Sequel and Sequel to Two Souls on Their Journey

I promised a sequel. Daryl and I stayed married 25 years with much separation during the latter half. I later found out he was a full-blown Narcissist and it wasn't all work that kept him away from home. At that time it was just called "womanizing" or "a man thing" because the word Narcissist from mythology, wasn't coined for personality disorders until the 1980's.

Marilyn and Harvey split about the same time. They had their issues too, because if you recall, Marilyn's plight came about because he didn't want to be married. Daryl was always kind to me and many Narcissists need the respectability of a family and their secret lives too. We all tried to be friendly, not buddies, but civil friends for our families and what had been the "good years."

My advice to any woman who is smacked in the face by a Narcissist's secret escapades is: "Never allow yourself to become an extension of a man in the first place." Develop your own talents and a strength will follow. I had made the dance world my life when I was left alone for long periods. I had also become interested in politics and never stopped my quest for knowledge. I raised my four kids but never made them the center of my Universe. I allowed them to follow their own path.

Marilyn and I stuck together as friends throughout everything, as spirituality became our main focus of life. We both remarried and had happy and serene lives, lacking only the robust partying of youth.

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A sequel to the sequel:

If you've been following my blog, you may have read about Ken, the medical intuitive and psychic who I think is as gifted as Edgar Cayce.

If you recall, it felt entirely right to take Marilyn into my home. Laughter came so easy to us and we could talk and talk for hours. We have never, in fifty years, felt any displeasure with the other, it's always love. I asked Ken for a few examples of our past lives together. This is what he said.

Ken took a moment to trance into us. (We were on the phone. I have regular appointments with Ken, but we've never met in person.) I'd never mentioned Marilyn to him before. He came out of the first trance laughing because he found Marilyn and me laughing and laughing. This incarnation was in the 17 hundreds in France when we were both men and in prison for fighting against the regime. Seeing movies of the prisons of that period, I wonder what we had to laugh about but we were young rebels who would no doubt laugh and die for a cause.

Another incarnation about the 1820's, Marilyn and I were both women going West in a wagon train. We became close friends during the drive and settled with our families as neighbors upon our destination. We were visiting at one house when attacked by Indians and Marilyn was hit with an arrow. She died in my arms and I lost my zest for life without her.

Marilyn and I have had hundreds of lives together, as have all of us but I'll leave it at that because I realize it's a subject many would like to sweep under the rug.

Adios my bloggy friends and remember "Trust the Universe."

This clip is of Shirley Temple and Buddy Ebsen dancing. Later in life, Buddy played Jed Clappert in the "Beverly Hillybillies." Call me weird, but I've always found Buddy my idea of one sexy dude.

Don't Sweat It.......Part 3 from Two Souls on Their Journey

Continuing: I had just asked a stranger, Marilyn, and her newborn baby to come live with me, my husband and four kids.

The baby cried during the drive home, making conversation impossible. For this I was grateful because it gave me time to think about how I could rearrange the beds. By the late hour Daryl came home, all sleeping arrangements had been taken care of and the baby, newly named Sara, was sleeping in a laundry basket beside her exhausted Mother. When I told my husband what I had done, he didn't seem at all surprised. He reassured me that if I thought it was the right thing to do, it was OK. WOW... Suddenly our family had increased to eight and a peaceful silence permeated the crowded house.

In a couple weeks, Marilyn was fully recovered and found a job. I was mostly stuck at home with kids all day, anyway, so what was one more baby? We fell into a routine and our life pretty much settled into normal. When Marilyn came home from work, we had a chance to talk and it felt like we had known each other all our lives. We talked and talked and talked and were able to laugh at anything. We were so much alike, in spite of the fact I was eight years older.

Harvey, the baby's Father, started coming over to see baby Sara. On weekends, he'd bring his guitar and singing buddies and entertain us. Daryl began guitar lessons and he and Harvey seemed to bond immediately. Marilyn was happy and I knew she still cared deeply for Harvey. She arranged a baptismal gathering with Daryl and me as god parents and invited her parents and Harvey's parents. Baby Sara was passed from Grandparent to Grandparent with gentle love. Marilyn's father, the proclaimed ogre, was giving out cigars like the baby was his idea. I felt a cold shiver when I thought how close Marilyn came to signing the papers that would have given Sara to another family. But now, Baby Sara would always be surrounded by family love.

Friday and Saturday nights, we'd get a sitter and listen to music on the West Bank or at the Purple Goblet. Bob Dylan, Bonnie Rait, Peter, Paul and Mary were getting known by singing for beer and peanuts. It was at one of these outings that Harvey proposed to Marilyn. They bought a house on Lake Minnetonka and settled into family life after the wedding. It was at Daryl's and my cabin in Northern Minnesota that Marilyn went into labor with their second baby. In a couple more years, they had a third...

We still kept in touch with the crowd from the Nic. Weddings, baptisms, and then time stretched into kid's graduations. We saw Marilyn and Harvey every weekend and Marilyn and I talked on the phone almost daily, a habit we have continued for fifty years.

Baby Sara is now fifty. Inheriting her Father's art and musical ability, she sings with a popular gospel group, that just returned from a tour of concerts in France. Her artistic ability is apparent in the tasteful jewelry she designs. Her business clientele is made up of movie stars and women of discerning taste. I'm not bragging nor do I want to be a name dropper, it's just that I'm so darn proud of her.

That's about it. How do you cram fifty years in a short post? If there's a moral to this story, I think it's........ don't question the Universe. She's got it all figured out and is way ahead of you.

There will be one more short sequel next post but this is pretty much the whole story.

Bob Dylan wrote "Blowin in the Wind" but it was made popular by Peter, Paul and Mary.

Part 2....Continuation........And Where Do We Go From Here ..... From ....Two Souls on Their Journey

Before I continue I'd like to point out the difference in sexual standards between 1960 and today. Although feminists were beginning to burn their bras, sex was cloistered in the confines of marriage and the subject was never a public issue. If a young girl became pregnant, she was immediately married or went on a few months vacation and came home a little slimmer. That was "it." Period. Since I was a product of the times, I naturally assumed Marilyn was married when I saw she was pregnant.

We were sitting in our little artists group at the Nic, shrouded in a haze of cigarette smoke, drinking Mexican beer and discussing the evening's drawing class. Someone put a nickle in the jukebox and Dean Martin was crooning "Volare" as a soft background to the animated discussions.

I happened to be sitting next to Marilyn and noticed she was very quiet and withdrawn from all conversation. It appeared she and I were about the only two in the whole cafe who weren't smoking.

She turned to me and said, "Smoky, isn't it?"

That opened up a conversation with both of us declaring we weren't smokers. We thought that was odd since it was a time when everyone smoked. Marilyn added that she stayed away from the Nic since she became pregnant because the cigarette smoke made her ill. When I asked her when she was due, she laughed nervously and said, Any minute." As Marilyn was studying my face, it must have betrayed some question about the father.

"I'm not married." she said, again studying my reaction.

I didn't have time to answer when she pointed to three guys sitting in a corner and said, "Harvey, the one taking his guitar from the case, is the father."

I did manage to ask if they were together and she blinked away tears as she told me he didn't want to get married or have anything to do with the baby. I knew Harvey slightly from class as he was one of the helpful students giving me drawing tips. He with his guitar and singing buddies were always the center of attention. Harvey was a charming bon vivant and I understood how he could literally charm the pants off a girl.

I reached over and touched her small, helpless hand. She turned toward me with tears streaking black mascara down her cheeks. This fragile girl began pouring out her circumstances as fast as the tears kept rolling down her face.

"I was so stupid, she said. I thought he loved me but I got pregnant and my Mother wouldn't let me me come back to Duluth because she didn't want my Father to know. She put me in this horrible home for unwed mothers and now the nuns want me to give up the baby. They're cruel and keep telling me what a sinner I am when they stick the papers in my face to sign. I haven't signed because I want my baby. What'll I do? I'm so miserable."

Marilyn suddenly stopped crying and apologized for burdening me with all this information. I assured her it was OK and I would stop by the home in a few days and we could talk some more. She said she'd like that .

Driving home, I kept thinking about the plight of this girl. I couldn't begin to imagine the anguish of having my babies taken from me. I'd stop to see her after my next class at the U.

The next day, Judy called and excitedly said Marilyn had a baby girl. After my class on Wednesday, I rushed to the hospital and literally ran through the hall to the maternity ward. I didn't understand my urgency as I flew into Marilyn's room. Marilyn was again in tears, just as she was the last time I saw her, but this time there was a nun standing over her with a pen and paper. Immediately I got the picture. She still hadn't signed the baby away. I stood by the end of her bed and didn't budge. The nun gave me a grim look as she told Marilyn she'd be back.

As soon as the nun left the room, the bag of emotions burst. We hugged each other as she told me the details of the birth and how much she loved her baby and didn't want to give it away and how badly the nuns were tormenting her . When I asked what she was going to do, she just shook her head.

In that moment, I swear I don't know what came over me. I said, "Get the baby. You're coming home with me." I couldn't believe those words were coming from my mouth. I didn't know this person. We lived in a tiny house, already over-crowded with four kids. Where would everyone sleep?

We took the baby, signed her out of the hospital and drove to the home to get Marilyn's belongings. How was I going to explain to Daryl that I'd brought home a person I didn't know AND HER BABY, to live with us?????

To be continued.

Two Souls on Their Journey

I've previously written a few posts about Marilyn, my friend of 50 years. We try to communicate with each other nearly every day. Neither of us has ever felt a moment's displeasure with the other. This post is how we met.

The year was 1960. Besides trying to finish Michner's new book Hawaii, I was Mother to four kids, taking classes at the U of MN and the Art School, dancing, and serving on the PTA. How I kept my fingers in all those pies, I'll never know but I was young, healthy and determined.

After three years in Morocco during the Korean War, my husband and I had returned to the States and fell into suburban life with the ever growing economy. Daryl proved to be a brilliant business man, affording me the luxury of getting the education I missed out on by getting married so young.

Daryl and I were growing with the times but in separate directions. The kids and I rarely saw him. Devoted to work, he left the house before anyone was up and got home after the kids were in bed. Family values during that time were totally opposite of today's. Wives usually didn't work. Since I had been a child of the great depression, I was thankful for a husband who provided for us, even though he was usually absent. This meant I also had time to pursue some passions of my own.

Have you ever noticed how we often involve ourselves in things that are merely the vehicle for meeting people we are meant to find in this life. My weekly drawing class at the Art Institute was that vehicle for meeting Marilyn. I had no talent in art, whatsoever. That time would have been better spent dancing or singing but every Wednesday night found me in frustration with my bad drawings of the human anatomy. I can't for the life of me remember why I chose this class and was even thinking of dropping out when I suddenly became friends with some of the talented people who gave me drawing tips while encouraging me to stay.

After class, we all met at "The Nicollet Cafe," (shortened The Nic) to socialize and discuss art. I was the odd duck on the outer edge because many of these poor struggling art students went on to achieve greatness in the art world. Recently I had the surprise to run into two of them who definitely were living in great comfort because of their talent but at that time, everyone lived in uncertain aspiration, trying to become a name in the art world.

It was Marilyn's sister Judy, who I met first. We had a double connection through art school and dancing. We exchanged tid-bits of information about our lives and I was aware that Judy and her sister had recently migrated to the "big city of Minneapolis" from a small town of Duluth. Judy worked in a dance studio to pay for her art classes and although she mentioned her sister, Marilyn, her remarks became rather evasive when she referred to her.

The following week when the group gathered at The Nic, there was a pretty, petite dark haired girl I had never seen before. She closely resembled the then-young, Liz Taylor. Judy introduced the girl as her sister, Marilyn. We became engaged in a conversation, during which I found out that Marilyn didn't go to the art school, nor was she an aspiring artist. A little later, Marilyn stood up and I was somewhat surprised to notice she was obviously pregnant, because I wasn't aware she was married.

To Be Continued.

In 1960, Chubby Checkers had taken the US by storm with his Twist record. Below is a clip of various dancers doing the Twist.

Stylish Blogger Award

I humbly thank Bernie from One Mixed Bag for giving me the Stylish Blogger Award. Her blog oozes talent and humor as she daily writes about life with her charming other half, Mr. Bernie. I admit I start my day with her blog because it puts a smile on my face for the entire day. (as I schlep around the house in my baggy sweats. Stylish, indeed!!)

Hummmm..... I have to list 7 things about myself.

1. I've been trying to find a blogger older than I am. So far, no dice!!!

2. When I was young I wanted to be an opera singer. I didn't make it but it doesn't stop me from belting out "La Habanera" early in the morning, sending my neighbors to the real estate ads.

3. I haven't eaten meat in 40 years. Fish.... yes. My favorite, wild caught salmon or trout.

4. My family has always thought of me as the "Health Nut." I've done natural health all my life.

Never had a pap test, a mammogram or any of those allopathic tests I don't know the names of.

5. Marilyn has been my best friend for 50 years. We try to talk on the phone every day.

6. My 2 favorite men of all time would be Edgar Cayce and Max Gerson.

7. I have all the old films of Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald. If I ever get stressed with life, I drop everything and watch one of their movies. Miracle workers, they are!

My last promise I will cheat on slightly. I'm to pass this award on to 15 bloggers but how can a Pisces make choices like that? I love all who follow me so please help yourself to the Stylish Award when you visit. Thank you, Bernie, for this honor.

Souls That Search

Caution: If you are sensitive to words like reincarnation, dogma, and spiritual do not enter here. I'll be back with lighter subjects shortly. Manzanita

I am honored to have a man called Ken as my medical and spiritual adviser. He has been gifted for this incarnation, with the same blessings as had been given to Edgar Cayce. He is a humble man. Just knowing him makes me a better and grateful person. I look forward to our conversations with a child-like anticipation and I always feel I've taken one step more toward my final destination.

Good health is foremost in seeking our spiritual path. Ken helps me. He can look into my body and follow my blood, see the toxins and watch if my organs are ticking in sync. He doesn't touch. He can do it by phone or whatever. We live in a troubled, toxic world and our bodies were made for being sustained by natural foods. I admit it's a problem to cure disease and heal naturally but it can be done. If you need proof, look at me. I'm eighty and never followed the allopathic way.

I try to limit my conversations with Ken to every eight weeks. That is an exercise in patience because I would like to talk to him every day. After the medical advice is established, I turn to my favorite subject, reincarnation.

My one question last conversation was, "Why do I see so many people who are wasting their incarnations?" We talked about it at length and I may have already known the answers but it was comforting to hear Ken's words. He said, "It's the way the path to spirituality works. It's why we've all had countless, countless, countless incarnations and it's often confused with dogma. To bring it into factual existence, think of the people who spend their lives shopping, or pursing a business, or being a Narcissistic romeo, just raising a family, or winning beauty pageants. They're born and they die and that is what is in between. They reincarnate for say twenty times (who knows the exact number) and finally, one incarnation they begin to question. They are tired of shopping, business, beauty or sex and they begin to ask why they are really here. Now they can begin the spiritual quest to the satisfaction of their soul.

We mostly do our searching in silence but it's comforting to discuss our paths with other connected souls. I respect where everyone is on their own path and if you have entered into this post, I know you are respecting mine.

As an enlightened Monk, Father Joseph Stendhal-Ross, of this incarnation said, "It's the experience and not the dogma, that we are here to learn."

If I Were an Alpha Dog, I'd be King of the Hill

Hey Bloggy Friends. I'm in a French mood today. The closest I'll get is talking about Cody, my Border Collie/Aussie mix dog. Cody sings with my Granddaughter (below) when Ashly plays Parisian street music on the accordion. It's hysterical. Guess it hurts her ears. I've had dogs all my life and Cody wins the smartest dog award. She chose me at 7 weeks. Runt of the litter, she sat between my feet and wouldn't budge. She takes commands so well and I've never had to train her. She trained herself!!!

I took Cody to an agility practice course and WOW, Wonder Dog, Star Attraction. She ran through the whole course with me running after her. Funny sight. Except the poles (I don't know the names of any of the equipment.) She didn't get that but I know she'd have it in little time. Below she's on the board that was 5 feet high. She ran straight across but I had to back her up for the picture. She would be a natural at agility but I don't have the time. Poor Cody. There goes her chance at stardom!!

Seventeen years ago , my son got his first dog, a Border Collie named Patsy. Zonnie was a winter guide at Vail so I said I'd spend the winter at the ranch and keep 9 month old Patsy. She thought she was alpha dog and ignored my instructions, in fact she'd actually nip and snarl when I gave her a command.

I thought the gentle method might work, but no, she needed a firmer hand. OK Patsy, I've trained dogs before. I'm going to show you I'm alpha dog. I put on winter jacket, stocking cap, heavy gloves and gave her a command that I knew she wouldn't obey. I wrestled her to the ground, belly up, with her snarling and really trying to bite me. I wanted her in the submission position as the under dog who had lost to the victor dog in a fight. I got on top of her, held her on her back with her paws on the floor by her head. It was a big struggle but she was not yet fully grown and I was younger... tee hee. She kept fighting, biting, snarling at me. I went as close to her jugular as I could and I growled like a dog. We kept locked in this position for at least 5 minutes. Gradually I could feel her giving up the struggle. Thank god. I was sweating and getting very tired. Finally I felt her body completely relax and I let her up. I walked away and called her. She came immediately and flipped on her back and bared her belly to me. Submission. It worked. I became alpha dog and for the rest of her life, she showed submission whenever I called her.

I didn't need any of that with Cody. She recognized me as alpha dog from the start. That absolutely has to be established before a dog can be trained. When you see the dogs that pull the owner on a leash, RIGHT, you know who's the alpha dog. (And it ain't the human!!!)

Do you have any dog training experiences for us?

A Few of my Flamenco Secrets

Hot-Damn Flamenco. Whoever in this life, watches flamenco. The answer is "No one."

Having said the above, I should just sign off, but hard head, me, I'll persist. Flamenco has been my life long passion. I learned to dance Flamenco from the gypsies on the beaches outside Algeceris, Spain during the Korean War. (The war during the early '50's ..... not this thing they are going through now). I still consider myself a purist, although there's always a modern movement in every art form.

My new header is a Flamenco guitar that cries in the closet. I don't play the sacred little instrument. To achieve that would require constant practice and I chose dancing as long as the old bode allows. The picture to the left was taken last year.

Traditionally, the guitar accompanies dancers and has only been around a little over a hundred years. Pre-guitar, there was keeping rhythm of hands (clapping) or a cane (stick) striking the ground. A few dances still use the pounding of an anvil for it's rhythm as the gypsies were usually traveling smithies.

Male dancers used to beat out a rhythm with their heavy footwork and the grace of the upper body was left to the women. Carmen Amaya was one of the first female gypsy dancers to put on trousers and dance the frenzied footwork. Even when I started Flamenco, 60 years ago, women still concentrated on body movement and left the heavy footwork to the men.

There's very little interest in Flamenco in Montana..... land of cowboys and honky-tonks. For one thing, the learning takes time and dedication and it's just damn hard work in the beginning. I carry on my art for myself with a few faithful followers. I'm starting a kid's program this summer. Kids just do it, without all the hangups.

There. I've opened the door and shared my passion with you, dear bloggy friends. Now you can share your passion with me and others. We all have them, if they are for real or only wannabes. Let's share!!!!