Isn't it interesting when all the things that you believe start to show their faces? Lately I have been finding this happening.
I enjoy watching the WORLD channel on TV and a few days ago they were talking about string theory. This is something that scientist have been working on for a while. The premise is that mass particles and waves are inter-changable. Let's see if I can put this a little simpler. According to what I understand, matter can be made up of particles and sometimes these particles turn into waves or vice versa.
While watching my favorite program, this lecturer was talking about turning gasses into liquid etc. I find that fascinating but then he mentioned the particle/wave idea and I sat up quickly. He went on to talk about the Einstein Bose Condensate. This sounded interesting, something new for my mind to wrap around. (Learning is my erotic zone.) So what was this new idea? It was the fact that matter can be made up of particles and/or waves and sometimes when the waves have been altered a bit by extreme cold, they become each other.(He went into Absolute Zero, another interesting concept but this will wait until later.) As one can see, I don't have the Einstein Bose Condensate theory down but I do understand this last part, they become each other.
They become each other is the center of my life. It is a concept that I have been embracing for a very long time. When I would have weekly talks with the Devas of Oakwell, they would continue to tell me that "We are one." That could have meant that they are all joined together but I really think that they were trying to tell me that all beings, and now all matter is one.
That sure would fit with my concept of the universe.
I read a book called TURNING HOME by Paul F. Eno and in it he talked about all sorts of things but what hit me from that book was a Biblical translation that he quoted. I have never really felt that the Bible was translated the way it was written and he confirmed this. The quote that he used was Matthew 22:39. In the Bible it says, "Love your neighbor as yourself." Isn't that a beautiful thing to think about? But Paul Eno says that the original Greek that this comes from is, "agapesis ton plaision sou os seauton." He even underlines the "os" in this. He said that the real translation is: "Love your neighbor because he is yourself." And they become each other.
When you hurt, I hurt. When you are happy, I am happy. We are all one.
That really doesn't seem to fit into our world, does it? I am different from you. I am a certain political party member. I am a certain religious member. I am a certain race. I am……. But what am I really. I am you!
Will we ever really understand that concept? What would happen if we did? Would we stop fighting? Do we need the separation to be ourselves? Are we afraid of losing our identity?
Yesterday a lady stopped by to chat. She was telling me about a long time friend of hers who just decided that they were no longer friends. The lady mentioned that maybe it was a good thing as they didn't have much in common anymore. They do, they have life in common but it isn't always enough.
Why do people come and go in our lives? God created us in his image to experience life on this planet. Does that mean that we are each different? No, it means that we are all in our own experience of this life. We
collect experiences and they shape what we think and how we feel about everything. Does that make us different? To the degree that each experience impinges on our soul, that would be a "yes".
I don't really know anyone who is not experiencing major trauma in some manner at this time. We are all being forced to learn. The climate in the world is about change, in all aspects and each of us is being forced to learn so that we can do this.
Many years ago, when I was finding myself being super sensitive to those around me, I would get a pain in some part of my body. It might be a headache or a pain in my knee. I found that by looking around me at the people who were near me, then going inside my head and asking "Is it yours?" while looking at one person, it would go away. If not I would continue my search. To test this out I would go up to that person and ask if they had a headache. They might say something like, "Does it show?" I would make up something to answer this like, "Your eyes looked dark. I just thought you might have a headache." (I don't get headaches) How about the knee problem? "You seem to be favoring that leg." I took on the physical problems of those around me. We are all one.
I had to work very hard to shield myself from the problems of others. We have been taught to shield ourselves from each other until we think…..Yes, we only think we are separate beings on this planet.
We are all one! Find yourself in those around you. We are part of the life force on this planet, we are all one!
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Perspective
Unless you have experienced something, it is hard to really believe it. At least that is my opinion when it comes to reincarnation.
I think we all get glimpses but they don't register in our minds.
An example might be the time my husband and I were visiting the wharf in San Francisco a few years ago. There was a three-mast ship one could board. We went on deck and were looking around. Then we went below to the hold, where the ceilings were very low and lumber had been transported. I looked around and noticed that my husband had turned a lovely shade of pale green. He seemed to be in a state of shock. I took his arm and walked him off the ship. There had been no motion on board but I am sure he recognized something that was impinging on his present world. It explained why he dislikes boats of any kind, big or small. It also explains why we don't live near water.
The first time I had a dream that didn't fit my world was in the '60's. In the dream, I was a little girl and found myself at a grow-up party. That was only because my mother was working there. I was wearing my pretty pink dress with white shoes and pink stocking. I went to find my mother who turned out to be a beautiful Black Lady. I looked down at my arms and legs and I was black too. Was it a dream or a memory?
I remember working in an English castle. My job was to clean the floors and put fresh straw down, to close the shutters as it starts to cool in the evening and start the fires in the fireplaces. My husband worked there also. He was the falconer.
Are these just dreams? I thought so until I re-experienced my death in 1922, where I was repairing a bridge. I wrote about this in one of my blogs.
How about the time that I was teaching a class and a student came in and sat down. My mind remembered her. In my mind she held me while I died; I don't remember the year on this. She had a long velvet dress/coat and a hat/bonnet on. She came out into the roadway where I, as a small child, had just been run down by a team of horses. She picked me up and held me as I looked into that beautiful face and died.
I have remembered giving birth near a Chinese rice patty, and being a huge black man working a forge in the old west and being a medicine man with a small tribe of Native Americans.
My question is: if we have lived so many lives in so many places; if we have belonged to every religion in the world; if we have been a member of every race how can we now be prejudice toward anyone?
I think we all get glimpses but they don't register in our minds.
An example might be the time my husband and I were visiting the wharf in San Francisco a few years ago. There was a three-mast ship one could board. We went on deck and were looking around. Then we went below to the hold, where the ceilings were very low and lumber had been transported. I looked around and noticed that my husband had turned a lovely shade of pale green. He seemed to be in a state of shock. I took his arm and walked him off the ship. There had been no motion on board but I am sure he recognized something that was impinging on his present world. It explained why he dislikes boats of any kind, big or small. It also explains why we don't live near water.
The first time I had a dream that didn't fit my world was in the '60's. In the dream, I was a little girl and found myself at a grow-up party. That was only because my mother was working there. I was wearing my pretty pink dress with white shoes and pink stocking. I went to find my mother who turned out to be a beautiful Black Lady. I looked down at my arms and legs and I was black too. Was it a dream or a memory?
I remember working in an English castle. My job was to clean the floors and put fresh straw down, to close the shutters as it starts to cool in the evening and start the fires in the fireplaces. My husband worked there also. He was the falconer.
Are these just dreams? I thought so until I re-experienced my death in 1922, where I was repairing a bridge. I wrote about this in one of my blogs.
How about the time that I was teaching a class and a student came in and sat down. My mind remembered her. In my mind she held me while I died; I don't remember the year on this. She had a long velvet dress/coat and a hat/bonnet on. She came out into the roadway where I, as a small child, had just been run down by a team of horses. She picked me up and held me as I looked into that beautiful face and died.
I have remembered giving birth near a Chinese rice patty, and being a huge black man working a forge in the old west and being a medicine man with a small tribe of Native Americans.
My question is: if we have lived so many lives in so many places; if we have belonged to every religion in the world; if we have been a member of every race how can we now be prejudice toward anyone?
Thursday, September 25, 2008
The Lumber Yard
The back of our house was being remodeled. We were adding a large covered patio and had a couple of men working on it. These guys were friends of my husbands and one of them asked if I would run to the lumber yard to get a few things so they could finish an area before the weekend.
With the two older children in school and Blaine at home (Being only 4), He and I could jump into the car to get what they wanted.
The lumber yard is a wonderful place. There are piles of lumber all over in the yard, the hardware is found in the building. I look around for what I thought they will want. My job was to make sure that the boards weren't twisted (they get that way laying around in the yard after being dried out) also checking that they didn't have a lot of knots in them, a few knots will be O.K. on the project that they are doing.
Finally I am ready to check out so we load the stuff into my station wagon, now where is my four year old. He was running around the piles of lumber and hiding behind things in the yard. The yard is all fenced in with an 8 foot wooden fence so he has to be in here. The guy that was helping me organize my purchase is now helping me look for him. There is no way he could have gotten out of here so it is just a matter of finding out where he is.
After spending about an hour looking for him under and over everything, I know that I am holding up the guys at the house so I give my phone number to the salesman and tell him that when my son shows up, call me and I will be back in 10 minutes. I get into the car and take the lumber home.
On arriving home, I find that my four year old is home and helping the carpenters. I asked when he got home and they tell me that some man dropped him off about half an hour ago. The man asked them if this little boy lived there. The carpenter said that he did.
Then the man mentioned that he was a doctor that lived 300 miles south of this town but that he found this little boy on the street so he said that he would take him home. The boy directed him to this house. My four year old told me that he went out the door at the lumberyard and didn't know where I was so he stood on the street until this man stopped and wanted to know where he lived.
How many times in a lifetime do we come close to losing things that are important to us? Is it a sign that perhaps they don't belong to us in the first place. At what point are we supposed to let go?
With the two older children in school and Blaine at home (Being only 4), He and I could jump into the car to get what they wanted.
The lumber yard is a wonderful place. There are piles of lumber all over in the yard, the hardware is found in the building. I look around for what I thought they will want. My job was to make sure that the boards weren't twisted (they get that way laying around in the yard after being dried out) also checking that they didn't have a lot of knots in them, a few knots will be O.K. on the project that they are doing.
Finally I am ready to check out so we load the stuff into my station wagon, now where is my four year old. He was running around the piles of lumber and hiding behind things in the yard. The yard is all fenced in with an 8 foot wooden fence so he has to be in here. The guy that was helping me organize my purchase is now helping me look for him. There is no way he could have gotten out of here so it is just a matter of finding out where he is.
After spending about an hour looking for him under and over everything, I know that I am holding up the guys at the house so I give my phone number to the salesman and tell him that when my son shows up, call me and I will be back in 10 minutes. I get into the car and take the lumber home.
On arriving home, I find that my four year old is home and helping the carpenters. I asked when he got home and they tell me that some man dropped him off about half an hour ago. The man asked them if this little boy lived there. The carpenter said that he did.
Then the man mentioned that he was a doctor that lived 300 miles south of this town but that he found this little boy on the street so he said that he would take him home. The boy directed him to this house. My four year old told me that he went out the door at the lumberyard and didn't know where I was so he stood on the street until this man stopped and wanted to know where he lived.
How many times in a lifetime do we come close to losing things that are important to us? Is it a sign that perhaps they don't belong to us in the first place. At what point are we supposed to let go?
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
The Apple Garden
Our house is on a corner lot where two streets meet. At this corner of our property, live two apple trees. They were planted in a set of three by the previous owners but one of them had died and was still standing there when we moved in. The dead tree was removed and the area mowed cleanly.
Mowing around the remaining two trees was a problem for my husband so I decided to create a small garden area under them. My first thought was to decide what I wanted to create. I decided on a football design with the area between them being wide and ready for some planting.
It was Spring and time to begin the digging. The temperature was in the 40s so I bundled up and headed out. First I dug around the area to do a lay out. Then I started to take the grass off the inner part of my design. These clods were tossed onto the yard and I spent most of the morning clearing the designated area. The design was perfect.
Then to get the area ready for plants, I had purchased a creeping Juniper to keep the corner low and visible for traffic in all directions.
First I dug up the ground and then dump a couple bags of peat and composted manure on the area. Now the best part, I got to mix all of this in with my hands. The soil was just right, it was like mixing biscuit dough. As I was mixing, I would throw the stones that I found out onto the lawn with the grass clods. Soon it was all mixed in. I stood back to admire the work that had taken me a long time to do and to my surprise, I found that there were energy waves rising from this little garden. They look like heat waves coming off black top roads in July and it wasn't that warm out.
I felt that I had to do something so I ran into the garage to get a slab of cement and brought it out to the little garden. After placing the cement between the two apple trees in this newly mixed dirt, I went around the whole garden picking up the little rocks and stones that I had thrown onto the surrounding grass. These stones were placed on this cement in a pile.
When I stood back this time, the energy had been grounded and the garden didn't look like it is about to float off into space. I was pleased with all of it and it was time to plant the Juniper.
The little garden looks wonderful and has done its job of keeping the lawnmower away from the base of the apple trees and the branches from knocking my husband off the little tractor.
Before I started this project, I had read a book called BEHAVING AS IS THE GOD IN ALL LIFE MATTERED, by Machaelle Small Wright. In this book she talks about communicating with the spirit guides of plants. I wrote to her and told her about this experience of mine and she wrote back telling me that she was pleased that I responded to the spirit guides nudging me to ground the garden. She explained that most people just read about this stuff but never do anything with it. It seems that these thoughts and feelings that we get are not always ours but help from other areas or beings.
Over the years this little garden has been enlarged bit by bit to encompass the trees as they grow. The garden also has a lot of wild violets living there along with some chickweed that I love to harvest. There is a lot of love and energy in that little garden and it tends to draw deer to it from the woods that are about half a mile from our house. The deer come in the spring for the violets. They love violet leaves. (I Have been told that violet leaves are very anti-cancerous, I wonder if the deer know this?)
The Chickweed, I like to harvest for all of its wonderful drawing properties. A few years ago some Columbine decided to live there and because I like their flowers, I leave them be. I do plant flowers on the street side of the garden, I like Calendula because I can harvest the flowers and the plant still puts out more. They aren't fussy plants and don't mind being neglected from time to time.
The Apple Garden gets visited by the deer in the fall too. They like the apples and we allow them to be eaten.
From time to time, I climb into the apple trees to trim the sucker out. What is the saying about apple trees? A bird should be able to fly through the center of the trees. This allows the sun and air to get into the tree and keep the trees healthy. I used to have a bird house in one of the trees but if finally fell apart. I really like bird houses and have only 3 on the premises at this time, will have to look into that. I do have a bee house in the apple trees at present so I probably won't put a bird house back there.
We have many small gardens in our yard so they all have their own names. The Apple Garden was an obvious name for this one.
Gardening is such a pleasure, one of the joys of life.
Mowing around the remaining two trees was a problem for my husband so I decided to create a small garden area under them. My first thought was to decide what I wanted to create. I decided on a football design with the area between them being wide and ready for some planting.
It was Spring and time to begin the digging. The temperature was in the 40s so I bundled up and headed out. First I dug around the area to do a lay out. Then I started to take the grass off the inner part of my design. These clods were tossed onto the yard and I spent most of the morning clearing the designated area. The design was perfect.
Then to get the area ready for plants, I had purchased a creeping Juniper to keep the corner low and visible for traffic in all directions.
First I dug up the ground and then dump a couple bags of peat and composted manure on the area. Now the best part, I got to mix all of this in with my hands. The soil was just right, it was like mixing biscuit dough. As I was mixing, I would throw the stones that I found out onto the lawn with the grass clods. Soon it was all mixed in. I stood back to admire the work that had taken me a long time to do and to my surprise, I found that there were energy waves rising from this little garden. They look like heat waves coming off black top roads in July and it wasn't that warm out.
I felt that I had to do something so I ran into the garage to get a slab of cement and brought it out to the little garden. After placing the cement between the two apple trees in this newly mixed dirt, I went around the whole garden picking up the little rocks and stones that I had thrown onto the surrounding grass. These stones were placed on this cement in a pile.
When I stood back this time, the energy had been grounded and the garden didn't look like it is about to float off into space. I was pleased with all of it and it was time to plant the Juniper.
The little garden looks wonderful and has done its job of keeping the lawnmower away from the base of the apple trees and the branches from knocking my husband off the little tractor.
Before I started this project, I had read a book called BEHAVING AS IS THE GOD IN ALL LIFE MATTERED, by Machaelle Small Wright. In this book she talks about communicating with the spirit guides of plants. I wrote to her and told her about this experience of mine and she wrote back telling me that she was pleased that I responded to the spirit guides nudging me to ground the garden. She explained that most people just read about this stuff but never do anything with it. It seems that these thoughts and feelings that we get are not always ours but help from other areas or beings.
Over the years this little garden has been enlarged bit by bit to encompass the trees as they grow. The garden also has a lot of wild violets living there along with some chickweed that I love to harvest. There is a lot of love and energy in that little garden and it tends to draw deer to it from the woods that are about half a mile from our house. The deer come in the spring for the violets. They love violet leaves. (I Have been told that violet leaves are very anti-cancerous, I wonder if the deer know this?)
The Chickweed, I like to harvest for all of its wonderful drawing properties. A few years ago some Columbine decided to live there and because I like their flowers, I leave them be. I do plant flowers on the street side of the garden, I like Calendula because I can harvest the flowers and the plant still puts out more. They aren't fussy plants and don't mind being neglected from time to time.
The Apple Garden gets visited by the deer in the fall too. They like the apples and we allow them to be eaten.
From time to time, I climb into the apple trees to trim the sucker out. What is the saying about apple trees? A bird should be able to fly through the center of the trees. This allows the sun and air to get into the tree and keep the trees healthy. I used to have a bird house in one of the trees but if finally fell apart. I really like bird houses and have only 3 on the premises at this time, will have to look into that. I do have a bee house in the apple trees at present so I probably won't put a bird house back there.
We have many small gardens in our yard so they all have their own names. The Apple Garden was an obvious name for this one.
Gardening is such a pleasure, one of the joys of life.
Monday, March 24, 2008
A Heart Treasure
We all have memories of the hearts that we have touched and that have touched us. These tend to pop up in the most unusual times. Times when bits and pieces of ourselves are exposed to the past and we want to walk though the garden of memories. Today I went in search of just that.
Where does one go to find a memory? I went to make it seem real again. I went to a jewelry box where I pulled out a necklace made of clay pieces and rough stones on a hard wire ring that at one time encircled my neck. The colors were that of steel and brown clay and wasn't elegant or sparkling or any of the things that one sets up as beautiful. It was rather primitive but was given to me by a person who made me feel important. One who helped me deal with the trauma of the time.
This person wasn't a new person in my life but a person who I had never thought of as a personal friend.
He was much older than I was by twelve years and even he had never thought in terms of me as an associate. We had been teacher and pupil for most of the time that we had known each other. He had given me my first nickname and that seemed strange because all my other teachers use my full name but not Jim. He was the first to call me Phyl.
So how did this relationship get reacquainted? It was at a class reunion. I had gone with my cousin and her husband as a third wheel. A lot of my fellow students were asking Jim to dance with them. I did too. He was easy to dance with. As the evening wore on, my cousin asked me if I were ready to leave or if I had a way home. I turned to Jim and said that I hadn't been invited. So he then asked if I wanted a ride home (to my parents house where I was visiting). I accepted.
The trip home encluded a side trip to a bar owned by another fellow student. We also had a retired teacher with us. At the bar, one of the other fellow students agreed to take the other teacher home so Jim drove me to my parent's home.
We sat in the car for a long time talking and then walked out to the lake in the front yard and onto the dock. Having his arms around me, he asked me what would happen if he let go of me? I told him that I would probably fall backwards into the lake. At that time there was an ad about doing something like that for a tea company. I mentioned that it would be the "Nestle plunge."
We went back to the car and talked some more. It seems that he had gone through a lot of surgery for a cancerous condition with in the last few years. I asked him if he would do me a favor. Would he write to me? He said that he would.
I never thought I would hear from him but I got a letter after returning to California at the end of my vacation. In his letter he gave me an address to write to him if I would like to do that.
I had just found out that my physical tests showing that I would need some cancer surgery too. I wrote to him and he was very supportive. We wrote back and forth for ten months. During one of these months, he went out west hunting with his sons. It was then that I got the package with the necklace in it. I was surprised because our relationship was just a friendship and nothing more. I didn't need anything from him except to know that someone else had been there and understood what was going on in my world.
After moving my family back to Wisconsin, he visited us at the cottage. The kids were doing their homework and he was upset because they didn't have an up-to-date dictionary. The next week we got another present, a dictionary.
I never did see him again but we did write back and forth from time to time. He was always ready to hear what I was doing and I learned about the house he was building and the pond that was being put in across the street for ducks. He loved birds. He belonged to Ducks Unlimited.
Today while traveling on the internet, I found his name mentioned by a national ornithology organization. I also went in to see if I could find him in Wisconsin Obituaries but haven't so far. He was older than I am so I have a feeling that he has moved on but I only hope that the understanding and love that we shared was a nice thing for him too.
Right now I am hung up on the word love because everyone would think that this means a physical relationship and ours was not that at all. He helped me through a rough patch and showed me how to deal with rough patches. There have been many rough patches since then but this was a biggy as I felt "out there by myself." He will always stand out as a treasure in my heart.
Where does one go to find a memory? I went to make it seem real again. I went to a jewelry box where I pulled out a necklace made of clay pieces and rough stones on a hard wire ring that at one time encircled my neck. The colors were that of steel and brown clay and wasn't elegant or sparkling or any of the things that one sets up as beautiful. It was rather primitive but was given to me by a person who made me feel important. One who helped me deal with the trauma of the time.
This person wasn't a new person in my life but a person who I had never thought of as a personal friend.
He was much older than I was by twelve years and even he had never thought in terms of me as an associate. We had been teacher and pupil for most of the time that we had known each other. He had given me my first nickname and that seemed strange because all my other teachers use my full name but not Jim. He was the first to call me Phyl.
So how did this relationship get reacquainted? It was at a class reunion. I had gone with my cousin and her husband as a third wheel. A lot of my fellow students were asking Jim to dance with them. I did too. He was easy to dance with. As the evening wore on, my cousin asked me if I were ready to leave or if I had a way home. I turned to Jim and said that I hadn't been invited. So he then asked if I wanted a ride home (to my parents house where I was visiting). I accepted.
The trip home encluded a side trip to a bar owned by another fellow student. We also had a retired teacher with us. At the bar, one of the other fellow students agreed to take the other teacher home so Jim drove me to my parent's home.
We sat in the car for a long time talking and then walked out to the lake in the front yard and onto the dock. Having his arms around me, he asked me what would happen if he let go of me? I told him that I would probably fall backwards into the lake. At that time there was an ad about doing something like that for a tea company. I mentioned that it would be the "Nestle plunge."
We went back to the car and talked some more. It seems that he had gone through a lot of surgery for a cancerous condition with in the last few years. I asked him if he would do me a favor. Would he write to me? He said that he would.
I never thought I would hear from him but I got a letter after returning to California at the end of my vacation. In his letter he gave me an address to write to him if I would like to do that.
I had just found out that my physical tests showing that I would need some cancer surgery too. I wrote to him and he was very supportive. We wrote back and forth for ten months. During one of these months, he went out west hunting with his sons. It was then that I got the package with the necklace in it. I was surprised because our relationship was just a friendship and nothing more. I didn't need anything from him except to know that someone else had been there and understood what was going on in my world.
After moving my family back to Wisconsin, he visited us at the cottage. The kids were doing their homework and he was upset because they didn't have an up-to-date dictionary. The next week we got another present, a dictionary.
I never did see him again but we did write back and forth from time to time. He was always ready to hear what I was doing and I learned about the house he was building and the pond that was being put in across the street for ducks. He loved birds. He belonged to Ducks Unlimited.
Today while traveling on the internet, I found his name mentioned by a national ornithology organization. I also went in to see if I could find him in Wisconsin Obituaries but haven't so far. He was older than I am so I have a feeling that he has moved on but I only hope that the understanding and love that we shared was a nice thing for him too.
Right now I am hung up on the word love because everyone would think that this means a physical relationship and ours was not that at all. He helped me through a rough patch and showed me how to deal with rough patches. There have been many rough patches since then but this was a biggy as I felt "out there by myself." He will always stand out as a treasure in my heart.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Words
The printed word is so loud even after I put the bookmark in and find myself doing other things, the words keep haunting me. "Take care of yourself." "I will." Seem to echo in my brain as I close my eyes to go back to sleep. How can one sleep when all this action is taking place?
Yes, I read mysteries to give my life interest. To find a reason to get up. To get lost in the world of somewhere else with someone else. The me that I am is no longer of interest to me. Some writers pull me into a tangle of people who are all involved with a world of their own and with words that are shared with me. One writer had me involved on a personal level of caring about four different people/families all at the same time. It was easy to see that each character had a life and problems keeping that life working, yet they were all involved in another scenario that none of them wanted to be involved in.
I have been reading a mystery for an hour and it is now 7:30am so I decided to go back to bed. When I climbed in and put my head on the same pillow that I had been on an hour before, I closed my eyes and was back into the book. The characters were real and conversing right in front of me.
This surely is not normal. What am I supposed to be learning from this? That we all live in a transient world? That our lives are written on paper somewhere and we are only playing out our script? So how thick is reality? Can someone put a bookmark in my story? Is that the only time that I can close my eyes and sleep without the interaction of others. Is someone reading my story so fast that I can't rest. Am I a 300 page book that can be read in a "twinkling of an eye"?
Yes, I read mysteries to give my life interest. To find a reason to get up. To get lost in the world of somewhere else with someone else. The me that I am is no longer of interest to me. Some writers pull me into a tangle of people who are all involved with a world of their own and with words that are shared with me. One writer had me involved on a personal level of caring about four different people/families all at the same time. It was easy to see that each character had a life and problems keeping that life working, yet they were all involved in another scenario that none of them wanted to be involved in.
I have been reading a mystery for an hour and it is now 7:30am so I decided to go back to bed. When I climbed in and put my head on the same pillow that I had been on an hour before, I closed my eyes and was back into the book. The characters were real and conversing right in front of me.
This surely is not normal. What am I supposed to be learning from this? That we all live in a transient world? That our lives are written on paper somewhere and we are only playing out our script? So how thick is reality? Can someone put a bookmark in my story? Is that the only time that I can close my eyes and sleep without the interaction of others. Is someone reading my story so fast that I can't rest. Am I a 300 page book that can be read in a "twinkling of an eye"?
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Laying Cement
It was decided that the area between our two houses should be cemented in to eliminate the mess that always came with the rain. Steve and Patty lived next door. By next door I mean that their garage was 7 feet away from ours. In between was a small picket fence standing in dirt.
We had teenagers and preteens but their children were much younger. Steve was a football coach at the local high school. It was midsummer and Steve and I were discussing the possibility of putting cement into that area between the garages. Not only would it make it easier for the kids to get their bikes into the patio area of our back yard but Steve could get his garbage cans around to the front of the garage without the mess.
Now laying cement is something that I have watched being done around my childhood home all my growing up years, so it was easy to know what steps needed to be done. I guess if I had never seen this being done, I could have gone to the library to learn how.
I told Steve that we had to take the fence down first but before this came down, I marked corresponding marks on his garage and mine to show where the posts had been set into the ground. Then I went to the hardware store and bought metal cleats for the posts to set in when we were finished. For the section that we were going to be working on, we only needed four cleats.
The next thing was to dig out and lay forms. Steve had decided that he wanted to do the area between the garages and would like to bring his section back around to his patio by the back door. It sounded like a great idea. So forms, it was.
Steve and Patty worked hard on putting their forms up. They wanted the walk in the back yard to curve so they had gotten some flexible wood. They were so proud of what they had done. I went over to see how it was going and had to explain that forms were like cookie cutters. They would have to take the small support posts out from inside the area and support it from the outside. So they tore their forms apart and did them again. This time they looked great.
As we were going to have Premix deliver our cement, I mentioned that no matter how you calculate the amount that you need, they always deliver more. So we each need to have another place for the extra. I dug out under my garbage cans that were sitting along the side of the house near the front, hidden by some very tall bushes from the street. I put a form in that area so I was ready for the overflow. Steve and Sandy decided to use some of their wood to make a flowerbed edging with the remaining.
Now we had to figure out how much cement we needed in volume. In various places you need a certain depth to compensate for freezing temperatures but in California that wasn't necessary. So we only decided on 3 inches of depth. After all our calculations, we decided that we needed 4 yards of cement. Now that is a lot of cement to work fast.
Steve had a shallow garden wheelbarrow but I had a deep one. I knew that I would never be able to carry mine full of cement so we exchanged. I showed Patty and my daughter Kathy, who was in High School at the time, what their job was going to be. As we dumped the cement into the area of the forms, it was their job to move it next to the edges and then "Chuck" it down to get the air bubbles out as much as possible. I gave Kathy a metal edger to do this with.
Next we called the Cement Company. Steve had decided that next Tuesday would be a good day to do this. So it was all set. Forms in, wheelbarrows exchanged, "chuckers" ready, cleats ready, trowels ready; we were all set. On Tuesday I called to see when they would be able to deliver our load and the guy wanted to know, "What time will your husband be home?" Knowing that most men think like that, I calmly told him that 2:00 o'clock would be the best time to do this.
At 2:00 the truck came and we went to work. Kathy is a very hard worker and as I didn't have as much cement in this garden wheelbarrow, she had it "Chucked" and ready for the next load as fast as I could move this.
After the truck left, we smoothed it down with wood trowels. We had pitched it a bit toward the center between his building and mine and then set the cleats in. We let it set up a bit and did another trowel job while kneeling on wood that we floated to keep us from being in the cement and leaving marks.
When we were done, we stood back and admired out work. Steven and Patty had worked hard too so I went in the front of our house and got some beer along with a soda for Kathy. By the time my husband got home, we were in Steve's back yard drinking beer. (What time will your husband be home? Neanderthals!)
Before we finished this job, Kathy asked if she could put her initials into this cement. I thought it was a very good idea so she did. As far as I know they are still there 35 years later.
To finish this job, the fence went back up and by cutting the bottoms of the posts off, it sat very nicely into the cleats, where it was nailed solidly.
We had teenagers and preteens but their children were much younger. Steve was a football coach at the local high school. It was midsummer and Steve and I were discussing the possibility of putting cement into that area between the garages. Not only would it make it easier for the kids to get their bikes into the patio area of our back yard but Steve could get his garbage cans around to the front of the garage without the mess.
Now laying cement is something that I have watched being done around my childhood home all my growing up years, so it was easy to know what steps needed to be done. I guess if I had never seen this being done, I could have gone to the library to learn how.
I told Steve that we had to take the fence down first but before this came down, I marked corresponding marks on his garage and mine to show where the posts had been set into the ground. Then I went to the hardware store and bought metal cleats for the posts to set in when we were finished. For the section that we were going to be working on, we only needed four cleats.
The next thing was to dig out and lay forms. Steve had decided that he wanted to do the area between the garages and would like to bring his section back around to his patio by the back door. It sounded like a great idea. So forms, it was.
Steve and Patty worked hard on putting their forms up. They wanted the walk in the back yard to curve so they had gotten some flexible wood. They were so proud of what they had done. I went over to see how it was going and had to explain that forms were like cookie cutters. They would have to take the small support posts out from inside the area and support it from the outside. So they tore their forms apart and did them again. This time they looked great.
As we were going to have Premix deliver our cement, I mentioned that no matter how you calculate the amount that you need, they always deliver more. So we each need to have another place for the extra. I dug out under my garbage cans that were sitting along the side of the house near the front, hidden by some very tall bushes from the street. I put a form in that area so I was ready for the overflow. Steve and Sandy decided to use some of their wood to make a flowerbed edging with the remaining.
Now we had to figure out how much cement we needed in volume. In various places you need a certain depth to compensate for freezing temperatures but in California that wasn't necessary. So we only decided on 3 inches of depth. After all our calculations, we decided that we needed 4 yards of cement. Now that is a lot of cement to work fast.
Steve had a shallow garden wheelbarrow but I had a deep one. I knew that I would never be able to carry mine full of cement so we exchanged. I showed Patty and my daughter Kathy, who was in High School at the time, what their job was going to be. As we dumped the cement into the area of the forms, it was their job to move it next to the edges and then "Chuck" it down to get the air bubbles out as much as possible. I gave Kathy a metal edger to do this with.
Next we called the Cement Company. Steve had decided that next Tuesday would be a good day to do this. So it was all set. Forms in, wheelbarrows exchanged, "chuckers" ready, cleats ready, trowels ready; we were all set. On Tuesday I called to see when they would be able to deliver our load and the guy wanted to know, "What time will your husband be home?" Knowing that most men think like that, I calmly told him that 2:00 o'clock would be the best time to do this.
At 2:00 the truck came and we went to work. Kathy is a very hard worker and as I didn't have as much cement in this garden wheelbarrow, she had it "Chucked" and ready for the next load as fast as I could move this.
After the truck left, we smoothed it down with wood trowels. We had pitched it a bit toward the center between his building and mine and then set the cleats in. We let it set up a bit and did another trowel job while kneeling on wood that we floated to keep us from being in the cement and leaving marks.
When we were done, we stood back and admired out work. Steven and Patty had worked hard too so I went in the front of our house and got some beer along with a soda for Kathy. By the time my husband got home, we were in Steve's back yard drinking beer. (What time will your husband be home? Neanderthals!)
Before we finished this job, Kathy asked if she could put her initials into this cement. I thought it was a very good idea so she did. As far as I know they are still there 35 years later.
To finish this job, the fence went back up and by cutting the bottoms of the posts off, it sat very nicely into the cleats, where it was nailed solidly.
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