cindy's world

Mr. W and I got home about half an hour ago, and as we drove up to our house, Mr. W saw neighbor A. sitting in his front yard and the two waved at each other. I didn’t wave, not because I was being a disgruntled biatch, but because by the time I turned to see what he was waving at, we’d passed the neighbor. After coming home, Mr. W grabbed a UPS packaged we’d received earlier in the week addressed to some unknown but with our address, and said, “Ugh, I hate to have to do this, but I’m gonna go talk to him and see if he knows who this is.” Neighbor A. does know everybody, he’d lived in that house since it was built, as he’d told us several times.
I said, “And when he asks whether you’re coming to his BBQ, you tell him you invited your old boss to go to the concert with us. Leave me out of it when he calls you pussywhipped.”
Mr. W skulked off and came back 20 minutes later. “He apologizes for what he said that day,” Mr. W told me.
I was surprised, because altho I expected some conversation about the BBQ, I didn’t expect the conversation to be about what was said that day on our driveway. “Did you tell him something? Why was that brought up?”
Mr. W said that he’d brought up the BBQ by jokingly chiding, “What’s up with you having your BBQ on the day of The Doors concert? I had invited some friends to go to the concert. I’m going to the concert!” Neighbor A. had said that yeah, he hadn’t realized it, and a bunch of people were giving him a hard time about it saying they’d rather go to the concert so he’s considering canceling the BBQ since HE wants to see the concert, too. And then he said he wants to apologize for what he said the other day, and that he shouldn’t have said that in front of me. (I have an issue with that it was said at all, but anyway…) A. said that another neighbor, Darryl, was at the mailbox and had overheard some of what was said. (I remember seeing Darryl, an athletic looking Harley-riding tough guy, walking from his house to the mailbox, and I know Darryl was also a named person that was attending the sausagefest. I had wondered whether A. got Darryl to attend by playing the pussywhipped card, too.) So apparently, Darryl went over to A.’s house and “smacked him up the head,” and said he shouldn’t have said that, and what’s wrong with him, not only calling Mr. W pussywhipped, but to say it in front of his wife? Supposedly, Darryl reamed him good about it. A. said he was kind of drunk and it must’ve been his Navy side coming out, and he apologizes for it.

I suddenly *really* like Darryl. I wonder if it’s a race thing (he’s also black, like Dwaine) that he did exactly what Dwaine had thought to do, which was march over there and set A. straight. I do think different cultures have different behavioral “codes” for social situations. This could be an interesting sociology study. I think my race, the guy would just tell his wife to chill and ignore it, who cares what the guy says.

But thanks, Darryl! You’ll never read this blog, but I send my gratitude out there for you.

Ray Manzarek and Robby Krieger, the keyboardist and guitarist of legendary Jim Morrison’s band The Doors, are coming to our lake for a private concert. Commenter Maggie is a friend and former coworker of Mr. W’s, and he thought this is the type of music Maggie and her husband Tom would enjoy. I extended the invitation to Maggie, she and her husband excitedly accepted. We’ll try to fit some kayaking on the Lake in there before the concert, and we’ll do a wine and food picnic for the sunset concert. It should be a great time.

I just checked the dates, and turns out, this event will take place on the same day, same time as my chauvinistic neighbor’s BBQ! And we didn’t even plan it that way. I guess Mr. W did get his wish to be “busy.” I just sent Maggie a little note earlier alerting her to this:

I just checked dates… concert day is the same day as “douchebag neighbor’s” sausagefest BBQ. He may come by and yell at [Mr. W] from the front yard again to abandon us women and join him at his house. Bring a rolling pin, cuz I only have one. 🙂

Maggie’s more on top of it than I am, because she responded:

Yeah, that actually occurred to me when you reset the date. I’ll fling my Harley helmet at him!

(I had originally given her the wrong date that Mr. W had thought the concert was, and then emailed her back to tell her the correct date)

The beauty of this, aside from the fact that it worked out without my (intentional) doing, is that the neighbor can’t say I forbade Mr. W to attend his sausagefest; this is a Lake concert that the neighbor is aware of because we’re in the same association, these are Mr. W’s friends, and who can blame a guy for choosing to go with his wife and friends to a pseudo-Doors sunset concert on a lake instead of a neighbor’s BBQ in which women were expressly forbidden? Right?!

These photos are from the American River whitewater rafting trip we took the weekend of July 24th. We left from a local meeting point after work and took a chartered bus to NorCal. The trip was organized by work’s Sheriff Department volunteers, and chartered 2 buses. Unfortunately, our bus took off half an hour late after waiting for stragglers, then one of the organizers got a phone call on the bus and made us turn around, go back to the meeting place, and wait for a couple that was almost an hour late. After they got on and was promptly booed by the crowd, we chatted, shared drinks and jello shots, and soon realized we still weren’t leaving. Turned out we were waiting for 2 girls who ended up being almost 2 hours late. They walked slowly onto the bus after finally getting there and parking, and moved through the bus to their friends unapologetically. Oh, they were boo’ed rather dramatically. It was a harsh long drive up thanks to now hitting major rushhour traffic, and we’d lost the 1st bus already. But luckily, after arriving at 1:30 in the morning, the trip went uphill from there and redeemed itself. I would highly recommend Earthtrek Expeditions for their awesome campgrounds, activities, food, guides, etc.!
So here’s Day 1, July 24. Class III rapids are safe enough (as you can see) to not need helmets. You can even swim some of the rapids, floating on your back with your feet out in front of you to avoid smacking into things with your face.

Me and the Claudio!

Me and the W!

Day 2, Sunday July 25. Me and the guide, Tony! Note his hat.

“Your hat,” I asked the New Zealand native, “Morrison Forrester?”
“Yeah! You are the only person to ever correctly identify the hat!”
Given the off-color (but funny!) jokes he told during the calm parts of rafting, I’m sure his love for the hat has more to do with what people mistakenly think it stands for, rather than a loyalty to the law firm that had once represented his wife.

Wanna see us go thru a rapid? I can’t remember which rapid this is, it’s either Satan’s Cesspool or Hospital Bar. I bet if you scroll down quickly, it’ll look animated! We put Jenny in front center (without a paddle or anything to strap her down with!) to frontload the raft for maximum splash and bounce impact. I love watching her expression changes. 🙂 (I still put a caption into all the photos, as usual. Just rest your mouse pointer over each photo.)

It was a great first whitewater rafting experience, and I want to make it a regular thing!

Proposition 8 banning gay marriage was repealed by court decision yesterday. Of course the social networking sites are abuzz with the debate. I’d stated my position long ago. Due to these debates, I did so again. Because one of the greatest things about this country is the people’s right to disagree on issues, I wanted to record these very awesome debates.
(more…)

If you’ve been a long-time follower of this blog, or if you know me in real life, you know who Grace is. She walked into my life freshman year of high school where I saw her at the school bus stop for the first time. She swore I gave her a dirty look, but I give everyone dirty looks, so I don’t remember this. She insisted over a decade later that at the time she’d first met me, given how I looked at her she never would’ve thought in a million years that we’d be the close friends we were then. So since our graduation in 1994, she went on to college at UC Berkeley and I went to UCLA, and if possible, I think we got even closer. I flew up to visit her a few times and attended her graduation there. The she moved to New York for work. While there, she met the love of her life, who lived in London, so the plan was that after their long-distance relationship, she’d move to London after marrying him. I complained about her moving farther and farther away, from 5 houses away in high school to the planned move out of the country. The last part never came to fruition, however, because she died from complications of leukemia. She did marry her man in secret in New York, although her actual wedding ceremony was planned for later in the year. I was to be one of her bridesmaids. On the day of her funeral I hand-carried her bridal bouquet, made by the florist she’d selected and designed it with that morning before my flight, to New York and her husband placed the arrangement in her hands at the wake. That’s the Cliffs Notes version, which leaves so, so much untold.

I attended our clairvoyant Rebecca at the coffeehouse workshop last nite (with Mr. W in attendance for the first time). I asked what my friend Grace was up to. Because Rebecca first picked up on the wrong Grace, she went through a few verification details next to make sure we had the right one. She started by saying she sees a “2” and a “6.” I drew a blank. She asked how long it’d been since Grace had passed, and I quickly added 10 years to the year we graduated high school and said, “2004.”

Aside: In late 2003 or early 2004, Grace and I had been musing about attending our 10-year high school reunion together. She’d said she would only go if I go, too. When her leukemia relapsed, I had said sadly to my then-boyfriend that I didn’t think she and I would be going to our 10-year reunion together. “I have a feeling that instead of being at the reunion, I would be attending her funeral.” I had hoped to be wrong and it seemed I would be granted the gift of inaccuracy when she found a bone marrow donor match and was prepared for transplant. She and her (secret) husband made plans for after her new “birthday,” including the adoption of a child (leukemia had rendered her infertile, over which she had cried bitterly). Before new marrow can be infused, the old sick marrow had to be completely destroyed so as not to infect new marrow, and this is done by nearly lethal amounts of radiation, after which treatment the patient will have no immune system until the new marrow “takes.” Grace did not survive the process; the radiation virtually dissolved her lower intestines and she ended up with a massive infection that her body was unable to fight off before the new marrow could take root. I will never forget that phone call. On the day of our 10-year reunion, I was in New York at Grace’s funeral.

I hadn’t realized that it had been 6 years since Grace’s passing, but that would explain the “6.” I wasn’t sure what the “2” meant, and Rebecca moved on. She covered her abdomen with both hands and says she feels pressure there. Lower area. She asked what Grace died from. I said “massive bowel rupture.” We had the right girl. Rebecca said Grace is a funny person; she’d be quiet for awhile but when she said something it was meaningful and usually funny. I have clear memories of Grace on a couch or in my room, silent in a conversation with others, and then at the right time, coming in with a hilarious (often sarcastic) comment. She got funnier as she got older. Rebecca said that at the point of passing, Grace had been in a lot of pain. (True; I had even forgotten until now that the doctors induced a coma in an effort to make her more comfortable, but she still hung on for a day. It took Grace’s mom and husband, each holding a hand with her as she lay supposedly unconscious, saying to her over and over again that it was okay to let go, they’d be fine, she can go to the light, it’s okay, until Grace finally released. A friend said the mother saw one tear slide down Grace’s cheek as she left.) According to Rebecca, despite the obvious good lack of pain upon Grace’s passing, when she did finally leave her body she had thought, “That’s all? This is it? It’s over?” She couldn’t believe that her life was really over and that she wouldn’t get to go back and finish the plans she’d made. This made me sad, because I know she never gave up fighting. Rebecca said that Grace does like where she is now, however. “She says everything they say about this place is true. She keeps showing me these beautiful flowers she’s surrounded by. Really vibrant colors, red, blue, yellow…” I totally pictured the introduction of Robin Williams’ character to the Other Side in “What Dreams May Come.” Rebecca quieted and seemed to be receiving more information, and then she chuckled. “She knows about your situation at work,” Rebecca started off explaining, as I thought, What situation? “She says…[Rebecca stops and laughs then composes herself to imitate Grace’s indignant tone]…’Who IS that woman?!’ ” I drew another blank. Rebecca asked me on her own this time, “Do you know what woman? She’s with you at work, and she says, ‘Who IS that woman?!’ ” Rebecca may have said something about a “large woman,” but I can’t be sure. It suddenly struck me Grace is talking about a new addition to my work life who drives me insane with the most incredible common-senseless acts, jaw-dropping ineptitude and lack of evidence of brain presence. As I exclaimed “OH MY GAWD!” and turned to my court reporter, who happened to be there last nite, and whispered the name to her, Rebecca was saying, “She says, ‘How can you deal with that?’ Haha! But she says it’ll get better.” Which is exactly the kind of thing Grace would say if she were around in person to hear all my gripes or see this for herself. At another coworker’s strong suggestion, I had started a log a couple of weeks ago recording events in case my supervisor wanted specifics when I finally lost it. Rebecca said that Grace keeps showing her these vibrant flowers, red and blue and yellow. She says they look round, similar to carnations. I had no idea what she was talking about; Grace’s bouquet was lavender roses and babies’ breath with green belles of Ireland. Rebecca says Grace is very insistent on her telling me about these flowers to the point where Rebecca’s getting chills from the image. She almost urgently described them over and over, balling up her hands to show me size, pointing to a powder-blue purse on the table and saying the blue was a little darker than that. *blink blink* Rebecca said to tell her when I figured out what that means.

As the readings moved on to other people, I thought to pull out Grace’s funeral card that I always carried in my purse. I flipped it to the back to see the date of her passing. October *2*, 2004. There’s the “2” involved with her passing. Now, to figure out the flowers…

Some cool stuff about owl symbology I found online:
* “The Wise Old Owl has all the kn’owl’edge, you are on the ‘edge’ of discovery and recovery.”
* It is a major Illuminati mascot, and appears in Free Mason symbology, including in a little hidden corner of your U.S. dollar bill.
* Many cultures associate owls with the bringing, warning, or symbol of death. (Of course, death to me is not the end; it is stepping through the veil to connect me from this side to the Other Side, i.e. Home.)
* In Greek mythology, Athena (goddess of wisdom, the Arts, and skills, and as a result, owls also became symbols of teaching and of institutions of learning) transforms into an owl. Athena frequently had her companion Owl on her shoulder, which revealed unseen truths to her. Owl had the ability to light up Athena’s blind side, enabling her to speak the whole truth, as opposed to only a half truth.
* As a totem animal, owls represent deception, clairvoyance, insight (often referred to as “the Night Eagle”). “Owl is at home in the night. It has great awareness of all that is around it at all times. It has predator vision, which means it sees clearly what it looks at. It has great intuition: it is the totem of psychics and clairvoyants. It has the courage to follow its instincts. Owl’s medicine includes seeing behind masks, silent and swift movement, keen sight, messenger of secrets and omens, shape-shifting, link between the dark, unseen world and the world of light, comfort with shadow self, moon power, freedom.”
* “The Ainu in Japan trust the Owl because it gives them notice of evil approaching. They revere the Owl, and believe it mediates between the Gods and men.”
* The White Goddess website says “The Owl, symbol of the Goddess, represents perfect wisdom. Owls have the ability to see in the dark and fly noiselessly through the skies. They bring messages through dreams. The Owl is the bird of mystical wisdom and ancient knowledge of the powers of the moon. With wide-open, all-seeing eyes, Owl looks upon reality without distortion and acknowledges it, yet is aware that with ancient magical and spiritual knowledge, he or she can make changes.”

Now that I have more background, this owl thing connects many dots through my life and points to a consistent path. I’ve always known of my connection with the moon (earliest memory of attraction here: at a jewelry store under the age of 6, instant love with a tiny silver ring of a crescent moon with a star, which was purchased and sized down for my little finger; ever since then I associated myself with that kind of thing) and my body’s biological response to the moon phases, the 3 goddesses (hence my immediate attraction to the Celtic Trinity knot upon my discovery of it almost 10 years ago), my current belief systems. Just too much to say here.

I have a male neighbor who I always had the sense was kinda, um, chauvinistic. For example, he talked to Mr. W in front of me many times without acknowledging me or looking at me, and when other (male) neighbors stopped by while we were all together talking, he’d introduce Mr. W but not me. It was a long time before he’d even thought to ask my name.

Anyway, on Monday evening after Mr. W retrieved our trash bins from the sidewalk, he went in the house into the restroom as I walked out the front door, as we were on our way to meet Claudio to get our whitewater rafting photo DVDs. This neighbor, whom I’ll refer to as A., came walking up across our front lawn smelling of the fat half-smoked cigar in his hand. “Is your better half here? I want to speak to him,” he said not unpleasantly as I ignored the “better half” comment. I answered that he’s inside in the restroom. A. pulled back a little and looked hard at me. “Really,” he said skeptically. “I JUST saw him out here pulling in the trash cans. How can he be in the restroom?”
“He was in the restroom when I just walked by him to come out here,” I answered lightly. Like I was HIDING my husband? A. started yelling Mr. W’s name from our front porch toward the house, and adding, “MARINE! I WANT TO TALK TO YOU, SIR!”
I said I don’t think Mr. W could hear him from inside the bathroom. I had even left the front door open about 1/3 of the way so as not to appear to close communication between the two.
A. kept going anyway. “I WANT TO INVITE YOU TO A MAN’S OUTING!”
I looked inside at the silent empty living room, again said that Mr. W’s likely not able to hear him from inside the restroom. A. finally relented, “Probably not,” then mentioned that he knows we do things on weekends and asked what we’d been doing. I said pleasantly that we had just come back from whitewater rafting this past weekend, and are attending a friend’s wedding this coming weekend.
When Mr. W eventually walked out, the neighbor asked him in front of me, “What are you doing August 21st?” Mr. W doesn’t keep track of schedules, obligations, events, birthdays of his relatives, etc., and had always deferred to the planner I kept in my purse. So now, Mr. W chuckled incredulously at the random date thrown at him by this neighbor and looked to me and said he didn’t know.
The neighbor A. said without ever turning to look at me, “I’m not asking what SHE says you’re doing, I’m asking YOU. What do YOU have planned for August 21?” I bit my tongue, and thought I’d just watch this play out.
Mr. W answered between chuckles that he doesn’t know what he’s doing day to day, doesn’t remember what he did even the night before, and that I’m his “secretary” and I keep track of events and what’s going on.
A. invited him to his house for a 5pm BBQ for that day, named a bunch of people who were gonna be there, some neighbors, some former army friends, some guys in some military position I didn’t catch “and you KNOW these guys took care of you in the service,” jabbing his finger in the air toward Mr. W in an attempt to guilt him into attendance. Emphasized this is a man’s event.
Mr. W was just nodding along, but making his way gradually to the car.
A. said repeatedly he wants to see Mr. W there and he wants to introduce Mr. W to these people, and then after dinner guys who play poker will play poker and the rest of them will “shoot the shit” into the night. I know my husband doesn’t want to meet a bunch of chauvinistic strangers and shoot shit; he’s not particularly interested in socializing with other people as it is, and now he’s gonna have to do it alone. Mr. W looked to me in a quick sideglance, and in a lull of conversation, I still managed to say pleasantly, “And if you drink, you only need to walk a few houses back home so that’ll be easy.” Mr. W said noncommitally that he’s not sure if we’re doing anything that weekend. A. insisted that Mr. W attend his BBQ, and added that if Mr. W doesn’t show up, then they’ll all know he’s “pussywhipped.” I’m not sure if Mr. W responded with something else noncommital or if A. just kept going, because I was too busy forcing my lips closed. A. continued, “Cuz some guys are, you know. They’re pussywhipped and they can’t leave their women behind. So leave your woman behind and be with men for a night. Don’t be pussywhipped.”
We were all walking away from our front porch toward the driveway where Mr. W’s car was parked; A. had his back turned to me the entire time, and I can deal with being invisible and I’m not particularly a feminist, but in this instance was irritated and offended.
As Mr. W walked to the driver’s side of the car and A. started to walk down our driveway to leave, I said, “That is NOT COOL how you put that. I don’t know why you have to say something like that.”
A. said, walking away, “Cuz you know some guys won’t go to something like that, that’s when you know they’re pussywhipped. If we don’t see you there, [Mr. W], we’ll all know you’re one of those guys.”
I called over my shoulder, back to A., “No, some people are just BUSY.”
He said dismissively without turning, “I know, I know, you guys are busy” as he walked off.

WTF. If A. could just leave it on the peaceful note of, “If you’re free, come by, we’d love to see you,” it’s fine and drama-free. But putting it like THAT to make it a challenge on me and insult, it was such an asshole thing to do. Was it really necessary to “call out” Mr. W? There was no indication that I wore the pants in the relationship, or that I would have a problem with this stupid outing. If A. thought he was pre-empting a control battle, did he actually think that creating conflict between a couple was going to HELP a guy get out of the house? He’d get farther by being nice so that the wife would be comfortable letting her husband go hang out with him, assuming that there actually were a tug-of-war of power between a couple to begin with. Now why the hell would a possessive wife (which his rhetoric seems designed to combat) be okay with the way he put that? It’s just causing conflict.

In the car, Mr. W said he didn’t care to spend an evening choking on cigar smoke with this odd neighbor, and he also doesn’t play poker, and asked me to “come up with something for that weekend” so that he’d have a legitimate reason to not attend. I’m thinking Mr. W should make an appearance to shut the neighbor up and leave early, and then he’d never have to go to another thing by this guy again.

I talked to the Universe through Rebecca again last nite, after being dropped off with Ann, going to the grocery store with her and buying jello, then coming home to make 2 boxes’ worth of lime and strawberry jello shots for whitewater rafting. Rebecca did confirm that the owl references and appearances means SOMEthing, but told me to do the research myself and let her know. She suggested it could mean something nocturnal (one or two owl references recently was people calling me a night owl, to which I reply, “Who? Whooooo?!”), and/or that my animal guide is an owl. I didn’t know I could have an animal guide. That’s pretty cool. Thinking back to the earliest specific owl thing (not counting seeing them on TV in zoos or animal books), I remember in junior high art class, we were randomly given photos of animals to draw, and I was given a photo of a beautiful barn owl sitting atop a roof with a dead mouse in its beak. That pencil drawing is still one of my best. I still have it somewhere, I think. BTW, I’ve always said that my Dodo’s face looks like that of an owl.

The second thing I asked… I said that I try to be in tune with the lessons and signs my guides or the Other Side impart on me, but was wondering whether there’s something they want to tell me that I’m missing. While Rebecca closed her eyes to receive the message, I felt the fairly familiar presence of a male guide over my right shoulder, left arm or wing wrapped around my shoulders from behind in a sort of side hug. This time I felt tremendous warmth in the area, too, along with an almost overwhelming feeling of love projected on me, so seeing Rebecca’s serene smile as her eyes were closed, I totally expected the messages from the Other Side to be, “We love her! She’s great! She’s doing wonderfully! She gets our signs!” That was not the message. I don’t remember Rebecca’s words for some reason altho I remember things about other people, so I’ll just give the gist.
* The main thing They are concerned about with me is that altho I know the path I’m supposed to walk and I know what the end destination is supposed to be, I let others take me off the path and distract me with their opinions and objections. This confused me because I thought my life was pretty well in order, so I asked Rebecca, “Is this referring to life in general, or…?” She said she’d ask and give me better specifics. While she had her eyes closed asking, I ran through the pillars of my life. My marriage is on track; there’s a baby coming at some point according to past readings, so that seems to be going the right direction. My friends and social life are doing well, no complaints. And then the one thing that nudges me every so often, which thing I feel so guilty about that I usually push it away so that I don’t have to think about it… I’d always said this was supposed to be a 3-year job while I figured out what else I wanted to do. My education and earlier goals were geared toward writing, so once I stayed on past 3 years, I comforted myself saying that the job will provide stable income and benefits for my writing, but I haven’t written much. And also recently, Mr. W and others have noted my abilities in counseling people and having some odd gift for making even strangers comfortable that they’ll want to unload their troubles and secrets on me for advice. Mr. W asked why I don’t go into psychotherapy. I told him it was because I didn’t want to deal with truly crazy people but if I were being honest with myself, I don’t want to go back to school for a degree to do it (altho Dentist Andy had suggested exactly that back when I was still an undergrad, saying, “And you’ll be Dr. [my last name],” which sounded good to me).
* Opening her eyes, Rebecca answered me that this refers to my career. Bingo. She repeated that I know what it is I’m meant for and drawn toward, but that I let myself get deterred from my path there by others. I nodded along listening, and she told me that when people are handed a gift from God, to take that gift and use it is serving the highest good (*pointing up to the heavens*). When we ignore our gift, God’s kind of like, “Hey, what about what I gave you?!” We should feel a natural pull toward gift-related things, activities, careers, etc. She said resisting being where I’m going to be anyway is like going down a river in a strong current and trying to clutch onto rocks and shrubs I’m passing — in the end I’m still going to be downriver, but fighting it just makes it harder and more painful in the meantime. It reminded me of what my dad always said to me when I was younger: “You can be mad and complain all you want about having to do the dishes, but you’re going to be doing the dishes anyway, so you may as well just not be upset and go enjoy the water and do the dishes.” My dad is very zen, by the way. So anyway, Rebecca advises me to do whatever it takes to get to the goal and stop getting sidestepped — even if it means going back to school. And out of nowhere, she said, “You’re not too old to do this and start on a different career path,” which is something I was thinking. She relayed her personal experience of being in police dispatch for years and ignoring the nudges that point to that it’s the wrong line of work, until she had to get kicked in the butt by God giving her a near-stroke, and her doctor forbidding her to return to that job. She then found this path which is more fulfilling. “When I was a kid I never thought, ‘I wanna be a psychic when I grow up!’ But I’ve done this for 20 years now and I get to help people and I love it.”
* She said that I’m very smart, and I know what to do, and people are drawn to come to me for advice because I’m grounded and give them a calming influence. But that I don’t do that when it comes to my own life, my own problems. (Ann said from behind me, “YES!” because she had only last week lectured me on this point.) Rebecca acknowledged that I’m much better adjusted this week than I was last week when I saw her, and that it was nice to see me more at peace now. However, when I go into chaos over the issues in my personal situation, the people who see me as guidance get thrown. She says they’re like, “How can she get like this? NOW where do I turn for help and advice?” I could feel indignance and vindication coming from Ann behind me. Heh.
* Regarding the stuff that throws me into chaos, Rebecca assured me as an aside that I’ll get through this stuff, I have “a lot of support.” I took that to mean Other Side support, but even on this side, I know I have tons more support and love than the source of the chaos has. She said the recent references to this little dichotomy of mine is a message for me to work on this.

[Aside: As I am writing this post, Rebecca responded to a message I’d written her thanking her for “bringing your special touch of spirituality into our week.” She wrote back, “Thank You, Cindy. A person can only ‘receive’ my spirituality if he or she is open-minded and willing to trust me enough to allow a connection. Thank you for allowing me to connect with you and for sharing some moments of your journey with me. It is my greatest delight to do this work and I appreciate every moment of it! Love and Blessings to you.”]

I had wanted to be good with food and gymming for these last 2 weeks before this:

Cuz, you know, it involves hanging out around people in a swimsuit. I know fat’s supposed to float and all, and if I fall overboard onto a rock, extra padding would probably save my life. However, right now my vanity screams louder than my survival instincts. So I returned to the gym after being “off” since our early May Tahiti vacation. I beefed up my nutrition (ironically, without consuming beef) with a tablespoon of chia seeds in hot water every morning. I felt energetic and my workouts and runs were pretty decent…until last Wednesday when due to circumstances beyond my control, I missed my first day of exercise because I missed Pilates. And then Friday, our trial ran late into lunch and the attorneys were ordered to return earlier, so I didn’t have enough time to go to the gym. Saturday, I was busy cleaning house (yes, Mr. W was busy, too) in preparation for Eddie & Michelle coming over to talk over some wedding planning stuff, and for a visit from Mr. W’s Rocker Bro, his visiting teenage daughter, and my father-in-law, all driving in from Vegas for the weekend. So no working out over the weekend.

We ate healthily when Eddie and Michelle were here, having grilled salmon, raw broccoli salad, and some light dishes Michelle’s aunt made and had them bring over for us. Sunday was a different story — I got some exercise kayaking at the lake with everyone, and in chasing after the ball in “a volleyball game,” Mr. W and myself versus Rocker Bro and his daughter. But lunch before that was pizza at Oggi’s (I had 2 slices of an “everything” pizza and 1 slice of greasy pepperoni, overstuffed with carbs), and dinner after that was Hooter’s. Turned out I only managed to grab 5 wings before they were all gone, so at least I didn’t eat too much of that bad stuff. HOWEVER, I ate most of the plate of fried pickles we ordered. [Two interesting asides from Hooters — 1) Mr. W used a birthday free entree coupon emailed to him, and because of that, three Hooter’s girls called the restaurant’s attention to him, announced he was having “another 18th birthday,” and sang and danced around him after placing him on a stool away from our table. Happy Birthday song? No! It was an active song to the tune of “Hokey Pokey” but what they were sticking in and shaking all about were not right feet and right hands, they were right wing, left leg, name tag, and finally the entire Hooters girl. Mr. W’s daughter got it all on video, and we got 2 photos which they printed out and gave us in a Hooters border. 2) Some dorky looking, dressed-down white guy in a hat came in and sat at a corner table in the bar by himself, and a dark-suited man with a coiled communications earpiece over his right ear stood at his back, looking suspiciously up and down and around the room and restaurant the whole time. Everyone at our table tried to guess who the man was to warrant this bodyguard, and they were naming possible celebrity statuses. I said he was a foreign ambassador or dignitary. Guess who was right? The bodyguard is foreign royalty CIA. We thought they would’ve been more inconspicuous if the bodyguard didn’t look so freaking paranoid. I started getting scared that this guy, who apparently the guard thinks is always a potential target in danger, was too close to me and I was gonna get caught up in crossfire in this li’l smalltown Hooters. Why he would put his bodyguard through this just to eat some wings at an isolated Hooters location is beyond me.]

I was still hungry after dinner, but I intended to be good. Unfortunately, Mr. W had no such intention. He drove us directly to Yogurtland. My conscience shut off and I made myself a coil of coffee froyo, topped with a coil of cookies and creme froyo, and for the first time ever, topped all of that with Kit Kat bits, Heath Bar bits, carob chips, and I think there was another chocolate bar in there somewhere. I would’ve justified that by telling myself I had such a tiny dinner I earned the calories, but I didn’t have a chance to defend my dessert. The moment I sat down on an outdoors couch to eat this, the container flipped out of my hand and landed face-down on the public cushion, which wasn’t that clean to begin with. All its contents poured out of the cup. I was pissed for the wasted food, but threw it all away and took the hint…

Today at lunch, I went to the gym and worked my chest and triceps till I shook. Thanks, Universe. You’re no fun.

I had a long conversation with Ann when she drove me home last nite in her car in front of my house, where Mr. W came out to check on us and Ann’s chihuahua Max who was hanging out on my lap decided to make it loudly known throughout the neighborhood how unwelcome Mr. W’s advance to the car was. In this conversation, she mentioned that she’d told Claudio she was surprised he drove all this way out just for this. Seeing clairvoyants was not Claudio’s “thing” and he did not come equipped with anything to ask her. Reportedly, Claudio had answered that he really only came to this “for her,” gesturing at me, presumably acknowledging that we hadn’t had the opportunity to hang out or communicate recently like we used to (I say “used to” as if we had a history extending beyond a year, heh). I was touched that he would do that for me, drive 200 miles round-trip for a few hours at an event that he wouldn’t normally attend on his own. That got me thinking about friends and friendship. I think I am the type of friend I’ve always been, but I was always hurt and offended in elementary school and high school because my crappy friends then would take whatever I gave them in the interests of friendship, but it wouldn’t even occur to them to reciprocate. I was asked to and expected to go out of my way for them, which I did even when not asked, but given the opportunity, these friends didn’t do the same for me, with very few exceptions. I remember being hurt by this as young as age 6, and high school was a long lesson in distancing myself from people, not expecting anything of them. However, even my brand new friends now seem to appreciate me and reciprocate. I hear a lot about how I’m a great friend, but I think they’re great friends; they’re the types of friends I missed badly in my childhood. I don’t know whether it’s that like-minded people drift together when we’re old enough to know the difference, or whether people mature and become the types of friends they should’ve been all along, but I love the family of friends I have around me now. For the most part, the garbage has been thrown out, and the gold kept.