Dreaming Harvey

So my son brought this home and I thought, am I raising a little Socialist? Or maybe a future Social Worker? Or whatever? And then I thought, does it matter? My son, in honor of Martin Luther the Kang (name that movie!) was asked to share HIS dream. And I thought his answer way more important than anything I could write about ghosts or “Minder” :

“I have a dreem…I have sooooooooooooooooooooooo much money that…I could donate 1,000,000 dollers to evry pore people. And all of them get food and houses. They can eat and they won’t die. If I was a street person and I was really hungry and got money…I would still give it away. That’s how I live.”
–“Dreaming Harvey”, 8

So smile.
Have faith in your kids.
And don’t judge his spelling or I’ll cut you.

love,
Harvey’s Mom.

mlk 2

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Happy Birthday Indeed!

I must share something quite awesome that happened two years ago. Many will read this and say “what a lovely coincidence” but I don’t believe in coincidence and this stuff happens way too often on Planet Jennifer. So January 18th, two years ago, I’m sitting at work and a strange thought popped in my head.

Go buy a scratch off.

It was loud enough to make me stop what I was doing and look around. (I’m not a gambler and this isn’t something that would ever flow through my subconscious whilst sober, you see.) I nudged my friend Sara.

“I think I’m supposed to buy a scratch off.”

She grabbed her purse.

“Let’s go,” she stood, grabbing mine too. Sara likes to gamble.

So we got in her car and started driving around, vibing for the right store. “Just go to the nearest one,” I shrugged. And a few minutes later, we pulled into a gas station and walked inside.

Right away I knew we weren’t in the right store. Its sorta hard to recall details now but I remember a physical coldness… not like temperature, but an energetic frigidity that didn’t invite me to stay (if that makes sense.)

“This isn’t the right store.” I looked around. “But I don’t want to waste our lunch hour looking for the right store.”

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” Sara shrugged. She’s good like that.

“Well there’s another one down the road,” I pointed. So we drove to another store, parked, and went in. The door jingled. The store was small, kinda dirty, and smelled like Nag Champa. A warmness spread over my right side, like a tingly pull.

“This is the right store,” I whispered.

“Hallo!” grinned the nice Indian proprietor.

“Hello,” we smiled back, shuffling to the scratch-off counter in tandem. The plexiglass was dirty and scratched. The proprietor watched us carefully. It felt like I was up to no good. I have vices, see, but gambling isn’t one of them. Sara, on the other hand was very excited and full of advice. “Whatever you do, don’t buy one of each. It’s better to buy a few in succession.”

“But which ones?” I eyeballed the selection. There were so many! And some of them were really expensive!

Spend $20.

There it was again. What the hell!

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

The Indian man stepped closer.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Just trying to figure out which ones to buy,” I smiled, wishing the voice would say buy THAT one.There were SO many. And my eyes kept settling on the $2 ones.

Get the black one.

“You don’t hear that?” I whispered to Sara. A warmth spread over me, all six senses on high alert. My eyes found the black one. It was $10.

“Are you nuts?” I barked to whoever was talking to me. “I am NOT paying $10 for a scratch off!”

Sara nudged me in the side, smiling nervously at the Indian gentleman. He was looking at me funny.

“I’ll take the black one and 5 of those $2,” I said super nonchalant.

We gave the guy our money and walked outside, hugging our scratch offs. “I can’t believe I just spent $20 on this crap.”

“Oh it’s fun. Let’s go eat cheeseburgers and see what we won! I’ll treat you for your birthday.”

Sara’s good like that, too. So we tucked into a booth with cheeseburgers, french fries, and pulled out our dimes. I think dimes are the luckiest coin for various reasons we can talk about later.

“I think I’m gonna win.” I scratched with enthusiasm. Something really was urging me on.

“I know you’re gonna win.”

We scratched little gray shavings all over the table.

“As long as I get my money back,” I wiped my card, pleased to see a tiny return on my first $2 tickets.

“You’ll do better than that,” Sara affirmed.

We took bites of our cheeseburgers and kept on scraping.

“I wonder who told me to buy these tickets.” I dipped a fry in mayo. “This wasn’t my idea.”

“I think it’s your grandfather,” she said, blowing at scrapings then frowning at her ticket. She wasn’t winning like I was. “I think he wanted to give you a birthday present.”

“Yes,” I answered, scratching the last number on my $10 ticket. I could hardly believe it. There were several games on that one card and I’d won nearly all of them.

“How much did you get?” she asked.

I counted the winnings then counted again. Seriously? I stared at Sara wide-eyed. The loving presence amplified, filling our booth like an invisible hug.

“How much?” she asked again.

I shoved the cards her way because I was too busy welling up. I still don’t know whose voice it was. But I knew it was my birthday.

January 18th.

And I’d just won $118.

…..and here we are again. A beautiful cold January morning. I’m still in bed with no plans for the day….but I’m listening.
birthday

Zen and Zeppelin

SATURDAY.
I went for acupuncture at the San Marcos Community Acupuncture Clinic. As soon as I walked in I knew I was in for a treat. I opened the heavy wooden door to a vast space sectioned by long curtains, soft lighting, and the kind of music that compels me into Downward Dog. There were two rows of recliners facing each other and a few bodies in those recliners, one of them a child. The patrons were silent, eyes closed, needles stuck in, blissing. I absolutely loved that everyone was in the same room together. I believe the collective peace made for stronger therapy. Like an opium den, only legal. And healthy.

opium den

So after a few questions and some mandatory paperwork, I picked my chair. The first chair was kinda lumpy so I chose another. Right in the middle. A man and his granddaughter sat opposite me in the corner and I watched the practitioner stick tiny needles in the little girl’s head. She couldn’t have been more than 9. A few minutes later that little girl was cuddled under a clean fuzzy blanket, snoring. I think acupuncture must affect everyone differently. The first time I had it done, it sent me to sleep, but this time was different. I told the owner I didn’t have any major concerns, just mild anxiety and the occasional sleepless night but nothing worrisome. So she treated me for general women’s health. She swabbed me with alcohol and got to stickin’. She stuck one in my head, one between my eyebrows, several on my arms and several in my feet.

sticky

This picture was the last thing I was physically able to do. I had my phone in my hand, ready to jam to my tunes but every time I lifted my finger to select music, my finger felt sorta heavy, so I put it back down again. The practitioner smiled, asked me if I was comfortable, and I nodded. The acupuncture was already doing its thing. I have no clue the science behind it but I get a visual of my circulatory system in overdrive. Like every artery and vessel opening up allowing for perfect flow. My eyes started to close. And behind my closed eyes I saw splashes of color, then recognized a deeper conscienceness that only comes with deep prayer. So I listened.

An hour later I was home with an OVERWHELMING urge to clean. Like, visceral. So I put Julie Andrews on Pandora and scrubbed the kitchen for 5 hours. It’s easy to tidy with Mary Poppins cheering you on. Me and Sophia emptied the pantry, swept and scrubbed every shelf, threw away old cans and organized new ones by genre. I even washed the sticky off my Marmite and jelly jars with soap and water! Do you hear me? I washed my groceries! I vacuumed under the stove and microwaved a bowl of white vinegar for 6 minutes. (This disinfects the microwave and makes everything easy to wipe). I was a cleaning FOO. So, apparently, this is what happens when you get treated for general women’s health.

TODAY.
This morning I lay in bed, farting around on facebook. A friend posted a video that caught my attention. It said “Stairway to Heaven, makes Robert Plant cry”. So I clicked. I LOVE Led Zeppelin. And I was curious what rendition of that song (that cannot be bested) would make him cry? Well, it was Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart and OH MY GOD…. I’m one of those people who feels things super duper deeply through music and I distinctly felt something other-worldly in this rendition. Perhaps it’s my personal history with Led Zeppelin. It’s my number one make-out music of all time, plus I have a healthy proclivity towards 70’s music and British men in general…whatever the case, it made me tingly. Not sexy tingly but spiritual tingly, so I got up, made coffee in my ridiculously clean kitchen and went to church. Stairway to Heaven and all that.