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What is a Modern Farmer REPOST

I’m re-posting my explanation of how and why I became a Modern Farmer, and will ignore the desire to make changes like omitting a person, and will allow the excitement of my new found passion, purpose, clarity and gratitude remain the focus of the story.

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In 2013, I was hit with a powerful waterfall of emotions and tears as I blurted out I wanted to be a Modern Farmer, in the last hour of the last day of a Sonia Choquette six-sensory workshop. A Modern Farmer, what the heck does that mean?!! Aside from the magazine of the same name, I was very unclear about where this explosion of feelings came from, and laughed and scoffed the entire way home, no way could I be a modern farmer, oh the audacity!

Truth be told, once I uttered those words, I felt as if I had been hit by lightning; the spark had been lit but I had no idea what to do with it. A modern farmer, you say!? Oh stop.

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Moments after declaring my Modern Farming ambitions

I did spend the first few years of my life on a dairy farm in Huntley, Illinois, although I have little-to-no-memory of it. But now that both my parents were dead, the pull to be in the country was strong, much to my chagrin. I fought it, dug my heels in, as I really believed I was supposed to be in Chicago. I was a Big City Gal, in fact, I was afraid of the country and all its creatures that go boo in the night; the wide open spaces made me terribly nervous. Give me a deserted city street at midnight any time over a quiet country, star-lit night. Once while house-sitting for my brother and his wife in Hebron, Illinois, I called 911 because I heard noises and was certain I was about to be terrorized. After a brief inspection, the policemen said to me, “do you realize that’s the wind?”

I called the cops on the wind.

There had been such tremendous and rapid loss at this point in my life; jobs, addresses, jewelry, my truck — my mom — and through all this I could feel the magnetic pull back to the country. Or maybe it was fear? Or, I know, it was shame, because how embarrassing to lose my everything, so why not run to the country with my tail between my legs? And what was I supposed to do, pray tell, become a tomato farmer? Can I support myself on tomatoes? Maybe a sprout farmer? My track record with plants has never been great and now I think I can be a sprout farmer? Fat Chance. I may have been sitting squarely in the farmlands of Northern Illinois-Southern Wisconsin, but I had a snowball’s chance in hell to become a farmer, modern or old-timey, at this point.

I filed the day dream away and continued my desperate search of WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH MY LIFE?!

Days after Sonia’s workshop, it was Thanksgiving, and thanks to a wonderful invite from my generous ex-husband, Reed, I made my way back to San Miguel de Allende and then to Austin, which I now call home. I quickly forgot all about my farming declaration and moved on to the task of cleaning up the wreckage from my past. I was a fairly miserable girl when I was married to Reed and had felt terribly guilty about how our marriage ended. It ended badly. Certainly not the worst divorce in the world, but I never got over the guilt for my bad behavior and selfish ways. The years I lived in Illinois after the divorce were one big alcohol-fueled guilt trip. This was my opportunity to make amends for my harmful behavior.

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Whether he would agree or not, I believe I have made amends to the best of my abilities, first and foremost by being kind to the deserving Reed, and then by trying to be there in ways I had not been in the past. Not everyone gets a shot at this, nor would many want one, and even though it’s been messy and painful all over again, I am super-grateful I had this opportunity to make right a few of my wrongs. This has helped me to grow up. I like growing up, it feels good.

In early August of this year, after returning once again to San Miguel, I overheard Reed on the phone making a deal to sell his Mexican cows to a factory farm in Northern Mexico. Wait, wait, whoa, whoa WHAT?! I said as he hung up the phone.

Reed purchased his ranch in Dolores Hidalgo after we married in 2005; there were little or few cattle when he purchased it, and he spent the past 10 years adding to and cleaning up the breed of Limousin cattle to create a fine, handsome, beautiful breed of cattle; in addition to drilling for water and creating a majestic, sprawling, lush, 250-hectare Guanajuato rancho. The sound of the wind is amazing out here; I would never call the cops on it.

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Majestic Rancho Santo Niño

Given my recent experience with a thyroid condition and the need to eat paleo, yet finding little-to-no resources for grass-fed beef in San Miguel de Allende, I chimed in with, “we need grass-fed beef right here in San Miguel and that’s what you have. Why don’t we make meat right here instead of shipping them off to a feed lot, where the cows are mostly wanted only for their arrachera?” Reed responded, “If you can find someone to process the cows, you can have some cows.”

The next day I was at Via Organica, aka, Central Mexico’s Whole Foods, and within two weeks, the team was assembled to produce grass-fed beef.

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The handsome Limousin cattle of Rancho Santo Niño

And so began Rancho Santo Niño.

I had spent the past year living with the cows at Reed’s ranch in Texas; I practiced reiki on them, played crystal bowls for them, and especially loved watching the Texas sunsets with them within an earshot. I loved those cows and had (have) great regard for them. Reed says, “cows are dumb.” I say no they are not! They are amazing mothers and any creature that is a wonderful mother is not dumb.

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Playing the crystal bowls off the back of the pick-up for the Texas cows

While I have great respect for the cows and their place in the world, I do know why these cows are here. They are fuel for the people. Oh but how to get them to the people?!

I think factory farming is an unspeakable, horrible injustice to all the animals churned out through them, in turn turning out sick food; to which some people have responded, yeah but you kill the cows too! This is true, but how the cows are treated until it is their time to become fuel for the people is where I want to do it different. I see the hidden videos of how animals are slaughtered; it bothers me tremendously as well. Have you see the Temple Grandin’s movie? She understood this on an entirely different level.

The hard-working cattle ranchers out there producing responsibly raised grass-fed beef are my inspiration, and I don’t pretend for one moment to be a fraction of a rancher, nor skilled tradesperson that they are, but I have learned amazing things through them and with my own experience of working with the ranchers and butchers of Dolores Hidalgo. I have thrown my hat in the ring of producing responsibly-raised grass-fed beef and this makes me incredibly proud and I am excited as I forge ahead and learn new things everyday. I am in on every step of this process and believe it has made me a kinder person, a more mindful person and the gratitude I feel each day when I drink my bone broth is a feeling I don’t want to shake anytime soon.

Producing grass-fed beef been a profound experience thus far.

Cattle ranching done right can save the world’s global warming demise, so says Allan Savory; his TED Talk is extremely moving and inspiring.

Oh and that declaration I made two years ago? I suppose it came true…

 

 

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Remember that time my dog was kidnapped in Mexico?

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Friday evening, 7:30pm, I slipped into a bit of a staring jag after I paid for the piece of cake at Café Rama. A middle-aged Mexican couple caught my attention, eating their dinner at a small, window-side table. They were leaning in towards each other as she chatted a mile a minute, both eating their dinner, which is what caught my eye.  The kicker was that the woman was engaged in an enlightening conversation on her phone, tucked under her chin, as she ate her dinner looking straight through her husband. “How odd,” I mumbled as I gazed at them both.  “Aqui tienes,” the joven behind the counter handed me a piece of carrot cake and out the door I went.

Swooooooosh, I stepped into slow motion as my head spun around. I looked to my right, I looked to my left, Henry was not near the door, where I had left him moments ago. Just as I’ve done a million times over the years. Henry isn’t a roamer, he doesn’t trot away, he never leaves my side, well, not since I had him neutered in 1987 –errr 2004. He’s a very well-behahaved dog and he’s also 13 years old, so he’s in no hurry, ever.  I stood there in a stupor; my fever was still high and I really was in no shape to be out in public; I had been battling the worst flu of my life all week, and in fact this trip out was to finally buy some drugs at the farmacia because I could take the pain no longer. My thinking was fuzzy. “Where did I leave him?” I spun around in a circle. I went back inside and asked if they saw my dog. “Yes, we allow dogs, he’s probably here.” I took a spin around the place, Henry was not inside, which I knew because Henry doesn’t go anywhere without asking me. I was speechless.

This is not a busy street, in fact it was about two blocks away from home. I went up one block and two mariachi fellas were practicing on a bench. “Have you seen a little white dog run by here, wearing a leash?” “No, no ma’am.” I went to the other side of the block where a family had pulled their truck over to sell their hand-carved wood headboards, “did you see a little white dog walk by here, wearing a leash?” No, no dog.

Henry had vanished.

I was in shock when I arrived back home a few minutes later and asked Reed if Henry had arrived before me, “What? No, Henry’s not here.” Holy crap. Henry was dognapped!

Dognapping is big, easy money in Mexico; our little pampered pooches are a big bullseye for easy money to desperate thieves. They know all they have to do is swipe a dog, keep it for a few days for panic to surge, call for ransom, then arrange a hand off.

The first thing I did on this rainy Friday night was make a sign to post in Facebook. Then I posted the sign in Adopciones Perrunas San Miguel de Allende and Rescue San Miguel: Saving Lives One Dog at a Time. It was a Friday night, so there was not much else I could do. Except worry. And toss around all night.

Were they being mean to him? Was he out in the rain? Will they feed him? Was a angry dog going to beat him up? Or rape him? All my fears became louder and louder as the weekend inched by. This is a nasty little crime, yet don’t expect any help from the police; there are actual people being kidnapped all over this country for Pete’s Sake. Ahhh, but the social networks are alive and kicking, and many of my friends and acquaintances shared the message of the missing Henry in no time. How grateful I am for lightning-fast stretches of the social networks. I met some new friends along the way too!

And now, the waiting game. A little time needs to pass; the panic needs to surge. This is Mexican time and do NOT try to rush it.

Saturday morning I put signs up all over town and placed an ad at the radio station. The entire town listens to the local radio station, so when you lose anything or need to make an announcement, the radio station is where you go. I spent the rest of the weekend pacing and trying to recover from the flu; it didn’t work out so well because I was a runny, sneezy, teary mess. Sunday arrived with no new news, except my panic was ramping up.

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Oye Hark! The call came in around 3pm Sunday afternoon; the woman had Henry, wanted to know how much was the ransom, and to let us know we had to pay for her taxi to return the dog. (grrrrrrrr)

All Told:

$35              Print a copy of the original sign
$20              Make copies for distribution in Centro
$480           XESQ Radio San Miguel ad ($120 per announcement; I ran 4 ads)
$1,500        Ransom, puta madres!
$60             Taxi for Coyote (this was when I wanted to slap her, the nerve)

$2,051       Mexican Pesos
$120          US Dollars

Although it only cost roughly $120 to get Henry home, it was a very stressful and long weekend of worrying about his safety and whereabouts. Mexico has a way of reminding you who is in charge and it is never you, no matter what measures, nor precautions you take. The very legs of this wild-west country are built on corruption, yet for the most part, I admire Mexico and am calling it my home, with Reed, for now. Henry’s dognapping was a reminder not get too comfortable, because Mexico will always pull the rug our from under you. Donnie Trump may want to watch his back because the country also has ways of exacting revenge that I wouldn’t even wish on that baffoon.

People move here because of a lack of rules (sure, there are other reasons), but there’s a price for that lack of structure, as in things that disappear in the middle of the afternoon. And then I find myself questioning whether or not I’m a fit dog parent, onto shaming myself for ignoring him all those times I went out carousing and left him on his own. Brutal. Henry didn’t reminisce about any of this nonsense; he, naturally, was THRILLED to see me when he arrived home

It’s no scene from Law & Order, but the moment Henry was returned by the Coyote:

It was a huge lesson in the importance of being aware at all times, something I take great pride in, as I am a big proponent of strengthening my six senses. This particular day was especially off for me because all of my senses were compromised due to the flu; my throat was super-swollen, nose plugged, eyes watering, ears jammed, skin crawling; my 6th sense was practically DOA, and yet Mexico chose to kick me when I was down, as it does. Still, awareness.

While in the restaurant, I focused on the odd couple and how they were so intently ignoring each other, yet had I expanded my focus just outside the window behind them, perhaps I could have seen when Henry’s Captor made the dastardly move. Or not.

Aside from appearing a bit beat and dirty, Henry was the same Happy Little Neurotic Guy, although he did let me hold him a bit longer than usual. I’m getting back on my feet after this bout of flu (or whatever it is, Mexico) and will continue to ask of myself the following, “eyes-see, ears-hear, nose-smell, skin-feel, aura-interact.”

Gotta stay sharp! xx

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Temazcal we meat again

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Survived the Temazcal!

This past weekend, there was a “Festival of the Spirit” event happening in the park across the street from our casa; how handy was this? Incredibly handy!

It made for a really lovely weekend in the neighborhood; the sounds of pan flutes, conch shells, drums and kirtan came softly wafting through the house, as opposed to super-loud Mexican music. I enjoy the weekend mariachi sounds, but why-oh-why can’t a country the size of Mexico have one set of speakers that work correctly? Maybe they all go to ELEVEN and then some, but the sounds of this weekend were quite pleasant and I of course spent a bit of time in the park chatting with the healers, dancers and merchants. This was a delicious weekend!

I signed up for the temazcal and it turns out it was being hosted by Gustavo, the same man who ran the temazcal I participated in at el Charco del Ingenio (the botanical gardens) last year. Gustavo was looking much leaner and his muscles were more strongly defined; I mentioned he looked thinner and he excitedly told me his girl friend had helped him change his diet. Ahhh I am gluten free now too, save for a few cheats I’ve had since arriving in SMA.

Reading my post from last year’s temazcal reminded me of how fearful I was about recovering my health; my fears have quieted a bit, but there’s always more to do. Being diagnosed with a low thyroid condition BEFORE I needed to go on medication was a Godsend and pushed me to make the changes I had been entertaining; getting off wheat and sugar. Faced with the idea of daily medication, I jumped in with both feet. I started asking around and was absolutely floored at the number of women I met with auto-immune conditions and/or diseases, and the challenge to discover a new way of eating.

I don’t like being the weirdo at the party, the one who has to take five minutes to discover what’s in the food and then how to change it to my specifications, is there anything more annoying then THAT person? The world of living gluten-free is alive and kicking and the ideas are swirling all around me; thankfully it’s a lively community!

I successfully survived my 30-days of no wheat, no sugar, no grains, no caffeine on The Myers Way program, and came out on the other side a lighter and brighter person; I no longer cry at the drop of a hat either, which is a good thing for all those considered. I like this lifestyle; it works well for working with my energy and the energy around me because I no longer feel fuzzy from sugar, nor wheat. I’ve lost about 10 pounds and can run, skip and jump so much better. However, the challenges of maintaining this lifestyle are a bit challenging in Mexico, however, San Miguel de Allende is probably one of the more advanced cities in the country, even rivaling Mexico City for the access to gluten-free, organic and grass-fed options. People are moving here from all over because it is a forward-thinking community.

Reed has had a cattle ranch outside of San Miguel de Allende in Dolores Hidalgo for a number of years. I told him I needed a cow because I need to eat grass-fed beef and it’s hard to come by on a consistent basis. He then told me if I could find someone to process the beef, the project is MINE. I had a meeting the next day with Via Organic, the local organic shop that has far-reaching tentacles around the world, as they have initiated and are involved in many projects and educational efforts to reverse the effects of global climate and provide a more organic and clean way of living in Mexico and beyond.

We struck a deal and currently have gone to market and soon you will find our Rancho Santo Nino grass-fed beef at Via Organica. I am excited to be a part of this project, which is leading us to be involved in other projects in the community and elsewhere. Stay tuned for more information!

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Reiki on the cows:))

“The word Temazcal originates from the Aztec, “calli”, meaning house, and “temas”, meaning vapor or steam. The structure, made from mortar and stone, is symbolic of Mother Nature’s womb. Through the use of steam and healing herbs, the Temazcal ceremony purifies the body and the spirit.”

Amongst eighteen strangers, I once again was the only American and now felt very much at ease as I crawled into the ceremonial hot hut, while wearing barely nothing. It should be noted that I believe the Mexican woman is the strongest and hardiest of all the creatures there ever existed; this sweat lodge becomes unbearably hot and we are in there for over three hours, yet the Mexican woman remains unswayed and fully-clothed. Jewelry too. I am in awe of their ability to endure while the rest of us fall all over each other from the sweltering heat and pitch darkness.

I now understand and appreciate the community aspect of a temazcal, to be so close to each other, respect each other and to quiet the fears if you think you or your neighbor is going to freak out — and believe me, the idea is right there.

It’s an amazing feeling to crawl out of the hut after I’ve sang songs, cried and prayed to my Gods. I have been walking on clouds ever since and feel incredibly grateful for the experience and how it makes me feel. I am getting involved in some exciting projects in the community and am excited to move them forward.

Jump in that temazcal if you get the chance, it’s a wonderful opportunity to shed some unwanted skin!

And then there’s the #PicTweetArt, exploring even more deeply the energy between people. I am learning anatomy and how to draw emotions. My first set of balls ever!! :DD

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#PicTweetArt going deeper! xx
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Why I do the New Energy in 15

For the past 40 weeks, I’ve been posting a 15-second video to Instagram, sharing insight on what I’ve learned about energy. “Energy?” you say?! “Energy!!” I say! “Energy Balls!” I say even louder!! The road has been fascinating and it will be a lifetime of learning — tip of the iceberg, as they say. Some weeks are better than others and I find I am getting better at just rolling with it. I’m truly dedicated to this, so I decided early on to commit to doing #NewEnergyin15 for one year… but why?

Because there’s so much to learn, so much to know and so much to try. So much to heal. I don’t need to post the videos on the social networks, but why not? It’s fun and helps keep me focused on this, my purpose. Learning about video on the iPhone and all the cool apps available, are an added bonus. Doing energy work in public places has all kinds of perks, mainly meeting new people and getting over my fears. Sharing these videos with you is *your* bonus 😉 The more I learn, the more there is to discover, and so it goes. The videos will go deeper in the future.

Two years ago I awoke to the gift of feeling something different around me, in fact everything had shifted in my life after my mom passed away. I’ve felt compelled to know more about this strange new sensation because my vibration had unknowingly been raised and it literally felt like I was having a heart attack. It was scary. Kundalini rising, wooooosh. It took a few weeks to feel right in my skin, but when I did, holy moley what is all this??! So began the clean up of my life and it continues today.

What’s that? Was that an eye roll? Energy is a bunch of hooey, you say? Faeries Riding Unicorns, Sprinkling Pixie Dust on Glittery Rainbows All Over the Place? Believe me, I have heard it all — mostly because I’ve thought it myself; at least I did years ago, before I could see and feel the things I can see and feel today. I spent years trying to understand and fix myself through self-help books, therapists, groups, workshops, ETC., mostly to no avail because I was a bit dead in the heart. My mission was, “I’ve got to fix this thing that’s wrong with me; WHAT is this thing that’s wrong with me!?” ‘Round and around the treadmill I ran for years and years. It was exhausting and frustrating, and eventually I gave up and went back to my old bad habits. My eyes would roll as I walked away from “energy” people. Weirdos.

Millions of self-help books.
They know the treadmill.

Then.
As my mom neared her final day, she said to me, “I wish I had been nicer to you Meag. I was wrong about you. I’m really sorry.”

*boom*
I fall down, everything’s different. Closed my eyes…
The power of love. The power of forgiveness.
Millions of useless self-help books.

My mom’s death (and perhaps the other heart-breaking deaths I’ve been privy to) completely cracked me open in a way I was not expecting. I now feel a responsibility to understand what’s happening around me and to gain a grasp of it– not a control of it. All those years of annoyance at my mom have been replaced with gratitude for the priceless gift she has given me. There are things to do, but I no longer feel there is something wrong with me. I am excited if I am anything, for Pete’s Sake.

I read about energy. I study energy. I love energy! I practice intuition. I sleep better than I have ever slept in my life. I dance, I qigong, I t’ai chi, I make art— which has improved tremendously since I started playing with energy. I’ve walked through many of my fears and doubts and have witnessed some incredible shifts. I moved to Texas. I am meeting a new tribe; we speak the same language, yet there are plenty more words to learn. How cool is that? But in all honesty, my energy game is way off these days.

This road is not always easy; but it is necessary. There has been heartache and loss, there too has been ghastly name calling; I have been called weird. Alas… I no longer blink at weird; my mom thought I was weird, she then regretted it. I am weird. No biggie.

I’ve set my sights in a new direction because the past few months have been brutal at home and my Spirit has effectively left the building. This affects my everything; I am not learning as quickly nor effortlessly as I had in the past. My energy is stuck, wowza how ironic — and dammit this hurts. Luckily I have found a support system and am leaning on them; I am confident I will bounce back but my biggest fear is that my heart shut down again. Oh please not that. I hold my heart near and dear, literally, figuratively and metaphorically, and will continue to protect it fiercely.

Three steps forward, two steps back.
Expanse, Constrict.
Energy Balls.

Thank you for checking out my new website; Larkabouts is now forever larking about here and there. This site will house my art and energy endeavors, with more categories to come. My heart thanks you for following along — and reading — this far. Stay tuned for a few more weeks of #NewEnergyin15 and then… on to deeper things.

This week’s video is a reminder about why I do this work — I really do love it, even as I struggle through it right now. I am not, nor will I ever give up; I am Grasshopper 4Evah!

Thank you xx

—> My #NewEnergyin15 YouTube Channel is here <—

Follow along on Instagram
………. Twitter toooooooooo!

 

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New Energy in 15, First Figure 8’s

The day I decided to share all-things-good-energy I’ve been studying: Energy medicine, qigong, t’ai chi, NIA dance, intuition development, reiki, yoga, meditation and raising my vibration… all which have helped navigate my way through grief.

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Swimming through Fear

I wasn’t always afraid of the water, I grew up in Crystal Lake, Illinois, swimming in the crystal clear water and other area lakes at every opportunity and truly loved being a mermaid. But then came the dawn of JAWS and my swimming career was effectively halted. I remember trying to drown out my fears by singing to myself as I swam, in an attempt to not think about that shark and it’s reign of terror, but I sank in the fear of it all. One last swim in Crystal Lake at summer’s end, a snapping turtle poked it’s head up in front of mine and snapped at me — it was officially over. More sea-terror movies were rolled out, which effectively sealed the deal: Barracuda, Piranha, JAWS 2, JAWS 3, JAWS 4 (*cough*), Creatures, Tentacles, Titanic, ETC., I became content to stroll along the shores, even in the most docile of waters. The fear was big and silent and I gave into it.

Because if I swam, it would look like this:
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I sometimes get a little embarrassed that so much of my life became unhinged (and is still unhinging) after my mom’s death. I hear a voice back there “yeah get over it already, it’s been two years now, do your thing whatever, stop talking about it!”

I understand grief knows no bounds, yet why am I quick to scrutinize and criticize myself when I find myself still grappling with it? Oy, the personal pangs that tug at me in the wee hours of the night when no one is looking, oy oy oy.

It’s true, I still struggle with grief and the confusion from everything that is now different in my life — I am mostly okay with my evolution, but some confusion remains. I’m certain many of these changes were inevitable because of my age ta boot; as I approach 50, I understand with more compassion than ever that many women simply must re-invent, re-discover or re-up, or literally lose themselves. I have found many of Dr. Christiane Northrup‘s books and workshops have helped me sort my way through this with better clarity and assurance I’m not losing my marbles. My mom’s death was perhaps the the dime I turned on, bringing with it new opportunities and exciting adventures, although — in hindsight — I can see it was going to happen no matter what. I was ready to shed my skin.

On Mother’s Day, 2013, I put my mom’s ashes in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin on a brutally cold and windy May day. Her ashes flew up and around me like a tornado before they landed in the lake. It was surreal, for real. I was surprised to learn there’s a boat service available for people to put ashes in the lake, and I sometimes wonder how many people are in that lake?? Ashes-to-ashes, I don’t really care, but I do like that my mom is there. She wanted to be in Green Bay because of the Packers and I decided that was too far; I wanted to keep an eye on her in Lake Geneva. So began my frequent visits to the lake.

There is an amazing 22-mile walking path around the entire lake and as the cold spring turned to summer, I began to sink my toes into the water. And then I dangled my legs and stared deeply at the water. One day I jumped in and cried. This happened several times. I had lost so much… jobs, addresses, people, things… it was terribly scary because I had no idea how I would climb out of this hole, but I had faith and this lake helped me. I felt tingly energy all around me and something about my existence had been elevated — it was hard to explain, but everything was different. By mid-summer, I was helping myself to absent-summer-resident’s personal boat docks and full-on jumping into the cool waters of Lake Geneva and feeling the calmest I had ever felt in my life.

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The summer of 2013 was an amazing, amazing summer and I am forever be grateful for all of it’s lessons.

I left Illinois mid-November of that year and life became very, very different. I had made a promise to myself that the rest of my life would be “magical”,  although I wasn’t even sure what that meant, except that it was fodder for jokes — and I love good jokes. Guess what? My life has become magical in many ways, and while there are still mundane and challenging things about it as there should be, I am totally enjoying what my life has become. Call it magical or intentional, I love they way I feel in my skin these days. I miss the Midwest and my days in Lake Geneva — Chicago too, but life has carried on, as it should, and my dreams keep me close to it all. Someday I will be back.

Until then…

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Buenas Dias de Bucerias!

I am having the good fortune of spending this winter in Mexico with Reed; first at the house in San Miguel de Allende, and then traveling through Central Mexico while he attends to business. Situated in a lovely situation here in Bucerias, Nayarit, Mexico, this past weekend we made plans to spend the day on a boat with Chica Locca Tours that promised whale watching, water activities, food and drink, snorkeling, cave diving; a day out at sea on a very comfortable boat. This group completely delivered and we had an amazing, amazing day. Well I did, for sure.

My fear of open water is still pretty HUGE and when we arrived off the Marieta Islands (“there’s only one way to get there, and that’s to swim for it!“), it was up to us to gear up and swim to the island, where the fun would continue. I did not read this bit in the brochure and my heart sank a mile or two when this was mentioned. I put the fins and snorkeling gear on and became a blubbering, quivering lip awash in a terrifying wave of fear. Everyone was jumping in the water and I stood at the edge of the boat, trembling — NO I could not do this. It was too far away and it was OPEN WATER for Christ’s Sake and surely I would be eaten alive by some monsterous sea creature before I hit the island. This was the OCEAN, did they not realize??! I whelped to the guys I could not do it, no way, my heart was going to explode out of my chest and I was not strong enough. I waddled to the back of the boat to take off my gear and pout it out.

I looked over to the ladder on the side of the boat and said, “fuck it, I will hate myself if I don’t do this.” With that, I jumped into the terrifying (not!) waters and swam to the island. Holy Moley it was gorgeous!

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It was a gooooooooooooorgeous adventure and I am sooooooooooo glad I jumped in! We swam to the island and explored the caves and tunnels and dark holes that I thought for sure electric eels lived in and were waiting inside to kill me or eat me and guess what? They were no electric eels waiting in darkness to kill me nor eat me because they couldn’t care less about me! I was the happiest clam in the ocean this day!

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After this awesome adventure on Gilligan’s Island, it was time to swim back to the boat. Oh shit….. who moved the boat soooooooooo far away?? It’s even farther away now because some dumb law says it can’t be too close to the island. I was never going to make it and oh my gawd I can’t breathe and so why not kick wildly and claw at the water as if there’s a magic rope to lead me home …

I totally panicked and gasped for air as I attempted to swim for several minutes; holy Mackerel I was scared! Wait. Stop it Meag!

I put my goggles on and looked down into the water and saw holy mackerels but no sharks. I knew I had to stop this panicking and rolled onto my back and looked up at the sky. I needed to breathe more normally and take myself out of the equation. A song came to me that I sang in the temescal a year ago; we sang this as a way to pass the time while sitting in pitch dark, soul-cracking, sweltering heat:

One little, two little, three little Indians
Four little, five little, six little Indians
Seven little, eight little, nine little Indians
Ten little Indian boys.
Ten little, nine little, eight little Indians
Seven little, six little, five little Indians
Four little, three little, two little Indians
One little Indian boy.

Whad’ya know, I made it to the boat safe and sound!

Again, I was the happiest clam in the ocean! I have been walking on my tippy-toes ever since this glorious day, even though every muscle in my body is sore, but it is a good sore, a sore I am grateful for; a soreness that reminds me I swam to the damn boat, RAWR!

I realize there are people in today’s world who are facing much bigger fears and maybe not by choice, but by fire and I by no means intend to compare to anyone’s challenges. This was a first world challenge, for sure. I believe I become a better person, first to myself and then to others, if I take an opportunity to break down any personal barriers that have held me back in life, or have kept me feeling fearful. There is a freedom that has grown within me in the past two years that has altered the course of my life and I, for one, choose to celebrate all of these personal achievements, great and small.

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Sunburnt, sore & smiling :))

xx

 

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I am a Psychic.

 

psychic2And guess what, so are you! In fact, each one of us has been born with natural psychic abilities — it is our six sense and we all have one, even if it has been ignored. Much like the ability to sing or paint or play the piano, this skill can be developed with education and a dedication to nurture it, in a world that is not so keen on its development. And much like almost any other profession, there are folks looking to scam people and take advantage of the weakness of others. I have happily met some extraordinary exceptions and look to learn more from the studied professionals.

I’ve had quite an education in the psychic healing arts in the past year and a half. I never once considered myself psychic, although I was always interested in it because I was very curious about those that were psychic; what exactly did this mean? I saw stories and had no idea what that meant, so I went tripping around. As a kid, I was always being told to be quiet, don’t say that, keep your mouth shut….. and because I did not really know how to do that, I discovered ways and means to suppress these thoughts and feelings. So as I grew up, I treated it as a book that I would flip through every couple of years and then toss it aside. That is….. until my mom passed away.

I have met countless people whose lives have completely changed after the passing of their mother; I suppose the stories had always been around me, but I never heard these stories. I thought I had been prepared for my mom’s death, but even to this day, not quite two years later, her death still inspires me, still makes me cry, still makes me feel things I have never felt, but mostly, my mom has inspired me. I recently created a mission statement, and as CORNY as it is, it is oh-so-very-true for me: (yes, it sounds like a Beach Boys song lol)

“I want the rest of my life to be the best of my life and I want to share the good vibrations!”

I discovered I do have psychic abilities. That’s such a freaky word though, isn’t it? I rarely use the word because it’s FREAKY and people literally or metaphorically take a step back and put their hand up as if to say, “You will not see me.” I don’t blame them, I have done the same. Storefront psychics have given the profession a very bad name and in my studies, I learned that approximately 90% of psychics are scam artists. That’s a HUGE number of phoney-baloneys and no wonder this young woman got exactly what she set out to find; online psychic scammers. They are incredibly easy to find, so she allowed herself to be mostly scammed and willingly paid for it. Had she spent some time educating herself, she could have found a professional who could read the energy around her and with a combined effort on both their parts, she would have been left with suggestions on how to improve and/or change her current situation. It’s not hocus-pocus unless you want it to be abra-cadabra. We all have free will and no psychic has the final word on your life, nor should anyone allow a psychic to hold their future ransom for a dollar amount. This woman eventually meet someone who had energy-reading-abilities and guess what, IT FREAKED HER OUT.

I am a beginner and have immersed myself in learning all that I can about these talents of mine that I discovered late in the game; there is no clear path to educate one’s self in this manner, which is a challenge I fully embrace. I no longer even feel as though I have a choice, nor do I wonder if I have this ability; I do. Now my focus is to simply understand this thing that is in me and to that end, I am completely dedicated to educating myself and developing these skills because it is literally the things that makes me jump out of bed each morning. My hope is that everyone finds the thing that makes them to jump out of bed each morning because honestly, it’s the sweet spot for sure.

Everyone has a Sixth Sense, just as everyone can sing, but it’s a skill that must be developed and nurtured. Nothing about our American culture wants you to have these six sensory skills, let alone develop them, which is why turning off the TV and staying out of malls and bars would be a good place to start if you’re interested in develop these skills. Fortunately (!!!) I lost everything while my mom was dying and in my process of re-building, I find myself out in nature A LOT, which is the perfect place for me to develop and practice these intuitive skills. I have learned to meditate too — perhaps one of THE most challenging things to do in my life, because the world has always screamed at me and I always screamed back, that is until I discovered the gift of silence.

It is in the silence where I have learned my greatest lessons.

In the silence, I know stories. It feels as though I get tapped on my nose and then I see people and situations. Usually these situations are high-stress, traumatic situations, not always, but never a bunch of detailed information. In my study of developing these skills, I give much consideration to the ethics of this business, and have learned that it is best to never impose my thoughts or “advice” (eee-gads) on anyone, so often times, I do what I must to release this energy from me. This is where NIA dance comes in tremendously handy, and why I share my good energy tips on Instagram!

Being psychic, or rather, being in touch with one’s intuitive side (a much nicer way of saying it), is the ability to see or hear or read “energy in motion.” When I first heard this description, it made it much less spooky and less mysterious.

“The ability to read energy in motion.”

It’s a fascinating subject and there is so much to learn, so much to try, so much to see, so much to read, so much to feel! I have met some amazing people in this journey, as well; there have been some absolute nut jobs oh-yes-for-sure, some egos five times the size of Texas, but mostly I have met some of the most caring and dedicated people I have ever met in my life, and many dress suuuuuuuper-cool and have never seen an office cubicle. I LOVE IT!!

A good place to start if you’re interested in developing your own “intuitive skills” is Sonia Choquette’s “Diary of a Psychic“, and almost all of her other books. I have read most and have attended her workshops too, which are craaaaaaaaaazy-amazing!

In my late-twenties, I started on the path to discover these skills and learn more about them, but I eventually walked away, literally and metaphorically, because I wasn’t “getting it.” It was a long and interesting lesson, yet I was very, very frustrated because I learned all these things in my head, but nothing was happening outside of me. When my mom was dying and said the words, “I was wrong about you and I wish I had been nicer to you“,  it truly melted a steel cage around my heart and I was able to see, feel, hear, taste, touch for the first time in my life. My mom gave me an amazing gift before she passed away, the gift of LOVE, and so it is because of her I am dedicated to being the best PSYCHIC I can possibly be! And truly the BEST part about it is that I don’t have to be a PSYCHIC because there are so many other tremendous things possible in life now!

Now please, will you wash behind your ears before I have to embarrass you in public?

xoxo

love you

 

 

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What is Nia Dance?

Sometimes I burst out in tears when I think about my mom, and I’m occasionally surprised at how close I feel to the sadness, but I don’t question it, as grief is what it is. This usually happens when I am doing the dishes or sweeping the floor or some other mundane task, but not always; sometimes it happens when I am out in public and I find creative ways to work the tears into whatever it is I am doing. I get a pang in my heart and find the most comforting thing to do is to put my forearm over my eyes and let it all hang out, even if in silence. It is usually short-lived, but bellows from deep down.

Last night I threw a ribeye on the hot iron skillet and it hit me just as the sizzle splashed up; the sorrow of my mother’s death. The sorrow of her unlived life; dreams never seen, love never felt. It is not that I wish she were here, because we did not spend much time together and when we did it was strained — or something. I cry for her sadness and how our entire lives together were summarized in those few short days or minutes before she could not speak anymore. I cry for not having a daughter; who will hold my hand when I die? But still, my mom and I made our peace. She loved me. She was sorry. I was sorry. I loved her.

I often see it as my mother slipping into a black, fiery hole, on a board that is angled at a fairly steep 45-degree angle, leading into the black, murky hole. It is a big hole and I am kneeling on one knee on the edge, with my arm extended towards her, leaning farther in as I am physically begging her to grab my hand. There are angels standing along the edge of the hole, probably about ten of them — I just counted them for the first time in my mind, because I have not paid much attention to them. My mom is slipping feet first into this hole and she is looking back up at me, reaching towards me and trying to say something to me as if its the first time she is speaking to me and obviously, it is the last time. Always in this scene, I am reaching towards her with my right arm as I have my left forearm over my eyes, as I hang my head low in deep sorrow. She is leaving me for the final time. The sadness goes deep.

“Don’t be scared, Mom”, as she slips in deeper.
What do I know? Nothing. It’s hard to know what to say when someone is dying.
I miss her. I think she’s okay. What do I know?

When I am hit with this moving picture show in my mind, and once I compose myself, I think about how much my life has changed since my mom’s death. In many ways, maybe I too was sliding into a big black hole, because I certainly didn’t feel all that alive 18 months ago. I was trapped in my own fears, imprisoned by my own thoughts and completely out of touch with my heart. I had accepted that I was getting old and that there would be no more real moments of joy nor carefree silliness in life; only perhaps drunken silliness, and this is not really all that silly, except that it is pretty silly.

I clutched my heart a lot after my mom’s death; I thought I was having a heart attack. I couldn’t breathe and I was terrified. I reached for the walls when I walked in case I fell down. I was so afraid I was dying. Nooooooo, please not like this. I found a doctor, made an appointment. Then fell asleep for two weeks.

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My first trip after crumbling was to Lake Tahoe

After I changed everything in my life, I actually started to have real fun again. My spirit came back after I left Chicago and moved to my mom’s empty place in Woodstock, where I began to pursue the things that mattered most to me. People fell out of my life, good ones and bad, as did a number of jobs — money too; oh the money went tumbling out. I started taking long walks around Lake Geneva, because I simply had to move about outside, as well as doing lots of yoga. I quit drinking and drank kale juice every morning and soon felt amazingly strong and ready for new adventures. I was breaking free of the shackles of my life, which in hindsight felt a lot like walking through a long dark hallway while being striped of every thread I wore. It was beautiful and terrifying time, and the fears of the future were loud, but my faith grew louder each day as I awoke to a new ability to see and feel…. energy. Twirling Figure 8’s are what I see, everywhere. They make me hopeful.

I am certain I will spend the rest of my life learning about energy, even though I hear those sarcastic Irish voices in my head that say, “you do WHAT Meag??! You see Figure 8’s???? Should you be driving? Are you in the paint again Meag???” I boot those needling leprechauns aside and forge ahead — they cannot stop me now because they are all dead and I am alive and roam the earth with my trusty energy balls.

I initially thought I would be an energy healer in my next career, but as I dig deeper, I am not so sure. To work with people’s energy is to associate with them on such an intimate level, which presents all sorts of ethical issues that I’m not interested in, quite frankly. I have always been a bit of a loner, so I looked to other ways of working it. Which is why I am super-glad I have jumped into the arena by returning to my first love, DANCING.

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I am now a Nia Technique teacher, although for years I studied and taught Gabrielle Roth’s 5 Rhythm’s. I loved my time in the 5 Rhythms but my life fits so much better with Nia now. However, no one is coming to my classes just yet, but gosh it’s great practice! I suspect this dance may be a bit too progressive for Dripping Springs. Change is in the air here and people are moving here in droves, but the majority of people here are young, church-going families, who I suspect are not looking to take a dance class that combines the best of modern dance, martial arts and the healing arts. I keep my heart and my eyes open for new horizons, as usual, as I look outside of Texas.

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When I taught dance in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

What is Nia dance, you ask? When founders Debbie and Carlos Rosas created NIA in the early 80’s as an alternative to the high-impact aerobics craze, they called it “non-impact aerobics”. Over time they determined the acronym was negative, so research took them in a new direction. It was then renamed “Neuromuscular Integrated Action”, but how lame is that? About 15 years ago, a truth revealed itself: in Swahili, Nia means ‘purpose;’ in Hebrew, it means ‘to create subtle movements.’ Ah, the metaphysical truth.

In Nia, we use nine classic movement forms: three from the martial arts (t’ai chi, aikido, tae kwon do), three from the dance arts (jazz, modern, Duncan), and three from the healing arts (yoga, Alexander Technique, Feldenkrais). There are also 52 fundamental steps and patterns. When the custom choreographed music starts up, I move the moves by adding my own personality and style of dance, so that it becomes my dance — and I encourage you to discover your dance. This is why I really love Nia, it honors the skill level and development of the individual spirit with these age-old practices. There is no wrong way to do Nia, unless you are hurting yourself; you move in your body’s way. I learn something new each time I dance the dance and I anticipate future learning pangs.

I incorporate tools to improve my body’s energy during my class that I have learned over the past several months, and I also share them on Instagram, called #newenergyin15 . I’ve learned these tips from Lee Holden, Sonia Choquette, Lydia Wong, Donna Eden at Eden Energy Medicine ( I LOVE Donna’s energy!) and from my own inspiration, so it really is becoming my style and maybe someday I will have students!

When the tears for my mom appear, I let them hang out, because they keep me grateful and in tune with why I pursue the things I pursue. My mom’s dreams were cut short many years ago while she sat around waiting to die and then she fought like hell in the final hours. I’m attempting to mow down my regrets before they have a chance to fester; having sat with three people as they laid dying revealed some crushing views on life and I am thanking my stars above that I have an opportunity to turn my life around. Once again. 😀

My mission statement: “I want the rest of my life to be the best of my life.”
My quest to understand energy has only just begun, so do you care to dance with me?
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The Dance of Impeccability

MB White Belt

This past week, I had the golden opportunity to attend a NIA White Belt training at a crystal farm located just outside of Little Rock, Arkansas. I chose this instead of driving to East Austin every day for 7 days, as this option included a free stay at the farm.  I discovered NIA dance several years ago, well after I had trained years earlier in Gabrielle Roth’a dance, and felt its principles were speaking to me now as I prepared to deepen my practice. As of last Friday, I can now teach NIA and will be doing so at the end of September at two studios in Dripping Springs, Texas.

It’s an intense training; the days are long and obviously, very physical.  I loved every sore-muscle minute of it! The farm was absolutely beautiful and I am completely grateful to have had this opportunity to learn and get certified in Little Rock.  I especially enjoyed the early mornings with my roommates; I so rarely get the opportunity to have coffee and spirited conversations with such diverse characters, well before the sun’s day break. I feel a bit smarter and a dollop stronger for having completed this week on the farm. I’ve made some awesome new friends and hope to know hem for years to come.

It was a tremendous experience — including the few days I arrived early to explore Arkansas. Who knew this state was so gorgeous??! They call it the Natural State, I had no idea! Arkansas is an easy target for hillbilly jokes, and while of course I made many, I also learned an awful lot, and that’s a beautiful thing. Arkansas has quartz crystal mines, so there is quite an influx of people in search of said crystals; I even found myself in a mine and spent an afternoon digging. Amazing!! I explored the hot springs of Hot Springs, climbed a few mountains, greeted the rising sun from some breath-taking perches and spent an afternoon in the William J. Clinton Presidential Library; it moved me to tears more than once.

I’m thankfully out of hillbilly jokes because I have seen “the purdy” side of Arkansas. It was an amazing week and I’m excited to start teaching NIA!

A quick 9-hour drive home, a few loads of laundry and then Reed and I were off to Aspen, Colorado to stay with his Aunt Lucy and see the high country burst into the autumn season. Oh what a gorgeous country it is!

Hello Aspen!

I think back to where my life was one year ago — it’s completely different today and thank God for this. I was working a corporate job (or two!) in Chicago and really thought that would be my path, but obviously I kept falling flat on my face. Losing so many jobs — okay being FIRED from so many jobs, having to sell all my belongings and then eventually moving out of Chicago, was extremely painful and has deeply changed me forever. The cake-froster was my mom’s death. Only one year ago I was crawling out of the mire and uncertain about where my life would go next. It was, in a word, terrifying.

Reed came back into my life last Thanksgiving when he invited me to Mexico for Thanksgiving. I never thought I would see him again after our divorce in 2008, but alas, never say never. I never felt right about how things ended between us; so I am grateful to have this opportunity to get right with him — but mostly to get right with myself, because I cannot help others until I help myself.

When we were married, I was restless and had absolutely no direction. I was adrift in my pointless life and unmotivated to change it. I had lost that sparkle in my eye, that spark that had enabled me to endure almost anything in my life. Reed had offered to let me do anything — yet I could not decide and chose to do nothing instead. Can you imagine? We did a lot of traveling and moved into many houses, yet I became increasingly annoyed by it all. “Unattractive” is the word I would use to describe myself. I was once an artist! Not anymore; I would pick up a paint brush and cast it aside, feeling literally nothing except a dull pressure to be something I was not anymore. I blamed the world and especially blamed Reed for my injustices.

Injustices. How outrageously arrogant of me.

I have never been more focused in my direction, nor more excited to live an adventurous and colorful life, than I am today. I have pangs of guilt for not currently having a job, but I’ll get over it. I am working toward an entirely different career experience and how lucky I am to have the opportunity to explore these new heights. I start teaching NIA later this month, but that is only the beginning. I am aiming high!

~~~

I believe we cross paths with people who are meant to teach us something, even if it is delivered through a painful, one-two-punch lesson. Upon arriving in Aspen, Aunt Lucy completely nailed me to the wall, ridiculing me, wagging a finger in my face, wanting to know why I am so happy and what is my secret because she DOESN’T UNDERSTAND. It was scary and unsettling  — this is a very angry woman who is deep in her Stage 4 cancer battle and is duking it out with her demons. Lucy has everything and more than the “American Dream” would suggest, yet her heart is cold and empty. And scared. She does not like unicorn-chasing, skip-to-the-loo-tree-huggers like myself, yet she is surrounded by them and pursues them here in Aspen. She went above and beyond to hurt me and succeeded.

I was a wounded pup for a few hours but quickly recovered. The fruits of my emotional labor; I now pull myself out of the hole, rapidly, with very little drama.

I composed myself in all that is gorgeous and illuminous in Aspen, Colorado and it dawned on me that no matter who we are, we are all searching to get out of our pain and to know what love is all about. It can take a lifetime. Thank God we all have one.

im·pec·ca·ble
(of behavior, performance, or appearance) in accordance with the highest standards of propriety; faultless.

During my NIA training, we were asked to be impeccable. Impeccable in our words and actions. Interesting! It has caused me to think before I speak and I am now acutely aware of my impeccability — even if I am anything but impeccable at times. I am responsible for my happiness and my involvement in life. I am not expecting a doctor to hand me a happy pill, nor do I feel that anyone owes me anything. My life has become impeccably easier to navigate since I lost everything last year and re-discovered my true self and a deep desire to be helpful. I have that spark in my eye once again.

My research continues, as it is not over… xoxo

 

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Fired Up

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One year ago, I awoke early and headed out for a dewey, crisp morning Northern Illinois walk, in an attempt to sort my thoughts about my current job, and what the heck I was going to do because I knew I had to get out. I hadn’t even been with the company three months, yet I knew I needed out.

I fretted. My thoughts were half on my walk and half worked up into a lather because who was I to think I could quit a job with nothing lined up behind it? What would I do? What was my purpose? What was my passion? Money!!!? Oh my GOD, what would I do for money?! My head spun ’round and ’round and ’round because I had ZERO answers to these questions, but I did have a feeling that it was the right thing to do.  But how do I ….

<PHONE RINGS>

It’s my Manager.

She fired me.

Problem solved!!

I read my blog from one year ago and while I feel I was a wee-harsh on my mom in that post, I do believe I had tripped onto “my calling” but was not able to see it as such. It actually has taken almost a year, but oh what a year it has been! I truly believe I have someone watching over me, because it has been such an amazing year, since I no longer have that job in my day-to-day reality.

The first few months I paced and paced and focused on the fact that I had been fired, AGAIN. It is never, ever fun getting fired, even though it happened often. It always feels like a punch in the gut. Then I arrived in Central Mexico for Thanksgiving and stayed until March. After that I moved to Central Texas with Reed, my ex-husband, and it is because of him and his spectacular generosity that I have been able to pursue the things that matter most to me. And what really stirs my pot is….

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ENERGY! Energy in motion, energy medicine, energy movement, energy healing, energetic DANCE!

I have been studying under Sonia Choquette for about a year, although I first worked with her approximately 20 years ago in Chicago. I thought she was weird back then… but now I have become just as weird and I LOVE IT! It’s not weird at ALL, but I had my judgment back then even though I have always been drawn to the healing arts. I became jaded and cynical and included a bit of an eye roll when someone became “too spiritual” or in too deep. Surely there’s something fishy about someone who hunkers down and gets serious about metaphysical topics. Or perhaps I heard my mom’s raised eyebrows… “you’re dong WHAT?” “Meag, you need to get a job and keep your mouth zipped!” “Nothing is ever easy, nothing, we are stock people and life will always be hard.”

I continued these assaults on myself when no one else did.

Alas, for the first time in my life, this makes perfect sense to me. I have a plan and I am ON IT! I no longer hear my mom’s criticisms, but I do feel her smiling down upon me. No really, I do.

I leave tomorrow morning for Little Rock, Arkansas, to get certified in NIA Dance with my new friend Julie, and will start teaching dance classes in the fall (I studied and taught Gabrielle Roth years ago, so NIA make perfect sense for me at this point). I am training in T’ai Chi & Qui-Netics with my friend Lydia Wong and absolute LOVE the difference it has made to have this practice in my daily, early morning life. I was attuned in reiki with Dream Heart Services and Christine Lassota last year, but it has only been very recently that my Reiki Hands have kicked in and they are on fire! I am also studying energy medicine and the works of Donna Eden — I find this woman truly inspirational and frankly quite irresistible!

 

I’ve also started to share good energy tips on Instagram, called #newenergyin15; I am excited to tell a good energy story in 15 seconds! You can see the Figure 8’s here and the Slapping the Monkey here.

YOU CAN’T FIRE ME FROM THIS! Stay tuned….. and thank you Universe!
xoxo

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To Be Me Agan

The more I read and attempt to understand near death experiences, the more I accept how profoundly I have been changed by my mom’s passing; and it was not a near death experience for me, but a near-to-three-deaths-experience. Those weeks spent with my mom have affected me in such a way that at times I have no words for it, so I sometimes chose to withdraw and fall into my study and fascination of “everything-as-energy”. I am inspired by everything I am learning; my perspective on life has evolved and I am super hungry to learn more. Even though it may appear as though I’m sitting there doing nothing, there is an enormous wave of activity going on in my head, and it is true I have never adored silence as much as I do now.

Ahhhhh sweet, golden silent silence I need you so I can read the world around me…

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“The dots have been connected and there is no going back.” –Anita Moorjani in “Dying To Be Me.”

I just finished this book and I *love* her message and look forward to exploring more of it; specifically about how life comes down to self love. Not selfish love but self love — huge difference. But alas, this is much easier said than done for me; I have been reading self-help books my entire life and have strived to feel better about myself, i.e. change and improve myself so that I would feel good enough to be accepted by those around me and by the world in general eeeee-gads, much like the author. I’ve read wonderful books over the years, attended fabulous workshops, joined many, many groups, traveled near and far to look for that golden ticket, but at the end of the day, the week, the month, the year, nothing changed. I was still me. Still restless. Still discontent. I walked away from trying to improve myself, whatever, it didn’t work for me.

This has been a lifetime of mistakes and achievements and setbacks and adventure and only now, after my mom’s apology before her death, have I felt that steel cage melt away from around my heart and my life is forever elevated. Only now am I beginning to ease up on the harsh words and condemnation I’ve always had for myself. You could say perhaps I don’t care anymore, but I’ve never cared more in my life. My focus has changed tremendously over the past year, so I guess it only made sense that the Universe stripped me of everything in order to accommodate this radical change in perception. Well done Universe, well done.

Have you ever experienced a HUGE RELIEF? For me it’s when I eased off and stopped punishing myself for everything that would be impossible for me to be anyways. It’s when I gave myself permission to stop following all the self-imposed rules that have dictated my guilt-ridden life. It is a huuuuuuuuuuuge weight off my back and at times I have no idea who I am anymore. I’m okay with this. It’s not perfect by any means and I still have days when I get down on myself, but it’s a million miles away from what it used to be. If only my mom could have been free of this brutal punishment…. but that was not her life.

I also love the author’s message about food, as I have been afraid of eating unhealthy food for DECADES. Oh I’ve eaten it in the past, only to then punish myself in a variety of ways. Her fresh outlook on eating impressed me so much that this week I ate fried chicken from a chicken shack in Austin and I didn’t pass out! Oh it was gross for sure, but I enjoyed it with GUSTO. I had a coke too, YUM!

I am almost 50 years old. It takes what it takes…. and now I have my entire world ahead of me.

When I awake each morning and climb my way out of the morning’s dream, I get a mellow rush of excitement for the day ahead, no matter what lies ahead. I see things twirling around in my head, like magic 8’s dancing above me. I have a faery chandelier over my bed and I watch it twinkle for a few minutes as I leave my dream state and return to the State of Texas. I am pleased. I think of someone I love. I stretch and pet my dog and yawn and check my phone. I love waking up…

chandelier

…then I head outside to do some energetic sun salutations in the driveway. Henry has begun to join me out there and I work with his energy and get it moving up & out. He appears to be full of vigor once again! He has been struggling ever since he returned from Mexico a few months ago and has had a multitude of vet appointments. He is looking happy again…

henry

I sometimes forget I have been attuned in reiki. I sometimes forget I studied Gabrielle Roth’s dance for years and taught it in Mexico. I sometimes forget that I have psychic talents that love to be nurtured. I sometimes forget I was a graphic designer or that I love to write and that I can draw and paint fairly well. I sometimes forget that even though I spent years damaging my body with booze, smokes and poppin’ pills, my body is an amazing piece of wonder and it can heal itself. I sometimes forget I have power to change my life and live the life I’ve often dreamed of. I have started to remember that life can be wonderful and full of magic, even at this age when so many of us are overly-familiar with the dullness that can crush our waking days.

I read the news, I am not in some airy-faery cloud, but the best thing I can do for the world is to be the best Meagan I can be.

NIA

I have returned to dance and will be getting certified to teach NIA technique dance later this month. I am learning to read tarot cards because they help me make sense of practically every aspect of life and I love it! I have been reading oracle cards for a while now and they are becoming richer to me. I read Shakespeare and recently found this little book of gems. I love love letters. I have a little job that is good for now while I continue to pursue the many things I love in life and by doing this, I have a spring in my step when I bounce out of bed in the morning, even though I have so far to go. I’ve also had it about up to HERE with the State of TEXAS yet I am grateful beyond belief for all of the gifts and experiences it has provided me.

Oh To Be MeAgan… I loved reading this book and I really do love the journey, not just the destination… :)))

 

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The things you discover when larking about …

harklark

I had the best of intentions when I started this challenge; to share a part of myself every day for the month of June, and I do share a bit of myself each day on Instagram. However, I had to hit the brakes on my writing, because there was such a huge shift in my world, energetic and physical, I thought my head was going to explode. It did not and I continued to do a mountain on energy work and my inspiration have never been so charged to press ahead. I am consumed with it, this desire to push through my limits, to continue writing, to push the limits on almost every boundary in my life, all in an effort to do the things that ring true in my heart.

I’ve been afraid of being thought of as being weird by everyone “outside of my head”. No more. On this date of June 27, 2014, I no longer care if you think I’m weird, because I no longer think I’m weird, because my mom apologized to me for thinking I was weird before she died and I’m finally finally FINALLY starting to get it!

My mom’s deathbed apology was beyond a game changer for me — and I can’t stand that phrase “gamechanger” — but her confession yanked the earth out from under me, forced me to crawl on my hands and knees, shake my fist at hell and scream at the heavens; it striped me of all my earthly belongings; the things I so desperately thought I needed to look “normal” enough for this world… and I was not even happy in that world as it was all blowing up on me, but I had no clue what else to do. Much like the Titanic’s band, I hung on, singing my familiar songs of woes and going down with the ship. Gloriously defeated and striped of everything.

Except I was not striped of spirit. My spirit lifted me up off the depths of despair and dusted me off. What else would Spirit do?

When my mom was in her final hours, something happened in that room in the middle of a dreary Northern-Illinois-February-Day. There were sun rays on my mom’s face and I looked high and low to try to figure out where they were coming from, because the sun was no where in sight on this day, this week, nor this month. I sat down, looked at my mom, cocked my head to the side and gazed at her. She became a girl again. Her wrinkles evaporated, her puffiness slipped away. She was a young girl. And that young girl looked exactly like me. I sat there for a long time, looking at my mom, with her new young face and the sun rays twinkling on her cheeks. It was me, well, me before my reckless years and hopelessness.

There was hope in my mom’s face and her body was almost dead. But not her Spirit. Or was it my Spirit? It doesn’t matter.

My whole life I have been fascinated by spirits, by the afterlife, by seeing stories in my head that I was not sure of… and I kept all of this to myself most of my life because… well because my mom thought I was weird. She told me she was afraid of me and that I lived too loud for her. I asked too many questions. I was weird.

I used to struggle at the thought of people thinking I was weird, and that makes for a life lived on the fringes. But I honestly don’t care anymore if you think I’m weird.  I’ve lost everything in the world yet here I live on this gorgeous little slice of a ranch in the middle of Texas, surrounded by all sorts of animals that talk to me on a daily basis, all thanks to a very generous ex-husband, who only has the best intentions for me and wants to see me happy.

I have everything I need plus a stack of books and a mountain of inspiration to learn more, because I’m finally embracing the fact that I am not weird, that I have a very strong intuition and I can help others with my intuition — I proved it to myself this past week and have been crying tears of gratitude all week.  My whole life, I’ve been fascinated by this subject and never believed the reason I was drawn to it was because I have it too. I no longer doubt.

I believe!

My first step was to acknowledge this. And now for the good part!

Stay tuned, xoxo

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Father’s Day 2014

My dad died six years ago and I still am not that moved by it. I’ve missed him over the years here and there, but his passing seemed appropriate, if I am even able to deem a death appropriate, even my own father’s.  My dad and I had our difficulties over the years and I was not a big fan of his until later in life; after he got sober and after years of silence had passed.  We spoke about two weeks before he passed away, in fact I was in the very house that I now live in when he and I spoke and we had probably the best conversation we had ever had.

We spoke as friends, he was interested in what I had to say. I was leaving Texas, I was going home to Illinois, the divorce was really final-final and there was nothing more for me to do in Texas, so I was going home.  Exhausted. Depleted. Void of ideas.

But my dad and I had a really funny conversation; we laughed about things we had never laughed about and talked about me visiting him in Phoenix later that summer.  I considered it.

Ten days later I was driving back to Chicago and received a call from my brother Sean in Rollo, Missouri, Dad had dropped of a heart attack. Not quite dead, but inches from it, and Sean asked if I could just make a left turn and get to Phoenix. “Ummmmm, no, I cannot make a left turn in Albuquerque.” I waited until I got home and then flew out to Phoenix.

Six years later and I still have not cried. Not that I am supposed to be aren’t you supposed to cry when a parent dies?

My dad’s dog Suzy, a fabulous Skipperkee that I truly adored, died this weekend.  She was the last of his pets; they are all gone now except for his adoring wife that is so tragically sad about my dad’s departure, it is heart-breaking. I cried rivers of tears for Suzy today.

I did not spend much time thinking of my dad today, I think because he moved out of my life oh so many years ago and this day never really meant many things to me.

My dad was happy with his life. I think.

 

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deathbed regrets

I seem to be stumbling upon more and more stories about deathbed regrets. I have been doing a load of writing these days, both sharing publicly and privately; I write as soon as I wake up, freehand, a la The Artist’s Way morning pages, just to dump the garbage out of my head to start the day.

So I was prompted, what would be my deathbed regrets? Free form, just letting it flow, no edits, just a few typos:

I would regret not loving more, that I kept to myself for most of my 40’s because I didn’t think I was good enough for the company of anyone. I was ashamed of myself because I struggled with smoking cigarettes and feeling absolutely horrible about that but was unable to stop. I felt bad for wrecking my marriage to Reed which was another reason I hid out — I didn’t think I was lovable anymore. That has all changed since I’ve made peace with Reed and my mom apologized to me; I, for the first time in my life, felt I had to stop doing bad and harmful things — like smoking, which when I was ready to quit a month after my mom died, I smoked my last butt on the morning of March 11, 2013 and celebrated that freedom without looking back ——— that is until I arrived in Mexico for Thanksgiving. I totally love being a non-smoker and I see now that my years of struggles with that awful trap were a way for me to continue to hide. My thinking was, “no one loves me, so who cares if I smoke?” And so I would smoke and say, “well no one is going to love me because I smoke so who cares, I’ll keep smoking.” It was a vicious cycle and it tormented me for years because I knew that was not who I was deep down and that I had been smothering myself, my true self for a very long time in order to just maintain – but that was hardly maintaining, that was being totally dishonest to who I was deep down and I was a broken girl for many years because of it, or so I thought.

I always knew my mom was not crazy about me. She much preferred my brothers and I knew it and I guess in hindsight it hurt my feelings that she thought I was weird and different and mostly she just tolerated me. But I was definitely the weird one, and that’s how I lived my life, as an outcast, never really understanding that it had anything to do with my mom. I know I had daddy issues — what girl doesn’t, and worked through most of them, but I never made a connection to not feeling loved by my mom. And I’m not blaming her — I know that she was not favored much as a young girl herself — my grandmom preferred the boys over my my mom as well; she was just passing the buck. And unfortunately or now perhaps fortunately, I have always felt too much, always wondered too deep, always searched so high for my answers in life — which drove my mom crazy — and my entire life I have been asking, “what is wrong with me?” and now I know that there was nothing wrong with me, I just didn’t feel loved; I was hungry, and now at this age and intersection of my life, I can do something about this before it is too late and then perhaps I won’t have deathbed regrets of not having loved enough.

My mom said, “y’know, I was wrong about you… I wish I had gotten to know you… I am sorry I was not nicer to you….” and these words were the magic potion that melted the steel cage around around my heart and now I cannot deny loving myself for the first time in my life. At this age of 48, I have connected the dots and understand that there has been nothing wrong with me, and now I choose love.

My mom’s words haunt me on a daily basis and I can live with this because it is a constant reminder that I want to be really good to myself and rise above. I was a sarcastic, angst-ridden woman my whole life, I leaned on pills, booze and smokes; not all of the years, but many of them, in between long stretches of sobriety, yet I would rush back to these vices when the going got tough and they would take my pain away for the moment, for the night, for the moment. I did years of therapy, 12-step groups, alternative therapies, and just flat out abstinence from everything, inducing food one year, and then I would still end up feeling like shit because I picked shitty men, men who didn’t care about me and ignored me and rejected me. I lived life as a healthy person on the outside, because that’s totally who I wanted to be yet on the inside I was grasping for straws and crying and felt lost and unloved and empty and I never understood why and I would work to make money so I could ask yet another professional, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME??” and I never got a satisfying answer.

It’s been a wicked ride, without a doubt, because through all of this, I was always up for an adventure and I traveled far and wide to search for these answers or to just escape myself. I think my Spirit kept me alive and searching, knowing that someday I would find that answer — so my Spirit or my Angels or my God or something decided to let me live even though I attempted suicide twice in my young life. My calls for help ran deep.

And who fucking knew that it would be my mothers’ deathbed apology that would sky-rocket me into arriving at the answer to my life-long question and discovering that THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME, IT’S ALL ABOUT LOVE.

Love, love, love, I honestly never in a million years realized the answer would be so simple. And when I awoke from the funeral, from the nightmare of losing yet another job, from the freedom of quitting smoking, I looked at myself in the mirror and said,

“well there you are, hi.”

I no longer harm myself with shitty harmful things and people who do not care about me. I intend to live the remainder of life in loud, colorful and vibrant way. Surrounded by love xoxo.

Thank you Mom.

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When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

Laughing all the way home!
Laughing all the way home!

I believe in the afterlife and I believe I we are visited by those whom have passed before us. I take comfort in knowing that I receive visitors; not often, not every day, but I know it when it happens. And yesterday’s visit made me laugh and cry and I’m *still* laughing.

Tom McGovern was a very crabby man and was proud of the fact that he didn’t like people. Tom was my uncle, twin to my other uncle, Tim McGovern. Tim was quite possibly the happiest McGovern out there, and that’s saying something, because the McGoverns loved to be the antagonists, the pot-stirrers, the rabble-rousers, the I’ll-speak-my-mind-and-probably-never-apologize-later type of people. I grew up around some wicked-biting sarcasm, and admit I have enjoyed many of the tongue lashings I have been witness to over the years.

The Twins fit together, like peas and carrots; Nice Twin, Evil Twin and together they balanced each other out.

They were 12 years older than me, so when I appeared on the farm back in the day, they were right there and were like brothers to me. Tim was my favorite and I adored him from the moment I met him. We were great friends our entire lives until he left this earth in 2010, struck down by cancer and a terrible fear of doctor visits.

My heart; officially broken.

Tom did not like being in this world without Tim, I don’t think he had a peaceful day after Tim’s funeral. His heart was not only broken; it was now half missing. He became even angrier and although we attempted to remain civil towards each other, eventually we stopped talking. Even as I received news that Tom was not well, I said nothing to him. He was mean and hurt my feelings boo-freakin’-hoo.

In January of 2013, my brother Sean called to say Tom was in Cook Country Hospital and that it didn’t look good. Then a call from my mom, “Don’t go see him Meagan, he doesn’t want to see you.” I lived blocks away from Cook County Hospital and I said to my mom, “If he wants to go to his grave hanging on to some stupid outrageous resentment, that’s his choice — that seems to be everyone’s choice in this family, but it’s NOT how I live and I am GOING to go see him!!” Even my Aunt Nancy called to say not to visit, that he was still mad at me. I said nothing, then hung up. I went to Cook County Hospital to see my Uncle Tom.

We had a lively talk; he talked about who he wanted to say goodbye to and what he will miss. We laughed about eating hot dogs and skittles. He asked me to bring him an Italian sub from Bari on Grand, I agreed. He talked of the Board of Trade and how he missed Tim. He told me to go see my mother. I hugged him through the masks and tubes. We both had tears in our eyes.

“Do you know what’s going on here, Tom?” “Yeah of course, Mommie Dearest is standing in the doorway, waving at me.” “Anyone else standing there?” “No.” “Are you okay with this?” “Yes.”

Tom died three days later. Refused his last rites, take THAT Catholics.

So yesterday I was in Zumba class and it was packed to the gills with the ladies from Dripping Springs. The energy was high and the music was pumping and everyone was in a great mood. You could feel it! I really do love starting my day with this class, it’s a kick to the heart and there are so many women in this class who are enjoying the hell out of it — I am one of those gals.

About ten minutes into class, I said to myself, “oh my there’s a lot of young nursing mothers in this class, obviously!!” The amount of jiggling, bouncy, brightly covered boobs were more remarkable this day than on any other day, and the hips were in full gyration as well! I glanced at the instructor Anna, and in a flash, her smiling face became my Uncle Tom’s face. I quickly looked away and said to myself, “WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT, TOM?????!?!?!”

I couldn’t look at her yet, my eyes darted around the room; I continued to zumba away and I fired out the questions…. “Tom hates health clubs, why would he show up here? Plus Tom hates me, what is he doing here?” Then I looked up and around at the women in the room and saw again that the room was full of voluptuous, dancing breasts, bouncing from one side of the room to the other and it made me smile. I was ready to look at Anna and sure enough, there was Tom’s smiling face looking at me, looking around the room, laughing, laughing, LAUGHING! He was beaming!

I started laughing too, and then tears streamed down my face. I didn’t stop dancing, I kept zumbaing, as I looked at all the wonderful bouncing boobs and I was hysterical in my head! I laughed all the way home and was so very happy to see my Uncle Tom, and to see his Irish eyes were a’smiling, xoxo.

Tom & I, that one time we posed together 😀
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And now a Lark’s word on Creativity

…. that magical buzzword everyone is in search of.

when I was in San Antonio about a week or so ago, I visited a darling bookstore named Twig and asked if they had the book, “Notes on Graphic Design and Visual Communication” as was recommended by Jack WOW Davis in his CreativeLive Creative Photography class that I took last week.  The clerk told me they did not have it in stock but she would be happy to order it, to which I replied, “no, that’s okay, I’ll order it from Amazon.”

Well the clerk just about crumbled to pieces and said, “nooooooooooo, not Amazon!!!”  “Oh my gosh, I am sooooooooo sorry, that’s probably the worst thing I could have said in here! I will not order it from Amazon, I promise!!”

I did not order it from Amazon, I was able to find it at the independent bookstore Half Price Books and need to pick it up one of these days.

While the lovely clerk and I were chatting about books and graphic design and whatnot, a book called, “Steal Like An Artist” caught my eye. I felt a tad guilty for making the Amazon mention, so I decided to purchase this little book; I liked the title and it looked like a quick, interesting read.   It’s a GREAT little read about how to stop making excuses and pop open that creativity.  And of course it got me thinking…..

I KNOW I am a Creative-Type but, but, but…..

I have been taking loads of lessons in the past year, and even though my brain is sparky with all sorts of new lessons, I feel a little embarrassed to share most of it.  There’s a part of me that says I should already know how to do these things, so keep it mums, no one wants to know. Well that’s It’s the evil side of our ego, something I learned all to well while doing Julia Cameron’s The Artist Way 12-week creativity program in Mexico this past winter.  I still am doing the morning pages, which is H-A-R-D because a million other things draw my attention when I first awake in the morning. But I have been diligent about this sunrise exercise. Writing free-form morning pages does this lark a world of good to dump the junk out of my head to so it’s easier to focus on my goals.

Now…. what are my goals?

Well, y’see, I know I can do a million different things. I practice them all the time and then keep it to myself.  Phooey, no more. I want to begin to fine-tune some of these skills I am learning.  I want to publicly learn new things, and this magical thing called the internet and my little Lark of a blog will help me achieve this goal.

Tonight I attended a book signing for Steal Like An Artist’s author, Austin Kleon.  He encouraged publicly learning things as a way to bone up our braveness.  I want to bone UP the brave! I get scared but so what! No more.

Tomorrow, June 1, 2014, I start my 30-Day Public Learning Challenge.  There are no rules.

meagburnt_show_it

These are just some of the things I’ve learned in the past year and I’m totally excited to learn more new cool things. Tomorrow I’m going to learn about raising chickens in my front or backyard, I haven’t decided which just yet. I am excited for this cluck-CLUCKKKKKKK! And don’t be chicken again!

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Motherless Day 2014

Charro Ranch swimming hole

Every evening at sunset, I have the extreme fortune to jump into a man-made swimming hole in the middle of a Texas Hill Country ranch and it is completely invigorating and effervescent.  The water is cold, the tadpoles are lively, and the scenery is a-buzz, even sometimes with horses or cows.

I am doing this plunge every day for the month of May to help me get settled in my new house and community. I am really enjoying the land and opportunities to rub elbows with nature.  Lawdy the bugs are big and will only get bigger as the summer heats up, so I hold a respectful appreciation of all the creatures whose path I cross. My recent interlude with a scorpion in the kitchen sink reminded me of where I am and who rules the roost in Texas. Not me.

This weekend is Mother’s Day. Wow that year flew by quickly, as they all tend to do as I get older. Even with all the year’s logistical changes, the lessons of my mom’s death are still at the forefront of my thoughts and play a part in almost every action I take, every decision I make.

One year ago, I was FREEZING as I stood on a super-windy pier, tossing my mom’s ashes into the icy waters of Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. The ashes flew all up and around me but eventually found their way back into the water and I watched with tears in my eyes as the smokey ashes swirled away into the water. It was the biting wind that caused my tears on this occasion and honestly, I gave no thought to Juls’ ashes once they were where she had requested; in Wisconsin.

There were conversations that she would have preferred Green Bay, because she was a diehard Packer Fan. I shot that down because I wanted to keep her close to me. I was adamant that I had to keep an eye on her and make sure she was okay; although I had declined to pick up her ashes from the funeral home until this Mother’s Day. I was certain I did not want her in the house with me — but that I needed to keep an eye on her. Strange, perhaps.

My mom and I always loved Lake Geneva, but never for any shared memories, we each had our own reasons. Now that Juls was in the lake, I started visiting on a regular basis to chat with her. I honestly felt better when I would first see the lake because it felt like she was happy, finally. My mom was not a happy woman, especially later in life, but now I believe she was free. It made me smile to think she was swimming around Wisconsin, in the beautiful clear lake, eating pretzels and drinking beer with all the other Packer fans.

When I was 13, I saw the movie JAWS and I wished I hadn’t, who’s with me on that? Once an avid swimmer, I suddenly was terrified of ALL water and honestly avoided every opportunity to swim in anything other than a chlorinated pool for the rest of my days. I don’t like fish and I don’t like seaweed. I don’t swim in Lake Geneva or any other lake, river or ocean for that matter.

Funny thing happened as I started to visit Juls’ in Lake Geneva, soon I found myself climbing into the water. And swimming. With fish. Naked (when I could get away with it!). And often. I would hike around the walking path on the days I could get up to Lake Geneva and jump in where I could. Preferably at sunset.

I took a paddle-board lesson… LOVED IT, then joined a paddle-board club (“tribe”), where we went on weekend outings. I started kayaking and enjoyed this too because I could bring Henry with me. I LOVED being in the water and still do today — even in Texas, where the bugs and fish are BIG and angry!

Me, the one who was horribly uncomfortable in the water now finds comfort in the water.

I recently read “Motherless Daughters” for the first time and although it tends to mostly speak to women who lost their mothers when they were younger, nonetheless I clearly understand it to say that when a woman loses her mother, no matter what age, her life is profoundly and forever changed.

For me, this has meant re-examining EVERYTHING. I did not set out to do this, but in the year and months since mom died, I have become extremely aware of my own mortality and interested in understanding where I came from and how I became the person I am today. There is also an unstoppable force to be a better person.

I like being nice, who knew?

Not only did my mom die in front of me as we held on tight to each other for the first time in our lives, but she apologized. I may have said this before and I will say it for the rest of my life; my mom’s deathbed apology has altered me forever and because of it, I have worked endlessly to change old, tired beliefs that have never served me — nor my treatment of you.

Juls said she was wrong about me. That she wished she had been nicer to me. Was sorry that she didn’t get to know me better.

When she was saying these things, I said, “CUT IT OUT MOM! It’s not like you are dying or something!” I didn’t know what-what. But that’s okay.

My mom’s apology melted a steel cage from around my heart and this has been an indescribable feeling, and one of the most freeing feelings in my life. See “How The Grinch Stole Christmas” for a better description.

I spent my adult life reading self help books, attending workshops, seeing shamans, psychologists, you name it… always digging to discover what was wrong with me and on and on and on…. and never discovering the answers; that anxiousness and restlessness stayed, churning away at me. I kept hearing it was Daddy Issues and sure there were some of those, but nothing will compare to the freedom pill my mom gave me when she acknowledged some of the choices she made in her life — and for this, she was regretful and was sorry.

My life: changed forever.

The year has not been without heartache nor challenges; I am still recovering from the sting of losing a number of jobs, all my stuff and I lost all my stuff, did I mention this?  But at this point, this has become my Badge of Honor. I am finding my way. I found my ex-husband in Mexico and have made amends for the mistakes I made when I was his wife. We are living together in Texas now, peacefully for the most part, and with a much better understanding and appreciation of each other. He has a very big life and it has been a wonderful opportunity to get to know Reed and his world once again; this time with eyes that love and not hate.

Today I jump in the water with the bugs, frogs and bats at every sunset. I walk the fields with my camera and take pictures of cows, flowers, naughty horses and sunsets. I cook healthy meals that sometime include bacon and BBQ and am enjoying learning about native plants and birds. Oh the birds! I never noticed the birds last time I lived in Texas — and now they sing to me everywhere.

This Mother’s Day I am grateful to have a mom who gave me the greatest gift of all; the gift of a new life, a new beginning, a chance to make things right. I am a happy kid again.

Happy :)

Thank you Mom. Go Packers! xoxoxo

mom and me, 3 years ago