MY STORYTELLER HAS THE INTUITIVE WISDOM OF PATIENCE

 May I humbly suggest that you may want to review the post penned immediately before this one, being that, today, an intuitive train of thought added insights to those which had originally been penned.  You see, over these past couple of days, my processor has been kept busy with absorbing the answer to this question:  What has recently changed for the better within my self perception that has banished my fear of examining both sides of my high school experience when that door in my defense system’s self protective wall had not shown itself to me until this very week?  (And with that said, I’d like to reassure you that insight-driven reflection concerning my high school experience continues to be my primary intention.) 

🙋🏻‍♀️Annie

On the other hand, as we often have no conscious clue where one train of thought may lead our minds, next, another primary intention of mine is to rest my over-active thought processor, knowing that the human brain is hardwired to wander on its own from one topic to another.  For instance, having thought to park today’s train of thought in a peaceful rest station, my mind just wandered toward this insight-driven reality: Our inner need for peace feels forced to wrestle with power hungry, warmongering dictators, repeatedly.  This was as undeniably true when Hitler rose to power as is true of a very dangerous Putin, today.  Leaving the question—Will world history repeat itself, yet again?—hanging ever so heavily in the air…revealing, yet again, my need to consciously regain control over the wandering nature of my mind most especially, now, when healing from serious physical vulnerability continues to be my primary personal concern (though personal concern for community welfare whether family based or worldwide cannot be denied).

One moment our heartfelt concerns embrace family.  The next sees our minds wrestling with the cold hearted threat of a despot like putin while the upsurge of white supremacy within our nation’s borders hold rallies where thousands of red hats, openly threaten our democratic principles concerning equality, suggesting that attitudes of complacency are dangerously worrisome in the aftermath of putin-loving trump.  

Even so, at some point we must remember to consciously relax our minds or a writhing sense of inner conflict will ignore your need and mine to reduce hypertension based in stress by redirecting our mental energy toward thoughts so calming as to concentrate your mental acuity and mine upon the contemplation of our good health—suggestive of balance in all things—most especially as we age. Having been a bend-over backward care giver for most  my life, I find myself challenged, daily, to remember to put on my oxygen mask, first.  (And to think I’d thought today’s post would have offered up only my first run-on sentence, suggesting that we review insights added to the post immediately before this ond.  Ha!  Have I met myself?)

LETS RETURN TO THE PRESENT, MOMENTARILY 2022

With hopes that your heart has every reason to feel happy and your mind peaceful, today, I’ve been reminding myself, daily, to choose to live in the moment in order to fully appreciate the current state of my health compared to that which had been true seven months back when I’d just come home (bald as an eagle), following my third life saving surgery within a year’s time (the first two having been one day apart at the heart/cancer center in Houston, Texas).  Now, if we recall many months of chemo treatments so harsh as to have seen additional hospitalizations each time my circulatory system was desperate for emergency blood transfusions then what more needs be added to all of the above other than— thank God, I’m alive!

My sister, Lauren and her husband, Mickey, flew home to the icy Midwest today.  Though they were here for 10 days, we spent their entire stay apart—because the day after they’d landed in the southwestern desert, they’d been directly exposed to their daughter, Jessica’s untimely bout with Covid the day before she’d proved symptomatic and tested positive.  Sigh.

Today, we visited, together (on my patio), masked, for about an hour until they left to meet a newly recovered Jess for lunch before heading for the airport.  And though these past ten days had been dispiriting, all around, thank goodness, Jess was not seriously ill, so, yet again, all’s well that ends well.  Well—not really ‘well’—as Jess continues to grieve deeply during the aftermath of her husband, Shawn’s sudden death, last September.

Jess has felt utterly lost without Shawn, understandably so. They’d been high school sweethearts, sharing every aspect of their lives since the tender age of fifteen.  Much to our heartfelt welcome, they’d chosen to stop shivering through darkly cloudy, frozen midwestern winters in favor of moving to our southwestern desert in order to bask neath sunny blue skies about seven years ago. 

Steven and Ravi had planned to be with us, today, as they, too, had not seen Lauren and Mickey during covid’s incubation time.  However, upon awakening, Steven felt under the weather.  A respiratory virus (not covid) had made its way through his office staff, and though he continues to work from home, he must have caught it, during the day that he’d stopped by his law office (masked) to pick up his mail.

As for me, I continue to dodge bullets:  In December, Barry tested positive for covid the day that he’d planned to drive here from CA with his family.  In January, Steven caught covid several days after we were together.  This month, Jess became symptomatic with covid the day before Will and I were supposed to be with her (and Lauren and Mickey).  And currently, Steven’s vrus exposed itself, today, rather than tomorrow.  My single lung is not yet ready to handle an infection, which is why Will and I continue to quarantine more strictly than everyone we know except for one dear friend who has been battling an inoperable brain tumor.

And now, since I don’t want to give myself a ‘konahorah’ (Yiddish for turning good luck to bad), that’s all I’ll say about dodging bullets except for the fact that it’s been my good fortune to have remained virus-free while my remaining lung works overtime to oxygenate both sides of my body at the same time that a variety of upper respiratory infections have been attacking the good health of my extended family, so close to home.

As to why I’d not worn my writer’s cap while my sister was in town—the depths of my grief based in overwhelming sadness associated with Shawn’s recent death had, once again, fully emerged while my beloved niece, Jessica—having re-experienced the arousal of all consuming grief while she was alone in her apartment with covid firmly gripping her body—had been separated from her parents, who’d quarantined themselves within the guest room of their friends’ home—and the fact that tbis sad state of mind proved contagious anongst us had offered sound reason to cast platitudes aside while each of our hearts grappled with fate’s impartial unfairness, yet again.

And hopefully, now you can see why my intuitive thought process began today’s post with—Thank God I’m alive—being that, over these past couple of days, I’ve worked consciously to redirect my attitude so as to regain a mindful sense of self control over my personal perspective so as to fully re-engage my whole mind with a positive outlook on life.

As to why my storyteller felt free to open the door to my high school experience at this specific time—well, though I believe the emergence of insight has passed  that deeply meaningful answer into the conscious portion of my mind, freeing me of subconscious fear so as to openly examine both sides of that crucial time in my life, my processor has wearied, and I’m hoping that my power of intuitive thought will channel my next post toward delving ever more deeply into High School part 2.  So with today’s intuitive intention clearly stated, I’ll close by wishing you and your loved ones a happy, peaceful sense of good health, brimming with gratitude (not platitudes), today.

🙋🏻‍♀️Annie

1958 HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN Part 1

 I awaken with an eager sense of anticipation.  Anticipation rather than apprehension.  The year is 1958.  The month, September.  The day of the week, Tuesday.  (Upon reflection, I know all of that to be true, because school had always started the day after Labor Day—year after year.)  And today marks my very first day in high school.

Being a fourteen year old girl, my first thought after washing my face and brushing my teeth is not—what to wear?  Why not?  Because wearing a brand new outfit and new shoes on the first day of school is a tradition in my family.  (Perhaps that was because my mother had experienced a trying time during her childhood when she’d had one dress for school and one dress for special occasions, meaning that her school dress—having been washed by hand in the kitchen sink, several times each week—had been worn, day after day).

So what will I (having a closet filled with choices) wear on this auspicious occasion, which will soon see my social standing change in surprising ways will be far beyond my inexperienced comprehension of human nature?

A fur blend sweater set (though most of my new friends will be wearing cashmere) and a pencil skirt, hemmed below my knees in keeping with fashion.  White bobby socks, rolled down twice, feel happily at home inside my brand new dark brown leather penny loafers.  And all of the above highlights my unconscious need to ‘fit in’ rather than stand outside of the group, feeling all alone as is true of everyone who, having been a natural leader, has suddenly been thrust into the role of outcast without so much as even one clue as to how this shocking reversal of total exclusion could have happened to a preteen, whose personality had consistently proved as personably sunny as had been true of—me.

If you’ve read earlier posts highlighting the confounding composite of my junior high experiences, you’ll be amongst those who understand why fitting in with a social group of girls had become crucial to the sliding scale of my self esteem, which, like a teeter-totter, went up or down with nothing in between—most especially during my highly vulnerable, deeply bewildered teens.

My first class on my very first day of high school is English 101.  And the name of my very first new friend is Debbie (who, much to my good fortune, continues to be one of my closest friends, today).  If long-term memory serves me right, I have Debbie to thank for opening the door that will soon see me cross over the threshold where an unexpected, ready-made social life awaits my arrival—as though dreams really do come true …

                                      Three years old

         Sixth grade (before my pre-teen growth spurt)

🙋🏻‍♀️Annie

THANKFUL FOR A VERY GOOD WEEK

This has been shaping up to be a very good week offering lots to smile about😊

 This is most especially true, following two years of serious illness, chemo and three life-saving surgeries. 

On Saturday, we enjoyed our Valentine’s Day party on the patio with Steven, Ravi, David and our niece, Jessica (and we celebrated Jess's birthday, as well).😊

On Sunday, David drove back to the west coast in time to enjoy the Super Bowl with our eldest son, Barry—need I say that Will and I enjoyed the game at home (following a two hour patio visit with our dear friends, Andi and Michael).😊

On Tuesday, Will and I picked up Ravi from school, and we all enjoyed dinner, together, when Eric arrived after work.😊

Tonight my sister, Sharon and her husband, Mickey fly in from the frosty Midwest.😊

Tomorrow is my Shakespeare class on Zoom.😊

Friday is Edie’s birthday, and our loving friendship of more than forty years will share a candle lit cupcake on my patio.😊

On Saturday, we can see Sherry, Mickey and Jess, after they test negative for Covid (having spent time in two international airports).😊

Although this kind of week may have felt normal to me, two years ago, if you’ve been following my blog for any length of time then you can imagine my smile widening while summarizing why this has been shaping up to be a very good week for us after having experienced two years of life-threatening illness, chemo (causing several emergency hospitalizations in need of blood transfusions) and three major surgeries, each of which zapped all of my energy, leaving me so autoimmune-suppressed as to have had need to quarantine more seriously than anyone we know.  Whew!  So good to be on the healing side of that which proved to be a lengthy traumatizing experience for Will, our family and me.

This has been shaping up to be a very good week offering lots to smile about😊

🙋🏻‍♀️😊🔆🌻Annie

TAKING STEPS TOWARD HEARTFELT HEALING, TOGETHER

Super Bowl Sunday.

Andi and Michael just left us after we four had thoroughly enjoyed a patio visit that was close to two hours in length.

Naturally, winter weather in the southwestern desert has been gorgeous, and as we’ve awakened to one sunny day after another, the expanse of the bright blue sky, overhead offers nary a cloud to be seen.

Last night, our family enjoyed a double celebration consisting of an early Valentine’s Day/my niece Jessica’s 49th birthday both of which were lots of fun.

Though Jess is still grieving, deeply, following the sudden death of her husband, Shawn, she seemed to enjoy herself.  And she brought up Shawn’s name, conversationally, several times, throughout the evening, which I thought was healthy.

While everyone sat around talking, Stessa and I, sitting on the living room area rug, made a valentine for each person (inclusive of Mommy and Nani Lupe) using heart-shaped forms made of pink, red, purple or white foam to which we attached a colorful variety of glittery heart stickers and jeweled stickers until Steven returned with our Chinese take out for dinner, which we enjoyed on the patio so that masks could be safely removed, all around.

After dinner, we enjoyed  chocolate birthday cake and vanilla cupcakes frosted with pink icing and pastel sprinkles ala V-Day.

In addition to a glittery centerpiece, assembled by Stessa, the patio was decorated with a huge helium V-Day ballon and a huge helium Happy Birthday ballon.  After dinner, Stessa handed out the valentines we’d made, together, followed by my dispersing the valentines I’d ordered from Amazon.

All in all, our family enjoyed a loving, relaxing evening.

And as we’d FaceTimed with my sister, Sherry and her husband, Mickey, we sll felt wonderful being together.

Personally, I was happy to have been able to plan and enjoy a festive party for the first time in more than three years (because I’d felt thoroughly exhausted on a daily basis during the year that my tumor had remained undiagnosed and then misdiagnosed).

Today, David drove back to CA, arriving at Barry’s house in plenty of time before The Super Bowl begins, this afternoon.

And as Will and I just enjoyed time spent on our patio with Andi and Mike, a nap seems to be in order before the Super Bowl kicks off …

🙋🏻‍♀️🥱🏈Annie

HEART FILLED WITH LOVE MIND FILLED WITH HOPE

 Yesterday, I was feeling lonely, which makes sense since we've been quarantining in our house for two years ( excepting for three weeks when we'd ventured onto restaurant patios before omicron surged, causing us to feel need to quarantine seriously, again.  Sigh)

Thank goodness for sports, streaming constantly on our TV.  As long as there’s a ball in the air, Will is happy, and now, so am I.

In order to combat loneliness, we've begun to enjoy patio visits, wearing masks, again, though that's still beyond my comfort zone with Covid still surging.

Yesterday, while I was mentioning loneliness to Will, our phone rang, and it was Steven, saying he and Ravi were coming over at about 4:30.  (Hooray!) They were inside with us (masked) till 9:30.

I was able to enjoy Ravi for that extended period of time without exhausting myself, because she was so happy to play with her ‘inside toys’ as to create imaginative stories with her little forest and jungle animal figurines, literally, for hours while I, lying on the floor bolstered with pillows (or on my bed), followed her instructions.  (She wants to be a veterinarian/Zoo keeper.)  Eventually, we joined Will and Steven in the living room where our son and granddaughter, engaging in a 'tickling fest', offering we four lots of laughter.

Having Steven and Ravi with us for hours filled my heart with gladness.  In fact, I must have been running on pure adrenalin.

We’re expecting dear friends to arrive, momentarily, for a patio visit, and with David driving in on Tuesday through Saturday, and then, my sister, Lauren and Mickey flying in for my niece, Jessica's birthday on the 17th, you can see why my loneliness evaporated, overnight.  And with love filling my heart while hope fills my mind, I believe my comfort zone concerning time spent with loved ones will expand, especially as my energy level continues to increase, over time. 

As to naming my newly unrepressed fear for you, I believe words will soon be naturally released, now that my spirit is smiling (rather than grumbling).

🙋🏻‍♀️Annie

‘NOTHING TO FEAR BUT FEAR, ITSELF’

 What if I’m not afraid of fear?

What if the fear I’ve repressed ever since pre-verbal, early childhood has been my fear of anger?

(Whatever we cannot talk about, cannot be processed.)

What if my fear of anger has been inclusive of my own anger?

What if fear of my own anger has been so great as to have induced my defense system to erect a mental block (imagine an impenetrable wall) between subconsciously repressed anger and the conscious portion of my mind, suggesting that fear of my own anger has remained unidentified and thus unacknowledged by my self awareness—until now.

And if, for the most part, I’d unknowingly swallowed my anger, over my entire life, then won’t its release overwhelm my hard won sense of inner peace?

No.  Not at all.

Once the words to express the unequivocal nature of my intuitive answer flow readily (naturally) out of my mind, I’ll pen a post in which the certainty of my self confident stance will be clarified beyond a shadow of a doubt. 

👩🏻Annie

DISCUSSIONS THAT I BELIEVE WOULD PLEASE THE BARD

• As always, I thoroughly enjoyed this morning’s zoom Shakespeare class, which, though lasting for close to two hours, passes more quickly than I can believe.
• Our discussions are intelligent, timely and often, passionate in nature, which I believe would please The Bard, who, if you ask me, had meant to provoke these reactions with his choices of subject matter as well as the traits with which he personified his characters.
• And no matter the play, Shakespeare’s themes consistently relate to the interplay that never fails to juxtapose both sides of human nature each time his main characters confront each other as well as their own inner conflicts.
• Unlike Hollywood endings ( and in the absence of spoilers), Shakespeare’s original audiences did not know if the play they were watching would end with tragic consequences or with ‘all’s well that ends well’.
• And with that said, it’s likely that I’ll voice the train of thought, penned above, during next week’s discussion.😊
• As for now (and being that Will and I are still seriously quarantining), I’ll return to the novel that I’m reading, because it’s so brainless as to relax my mind as completely as this morning’s discussion stimulated my voice to participate wholeheartedly intermittently during today’s rousing discussion, which actually encompassed the fear that I’d repressed, over most of my life.
• And the reason that that fear remains unrevealed within current posts is based in the fact that my intuition has not yet observed my conscious mind as feeling so calm as to naturally release the words with which to clearly express my emotional reaction to the specific subject matter of Shakespeare’s play, Measure for Measure.
• If you feel need to know more concerning this undisclosed fear, right away, google the synopsis of this play, which was considered highly controversial during Shakespeare’s day.
• 🙋🏻‍♀️Annie

“THERE’S NOTHING TO FEAR BUT FEAR, ITSELF”

 Over most of my adult life, I’d thought to know what had troubled my mind too much to discuss with anyone until I’d had time to think things through for myself.

Then, while participating in EMDR therapy, I came to understand that my defense system had erected mental blocks separating the conscious portion of my memory from experiences too terrifying for a child’s psyche to withstand, and so those experiences (completely erased from within my state of self awareness) we’re repressed within my subconscious, suggesting that any aspect of a current situation that remotely resembled the gargantuan fear of being harmed, buried deep with my subconscious memory, would leap out and hijack my sense of personal safety as though my current experience had suddenly been hot wired to yesteryear’s trauma as happens whenever an attack of PTSD terrified the brain, anew, because the original trauma has, as yet, been undiagnosed and thus remains unidentified and untreated.

Thank goodness, I was referred to Carolyn Settle, who trains therapists, worldwide, in the art of healing the brain of trauma via EMDR therapy.

Over recent years, I’ve come to understand that my intuitive need for solitude precedes the release of fear, long repressed within my subconscious until a sense of readiness to release, confront and gain conscious control over yet another aspect of a childhood trauma has ripened.

And that is the mind boggling process that I’ve been experiencing ever since my intuitive voice expressed my need for solitude following the results of my chest CT and PET scan, last week.

So why, you may ask, did I feel need for solitude while family and friends rejoiced over the fact that my test results showed me to be cancer free?

Well, once deeper truth revealed itself to me, I found that my need for solitude had naught to do with my being cancer free, at all, because my fear of cancer recurring, again, was a conscious fear, suggesting that my power of intuition had known that my brain’s connection to courage was awaiting my inner sense of readiness to release a fear, which had been deeply repressed since I was such a small child as to have had no way to ask for help by verbalizing experiences and emotional reactions too frighting and complex to express within the limitations of a small child’s vocabulary.

And as—Humans can’t process what they can’t talk about—.I’d had need for solitude to prepare the conscious portion of my mind to verbalize a fear that my power of intuition believed me ready to talk about with myself, at long last …

🙋🏻‍♀️Annie

IMAGINE ME MAKING HEADWAY TOWARD NAMING AND TAMING A DEEPLY BURIED FEAR

 I’VE MADE MY WAY TOWARD UNDERSTANDING LAST WEEK’S UNEXPECTED ERUPTION OF A DEEPLY REPRESSED CHILDHOOD FEAR

Here’s something to think about—

“Humans can’t process what they can’t talk about.”

What does the italicized statement mean to you?