Power of Positivity

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I don’t care what a man says he believes with his lips.  I want to know with a vengeance what he says with his life and his actions.                               –Sam Johnson

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Dog is God spelled backwards for a reason.     -Unknown

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I will give you a new heart, and put a new spirit within you.   –  Ezekiel 36:26

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Make Me an Angel…

 

This will be my last writing-at least until I finish up the Mystery Blogger Award, so it may be a few days.  Every time I sit down to complete my nominations, a strange wind blows in from the East, and I find myself frozen, unable to write; it becomes a virtual impossibility and I set my sights on something else.  This is the perfectionist/procrastinator’s way of doing things, and we all know what happened with the Liebster Award-as soon as I began writing, my access to my blog was cut off-another story for another day.

Today I went hiking for the first time in a few days.  It’s HOT and HUMID in the Northeast right now, not my kind of weather, even on a good day.  Luckily, Jesse and I have a plan on these days: a lovely trail called Deer Path, with plenty of shade and water; the lake adds to the cool atmosphere, and we are in business once again.  This is the trail I was stalked on, two years ago.  To this very day I walk protected, in prayer and armed-I walk like I mean it, own the trail and know what’s behind, aside of or ahead of me at all times.  I carry mace and a HUMONGOUS stick, my golden retriever leads the way.  After the incident, in which a  red haired, half naked lunatic was found masturbating (I saw him well into the hike, and I motioned to my dog-we ran for our lives.)  Jesse never forgot this, and if he senses a person on trail?  He literally turns around and blocks me from whatever lies ahead.  I always pray for Divine protection, and I can literally feel God’s comfort-I will not be a victim.  Fear will not rule my life:  not this time, anyway.

As we were packing up to leave, I saw a woman (who turned out to be a child) pull into the parking lot.  She sprayed herself with bug spray, then began her trek, until of course, I interrupted her.

Honey, do you have protection?”

She stared at me like I meant condoms, and I broke out laughing at the absurdity of the question.  How do you warn, but not terrorize?  The fact is that a month ago, I was heading out to Middlecreek for a hike, on a different trail-Spicebush.  We usually go first thing in the morning-to beat the heat, but it was 9:30-we were running late.  As I sat down in the jeep, a voice from deep within (aka, the Holy Spirit) said:

((Why are you skipping your exercise class???))

I turned around, and drove toward the church-where the ladies in waiting were warming up in the parking lot.  Later in the evening, my husband and I sat down for the evening news, and I felt as if I’d been shot from a cannon.  (I did look for the video, but they have since taken it down)

“This morning, at 10:00 a.m. a woman reported that a man attempted to grab her off of her bicycle, she shook him off and called 911.  This is the trail she was on, in broad daylight.  She is shaken, but okay.”

They panned to a detective who announced they were looking for him; then they shared the trail she was on.  Spicebush.  I was shaken, as I should have been there, not her.

So, back to this morning.  I clarified my question:  DO YOU CARRY ANY WEAPONS?

We spoke for a few more minutes, this precious child and myself.  She said no, that she would be just fine without a weapon.

I went into my backpack and retrieved my pink mace cannister.

I taught her how to use it, and instructed her to be careful not to mace herself.

And as she turned to leave, she thanked me profusely.

It wasn’t me.   She had her angels to thank…..

Divine protection?  Indeed.

 

 

 

 

No Roots-(Edited Version)

I was gifted a class A memory, and it has become abundantly clear that God had his reasons for this. As I have watched those dearest to me pick up and leave, packing their intentions like so much down, well-I can now say that although it was like Chinese torture (drip, drip, drip)and akin to pulling my eyelashes out, one by one-I now have the memories. And fond reminders of the love that existed, well, that is good enough for this girl.

I have often thought how easy it would be to just pick up and leave this area. When Dwain and I have a bad argument, I go on the web and try to find myself a house in the Adirondack mountains, the only place I have ever truly felt “home.”
I have no children, no job, nothing holding me here-although a slice of Heaven and a blessing to me, Kleinfeltersville would not be missed by the likes of me-too many BAD memories linger, and the plot thickens each and ever day. I
often wonder how many of us feel the lack of a place we can call Home because we never learned to trust, and assumed it would that it will remain that way forever.

I don’t think life as we knew it will rear its ugly head again, but with CPTSD-well, I don’t believe I would feel completely safe, anywhere. I do know this: I am abundantly blessed by God’s Agape love. Yesterday, when I walked out into the mud room (a sunny day lit up the small combination closet, laundry room and go to greenhouse.) Jesse lay in the yard, with his feline companions, the pond rippled in the gusty wind, the sun shone so brightly-I was overcome by the Holy Spirit, and the emotion was overwhelming. I repeated “This is love” over and over, and I cried tears of gratitude and repentance. For Jesus has taken care of me, and he always will. My lack of faith slapped me right across the face, I felt renewed by His presence.

No, I have no roots in the ground, but one day, when I go home to spend eternity with my Lord and Savior? I will plant myself firmly, amidst the love and light.

Mighty, Mighty

 

It’s beginning to be a habit, this sitting here on my couch in the living room, reading, viewing, news, news, news…alas, the sinusitis has me a bit lethargic, so much so that I arose at 8 a.m., fed the dog and cats (inside and out) and headed straight to the couch.  I felt icky all over, and now that I am out of the shower and half-accomplishing things, I need to sit and I HATE it.  But I won’t complain, the big guy upstairs frowns on that-and I aim to please, baby.

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I missed both my exercise and soup kitchen, 😦 which makes me feel just a teeny bit guilty.  Could you imagine me playing volleyball with a group of jabbering women?  Or better yet, serving the elderly?  How would I explain my appearance?  How would I explain the broken plates and my mild hysteria?  That would be the icing on the cupcake of my sinus migraine.  Frankly, my eyes are burning so  badly, that I can almost see to write; another symptom, not to be confused with bleeding ears, which aren’t really bloody, you just have this feeling that if you got a Q-tip and checked?  You’d be headed to an ER, or local psychiatric facility…Can you die from a sinus infection?

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My cats have run amuck.  Fleas, hair, litter, and worse…don’t they know I am sick?  Why, whey is it always about them?  Yep, I was right, it’s happening-my ass is petrifying on the couch, as we speak!

It was really just a matter of time.

Baby I Got Your Number…

I love this song, loved it even more when I was young and in love and crazy, head over heels with a man who drove me out of my mind; and, at times, it didn’t take much.  There was so much passion back then, not that there isn’t now-we know how to push each other’s buttons; and more often than not?  The fire goes out when we calm ourselves and look at the big picture.  We have been married for 26 years this September, and I wouldn’t trade the time we have shared for anything in this world.  Okay, maybe chocolate.  LOL!

I don’t want to sound trite, but people give up too easily on marriage.  One big fight and that’s it-out the door they go.  I see these relationships in one of two ways:  either the love and passion were never there, or they think the grass is greener on the other side of Dodge.  I am here to tell you-IT ISN’T.  There will always be the first time you see him on the commode, the dirty underwear, the utter fascination with every sport on planet Earth, and then some.

You will still have to deal with his parents, and children if they are involved.  I was the step mother to a boy I was not allowed to correct, or admonish-I had the responsibility, not the power.  To this day I wonder if it would have made a difference, but narcissists are created in one of two ways, for the most part.

  1.  The child is abused or neglected by one parent and spoiled by another;
  2. The child is never asked to take accountability for their actions; they are just perfect, allowed free reign, to bully their way through life, using and manipulating others they “need” for supply.

Frankly, I am rather tired of the subject, and this isn’t about him, it’s about us, and what we have was worth the struggle, the sleepless nights, the crushing pain.  I could have given up, and wanted to on several occasions.  It wasn’t the money-I had some stored away just in case-it was that bad.

After an evening of drinking too much, I was so upset with Dwain that I called 911.  I cancelled the call, but they came anyway.  I won’t go into the details, but I wasn’t hurt, just pushed.  I had been abused as a child and young adult-it triggered me to the point of fear for my life.  The town cop came, and Dwain took him out to the garage to show him the empty beer bottles.  My empty beer bottles.  He then sat down with us and tried to mitigate our rage.  It worked, for me anyways.  The next day I was greeted by a Sheriff’s deputy, who came to serve me a PFA.  I was morbidly embarrassed as at the time?  I was an executive secretary to the President Judge of Lebanon County, and I knew everyone in the municipal building.

“Come on in Jake,” I stammered.  What fresh hell is this?

Michele, I’m really sorry to have to do this, but you are being served a Notice for PFA Hearing, and if you don’t show up on Thursday, there will be a warrant issued for your arrest.

Shakily, I signed said papers.  My heart sank.  I hadn’t done anything wrong.  Later, my husband would tell me he withdrew the court order, and I was NOT there the morning of the hearing.  Only later, much later, would I come to find out that he hadn’t revoked the PFA.  Going on a hunch, I called the Prothonotary’s office and asked my girlfriend to check.

“Yes, the Judge signed a Protection From Abuse, umm, for three years.”

How did he convince the judge to let me stay in the house?  Why did he lie to me?  I was livid and frightened-this is as close as we came to divorce.  Dwain’s reasoning: he was afraid I would leave him and take half of his net worth, which wasn’t much at that time.  His first wife had done so, and he was paying two mortgages already.  No excuse, not even close.  I called the Chief of Police that evening, enraged.

“Why is it that I called the police in fear, but I am the one with the PFA?”

I went on a rant for twenty minutes.  Good ol’ boys stick together.  You don’t care for my welfare, you know Dwain but you most certainly don’t.  How is it going to look if he hurts me and you did nothing…….on and on I went.

Bags packed.  Waiting on a return call from the owners of a cozy farmhouse who were renting it out-and dirt cheap at that.

Dwain is in the driveway.

“I am so sorry.  I didn’t know what else to do at the time, I can’t lose everything again,” he cried.

“PLEASE, please don’t leave me, I can’t live without you and you know it.  I promise I’ll make this up, somehow, some way.

And he has, in small and rather large ways.  He forgave me my drinking career, drug addictions and Irish temper (when mom died I kicked every window out of our home,     in a drunken rage) so who was I not to forgive him?

So, if he gives you just one reason to stay, you better turn right back around.

 

Never Again

 

 

I woke up in a pretty good mood this morning, as last evening David Zublick  released a report on Truth Unsealed, in regards to the Pope and his recent arrest warrant-and the crimes against humanity that his evilness has performed, including murdering and the sex trafficking of children.   The video is good and I shared it on Facebook (God, give me the strength.)  Apparently it’s okay for me to watch selfie after selfie, kid’s pictures out the big whazoo, and (I will block you for this) videos of abused or suffering animals;  that’s acceptable in social media land.  But God forbid I try to open a few eyes, and prove that I haven’t been sending smoke up your collective apples; this video contains PROOF that he is as EVIL as they come.  The Black Pope, if you will.

My good mood turned to CRAP when I saw the comments by two of my close friends.

“FAKE NEWS!!!”

-“I DON’T BELIEVE THIS EITHER.”

Now, I ask you, is it wrong of me to feel so angry, frustrated and disappointed?  I love them dearly, and I highly doubt I’ll even remember this tomorrow–but what kind of bullshit is that????

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Do I have a reputation that includes lying, deceitful behavior?  No.  I am as honest as they come.  Did I post this video to aid in my hemorrhoid recovery?  To throw caution to the wind and have myself a bloody good laugh? I posted the video because the MSM will not.  I don’t know about you, but I have CPTSD.  I don’t like anything sneaking up on me, and for two years, two years I have done research that is incredibly uncomfortable for me-not to mention dangerous.  The news is horrifying, I agree-but please don’t shoot the messenger.

I have done this out of love for my fellow man.  I have tried to red pill the entire tri-state area, that’s what truthers do.  What did God say to Ezekiel?

Tell them the Good News: they won’t believe you-tell them anyway.

 

Spirit Flight 666, Boarding at Gate Tarmac

Oh my God, for as long as I can remember, my brother and I have been subject to the most incredible indiscretions, abnormalities and absurdities.  Actually, it doesn’t happen that much to my husband and myself anymore (kind of a drag, we had some damn good inappropriate laughter in our day, but lately……….slim pickings.)

That was before my brother came for a visit and regaled us with his hilarious reenactment of a flight he took last Summer on Spirit Airlines.  Of course, my  husband interrupted him with a little ditty I like to call, For Christ’s sake shut your mouth.  I just sat there, smiling uncomfortably, while Dwain told Craig the story of my getting flagged by the stewardesses on our flight out to LA.  Apparently……..one of the gals flagged me so I went to the next stewardess and was served a glass of wine, drama ensued and the two of them almost came to fists and cuffs….don’t remember it, but I do remember the lovely woman I sat next to all the way to LAX was most definitely  not my amigo by the end of the flight.  For all I know I could have thrown up on, cursed out or told the same story 252 times for 6 hours to the poor woman.  I digress.  The following is my brother’s story, told in Michelespeak.

Apparently, last Summer, my brother wanted to save fifty, umm, yes that is $50, by travelling Spirit Airlines.  He brought his daughter and wife across the country, from LA to PA, on what could have been a “pretend” plane.  I am terrified to fly.  I have never flown sober, and as I no longer drink, I will take care of that little problem with a joint and two Ativan.  Trust me.  So, they are at LAX, waiting, as not just once, but myriads of times-they keep delaying the flight and switching gates.  He said it was a harrowing experience, you actually have to go through a security check and there are NO FRILLS.  He and his family were so unhinged, that they trauma bonded with fellow travelers. 

So, they finally get to the final gate (at this point, they are taking a red eye and they have been running back and forth to different gates at different parts of the airport.  If you have been to LAX, you know that’s a shit ton of running.)  They are getting ready to board.  There is no gate, only steps down to the tarmac.  My brother could not believe what he was seeing.  Feeling more and more anxiety, he notices a police car by the plane, but gets distracted by the 1930’s Russian version of a prison air craft.  No lie.  The seats didn’t recline.  Everything was metal.  He said he sighed a huge sigh of relief when he noticed that the flight attendants appeared to be normal people who obviously got trough at least a few of their flights.

And, as my brother begins to calm down, the captain speaks to the passengers:

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, sorry for all of the delay.  I have been sitting in this airport for over two hours.  It appears the safety hatch on the left side of the plane was open, and by the time the authorities checked it out, well, my apologies.  We think we should be okay for the duration……………..”