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FOOD FOR THOUGHT

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A few friends and I were hungry. And we were in one of the greatest cities in the world. Which equals food everywhere, except most restaurants only take reservations.

But we were hungry.

So we chose a restaurant nearby that seemed easy. No calling ahead of time. No VIP reservations. Except when we arrived the restaurant was unduly crowded. In fact, at that time of day everyone in the city must have been hungry because every restaurant we went to was unduly crowded. Even those that don’t offer decent food.

We finally arrived at our last restaurant.  At least the last one we agreed upon to try as a final resort. So we’re waiting inside the doorway after having given my name to the guy taking names – who wished he were anywhere but there – while we faced a dining room filled with  ravenous urban people seemingly with no intention of leaving right away.

People behind us were waiting. People around us were waiting. People at the bar were waiting. My friends were growing impatient. Everyone had a solution. One wanted to leave and find yet another crowded restaurant. Another wanted to bribe the guy. Another just kept staring at customers eating at tables hoping they’d quickly leave. Hunger does funny things to people. None of those possibilities appealed to me.

So I quietly stood there and did what I know.

I focused on the guy making  the seating arrangements in the front of the restaurant and started to send him my name in a telepathic message. I didn’t do it to have an unfair advantage. I honestly did it because I didn’t want to listen to my friends whine around me. And, I had nothing else to do at the moment.

I kept mentally repeating and sending my name to him.

It became a fun pastime, watching him look up from his clipboard each time I sent it and then look down again or get distracted. My friends were oblivious to what I was doing while they continued to plot and whine like two year olds. People waiting around us were arguing. Some were pushing. Some tried to be aggressive with him. No one was being seated.

Suddenly I heard him call my name. I know it wasn’t remotely next on the list. People around us angrily let us pass as we marched toward him.

A couple quickly approached him to point to their names on the list as a waiter grabbed our menus and led us to a table. I heard him apologize, telling them it was an honest mistake and he would seat them next.

They were soon seated nearby. I never told my friends. All was well in our restaurant world for the moment as we ordered our meal.

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Jan. 29, 2017

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GOOD VIBRATIONS

My office is next to a therapist’s. As I passed his open door I saw a client of mine who was going through a rough emotional patch and Lorna, her three – year old daughter that I only saw in a photograph. Lorna was beyond shy. She was angry, actually furious, and rejected any friendly overture I offered. So I excused myself and went into my office to give a Reading.

After my client left Lorna, still angry, and her mother stopped in my open doorway to say goodbye. For no logical reason I asked Lorna if she’d like to see my office.

Without hesitation, the moment she stepped in my office she instantly changed. She happily examined in my office, and finally sat down on the couch, looked at me, smiled and asked, “So how is your day?” I looked at her mother who just shrugged.

After they left, because her emotional change was so abrupt, I asked the therapist if anything happened in his office just prior to Lorna and her mother’s appointment. He off-handedly told me the client before them was a hedge fund trader angry about some things in at work. Out of the mouth of Babes.

Maybe we should all check ourselves at the door…

                          *

Tiger face.jpgThe Tiger and His Cage©

A PARABLE

The Tiger bellowed inside his cage. The sound rattled, but it did not bend or move every thick iron bar around him. Angrily he rose to his feet. His massive paws paced the small enclosure. He sniffed every inch of the cold hard floor, hoping to find an opening to free himself. But the slits between each bar permitted only shafts of light to slice the dark shadows within the Tiger’s cage.

The ferocious Tiger roared. He crouched…and listened. Whispers of silence greeted him. Rearing on muscular haunches he pounced at the bars of his impenetrable prison. The crash of massive flesh against hard steel echoed through every part of his soul. He gathered himself and desperately lunged again, and again until tired and defeated he fell into a gasping heap on the cold, hard floor.

It was then a bird smaller than a Tiger claw softly started to sing. Too weary to move, the Tiger’s eyes followed the tiny fluttering wings overhead. Instantly the Tiger sprang to his feet. With graceful ease he leaped – higher and higher – his body soaring like a beam of light over the topless cage and into the sweeping sky.

 

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 SUSPICIOUS TURKEYS

On this day of Thanksgiving, I thought I’d add a thankful story of inspiration. I know, you probably imagine something profound, well maybe.

The Nyack Homeless Project collects coats, hats, gloves, new socks and toiletries and boxed and canned foods for 8500 people in need, especially children in over 35 programs/places/shelters so they are warm and fed during cold winter months. nyackhp.org

But the story begins…  while collecting boxed and canned foods one year, volunteers inadvertently accepted two fresh turkey donations at a supermarket… may I emphasize FRESH TURKEYS! and no one knew.  The donated storage space was filling with bags of boxed/canned food and warm clothing. It was near the end of the Winter Drive when volunteers began to smell a strange odor. Not exactly strange- more like rancid, sickening, rotting. Hidden somewhere among hundreds of grocery bags waiting to be sorted for direct distribution,were two defrosted turkeys- souls already gone, by the way- smelling their way toward destiny.

The smell became so bad, no one wanted to enter the space. So we found our finest human scent -finder volunteer- we really should lend him to airports -who  wandered the rooms filled with piles of grocery bags disguising what food they held inside. It took him several hunts and smells until he discovered the suspicious turkeys deep in the mix. We gave them a thoughtful burial and then de-fumigated the space so we could have it donated again!

None of the food was contaminated, and all were delivered on time. So on this day of Thanks Giving…be thankful for who you are, what you’ve accomplished, how and who you love… and make a difference… payback is rich.

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A  HALLOWEEN STORY

So although this didn’t happen ON Halloween… it is a fitting Halloween Story. And if you lived through it, you’d think so too.

It was a cold wintry night. Fierce winds were blowing, heavy snow was falling, visibility was near zero and the sky was fitfully black. All of my family filled with fright, were tucked in our warm beds trying to sleep. Every sound, every shaking window, settling of the house made us jump. There was an escaped murderer on the loose from jail and he was roaming our neighborhood. My father and mother slept with a baseball bat, their only weapon near the side of their bed.

Around midnight, while the wild winds were blowing snow in drifts against cars, covering roads, creating snow blindness our doorbell rang. With a collective gasp we sat up in our beds, frozen with fear. The doorbell rang again. There were no cell phones then, no way of rushing into a kitchen with the only phone in the house to call for help.

We could hear my father’s bed creak and his footsteps as he walked from his bedroom. Peeking from behind our bedroom doors we watched him move to the front door, bat in hand in the silence of the wintry night. What would this man do to us? Tie us up? Rape us? Beat us? Kill us? Unspoken violent thoughts rushed through our young minds as my mother stood shaking in the bedroom doorway.

We watched my father put one hand on the doorknob, the other wrapped around the baseball bat. Slowly with bat raised, he opened the door to the cold ready to attack if attacked. Silently we held our breath.

There on the snowy step stood a young boy, hardly dressed for winter. He was no one we recognized from the neighborhood or our school or anywhere. He looked up at my father and innocently asked him if he would like to buy some candy. At midnight? In the snow? With no car or car tracks up our street? My father checked out the area around him to see if someone else – an escaped murderer might lurking in the dark. No one was there.

My father asked him what was he doing out so late? Selling candy, he said. None of this made any sense. My father told him it was dangerous to be outside in the snow and right now, he added trying not to totally alarm the young boy still holding his box of candy. He told him to go home.

The young boy turned and left before my father could invite him inside, or call his parents. He simply disappeared in the blinding snow. With bat in hand, my father searched for him for a short while until he was too cold to stay outside any longer. There was no trace of footsteps or the boy.

He finally closed the door behind him and entered the warm house again. He could not answer any of our questions about the boy- or where he went or about his safety. Maybe his parents parked down the street and couldn’t drive up the hill near our house because of the snow. Maybe the whistling wind quickly blew snow to cover his footsteps. My father realized when he opened the front door to the boy, it wasn’t truly locked at all. He quickly locked it, checked the lock and returned to his bedroom with bat beside him.

Was the boy real … Or maybe just a visible reminder to us to lock our door against danger. The murderer was apprehended the next morning.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

*

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AHOY! OBOY!

Since it is the end of summer… alas, I thought I’d tell this story….

I’ve been on boats and love the water, but never experienced sailing. When offered to go for a sail on a friend’s sailboat, I jumped at the chance. However, our first mate wasn’t the best sailor around.

I quickly settled  onto his little sailboat, eager to learn how to sail. Once the motor took us down river, he turned it off and we waited as I watched him adjust the sails to catch the wind. We waited and waited while we watched other sailboats doing figure eights and sailing on  winds up and down the waterway.

Behind us, there loomed an old anchored huge steel barge. Were we drifting closer? I tried to trust my sailor and ignore the barge. Are you sure we’re not drifting closer? Trust me, he reminded. Hmmm. I am psychic.

It was growing dark and other boats were disappearing down river. Finally my trusted sailor announced that if we didn’t get back to the marina in the next half hour, it would close and we wouldn’t be able to get to our car to leave.

The dark? The sailor? The river? The looming barge? No other way home?

He tried to start the motor. It wouldn’t start. The shadow of the barge seemed to grow closer and larger . He tried the motor again. It sounded like a bad lawnmower rather than our ticket home. There was gas. It was smoking. We weren’t moving,  Only drifting closer to  that huge steel barge.

He was sweating.  His arm was hurting. He kept trying and trying. The engine was really smoking now, but not turning over. In desperation he finally turned to me and said,

“If you have any ‘Woo Woo’ power, you should use it now.”

‘Woo Woo’ power? Mojo? That’s how he was defining my talents?

Who cares? Images of crashing into the barge, stuck in the middle of the deep muddy river, wanting to asleep in my warm bed propelled me into action.

I placed my healing hands alongside the motor and focused on sending as much energy as I could muster  into it.

“Try it,” I ordered.

Who’s  your metaphysical sailor now?

He tried the motor again. Nothing happened.

I put my ‘trusted’ hands around it once more.

He tried the motor.

It sputtered, then started and within minutes propelled us away from that big barge and took us home just in time, ‘Woo Woo’ my…

*

HIGHWAY 95 REVISITED

 

So quite a few years ago I was driving down I 95 in my car on a steamy hot summer day – steamy like 100 degrees steamy – when my radiator started smoking. I never had that problem before so I freaked. Who wouldn’t freak when you’re driving at least 20 mph over the speed limit and your front hood suddenly starts smoking. I mean smokin’!

I pulled over to the side of the road, opened the front hood and then wondered what was the best thing to do? Should I just let it cool down? Try to unscrew the radiator cap? Leave the cap on? Will it explode? Call for help? I t stood by the side of the road trying to signal someone to stop and help me know what to do while air conditioned cars with windows rolled up zipped by me at record speed. Take of the cap off? Leave the cap on? I was stifling hot and so was my car. I had no idea. And no one was helping.

However my cool guides had better plans.

Within minutes a beat up old pick up truck with some ragtag workers, their gardening tools in the truck bed, pulled up ahead of me. Hey, any port in a steamy storm at least 30 miles from home. It turns out they were from my same town, even though we were driving in a different State. They started to look under my car hood when a State Trooper pulled up behind me. Suddenly my new hometown friends ran up the embankment away from my car, yelling down to me, “Tell him we’re getting water.”   Odd, but then this whole setup was odd. That was just the beginning.

Right behind the State Trooper, a huge commercial spring water truck pulled in. And as the Trooper walked up to me, the truck driver with a huge water bottle on his shoulder headed toward us. Seeing the situation was well in hand, the Trooper excused himself and the water truck guy started to fill my radiator with spring water.

Once the Trooper drove away, the ragtag garden guys joined us – seems they must have been drinking or something – and they quickly rigged some concoction to fix my fan with a paper clip. The water truck guy found out where I was going and offered to follow me back to my town since he was going in that direction. Chances of that? Slim to none.

So with the jerry-rigged paper clip fix, my radiator filled with water, the garden guys leading the way and the water truck guy behind me, my makeshift caravan drove back on the highway and over the bridge to safety. Of course I was instructed to turn my heat on, so, I found myself in my very own sauna rolling my way safely back home. And the excellent conclusion was that once I got my car to a mechanic, the new part cost $5.00. Well done, cool guides, well done.