Happy New Year from Sugar and the Wolf

crossing the pond

just when things were getting better..........

rebirth

i have become like a child-i see all anew.....

v

FOLLOW THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD

one of my inner selves

Searching for a new home

can cause physical transformation!

A CHILD IS BORN

dawn of a new life

what is the universe saying?

My wires are crossed, or at least SOMEBODY'S wires are crossed. I put an ad in Match.com. Last week I received eleven emails/winks from MEN!

Of course I contacted the powers that be and was repeatedly reassured that the problem had been fixed-but there I was at midnight Thursday and yet ANOTHER! MAN! Not half bad actually; tall, handsome and well educated.

But that ship sailed years ago.

I do not contact anyone. I figure if the universe has some wonderful woman for me, well, she will come.

Now the boys are outnumbering the girls. Eleven to one! I have a freakin football team!

The third representative was totally baffled. She kept repeating everything I already knew; everything I was complaining about.

"Why don't YOU try contacting some nice lady," asked the representative.

What was I supposed to say? That I was waiting for the universe?

"Well that won't really solve my problem will it?" I responded.

"Hmmm, I guess not."

By Friday late afternoon I had enough men for a football game-two freakin teams-so I called again.

I was finally told, with many apologies, that I had previously been misinformed. In fact anyone, men included, can read and respond!

Should I give the universe a push and help my process? Take a more active role?

I changed my profile. The first sentence reads, PLEASE NO MEN.

I am considering giving the universe a little kick.

Just how big is the universe's behind?

Or, should I just implore?

Or, should I quit!

for what it's worth # 8

The Prayer of St Francis


Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred . . . let me sow love
Where there is injury . . . pardon
Where there is doubt . . . faith
Where there is despair . . .hope
Where there is darkness . . . light
Where there is sadness . . .joy
Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled . . .as to console
To be understood . . .as to understand,
To be loved . . . as to love
For it is in giving . . .that we receive,
It is in pardoning, that we are pardoned,
It is in dying . . .that we are born to eternal life

Thinking

I have been accused of thinking too much:
considering the consequences of my actions.

What do you do?

for what it's worth # 7

The Universal Law of allowing

The Universal Law of Allowing means dropping all judgments and all emotional attachments to what others are, have, or do. This is quite different from being tolerant. Being tolerant is not liking what someone else is or does and holding emotion-laden, negative thoughts about them, but letting them be or do it any way. Practicing The Universal Law of Allowing requires granting to others the same rights you ask for yourself -- the right to be, have, and do whatever you choose. Here's one interpretation of that law:

I am that I am and You are that which You are. I accept, honor, and respect you as you are. I honor, allow, support, and respect your right to be who you are, do as you do, and have whatever you have. I honor your right to live your life as you choose, to worship God, or not, as you choose. I honor those same rights in me and call for you to do likewise.

I honor the Golden Rule, “Do onto others as they would be done onto” and call for you to do likewise. As long as you avoid violating others, violating the rights of others or destroying our collective environment, I will honor your right to be, do, have, express, and experience whatever you choose.

Here’s another way of expressing this law:

Love God, love your neighbor, and love yourself.

This concept may be vitally important because if the reincarnation belief system is correct, God, your neighbor and you are all one and the same thing.

Christian tradition has done well at teaching about love for God and your neighbor. Unfortunately, it has been a dismal failure at teaching people to love themselves, and as you may already know, if you don’t love yourself, your ability to love anything or anyone else is drastically reduced.

Some Expression of this Law: Most Buddhists are quite skilled at practicing this law. You might also notice that Buddhism is the only major religion that has never started a war.

You've probably also heard the Native American saying: Before you judge a man, you need to walk a mile in his moccasins."

Here is a way to practice the Law of Allowing: When you have an emotional reaction to someone else’s behavior, stop and tell yourself: "He (she) is neither good nor bad. I neither like him or dislike him. He just is. He's another human being doing the best he can. Given his conditioning, his beliefs, his circumstances, his present needs and desires, I’d probably be doing pretty much as he is."

one of my favorite inner selves

new life

I am grateful for the years that have passed
And now
For the years ahead
I have seen cycles of life and death
Rejoiced at the morning sun
And mourned when the rains
In my heart have come
I have had scared knowledge
Now
Divine
I have felt the power
To heal
Through the gift
The
Depths of compassion
I have been blessed with the ability to learn
To teach
Through the depth of gifted understanding
Through grace
I now have the power
To bring forth
A new and better time through grace
My heart is now
A womb to a new life
I have come far
Finding rest after the blood of war
I now see
A new chapter as wounds heal
My past and future
Transformed
I become now
A renewed channel
For self-love and respect
Appreciation for
Myriad gifts
Again, a doer of good
Again the receptor
The creator of joy
And, as this
Only the good
Come my way

a variation of marianne williamson's work

for what it's worth # 6

Do not criticize yourself because in darkness you could not see.
When you find the light within you, you will know that you have always been in the center of wisdom. As you probe deeper into who you really are, with your lightedness and your confusion, with your angers, longings and distortions, you will find the true living God.

Then you will say: "I have known you all of my life and I have called you by many different names. I have called you mother and father and child. I have called you lover. I have called you sun and flowers. I have called you my heart. But I never until this moment, called you myself."

~Emmanuels Book

caption this

A stay at the Point

I had to finish this book. She was gone, three years in the making, she was gone, enough, I had to finish this book!

Five, seven days at the most? I do most of my writing at the beach. I often revise at home. I had to escape. I was losing my grip. Too many memories.

I’d get a bargain. It was the end of the season and the rates were cut. I could afford a week; hell, I deserved it!

I packed my books. I wanted to make sure that I had my original references with me. There is nothing more mind-bending then the need to look up that one little fact in that one single book that you neglected to bring. Writers are like that you know, it goes beyond having a magical number of sharpened pencils: we’ve got all sorts of hang-ups. I am unusual in that I can write just about anywhere. However, my books are my security blanket.

It was Sunday, with the weekend over; I knew by the time I arrived I’d have my pick of the myriad motels that sprawled throughout the famous hamlet, which is the main tourist attraction of Long Island. The Montauk Lighthouse was the first to be built in New York. It started lighting the way in 1797. Its name is derived from an Algonquin speaking Native American tribe, the Montaukett.

There was actually a small bit about Montauk Point in the book that I was trying to finish. I hadn't been to Montauk since Joya and I had stayed there several years earlier. We were the main characters of the book. Should I let them die in peace or let them live to destroy each other yet, again?

Big decision!

I drove close to the tip of the Point and stopped at the motel where we had stayed. It was fresher looking: obviously some improvements. And busy! Folks leaving, heading for the city: The workweek started the next day.

"Take your pick,” he said. “Just give us a few minutes. Got to dust and stuff and all,” he turned around and opened the small fridge behind him. “A drink?” he asked then stepped aside so I could see its contents.

“Sure, a diet coke please.”

"I guess you have rooms in the main house?" I thought if I stayed in the room Joya and I had shared, it would help me resolve some creative issues.

"No, closed, closed."

I gave him a questioning look.

“Yea, today, today. Hey I'm only lettin you in cause you're cute!”

I laughed and gave him a wrinkled nose and a smile. But in truth, I wanted to slug him.

He handed me the coke as he handed a sheet to a young man. “Lady says she got a bag with books in it, a big bag, mind taking it up?”

“Sure,” said the thin, prematurely bald young man.

“Thanks JJ.”

“Where to?” asked JJ.

“Gee, I don’t know but my lucky number is three. May I have three?” I asked the manager. “Sure.” he said. “The place is yours.”

“Lucky for me,” said JJ. Three is right at the top of the stairs. I mean since your bag is so heavy, show me." He stretched his head over the throng of cars. "Suite #1 is on the corner you see,” he said as he extended his arm. “They have the end suite, the wrap-around balcony, and 2 is right next to you. And number 4 on the other side.”

He grabbed the bag containing the books out of the trunk. “Not so heavy,” he said with false bravado.

There were at least forty books in that thing along with eight revisions. I wasn't taking any chances. I had everything that had anything to do with that book in my possession: I was going to finish the damn thing if it killed me.

“Do you mind, I mean, you can sit out on the balcony while the sheets are changed and the suite is vacuumed? The lounge in the big house is closed. Is that OK?”

“Oh, sure JJ."

I poked my head in the bathroom and found a young woman sealing the toilet with a fresh ‘welcome’ tape, proof that it had been disinfected. We smiled at each other. “There are your towels,” she said as she nodded toward the built-in shelf.

“I’ll bring up the other bag," said JJ.

“OK thanks.”

I sat on the balcony with the Atlantic Ocean only a hundred feet away. I drank my coke while I was plotting the end of the book and observed the semi-circle of balconies to my left being searched for lost toys and misplaced sunglasses. I could not see the first half dozen as there was a privacy wall up at the end of each balcony but as the semi-circle widened I could see the last few suites maybe 20 balconies away.

The place was noisy but everyone was packing up and I figured that it would calm down soon enough because if anyone left later than this it would be bumper-to-bumper going back to New York. These people knew the ropes. They had their trip timed.

“OK-your other bag is next to the bed,” said JJ as he poked his head out the balcony door.

“Thanks. Any chance of not having someone next to me?”

“Need quiet?”

“Yes. Is it too late to change?”

“No, I promise," he said with a big smile, "no one will be on either side of you for sure. Lots a rooms –the season and all. You won’t be disturbed, no noise, no nothing, no people at all!"

Quite reassuring! When I say I don't want noise, I don't want noise. I was going to pretend that this was my private ocean villa. Just pretend that no one else existed.

I closed the sliding door as she vacuumed and I peeked through the glass as she fixed the bed-she was quite meticulous-had real pride in her work. When she was finished, she knocked on the glass door of the balcony and motioned for me to come in and observe her work.

“This looks lovely, thanks, what’s your name?”

“Jean and I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Jean, please don’t bother. I will have the ‘do not disturb’ sign out the whole week. I have very strange sleeping habits.”

“But the bed and fresh towels,” she protested.

“I don’t need the bed fixed thanks. I am in and out of bed all day, just to change position/location. I move the computer around like it’s a part of my body. It’s really an umbilical cord.” I chuckled.

A wary look came my way. “However,” I continued, attempting to regain my dignity, “if you’d bring me a week’s supply of towels I would be most grateful and then you can basically forget about me. I’ll be okay. There’s no rush, anytime today is fine. I am going out to buy food to stock the fridge so I don’t have to leave the room for the week.”

"You are staying the week?" Her eyebrows crunched.

"Yes," I answered wondering why she was surprised.

"The boss, he knows?" Another crunch.

I smiled and nodded yes.

When she left I got a smile with an, ‘I wonder what you are up to’ look.

Upon returning, I was pleased to find a mound of beach, bath, hand and face towels on my bed. She forgot the soap, but that was OK because I always traveled with my own.

I moved the desk from the corner so it would face the ocean through the glass doors. The sunscreen automatically went outside on the balcony table. It would stay there until I headed back west. The bag with all the books lay open on the floor next to the desk. I had an idea, something was stirring in my head, and I had to write it down.

I unpacked my computer and got connected and worked for five straight hours except for using the bathroom, snacking on pretzels and drinking coke. When I finally looked up, the room was bathed in a dusky glow and the ocean was a white rush coming towards me.

Something was off, there was a shaft of light. I got up and turned to face the entrance. I hadn't noticed it before. The outside door to my suite was glass, a thick frosted glass. I had never seen that before in any motel. Frosted: you coundn't see in. However, I didn't like the fact that the bright light at the top of the stairs shone directly into my room. I could clearly see the shadow of the large fire extinguisher that hung on the left side of the wall outside my room.

When I want light-I want light. When I want dark-when I turn the light off-I want dark!

I liked the room. I felt like I could write there. However, I didn't want the light behind me radiating onto the chrome of the balcony glass door in front of me. Confession: writers are crazy people.

It wasn't a great night‘s sleep because I woke up at least three times with a couple of ideas and revisions. Once when I went to the bathroom I was scared silly as there was the shadow of a tall kid with a ball at my door. I figured they had arrived late and hoped that they wouldn't end up next to me. He was still there when I came out of the bathroom, kind of still, waiting for his family I guessed. He had momentarily turned and was facing my door. Kids can be so weird and unmannerly sometimes.

I wanted to shout, "get lost," but I didn't want to scare him.

I went back to bed. After ten minutes I got up to see if my visitor was gone. Good! My bed was against the wall with the door out of sight. However, as I lay down I could see the light, a laser crossing the room pointing to the ocean. I would know if I were in trouble because the light would flicker.

Room change! Next day! No more top of the stairs stuff!

Just as I had made the decision, I got spooked because I heard some music. I recognized it. It wasn't loud but it was creepy because it sounded like it was coming from the four walls of the room. Too many candy bars, overwork, sushi? Time for a ‘sleeping remedy’!

I finally rolled out of bed at around noon, showered and headed down to the office. As I descended the stairs, I looked around, sure enough, all of the rooms had thick frosted doors. Should I bother?

A subdued hoot came out of my mouth when I saw the empty parking lot. It would be quiet. Families were already out for the day. Only a few people would come during the week: retired persons, maybe a young mom with her kids. The season was over.

The office was closed but it was lunchtime and I figured people had a right to eat. Besides, I had the whole day.

I took a walk along the shore before shutting myself in for the day. Nothing like having the ocean to yourself! As I walked up the path a car pulled away from the office leaving my old wreck basking in the sun. In any case, I was I no mood to pack up and move. Ideas were popping out of my fingertips.

I worked for hours. A real high. Ate my way through chips and dip, cookies and a Three Musketeers bar. I had even found a deli with fresh sushi. You can find just about anything in Montauk, it can be high end.

The night had gone from cool to cold. This was a perfect time to come to the Point: warm sunny afternoons and cool nights with stars scattered about in brilliant clarity. I sat on the edge of the bed with the balcony door wide open and the heat as high as the dial would go. The beach shore was black and desolate. I undressed, stood naked at the balcony entrance feeling the cold on my nipples, but incredibly my body felt warm as the heater blanketed my back like a fine layer of fur. It’s hum and the Gregorian chant emanating from my laptop mesmerized me.

Only blackness, surf, chants, and stars prevailed.

However, the sleep ahead would again prove restless. Dreams of fierce lightning, enormous waves, grave thunderstorms that would be responsible for shipwrecks and for death, caused me to wake in sweat and anxiety.

I awoke to the music again, it was hardly discernible but I could hear a voice this time, a male voice. Concentrating on the sound I thought I saw the light stream flutter, I jumped out of bed. But there was no figure outside the door. Writer’s imagination! Nevertheless, just in case, I coughed aloud, banged the bathroom door, and then freely acknowledged my lunacy.

The next day I drove to the famous lighthouse at the farthest end of Long Island. There were still some tourists at the beach side and restaurant. Few people spoke without foreign accents. I stood at the ocean’s shore; its calmness was deceiving. When I looked to the right, I saw the waves hit heavily up the rock formations at the base of the lighthouse, leaving white foam, which rapidly disappeared as the bubbles burst in sightless succession. I headed to the lighthouse, walked through the museum and took in some history.

Suddenly, the wind sped up and it began to rain furiously. This was wonderfully fortuitous. The motel was a eight-minute drive away; getting soaked would not be a problem when the warmth of my room was an immediate surety. What could surpass being on the top of a cliff at the ocean’s edge in a furious storm? I fought the wind and rain to the back edge of the point and was barely able to maintain my balance along with several other sightseers. We all stood in front of a statue of a fisherman commemorating the men who had died in the waters below. The last to die here was as recent as 1978. How surprising-modern times! No wonder I had dreamt of shipwrecks the night before.

However, no one would invade my privacy tonight. The night began to pass differently from the prior evening. A sense of peace permeated the air. The slumber was all encompassing. Though I was dreaming, I had an awareness of breathing with contentment under the ocean’s surface as the water entered my lungs and escaped with ease.

Such wonder! Each breath took me deeper and deeper. A blanket of the ocean’s volume weighed heavily down upon my body. What an incomparable comfort, being cradled in its warmth, in a tailspin, happily plunging into the depths of the origin of creation. Colors swirled in front of me causing my eyes to widen in appreciation of the unknown species. Taking in the beautiful nectar, hearing the mellifluous fins against the froth, I became one of the new species. My body was now a jagged coral, receptive to the flow between her portals.

Suddenly I began to suffocate, consuming arms, legs, fingers, hair, and teeth. Death was imminent; I fought desperately then bolted up in bed. As I longed for air, tossing my limp, soaking hair from side to side while clutching the bed covers and slowly recovering, I raised my head with my chin jutting into space grasping the air like a hungry viper. My eyes broadened with my mouth in a soundless gasp and my heart stopped.

The light was moving rapidly as though a hundred people were passing in front of my door and suddenly I could heard the words to the song, it was a favorite of Joya’s, an ancient song. I leaped out of the bed to the door and found the light undisturbed, yet in my abject fear I yelled at the door “Go away, go away. I have a gun and I am calling the manager.”

Surely, I was losing my mind!

I sat on the edge of the bed with my face in my hands. I could not get the song out of my head, it was!‘You, you’re driving me crazy’. They played it over and over. Crazy people!

There were no lights at the end of the balconies to the right or left. It was midnight. Everyone was in bed behind closed doors. There was overcast. I could hear the ocean and its rhythmic swish but I could not see anything but a black haze over the sand. What a shame. I wanted to see it once more, but, there was no way I was staying here another night. I started packing before I went to bed.

"Lucky you caught me," said JJ, wiping up some hot coffee he had just spilt on the counter.

“What are you hours JJ?" “Oh, no hours, not now. Jeanie was glad that you didn't need nothin. Sorry to see you go so early."

I gave him my card. "Yea, she sure was glad she didn't have to come the whole time."

"How about the other guests?"

He stood there looking perplexed. "No, no other guests. That’s what I meant when I said no one would bother you. You thought I was kidding you? We closed for the season when you came. Boss figured-why not? You looked like a nice lady. But, we’re just down the block there," he said pointing east.

"I–ah-do you mean I've been here alone?"

He burned his lips on his coffee and pulled away from the counter. "Yup-you’re lucky you caught me today seeing as how you said you were staying the week. I had stopped by, now when was that, lookin for my wallet.”

He was wiping the counter again. “It was behind the desk on the floor, don’t really use it a lot here in town."

“No one was here?" All I could think of was the music. "I have been in this place entirely alone?" JJ was pleased, smiled and said, “Yeah!"

Copyright © 2004-2009 by m.m.sugar

one of my inner selves

for what it's worth # 5

There are 6 Risk Factors to Alzheimer's:

How old is your mom, your granny? Are you paying attention? Are you just letting little things pass?

DON'T!

1. Age – Alzheimer's disease usually develops after age 65. Less than 5% of people age 65-74 have Alzheimer's, but the chance of developing the disease doubles every 5 years after age 65. Almost 50% of the population over 85 has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's.

2. Family History – Chances of developing Alzheimer's are up to 7 times greater if one has a first degree relative (parent, sibling) with the disease. This number is even higher if multiple family members have the disease.

3. Genetics – A special gene called APOE-e4 gene has been identified as a risk gene for Alzheimer's. A risk gene only increases the likelihood of developing a disease, but fortunately doesn't guarantee that one will develop it.

4. Gender – Women have a greater risk of developing Alzheimer's than men.

5. Education – The more a person uses their brain and keeps up with adult education the less riskthere is of developing Alzheimer's.

6. Head Injuries – Serious traumatic head injuries, such as concussions, have been linked to an increased risk of Alzheimer's.



Dr. Dharma

the grin

This is actually animal abuse!

Please don't call me a killjoy OK?

Can you imagine how long it took to get these poor little puppies into the gear they are in? Their legs are not touching the ground. Therefore, their under paws are carrying the weight of their bodies. Their genitalia are being pressed with their weight. Do they look happy to you? Their shirts are up around their necks. Do you think that they are breathing properly?

Would you volunteer to be put in such a position?

for what it's worth #4

Remember

remembering the dead


Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you plann'd:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.


From: Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress and Other Poems.
Christina Rosetti. London: Macmillan 1879.

change

All changes,

even the most longed for,

have their melancholy;

for what we leave behind us

is a part of ourselves;

we must die to one life

before we can enter another.

~Anatole France

removing the hex

Well, I have learned my lesson. The next time I put a hex on anyone, well, no one is going to know about it!

The following is a record of a pretty messed up day, the day after I concentrated all of my formidable witchy ways and hexed you-know-who.

I woke up and literally fell out of bed and laughed myself silly until as I rose and fell over my baby cat, almost killed her and banged my head into the edge of the bedroom door. I laughed again-ha!

As I prepared my coffee I dropped the jar. The coffee splattered on the counter, stove and on the floor that I had washed the previous day. What's the big deal you ask? I absolutely hate washing the kitchen floor as it is always dirty because its door exits onto the driveway and I had seldom put as much energy into washing it as I had the day before.

When it was time to start the morning routine I nearly choked to death on the one and only prescription drug that I take. I take a zillion vitamins and herbs a day some the size of a Boeing 707. This pill is ten times the size of a pin head!

After my shower upon doing the usual mirror mirror on the wall thing I observed a huge zit(I never get zits) on my face. Would you like to guess exactly where a pimple would emerge on a witche's face?

That is what vanity gets for using a 10 magnification mirror!

Scouting around for my glasses still wrapped in a towel-yup-I sat on them. Without bending the nose bridge I managed to flip both earpieces totally out of their pockets in the glass and sat there with a magnifying glass and twizzers and glue for an hour putting them back into a somewhat useful order.

With new resolve I left the house intent upon doing everything on my list. I would not be deterred!

I decided to start out at the local deli for some nourishment and ordered two eggs sunnyside up with cheese on a soft buttered roll.

I sat down and bit into my roll as the yolks burst open and a thick yellow flood spewed from the roll onto my shirt and into the crotch of my slacks.

This is when I realized that the hex had backfired: I went home to bathe and change my cloths.

From now on no more pubic hexes for me-only private ones!

for what it's worth #3

"Without change, something sleeps inside us, and seldom awakens. The sleeper must awaken."


Frank Herbert

let's play guess what the hex is

caption this

JUSTICE IS BLIND IN AMERICA

MY LIFE AS A GAY WOMAN IS BEING DETERMINED BY OTHERS

one of my inner selves

For what it's worth #2

It is kind of corny-but worth the read.

A holy man was having a conversation with God one day and said, 'God , I would like to know what Heaven and Hell are like.'

God led the holy man to two doors. He opened one of the doors and the holy man looked in.


In the middle of the room was a large round table. In the middle of the table was a large pot of stew, which smelled delicious and made the holy man's mouth water. The people sitting around the table were thin and sickly. They appeared to be famished.

They were holding spoons with very long handles, that were strapped to their arms and each found it possible to reach into the pot of stew and take a spoonful. But because the handle was longer than their arms, they could not get the spoons back into their mouths.


The holy man shuddered at the sight of their misery and suffering. God said, 'You have seen Hell.'


They went to the next room and opened the door. It was exactly the same as the first one. There was the large round table with the large pot of stew which made the holy man's mouth water. The people were equipped with the same long-handled spoons, but here the people were well nourished and plump, laughing and talking. The holy man said, 'I don't understand.'



'It is simple,' said God. 'It requires but one skill. You see they have learned to feed each other, while the greedy think only of themselves.'

Sometimes Life is a Trainwreck!

warmth

for what it is worth #1

"You could have golden treasure buried beneath your feet, and walk over it again and again, yet never find it because you don’t realize it is there. Just so, all beings live every moment in the city of the Divine, but never find the Divine because it is hidden by the veil of illusion.”

The Upanishades

seahorse

A relatively calm, and mild-mannered creature, the seahorse is seemingly content to roam the seas. Their bodies are geared for ambling-type motion - not for speed. Thus, they are symbolic of patience and contentment - they are happy with being where they are, and are in no hurry for advancement.

Further testimony to these attributes is the lack of evolution of the seahorse’s body style. They have remained with this body style without change since their inception. Content to be who they are, and not feeling the need to change - these are a few profound lessons the seahorse provides us.

However, along with a resistence to change, and a carefree approach to progress, the seahorse can be a symbol of inflexibilty or stubborness. To wit, the seahorse wraps its tail around the nearest object in order to anchor itself in turbulent waters. This is a lesson to be persistent in our goals, but be mindful that we are not too inflexible or stubborn in our achieving them.

A unique aspect of the seahorse is that the male is impregnated by the female and carries the offspring to term. This is a message of sharing the load in the home, and gaining perspective of both sides (genders) of an argument or situation.

The seahorse has a boney exoskeleton which is a message of protection. Often when the seahorse comes to us it is a sign that we either need protection from our external circumstances, or we are building walls that aren’t needed. Their armor-bodies are a sign that sometimes we might need to let our guard down - or perhaps we are leaving too open to get hurt.

Lastly among the long list of symbolic meaning of the seahorse and its lessons is the idea of perception. The eyesight of the seahorse is incredibly sharp, and each eye moves independently. We take this as a symbolic message of perception and awareness of those around us and our situations. When we are lost or confused, the seahorse asks us to take a good look around - not just with our physical eyes but with our spiritual eyes in order to get a better persepective of the situations.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

one of my inner selves

uno scorcio di vita

It was 2:45 and Sister Margaret was chatting away at the junior class, which should have been dismissed 15 minutes earlier. Sugar tensely sat on the edge of her seat. Her teeth hurt because her mouth was glued shut. She felt the pain up into her palate and practically into her ears. Her right calf held the weight of her tiny frame while her left buttock was slightly raised from her seat in anticipation of sprinting from the chair. She firmly held the handle of her cherished music case in her right hand. Sugar’s brain was telling the nun to just finish-shut up. Panting! On your mark, get ready, set, now go!

There was a train to catch!

As Sister Margaret rambled on about the ticket competition Sugar mentally reviewed the path she would take to the train station. First, she had to get out of the school. It was late; it was a problem. She’d have to take a chance and sneak out the senior exit in order to catch the 3 o’clock. Otherwise, she’d have to run through the interior of all three buildings.

Sugar usually had enough time to leave through the ‘workers’ door and leisurely walk to the train. However, pin-chin Margaret had stopped in “just for a sec.”

Miss Auditore, the homeroom teacher, was patiently sitting, listening to pin-chin with her hands demurely folded on her lap. She mechanically nodded like a puppet from one side of the classroom to the other with a wide unconscious smile on her lips.

It was 2: 53 she would have to chance the senior ‘queen bee’ exit. If she were caught, got a demerit, she’d deal with it later. Her voice lesson was at four at the Ansonia Hotel in Manhattan. If she missed the express, she would have to take locals all the way down town.

She’d never make it on time. Maestro Polumbo was a professional coach and like many of the other musicians who lived at the historic hotel, his coaching was his livelihood. If you scheduled a lesson-you paid, no matter what.

The rain was smacking at the large classroom windows. The day had lost its April brightness: No hat, no raincoat, only a school blazer.

“Class dismissed,” said pin-chin. Did she have the check? Panic! Sugar unclasped her case, felt in the pocket for the $15 check, snapped it shut, then like a cat, slid from her seat and ran.

Not breathing, she hoped her deflated lungs would allow her to pass more easily through the horde of chattering girls.

The rough seam of the leather handle carved its way into her palm.

Fumbling for a token from her blazer pocket, she escaped, nose-up out of the senior exit.

“Hey, Sugar,” yelled a familiar voice. Defiantly, she continued.

As she splashed through the puddles, the huge clock over the train station came into view. Always slow, it read 3:08. No chance.

Hoping that it looked like rain, she wiped away her tears as she settled on the 3:20 local.

The singing lessons with Maestro were a sacrifice for her parents. Perhaps there would be a miracle today: no one scheduled after her. It had never happened.

She snuggled against the cold metal wall, shivering.

The uniform was a problem. When she was young, no one bothered her because she was with her mom. Now she was a teenager. Guys liked to tease girls in uniform.

“Hey, little girl” whispered what was known as a ‘greaser’ who had just taken the spot standing directly in front of her. He winked and smiled as his knee began to rhythmically hit hers with the tilt of the train.

“You want some candy?” he said as he nudged his friend in the ribs while they laughed.


Though she left the train before them, she had not gone unscathed. He had managed to get his knees between hers at least twice. However, she had remained calm and dignified, just like mom had taught her. As the train hobbled along, she sat with closed eyes, mentally singing the Puccini aria she had so diligently rehearsed.

Sugar wanted to surprise her coach. She had repeatedly concentrated on the most difficult passages while singing in the mirror daring her chin to stiffen or her diaphragm to fall or her tongue to lift from the back of her bottom teeth. The soprano had angrily pointed a finger at the mirror and chided the face for lacking concentration and sometimes-even talent.

Today Maestro would hear the fruits of her labor. She would support her high pianissimo notes with a calculated slow stream of air that started with a strong abdominal hold, which carried her breath to the ‘tippy tippy top of the head’ as Maestro would say. Interpreting from the heart, Sugar would create a jewel!

It was pouring. However, the treasured case was protected under her half-open blazer. She lifted her face to the rain. Her long auburn hair was sopping. She could see the reflection of black mascara rolling down her cheek-she was a martyr.

“Mi dispiace-I am sorry-only ten minutes left,” said Maestro with sincerity.

The soprano stood at the Steinway vocalizing while drying her face with the ever-present tissues that were kept for fits of hysteria known so well to singers. Half- way through her piece, the red signal-light flashed throughout the studio.

Maestro arose from his piano bench. "Mi dispiace."

In silent resignation, Sugar took her music from the stand, slid it into the case, handed Maestro the check and smiled at the dear man as he shrugged his shoulders. As they walked to the door, he suddenly turned, caressed her chin and chuckled. "Uno scoricio di vita!" "Just a slice of life!"

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