, my husband and I began preparing for our upcoming move.  It was no surprise that the area I found the most difficult to pack up was Michael's room.  Thankfully, only a few of his personal items remained (most of them had been dealt within weeks of his passing), but pulling his books off the shelf and removing his suit from the predominantly empty armoire was not easy.  Tackling this room on our province's first ever "Family Day" holiday did not help. That emotionally loaded label served to intensify my melancholy state. Once the packing of the room was done, my husband began disassembling the armoire, which was situated in a corner, directly against the wall.  With only a couple of inches of clearance between the ceiling and the top of that cabinet, dismantling was required in order to fit through the door.  When he was almost finished, he called me over to help.  As I picked up the base of the armoire, I could not believe my eyes. Lying on the floor was a lone penny.  There was nothing else to be found under, behind, or beside the armoire - no old socks, garbage, or even other coins.  Just one penny.  The back of the armoire was solid wood, as were the top, bottom and side panels - nothing could have accidentally fallen through from the drawers or shelves inside.  So, how did that penny get there?  I have no idea, but based on previous penny encounters, I know who was involved.  Sensing how difficult the day was for me, Michael's spirit made sure to send a sign of support.  After I relayed the incident to my younger daughter, I chuckled as she half-jokingly wondered aloud if the occurrence of future episodes such as this might be affected -  as of Monday February 4th, Canadian pennies are no longer officially in circulation.  We'll see.

Pure and Precious Moments

After spending a few hours playing with Kennedy, as well as cuddling her, feeding her, bathing her, and kissing her a thousand times over, here I sit, writing in my daughter's home.  Happily babysitting. The only sounds, other than the clicking of the keyboard, are ones of breathing.  Here in the family room, mine, and those of the two dogs curled up on their cushions before me.  Via the baby monitor, those my granddaughter makes while sleeping upstairs in her crib.  Feeling blessed to be passing my Saturday night this way.  With a full heart, experiencing life's most pure and precious moments.  Smiling as I consider how amusing it would be trying to explain this to my younger self.  

Diluted Experiences

Sharing a meal with family.  Sipping coffee with a friend.  Walking the dog.  Spending time at the playground with a child.  Out on a date with a lover.  Various scenarios offering invaluable possibilities for meaningful connection and engagement.  In the course of a day, observing individuals in each of these situations opting to dilute the experiences.  Choosing to direct energy and attention to lengthy cell phone communication with others instead.  Distracting them from the gift of the here and now.  Leaving me to wonder if they would consider taking up the challenge of being fully present.  Putting down the phone during those precious moments.  Embracing the opportunity to pick up their life instead.

Precious Painted Rocks

A close friend of Kelly's calling to share a beautiful love story. Regarding an incident occurring at her recent outdoor wedding.  Held on the property of a lakeside summer camp for teen girls.  This bride-to-be having to adjust to the fact that Kelly would not be there as her maid of honour.  Something they had previously agreed upon.  Instead, incorporating little touches throughout the day to represent her friend as best she could.  Including the best man carrying a single rose during the ceremony.  Later, while mingling with her guests, being asked about the significance of the rose by someone unaware of the history. The bride briefly explaining the situation.  Moments later, her young niece, the flower girl, joining the group.  Wanting to show her aunt the treasure she had just found.  Discovering a hand painted rock lying on a pile of dirt, away from the crowds.  Golden in colour, with spots of blue, green and yellow paint scattered around the circumference.  The name Kelly spelled out in bold, black letters on the top!  What a gift.  An unmistakable sign.  Reassuring the bride of Kelly's presence on this very significant day.  Following our conversation, me recalling another special painted rock in existence personalized with Kelly's name.  From my oldest daughter's wedding, less than two years ago.  Stephanie and her friends decorating stones with glitter paint.  One for each guest, with both first and last name.  Using them as place settings at the dinner.  Kelly, like most of us, taking hers home as a keepsake. Precious painted rocks.  Symbolizing love, friendship, and  family connection. 

A Refreshing Choice

Speaking with a young mother of three, now considering a fourth.  Discussing the prevalence of expectant parents desiring to know the sex of their fetus long before birth.  Sharing this news with friends and family months before their child is born.  She, in the minority.  Choosing to wait until the Birth Day.  How refreshing.  Embracing the anticipation and wonder leading up to that precious event.  Boy or girl, what will it be?  The subsequent excitement of finding out in that awe filled moment of birth.  The majority choosing to deny themselves the pleasures to be found in this gift of waiting.   One choice costing nothing, the other costing missed opportunities.  Just because one can, does not always mean one should.

Gift of Sunlight

Sunlight shining down on my world today.  So scarce of late, this precious gift.   Very grateful for its presence.   Will be spending time outdoors soaking it up.  Tomorrow it may be gone.