Coping With Grief.

From Bob Whiley(Sheila’s alias on FB):

Grief is a process that is never truly complete on this side of life. For instance, we were out shopping at the after holiday sales when I spotted a mother and her teenaged daughter. The girl was lovely, she was slender with flowing auburn hair, she had a lovely face and she was wearing pretty clothes. She looked to be around 17 and she radiated life and health. She and her mother were happily gathering tree ornaments from the sale bins and I couldn’t take my eyes off of them, it was as if I was in a trance. Then, I heard the daughter say “Oh look Mom, these will be great for next year.” For a moment, I felt sad and admittedly, even a little bitter. I moved on.

When we got to the car, I told Kent the story of the pretty girl and her mother, then, almost to myself, I commented. “How nice it must be to be that confident of next year coming, to have that kind of innocense of life” he looked at me as he does sometimes, with an expression of understanding and terrible knowing. Then, I caught myself, and for a moment, it was like all of my pain fell into my lap and I could look down upon it all lying there, so heavy, and so tiring. That’s when I took a deep breath and said to him. “I am so happy for that mother and daughter, I hope they never learn that sometimes next year doesn’t come.” He nodded with tears in his eyes and we sat there in bonded silence for a moment. I would call that progress, at least on some level.

So if you wonder how we could have gone through what we have gone through and still, it appears that we live in a constant state of elation, especially when the moment involves Bobber or Mandy or our grandsons, or why we take/post 15 pictures when one would suffice, this is why, it is because we understand that every moment is a priceless gift, that every small adventure is a bright blessing, that every tender mercy within every tender moment that is shared with family and with each other is a big beautiful exciting crazy exceptional excellent miracle. An angel taught us this.


Why I Dearly Love My Gran…

Emmy Award

Emmy Award (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A lot of you may not know this, but my wonderful Gran, Sheila, co-author here on the portal, lost her beautiful daughter Miss Emmy at the tender age of twenty-two(Miss Emmy was). Her passing is mourned by many, who knew this darling young woman and even by those who didn’t, including yours truly.

My Gran and her fabulous husband Kenny have comforted each other through it all, have loved one another to a fault and have been there for each other and, I might add, for any needy soul, who comes into contact with them(again including yours truly!).

My admiration and gratitude for this couple knows no bounds and I would like to share one of my dear Gran’s soulful stories with you all. Here’s me taking my hat off to you and Kenny, Gran!

I’ve put my Gran’s story in a separate post:

Embrace Your Inner Child.

From Rayven Parker:

What you feel coming to you has no words, no shape or form. It’s the freedom of your own soul that you don’t know how to integrate yet as it is new to you. Don’t worry about your ego self. See the helpless child behind it that is trying to handle a situation that is beyond its ability. Do a meditation in which you embrace this child and let it know that it is loved but no longer has to do the job as the real power is home now. Then either integrate it in your heart or give it to the angels, >>>


Italian Wedding Night! – Joke

63rd Tony Awards

63rd Tony Awards (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

From The World According to Atlas :

Maria had just got married and being a traditional Italian, she was still a virgin. So, on her wedding night, staying at her mother’s house, she was nervous. But her mother reassured her. “Don’t worry, Maria. Tony’s a good man. Go upstairs and he’ll take care of you.” So up she went.
When she got upstairs, Tony took off his shirt and exposed his hairy chest. Maria ran downstairs to her mother and says, “Mama, Mama, Tony’s got a big hairy chest.” “Don’t worry, Maria,” says the mother,” all good men have hairy chests. Go upstairs. He’ll take good care of you.” So, up she went again.
When she got up in the bedroom, Tony took off his pants exposing his hairy legs. Again, Maria ran downstairs to her mother. “Mama, Mama, Tony took off his pants and he’s got hairy legs!” … “Don’t worry. All good men have hairy legs. Tony’s a good man. Go upstairs and he’ll take good care of you.”
So up she went again. When she got up there, Tony took off his socks and on his left foot he was missing three toes. When Maria saw this, she ran downstairs. “Mama, Mama, Tony’s got a foot and a half!”
“Stay here and stir the pasta,” says the mother. “This is a job for Mama.”

Elegant Crone-ing~

Salem “Witches” 2012

She dances wild and casts her will
She’s fiery coals, and winter’s chill

She weaves and spins, she boils and bakes
She kneads the bread and bakes the cakes

She listens well, yet, it’s all been told
She’s peaceful now that she is old

Her basket is blessed with herbal charms
She rocks the broken in her arms

Altar rituals, rites and songs
Sacred smoke for righting wrongs

Shadow her door on midnight wings
Whisper all of your secret things

Hear her words and listen well
She knows you more than she will tell

She IS the virgin, the mother, and crone
Queen of life, breath, blood and bone~

Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?


Worried! (Photo credit: photoloni)

There is a word in the Arab language called ‘makhtub` and it gives me the willies! I heard that it is mentioned in the Tora somewhere aswell and it means”It is written!” Which is to say that from the moment you are born until you expel your final breath, everything you say, feel or do is pre-destined. If you truly grasp the enormity of this concept, you want to just lay down and die, for what is the use of ever trying!?

I hear you saying: “But the Lord gave man the freedom of choice!”  What choice is that, when everything was written down even before you were born? And even if you choose to live as good a life as you possibly can, what if you get caught up in circumstances beyond your control, as many of us are?

Let us say you are a father or a mother, who works hard every single day to provide the best things in life for your children and for your partner and then you get caught up in a war (probably over some silly dispute concerning religion) and you and your family are subjected to the most horrifying ordeals, being innocents? What kind of deity lets these kinds of things happen?

And on the other hand the nasties are thriving, probably because the devil takes care of his own. Whichever way you look at it, I choose to stay on the good side, whatever happens, but it makes me doubt everything and yes.. it makes me angry! Why do bad things happen to good people?It is so grossly unfair! But then, who ever said life was fair?

What about worrying? No amount of worrying has ever changed the outcome of any given situation. Yes, but were are human after all. Sometimes I find myself wanting to kick my own behind for having worried over something, when after all the anxiety, what I wanted or needed came to happen in the end anyway. But there is never any guarantee, is there!??

My biggest worry is: Am I going to die on the streets like a dog, like so many of my friends, or will the Lord grant me some more happy years? In any case, I shall ignore Makhtub and do my damndest to ensure that the outcome be positive! On this upbeat note, I hug you all. Ciao from Ralphie and may the Light be with you!


 I have lit my candles. I have set on fire the corner of a perfectly dried bouquet of delicate leaves of white sage and then closed my eyes in rapture as I inhaled the heady, curative smoke. I shook off the flame and placed the smoking leaf on the house alter. I have bowed in gratefulness that there is another morning.  I sit to ponder the day ahead, the year in waiting. 

I settle in to write before a dark, eastern window.  My chair makes a sigh. I wait for light. I sip sweet, coconut creamed coffee. A thought …I stumble in the golden darkness, I raise the window over my desk, a sharp wind shocks me, chilling my face.

 I stare out into the blue cold darkness. An angry gust moves my hair, chilling my flesh through this much-loved thin cotton night-shirt. Goose bumps rise; I shiver as I pour warm seed for the greedy birds that will soon eye me nervously from their perches on the window ledge.

What do they think, do they think? Is this a necessary kindness for myself alone?  I admit, I offer this act of nurture for purely selfish purposes, in order to seduce them to me. They bless me with their brightness, their vivid reds and their stunning blue’s. They impress and inspire me with their constant energy and industry.

They are earnest, they take their breakfast with no thought of the dreamy woman on the other side of the glass, why would they? There are better trees, better breakfast companions than I.  I wonder why they are still hanging around here, it’s been twenty years. How long do they live? Are these the great, great, great, great, off springs of our first batch of winged winter consecrations?

Within the darkness of this dawn, in a house two miles away, there is an old woman wrapped in time-honored quilts. This bent woman was once my mother, my father’s wife, she is old now, her mind is gone. I should visit her later today.

I have been both a noble and a meager example of a daughter. There is a kindly woman who lives with my mother. The woman cares for her body, they have carved out a life together, this is as good as I can do for her, is this good enough? 

My mother was never at ease with me. I am her mirror image, yet, short of our common biological matters, we have struggled to know one another, to love one another. Why was there always a storm brewing between our two souls?

She held everything inside of herself; she did not want to be known. I vomited everything. I needed the universe to see and smell every abhorrent part of me. I have always felt that to love the lovable, is uninspiring.

I screamed in the street. I enjoyed being a scandal. I found myself very interesting.

I shaved my head, I did not apologize, for I have one terrific looking head. I had sex when I wanted, with who I wanted, especially misinterpreted types, like myself.  My mother found me disgraceful and she told me this, I smiled at her.

I wore micro mini dresses that grazed my hip bones, and sheer purple stockings, with runs in them, if I wanted. I grieved any stealthy act. I confessed my many carnal exploits from the roof tops. My mother did not know what to do with my boldness. My peculiarity insulted her spirit. I can be embarrassing at times. She is a lady, even now, with a foggy mind, she is a lady.

At fifty-three, I am no “lady” the very thought of it, makes me want to do something deplorable, or does it?

Come to think of it, I turned that page a couple of decades ago. I stopped being hopeless when she stopped being humiliated by me? That was a very sad time for me. I found myself lacking inspiration, I became depressed.

Light has slipped upon me. There are brown birds pecking at seeds on the other side of the window. This crone is back to the present, and she is spent.

Aka Kids Rule!



295: Parallel Universe

Image by practicalowl via Flickr

Arbiter (Halo)
Arbiter – Wikipedia

The alternate dimension my son calls reality.

In which the string theorists are having an argument with the thong theorists over who is the least right. A person, who could scientifically be categorised as a kid, was the arbiter and ruled in favor of himself! But hey, what’s in a garment?

Now, seriously folks, this is a funny story!