A Potpourri of Ideas on What Would Have Been My Mom's 94th Birthday..Love and hugs to Heaven!

To view in www.docs.google.com see https://docs.google.com/document/d/1bQ4SJxsTmj3QWMGtJ4VKDUZkF5gwGSADrWgZ...

There is an extended version and yes, ideas and stories flow in a free form manner. Pace yourself and don't worry about 'keeping track' this is one of those road less taken journeys with no clear point to reach, just a kind of open sharing. I will put that up next with a link also on a separate post.

Before I announce the date (again in my blog) of my Mom's Birthdate I have to let you know there is a small controversy about it. Mary A Palmer Sr, according to her birth certificate which I happened to request two years after she died read that she was born on August 14th, 1922. Well, at least we had the month and year correct, I thought. She always thought she was born on August 12th, 1922.

The certificate said it was filed five days after she was born, so that was not too long of a time lapse and I think that was according to midwife. Her mother did not speak English well, so maybe her mom Ameenie did not give her the 'right date' when it was time for her to learn such things. She was the 6th child, so again it's reasonable if her Mom may have lost track. It is an even number, double digits and less than the 15th, so again, I give her mom almost full credit.

She could have reversed the number to 21 or rounded it up to 15 or 20. The significance of this thickens so bear with me. Maybe there are a few 'details' you'd like to review in your own family tree about important dates.

The Reasons to do so may also be deeper than meets the eye. Some say a person in spirit (or a spirit for short) may revisit their loved ones on the spirit's annual birthdate. I think I read that in the books by Marc Anthony. If not, I am sure there are people thinking of a loved one or someone in spirit which can also possibly send up a beacon of connection to that soul and again, many who have written about that field from experience or research, say there can be times of 'contact or messages' when that is done.

That can vary from getting an answer in one's dream (to a question one asks simply but clearly before going to sleep of a person who one knew who is in spirit.) Before one opens one's eyes, one can review one's dreams (which may occur in the 90 minutes before waking and last about 45 minutes some say) or earlier in the sleep cycle. These are not typical discussions in 'sleep studies' where people are trying to make sure they get a good night's sleep with a clear breathing passage.

That is a very important process to consider and address even informally with a friend perhaps monitoring your sleep (a nice woman you trust, no offense, fellas but likely you would suggest the same, right?) Maybe one can hire a CNA to do this as part of a health inquiry process. Snoring (especially loudly and for a while) as well as 'stopping breathing' for short times (maybe at the height of a snore, but I may be making that up) or other time during sleep is called sleep apnea.

That can deprive oxygen to the brain. See my other post about a good time in NWCT (A comment on the Every Body can Celebrate on p8 post where I mention a talk bywww.iancook.com who studies dementia. Canadian studies, he told a group of us recently in CT even though he is from LA, have been done showing a link between poor sleep (including a lack of regular sleep) and increased risk for dementia. Maybe more power napping stations around the country could encourage people to tune into their sleep needs. Coffee break areas should also have cots for people to rest on. My Mom loved puns and she would likely say, "Catherine, you've Cot to Be Kidding!"

She taught us a lot about life by caring for us night and day in a country life of not only the dozen of us, but often farm animals, brick yards and construction business my Dad Dale D Palmer Sr did. Who was I to not think we could do 'Anything We Want'. That was the answer our Mom would sing to us when we'd ask her, "What Could We Do?!" when bored (many a day in the summer with no place to go and no one to see, except the batch of us in paradise as it turns out.

"Go outside and play," was a common refrain which we learned to cash in on from morning to night. We'd get bit by mosquitoes heading over to a swimming hole on foot, literally barefoot walking on hot tarred roads. Sneakers got lost soon after school closed and flip flops seemed to wander off more than not. Back in the day the laws about shoes in stores like our small country store weren't as strict and of couse, they were useless at the beach at Lakeville Lake with all that sand. Shoes and sneakers were mainly for sissies it seemed.

Mud, water, rocks and wet grass clearly indicated barefeet were the way to roll through the summer days. We would each get a new pair of sneakers at the start of the school year, and that made good sense both to walk to the bus stop which was a quarter of a mile at the top of a windswept field and for playing soccer.

Still, once in 8th grade, another player from a 'mean school' literally stomped on my big toe and broke it through my sneaker. I went down like a deer and was in disbelief and pain, not able to play. But my team got to kick the ball for the dangerous play. Still,that person has never apologized and it was a huge awakening to 'Expect the Unexpected'.(That is a name of one of many good books that has helped me by the way.)

Maybe more psychological testing and coaching to be a decent sport should be done on young players. Unfortunately that team may have been trained in more of a competitive military style. The idea of playing fair and actually having the skills to win without intimidation tactics caught on slowly. But clearly back in the 1970s it was still rather cut-throat even in pretty little New England towns.

Well as my foot swelled when I took off my sneaker, I realized I would not be able to play in the boys game, and I could harldy put my sneaker back on but did so I'd have support. The soreness made me aware of every part of my foot and now I realize I was not able to protect myself even with dozens of people around and everyone 'approving of the game'.

My foot may have felt betrayed and I felt doubly sorry for the pain and hurt that broken toe suffered (and I think had to walk home on but can't completely remember if that was the case That time). And aside from my body that the confusion and harm that I suffered. For the record that gal became a very strong leader and success, and helped someone through long, hard illness. Likely the lessons run deep and she more than 'made up for things' I feel. It's dawning on me now that maybe she didn't intend to break my toe or know she did, but she certainly was not playing soccer or the ball. 

Sometimes the hard knocks in life prepare us for even harder ones, so overall I have forgiven all who have been part of my learning about life journey and hope they seek to make amends in their own souls as they may have a motivation to do (to lighten the overall karmic loads or playing out of mistakes and harm.)

As I wrote in a story when my son Kaelan got hurt (in a fictional tale a couple of years before his actual sudden passing by drowning trying to save someone who was then saved), I said "maybe there is a reason for pain, to help us know when we are in danger or something's not right."

I do not mean to make light of the news I just shared about our teen son passing in June 2009, but I speak about that a lot on other posts and on a FB page. His memorial service is on youtube.

While both of my parents had passed prior to that, my mom on June 2,2004 and my dad on June 3,2007, I feel now they and other loved ones in heaven as well as Kaelan were there too. I had a woman share with me that she felt compelled even as a stranger to pull off the road and 'commune with the spirit of a youth who was not sure where to go in spirit' during the time of his service on July 12th,2009, which was almost a month after he passed on June 16th, 2009. She said she felt like telling him to 'go with the music'.

There was a lot of folk singing and some music his Dad and friends played. She also said she saw him being carried by a group of fellas up and away from the river. We were near the powerhouse in Falls Village CT on one of the anniversary dates of his passing. I got an email on my thinkingkapp@gmail.com which I had not been remembering to check from her so it was a delay of months before I learned of this woman.

When I contacted her, she showed up as the only person responding to one of my requests to gather by the river as a couple dozen had done right after his passing at the invitation by one of the kids to do so. That circle included Skip Kosciusko who had successfully rescued Kaelan's friend, another lad his own age who was fine thankfully.

Skip recounts more of that in the Memorial and many thanks are extended still seven years later to all who helped with the rescue and recovery effort, searches for Kaelan's body which was held in the river for a week before travelling down the high waters to the Covered Bridge, 7 miles downstream and being recovered in a timely fashion after a train man alerted the police of siting Kaelan's body around 7am on June 23rd, 2009, which is the day Michael Jackson died.

Patti Sinclair, a psychic shared with a friend of mine that Kaelan had contacted her a couple of times after his passing.On the night before he was found, Kaelan indicated he would be found and yet did not want his family, not even his parents, to view his body.  He said he would be found and was worried about how we would handle things, especially me.

I appreciate that he could find a way and  make an effort to communicate such things. I did not believe all that would be possible although I had heard theories for years from people I know and trust. Still it seemed mysterious and not practical or possible. Yet now I have learned after many episodes of hearing about such things and readings, that it takes effort for a spirit to 'lower their frequency and try to communicate' to us in our dimension.

The idea of being on anothor plane is one I explored iin a post about feeling led to go hear a talk by a Mr. Hart I believe in Litchfield at their Audubon Society about  Cadillac Mountain in Bar Harbour Maine. With music and wonderful narrative, I felt transported to the place where the sun first kisses the earth on the East Coast. 

When I told a close pal in Texas about feeling Kaelan had somehow directed me to go and was with me as I felt blessed by the images of a heart shaped rock or design, the expansive ocean views from on high and thinking that's how Kaelan is likely looking down on us and maybe able to experience things all over the world, she recounted that she had actually been there.

I didn't realize that and then she said it was unforgettable (a song I had a great memory of dancing to on a beach which was dedicated to Our Mothers...even those in heaven.

That was at Hampton Beach where my parents met by chance. I believe I have shared how they met during World War II at a hot dog stand, with my short Mom of five feet and dark hair, eyes and complexion, insulting my strapping six foot tall red-haired Dad.

Since he was not in his uniform, she thought he had been dismissed as a '4F'. He snipped back at her, "No, I'm not a 4-F. I am on a ship and my uniform is being cleaned." While sitting on a stool, she then spoke in a more friendly manner, her hair in pony tails and enjoying her food.

" Well," she said, "If you want later you can come talk to me on my blanket."  After she hopped over the stool and trotted off, he did not think he'd pursue her since she'd been rude at first.

But after a while ambling around the beach, he decided he'd did not have much else to do so thought he'd go see what she might be like to talk with. She invited him to sit on her blanket and he stayed there for hours. The rest of the folks on the beach packed up since a light rain had come round. But they stayed. He suggested they could go have something to eat for dinner.

She said that would be fine. He then said, "Where would you like to go?" thinking they would head off somewhere from there. She said, "Oh no, we can't just go now. I have to get dressed. You can come by at 6pm,' and she gave him the address where she was staying.

She was on a weekend vacation that she almost hadn't taken since her travel mate had gotten sick. Still, since she had paid for everything she decided to brave going alone. She travelled up from Hartford Ct where she had gone to Beauty School to become a Hairdresser.

She had done that at the whim of her sister-in-law Shirley suggesting it with a small ad from a newspaper indicating the program. Mary as was her name before marrying my Dad about a month after their meeting, was a lovely talented Lebanese woman who enjoyed the small city life of Torrington CT.

She was athletic in her own way, able to tumble and dive, swim and drive even dump trucks (but first cars and a VW bus with a batch of kids on her own across country as it turned out.).Mary  was also a talented singer with an alto voice. She sang at weddings and enjoyed adding her voice at regularl Catholic church services. Her mother Ameenie went to Mass everyday at St. Maron's.

The first window on the right in that church after one walks in was donated to the church by her and Mohana Coury who was her husband and father of her many children. A number did not live past infancy or early childhood. But the last seven thankfully did.

With many  children the family tree grew to include many talented and loving people. Some uphill battles for sure too, but overall a lot of success and happiness from the humble efforts of these hardwon beginnings going back  generations on each side of the family. 

With only a day to court, Mary and Dale had plans to keep in touch. These included writing every day which Mary did in lovely handwriting. She had an artisitc flair and dressed stylishly back in the day and for many years for special occcassions.

Getting her hair done was a treat for us small kids who could each pat her puffy hair once. She'd put on her lipstick and feel more presentable for church and graduations, which there were many of from both the Salisbury Central and Kellogg Grade Schools as well as Housatonic Valley Regional High School in Falls Village. She would travel as far as family or  means would take her. Over her life that meant Colorado, New Mexico (both places where she lived as a woman of the Wild West with a harrowing tale of being stuck for bit in snow at the top of Wolf Creek Pass or having to live in a coal mine shack.

Once the light of my Dad Dale's headlamp went out when he was showing her his progress in the mine below. Their firstborn was alone in the house when the sudden darkness made them worry for a bit they wouldn't know how to find their way out fo the passages in a timely manner.

Then my father realizd there was a breeze coming in from the mine shaft. He was still covered in coal dust so could sense that even better and little by little he figured out how to get out (of This Mess, one of many over the years), with my mom close behind. Unfortunately another episode back in Salisbury CT did not find my mother so secure as she stepped out the front door to call for the sitter up the hill.

 Her loud voice and whistel could stop traffic on our small road in Falls Village CT after the 25 years on a dangerous corner of  busy Route 44 right below the blinking light. That dinner date call for a sitter resulted in my Mom who was all dressed up with hair done just so, stepping out into thin air and falling in a pit my Dad was working on to replace the step. She knew most of the time not to do that but had forgotten in the fuss and muss of the moment.

That turned into a mud bath for her and an even bigger reason to get away for a burger and fries in Millerton NY or to a visit to see her siblings in Torrington CT.

She bought the house she grew up in on Prospect Street and her relatives who had two houses on Monroe Street have since moved on or journeyed from this world. Still the good times she had from her city upbringing to her country life about a half hour away in the countryside are still playing out with more generations of family and friends who knew and loved her and my Dad and all the gang dearly. 

Whether my mother's birthday was August 12th or 14th isn't so important as remembering her in a personal way. The motivation to do so and openness to convey some of the thoughts that come to mind when I think of her and my Dad and other loved ones heavenside is a blessing, especially in a way of sharing their story and mine with the larger world.

I think they both believed in their divine roles not only as parents to many children but in messengers from their respective tribes, both Lebanese and Catholic as well as more American (Scottish, English) and Mormon. Dad tried Catholicism for a number of years to have the family be together.

They would go to St. Mary's in Lakeville altogether. They would have dinner at 6 pm most nights with a blessing  as follows, likely many have heard if but just at likely the younger people have not. Think of them joining in next time you might share it at mealtime." Bless us, Oh God, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive, through Christ Our Lord, Amen."

My Mom would make the sign of the cross not only before and after a grace or prayer but when going by a cemetary. She would sing out and have us kids chime in from the back seat, "Eternal Rest, Grant that to them oh Lord, and Let Perpetual Light Shin Upon them. And may they rest in peace, may they rest in peace, may they rest in peace. Amen." 

Since we have a cemetary on the big hill that rounds a curve near our small country home, the song served as a reminder and blessing to travel cautiously on such roads and when driving in general.

Too many of our loved ones have had bad car collisions or lost their lives in motor vehicles. We have had our miracle saves too however so I want to appreciate those prayers and other unseen forces protecting or factoring into our health and well-being at every twist and turn on the road or in our lives. 

Another time I will share more about a man who got hit by a truck when on a bicycle. Rather than leaving him for a goner, a man appeared and said he'd be fine and help was on the way. When the ambulance arrived, they told the injured half-alive fellow that there was no man there when he wanted to thank him.

They too thought the man would perish, yet I heard him recount that the doctors did what they could to piece him back together, not even putting all parts back in, and somehow after his coma for five days realized he might make it.

The man smiles over three decades later saying I told them that I knew right after I prayed fervently, "God, help me" and that man appeared (who he really feels was an angel), that he trusted he'd be fine.

He had a full recovery and has worked and raised a family all with pride and gratitude. May we all have such faith and lives well lived, making the most of the blessings we are each given with the gIFt of life!