Posted by: estheramy | February 11, 2013

Amy and Esther Forever

Amy and Esther Forever

Amy and Esther’s Excellent Adventure is temporarily on hiatus. Read more at Vivian’s Voices (viviansvoices.com).

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Posted by: estheramy | August 3, 2012

ABOUT LAST NIGHT

“Start from where you are,” said “Ox Cohen” (Esther’s brother and my Spiritual Advisor) when I told him I was so overwhelmed with material for our blog (and hopefully, my forthcoming book about our mother/daughter journey to Abadiania) that I didn’t know where to begin.  Where I am right now is standing on the deck of my Casa, our Casa: my Casa, “Ox Cohen’s” Casa, and your dad’s Casa.  I’ve nicknamed your dad “The Bird” or lately, “Blackbird” because he often wears black (known to be the Master Color, the color of Alpha Dogs, the power-color) and because his moods are often “black.”

My lower back is aching, probably because since our return from Abadiania, I have taken only one walk, and not been to the Fitness Center to swim or do yoga.

Last night, Dad and I went to a lawn party hosted by one of Dad’s high school friends, “Billy.”  The party was the annual one that is similar to a high school reunion, except not everyone in Dad’s high school class is invited.  The wife of one of the guests (her name is Donna but she’s not the Donna we both know, Es) mentioned two “coincidences” involving her and I, though she didn’t refer to them as coincidences.  In the “Tao of Psychology” such “coincidences” are said to be more than coincidences; they are fated.  Donna is not my friend.  I see her only at “Billy’s” party once a year and occasionally at the restaurants “Charcoal Oven” or “Bonefish”.  She mentioned that one of her friends told her she’d bumped into me at a yoga class at the Fitness Center.  (Before we went to Abadiania.)  I remembered this morning, that her friend, who I’d met a long time ago at a fourth of July party held at Donna’s house, used to be the receptionist at Dr. Bloom’s (Ox’s former doctor) office.  “Small world” as the saying goes.

Meditation Garden

Since coming back from The Casa, Esther, my long held belief that there’s a reason for everything that happens to us in life, has been fortified by circumstance.  Like a lot of people (and as I’ve already mentioned) I don’t believe in random events.  I believe that our lives are a symphony—either a harmonious or discordant one– of people who are meant to help us become more giving, people who are in our lives to help us overcome obstacles (some of which are our fault, some not) and people who can help us develop confidence in ourselves and lessen our loneliness—loneliness L–part of the “human condition.”  You are too busy to be lonely; I remember your sharing that fact with me.

I could easily list ten lessons I’ve learned, since coming back from The Casa de Dom Inacio de Loyola, starting with the lesson that I need to observe Sabbath. Yesterday, I was observant by waiting until Sabbath was over to e mail Brooke (our tour guide in Abadiania) and I’m glad I did; I definitely needed the rest from “Mac” (my computer).  I’m positive that my day of rest was mandated by the powers that be, Esther, because I had such a troublesome night’s sleep on Friday night that it would have been impossible to work on our blog.  When I’m exhausted, I don’t trust myself to do a good job on whatever I’m doing—writing, playing the flute, or absorbing what I’m reading: (Currently, “Max Kolbe: The Saint of Auschwitcz).  My night’s sleep was not wrecked by visits from the lower entities, (disembodied spirits) but nevertheless, I woke up continuously throughout the night, so that “Yesterday”  (everything’s a songJ )  I was too tired to do anything but lie on a golden sheet in front of the house, making sure my knees were locked together, so that all the Orthodox Jewish men who were passing by our house with their babies in strollers wouldn’t be offended by my bare legs (Orthodox women wear long skirts) or tempted to give me a glance. (I’ve found that Orthodox men avert their eyes from mine as I’m walking.)  So, one lesson I’ve learned from our visits to The Garden of Saint Ignacious, is to observe a day of rest, as I’ve read in “Spiritual Cures” John-of-God himself, does.

If people reap what they sow, then it’s no wonder that “Billy’s” house is on such a magnificent piece of property.  His “Casa” is on several acres of land—a portion of his backyard reminded me of the rainforest in Brazil our tour group visited—Perinopolis, Vagafogo Park—full of leafy foliage; and brightened by a splendid garden with gorgeous purple asters and rose bushes. He has a loverly, above ground pool with a fountain in the middle and multi colored light floater lights.  But, without describing in more detail “what he has” what he gives is a marvelous party every year for “all the guys” and their wives.  He bought and prepared a virtual feast: lemony Greek potatoes in an a garlic sauce, similar to the bottled garlic sauce that we enjoyed on our salads and steamed vegetable at the Casa buffets, small chicken breasts (like the chunks of chicken served at the Casa) salad (I scooped some on my plate—it consisted of marinated celery, onions, tomatoes, and I thought, initially:  “Oh, no! Peppers!”  (I’d thought peppers were prohibited from our diets along with pork and alcohol, but I’ve read recently on Brooke’s webpage that we can eat sweet bell peppers; not black or red peppercorns, and not chili peppers.) But, I swear to G-d that when I examined my plate, no peppers! The powers that be ferreted them out for me!  I’d contributed yummy hummus purchased from a Middle Eastern restaurant on Kedzie Ave. (“Saalam”) that Lee, one of the cafegrrls listed on our writing blog (cafegrrls) had recommended.  Thanks, Lee.

Yesterday was a difficult, almost unsupportable day, but I definitely felt I was being guided by The Entities present at the Casa de Dom Inacio and elsewhere. The reason I suffered yesterday from so much malcontent is that I was fighting the demons of anxiety and depression due to my contentious marriage with your dad, “Blackbird.”  What saved me from The Abyss was my thinking of the movie, “Losso Nar”, particularly of the black and white scenes taking place in Hell, where the protagonist, Andre, is shown suffering for his sins (mental absentia from his wife and family) until he reviews his life and repents.  Then he reaps the reward of eternal life in the celestial spheres. My view is that the scenes in Hell were meant to represent our internal states when we are not doing what we are supposed to be doing, fulfilling our higher purpose.

Yesterday, I told “The Blackbird” that I couldn’t ask “Ox Cohen” to move a heavy lawn chair for me out on the deck  “because it’s Shabbos….”

“Shabbos, my ass!” he said.

“Please move the chair on the deck for me, Honey Buns,” I said sweetly, “so it’s facing the sun.

He was nasty as a biting fly, Esther, as he bourched (Yiddish for “complained”) about having to get up from the dining room table where he was reading the Tribune.

“What’s the point?” you sometimes say, when I complain about him, or about a situation I’m not willing to change, but persist in lamenting about, nevertheless.  And you’re right! What is the point?  I guess just venting, though disparaging others is never a fruitful practice.

I so believe in Karma.  Going back to the lawn party we attended (I’d like to; I wish “Billy” didn’t live so far away; I’d love to be his neighbor and visit his pool and blissful backyard garden.)  The benefit of communicating one’s disgruntled state of mind to another—family or friend—is that doing so is better for one’s health than letting a depressed state of mind linger and turn into immobilization, possibly weight gain, or other manifestations of ill health.

“Billy” is such a good, giving person that he’s been amply rewarded with vast acreage, and appreciative and loving friends and family.  He’s a teacher and has been devoted to helping kids attain their athletic goals for years.

I’ve been trying to figure out what “mitzvahs” (Good Deeds; Yiddish) I can do.  A “mitzvah” office has opened near our house, so I should go over there and ask what I can do to help.  Read to blind people?  Play my flute in a Senior Citizen’s Center in a Casa for the Elderly?

What else did I learn at the backyard party? To emulate other women who are “their own person” who are not afraid to parade their preferences, despite possible objections from their “hubbys.”  “J.S.” who you know, mentioned to me at poolside that her hubby “hates” her glasses—they’re maroon and thick and “hates” her purple toenail polish—but “I don’t care,” she said.  They’re my toes!!”  I complimented on her not caring that he doesn’t like the color green, but is “independent” and wears what she likes.

I’m so tempted to look up, right now, Esther, because I hear a cardinal and I so adore their crimson color (if they’re males!) and especially love to listen to their song.  But, I’m trying to stay focused on my writing, like you do.

 

What else did I learn?

That even though I’m not a “Spring Chicken” guys still think I’m sexy J

Several of Dad friends made inappropriate (your word; remember?) remarks to me, and I loved hearing them, not a surprise, right?  I have to admit, I’m such a narcissist.  L

I’d decided not to wear my old chartreuse knit tee with black bra straps hanging out; I opted for a black tee with nice crisscross straps on the shoulder instead—I didn’t want the guys to think I was “looking for action”.

“Har! Har! Har!” says Laughing Buddha, the Buddha who appreciates absurdity and who keeps me laughing, especially in the evenings, before I go to bed.  Just what the doctor, ordered, your Acupuncturist and Chinese Scholar, Dr. Rick.

My wind chimes are chiming.  I wish now Id bought some chimes in a positive key at The Casa, but “Oh Well…”

 

In tribute to Laughing Buddha, I’d like to mention a hilarious incident that occurred yesterday, the same day that “Blackbird” was so unpleasant to me.  The happening was delivered by Laughing Buddha to cheer me up.  In addition to the lawn chair episode, Dad told me on the way over to the party that he was never happier in his life than when I was away in Abadiania, and I told him that I felt exactly the same way, that I was never happier than when I was away in Brazil “With Esther.”  (Look at the photos of us!)

 

After our argument, I said, “I hope that you’re happy now that we’re in total accord; we both feel exactly the same way; we both wish we didn’t have to live in the same house.”

“Lovely” I can hear your hubby saying.

But today, “Tra lah lah la la” we’re going to see the new Woody Allen movie, “To Rome With Love,” either the 2:00 or the 5:00.

What happened was that someone e mailed me: “You’d be cutting off your nose to spite your face…”  I emailed back: “If I cut off my nose to spite my face, then I’ll get a fake nose like Clarabell or Bozo.”

And then, when we were driving to “Billy’s” party, I saw a white van that had lettering on it:  “Clowns for Hire.”  Not only that, Es, but the best part is that I’d also been thinking about someone we both know who is fascinated by young Afro American men, and on the side of the same van was a picture of a black man’s face in clown makeup.

Synchronicity!  “The Tao of Psychology.”

Wish I had some of the Casa water right now; I’m parched.

That’s hilarious!” I hope you were thinking about “The Magical Mystery Tour” van.

 Ebulliently,

Amy

Crystal Bed

 

 

 

 

 

Posted by: estheramy | July 18, 2012

Love Eternally

Just a few minutes ago, Esther, I was so much in a trance that I tried to write with my scalloped melon spoon, instead of my silver pen!  My pen is exactly the same length and weight  as the spoon so it’s  understandable.  A bee is buzzing around my light green melon from the Canary Islands; I’ll share my melon with “her.” And, she won’t sting me, just as if you/one feed a squirrel, “he-she” won’t bite you. The melon is smelling so tantalizing I can’t resist any longer.  Again, “When you don’t know the difference between pleasure and pain, you’re a masochist.”  I should check the source; I always mix up two things, I suppose because  I’m a Gemini.

“The subconscious”  Dr. “S” said in session last time I saw him when I had shown him the exact three pictures as I had during the previous session.  Randomly, I thought.  I had showed him two pictures of us together and the photo of the “psychic” who was talking to me in front of the bicycle stand–while you were wheeling around on your rental bike.  I’d loved the sparkling cobalt (bright blue) color of the bike that was offered to me by the rental agents, but when I tried to ride it, remember? the gears were stuck–  Gears are frequently stuck for moi, a metaphor?  One that no longer applies since our journey to Abadiania.

The spontaneous psychic reading I had was the best psychic reading I’ve ever had.  FYI, the “psychic”–or whoever he was, was channeling a stream of words abt. mother/daughter relationships w.o. my having said a single word to him about us.

“Psychic” and Amy

Without any initiation on my part, the psychic told me that I was experiencing a disturbance in the lower portion of my spine and that a disturbance at that site, in the lower chakra area is indicative of a disturbance in the mother/daughter relationship.

I just glanced at my squirrel, the one our neighbor across the street tamed by feeding him.  He-she (!) is looking to pilfer all the mailing envelopes (that contain packing material) for his nest, up in the tree yonder.

Going back to my session with Dr. “S” he asked me, “Do you realize that you showed me those exact three pictures during our last session?” I said, “No, I didn’t realize that. Really?  Out of all those pictures?” (Because I keep shuffling them, Esther, like a deck of cards.)

The subconscious,” he murmured, and he never has said that when I’ve spoken to him.  I think he was suggesting that the photos of you and I (me) together are by far (by close 🙂  the most important photos to me (moi) of all the photos.  Last night, before bed, I was looking at the two similar photos of close ups of your face–one was light, and the other was dark,  and thinking I would go to Walgreens today to have those two photos enlarged.

Esther at Casa

I am thinking now, as I stand writing, that I’ve discovered since our return from Abadiania that I haven’t always known the difference between healing and suffering.  I think it’s not so much masochism, sometimes, but the necessity to wait.  Like right now, as I’m “streaming” and eyeing the melon, sweat drops like tears misting my glasses–it’s not that I’m starving and depriving myself of melon; it’s that I need to impose some discipline on myself so that I can write a piece that’s hopefully worthy of publication.

I will continue working on my writing and working on not feeling blusey when I am alone after being with you or somebody else.  You are so good at not being clingy; I wonder who you learned that from.  Probably from charging off to day when I had to leave you at the J.C.C. in St. Louis.  Remember the smell of cinnamon toast as we entered the building?  Yum!

I have to go inside now for more paper, inside the house–not  “inside myself.”   Then, I’m going to have breakfast, out here on the deck that GB said is like the prow of a ship–and she’s right, except that instead of facing the ocean, the “prow” is facing traffic, on Touhy Ave!

I hope thee and me can take a cruise some day or go on another spiritual journey like the lady from Australia does.  To Lourdes, and spiritual pilgrimages all over the world.

Before I go inside to type today’s blog (hoping I haven’t left any loose ends) I want to mention that I try to use the Casa as a template for my life here in West Rogers Park:  fresh fruit for breakfast (today, melon from the Canary Islands, Danish Havarti cheese (“smooth, mellow, buttery cheese that pairs well with Bordeaux and Chardonnay”)  “Har! Har! Har!” says Laughing Buddha; because as you know, we’re advised against drinking alcohol when taking our prescriptions for Passiflora; why wasn’t the one at Buddha for sale? Because the owners loved having a Laughing Buddha to make life light as the glow I see now on my computer screen–“Mac’s” face…..

The cheese is sweating and so am I.  The cellophane packaging is the exact beautiful blue as the bicycle, and the cheese is the color of the sun.

Possibly the system of reward and punishment described in “I Never Promised You A Rose Garden” is a system we impose upon ourselves, rather than coming from a higher world or lower world of reward and punishment.  Possibly, the exact point of the book, a point I might have missed when I read the book at U of I sometime between 1966 and 1968.

END of July 17th…

Love Eternally,

Amy

Posted by: estheramy | July 12, 2012

Dear Esther

Dear Esther,

I deleted the embarrassing poem over and over again, and it won’t go away   😦    OMG!  It’s so humiliating that I’m blushing, laughing and having a panic attack, all at the same time.  “AnyWAY,” as you always say……  Or, “anyhoo!”

I feel so indebted to Elizabeth Gilbert who of course I have never met, for suggesting in “Eat, Pray and Love” that women and men who’ve read about her adventure–her travels to Bali, India and Italy, continue on their own adventure back home and our “Excellent Adventure” has continued “magnificently”   the word the medium in current used to say of how our meditating helped John of God incorporate the entities. When you get a chance, I’d love for you to post a pic of the entities, possibly the photo in the room where Tanya gave me a massage, you know the one.I used to love hearing her say, “Magnificent work,” and when I pray, reading my prayers (or the photocopied prayers we received from the Casa, I hear her voice in my head, I hear the cadences, the tone and the timbre of her voice– reciting, singing, intoning prayer–a passionate, rhapsodic, pleading voice that ultimately came to a climax, as if she was imploring a lover to come to her…side.  I hear her voice so resoundingly (And, I assure you, I’m not “hearing voices”; I’m not hallucinatory, but I can hear her particular voice so accurately that I’m thinking again about Ryan’s questions to me at our dinner at Flemings 9which I’m going to relate in this blog entry.).  I believe I have “acquired” mediumistic abilities as a result of our journey to Abadiania to see John of God.  Ryan asked me during our dinner at Flemings if I thought I had acquired mediumship as a result of our journey together.  I was tentative during our conversation but I am certain now–the answer is yes, my hearing has become more acute (remember I told you that while in current, I was able to hear both the rapturous voice of the medium “in current”and also, every word spoken by the Portuguese speaker in the Assembly room, both simultaneously?  I am sure you are not surprised, Esther, for you are able to listen to and respond to many “conversations” at once, you listen, OK, read your conversations with people online, people who e mail you, and at the same time, you are able to answer “hubby”, “Bee” “Noe” and moi who are all talking to you at once, while you are working.

Yesterday, I was reading over the list of mediumship abilities in “Spiritual Cures.”  I am elated, Esther, that I bought that particular book in the Casa bookstore.  “I love it” as you say, in a gleeful voice.  The mediumship abilities are as follows: mediums of physical effects, speakers, seers, hearers, intuitive, inspired, psychographers, and healers. (p.18)  I don’t need the phrase ‘they are as follows’ but i like the rhythm of the phrase, and the way the phrase sounds, so serious and formal and legalistic; I believe King Solomon who was a judge may have just “put in his two cents!)  I pray my heightened hearing will continue because before it was enhanced, Dad used to tell me in an insulting tone that I was deaf.  Also, I’ve been blessed with “graphology” sometimes.  i say “sometimes” because some of my writing, including my blogs, feels inspired.  And some, not. 😦  I’m reminded of the interviewer in “Spiritual Cures” saying that although John of God is always able to incorporate the entities, he is not always in an incorporated state of being.  In other words, not “24/7” as you used to say.

I felt stuck for a couple of days, for the most incomprehensible reason.  It wasn’t “writers block”; it was something else having to do with Ryan!

I felt as if I was channeling during my conversation with Ryan, as if I was incorporating an entity from the Casa, and I felt–and feel–strongly that I am not worthy.  I hasten to tell you that you also, though you probably are not aware of it–or maybe you are!–probably have incorporated mediumistic abilities.  I am convinced that you also are a medium.  “Really!!”  I can hear you say.

Of course, your dad has been telling me that I am completely out of my mind; he told me today that I have gone completely out of my mind and should be committed to an insane asylum.

I’ve been obsessed with the conversation that Ryan initiated with me, ever since our “Last Supper” at Flemings, and it scared me, Esther, it scared me.  (I mean, “frightened” of course.)

On one hand, I felt flattered that this young man was paying such intense attention to me.  (As you did, Omar, when you came over to our house.)  But, on the other hand, I felt not only as if Ryan were interviewing me (and I told him at the time that he is an excellent interviewer) but that he was acting like…The Inquisitor.  I am so superstitious, or invested in magical thinking, Esther that I am afraid to even google The Inquisitor on my computer.  I think The Inquisitor is a character in Dante’s Inferno.  I seem to remember him as a judge deeming whether somebody–Dante?–was worthy of entering heaven.  So, the person–Dante–?  was being questioned.  I felt as though Ryan was interrogating me.  He was directing his questions exclusively to me:

1.  Do you think as a result of your trip with Esther, you have acquired healing powers?

2.  As a result of your trip with Esther, have you experienced altered states?

3.  Are you aware that you’re in an altered state when you’re experiencing one?

4.  What does the altered state feel like?

Even if I don’t capitalize on the feeling of being in an altered state (like yesterday when after dinner, I drove over to the Jewel food store to get laundry detergent for “Basha” I felt as if I was in an altered state, before, during, and as I drove home.  I felt exactly like I did, on that first night when we arrived in Abadiania.  I felt guided!  Even if it sounds silly to hopefully potential future readers of amyandestherexcellentadventure.com  that I would feel guided going to the Jewel food store, I felt ecstatic.  The colors! Enhanced by my altered state–turquoise! scarlet rose! lemon yellow!–the sky appeared like a watercolor painting by a water colorist painter.  Caressed by the balmy breezy air, and beyond all the physical beauty of our…ordinary?–not to me–neighbor hood, I felt a oneness with everybody in my universe: with a lady walking her dog, with a bearded man shopping for groceries in the Jewel food store, with the Indian woman who was “checking me out”  (I mean, my groceries!) with the sorrowful (I love the word ‘sorrowful’) Hispanic bagger, and most over sweepingly, beyond any aforementioned feeling or heightened senses tasting–I just drank sink water; so delicious (seeing, hearing, smelling–I haven’t mentioned the sense of smell, yet–food has been tasting, since our adventure–delicious!–the crispy fish that “Ox” made last night, golden trout, purchased by moi at Roberts, a Kosher fish store–I’m kissing my fingertips, Esther; Mwa! Everything Ox Cohen prepares tastes scrumptious to me…speaking of the sense of taste, I’m experiencing a little heartburn right now…and mediums have more physical ailments once they become mediums according to “Spiritual Healing” I left the most prevalent “feeling” out until now–a sense of being in sync with the universe, my universe, the one G-d, John of God, and all the people and places connected to the Casa de Dom Inacio helped me create.

Love Always,

Amy

 

Amy

Posted by: estheramy | July 8, 2012

Excerpt

My face is uplifted  toward the sun; I see, not to “the bottom of the sea, sea, sea”  I see, “not red!  but orange; I see orange!!  Wind chimes are playing their/our music; the sound of dest-i-ny, a gently chiming, slower and slower—–A moment of grace.

I get to sit down on the edge of the chaise lounge on our deck: mine (Amy’s) The Bird’s and Ox Cohens, for now!!!!!  Maybee someday Ox Cohen will get married.  I always imagine the overhang on which my wind chimes chime as a “Chupa” bedecked with flowers and “Ox Cohen” marrying his bride under it; his brides golden? hair wreathed with roses and you, B-, of course wearing a yarmulke.  (I don’t like the word “skullcap.”

On the table in the photo, Esther, are the “Remains of the Day”….  What sparkles (literally and figuratively) in the photo is: a pitcher of cold Hibiscus tea (I see sparkles, teeny sparkles like a constellation of stars). Esther, I was deciding earlier today whether to write about Carolyn (you know!) and her tattoos, or whether to write about our rainforest expedition.  Seeing the sparkles, seeing the light made me select the rainforest “over” the Amy –(no, Carolyn; you know who, Esther) –who I meant to say…..I know.  I said, “Amy.”  But, I’ve realized that every single (or married) person on our tour “reflected” or was mirror opposite to ourselves.  (see Buddhist mirror philosophy on my music stand, or I’ll include it later–you know, I never throw anything away.

You better write like your ‘hair’s on fire'” I warn myself, out loud, or the fire’s going to go out.

On the table in the photo (the one taken at the lodge where we enjoyed the aforementioned scrumptious lunch) taken by you (toi )  are: a  fork, knife, and spoon (like the sculpture on McCormick–part of the Sculpture Garden) a bowl of….cookies? that resemble mandelbroit (sp?)   (also known as mandlebread  (sp?) bowls of fresh cut fruit (papaya, pineapple, bananas) I may not be accurate regarding the fruit; I can’t see it clearly in the photo, a pitcher of….lime aid, a green colored fruit juice, not kiwi, hmmmm;    i wonder why no lemons were offered at our posada; we can always make lemonade 🙂  and packets of brown sugar were offered– So “de-li-cious” as you say, to enjoy in the delicious Brazilian coffee, yum!  So reminiscent of the Turkish coffee Grandpa Meyer used to make in the copper–not only copper-colored, but copper coffeemaker.

Roumanian!

Roumanian, not Turkish, Grandpa Meyer would say.  (I misquoted; what he actually said was:  Roumanian! Not Turkish! (why, Ms. Grammarian, are the red lines only appearing in this line?)

“Roumanian”!  Right, Hubby? (Har! Har! Har! says The Laughing Buddha)

On the page, I mean photo, are also a platter of coffeecakes, not too sweet (you would like them, Ships) a pitcher of cold Hibiscus iced tea…what I saw before “with” (Yid sentence construction) sparkles or “mit” (German) sparkles was a glass of tea–like the tea Grandma Esther, your namesake, used to drink from a glass; both Grandmas, Esther and Laura would spoon a spoonful (what else) of cheery (not cherry preserves) but whole cheery–not jam–the cherries Grandma Laura put in her tea were picked from a cheery tree that used to be in the middle of the backyard–the yard is to my left as I am sitting facing the setting sun; to my left, Es.  I am facing (“…the sun rises in the east, sets in the west”) so I am facing west.  The sound of cicadas has diminished, decrescendo ed (! no such word)  the breeze is blowing my way, birds are singing for “Me and My…Gal?” or “Me and My Girl.”  My Girl.  You, Esther…..   (to be continued tomorrow  🙂  “Tomorrow! Tomorrow!  Everything’s A Song! 🙂

Posted by: estheramy | July 5, 2012

UP AND UP

Dear Esther,

I woke up this morning feeling an itchy patch of skin on the back of my neck that feels exactly like the skin of a “Golden Kiss”  “special melon” (The Bird’s words) that,  your dad– The Bird–  brought home from Sam’s Club, the day before yesterday. When I cut the melon earlier this morning, I was startled that what I was holding in my hand was a 3 inch by 2 inch triangular shaped piece of melon that looks like part of a mosaic.  A triangle! Another triangle! (I’m going to take a picture of it along with all the “crapola”  (Thanks for “The Word”,  KT, special cafeggrl! and Ms. Grammarian 🙂  that is lying on the round, glass topped table out on the deck.  Feeling the rough spot, I remembered the list of items provided by Brooke or Adrienne (?) the tour guides in charge (and regarding Brooke, I do mean  “in charge” !)   of our tours in Abadiana.

In searching for the hydro creme in my plastic pouch (remember how before our trip, I’d gone to Target to purchase the items on the list–too numerous to mention, but I’m tempted to count the items–five? pages of sundries, mostly medicinal or…pharmaceutical, but including other “essentials”: umbrellas (i bought two orchid colored umbrellas that flower in the rain) please post photo, Esther…flash lights (i gave you the smaller one ‘cuz you’re more petite than i) and one even smaller than that, a mini! Pink, like the one I carry in my purse.  We’re in-the-pink! 🙂  (do we have a photo?) handkerchiefs (which “CJ” must have used (she told me when I said I was sorry that she was “suffering”:  “Oh, no! I’m healing.”  Polly mentioned her statement earlier…  kleenex, which is always handy to have with you on whatever “trip” you’re on, even if you’re taking a short walk in the woods.

Here are the items pictured in the photo: I’m listing them because I’ve never taken photos before; the photo of the assorted items is the first one I’ve ever taken on my own.  “However”  as Norman, from The Clerks’ Office, I have taken photos that other people have asked me to “shoot.”  (The Bird told “Basha” who more than cleans the house; she’s a beacon of light and “My Angel” to shoot me.  Yes, after an angry outburst because I asked him where to find the camera (his camera; i don’t have one, yet) he stomped into the den, grabbed the camera from Basha’s  hands, even though I asked him, “Why do you have to do it? Why can’t Basha do it?” He had been hollering as he strode into the room, and then he said, yes, exact words, word for word:  “Shoot her!”  

List of items: insect repellent, (Cutter Advanced-now available in the US) toothpaste, mouthwash, allergy “liquigels” laxative tabs, Tums, anti-diarrheal medication, shampoo, sunblock, Preparation H, antibacterial wipes….

When I went to Target I actually enjoyed myself! ‘Twas like a scavenger hunt (“scavenger!” what a word!) “Treasure Hunt’s” better.  The Target insignia says “Up & Up”and you know that whoever came up with “Up & Up” (Who? Hmmm) is a clever, enlightened person.  “I’m on the up & up! denoting upbeat.  Until now, looking at the Target insignia on the packages, I thought I was viewing a backwards “K” which made no sense to me; examining more closely now, I see that the logo–that’s the word, is a jade green arrow pointing upwards.  Fas-cii-nating!  The anti-itch cream has a drawing of aloe-vera leaves and shore enough, examining the ingredients, I find aloe as the first ingredient.  I can see, now, why it would be fun to write advertising copy.

I’d bought two of all the items on the five pages provided, planning to divide them up, incase one of our suitcases was G-d forbid touch red, stolen.  You were too busy that day we got back from the Brazilian Consulate (the fifth time we’d been there) so I packed it all UP for us.

During our “Excellent Adventure” the only item that “found a home” were bandaids.  “C.J.” (the lady with the not dragon, but tattoos of her husband’s name, came by my room when you were in current, Esther, and asked me if I had bandaids for her calloused and splintered heel.  First, I brought her over large bandages and tape, but she said the “bandaids” were too large, so I suggested a scissors.  She told me, that if, instead, I had smaller bandages she would be grateful.  Of course I did!  Just now I was thinking:  “Where did I place my silver pen; I have several silver Cross pens, all identical.  (One is featured in my story, “Raid.”  (I’ll provide the quote. later, or you can find it on cafegrrls.  Leigh is going to interview me on our writers’ site.)  For a few seconds, I couldn’t find “it” and as always (and it happens all the time, continuously and continually) I became panic stricken.  I’ve been “losing things” since I was a child: mittens, constantly, which my poor, harassed  mother who worked (she was, and still is a teacher, then of grammar school and now, at eighty seven, she teaches violin in her condo in Florida) eventually attached to my winter coat with metal clasps.  One time i came home from school wearing a boys leggings instead of my own, and my mother was beside herself.  I always mix everything up–not everything as I’d previously thought, but two things.  Peculiar, I know, but “I admit” as you used to say, Esther, that apparently,  I’m eccentric.  Yesterday, I was searching frantically for my cell phone, and was sure I’d put it in my lap purse.  I realized I’d put a black wallet, the exact size of the cell phone, in my purse, instead.

Remember when we arrived home and I was searching for the pharmaceutical lady’s web page address? I was certain I’d socked it away in the taupe passport purse (a leather lookalike to another purse that I’d brought on our trip, also taupe, the identical size with two identical compartments that my neighbor “Larrissa” had given me to take on our trip.  (Thanks, Larrissa!)  Why do I have ttwo (!) of everything?  Two children, I had two Maltese s, two “husbands” (“Just kidding!” as you used to say, Es) thankfully two eyes, two ears, two legs….

Last night, The Bird, your dad, said at dinner, “People would give one of their legs to live in the basement as you do, Ox.”  Horrified, I said, “Not me.”

When i was a little girl, I was terrified of a man who sat on the sidewalk in front of a store in “downtown” Michigan City, Indiana. He had only one leg. For years, when GB (Great Grandma “Bee”) said, “We’re going to town,” the name we called the shopping district, where my novel “Bittersweet Summer is set, I would turn away, terrified at the sight of him.  He sat on the pages of newspaper, and i associated his “stump” with a piece of bloody meat. (So sorry for citing such a graphic detail.) I had nightmares.  Such nightmares! And could not look.  To this day, I cannot look at “blood and guts”.  I closed my eyes during the scene in Promethesus where Naomi Rapace is having abdominal surgery to remove The Alien fetus.  Those metal clamps! Again, my mind returns to a “common preoccupation….”

Time now:  5:46 p.m.  I left our blog to go to my flute lesson, Esther, and have to tell you! I have “no clue” what “common preoccupation” I was writing about.  I must have been in a trance state.  So, I’ll continue to type what I had written in my Office Max “tablets” and call it a day.  It’s almost time for din-din!

Quoting myself: pretty lame! 😦  butt here goes:  “I admit that my childhood fear was “self-reflective”.  My definition, possibly incorrect, of “self-reflective” is relating whatever one sees (literally and figuratively) in the material world back to oneself.  But, hey! What’s wrong with that if one’s self preoccupation results in art, like the obese lady who produced a photographic album of fat people? (Thank you, LS, of cafegrrls for sharing the link to the artist’s album.)  My concern for myself is whether moi, myself and I, have masochistic tendencies, such as waiting until I’m starving to eat.  I remember when you came to lunch, Leigh, and you asked me, “Are you trying to starve me to death?” (I’m probably misquoting) but it what you said struck me at the moment.  What was actually happening was not that I was being a misbehavin’ hostess, simply that I always have difficulty getting the food I’ve prepared onto the table.  I’m not trying to starve my guests or family; I think that at a certain point I fizzle out.  Like now.  Actually not true, not any longer, not since my return from Abadiania.  Since my return from Abadiania, with the assistance of Ignacio the Physician, (photo, please! thank you!) I’ve been taking much better care of myself.  And, I pray that you are, too.

Love,

Amy
 

Posted by: estheramy | July 5, 2012

I’ll still be able to do it–to write!– if my will is strong enough, as you said, Max.  I swear to G-d I’m writing as I’m driving behind a black “Infinity.”  And, I’m getting chills, though the temperature in Chicago is over one hundred degrees.  (I don’t have a temperature gauge in my car, as does The Bird!)  Butt, what I do have is a dynamo radio–stereo phonic system–a radio from Heaven.

“I have arrived at my Destination.”  Finally, after driving around (not aimlessly) but in the opposite direction of where I was (hopefully) headed: not Dairy Queen, but Dairy Star, a kosher dairy delight.  I wasn’t looking at street names– never a bad idea.  i realized i was on Lincoln, instead of Devon.

I’m writing in my car because Lara, my flute teacher and I,   didn’t discuss whether or not to meet today, the fourth of July.  I went over to her house, which is almost exactly like my house; she has a triangular brick-red, not roof, but a… whatchamacallit?;  my house has a triangular whatchamacallit, too, but mine is white.  I left her a note on a Harris Millennium Park envelope.  Not, “Sorry I missed your call” like the message on my sister in Seattle’s phone recording (I can hear the cadences of my sister’s voice) but rather: “I don’t remember our changing my lesson, Lara.  I hope I’m not getting “A”.  I didn’t write out the word, “Alzheimer’s” because I believe her father-in-law has  Alzheimer’s Disease and I didn’t want her husband “G” to think I was making light of it (though what’s wrong with that?!) or, heaven forbid, making a joke at his father’s, her father-in-law’s expense.

So, here I am, after having driven aimlessly around for awhile, erstwhile conscious at every second that I’d better do something fast, pull over somewhere, find some place to write, before I’d lost the…impulse? not impulse–energy.  I didn’t want to blow (for lack of a better word!) the moment, the momento (Ital?) my  momentum, the momentum, as in the current.  I’ve been calling the room at The Casa where the current is generated, The Current Room.  Incorrect! I’ve discovered, from reading the interview with Joao de Deus conducted in Spiritual Cures.  I’ve also discovered recently that John of God has nine children and that he suffers from bodily ailments like “we” do, probably more so because it must be excruciating difficult allowing oneself to be a channel.  I’m having difficulty or should I say I’m…challenged? by even the thought of  losing one’s ego, or rather, letting one’s ego loose, or/and having the faith that once you’re “out of your body” and/or “out of your mind” that you’ll/I’ll return to your/my same body.  And I do love my body, have learned to love my body.  And I’m “learn-ing” (“Ships”, you always emphasize the endings of words.  Like “learn-ing.“) to love my mind.

When I pulled up into the parking lot, I was not surprised to see a light, jade-green van parked behind me.  KT, I always see–not red!– but green, vehicles and I think of both you and Esther, because you both frequently wear jade green.  Without being told, I have an inkling (I was going to say “a suspicion” but I’m no longer a suspicious person; hopefully I’m still a “Person of Interest”– in a good way!) that green is a Buddhist color.  The light jade green van is gone, now, but I’ve captured her/him on paper.  I say, “her/him” as Edmond The Painter says, “he” of “the vood.”

Edmond The Painter has a love affair with “vood” so he made my kitchen cabinets “like new”  just as he promised.  “Look!  Look how beau-ti-ful I make it, “J”! (The Bird).  I am so grateful to G-d, to have had Edmond in my life to restore all the “vood” in my house.  My father loved “the house” our house, my Casa.

You asked me, Dr. “S” why I haven’t moved from my house, and this morning, I confess, I wrote down on a piece of paper:  “If I have to leave my house, I will.”  I hope I won’t ever have to… because on a good day, like today, when I’m writing, I don’t mind “Being Here” so much.  And for now, there’s “nowhere to go” anyway, nowhere “At This Moment” that I’d rather be.  (The Bird just told me “There’s a bees’ nest in the BBQ–” and Thank G-d he didn’t get stung.  Thank G-d is right!!)  

There have been times in my life–years and years–where I wandered about like a lost soul.  “No where to go,” I’d murmur to myself, walking the streets, thinking of…Raskalnakof– (Help, Ms. Grammarian; I don’t have time to look him up; I mean, of course, Dostoevsky’s Raskalnikov.)  (I will look it up and make a correction…)  “No where to go,” also like the protagonist in Camus “The Stranger.”  A book I absolutely loved.  Marie in her red and white striped dress, how could anyone forget her?  I had a similar dress, or bought one, when I was in high school.  I so identified with both characters in both books.

You asked me, KT, “What are you looking at when we were dining at the Thai restaurant in Evanston.  I said, “I’m looking at the woman sitting alone at the back.”  I’ve always been fascinated by women who are alone, who are capable of being alone.  I have grown into one of those women.

I am now listening to the poems of Emily Dickinson on WFMT sung by Lydia Brown.  Two amazing coincidences have happened lately.  Lying in bed, I was thinking of Emily Dickinson’s poem about hope.  “Hope is a bird with feathers…”  The second coincidence is/was that driving around a little while ago, I heard “West Side Story” on the radio.  What marvelous music!  I love the song about “my mother is my father?” Or, “my cousin is my aunt?” Or, “my sister is my brother?” Hilarious! you would say, Esther.

I’m dripping wet; the perspiration is falling off me like rain, like a baptism.  Spoonfuls of water…my bra is soaked; I can feel the droplets at the V shaped part of my bra, a pyramid shape, the triangle that forms from the top of my bra, but only if you’re on the other side of the mirror.  Looking down into the front of my tee shirt, I see the top of a tent, maybee a letter “A” , without the “ladder” step in the middle.

“Going to heaven,” I hear on the radio.  “On The Radio” the Donna Summer song.  It’s certainly summer, hot and shvitzy.  But, I “Like It That Way.”

“Everything’s A Song”, Esther.  Where are you?  No word from you lately, but I know your busy.  I glance up at a striking girl with a ponytail peeking out of a pink visor cap, that said: “Shining”?  Or, did I just make that up?

I haven’t been walking since I got back from The Casa, but “that’s okay” as you say, Esther, because a construction worker on McCormick told me running makes you lose weight!  I swear, I think the air conditioning’s the heat–rhythm wise, like “my mother is my father.”  My mother is my father” as in a marvelous novel called “Kitchen.” by Banana  (I’ll have to fill in her last name; dinner is almost ready! Lucky moi to have two men making dinner so I can type our blog… Thank Youse! )

The tee shirt does say: “Star.”  Her bike is a “Flash.”  The girl is wearing glasses, like you, KT and “Leigh” wear.  She’s carrying a dark, jade green bag.

Driving home, I saw a license plate that said: “ETTIE.”  Double “tees” as in “titties” says Naughty Grrrl, says Laughing Buddha, har! har! har!  Should I go back to Abadiana to purchase one?

I pull up to my house.  The Bird has the blinds drawn.  What a name to call window coverings!  It looks like a Shiva House, G-d forbid!  😦    Creepy! I’m truly frightened typing such a thought but when The Bird insists on keeping the windows covered up, I’m reminded of a Shiva.

Remember the blind man who was laughing at our table, Esther?  “He can’t see,” you told me.  “He’s laughing because other people are laughing.  Isn’t he won-der-ful?”  Indeed, what is more wonderful than being happy for other people? What a touching moment!  And, I hope there will be many more touching moments on all of our “excellent” adventures, many more to come…. 🙂  See, there’s a Happy Ending! 🙂  

Love,

Amy

 


  

Posted by: estheramy | July 3, 2012

Dear Esther

July 3 2012

You said I could include any material I wished, as long as it wasn’t about you;  that among your many friends, only “Consuela” was reading our blog.  I’m putting you to the test so to speak.  If you’re mad, you’re mad.  As you used to say as a teenager,  “Oh, wellll….”  Remember?   LOL to you, toooooo!

Last night, “my boyfriend” came over to the house, my Casa–one of my many boyfriends I might add, and I just did!!

“One of Amy’s Jockers,” The Bird used to say, butt he’s said so less often lately, perhaps because I’ve been more discrete, that is, until now….  Hmmmm!  “Amy and Her Jockers” would be a helluva title for a short story.

The Bird was smoking a big, fat “stoogie” when Omar arrived, and from The Computer Room, I heard Omar say, “It stinks in here, Bird!  What are you doing? You’re stinking up the whole house! Don’t you care about anybody but yourself, Bird?  Do you know what it smells like in here?”

From The Computer room, I was thinking:  A Stable?  Manure?  Seriously, Esther, I discovered while meditating in The Current Room, that not only am I capable of hearing more than one conversation at once, but also my hearing is better than I previously thought.  Maybe thanks to Saint Ignatius of Loyola, my hearing’s been enhanced.  (Omar, last night,  you asked me who the bust was portraying, in the Garden of Saint Ignatius…I just checked the spelling of Saint Ignatius.  Esther, please post the photo of the Garden of Saint Ignatius.  Thank you!!)

“Where’s The Lovely?” I heard Omar say.

I jumped up (not literally) to say “hello” to Omar, not only because I like Omar–he’s a “stand up guy” The Bird would say–but because he’s not a hell of a person, he’s a heaven of a person; when my beloved maltese, Lucy, was on her deathbed, Omar came over and offered to accompany me to the vets’ office to put her down.  He obviously couldn’t bear to see us suffering.  I remember, Omar, your helping me open her mouth and pour medicine down her throat.  You may not know that I keep her ashes and collar on my dresser, and often at night, as I’m falling asleep, I swear I feel her at my feet.

At the time I had to put Lucy down, both you, Esther, and “Ox Cohen” were besides me.  And it was you, strong hearted Esther, who stood beside her during her final moments.  I couldn’t bear to watch her leave this world.

The Bird was away in Florida.  Though he’s been bourching  (Yid for complaining) to all his friends, lately, that “my wife has taken three vacations–she went to Florida twice– blah, blah, blah!–and then to Brasil, The Bird has forgotten (G-d forbid he’s getting dementia–G-d forbid touch red as we used to say, Esther.  “Phew, phew, phew”  I’m throwing salt over my shoulder to ensure that what I said just now doesn’t happen.) that he used to go on vacations all the time by himself.  Three months in Florida during the winters! Kentucky for the….Kentucky Derby, natch!  Los Vegas to gamble.  “I have to admit” Esther, that on one Los Vegas trip, I was included, and it was fun, fun, fun being with a fleet of men–Robby, who bought me an American Indian painting at a Los Vegas art gallery, you, Omar, you were there….  Who else?  I don’t remember, though we have a photograph of all of us sitting at a table at “Michaels”? in Los Vegas, sampling the scrumptious platter of seafood: lobster, crab legs, jumbo shrimp that was served on a silver platter.

Last night, Omar, you were thumbing through the photos taken (mine and Esthers’) that Esther took on our Abadiania trip.  You said, “I can’t believe, Bird, that you haven’t seen the pictures, yet, or read the blog.

“Predictable,” you would say, Esther.  If The Bird defies the odds, and checks out our blog, guess I’m in “Big Trouble.”  But, it’s unlikely.  Because, when I asked Dr. “S” why people don’t change, he answered, “It’s hard to change.  That’ why…”   So, I’m going to bet,  “Jaybird” (as you’ve signed your Anniversary cards to moi) and “Love Forever”…that you’re not going to read the blog.  And maybe, that’s “okay.”

When The Bird said he hadn’t seen the photos, and you said, “Why not?” Omar…..  The Bird said something akin to:  “Nobody’s brought them to my attention.”

“Maybe I should have brought them to you on a silver platter,” I said.  “It’s Good To Be The King.”

Then, I mentioned that my dear friend, “S” had brought over, recently, an exquisite serving tray (made in England) decorated with a flowered pattern in gold, green and rose colors.  I went into the kitchen and brought it over to you, Omar.  You said, “Put the photos on the tray, and then he might look at them.”

You’d also said:  “So you’re still working on the blog?  You have that much {material}?”

“Yes! And it takes me a long time to write the blog because I have to hand write it, first.”  I went into The Computer Room and brought out a stack of Office Max writing pads to show you.  Not legal pads; they’re too long to fit on the lapboard that you gave me, KT (cafegrrl buddy)   My green plaid lapboard–you wear a lot of green, dearie, because you’re a Buddhist at heart, whether you “knose” it, or not.

The Sun has arisen, and I’ve read in a spiritual vision book that it’s “okay” to look at the sun when it’s rising and setting.  So, I’ll chant Nam Renge’ Kyoto Ko and “Mo-Dah-ah-ni” as I do every morning when the sun is rising and every evening when the sun is setting.

I ended my blog “Namaste” last night, Omar, because you asked The Bird if he’d seen the photo Esther took of me sitting in lotus position.  (Please post the photo of me sitting in “Lotus”, Esther.  Thank you!  And “Namaste” to you, too.

 

 

Posted by: estheramy | July 3, 2012

Finale’ of Peppers, Pork and Alcohol

“I may be repeating myself,” says Polly the Parrot, but I don’t have time to go back to the blog entry I posted earlier today.  In exactly 23 minutes, I have to “close up shop” or the lower entities will have their way with me!  In “Spiritual Cures” the book I am reading “now” that I purchased at the Casa bookstore, the author, Ismar Estulano Garcia mentioned, “Discipline, discipline, discipline…”

So, of course I’m probably repeating myself mentioning that according to cafegrrls, I hadn’t included sensory details that “helped place the novel.”  I’ll probably always be Polly the Parrot, or Pollyanna.  Better to be Pollyanna!

What I’m wondering about now is…at what point during the writing of our estherandamyexcellentadventure blog , will I have time to work on my potential stories.  Because, as the writer Bill Ransom (co author of “Dune” along with…somebody Herbert? I don’t have time to look him up!…) said to me in Port Townsend, Washington:  “We writers have stories to tell.  Will we get to write them?”  Will we get to write them?  “In Other Words” la de dah de dah….  it’s a privilege to write them.  Butt (!) it’s hard for me to temporarily “abandon” our blog, because the blog is a cord, “a string” a connection between me and Esther…

N.B.  Henceforth, “Hubby” “J” H2″ will be referred to as “The Bird.”  Namaste!

Posted by: estheramy | July 2, 2012

Continuation of Pork, Peppers and Alcohol

                                                                                                                            July 2, 2012

I was spacing out for a moment (and simultaneously discovered that I have to reposition today’s date via the “spacebar” on the keyboard rather than the “tab”key, that is, if instead of using WORDPRESS.COM’S  format I want the date to appear in the upper right of the page…..

During the entire evening, Hubby #2 (I’ll call Esther’s hubby “Hubby #1 from Now on…) and “J” were reminiscing about how “The Neighborhood”, meaning Rogers Park, East & West) has “gone to shit.” i.e.

“See that building on the corner?” says H2, as he’s driving home after our delicious meal. (I had told “M’ “I’ll have the same thing she’s having”… and then asked “J”s wife (I forgot the letter I assigned her) if she’d ever heard of “When Sally Met Harry.”  A quiet girl, I believe she merely nodded.  We both had veal strips served on pasta.  No peppers. Possibly a splash of white wine; if so, the alcohol content would have evaporated, right, Es?

So, as H2 was saying:  I used to work in that building when I was a boy.”  I was thinking of what Tomboy had said, continually, in The Current Room:  “If we’re living in the past, we are depressed…”

Hmmm.  Not necessarily.  “It Ain’t Necessarily So…” Porgy and Bess; playing somewhere in Chgo. right now; I heard that on WMFT.  I intend to up my contribution to $100.  WFMT is sooooo Grrreat!  I mentioned to one of the cafegrrls (see our Writers’ blog: cafegrrls, if you will; it’s excellent; sorry to “toot my own horn but it’s not only my horn; my “horn” is a unicorn horn, by the bye; our writers’ blog is comprised of 8 Grrrrls, many of whom are professional writers….) that while I was alluding to her as a Page, that WFMT “Happened” to be playing Renaissance Music.  Like I’ve said in my blog posted on cafegrrls, I Believe In Happenstance.  Synchronicity! The Tao of Psychology! Now, there was a book.

A former writing teacher was perhaps 100 percent correct in advising me that I digress too much. I’m trying to correct that mistake, unless I have somehow (“…Somehow! Someway!… West Side Story!! Tony!) found A Way to make it work to my advantage…..????????

The Way “It Ain’t Necessarily So” is that if we’re writing about the past In The Present Moment, then, I was going to say: we’re in The Present Moment.  But, actually…? Then, we’re in both, Past and Present, simultaneously.  So, we don’t necessarily have to be depressed…”if we’re living in the past…”  We writers have found a way out 🙂  “Nostalgia” by virtue of the connotation of the word, is not a downer.

When I’d felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia and also deja vu in Abadiana, I wasn’t able to pinpoint the feeling until the fourth day I was there…. The feeling was one of being in a dreamworld–a painterly world, riffed on, in, I believe, in my first blog entry (scroll down; thank you sooooo much 🙂 almost as if I had taken a time traveler’s capsule or, G-d forbid, was on a mind altering drug (I never have been. or would be, unless somebody dropped a “Mickey” not in my cocktail, because it looks like there might be NMC (no more cocktails….????  

What being in Abadiania felt like was like being in Michigan City, Indiana, when I was a young, and then, high school age girl……  Michigan City, Indiana was where my novel Bittersweet Summer was/is set…

And, I would swear upon a bible (I could swear on Volume 1 of ZOHAR which is behind me, as I type, Always, that I intend to use the streets of Abadiania to help me better the description in “Bittersweet Summer”.  Because one of the cafegrrls mentioned on our discussion of it, that B.S. (!) is not replete with adequate description.  

A blue bar keeps appearing; I think it’s a sign for me to end here.  Also, “Ox Cohen” is making me and H     2 lunch and it’s ready.  Pray for me Esther.  I’m ready to post.  Like the horse in the photo…….

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