Man who have mosquito land on testicles learns very quickly violence not best 1st course of action.
Note; Moira is an asteroid in Astrology that rules the internal sense of time and timing. Call her your intuitive clock if you will. She is Chronos’ (Saturn/Kronos) Wife. Chiron is Chronos’ son. I’m not sure if Moira is Mom or StepMom. Mythical characters have gossip column gigs like that down pat, in spades.
No intent for it to be free. The cost is value, later, on your time.
What do you think ImaginAction’s worth? After downloading it at no charge with no strings attached, none, using it, and on your own time let me know by tipping at BuyMeACoffee, sharing, re-blogging, liking, commenting. Please share on your go-to social media pages or re-blog.
THANK YOU to every single person who has read, liked, commented, not liked though read anyway, didn’t know anything about though took a dip anyway for serendipity and found something, liked just to themselves without commenting or liking and left with something valued, even if just the smile or a nod.
Thank you all who have given my work a shout-out via words or a link on their sites. I personally like links more unless it’s a feature, keeps it more ad-free cleanly, and makes more of a community connective tissue. Thank you to all of you who have shared my blog on Facebook and other sites.
After I returned from my extended radio silence, I have seen my readers grow from 140+ to just over 200 in the last 10 weeks. I was in a Great mood when I returned, refreshed, though I smile at how many times I smile and get to say Thank You out loud when I see someone enjoyed my work, that they received something for their time. That makes me proud, and not the hubris kind of proud. That makes me proud in the “I Cherish” kind of proud. Thank you.
Thank you to all of you wonderful people who have read, share, and continue to read my blog. Also, thank you for inspiring me to write this. I may just make this the 1st part of a weekly series to mention those who influenced me or who I just resonated with. The intent will be to give people some serendipity eField Trip selections to choose from. A bit like Marco Polo returning with a full hull, a bit like a travel agent. Heck, it might even step up my serendipity forays, and I’m certainly game for that. Maybe I’ll call it Tuesday Thank You Trips. Hmmm, we’ll see. Titles are tricky sometimes, I’ll let it gestate until closer to next Tuesday.
Thank you to all of you wonderful people out there who participate in my work in whatever way you do, every single one of you! Whether you’re vocal or silent, active, or more Of a spectator. I appreciate your presence here. They say it takes a village. I say sure, a community of people all accepted for who they are without reason or explanation or apology. If anyone here ever feels uncomfortable, please speak up. Sometimes that indicates growing pains… for you, me, or both. Like a good stretch that breaks down some connective tissue a bit to regrow it stronger over the next several days.
Thank you all for being here. I appreciate you for that.
I remember standing in front of my Grandfather’s casket at the funeral home completely perplexed as to why I wasn’t crying. My Stepmom, Lynn, observantly noticed my furrowed brow and the confusion in my eyes as I looked at him. She put her hand on my shoulder, and,”Jordan, you appear confused. Care to share?” I nodded, never taking my gaze off of him, and, “That’s not him. He was full of life. He was a best friend to me. Why aren’t I crying. It feels disrespectful.”
She nodded and quietly leaned in a little. “Jordan, it’s ok. Everyone grieves differently, and often, everyone grieves differently each time. Reason can be unreasonable here. Keep doing what you’re doing right now. It’s palpable. I can feel it.”
I cherish that moment, have carried the treasure of that perspective with me since. It firmly felt to be Acceptance with the quaternity of the other 4 grief stages as its heartbeat. Then to now, that moment is still the same, frozen in time, like trauma is always fresh. Though, this trauma, this influence, was treasure.
That afternoon, back at their home, my Grandmother took my hand and led me into their closet. Once in, she actually pennied the door shut or some such, basically locking me in. “I’m not letting you out until you steep in there a bit. I know how much you loved him. I know how much he loved you. We were married for 66 years when he went. I’m not letting you out of there until you steep in that feeling you’re having. It’s strong. And, I’m not letting you out until you find that one thing of his you feel to keep with you. You find that keepsake, Jordy, and I’ll set you free, but not a moment before, not up for discussion. Go on. Find it. Find what you need.”
I was in there a while. And, then I saw it. His brown and green tweed fedora from his 1st trip to New York in 1927. I’d always thought it was so dapper and dandy and all those great words from the 20s, and I was in my Roaring 20s. For the first time, I noticed his initials inside. ERH. I had never seen them before in the hat as it was always on his head, or flipped off and plop-dropped on the hat hook inside their front door.
Plopped it on just so like he did with a little flourish on the brim.
Knocked on the wood door of my prison bars from the inside, rattled my own cage.
“No foolin’ around here, Jordy. I mean it now.”
“Nanny. Ok. I’m ready.”
She opened the door, emancipated me with my new-to-me fedora.
She had never left. Sat on the side of the bed the whole time listening, listening in powerful, unseen witness vigil. Thank you, Nanny.