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image from spirit_elements-www-josephinewall-co.uk

image from spirit_elements-www-josephinewall-co.uk

And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.”   Roald Dahl

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The years when I was able to follow where I was ‘led’ were simply marvelous. I felt as though the whole world was there for me to explore and learn. There was nothing which enthralled me more than to find another book, another person to talk to, another course to do, all to expand the knowledge I longed for.

I was fortunate; I met some truly wonderful and generous people who taught me so much.  Some of the lessons I learned were not so good, but obviously I needed them.  One of the circles I regularly attended brought together people with a wide range of talents. Some were fledglings, like me, and others were seasoned  psychics and mediums. The people I was drawn towards were the ones who were quiet yet knowledgeable, as opposed to those who pushed themselves to the fore, to show how “good they were”.

Pendulums and dowsing, psychometry, tarot, were all taken as learning experiences. Meditation became a foundation practice and eased a great deal of the pain I had after the car accident. There were some wonderful experiences, some I cannot explain rationally and the feelings…. it felt as if my entire body was a receptor for energies I had only dreamed of being able to sense.

The difficulty I had with my back caused more problems and eventually I had to stop attending the circle I really enjoyed. My Reiki had ‘blossomed’ and I had many favourable comments from people who came to me for healing. My nightly self-healing helped me to keep going, but day by day there seemed to be an eroding of comfort and ability to do the everyday things.

By this time I had met a psychic who was striking out on her own. She was thrilled to find someone who understood what she was doing and also had the admin talents she lacked. It seemed a perfect match.  At the time I was learning about Past Life Regression and wondered if our ‘connection’ was due to some past life we had shared.  It’s possible and it could account for what happened.

One thing which disturbed me, and has since then, is the number of mediums who ‘advertise’ themselves as “world-famous” or “clients from around the world”, and of course, “100% accurate.” So much of what I learned has shown me that the interpretation of messages from the other side can be misunderstood by the medium, often by the client because of the heightened emotion and inability to remember facts at the time. I also hasten to add that there are many real and honest mediums and psychics out there, some I know and would recommend in a heartbeat.  However, that’s an aside at present.

Things went swimmingly for a while. I set her up with media interviews, arranged her tours and appointments and held her hand when she met the journalists. I also went with her when a family asked her to help them to locate their missing husband/son.  He drove a truck, interstate and had gone missing from the vehicle on his way back to Queensland. The truck was found in New South Wales with its load intact but he had vanished.  I was picking up so many things by this time that I was enthusiastic about going with her to “look for some answers” for this family.

They drove us out to Moree, stopping at various places along the route he would have taken to pick up whatever we could. By the time we reached Moree I realised that Anya (not her real name), was asking me what I was picking up before she spoke to the family and then, almost word for word telling them what I had just talked to her about.  I was feeling suspicious but not ready to give up on her yet. The next day we were going up in a small plane and flying over the Warrumbungle range, since the feeling was he had been dumped somewhere in the area.

I had an amazing time! I loved the small Cessna and flying over the Warrumbungle range was thrilling. Each time the plane hit an air pocket and dropped, Anya squealed and I laughed. It was unfortunate but I found the ride so much more than I had ever expected that it was too hard not to laugh with joy, even though we were there for a serious reason. I was sitting with “Sarah”, the man’s sister and she appreciated the comedy as we tried to chat over the noise of the engine. On a serious note, there were things I picked up as we flew low over the range, but in areas only a local or a mountain goat could easily get to. Impenetrable is the word for the area.

image from http://www.golden-highway.com.au Part of the Warrumbungle range

As far as the family were concerned it must have been a total wash out since we couldn’t really point to a definitive spot and say “He’s there!” They continued to look but told me they were never able to get the closure they wanted.

After that she became obsessed with a missing boy who was in all the papers. I told her I believed he had been picked up by someone the police hadn’t yet spoken with and that he was already dead. She focused on finding his remains. Call me insane, but I went along with her when she wanted to search an area of scrub and bush where she felt he might be found. It was between Maleny and Eumundi and a well-known Lyme tick area, although I didn’t know it then. It appears my Lyme disease may have begun at this point.  My health became worse. I had another accident on the way home from her place in Eumundi and even though I wasn’t driving it exacerbated my back problems.

Shortly after this she met someone, gave me goosebumps but she was in love. He didn’t want me to work with her and life became difficult. Suffice it to say that at the end of another eighteen months she parted company with her love, it cost her dearly and I hadn’t been paid for twelve months. She has now resurfaced as a “World famous animal communicator” and despite trying to simply “say hello” has so far refused to see or speak to me. So sad! A lesson learned or so I thought!

Another lady, a psychic medium, with a mean temper, although I didn’t know it at the time, had been chasing me to work with her… doing the same thing. From everything she said about Anya, it appeared she knew what she had been doing and assured me she was ethical. This was to be the next chapter of my life.

Next week: The Universe makes me sit up and take heed of the message.

Blessing Susan xx

If you’ve missed the earlier chapters of the story you can find them here, here and here.

“Don’t beat yourself up for not knowing the answers. You don’t always have to know who you are. You don’t have to have the big picture, or know where you’re heading. Sometimes, it’s enough just to know what you’re going to do next.”   Sophie Kinsell

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“My nightly craft is winged in white, a dragon of night dark sea.
Swift born, dream bound and rudderless, her captain and crew are me.
We’ve sailed a hundred sleeping tides where no seaman’s ever been‘found’
And only my white-winged craft and I know the wonders we have seen.”
Anne McCaffrey, Dragonsong

I have a confession to make, I love Dragonlance by Margaret Weiss and Tracy Hickman, and have since I read the first book many years ago.  I ‘found’ this wonderful world at a time when I needed a place to hide, a place which was so far from the real world that I could lose myself entirely within its pages and lose track of time and even place. After I finished the first one, which was the special edition omnibus of the first three novels I was so ‘hooked’ on magic and dragons, good and evil, elves, dwarves, knights and wizards that I was drawn like iron to a lodestone to get my next ‘fix’.

Fortunately for me the books are based on the game Dungeons and Dragons and there were many more books. Some were written by Weis and Hickman and many others by different creators of parts of the world of Krynn where the story was set. There were back stories and side stories and future stories, in fact the plot lines went in so many directions you could meet up with well-loved characters when least expected.

For a long time I ‘lived’ in this strange half-life of magic where good overcame evil and the wrongs of the world were eventually righted, even if the world had been brought to the brink of disaster. I have often wondered since then why it had such an appeal. In essence it was quite simple.

I believe in right and wrong, that people are inherently good but there are bad people around and that bad things happen to good people. There has to be a ‘force’ for good, which is a way to become more than we are. We have to be able to evolve so that we can make our world the place it can be, in all its beauty. We must be able to not only ‘do’ magic but to ‘be’ magic too. We need to be able to reach our highest potential; to be our own heroes and heroines, or our shining spirits after our trials and lessons.

Are there dragons? Oh I do believe so. I believe in Merlin and King Arthur after all, and I know that Merlin is in his Crystal Cave with his dragon sleeping until he is needed once more.  Being born in England, the land of St. George and the Dragon and so many myths and legends, what else would you expect.

There is so much more to life than what your five senses can recognise. There is the entire universe of your imagination which has no boundaries.  When you allow your sense to expand and your boundaries to disappear then magic truly does happen.  It is at this point where realities collide, the unseen becomes commonplace, all that can be imagined is not simply possible but absolutely real. It is the place where we can be all that we can possibly be.

This is the world I know is real. We can be so much more than we currently are. There are things we, as human beings, as our spirits grow, will be able to do in years to come that if we knew know, we would wonder why we hadn’t been doing it long ago. It will seem like we are living in a world of magic and wonder and eventually we will accept is as a matter of normalcy. I wish it were here now!

Where did I put my wand?

“And though I came to forget or regret all I have ever done, yet would I remember that once I saw the dragons aloft on the wind at sunset above the western isles; and I would be content.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Farthest Shore

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“I desired dragons with a profound desire. Of course, I in my timid body did not wish to have them in the neighborhood. But the world that contained even the imagination of Fáfnir was richer and more beautiful, at whatever the cost of peril.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien

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May magic dust be sprinkled into your life.

May you dream of magic and dragons, of fairies and elves.

Bright Blessings and Waking Dreams. Susan   xx

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image from dreamworlds.ru –

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Ever since my daughter introduced me to this film I’ve been fascinated with it. It is Labyrinth with David Bowie and Jennifer Connolly.  I love the imagery and the messages it puts across. I can empathise from the outset with Sarah who lives in her fantasy world, memorising the lines to her favourite story. What I wouldn’t give to have some of her costumes! (Yes I still love dressing up).  I especially love the ball scene where she dances in a beautiful ball gown.

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image from wendyroby.tumblr.com –

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At this point  everyone may be wondering what the purpose is in this ramble. It’s really simple, pure unadulterated escapism. I have heard this film described as a horror movie but whilst for a children’s movie there were scary parts in it, I thought it was a wonderful example of a young girl growing up. She finally had to realise that whilst she could retain her childhood innocence and wonder there was another world waiting for her too.

Jared, the Goblin King wants to control her, feed off her emotions by telling her he had “turned the world upside down… all for you”.  In reality he was changing reality to keep her enmeshed in his world where he could order things to his needs. When she finally remembers her lines “You have no power over me”, the spell is broken and she returns to reality.

Yet what is reality? Is it the hours we spend hunched in pain and agony as illness rips us apart. (poetic license). Yet tonight that is precisely what it feels like. My innards feel like a volcano is erupting, violently and often, and I cannot rest or even forget for a few moments what is happening. (Thank you Lyme disease). Hence my escape into something as far from my reality as possible. It is permissible to use whatever means we can at times like these.

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image from pinktentacle.com

Of course I did consider using the film Volcano with Tommy Lee Jones as my example but there’s no idyllic subterfuge hidden within its drama. Love the film but I needed that total opposite to illustrate the difference. I would much rather be Jennifer Connolly in a beautiful ball gown, even in a fairytale than stuck in molten magma, the bowels of the earth ripping and tearing and spewing forth in fearsome splendor.

Now that I think of it, as an avid Robert Jordan fan I could use the imagery of a Darkhound or a Myrddraal as my nemesis. I suppose it all depends on what most resonates with you.  I love Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series so either will be suitable for me.

image from onlyhdwallpapers.com

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Then again perhaps I would like to be Moiraine, an Aes Sedai, wielder of magic and able to be healed by another. That sounds fine right about now.

Back to meditate for some rest.

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image from totalbalance.com.au

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No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality.”
Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House

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Blessings one and all in our own form of escapism or coping skills.  Susan x

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Outlook from the new house

Outlook from the new house

It’s so strange, packing once again. This disconnected feeling of being homeless, rootless, which is so alien and uncomfortable. I long for one place to call home, knowing I can put down my roots and stay there forever.

I look back and try to see if I’ve left a footprint, an imprint here; would anyone see me or miss me when I’ve left? If I’m honest I would have to say – No! The only person who knows I’m here, to whom my presence here makes any difference is going with me – my husband, Ray.  Where would I be without him?

No question really. I would be alone in my unit in Burleigh. Would my life be settled? Well, would I be in one place. Putting down roots? I guess I might be settled, but even then it’s questionable.  It definitely didn’t turn out quite the way I imagined – I needed to see the ocean and on the Gold Coast that is well-nigh impossible, unless you are wealthy and have a separate office elsewhere. A home office is somewhat laughable.

So many places we looked at which seemed so tiny! Are we looking at this the wrong way? I know that bigger is not better – these huge mansions don’t make you happy, but they do make putting your accumulated bits and pieces on display much easier.

The smallest bookcases

The smallest bookcases

Is there a place for books in our developing and changing world? They take up so much room, time to pack and unpack. Yet they hold so many memories of the people who gave them to me. Gifts from the heart. How does one arbitrarily dispose of a heart given gift? Yes, it is an object, I know this, but they evoke more memories being able to see the name of the person who gave them to me inscribed inside the cover than a copy on a Kindle can. Not that I would now be without my Kindle!

More irreplaceable memories

More irreplaceable memories

Yet the fact remains, I would not want to be without my books.  Nor any of my ornaments, just so many trinkets to some and yet to me they are more heart given gifts amassed over the years. So very many memories evoked. I don’t ask anyone to understand how I feel about them, but simply accept that it is real for me. They are priceless and irreplaceable heirlooms and always will be.

These would be MY trinkets and baubles!

These would be MY trinkets and baubles!

My heart clenches, my tummy roils, and there is a lump in my throat. I know I cannot leave behind these ‘things’ which evoke so much emotion. I’m not ready to even think about it let alone to do it, if I ever will be. I know my own nature and I know how I feel about my attachment to ‘things’. My gratitude for these priceless and irreplaceable mementos is unable to be calculated.  When the people are gone these are the tangible ‘things’ left for me.

I’m told the era of libraries, of books is going if not already gone. Print media will die as e zines and e books take over, and I am saddened at this sign of progress. In time will all our priceless mementos be holographic images of what once we could see and hold in our hands, cherish in our hearts?

Simple mementos

Simple mementos

Is this progress what we really want or is it what we are having foisted onto us – for the sake of what or whom?

I’d really love to know.

The packing boxes are stridently calling and I must carefully wrap these treasures for their next journey.

Many blessings dear reader,  may your treasures remain safe.

Happy Easter wishes.

Susan xx

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You must match your energy, your vibration, with that of the universe, bringing it to a higher frequency where it synchronizes with the object, person, or situation you require.”
Stephen Richards   

“Serendipity. Look for something, find something else, and realize that what you’ve found is more suited to your needs than what you thought you were looking for.”   Lawrence Block

I have been laid up in bed, more than a little irritated at everything in general and myself in particular. It’s all a rather fruitless exercise. In other words, a glorious waste of time. What made it worse, at least so it seemed to me, was I lost my “mojo” or I thought I had, as a dear friend called it in her blog, “Lost your creative mojo?”.

The strange thing was, I couldn’t  sleep, at least not at night. As soon as the lights went out my eyes popped open and I felt like a proverbial owl, gazing steadfastly into the dark hoping for – well something to happen. Now, I’ve been in this little pickle before, and there is little use fighting it by counting sheep. All it succeeds in doing is putting me off lamb for a while. (Apologies to any vegetarians, but in actual fact I eat little meat anyway).

I had, over a period of many hours, used all of my meditation tapes, CD’s, chants, visualisation, and I wasn’t having any joy. So, I decided that I had to change tack. The very thing which was causing my nocturnal interruptus was going to be there in the morning and it wouldn’t let me rest until I made a decision. Yet making that decision was giving me a migraine and an ulcer. You’ve probably worked out that the “problem” was family oriented. It’s the one which usually causes the most angst.

Diversionary tactics were called for. After a decade I picked up my crochet and started that.  This in itself was a huge thing for me and was part of my ” 2013 Creative Challenge“. By itself it was a huge help and I enjoyed it immensely. The satisfaction of seeing this fragile mat take shape under my hands was uplifting. However, I was conscious of not overdoing it, since it has been more than a decade since I had been able to do anything, thanks to a ‘minor’ accident. This was my finished mat a few days ago. It has taken me two days to get it onto my blog….

One Pineapple mat - for Mum.

One Pineapple mat – for Mum.

After the crochet I went for my trusty Kindle and read until my eyes felt as though they were hanging out of my head on stalks. I’m quite sure I could have auditioned for a sci-fi movie without any prosthetics required. By this time I was feeling somewhat surreal, staggering around like someone who had been on a three-day bender and I hadn’t had a drop!

image from ereaders.venturebeat.com

I’ve managed to find a super little book light which makes reading at night a breeze. Once again, my accident over a decade ago had stopped me reading until late last year. My love affair with books has been rekindled… pardon the play on words.  Most of my books are heavy-duty tomes and I want to make sure that when I finally pick them up it’s not going to cause any problems. The Kindle has sorted that out beautifully. Once again, thanks to Ray.

Yet eventually, pounding headache, eyes hanging on dry stalks and a raging backache also put a stop to that. Then came the journal.  In my heyday it was called a diary… how’s that for dating things! I used to keep one regularly. Nearly slipped up and said religiously, but I don’t want to cause offense to anyone. Yes, you may detect that I am feeling lethargic, tired, slightly slow in the thinking department, in short all the signs and symptoms of the sleep deprived. Yet, despite that it served a tremendous service.

image from my.opera.com

As has my foray for a picture to break up my meandering. I’ve written volumes but haven’t thought to add pictures or any of my scribbled drawings before this.  My journal has now been given a new lease of life.  Each dawn I grab a few pictures as the world, down in Australia at least, wakes up.  I listen to the beautiful serenade from the rainforest birds and the general waking up of the local wildlife whilst I wind down. I do my final meditation of the ‘morning’ for everyone out there and then lay down again. In my own way I wind up my day/night with thoughts of the world and my prayers and wishes for a better day for everyone wherever they may be.

Perhaps that’s what causes the final flourish of the magic wand. After this meditation I drift off to sleep, only to wake two hours later in excruciating agony as all the muscles in my neck, head and back let me know they have seized up. My body has betrayed me yet again.

My dear, sweet, long-suffering husband, helps me to the bathroom, since I look like a question mark and he worries  about whether I can find my way there and back again and I am ensconced in the spare room, which has my old bedroom suite in it. I have learned that sleeping alone in a water bed when your back and so on are protesting, is not a good proposition. As I doze in two hourly increments throughout the day, he supplies me with tea, coffee, toast, all the supplements to help me and a strong arm to get me to the bathroom and back. My angel in truth.

So there we are. The three things which are keeping me semi sane: My Crochet, Kindle and Journal. Is that Synchronicity or Serendipity, I really can’t decide. Now the cotton wool filled brain appears to be letting up a little, I may have another string to my bow – my blog, which despite my challenge to myself to blog every other day, has gone awry this week. I don’t think the tapestry will make it into the bed as it may prove too uncomfortable for my husband. He is generous enough at sharing the bed with everything else. (I wonder if a puppy will have any luck?)

And,  there we have it. The reason for my absence. I have been thoroughly pumped at receiving my Award for my blog, and since I felt somewhat better, decided to let you know why I was MIA. I will try to stay on track, although a specialist appointment mid next week may throw me off. That, and my brothers, which is another topic for another day.

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image from psychicconnextions.blogspot.com

Time is passing and never so quickly as this lead up to the festive season.  The original countdown of “the Twelve Days of Christmas” was  something played in all the shops, churches and homes all around me when I was growing up.  At times I miss the reminders from my childhood, they had a certain familiarity to them. We could, with absolute certainty, mark down the days to “the big one”  after hearing this song every day.  Like the Advent calendars our children used to love opening up each day, they formed a reliable measure of time, time already passed and time still to go. It had its own way of engaging the mind, heart and spirit and increasing that wonderful anticipation of what was to come.

It didn’t matter if you were religious or not, the celebration would go on and the true roots of the celebration and songs were lost in the annals of time. It’s how religions overtook each other and left only remnants behind.  It’s also only in recent years that the arguments over what we are celebrating and who the celebrations belong to have arisen to cast a cloud over what has been a joyous time between the darkness and dreariness of winter and the coming of spring. Perhaps it is easier to remember why Christmas was celebrated with such joy when you recall the old days, the conditions people lived under and how the turning of the seasons held such an importance to them.

Yet that is another story in itself.  Battling my demons, and when I say this I think of a children’s animated movie called “Sword in the Stone”.

image from tumblr.com

After a monumental and hilarious battle between the witch and Merlin, the witch finds herself bested, confined to bed , green with purple, red and blue polka dots covering her and the antidote – sunshine.  On hearing this there is a wonderful rant and she screeches “I hate  horrible, wholesome sunshine”.  I’m sorry to say sunshine and I don’t mix. I burn like flammable material, finish up looking like a well cooked lobster minus the butter sauce, but nowhere near as tasty! I hide from one air conditioned place to another throughout the heat of the summer, grateful for the sunshine and rain, in moderation, but equally grateful to return to cooler days as autumn finally arrives.  But I digress, these were the demons I referred to.

The Universe looks after us at all times, even when unasked, even if we don’t believe.  I do believe and I was immensely grateful that I was paying attention to what was happening today.  I was in one of my favourite haunts, a bookstore, searching for a gift for my daughters boyfriend.  No hardship there, it took my attention from aching back and feet and the truckload of packages we were juggling. I had seen the book I thought would be ideal but decided to ponder a little more as I lost myself amongst the shelves of books.  With time and my back  telling me I needed to make a decision I asked Ray to collect the book I had seen an hour earlier.

He was standing not two feet from me with the book in his hand when it suddenly flew out of his hand and landed in the aisle. The lady standing next to him looked startled to say the least, but then again, so did I.  Rule number one, and totally inviolate, you cannot buy a book or give one as a gift if it has been on the ground before being given to the recipient. Especially if it may have, heaven forbid, a crinkled edge. A dog-eared book is a sacrilege! Yes I have strange “rules”.   The book was fine but for me that was it, that book would not be leaving th shop with me. It was also the only one of its kind in the store.

image from thebaremidriff.blogspot.com

We left, one gift not purchased and I was sore and disappointed.  On the way home my phone rang. I was not really inclined to answer but I knew it was my daughter calling, “thank heavens for little girls” (Maurice Chevalier), and I knew I needed to take it.  We talked of Christmas and shopping and gifts, and books, a book for her boyfriend.  I could buy David Gemmell or Raymond Feist, (I almost bought this), but put it back when I saw a Brent Weeks omnibus. It was the omnibus which went flying.  This was the ONLY book I could not buy she said – because she had already bought it for him, but Raymond Feist would be brilliant!

I may have to make another trip to a bookstore – such a hardship for me (ahem!) but I know what I will be buying. (Well, at least one of the books I will buy).  I am so grateful Spirit was watching over me today and helped me from buying the wrong thing. Talk about ‘right timing’, I was trying to be so mindful of all the recommendations she had passed on previously and had started to get tired. I was fully present with the situation, in my favourite store I am always fully present. Ok, I was fully present with the task at hand.  Even in a bookstore I eventually still get tired.  I was concentrating on her boyfriend, being fully present with all I knew about him and what I was trying to do, because buying a book a really important, it has to fit with the receiver or I’ve failed!  I thought I had succeeded when, whoosh, through the air it went. I got the message, and I fully accept that without Spirit’s help I would have bought the wrong thing and would have had to exchange it – if I could.

I am very happy, truly grateful for my Guidance, love shopping with my husband (it’s a special treat), have that wonderful feeling of peace inside because I know Spirit is with me always, and I can spread my attitude of gratitude around the world for everyone to share. Thank you Nicole, thank you Ray and thank you, my wonderful spiritual helpers and Magical Beings everywhere.

image from virtualbeauties.blogspot.com

May you find magic in your life today and everyday within the small or large appearance of gratitude in our lives.

“When we become more fully aware that our success is due in large measure to the loyalty, helpfulness, and encouragement we have received from others, our desire grows to pass on similar gifts. Gratitude spurs us on to prove ourselves worthy of what others have done for us. The spirit of gratitude is a powerful energizer”. – Wilferd A. Peterson

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“Language is the blood of the soul into which thoughts run and out of which they grow.”
Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.

writing

image from writelife.net

Our whole lives are made up of words. For most of us they are the medium we communicate through, and at times I wonder how on earth I would manage if words didn’t exist. The deaf cannot hear what is said but must rely on sign language to bring what is said to life, but the richness of the words is lost somehow. The blind can hear what is said but cannot see what is described, and must rely on braille to read. I wondered what it would be like to have, what to me is an integral part of my life, removed from me.

I had always been blessed with 20/20 vision, read copiously, did craft work and always wondered what I would do, or how I would react if I was unable to do the things which made me happy, and more importantly, relaxed me and fed my imagination. As fate would have it, in a small way I was about to find out.

When I was pregnant with my second child I suddenly found I was getting a lot of headaches when reading. The same thing happened with my tapestry and crochet work. Headaches! It annoyed me since I was getting too huge to do some of the things I had been used to doing.  (Gardening, especially weeding becomes problematic when one is unable to bend down and get to the ground, far less get back up again!) Now I was having trouble reading and doing my craft work. I was not happy. A hippopotamus was lumbering around my home or a beached whale was inhabiting my lounge room. It was all a matter of how I felt at the time. It was a time when you are more present than at any other because your awareness of the changes within your body are a constant reminder of life.

pregnant lady

image from bigstockphoto.com

In desperation I found myself at my optometrist. As far as I was concerned he wasn’t very helpful. The pressure of vitreous fluid inside the eye changes during pregnancy, hence affecting vision. Wonderful, not only did I have to share my home with a beached whale I also had to put up with a sightless mole blundering around! I was slightly mollified to hear that in “most” cases it went back to normal after the birth.

Humpf! After my daughter made her appearance, not a moment before the nine months was up, my eyesight became much worse.  More bad news was to follow, I had to wait at least three months before anything would be considered, in case it returned to normal.

I blundered around, barely able to see and unable to focus, terrified of sticking a safety-pin into my daughter as I changed her nappy. Worse still was changing my son, who at eighteen months was like a live eel on the change table. I’m not sure what was worse, fearing I would stab him with a safety-pin or him falling off the table as he writhed around and I tried to catch him. Stepping on him as I tried to move around and he crawled faster than I could walk. That too was a nightmare.

wearing large glasses

image courtesy of flickriver.com

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So I got some glasses, eventually, and both my children survived. I was the only person to get stuck, repeatedly, by the safety pins, fall over the toys and bang into cupboards. All in all, a good outcome for most.

It did however, give me a miniscule taste of the difficulties faced by the blind and the deaf.  I know that the challenges I had almost drove me crazy.  I applaud anyone with any kind of challenge handling those situations.  I complained about my glasses, bitterly at times, as I became hot and they repeatedly slipped off my nose! I cursed as I had to wear them to dry my hair (heated up again, and fogged up) and because of pure vanity, had to wear them to put make up on – too hilarious for words. At times there was more make up on the glasses than on me! Not to mention the millions of fingerprints from my adorable children who thought they were the goal to grab each time they got close enough to them, especially if they had food on their hands!

Quite a few years later I had lasix surgery and put away my glasses for good. It is reassuring to be able to see unaided again, although I will never forget what it was like for that brief year. I am grateful for the advances with eye surgery. When I first began wearing glasses it was impossible to correct my vision with the lasix surgery.  It was a test to my patience waiting until they developed the process whereby they could do it.  Patience never was my strong suit!

I now listen to my husband cursing his glasses as he peers over the top of them to see me as we talk and curse again as he goes back to work and they aren’t where they should be – or more often he has put them down and cannot find them!

autumn colours

image courtesy of nationaltrust.org.uk

The colours of life are almost too beautiful for words.

.
A tangerine and russet cascade of kaleidoscopic leaves, creates a tapestry of autumn magic upon the emerald carpet of fading summer.

Judith A. Lindberg

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