Empowering Synchronicity

I've always been a seeker, a curious, cat like creature that couldn't resist following her instincts around a blind corner or up and over a fence to see what's on the other side. The auto accident changed that and this year, 2011, I plan on changing that. On Face Book and blogs everywhere on the web, I've noticed a trend or pattern occurring. People are selecting a single word to invoke change in their New Year rather than making resolutions. I love this idea! I've selected 2 words for 2011. A word can be a powerful thing when used in the right way and I need a NEW word to replace a word that's been holding me hostage in my life. That word is fear.

Fear changed my life
from being a free spirit
to an unrecognizable stranger
chained to thoughts I call the
"what-if's".

The what-if's are not real but they can seem very real as if the event, or events, have already occurred. Negative what-if's are layered with thoughts or ideas we imagine will happen, but without the happy endings. One negative thought fertilizes another, then before we know it, we've created multiple vines of untruths in an imaginary horror movie that will probably NEVER happen. What-if's choke the life out of the current moment, the NOW, and rob us from having happy tomorrows. NOTE: What-if's are not the same thing as dreaming about how we'd like to live or things we'd like to do as in making goals. That type of perceiving the future helps us visualize ourselves achieving a goal that's positive in our lives.

The what-if's are much like a plant that is root bound. No healthy plant growth occurs above the soil because the roots are seeking nutrition in a pot that is too small or is full of bad soil. A plant can survive quite a long time in its root bound condition but it's not thriving. I can see I've been living or existing the past 2.5 years since the accident much like this, but not with the full freedom I'd like to have by living without fear.

With PTSD and other disorders of anxiety, or stress related diseases, fear often becomes a way of life. Before you know it, you become house bound or bed bound or simply bound up like that unhealthy plant. We can't produce fruit or flowers or healthy stems if our roots/thoughts are being watered with the what-if's. Negative thoughts can spiral out of control if we don't prune them, or nip them in the bud when they're first forming or pull them out like weeds when we learn to recognize a thought is not healthy. This is the key; learning to recognize them before giving life to the negative thoughts.

Here's how I'm going to change this in my life. In the early 80's I owned a plant business. I'd always loved plants and gardening, and found after I started my business, that I had a natural gift of understanding or communicating with plants. Go ahead... say it... I know you're thinking it. YES, I talk to plants. I talk to trees. Sometimes my communications are spoken right out loud and other times, it's with thoughts. I feel their energy. I can feel the energy in all living things. That's why one of my nicknames is, Dr. Doo-Lille. Even animals, wild or tame, connect with me in unique ways. It's always been this way for me and nature.

But getting back to topic... Whenever I am going to trim a plant or transplant it, I always communicate with it first to let it know what I'm doing and why. I don't want it to feel fear by suddenly getting uprooted or being cut. You can laugh if you wish but I know this is real and it works. This process of communication soothes the plant before the experience and causes no lasting trauma to it. I'm going to use this same technique on myself when fears start to enter my thoughts. My what-if's need to be trimmed away before they take root. My word for 2011 to fix this is, EMPOWERING. I will empower myself by being gentle with myself, just like I am to plants, people and animals. I will lovingly trim the negative thought away and will seal the wound with love. This Lily will thrive with that kind of love.

My second word fits perfectly with the empowering. It's SYNCHRONICITY. Since I'm so good at thinking up all these negative what-if's that I easily turn into full-fledged movies when I'm entertaining fear, it gave me an idea. I love my imagination and love it when synchronicity happens in my life. What if I use that gift of imagination in a positive way? When I pray, or believe that something I ask for will happen, I open my spirit to receive great things. Faith is needed next by believing the Universe/Spirit/God or Goddess (I respect all people's choices of names/words for their Higher Power) will answer my prayer. My experience with answered prayer is that it may not come to me in ways I've expected it would, but it has always arrived just in time. One answered prayer leads to faith for more answered prayers, and then the ball gets rolling, and life gets exciting, and then, and then, and then...

Life becomes magical, fun, exciting, peaceful, and full of miracles happening one after another. I like to think of those moments of answered prayers as synchronicity coming straight from the Creator.

I don't know why I didn't think of this before, except perhaps I needed to experience fear, anxiety, stress, PTSD, and depression INSIDE and OUT as if I were in training to learn everything possible about how it works. Training so I could help others heal, and empower themselves with faith so they can bear fruits of understanding and tolerance for others experiencing the debilitating effects trauma can have on a soul. It took me this long to remember God has always used my pain to help other's with similar pain, and full healing comes when I help others.

The auto accident happened so I could learn how to help others heal from PTSD. If you've read the story about our auto accident then you would know it was lined with miracles every inch of the way. It should have killed all four of us. But it didn't. Why? Because God had bigger gifts of synchronicity all lined up from that moment forward so EACH one of us could fulfill our missions on Earth. All four of us have undergone amazing life changes since the accident.

My words, Empowering Synchronicity, is how I'll live in 2011,
and for as long as needed because my Higher Power wants me to live in the fullness of life, bearing awesome fruits and loving others on this journey called life,
on this amazing planet called Earth,
in an amazing movie I've just discovered
I have creative control over.

Cool bean-a-roos, Peeps!
I'm a Director, and a Leading Lady!

What is your word or words for 2011? Terah from Cowgirl Red's word is Freedom. I would love to see your comments about your word/s for 2011 so I can believe with you. Leave me a comment with your word so other's can see what you're believing in, and together, we can create a movie worth starring in. One filled with love, peace and happy endings. I'll even make the popcorn!

Mile Markers

Look. A mile marker. I am almost to my one year anniversary for my blog. I started it without knowing if anyone would even read it. I started it because I needed to heal, find something to do while I healed, and to lift my spirits. I started it to light my creative heart on fire, and actually create a list of all the things I wanted to do with my wonderful life. I understood I had been spared from dying and have been grateful beyond words to have another shot at living my dreams. But first I needed to heal, and I had no idea I would still be in the learning curve of how to get back into the game of life nearly 2 years after the auto accident.

I'm OK with that. OK with taking care of me. OK with what I've learned from the 'gift' of an unexpected life altering change wrapped in a package called... PTSD. This is a gift I'm learning from and hopefully helping others who have PTSD heal, too.

Art heals. Writing heals. Music heals. Having a good therapist (thanks Dr. Ed and Mary) helps me heal. Having supportive family & friends helps me heal. (thanks, Jake & Ash. thanks, Mommy. thanks, my dear Dylan. thanks to so many of you! I cannot list all of your names individually for fear I will omit someone special) Having a real live Superman in my life has helped me heal. Having Opie Taylor, errrr I mean Opie Wan Kenobi here at my side faithfully has helped me heal. Having met so many of you here online in the blog world has helped me heal. I started keeping track of how many people stop by about a month after I started my blog. WOW!!!

Over 20,000!!!!

And for those of you who fly by, read my blog without ever letting me know you were here. Thank you so very, very much. The numbers tell me you were here, and come back over & over to see how I'm doing. Thank you so much. I feel like you are angels popping in to bless me.

My 101 Creative To Do List is up if you'd like to see what I've accomplished this past 11 months. CLICK HERE TO SEE LIST

I'm moving into warp speed to complete a bunch more on the list before the official one year anniversary. There's a contest I promised you coming up, too. In fact several. I didn't forget the contest I mentioned when Lisa received her painting from the last contest. [insert HUGE smile here] You can read about it here. LISA's Painting

Opie has some tricks up his monkey pantz to show you, too. We are officially into the count down of the one year mile marker. Let's get this party started!

We need to let some of the party favors
outta da monkey pantz...

Eye Candy

This is what makes my heart race, pure and simple.

It's my drug of choice.

I love to see my art supplies when I walk into my studio. It's my visual eye candy. I love seeing paint on my sleeve or on the side of my hand when I'm standing in the store reaching into my purse to pay for groceries. I love peeling layers of glue, Mod Podge or some other gel medium off my fingers or palms. These are all reminders I'm living my dreams.

I love seeing my signature on a finished piece of art.

Or looking at a page in my art journal.
I carry it with me everywhere I go.

Or seeing an angels eyes looking back at me as she comes to life.

Eye candy....
This is my eye candy.
For you it may be a garden you've worked with your hands.
A tiny, soft green sprout pushing through the soil.
A masterpiece you've baked to perfection.
A smile in your child's eyes.
A droplet of sweat trickling down your face after
a bike ride or a Zumba class.
A steaming cup of hot tea shared with a best friend.
A perfectly balanced checkbook.
A clean house.
A racy sport car with the top down.
~*~*~*~*~*~
What is your eye candy?
What makes your heart skip a beat?

Woodstock Lily sings for you

Lille Diane and Michael Tsang, 'East Winds"

About a month ago, maybe less, I was looking for an old tape to let Superman hear a version of 'Over the Rainbow' I recorded. This song is one of my all time favorites without a doubt. In my search to find the recording of this one song I found another cassette that I didn't even know I had. Thirty one years this tape was buried. It survived several cross country moves, musky basements, and storage units living in beaten up cardboard boxes. Suddenly, out of nowhere, it appeared in a drawer as if MAGIC. It wasn't even labeled. Why I picked this particular cassette up is a mystery in itself, except to say, something much larger, and grander, than myself is working on my behalf.

Silver Rose, Louie Baker on the left, me on the right with dark hair.

The tape had several live recordings of songs I'd written on it, and didn't even remember I had recorded, as well as songs I'd performed with two bands; Silver Rose with Louie Baker, and East Winds, a duo with Michael Tsang, both during the 70's. This has been an emotional, and jaw dropping few weeks with discoveries of my musical career preserved as a part of my continuing musical legacy.

My Dad played with 50's icons Hank Williams, Hank Snow, and Johnny Horton. He met my mother, an aspiring vocalist, who sang backups on a couple of recordings that ended up on jukeboxes, not as hits but as fillers. My daddy had a drinking problem, as do many musicians, and it got in the way of him having the brilliant career he was born to have. My grandmother told me a story about a night he was playing with Johnny Horton. Johnny told her, "Dub is one of the best guitar players out there but the bottle is his first love. He won't go anywhere till he leaves her behind." Sad, but true, this has happened to too many extremely talented artists, musicians, and writers.

As you all know I have been using creativity, and a creative to do list to help me heal from PTSD. It has not been an A-Z process for me, and truthfully, it wouldn't be nearly as interesting, or rewarding, if everything just "fell into place" with no effort or learning on my part. I'm learning so much from Dr. Ed, and, Michele Rosenthal, at Heal My PTSD. But in saying that, I've experienced some hard hills to climb out of this valley of PTSD, and at times, my body has been dragging my dreams down due to setbacks health wise.

Finding these tapes has given me the courage to begin undertaking one of the goals on my list; to record another album. I will not allow PTSD to rob me of my purpose, my calling, and my God given talents to accomplish my dreams. I've had these dreams since I was 10 years old. My amazingly talented son, Jake, will be working with me on this project singing backup, and laying down all the music tracks. Yes, he can play everything! Superman is at the helm as my producer, and protector. Dylan is in charge of managing me. (hehe Lord knows I need that...)

For the last few weeks, Superman has painstakingly worked to digitize and clean up as much hiss off these recordings as he could, then he saved them to an mp3 format. So.... with a wee bit nervousness, mixed with a huge "I just won the Freaking LOTTERY!!!" attitude, I introduce a collection of songs on my side bar for your listening pleasure.

My personal favorites are: Moonbean, I Never Meant To Hurt You, Over the Rainbow, and Girl In The Mirror. There's one country song on here I wrote called, 'A Child Like Me'. I grew up thinking country music was all there was because of my family history. I've since learned to love and appreciate all music. "A Child Like Me' has a Christian message layered with the idea that we all want to be accepted by our Daddy's, whether it is Daddy God or our own birth fathers. I've always had a spiritual heart, and have always been a seeker, looking for God, for answers, and spiritual love. I worked in the Contemporary Christian music business from 1987-1998. I had the honor of being the opening vocalist for the phenomenal Wayne Watson, winner of tons of Grammy's and Dove Awards, in 1989.

yes, I had big hair... didn't everyone in the 80's????
Wayne Watson, myself, and Scott Alan, a DJ at KDAR, Oxnard CA

If you're on Facebook you can fan me there at Lille Diane: Singer-Songwriter and on Reverbnation. I'd be so honored to have you listen to my songs (they're up there on the top right on the player) and cheer me on to taking my healing to the next level.

Bronzed Knickers and Diamonds

About 10 years ago I was opening a bottle of wine, and as soon as I started twisting the wine opener into the cork I could tell something was not right. I was right. The cork was so dry, my twisting against the glass caused the neck of the bottle to shatter in my hand. In all the years I've opened wine bottles, I've never seen this happen to anyone. My ring finger was cut so deeply in the finger pad area, it required surgery, and stitches.

Shards of glass are still working their way out of my finger all these years later including a piece now. It's deep, and while it's not causing me much grief, I know eventually, I'll have to address it. I've had to go to the doctor several times in years past to have festering pieces of glass surgically removed. Other times, the glass pops through my fingertip like a sprout in springtime, and all I need is tweezers to pluck it out. Simple as that--all it needed was time.

I see this as a metaphor to having PTSD. On some days when a scary thought comes racing through my head, or a negative one, I can use my own mental tweezers to pull it out before it starts infecting my thoughts. But for the most part, I still need professional assistance to help me work through the layers of trauma. I've tried to hold these fears in, fearful I'd be judged for being scared to get in a car again, or judged for not just "getting over it". Heck, I've even barked at myself to suck it up, and to put my Xena Princess Warrior bronzed knickers back on my lily livered arse. That's the part of me that's over the car accident, but the larger part of me is still on hyper drive, or as Dr. Ed says, "my fears are on steroids."

Try as I may I cannot hold these feelings, and thoughts in forever. I'm only making it harder on my body, and my recovery, when I do that. This is why my tummy troubles have kicked into warp speed. It's all connected to my body's injuries, and my tummy's the place I hold my stress. I've been having some of the worst panic attacks I've ever had these past few weeks, hence, the worst pain in my abdomen for a long time. Dr. Ed says I need to let it out. I won't break into a million pieces of glass if I do. If I allow it all to come to the surface like that sliver of buried glass I won't go comatose and die in the prenatal position--even if my body tells me I will. And it has told me that.

He asked me if I ever knew anyone who had cried themselves to death. He said a human can physically maintain a good crying jag for about 15-20 minutes before they wear themselves out. I instantly thought of my son when he was little, and after a tantrum or a bad day, how he would cry himself to sleep. I suppose I thought I "should" be past crying at this stage of my PTSD. Perhaps a healthy crying session will clear the way for more healing, and will create less stress on my tummy.

The glass bottle in the picture is full of sand, and pieces of broken glass that I picked it up in a parking lot after we finished the 5k Race for Hope (to raise money and awareness for brain tumor research) in Washington DC the day of the accident. I remember asking everyone to wait for me while I squatted like a kid in a sandbox, scooping up the brightly colored pieces of glass mingled with sand on the hot asphalt. It was from a mosaic pattern that adorned this particular parking lot in downtown DC, and time and traffic, had caused it to crumbled pushing 1000's of tiny sea-like glass free. To me it was a candy store of recyclable treasure, and I would have stayed for hours collecting this wind fall of potential art material if I'd been able to.

Time always has a way of giving me answers in unexpected ways much like this bottle has been a visual lesson to me. I never once shook the bottle to make the pretty colored bits and pieces of glass rise to the surface. Time did that all by itself. Just as the slivers of glass in my fingers cannot be squeezed or forced out of my finger before it's time, neither can the PTSD shrapnel in my head. It's working itself out at a pace I can handle. Time is what I need for things to shift into place so I can heal properly.

I've been called Diamond Lil my entire adult life. Why not now, too, even if I feel like a diamond in the rough most days? Diamonds come from coal, and it's pressure that creates diamonds. Poets have long compared tears to glistening diamonds. Who knows, maybe a diamond sheds a tear to free itself from the dark sheath of coal, and darkness. Or perhaps all I have to do is open the lid on this bottle to let the miracle out... Time will show me, of this I am sure.

Therapy Isn't For Wimps

Some people balk at getting help for emotional things. It's easier to put on a thick skin, suck it up, and bury the buggers. I'm learning I have done this, too. This shocks me because I've always been a seeker; looking for answers, looking for help when I need it, looking for wisdom, for knowledge, for hope, and like many of us... I've looked for love. Nope I'm not going to belt out that old song, "looking for love in all the wrong places... but I am beginning to learn a valuable lesson about self love. I'd always thought I had a great deal of self love but I'm discovering there are parts of me I haven't been too loving about.

Many of you know I recently began treatment for my PTSD with a specialist. I'll tell you... PTSD has stumped me. It tossed me off another bridge in my mind, and has taunted me relentlessly about my ability to just shrug the auto accident off, and move on. Plus at times since the accident I've felt judged by people in my life who don't understand why I'm making such a "big deal" out of this. I can sense it in their body language, or how I might perceive [imagined or not] if someone rolls their eyes at me. "Just get on the freeway and start driving again." Well at small times I can do that. But they are really, really few and far between. Most of the time, I prefer not to even leave the house.

But you know who has been my biggest enemy? [And it's not the psychiatrist that booted me out of his office a few weeks ago after bragging to me about getting in a car 5 minutes after his auto accident, and driving off with no problems.] IT'S Me!! I am my own worst enemy. I'm the one who has told me over, and over, to toughen up. You should be better by now! What's wrong with you?? It's been 1.5 years! You've been through worse! Get a grip! There are people out there who've been through a whole lot worse things than you, and they're getting on with their lives! Wimp! Loser! Big baby!

I've been extremely hard on myself because prior to to this I've always been able to get myself unstuck. I forced myself a few months after the accident to go on with my life, and my career. Mind you my job involved a tremendous amount of driving--2500-3500 miles per month. I thought it was the best answer for all concerned, especially me, to give myself a shove back into "normal mode". But I'm learning I didn't give myself enough time to heal. And worse than that... I've been sending myself messages that are not very loving, or patient, or kind.

My new doctor is beginning to uncover the depth of my injuries, and I'm learning it still hurts really bad. AND THAT'S OK! I sit in his office, and my stomach feels like it's going through a meat grinder. I've spent the last 3 days since I left his office crying like I have a bad ass case of PMS but it feels really good. I'm crying for that woman who teetered on the edge of a cliff; the woman who still feels the blows of the impact in her body as if it just happened. I don't understand WHY I still feel it so deeply but I do. This new guy, Dr. Ed, is really good at what he does. He told me the body stores the memories, and the pain, even if my mind wants to be whole, and well. I've haven't felt this safe since the accident. This is good stuff, peeps!

And for the first time since the accident, I'm beginning to allow myself to peel off a layer of tough skin. I don't have to be a tough girl to get through this like I have with every other tough time in my life. I don't have to beat myself up because I don't understand everything yet. I just have to learn to love me, all of me, and stop comparing my recovery with others. This isn't going to be a picnic nor will I devour the beast overnight. But I'm ready to chew on a little morsel of that alligator skin I've told myself I needed to wear.

Hmmmm I didn't even know I liked alligator... [insert evil grin here]

Thanks for listening to me, dear friends~

Crashing Into Me

Sorry to post such a graphic picture. Please read on. I need your support for the next leg of my healing journey.

I've never posted a picture on my blog of the vehicle from my accident (R.I.P. you died so we would live) but I have to vent. I felt much like our van looked like after the accident when I left my psychiatrist after my visit last Friday. I left feeling broadsided by his words, crushed, and waiting for a tow truck to haul my carcass off to the graveyard.

My body took a hit from a car speeding at 70 MPH with such a force I still feel it in my body 1.5 years later, plus I also took a brutal hit to my mind; fear, stress, anxiety, and trauma. It's shaken me like a rag doll with razor blade teeth, and still howls at me every time I get into an automobile. But I think there is nothing worse than effects of words by a calloused soul who has no ability to connect, and apparently has no desire to even if he could.

The medications prescribed to me have been nuclear powered. They've also had volcanic side effects: major insomnia, major intestinal and stomach problems, agitation, panic attacks, extreme anxiety, heart palpitations, night sweats, apathy, numbness to life, neither joyful or sad, sluggishness, lethargic, decreased sex drive or ability to orgasm... Up, and down... up and down... I could go on, and on about the side effects. Some of you know exactly what I'm talking about. I am in no way telling people to not take a prescribed medication but my LORD what is the sane thing to do????? Either way I have the same symptoms. PTSD or Side Effects.... so what do I do?

At first I pushed through taking each medication as prescribed, ever hopeful I'd been given a "magic" pill. But [for me] there is no magic pill. All the various medications had the same bad side effects when I took them. Later I started saying no, and asking to try to something else. My psychiatrist begrudgingly agreed each time but would always coax me back to another heavier type of medication.

What's made this entire process an even worse pill to swallow is that this man never looked at me when I sat at his desk. He just looked at his computer screen clicking away. I rarely spent more than 5 minutes in his office. I hated to go but didn't think I had a choice. Then for a few months I had some relief when he set me up to see one of his counselors, and she had such a genuine compassion for people, I continued to go once a month or more as needed. However she was pregnant, and never returned after she had her baby. I was crushed hearing this, and wavered whether or not to go back at all.

I asked Superman to go in with me, which of course, he valiantly agreed to. He was as appalled as I had been at his lack of "desk-side manner". In fact, the doctor seemed a bit agitated I had asked Superman come in with me. That should have been a huge CLUE to get help elsewhere. But instead I procrastinated about going back in again. The sudden move, my Mom, and needing to see her before her surgery, etc, etc.... I validated every reason but the truth is I HATED how I felt being around this doctor. But eventually I needed to go back so I made the dreaded appointment which was this past Friday.

He scolded me for not coming in to see him for 2.5 months. I explained about the move from the Tree House , and that I also depend on Superman to take me to my appointments, and sometimes it's hard for him to leave his business to help me. Blah...BLAH, blah.... When asked about another medication he'd prescribed me and how I was doing on it---I told him I was too afraid to take it for all the side effects which pissed him off. It was the drug Ab----y. You've seen the ads...."If your anti-depression medication isn't working for you... you may need another pill to boost your antidepressant." Then the last two thirds of the commercial lists all the frigging side effects. Oh YES please I want a whole f....king gallon of those!

I asked him if he'd ever been in a bad auto accident.... which he answered he had. He told me he totaled his car, called his insurance company, got a rental car in 5 minutes, and he drove off happy as a bee. [Well goody for you!] Next he told me he had patients he had "healed" from various "prestigious" companies [he proudly named them off like a list of personal credentials] within 3-6 months. I asked him if their jobs included an intense driving schedule like my job had, 2500-3000 miles per month. He said that didn't matter but because I'd asked him, he told me.

Then he told me not to come back.

I know it's not entirely his fault. It is the way we do business here in America. The drug companies dictate what incomes/kick-backs the doctors make, and so on, and so on. I know there are good doctors , and bad ones. I also know it's MY body, MY mental health, and MY responsibility to take care of myself. No one else will. So this is why I've decided to undergo treatment from a specific PTSD psychologist I told you all I was going to go see.

The meeting went well. I really, really like this guy. He told me it will be hard at times, and I will probably hate him on some days..... But I want to get well. I am willing to do whatever it takes to get my life back, my mind back. PTSD is just now being recognized, and talked about, as the beast it is. Our soldiers are coming home from the war, and our Vets, from previous wars, have been neglected so horribly. [don't get me started on this one...grrrrrr] But PTSD also happens to regular people just like myself. Trauma is trauma. Bottom line.

I begin what will be an intense program next Monday night. He's supportive of my choice to try to do this without heavy medications, and eventually none at all. I feel so free now. I believe I found a tiny opening in the Universe to squeeze into a window of recovery, healing, and wholeness again.

The pic above shows the narrow spot our van hit on the guard rail on the overpass before it flipped, and went down a steep, rocky hill. A few inches either way and we would have hit concrete. Those inches were just many of the miracles that happened, and allowed us to live that day. The divot you see in the rocks is where the van landed [my side, shotgun] after it flipped. I still feel the impact in my bones, my cells, my memories, and my dreams.

Maybe, just maybe.... I've crossed through another narrow passage way to a miracle. I have to believe it to receive it. And........

I will get well.

Buggy Lust

I took these shots while traveling the back roads to my Mom's house in KY a couple of weeks ago. I loved the pace, the clickity-clack of the horse's hooves on the asphalt. I loved the simplicity of life, and the peacefulness that traveled as an unseen, but ever so present passenger in the wagon.

I had an instant affinity for these boys with rosy cheeks heading home, or nowhere in particular, on the highway that afternoon. For a moment I felt a calmness wash over my brain; my brain that struggles to cope when vehicles race ahead to pass me on the highway. The brain that wants to put the brakes on, and never leave the house. The brain that quietly screams driving directions to anyone driving within range--except these lads in their buggy. The brain that temporarily forgot it was under attack by images, fears, and memories that day on a quiet Kentucky country road.

I was filled with buggy lust as the horse clipped down the road at a safe pace. Clippity-clop...clippity-clop. Hooves singing a lullaby of tranquility to my mind; the mind that normally hears even the slightest squeal of brakes or sudden engine surges of trucks, cars or motorcycles. I smiled like a child watching a circus act at the boys in their buggy, and waved like a tacky tourist--camera in hand to catch a frame or two of bliss. The kind of bliss I used to have riding in a car with no voices chasing me down like roadkill about to happen.

The boys smiled back. I told myself to hold onto their smiles. Hold onto the moment as though it were a drug I could take that wouldn't make me groggy. I've missed seeing the beauty being on the highway can bring. I miss the ability to breath normally, relaxed, and carefree inside a car. But for just a few minutes I did find myself in the moment, and not in the past, that day on the trip to my Mom's. But unfortunately it didn't last long enough. No, not nearly long enough.

Superman and I were scheduled to make a flight to Salt Lake City the following week after the unexpected trip to visit my Mom before her surgery. We had to cancel our flights. My body, and my mind couldn't take any more stress. Superman never once made me feel guilty for not taking our previously planned trip to Utah. I had to put on my big girl panties just to say yes to making a flight. With PTSD anything that feels like you are not in control can cause a crash inside your head without ever leaving your house. Sometimes I just want to hole up, and never leave .... just so I won't feel helpless or afraid. But that's not living... it's dying a slow death.

I'm proud of myself for making such a long trip in a car. It took us nearly twice as long to get to my Mom's, and then return back home, with all the frequent stops, and traveling on back roads instead of major highways. But in making the trip, I learned I need more help to heal. I need tools not drugs. I've been in treatment both with a psychiatrist, and a lovely counselor for a year and a half since the auto accident. I stopped going to both couple of months ago. Now I see I still need help. The trip nudged me to make an appointment with a specialist who works specifically with trauma victims like myself who have PTSD.

I'm going tomorrow at 2:00. Hopefully, he can help me make the next leg of my journey to wholeness without drugs. One day I'll be able to settle my heart down when it races like a train without an engineer on my own. One day I'll smile at other drivers on the highway just like these boys smiled at me.

Yes, one day.....
I will be the pony and not the cart.

Opie, the Driving Cat

Opie's driving me down to visit my Mom. It's about a 6.5 drive from where I live on back roads. My Mom is facing a major surgery [2nd one] on her back. I haven't seen her in 3 years. That's way too long. She's been unable to drive up here to visit me because of her back, and since my car accident---I've been unable, and too scared , to go visit her.

Superman will be flying along to assist should Opie need a cat nap. Or if his little legs get too tired from pushing the broom stick down on the gas pedal. Or should he just need to groom or something like that. I have drugs...errrrr I mean ways to cope should I need it.

THIS IS HUGE FOLKS!
Road Trip....
Oh crap....

But I'm going drugged.......errrrrr..... I mean... medicated, or not. One way or another. My Mom needs me. I need her. She's my Foster Mom. I was adopted as a teen, and was the first of 11 other foster kids. You'll hear about her more in my book. My Mom should be on Oprah. She is the reason I'm alive today, the person I am today, and she needs me. Hearing her say she needs me is bigger than PTSD. Bigger than my fears of being in a car. If it takes 12 hours to get to her, I will do it!!!

On the way back we're stopping to visit Lily, from Blawgh, Life on the Farm. It's our first time to meet. A fellow blogger, now dear friend is going to let me drive the tractor on her farm. Can you do that medicated, too??? Oh wait I think that's what she said... Oh maybe she said I could pet her horse or at least ride it in a circle in the corral. Holy Horse Doo! I'm gonna be a cowgirl!

Any whoooooooooo, peeps. There I said it. I'm taking a long arse road trip. And spending my birthday tomorrow with my family. We're leaving in about an hour and a half, and I haven't thrown up yet. This is good... very, very good. Hey send cake... birthday hugs, presents hehehehe and especially your love, and well wishes. But seriously.... [ummmmmm I AM serious about the presents......and cake]

It's my birthday and all I want is for one moment to be able to feel like I used to, War Warrior Extraordinaire... the one who used to drive back and forth across the USA by herself chasing her dreams as a singer. With Opie as my co-pilot, and Superman flying overhead, I should be just fine.

I'll update you later from the hotel... OK now start singing Happy Birthday to me!!!!!!

Yikes!!!! Opie just asked me if he'd need a broom for the brakes..... Good thing he's on the ball. I love that cat!

Yard Machine Mama

It's official. I've survived my life once again. Looking back I see the "Trip Off I-68" was just a practice run for mowing this bad boy of a hill. Pffftttttt....some of you may be saying. "That's a bunny slope. Woosie!" Well then--so be it. I'm officially a woosie britches. But I challenge any one not to have their heart race just a little bit staring death in the face on the down slope of my new front lawn.

It had been a little over 4 years since I'd mowed a lawn as big as this one. Mowing has always been a simple pleasure in my life, and I actually find it meditative. I don't know what it is about mowing (or rather riding a mower) that stimulates some deep thinking. I have solved some major issues dodging tree limbs with grass clippings flying helter-skelter, and wiping sweat off my brow. It's therapy for me. So learning the lawn care here at the new nest would be mine, all mine, was music to my ears.
Right out of the chute I had to find the choke. Easy you say. Not so fast.... The knob had been broken off. Plus, the previous owner of the mower had cut the cable, too. I had to locate the end of it WAAAAAAAYYYYYY under the hood, and then figure out how to make it work. I got er' going right away...well almost. I had to let er' recoup after flooding the engine with too much gas. Stop snickering...

You know it's a rough road ahead when the neighbors all come out to watch the newbie on the country block mow her Alpine-like front yard the very first time. I'm telling you they came out in droves, and turned their lawn chairs toward the "show". I swear I saw $20's being exchanged over fences. They were placing bets on how many turns it would take before I bit the grass big time. Yep, they were rockin', grinnin', and watchin' me the entire time. I got a little wave and head nod from the neighbors directly adjacent to my yard. AND I'm sure it was difficult for them to mask the exhilaration of having front row seats or to keep from holding up their score cards with each pass of the mower.

Common sense (or some voice of reason) told me take the mower to the bottom of the drive and then approach the uphill trek from there. I suppose it was impatience that made me try to make a turn on the slope. Crappola! Money started exchanging hands rapid fire across fences on that dimwitted maneuver.

I sucked in a breath so deep it made my eyes bulge in my head. How my neighbors refrained from letting out some knee slapping guffaws is beyond me. I managed to keep from widdling my britches as the mower tilted sideways, and somehow stifled a full-throated scream at the same time. I had goose bumps for the next 10 minutes, and hoped my sunglasses covered the protruding whites of my eyes. I held on. The mower slowed gears as I crept down the hill. I had to remind myself to breathe...breathe....breathe.

I remember looking at all my options should the mower suddenly lunge forward on the downhill trip. I saw a clump of bushes with a couple of rocks. Ewwwww... I saw the 4 foot wide ditch at the bottom of the hill. Bigger Ewwwwww.... Then I saw myself in the van as we hit the guard rail on I-68 near Cumberland, MD, and decided if I could come out alive on that one I could surely make it through this uncertain ride.

Now I wonder if the accident had been training for such a day as this. Or days when I felt uncertain about life in general. Had it been a training ground of sorts to give me courage when I felt I had none. To remind me I am stronger than I think I am at times. I know I'm not invincible but I am not really a woosie either. One of my favorite quotes that I've had on my bulletin board for years is this:

"If we did all the things
we were capable of doing--

we would literally astound ourselves. "
Thomas Edison

The racing stripes you see on the lawn are mine. Imperfect due to the deck needing an adjustment. But to me they are stripes I can proudly wear as a badge of honor. I survived my fears, and to those neighbors who placed bets for me to win... "WOOT!" To those who bet against my success... An even bigger, "WOOT!

This ain't my first rodeo..."

And thank God I am here
to utter those words.

Pinocchio Is A Girl

Yep, it's me. Moi... Miss Monkey Pants~~

It wasn't even Halloween. That's the best part. When I first started singing pro I supported my music career as a server or a bartender. Or a clown. Imagine that... I decided if I had to work a "real" job [like a real boy] I'd make it fun and do it my way. And I sure did. [I'll post more about this at a later time...] One of my co-workers was studying Special Effects at a school in Hollywood. I was her willing, ever so willing, model.

Tis' good to be me.
~~~You can believe it~~~

I made a killing in tips working as a "real" boy.
Too bad a latex nose doesn't last forever.

Sigh.... Memories.
Some are just better than others--don't cha think?
And most get better with time. Thank the good Lawd.

Anyone remember that I Love Lucy episode where she lit her nose on fire?

My 100th Post

My 100th post!!! It's a [huge, humongous, gigantic, BIG] celebration for me.

I started this blog not knowing exactly where I was going but hoping blogging would take me somewhere wonderful. A pathway to heal the [notice I didn't say "my"] PTSD that visits me. Blogging has become a way of life for me now. I know many of you understand word for word what I just wrote. I feel like I know some of you as though I've known you my entire life. That's a good thing--blogging is supposed to be a way to link to each other's world. You've become my friends. I hope you feel that way about me, and Opie Taylor, too. For those of you who are just getting to know me, run now while you still can. Joking......

I promised when I started this blog that I was going to hang my undies out for all of you to see. I created a 101 list of creative things, and with you, "the world", watching me, I've been checking them off one by one. I'm going to be brave and knock a huge To Do off my list. I promised myself, and you, I would post an excerpt from the book I'm writing. Gulp... my undies are about to be waving like a parade queen.......

Look at me below.... I'm smiling nervously at age 7 like I knew I was going to be an exhibitionist when I grew up---oh that's right I still haven't grown up. Never mind....

Actually, I was trying to hide my missing front teeth not my undies.

This picture was taken when I was 7 years old a couple of months before the excerpt I'm about to share with you happened in my book, "Six Days To Haight-Ashbury". The book chronicles the events that led up to, and during, the time I hitch-hiked to San Francisco in 1967 as a runaway. The book is full of flash backs and if you lived during the 60's you will be transported back like you never left. If you ever wanted to know what it was like living in this historical time, I will take you there. It was the 60's--it was psychedelic, Man. Far out... Groooovy... Bitchin'... Keep on Truckin'.... [OK I'm done now] But it was what it was, and I lived it in southern California.

Now I'm going to take you on a magical mystery tour away from this site to my brand new link where I'll be showcasing my art, my photography and some other exciting adventures I want you, as my readers, my friends, to join me on. It's still under construction, too... just like me. I'll keep you posted here when I've nailed a few more pictures on the wall over there. Plus, I'll be taking all your pictures with me over there. We'll be all linky-like together. Peace, Love, and Tie Dye.

[Cue up the Beatles, Buffalo Springfield, or Cream--your choice]

Tune in, drop out and stick out your thumbs to the past.... But let's take a trip to 1959 first.

Click below on the Magic Bus to the past vrroooom vrrooommmm
It will take you to the excerpt and the new site.

Magic Bus to the Past

~~~I'm Under Construction~~~

I'm under construction. Aren't we all???
And change is good...
At least that's what I keep telling myself.
Thanks for your patience
While I figure out who my blog wants to be when it grows up...

Plus it's my countdown to my 100th post!!!
One more post to go!!!

She hung her undies out for one and all to see this time tomorrow

This will be a colorful post because I'm not hiding anything. I'm hanging it all out there for everyone to see. Everything.....

Well, actually it's a list I hung out for everyone to see.
But it feels like I'm nekkie because I officially posted
my 101 List on the side bar of my blog.... I'm accountable now.

Psssttttt... it's what I said I'd do in my header up above....
I'm hanging my "undies out" for everyone to see.... what were you thinking???

See the rocker...
It's a hint of things to come on my 101 List, item # 35, listed on my side bar.

See the candles.... This is one of the items on the list, # 86.

I think I could sit here with an attitude of gratitude for a very long time. Well, at least until one of the items on my list calls me from my reverie to accomplish it. I'm incredibly grateful to have the breath, the desire and the ability to answer the call.

For all of you who are new to my blog, the items on the list were listed in previous posts. It took over 7 weeks to compile my creative list. The XOXO means it has been accomplished. Ahhh, it feels good to hang my undies out.....

Flashbacks of yesterday, full moons today, this time tomorrow I'll be okay...

I didn't post anything yesterday. I wasn't sure I wanted to talk about an experience I had Saturday night. Most of you who have been following me for awhile now know I just celebrated the one year anniversary of a moment I can never forget. It's a vivid moment like these shots of the moon I took tonight.

Sometimes memories will shine down on one's heart and create a ripple effect just like the reflection of the moon on the water. You may not see a full moon if it's hidden behind clouds. But once the moon slips out from behind the cloud cover there's no denying it's presence.

PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) is kind of like that. It's like having a wound that no one can see until various reasons or situations, some of which make no sense at all, cause it to start bleeding. I had a sudden, severe bout 0f PTSD Saturday night driving home from a really great evening. Suddenly the memories, the reflections, images, sights and sounds of the auto accident I'd been in over a year ago crashed into me again. Suddenly, and with no mercy. As suddenly as the car that hit us---the thoughts were back---triggered by some young guys driving erratically. The sounds of their speeding motorcycles, and cars zooming past our car felt like a thousand shards of glass piercing my body.

I was instantly reduced to a sobbing, terrified hostage to my thoughts, my memories, and my worst fears. I couldn't breathe, my throat closed up, my pulse and heart rate increased dramatically. I felt caged; I felt trapped. One hand instinctively reached to cover my eyes, and moved as quickly to cover my mouth to hold back a scream. That scream got stuck in my throat like a jagged rock. In my other hand I held a beautiful mason jar full of flowers I just been given by two beautiful sister's at one of the art galleries we just come from.



Bleeding Hearts, Queen Anne's Lace, and some other fairy garden varieties with perfume spilling out of them like heavenly scented clouds. I gripped the bottom of the Mason jar so hard I'm surprised I didn't break it. My hand ached from the imprints the jar left on it.

In an instant a wonderful evening was tweaked by an unwelcome flashback. I'd not had one that severe for awhile. It crushed my previous notion I was out of the woods, and finally free from panic-anxiety attacks. I was blind-sided...unexpectedly just like the car accident.

I'll need to smell these lovely flowers a little more intently. Gaze at the moon for hidden messages of hope, and encouragement. Write about my fears out in the open to give them less room to breed inside my heart. Blog about it to my dear blog friends... Vent, and humbly ask for a couple of "Go get em' Lille!!" "You can do it" You're not a big baby. Moments like these will become less and less..."

For more understanding about PTSD, I suggest you read Rain at "Mountain Mamma" or Owen at Magic Lantern Showen . These two people have helped me tremendously to gain insights to recovery, "am I normal???" questions or is it normal if this... or this.... or that happens... I receive hope, and insight from them just by visiting their blogs. Thank you, Rain, and Owen.

If you are newer to my blog, read more about why I started the blog or about the accident listed in the labels....

And thank you dear friends who faithfully come by the tree house to visit. I love how you all make charming, encouraging and down-right funny comments on my blog.... Thank you~~

Today's dreams will eventually become new treasures this time tomorrow...

Last night we celebrated Dylan's Birthday here at the Tree House. Personally, I believe birthdays should be celebrated for an entire month otherwise they wouldn't call it your "Birth Month".... I'm also the girl who believes you should always eat 2 cookies. One for each hand or one for each thigh. It's all about finding the perfect balance in life....

We topped off the evening by starting Dylan's first Dream Board or Vision Board... whatever you choose to call it--it's all about visualizing. I'll show you the process, and how we're designing her new DB (with her permission) as it takes shape. I'm also designing a new one for me, too. It was awesome to watch Dylan playing in the studio, hand-picking which colorful pieces of papers and "pretties" she wanted to adhere to her DB. Had she not had an early flight to Annapolis, I know she would have stayed all night designing her DB.

Below is my current Dream Board. Right now I don't have any material things posted on it. It's more about visualizing how I feel about me, the inner me. Healing, and the love, hope, peace, and joy I want for myself, and other people in my life. These are the things that are important for my personal healing. I'll add some "things", some "stuff", some "fluff" later I'd like to have that are more 3 dimensional; Like what kind of auto I'd like to have, which starlet's skinny butt I wanna have, or pictures of a lakeside home with attached cottage that will be my permanent studio, and which starlet's skinny butt I wanna have.... Ohhhh, wait.... I already wrote that... Maybe I should post it twice on my DB... one wish for each butt cheek to balance the two cookie philosophy I have.....

Top of my Dream Board

I look back on my DB I made almost a year ago. (June 2008) It took me a while to tackle (or allow, believe and RECEIVE) some of the things I put on here. I didn't realize how many things are being birthed right now or have already come to fruition until I really stopped to look at it today.

• Better breathing (I quit smoking December 14, 2008)
• I'm writing my book, writing a blog, and finished writing my 101 list. Some call it a bucket list....
• I'm painting.... not just starting paintings BUT finishing them... Big wow here!!!
  

Creamy white filling.... the Middle of my Dream Board

This is the part of my DB that makes me a wee bit weepy.

• "I have the strength to get things done...." a year ago I was paralyzed with fears, weak in every part of my body, in my mind. I'm still working on the mind part.... (OK who chuckled???) Driving is still my biggest challenge but I'm working on it.
  
• "I get another chance to live it up..." I added to the original...
  
• My Dreams are in full bloom...." I'm still working on this one physically. I have a hard time sleeping, and still need meds. I hate the "needing" meds part. Part of PTSD is not being able to sleep. But I am working on it... Sometimes I feel so guilty that I have to take a medication to sleep. I've tried herbals but for now they are just not strong enough.
  
• This also depicts wanting to live my dreams---not just dream about them. HUGE!!! HUGE!!!! HUGE step forward for me!!!

And finally..... the bottom of my Dream Board

See the mailing package on the right? (above the four-leaf clover) That's the envelope a beautiful necklace I ordered from Healing Stones, in New Zealand, came in. I ordered it for Sonja, my fabulous massage therapist (who BTW is working hard to get my muscles back into shape, and break up the scar tissue I developed after the accident) I want to travel to Australia and New Zealand... Who wants a postcard from me from one of those countries????

It's moments like these that make me happy this time tomorrow rolled around again for me to see

I count when I go up and down stairs. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.... each step is counted. Not out loud of course. Inside my head as I take the step. Does anyone else do this when you go up and down stairs?

Gulp... kinda stickin' my undies wayyyyyy out there this time, eh?

"Oh, boy. What if I'm the only one who does this." I gulp again...

I have a thing for numbers. Sequences in numbers. On clocks I see my birthday, my son's birthday, etc. I like watching for sequences like 778877 on a car's odometer. Or 123456. Or 654321... Sequences like these on cars only roll around once. Does anyone else like seeing these sequences on car odometers, too?

I especially loved how they used to click over on older makes of cars. It was like watching little flip cards slowly turn up a new number. You had some time to gear up before such a huge rollover would happen like the one depicted on the photo below. 99,999. One mile before 100,000. (I know you can count...) On a newer models you can easily miss it because our world is digitized.

I took the shots below yesterday on my way to hike with Superman. I'd been waiting for this all important turn of numbers for awhile now. I will only be able to see this occur ONCE on this automobile. Once!

I don't take little things like this for granted any more. Being inside a car has a whole new feeling, a whole new meaning for me now. I drive slower. I probably would have been driving 70 on the freeway when this all important rollover happened. I may have tried to snap a shot of it on my cell phone. Don't get all snooty on me now... Shakin' your head's saying, "I would NEVER DO that..."

To drive to the state park where I did yesterday took all my courage. Driving anywhere takes all my courage. I usually take side roads to go anywhere. In fact, I rarely even get on the freeway. Yesterday I was afraid I'd be distracted looking at my odometer for 100,000 so I drove slowly on the side roads waiting for it to happen. I'm now the kind of driver you may drive past expecting to see a blue haired, really ancient, old lady hunched over the steering wheel. At 20, or 30 or 40 or even 50 years old I would have honked at myself! You know you've honked at people like me before.... (honk-honk) I never used to be this way.... Never. And if you're thinking 50 something is really ancient or old.... Shame on you... 50 rolls around way faster than an odometer...

Life is a sequence. Life is change, and I look at this sequence an entirely different way than I used to.

Here it is. 100,000.... Beautiful, isn't it?

See the partial image of the girl emerging on the left of the picture. She's an important fixture on my dashboard. Some of you have guardian angels, Mother Mary's, crystals, dice, crucifixes, lucky charms, etc., hanging or posted somewhere in your car. Tokens, symbols, meaningful messages to reassure or remind you from time to time that someone, or something, is watching over you. Good luck or God's love....

I call her "Juno Girl". She's my visual super hero. She's my reminder to have faith. While the picture is an image that I found on a wine bottle that's not why I have it (her) on my dash. You can find the artist who painted her here.

Hear me when I say I am not promoting drinking and driving in any manner, shape or form! REPEAT: Do NOT drink and drive!

It's her smile. It's her attitude. It's my reminder to loosen my grip on the steering wheel.... To relax my shoulders. To tell myself (for the 4,389 time) "Those people in the lane next to me are NOT bad drivers about to hit me." I am safe. I'm OK.

I'm grateful to be gripping a steering wheel in spite of my constantly white knuckles. But at times, well, in fact... most of the time... I'm taking it one mile at a time on the freeway. Mustering up courage to expand my miles beyond my house. To get up and go out the door. To get back on the road of life. To treasure my daily business---from waking up--to going to sleep. I was given another chance to make a list of 101 things I want to do and NOW go out and get to do them. To smile like this pretty girl in the picture. The gift of being able to say thank you for my family, my friends and tell them I love them.

And having another chance to see things like the turning of the odometer to 100,001.

Priceless.