Kristina Furey

Consideration and editing left me late this week


I really wanted to be careful to say what I have to say. An attempt at grace. I don't want to mislead anyone into believing that I am a sad or depressed person when I write or speak of sad things but sometimes, I find things sad and when I am sad, I take note and question what would make it better? I am exceptionally blessed and at times exceptionally challenged. Having an awareness of all the ways I am blessed, also keeps me aware, that when I am challenged, I am perhaps less challenged than others. So I do my best to try to create ease for those in need or at the very least, give them a voice or use my own voice to call attention to their needs. This is why I blog about matters that may seem personal. I'm not looking for sympathy and I'm not looking to throw shadows at people. I just want to shine a light on things worth our consideration. My hope being that the messages get to the people who can make positive changes to our "systems" and help create ease, for those in need. I am not one to hold grudges. I am one who believes that we should speak up when we see flaws in the system and we should help others when we have the ability to help others get their needs met. It is with that hope that I share the following...


Last week, I got there at 12:45 p.m.  I had been told to be there at 1 p.m.  I came in with a migraine that started around my right eye, at 11 a.m.  I waited.  I looked around, saw the others like me, who were also waiting. I wondered if they, like me, had not eaten all day and if they had been only on clear liquids the day before? At 2 p.m, I was getting hangry, hanxious and impatient as my migraine progressed. I reminded myself how fortunate I am to be someone that normally gets to eat whenever the urge hits. I reminded myself, I was a participant in this, unlike many people in the world who were truly starving and sick because of it. I reminded myself, I could leave if I wanted.


They finally called me back around 3pm. My husband was not allowed to come with me.  I really wanted him to stay with me until they wheeled me back for my procedures but I was grateful, to be out of the waiting room and getting prepped for my procedures. It was after 7pm, when my husband was called back into the post opp room and they told me, while my colon was clean of any concerns, they did have to take biopsies of my esophagus. I was on my way home by 7:26pm.


I've made a habit of observing myself in uncomfortable situations.  Some self talk that went through my head last week, went something like this,  “Oh my gosh this sucks!!! This is not right!  It should not be this way!  How could anybody allow this to be this way!?!  Everything has become so industrialized, just line them up and get them all done at once.  I felt like a number, a dollar sign, an object...  Meanwhile, I had flashbacks to each of my parents going through the whole cancer “curing process".  I remembered how anxious my mother was, trying to help my father navigate through the "system". I remembered how later, when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, her card that she needed to check into her appointments would only work sometimes and she kept asking for a replacement but they kept insisting she just wasn't using the card right. Yet they never helped her with it, to see what was really going on.  I did and it appeared to work haphazardly.  I wondered how they did it, watched her struggle without involving themselves in helping her find a solution.  Were they burnt out on helping or did they just reason that it wasn't in their job description.  It didn't seem reasonable to me and I tried to ask questions and expressed my concerns, hoping they might see what I saw and come up with solutions.

As I laid there alone in pre-opp, with the curtains closed around me, tears slipping down my cheeks, I recounted these things I had witnessed. I attempted to find peace with it and with my concerns. I was thankful, the migraine I had, was slightly alleviated with the IV and the ice, the nurse had kindly placed at the base of head.  I prayed that maybe the others, there waiting, might be protected from the concerns and suspicions I had, that more important than our well being, was perhaps the money each of us represented. I was too aware the doctor had over-scheduled the procedures that day. I had heard an ugly remark from one of the members of the surgical team, as I lay there in pre-opp, he came in and chewed out one of the nurses for sending back too many doubles in a row. I was fearful to be in the care of that one and hoped that while I was under anesthesia and at my most vulnerable, there would be someone with the best of intentions in the room watching over me and my fellow patients there. It occurred to me time and time again it was a choice and I was a participant. I hoped it was the right choice.

I tried to record an acapella version of one of my songs called "Vulnerable" I tried and tried but kept getting interrupted and then got hit with a lousy case of tree pollen. I decided to leave it unfinished since sometimes that's the way life leaves things. It seemed to be one of those things that life kept interrupting for some purpose, beyond me. Frustrating as that was I decided to embrace it and let it be. It's here. just look for the shower and click. I liked the ambience the shower provided.


What can't be denied


"We can't deny what's happening here you're getting older and I'm getting older and I've seen the lines etched on your face a map to the past reminder of yesterday a time when you couldn't love me the way that I needed I thought you only loved me when I pleased you but now we push that pain aside what good is pain once we've learned the lessons it teaches and I can't deny when I look at your face the love that I feel the love that you've given me please won't you give me your hand I'll help you stand I can be strong now that you're not and you you could be strong for me give your hand to me that would show great strength indeed and we can't deny that all that we have is just here just now it's only this space in time please won't you give me your hand I'll help you stand I can be strong now that you’re not you you could be strong for me give your hand to me and it will give us the courage we both seek cause we can't deny What's Happening Here. What's Happening Here. What's happening…"--We Can't Deny"

What was happening?


So many generations of recycled pain. With each generation trying to heal, by placing burdens on their own children or choosing to transcend them.  One generation and then the next and then the next and then, it was my turn.  I wanted to transcend because lucky for me, my parents wrote “Love” on my heart.  They took in foster children and other people that were in need of support and love and taught me, "These are your brothers and sisters." And I got the message the world is full of my brothers and my sisters.  My parents had flaws but because they taught me to love and I loved them so much, I learned to forgive.  My parents brought a variety of different people into our home and into my life and they taught me to respect the differences in each person. They taught me that life changes on a dime and people that are precious to me, may not be here in the next moment, so I had better appreciate them while I could.  My mom taught me that leaving was a choice, should I ever find myself in a situation where my needs we're not getting met or I did not have a voice.  In regards to that, my father taught me that anyone with strong enough willpower could change for the ones he loves.  They both taught me that marriages are flawed from the beginning, as did some visits I had to my grandparent's homes. They showed me that marriages, much like hearts, need repairing.   Vows spoken in front of God and family don't make a marriage.  Marriages are built moment on moment, year after year.   Above all, my parents taught me to love.  And I'm so grateful for that!!!


When I wrote the song, "We Can't Deny" I thought what was important was, what was happening. My perspective is different today and I see that what was most important was actually what couldn't be denied about what was happening, THE LOVE. Love is wanting the best for the one that is loved. Maybe something worth thinking about the next time you look at some one you love. My brother, on his death bed said, "No one gets out of here alive." I say, "We never know when the last time, will be the last time, will be the very last time." we see someone we love, alive. It's about time we look to love and the many ways it wants to bridge us together and keep us from building walls around our hearts.


Giving her, her voice


I had gone to the beach with a friend's family.  It was Saturday and the following day I was due to go home.  I called my mom from a payphone. That's what we did back then.  I asked her if I could spend Sunday night at my friend's house.  I was 16.  She said I couldn't because I was starting school on Monday.  I said, “No, we go back next Tuesday.  The day after Labor Day”.  That's when she explained to me, how she and my father had been waiting to tell me that we were moving and I would be starting school in another state in just two days.  They didn't tell me sooner because they didn't want to ruin my summer... Anyway, there were no cell phones.  There was no internet.  There was just a handful of telephone numbers that I had memorized in my head and once again, there was me, losing the pieces of myself I had invested in others.  After having foster brothers and sisters come and go through my life, some friends that moved away, and even my mom's own disappearance from my family's life, just after I turned eleven, (though she did eventually return), I was beginning to see a pattern in my life.  

We don't have control over our circumstances as much as we would like to believe that we do.  But in those moments, the ones when we do, the decisions we make can play a major role in the circumstances that later develop.  I had learned this observing my father when his sugar levels would start to crash.  At times I could see my family reacting like dominoes.  All out of my control. Yet, like the perfect a little performer right on cue, I never missed the mark.  If you saw the performance enough times, you would see I was as predictable as I believed they were.  Years later, I would watch Dan like a hawk, trying to catch his tells.  I admired his self control.  What a strength, I thought and so contrary to a weaker person's attempt at strength through bullying, lies or manipulation.  While I had self control in other areas, I realized watching Dan, my self control muscles could still use some resistance training. I needed to learn to resist the urge to be reactive. It took years of practice before I actually found my muscle getting stronger here. Like muscles it takes constant maintenance. Use it or lose the ability. I wonder how the world would be if everyone trained this muscle...

Back to my story: Age 16, first day at my new school.  I was sent away to get some medical form.  But before this happened, I met a guy who is also a transfer.  We seemed to hit it off so wonderfully well and the fact he looked like the lead singer of Def Leppard only helped me think, “maybe this move thing isn't the worst thing that ever happened…hmmm”? When I came back the following day with the necessary medical form, I saw him in the hall and called out his name.  As he turned my way, out from behind him, popped this perky, pretty, friendly girl.  Who introduced herself to me and then said “I'm his girlfriend”!  As I tried to figure out how that happened so fast, she explained to me that they used to live in the same area, their parents were friends and both relocated to this area over the summer.  I thought to myself, “What's better, boyfriend potential or two new friends in a vast sea of people I don't know”?  Lucky for me, I had two great people to sit with in the cafeteria later that day and a new girlfriend, who could totally relate to what it was like to be the new girl at age 16.  Hers and my friendship lasted longer than her, boyfriend/girlfriend situation. Did I mention he was dreamy to look at? I wasn't the only one that noticed that little detail...

Okay, so now to my point. It was a recurring question in my youth.  How do you practice self control when you're attracted to your girlfriend's boyfriend?  How do you stave off jealousy, especially, when girls were, well, girl like? I was fortunate in that I had two older brothers and I was basically a tomboy, so I had a lot of guy friends growing up.  I preferred their company often to that of the back stabbing, drama nonsense that girls can pull, some aggressively deliberate and some in a reactionary state because you hurt them in some way you didn't realize you hurt them and they somehow think it is better to lash out than use their voice like a logical person would.. While I resent this behavior, I am no stranger to behaving this way in moments when I couldn't logically express myself. Go figure... So, guy friends, I preferred them and I learned, that cute guys, the ones I thought were cute but I didn't actually know, were just blank canvases for my romantic imagination.  Everything on those canvases and things I felt "for them" were from inside of me and not something they had.  Everything they felt about me, was from inside of them and had nothing to do with me. So what they felt about me, was not something that I had or lacked having.  Well, I knew that logically but of course there were moments I wasn't so logical... When I observed them and hung around them long enough, I could pick out the ones I had things in common with from the ones that, while attractive, weren't really going to hold my attention for long or were troubled in ways I didn't want to entangle myself up in. Did that kill the romance?  Not for me! It slowed things down a bit, which allowed me ample time, to find a mate that was more fitting of who I was, as a person. As a result, instead of a crap shoot, I got a royal flush.  Which IS pretty romantic, instead of heartbreaking. But I had my heart breaks too and I never wanted to put that kind of pain on someone else. Even as a teenage girl, I knew that and respected that boundary I set out for myself. I even wrote a song about the boundary, as a way of problem solving, for Y. My thought being if we understand Y the boundary exists, it helps lead to the understanding of YNOT go there? Y and YNOT were things I learned to take into consideration before acting on or reacting to, things and I realized not everyone did. So the song was written to explain it. Last week, I finally sat down to record and share, what that teenage girl, once thought, was so important to say. Once again, here is a link to my share page. Just look for the computer keyboard and you'll find the song.


"Save the Cheerleader, save the world" Hiro


“Save the cheerleader save the world!”  The tagline for the first season of “Heroes”.  Which I watched with my husband and my son, week after week as the story unraveled.  Oh, the anticipation, “What did it mean?” I asked myself, along with probably every other viewer. 

Now I would guess the average viewer didn’t give that tagline nearly as much consideration as I did or pull it out of the context it had been intended for but it dangled there in front of me like a crystal casting its light in all directions, It pulled me in, shared a secret with me.  A secret I want to share with you…  She pulled me in.  When I was struggling, she never failed to throw a great big beautiful, warm and friendly smile my direction.  Her name was Kristin.  She was on the Pom Squad and I totally had a crush on her brother!  She died in a car accident just after her 16th birthday.  I was in such shock at the news.  I was a year younger than her and my Mom had the hardest time encouraging me to learn to drive.  I had no interest.  It left me feeling responsible to somehow be what she was to myself, to others who might be going through challenging times.  I had a strong belief that a loss like hers would change the balance of our world for the worse.  I’ve been visited by these same thoughts since the loss of my mother. 

Years prior to Kristin’s car accident, I saw this special on TV, I think it was called Christmas miracles or something…  and they were supposed to be true.  One story was how this guy stopped to help a car crash victim and got him to the hospital in time to save the crash victim’s life.  Years later, the guy that stopped to help, gets a phone call, his son is in the hospital and was accidentally shot by a hunter.   He would have died, except a young doctor had been hiking nearby and saved his life.  Gets more interesting, when they explain the doctor turns out to be the son of the man, who was in the car crash.  Had the man not lived all those years earlier, he would not have gone on to father the young doctor, that in the end saved the son of the man, that saved the young doctor’s father’s life.   The whole idea of this made such an impact on me and how our pasts and our futures are connected by our moments, our now and what we do with it.   

In that moment, as I sat there contemplating “Save the cheerleader save the world” I knew that I wanted to find a way to save the cheerleaders, the girls of our country from things I witnessed growing up, as well as give them what I could of my own experience to help them navigate their way through their own challenges.  I wanted to lend my voice and since losing my mother, more than ever this is so.  I look around at our world and I am concerned about the future of humans, I fear we are losing our humanity.  I fear we have disrespected women, children, the elderly and the vulnerable with a winner take all mentality.  What kind of world is that?  It's a a world where cheerleaders can’t thrive.  I hope you will consider this and continue to try to save them.  If you save them, if you help them save their ability to dream and make their own hopes realities, they will save the world! 


1 more this week-for Melania


Forgive me a 3am awakening led to this post but it seemed urgent to get this said.

Dear Melania Trump,.

I don't know you and you don't know me but I look at you sometimes and I concern over you.  I am reminded of a plaque on a wall with butterflies.  These butterflies had needles through their heart, attaching them to this board.  Each perfectly labeled underneath with an identity that someone along the way had thought up and given them.  I think the butterfly herself would have preferred to have called herself free.  After all, isn't that what all butterflies should be?  

I have always found butterflies to be beautiful and I learned as a young child, just how important it is not to mess with the nature of these beautiful creatures.  I wish I hadn't learned this lesson the hard way, as it broke my heart, when the butterfly that I had caught, lost the special powder on its wings and suffered a tear to its wing as well.  I felt a great shame as the realization overcame me, that this butterfly would never get off the ground again.  I wish I had brought this butterfly to the attention of someone who could have helped her, for the damage that I had caused her but it was that same pride, I felt at acquiring the butterfly, along with the shame of wounding the dear creature, that took control of me, allowing that butterfly to suffer.  I didn't want to be thought of as less, even though, I knew the truth.  I don't know if hiding the truth ever helped because I still to this day think about that butterfly and the pain in my heart.  That pain in my heart saved many a butterfly after that one. I remember considering that while observing the plaque with the butterflies on it.  Whoever created that butterfly plaque, must not have made the same connection I did. I noticed, as I saw butterfly after butterfly, stuck to the board as some sort of trophy. I don't remember how many butterflies there were on the plaque, maybe it was 9, maybe it was 12.  I just remember feeling for them and thinking.  The person who did that obviously didn't realize what a gift those creatures lives were to this world and I thought, how selfish and cruel it was…


Forgive me, if I have assumed to much!  I trust only you, to know your own story. I have considered too, that the wall of an office just may have proven to be, much better than other places you may be familiar with...  or maybe, you are careful and clever to use your position, much like the heroine, Scheherazade, from “1001 Nights”.   If that's the case, keep at it!  Regardless, I just wanted to extend my friendship to you.


Much love and hope,

Kristina Furey



Moments of clarity


Sometimes I get these moments of clarity on things and realize how helpful it could be to others.  Last week, I had one of those moments as I went on a little adventure with some girlfriends.  In route,  a girlfriend asked me, “What would be your advice to this person I know, who feels like her husband should stick up for her when she is visiting his family and members of that family do things to heckle her or otherwise make her uncomfortable?”  My friend continued to explain how these encounters almost always lead to her and her significant other having spats after visits.  I said things like, “Well she should have a discussion with her significant other before their next encounter about how she feels or if she’s not up to that, start writing a letter now explaining what it is like and how if effects her when she goes through these uncomfortable encounters.  Edit it and edit it, until it contains no blame, just the facts and her explanation of why and how it is hard for her.  I cautioned, she should be prepared for the significant other to get defensive, perhaps even try to make her the bad guy in the situation but to stick to the message of these are my needs.  I said hopefully they will just be more understanding and willing to help mediate.  However, my advice was if they don’t get ironed out before she is due to visit again, she shouldn’t go.  Also, If things seemed settled between her and her significant other but she gets there only to find herself once again heckled without his help, she should help herself and leave.  Call a friend, a cab, an Uber and go.  We have to validate ourselves even if no one else will.

Life is hard enough.  It is unpredictable and at times feels cruel but life has no cruel intentions.  Only facts.  When we try to push against those facts, we find that facts really are unchangeable.  We don’t get to choose the facts of life.  If we feel abused by the facts of life we really have no choice but to accept the facts and cope.  People that mistreat us or allow us to be mistreated are a whole different thing.  

The night of that conversation I went to sleep and woke up in the wee hours of the morning hearing “She needs to be okay.  She needs to tell them she is not okay”.  First thing the following morning, I told my friend this and we discussed how that was actually such a great response because anyone that would argue against someone being able to feel okay, rather than open themselves up to the conversation of why someone is not okay, is really not someone you would be able to be okay with, so it would be self abuse to remain with them.  

My thought is, if you don’t feel okay in a situation the first thing to say is “I don’t feel okay.”  Then state why.  If they don’t get it or argue against you, the next question would be “Do I get to be okay in this relationship?’”  And anything less than "Yes" is a reason to move on.  This “Do I get to be okay” can be utilized in all relationships, family, work, etc…   

Anyway, in this day and age where so many people have come forward with stories of how they were adversely, effected by people, misusing their power, it seems like this may be an important epiphany, to share… if it helps you or could help someone you know, please pass it on.  

I’ve added some more shares at the bottom of my page here.


Second Hand Rock N Roll


First things first.  I did finish the song, I mentioned I was still working on in last weeks blog.  Well, kinda…  So it took going back over and over it again, trying to get it as close to what originally showed up in my head, some years ago.  At the time it was like meeting  “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin, and “Stroke” by Billy Squire, well, it was like meeting their long lost cousin.  Though, it was really more just the result of 2nd hand Rock N Roll. Maybe you’ve heard of how 2nd hand smoke can infect those around.  Well I heard some Zeppelin and other bands growing up and it’s kinda the same thing.  I was an Olivia Newton John loving, Soft rock listening, Crystal Gayle singing, young lady, breathing in 2nd hand RNR.  I blame my brother who played his music so loud it shook the house when my parents weren’t home.  It would drown out my soft rock when he had the stereo up to 11.  I knew there was no convincing him of turning it down and admittedly, I liked some of what I heard, and caught the RNR bug that there is no cure for, except perhaps more cowbell ;-).  This 2nd hand RNR I was exposed to occasionally gets exhaled into a song.   I warn you, I may have bitten off more than I should have but the hope was for Dan to get an idea of what I was hearing.  I added it to:  My Video Blog page.  The video is the one on the bottom right hand corner. 

Dan’s finger boo-boo has made a recovery and now that I got the song flushed out, he can gather an idea of what I was going for and we’ll see what happens next.  We may capture what was in my head completely or it may take on a life of it’s own.  Songs are like children, once we birth them, they become what the world sees as necessary.   Sometimes I feel very possessive because I want the song to be what it told me it wants to be.  Maybe I’m not so much possessive, as I feel a certain amount of loyalty to the songs that present themselves to me. 


"I don't want to go home tonight" a songx2 by me :-)


Dan is on break from work and last Thursday he started making another cutting board, after waking our dinosaur of a computer up from a very long slumber, so I could do some recording.  He has always set me up to record vocals in the past and he’s always done the instruments, editing and mixing.  So far, all I've learned to do is hit record and stop, move to the next track and do the same.   So I have to play all the way through the song or hit delete and start over.  Same with vocals.  Makes for good practice, I guess. In the three hours he woodworked, I vocalized and recorded a song.  I came up with it years ago (A story for another day) but it’s theme of “I’m having so much fun, I don’t want this to end” which has been a running theme through my life and most recently that was the case when I was up north, just before Christmas, when I flew in for my bestie’s Christmas party.  Hence the intro in the video.  So here’s the link:  which will take you to a page I’m starting for the purpose of sharing.  I have more than one video and I'll get to that in a moment.  This particular song is in the video where you see me.  In the light blue shirt.  Yep, that is me.  Thursday was a no makeup, hair in ponytail kinda of day.  A get it done kinda day! :-)

Finding the chords to play and recording the song was Easier to do than I anticipated.  YES!!!  And it was just the win I needed to convince me to try again.  And I did.  Second time was not as cooperative.  It turns out I had the room speakers on and the mic was picking that up.  Which created a strange reverb on my voice, along with the occasional feedback.  With the reverb and extra noise I couldn’t get it to fit my expectation and I didn’t want to pull Dan out of his woodworking zone for help and so, since I’ve been practicing the art of allowing recently, I decided to go with it.   I played around vocally with it, dropped some lyrics repeated others, added a vocal intro, vocal outro and a miracle occurred!  It worked in a mysterious way as it changed the entire perception of the song.  It was in commemoration to my first love who lost his life to an electrical accident but in this twist that took place with the recording, it became more of a past presence, lingering in nostalgia.  Perhaps a ghost reflecting on someone still living.  Which instantly sparked a whole movie idea in my head, that I think would be really awesome and surreal like Jessica Jones.  Is that show ever coming back?  I digress.  So back to my blogging.  Where was I Thursday, and then Friday...  OH YES, SATURDAY!  So all charged up and ready to go Saturday, I found my luck had run out.  I couldn’t get the next song I chose to work on.  After hours of trying, I put it on hold and came back strong on Sunday.  Sadly, Sunday was not the charm either.  If I had nothing else, I did have determination to crack this nut.  I worked it and worked it.  I got nothing but I did at least get closer to negotiations on what I wanted and what I might get, if I continue with the art of allowing.  So tonight… wish me luck!  Dan did finish his cutting board yesterday and I have added two pictures of it to the page I created for the purpose of sharing my two songs and pictures of both of the cutting boards Dan has now created.  The original one he made for me as a Christmas gift.  You can see them here and hear the song of nostalgia I recorded  

FYI-Dan and I have gone a very long time without doing music.  Too many life interruptions and the need to lay low, process our family losses and heal, has had us on hiatus.  We did try to rehearse a handful of times but it was just train wrecks, which is very disheartening, like going to the dentist and learning you have a cavity.  Hurts.  Makes it hard to find the motivation to go back but you know, not going back only makes it worse…  So we have been trying over and over again in between life’s demands.  Not easy.  This last time we went a full two weeks and then Dan burned his finger.  Placement of the burn was not great for guitar playing but doesn’t get in the way of woodworking.  It’s healing.  We’ll try again tonight…

ONE LAST THING:  (It's just a little twisted tune, ou, ou, ou, NO WAIT, it's an alternative tune source ;-) that showed up in my head as a radio wave.  Take it. Play with it. Mold it like Playdoh into something better or share it if it resonates with you.) 

To the tune of PINK FLYOD’S, “Another Brick In The Wall”:  
“We all need emancipation.  We don't need no thought control.  Or dark sarcasm cross the Twitter.  Leave those dreamer kids alone.  Alone, alone, HEY, leave them kids alone!  All in all it's just a Another Brick in the Wall.

We all need consideration. We all need some self-control. No grabbing women by the who ha. Or Russians messing with the polls.  Cuz all in all it's just a Another Brick in the Wall.  Yeah all in all it's just another brick in the wall.  

We all need an education.  Please don't put our needs on hold.  Without Healthcare we will suffer, in our progress as a whole.   On and on it's just another brick in the wall.  On and on it's just another brick in the wall.

Alone.  Don't just leave this  alone.

If you don't read my tweets, you won't get your news right.  You'll end up with false news, if you don't read my tweets!"


"And I will try to fix you" Coldplay


Music is the needle, that with precision, can pierce through “the wrinkle in time”.   With the right tune and words, one can pinch the fabric of time while sliding the listener, like a needle through the fabric to the past or the future, allowing the listener to experience once again, moments past or even emotions of a future self, the present self has not ever even experienced…

Wednesdays.  I would come home from school and my father had the stereo hooked up to play upstairs, downstairs and outside on the deck.  He would be working on that house that we lived in and that music was as wonderful a greeting as our dog, running to the door shaking her tail, doing her happy dance that I was home.  I loved it all!!!  One day, on comes this song by Mary Hopkins, "Those Were The Days".  Here is a link to the song on YouTube:     I felt nostalgia.  I didn't even know what it was except that there was a strange pang in my heart and my stomach and I just wanted to hug my Dad!  Over and over again as a child and young person, I have felt things that I had never experienced, through music.  I once heard someone say it's the language of the Soul.  The soul knows and recognizes it even when the mind doesn't or we can't find words for it.

My father loved music.  I loved my father.  I was the youngest born in my family.  I was at the bottom of the pecking order.  When the dominoes fell, I saw it in slow motion, eventually they would all fall on me.  When you’re the youngest, it serves you well to be observant.  This is even more true when the dominoes fall.  Throw in a pre-diabetic at the top of that pecking order and now those dominoes will fall very haphazardly, if you don’t know to look for a low blood sugar correlation. To a sensitive child like I was, survival seemed reliant on knowing just when that first domino would fall.  To a co-dependent child the survival of the family seemed reliant upon stoping the dominoes from falling altogether.  The mystery was not solved in time but I did think outside of the box.  What did my father love and how could I discover the stitch in time, in the form of a gentle persuasion?  What defied limitations in a society or a household where one could not speak truth or convince someone through logic?  Where there is dysfunction or confusion in the thought process the best tool I have ever found for communication is the language of the soul.  

When I was a child, my father nicknamed me Florence, short for Florence Nightingale.  I always wanted to fix what was broken.  Broken things make me sad.  My father wanted me to be a nurse.  He wanted me to marry a doctor.  He told me this many times.  I wanted to be a veterinarian/farmer’s wife.  I did not write because I wanted to.  I wrote because I had to.  I had to communicate and I had to do it well enough to convince people to stop breaking things, animals and people but as you may imagine, they did not listen.  THEY YELLED AT ME.  INTIMIDATED ME. They spoke over me.  They twisted my words and my actions.  So I wrote it and I left it for them to read or I sang it or I just wrote it for myself.  I shared it with others who had the same difficulty.  They shared with me their personal struggles and I wrote for them.   I loved to sing.  My father loved music.  It just seemed natural to try to communicate to him this way and yet he was never supportive of me pursuing music.  Being a singer or musician was not a job to him.  It was a way of life that broke people.  



Calling all dreamers


I imagine what it would sound like if I could put my ear down on the earth and listen to its heart beat, its breathe, its voice its request of me?  

I imagine if I laid down on the ground and listened to our planet and it could speak, it would say…

“The world had a dream
with a need for some creation.
So it created you
a manifestation
of the dream that it dreamed.  
Will you meet your destination?
With the dreams that you dream?  
The seed is there inside you.  
It’s fertilized by everything
in need of your attention.  
The world has created for you a destiny
will you meet your destination?
It’s a collective dream.  
Will you meet your destination?  
Calling all dreamers!  
Calling all dreamers!
Calling all dreamers!
To dream the dream!”

They say make a demand on a muscle and it expands to fill the demand.  What if we are the muscle?  I encourage you to find a quiet place and listen.  Listen to the one listening.  See if you can discover what your connection to life is and how you can meet the destination, life has appointed you.  It doesn’t have to be a grand thing.  It need only be something that supports life.  Maybe, yours is the life in need of support.  If that’s the case, you are in good company.  I have found myself in that position recently.  The past year was a doozy.  Losing my Mom to cancer was a devastation, I struggled to find my way through.  I previously thought losing my brother and then my father to cancer was too much.  Now, between the loss of my mother and having to trade in a president that I felt akin to, for one that seems in direct conflict with everything I believe in, regarding how we should treat people and how we as a nation should conduct ourselves, I have been emotionally exhausted, heart broken, anxious and I have had a hard time some mornings, just dragging myself out of bed.  So sometimes we have to concentrate on supporting ourselves.  A great way for me to support myself is to dream.  To believe better things are on the horizon.  To believe, I could be that better thing on the horizon for someone else, when I get back up and running.  So, I refuse to stop dreaming!  My dreams are actually more focused now as I have a better idea of what the world is asking of me.  I do believe that within each of us, lies the solution to a problem our world has had or is facing.  If we would only stop distracting ourselves with things designed to cater to the ego and start empowering each other to be who and what we are, we would amaze ourselves!  We would deliver the destiny, life dreamed up, when it conceived us.