encouragement, Human Behaviour, Human Nature, Humanity, inspirational

Nothing Prospers Yesterday

Nothing in the world will prosper yesterday. Yesterday does not exist save for our memories. It cannot be taken back and tweaked, and yesterday is a reminder that we live in the present.

No future plans will be turn out as we imagine, and how can we imagine anyway? The future is out of our reach. Planning is healthy, but expecting the perfect result may always disappoint. And it may surprise us. Humans were not designed to know the future, and there’a good reason for that. If we know our future, it could very well blow our minds. No psychic can truly see your future. Some people are truly gifted; however, the future events of our lives are not entirely predictable. There are too many variables. It’s my belief psychics can pick up impressions from the present, and guide persons into a decision, but who has learned the exact future from a person who is sensitive? In my experience, I paid too much to raise my own expectations.

Focus energy on today. Our days have twenty-four hours, and those hours are split into dark and light—to be awake and to be asleep. Fill days with hope, find solace in a good days work or play. Get a good night’s sleep after a busy day.

Today will turn into tomorrow—what have we done to enter into tomorrow? Have we succeeded at something? Will we? Tomorrow waits, but for today, dream, because dreams and goals are healthy. We enter into tomorrow with that dream.  What takes years to do always happens in our todays, and it could be this day we reach a lifetime goal.

Thanks for reading.

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Addictions, Human Behaviour, Human Nature, Humanity, parental losses

Dear Unpublished Name

PRIVATE PAIN

Please come and share with me,

I promise not to judge.

I see the pain in your eyes,

so young… I hold no grudge.

I care to know about you,

what takes way your sun,

and I wish to be there for you,

if dark days have begun.

I ask your pillow sometimes,

why tears have run from you.

I wonder what each stain there means,

and then I cry some too.

Nothing you could ever do

would turn me away from you,

so never be afraid.

I have much love for you that’s true.

You are changing

and I am too.

Do you know

that I grow with you?

Each step that you take,

I am there in shoes

that lace up with your learning days

with double knots tied for two.

God has placed you in my hands.

He blessed me to teach and love.

So always know I do,

and no matter what happens to you,

in my heart, it happens for me too.

Always remember, I love you,

I know you and I need you.

We shall reunite again

because I filled your heart

with teachings of loyalty

to last your lifetime long….

© Lynn P. Penner, 2003

Some things just don’t end well no matter what anyone does to help.

2018

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ADD, Cat lovers, Human Behaviour, Human Nature, Humour

Who Could Know?

Every scrap of paper I’ve written something important on, I keep, but I can’t find them. I have filing trays with printed off information, non of which are organized yet, but will be as soon as I finish working on another project. My sticky notes are mostly expired, but if I trash them, there’s a chance I’ll still need a couple or three. I get uptight when my hubby comes into my writing lair to borrow my stapler, because, bless his forgetful heart, he won’t remember where it belongs afterwards.  I have two overly furry cats who shed remnants of fur in here, and I put up with it because they own the place. That can be distracting. I’m only able to thoroughly focus on writing or editing my novel or story. Anything and everything else seems to lead to other things to think about. I’m either suffering from ADD or ADD is symptom of writing. Who could know?

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1980s, Hearing problems, technology

Is it Just Me?

I think the flat calls started in the nineties. Newer, thinner, flatter, and cheaper phones took over from those receivers that hugged the ear, directing the sound of a voice right into the ear. The ringer was adjustable, and the curly cord was useful for winding onto the fist for tense calls or just because nothing felt as neat as puling that cord until it was straight. As time passed, Ma Bell didn’t even rent phones anymore. Anyone could go to the local Walmart and buy one, or a person could get a two-for deal, perhaps three if there are three places to put phones. The features on these new landline phones proved excellent, especially the caller ID and video, plus, plus, plus etc. But the receivers are almost perfectly flat. And we use cells mostly now, so I highly doubt a phone will be anything but flat forevermore. This is progressive technology.

Cells are the thing now, of course. Portable and thin, pretty much weightless. Blue tooth in vehicles, so honest to God, no one needs to miss a call now. But back to the point here: phones are flat. If I’m on my cell and there’s background noise, I can’t hear who I’m talking to; not without making a face, you know, the face like there’s great and sudden pain in the eye or tooth. One eye all winked shut, mouth looks like I’m chewing grizzle as I press that thing to my face. Maybe it’s just my antique Blueberry phone. Maybe it’s everyone’s cell phone or fancy landline phone. Flat. Hard to hear sometimes. Is it just me?

I won’t keep you long. I just want to make my point, which is, in the photo I’m showing you this gadget someone should get massive credit for. I must google it and see if I can send an email of undiluted praise. I found it in a thrift shop. My hubby was with me, so I called his cell. Well, well, look at that. It works. I wiped it down with alcohol and I’m back in the curly cord eighties, only with my ancient Blueberry cell connected. I love it. And yes, ladies and gentlemen, it has the volume control on the side.

Just one itty bitty thing, though. Since I’m an original sixties human myself, I’m trained to hang up a “phone off the hook” as we called it. So I see my eighties receiver on the end table and it sucks me in every time, just for a second, but still— somebody’s gotta hang up that phone.

Thanks for reading.

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ADD, Dyslexia, encouragement, Human Behaviour, Human Nature, information, inspirational

Breaking the “Bound” Barrier

So dead ends lead to new directions? Sounds legit. They say, “Don’t give up. Find the opportunity in loss.” But who are they, anyway? Those who have stabbed a flag in their goal?

It’s easier said than done, isn’t it? Clinging to a goal and hanging on in savage winds while sharp edges of crumpled old leaves fly in our wide open eyes? Is it possible to endure that pain but not become jaded? Sure, only thing is, going against all odds is an arduous journey, which includes our personal barriers, like being bound by time, finances, criticism, learning differences, etcetera, plus the ever present competition also.

I have barriers I needed to accept before I could continue with my project, but I’m not complaining. Not anymore.

As you can see, I write. As you cannot see, I have dyslexia. My spelling errors, which are a lack of ability to retain many word spellings in my brain, and mistakes due to reversals, are seemingly endless to edit. Nonetheless, dyslexia serves me with a mind movie kind of imagination. I constantly think in images, creating story scenes with  ‘people’ you can’t forget in realistic fiction. I also turn things and images in many directions, obviously letters and numbers. But I don’t use a measuring tape to hang pictures or curtain rods because of my spacial ability. I know if a piece of furniture will fit a space, and I’m within an inch just by eyeballing. A three demential view of two dimensions is common. Hence, I don’t complain about dyslexia.

ADD is Another Directional Daydream. My mind flits. I form multifaceted stories with this barrier/ability. While writing, I perceive the present, future and past, quite similar to a movie. In the end, just as any daydreamer does, I come back to the present. This forms my plot, subplots and brings the story to a plausible conclusion.

However, beating the odds to have a manuscript accepted is an ongoing battle. This is my last draft—time to find a publisher! Not so fast. It can never be fast. Haste is waste in my world of dyslexia, and ADD takes the scenic route. Uh oh, so not my last draft. Throw on more coffee.

However, I did my time—I did it! I broke the “bound” barrier by respecting my barriers. Accepting what I’m bound by released me. My novel manuscript is back with my traditional publisher while I wait to see if she is pleased with my edits according to her instruction. This is an exhilarating and nail-biting good time!

I studied dyslexia and ADD and discovered what I should expect, and what I should respect about these gifts. My imagination is rich; I must be patient with the side effects. There sure is opportunity in loss.

 
Thanks for reading.

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encouragement, Human Behaviour, Human Nature

The Gradual Shock

When it first shows, we either deny it, embrace it, or cover it.

The off-white ceramic tile floor held tables, chairs, and persons. New, round tables were dotted with various beverages and paper plates of colourful food. Emotions varied according to each person’s experience, connection and memories. Laughter peeled through the community room; so did sniffles and polite nose blowing.

Unlike family reunions, yet actually similar, are funerals. Saying good-bye isn’t like the hellos of a fam-jam, yet the gathering is similar in the way a lot of people haven’t seen each other for a number of years.

I sat with a coffee, and a rumpled tissue pushed under one eye then the other. The acoustic guitar tribute got me. I noticed not just me. Afterward, I watched mostly well dressed feet going in purposeful directions on the clean floor. Some headed back to food and beverage tables, other strode to greet people who had nearly become strangers.

I recognized many, and the surprise was subdued, because people grow older, I know. Nonetheless, it grows where a once proclaimed illusion of never ending youth is taken for granted. The gradual shock of grey hair.

The shock got the spirals of my long lost friend’s rock and roll pride. The grey strands mingled with intrusiveness in his soft brown length. Bit by bit, some were tentatively welcoming maturity. Others, years behind my age, the gradual shock left them entirely white. Silver graced the crowns of many, working its way to temples and tips. The gradual shock is a respecter of no one.

How did we all get this old? We’re only in our fifties.

I mingled, my silver stripes demoting me from childhood golden locks. My peers silently brought me to a realization this February: it’s okay to look older. It’s all right to let the gradual shock cajole me into aging gracefully.

Funerals are the celebration of lives lived. Weddings, a celebration of lives joined. Both of these events demonstrate how time waits for no one, starting with matrimony; babies, grown children, then funerals of parents, and next our friends….

I observed. I said good-bye. I cried. I viewed photos. I mingled. I hugged. I laughed.

I wondered how it is going to be for me.

Thanks for reading.

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Celestial, Dying

When They Pass, Do They Tell Us?

My writing isn’t to convince any person of anything. I’m merely imparting my observations. Some believe loved ones communicate their parting, and others believe once we pass, that’s it: no more life whatsoever.

When I have had a falling out or simply lost touch with loved ones, something peculiar happens.

Through unfortunate, cruel circumstances, I’d lost touch with my dad. Three days after the funeral I had a dream-like experience and my dad spoke to me. The love permeating my entire being is more than I’ve ever felt. It surpasses human understanding. This love, with absolutely no need to voice, contained no judgement, rather unconditional acceptance.

My dad gave me insightful advice like he always did when he was alive. Peace, profound peace followed the experience. I may expound on it someday, where we were, who was there with us, the significants of the location, and how my dad’s health was restored, and it appeared he was fifteen to twenty years younger, and how I came out of the visit like I was popping up out of deep water, that shooting to the top, buoyed sensation. Another day I’ll take you with words to where I stood with my dad, and why.

Many years ago, a friend who had issues with herself let our friendship go. Time didn’t bring her back. I didn’t think of her much anymore. As the years passed, so did the wound close up. I was sorting files and she abruptly came to mind. Memories started playing like an old film. Vivid recollections of her face and voice engulfed me. I knew this meant I’d never see her in the flesh again. She’d died. I searched Google for an obit for many days, never finding a clue. But I was certain of her passing. Nothing had spurred on recollections of her at the time. No scents, no sights, no emotions. Nothing. I was hyper focused on sorting that day.

Sometime later I was given her obituary by a mutual friend. This confirmed the date of her coming to me with select recollections of notable aspects of our lifelong friendship. We met in grade one and carried our friendship through to our thirties. What changed was her search for a husband, a love of her life. I married first. She was deeply affected that our time together would not be the same since I was raising kids and had a husband to care for. Her letter ended our lifelong connection.

I believe she thought of me during our early years of separation, as I did her. Uncommunicative years passed, yet she came to let me know she abandoned her earthy form. There was no indiction of her after a few days of memories. No more profound thoughts or recurring visions in my head of her appearance. She came to say good-bye, and I don’t know where she is now.

Again this happened, just a week ago. I was engrossed in writing and unexpected memories flooded me about my daughter’s teen years friend. They were besties. It was always purely platonic, and he and I were like a mother and son. I remembered vividly how he thought I looked like Stevie Nicks. He told me this so often, I started examining my reflection, but I’m afraid only he thought so. Words we exchanged on a private walk rang clear. He came from a rough childhood and savoured solid advice.

I was taken back to laughter, tears, and fun shared by him, myself and daughter. We used to crank up Fleetwood Mac and dance our cares away. My husband’s approval of him came to mind during the flood of reminiscences. He never had an objection to my daughter and the good kid being alone in the house at age fifteen. Everyone loved his humour, his honesty, and his compassion.

My daughter called this morning. She just received the news of his passing—last week—February 2. She mentioned she didn’t realize he was saying good-bye last week when she started singing a song they loved together. Memories were hitting her, too. As with me, the going back in time was without reason, nothing caused it.

I should have caught on, and my daughter also since this isn’t the first time someone has called on us one last time.

When they pass, do they tell us? It is definitely real to me, the curious onslaught of recollections with no prompt—loved ones saying good-bye, then confirmation of death. I do believe there is life after death. Where? I don’t know. Heaven? Perhaps. Hell? Could be. A resting place in between? Who really knows? Like you, I’m going to have to wait to find out what the beyond holds as the secret.

Thanks for reading.

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