Monday, February 19, 2018

3 FREE eBooks for 3 Whole Days -- Presidents' Day Sale

The following 3 eBooks will be 
FREE from 2/19/18 - 2/21/18! 

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FREE eBook download HERE
"Love can carry us through all of this. It doesn't age. Its back doesn't go out. It doesn't get arthritis, or need a motor. It doesn't lose its hearing or become forgetful. It is what keeps on when the years get late and our hair is grey. It's what can heal and buoy us through anything. I want to be old with you, yes, but I want to feel young with you forever."
      I finished reading the words and found myself speechless. I was a single mother, yet this selfless bachelor had come into my life, and he had literally changed everything. I'd never known a love like this.

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FREE eBook download HERE
In this middle grade fantasy, Aliya Fisher knows nothing about her true heritage until a vindictive sorceress kidnaps her brother and sister. The young adventurer must take up her birthright, battle strange creatures, and find the Sword of Senack if she hopes to best the witch. But even if Aliya finds the famed weapon and survives the perilous oceanic journey, the enchantress is far more than she appears. How does one defeat an immortal who lusts for revenge?

I hope Zeke's memory will always remain dear to those who loved him in life--and now through his story, even after death.

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FREE eBook download HERE

The night I met Cade I never would’ve thought that two years later, after we were homeless street musicians in Hawaii, we would have a little girl and another baby on the way. Our son was born with the type of birth defects that make televangelists cringe. As his health waned, my own breath evaded me, like I was the one who needed the ventilator—the life support. The “death home” gave him a really nice funeral, the kind I’d never wished to attend. When they tried closing his casket, I nearly fell on my face, not wanting them to shut the lid on my baby.

We lost it after that, totally cemented in our grief. Cade got into drugs, joined a rock and roll band, and even grew out his damn hair. At the time, I was sick of “the oatmeal option” (the only food we had), so I kicked Cade out of the house, and started modeling and working as a diesel mechanic. That was how I met Earl, an old man and unlikely best friend; the “big sag,” a middle aged woman who still flashed folks, and "The Cowboy" a man who fell in love with me.

It was slow at first, but Cade reverted to the man I’d busked with years before. It wasn’t until I killed a rogue skunk, and my daughter nearly choked on a fry, that I gave my husband another chance. But could our marriage recover from the death of our son?

Sunday, February 18, 2018

Are People Honest in Interviews?

A friend and I talked about management and questions we ask in interviews. "People are never honest," she said.  "I doubt anyone really is--not when they WANT the job."
    "I would be," I ventured.
    "Fine," she said.  "But I doubt it.  Ask me one of your questions and I'll show you why they aren't honest....  Honesty makes people look bad." She flashed her business-like smile and laughed. "Ask me and then I'll ask you."
    "Fine, BUT you have to be completely honest."
    "What's your biggest regret?" I asked, sipping my Arnold Palmer.
    "Oh, crap," she said.  "Okay, that I don't have enough time with my husband to do the things we love--wildlife photography. Skiing.  Mountain biking.  See THAT is not what an employer wants to hear."  She sipped her margarita and smiled triumphantly.  "They want to hear that you're a perfectionist.  That you follow-through too much....   You," she pointed, half intoxicated, "what's your biggest regret."
    "Wait," I realized afterward.  "I don't want to answer, not honestly...."
    "Elisa, you played this game."
    "I don't think you want to hear it--not the honest answer.  Some people have been through so honest answer is uncalled for." I took another swig of my drink.  
    "Be honest. I can handle it."
    But could I?
    I breathed so deeply, knowing this would be tough.  "My baby boy was so sick...  Some people told me I shouldn't take him off of life support--others said I should.  In the end, I made the decision after talking with the medical staff because I knew what was right for my son....  He suffocated in my damn arms, struggling to breathe.  He'd been pulled from life support and after that, there wasn't a damn thing I could do to save him.  It took forever, him breathing slower and slower...."  Tears filled my eyes and I set my drink down.  "But that's not what I regret. I gave him a chance to live.  And when I knew he was suffering and wouldn't get better, that's when I let him go."  
    She said it so quietly.  "So what do you regret, Elisa?"
    "How I started listening to people around me after that.  I had some family members at the time who thought I shouldn't have let him go.  I started having dreams that I was a murderer; that I had killed my son.  That I couldn't find him anywhere because he was supposed to be alive."
    "They didn't know what you'd been through, not exactly."  
    "They didn't understand that freeing my son from pain, would bind me to it for the rest of my life...."
    My friend had stopped drinking her margarita.  She held my hand.  "Oh God, Elisa.  I'm so sorry."
    "There's book out about my son who died.  A lady left a terrible review of it the other day, saying I should have let my son die right after he was born."
    "Well that was a bit harsh," my friend said.
    "Most people say I shouldn't have let him go.  And here was someone with a completely different opinion.  It was actually good to read in a way."
    "You know you did the right thing for your little boy.  I know you did--because I know YOU."
    The air felt so thick around us, heavy with grief.
    "Maybe you're right about the interview question thing.  I wouldn't say this in an interview."
    We both smiled sadly.  She held up her margarita and I held up my Arnold Palmer. "To no regrets," she said.
    Our glasses clinked and for some reason, I didn't feel quite so sad anymore.  A friend who can share in the good and bad times--now that's someone very special.

I hope Zeke's memory will always remain dear to those who loved him in life--and now through his story, even after death.  I really just want his story to be shared....   If interested, I'm giving his story (eBook) away from 2/19/18 - 2/21/18 HERE

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I'm so grateful for all of the wonderful people who have helped me stay strong.  It's hard writing memoir and putting myself out there.  

All that remains is love, but right now that's hard to remember.

This broke my heart completely and I need advice....

Over a decade ago I fought for my little boy’s life and was devastated beyond words when he died. I can’t explain what I’m feeling right now after reading a review where a reader wrote that I selfishly kept my son alive too long....  Some people don’t understand the pain they can cause and how it can multiply past hurts.  Sometimes when reviewing a memoir, people are actually reviewing the person, their past, and their choices.

Quote from Goodreads review: ...but she really is a selfish, narcissistic woman. Obviously, “she would trade places with her baby”. I am sure that in two days she would be begging to let her die. Who on her sound mind stubbornly wants to prolong the life of a dying baby...
Extracted 2/18/18, Goodreads, written 3/29/17.

No, this wasn’t a physical injury, but I’m devastated regardless.

I fought so hard for my little boy. And even after he passed—I have fought to share his memory because somehow it makes me feel like he didn’t least not really...that I can go into another freakin’ room and maybe he’ll be there waiting for me.  As if waking from a bad dream, a terrible nightmare that doesn’t exist—I'll realize it’s okay. But this woman has reminded me that it’s not okay.

In the end, all that remains is love, but right now I’m struggling to remember that.

I loved my little boy—still do—with every part of my soul.   It’s heartless to judge someone because they fought to keep their child alive....

I hope Zeke's memory will always remain dear to those who loved him in life--and now through his story, even after death.  I really just want his story to be shared....   If interested, I'm giving his story (eBook) away from 2/19/18 - 2/21/18 HERE

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I'm so grateful for all of the wonderful people who have helped me stay strong.  It's hard writing memoir and putting myself out there.  I practically pried open my own ribs and now everyone can see my insides, crap and all....  It's really just a quest to accept who I truly am: strengths, weaknesseseverything. 

Monday, January 29, 2018

Playing My Part: Fiddling on Stage

I’m playing my violin on a wooden stage, in front of hundreds of people. I can’t see anybody’s faces because the lights are so bright. I gaze up, toward Heaven, and suddenly the sky starts sparkling, as if somebody sprinkled silver confetti in the air above.

Something must be reflecting the stage lights, and it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. I keep playing my fiddle, even if I’m almost crying from the beauty above me.... But I can’t look away from pure magic, and as I continue ascertaining my surroundings, I realize the sky is sparkling  because of...bugs.

The stage lights reflect off a millions little wings, flapping, twirling, and dancing....

Normally this would be the oddest thing in the world, but not that night: not playing my violin, not knowing hundreds of people are listening, and I’m jamming with some of the best musicians I’ve ever met.

 And I find myself: so amazed by the beauty of God‘s creation, so happy to be alive. And all I can think in that moment is even the most unexpected things can become the most beautiful, when put in the right light.

To learn more about the band I’m in, please go here:

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

What does it mean--I'm a rainbow?

    Today started out normal enough, until I got a call from my mentor.  "You know what I am?" I asked him after a minute of conversation.
    "What?" he responded.
    "I'm a rainbow-chaser.  I think there's a pot o' gold at the end of every rainbow, so once I see a rainbow I practically have to go after it."
    "You are so honest with yourself," he said.  And I had to smile because he calls me out on things all the time--by agreeing with me--but it's so diplomatic I can process the feedback and become a better person.
    Anyway, after we hung up, I continued thinking about how I actually am a rainbow-chaser, always hoping I can be better, do more, try harder....  
    The day marched on until (hours later) I ended up talking with two guys who specialize in computers.  One of the men helped me set up a shortcut on a printer.  "I'm going to pick your icon," he said.
    Oh, no....  This would be interesting.  He scrolled through three different screens until finally picking one.
    "This one fits you."
    "THAT one?" I asked.
    "Of course." He smiled.  "You're a rainbow."
    And it was this bright, happy thing that practically beamed from the screen.  A rainbow, arching perfectly, next to my now-programmed name.
    It wasn't until I told this whole story to one of my dearest friends tonight that the whole day came into focus.  "My mentor said I'm so honest with myself--but maybe that's what makes acceptance so hard--I really know my strengths and weaknesses.  I work hard and get things done, but I also chase after unattainable ideals.  And now, to top all that off, I'm apparently a rainbow!"
    "Elisa," I could almost hear her smiling on the other end of the phone, "don't you get it?  You're always chasing rainbows, but you don't really need to...because you are one."
    Chills ran up and down my body.  I'm still processing the deep meaning behind all of that, and I'm sure I will be for days.  But for now, here's what I have: Being honest with ourselves is crucial, but only because it can lead to growth and acceptance.
    Isn't it amazing how my mentor let me share so I could be honest with myself, the computer specialist made my day by completing a God-wink for me, and my dear friend brought everything to light?
    I'm surrounded by such wonderful people.
    Today, well, it was a good day.

Signing Off,
A Freakin' Rainbow

Friday, January 19, 2018

Scary People -- 10 Things I Learned in New York

    The man yelled at the top of his lungs, right in the middle of the subway car.  He preached about life, and growing up poor.  The whole time he jumped in front of people, daring them to contradict him.  "You disagree?  You call life fair?  YOU call this a just government?!  You think this is a good world?  Just because you sit there in your nice shoes, with your nice job--you think you're better than me!"
    My violin case rested snugly against my back, and he looked at me several times, then glanced at my case.
    "You think you're free?  We're not living in a metro-city, we're livin' in a hypocrisy!"
    A woman leaned next to me and whispered, "He is crazy.  And we don't have another stop for a long time!"
   I thought of how I'd played my violin on the subway (the day before) and everyone had gotten out on the next stop.  Too bad we didn't have a choice now.
    After that, I studied the screaming man and felt pity for him.  His face bore so much pain--worry-lines, areas where time and misfortune had tainted and distorted his features.
    What had he looked like before pain consumed him? As I thought all of this, I suddenly set my violin case on my lap.  
    "Oh no," Mike said.  "You're going to pull your violin out?"
    "And why not?  If I can clear a subway car, maybe I can calm one down too!"
    So, I got my violin out, and started plucking it and humming to the melody.  The whole time I hummed, I imaged love and kindness pouring out of me--wrapping around that man.  
    The man yelled louder, getting red in the face; yet everyone around looked at the violin, and listened to the simply plucked melody--notes loud enough to cut through hate.  
    He got quieter and quieter, then swore and got off at the next stop. 
    The lady who had spoken to me earlier smiled and said, "That was brave.  I thought things might get worse--that he'd hurt you.  How did you think of that?"
    "If there's one thing I know, it's how to clear a subway car."  
    I put my violin away afterward, then Mike and I continued on the subway ride like nothing had ever happened.

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Me, after clearing a subway car the previous day.

Sometimes we don't want to accept our gifts, but once we embrace our unique abilities, we can affect change.

Monday, January 8, 2018

Playing in the Subway -- 10 Things I Learned in New York

Part 9 -- Playing in the Subway

    One of my best memories from New York, is of the subway.  I played my fiddle on a subway car (video below).  But my favorite memory isn't of me playing--it's when someone else did.

#AnchoredToAPole #TheSubwayISBumpy
Posted by Elisa Beth Magagna on Sunday, December 24, 2017

     Matted gray hair framed his wind-beaten face, and honestly he smelled of urine.  I'm still not sure why, but just as the subway car's doors were about to close, he jumped into our car.
    His gnarled hands held a fiddle, which he made look much smaller than it actually was. I found it strange how his right hand didn't fully clasp the bow, and his left hand held the fiddle tenderly, like his only remaining lover.
    As the subway bumped along the track, the man stood right next to me and played.  It was a short, sweet song; I recognized it at once as the theme song from Doctor Zhivago.  It ended far too soon, and then he brought his case from person to person.  
    I watched as people raised their noses in disgust.  Others pretended not to see the man.  And finally...sadly, Mike and I were the only passengers who gave him a tip.  
   "Sir," I said, "that was beautiful!  YOU are unforgettable."  He bent down as I placed the money in his case.  Our eyes locked, and there was such a sparkle of mischief in his old, blue eyes.  For that moment, we understood one another, soul to soul.  That man with the weathered, tan skin, and the music which poured from his spirit...he saw my violin case on my back and we suddenly understood one another.  
    I didn't care what he smelled or looked like--and he didn't mind me so much either.  That man was so special; I still can't quite explain it, but he was.  
    And before I could talk to him more, he slipped out at the next stop, the doors closed behind him, and he was gone forever.
    "Wow," I said to Mike, "that man is amazing.  His intonation.  His presence."
    Another passenger looked at me like I was crazy.
    "What?" I said.  "He's phenomenal--not just his playing, but there's something about him."
    "He really was," Mike said.  And when I looked over at my husband, I knew he'd seen the same thing I did.
    Days, and miles away from New York, I'm still wondering what his story is.  How had someone so talented, gotten to a place in life where they smelled of urine and appeared to have nothing but a fiddle?
    I wish I could have heard about his journey, written a book about the man, given him something to help....  Instead all I gave him was what I had: two dollars and a smile. 

Sunday, January 7, 2018

Most Important Moment of Your Life -- 10 Things I Learned in New York

10 Things I Learned in NewYork -- Part 8

Mike and I heard that the most famous Irish pub in New York is The Dead Rabbit.  A man told us that people get in real bar fights there, others fall in love, but regardless the food is great.
    "Let's go," I told Mike.
    "So you can watch me get in a bar fight?"
    "I'd be more worried about me getting in one!"
    He laughed because apparently I don't look tough at all.
    We sat down on spinny bar stools and both ordered a Guinness.  "Wow, Guinness is different.  Dinner and a beer, all in one!"  Then, I suddenly looked around and nearly choked with excitement.  "Oh my gosh!" I squealed, hearing the conversations around us.  "There are Irish people--actually in this pub!"
    "Yep." Mike smiled.  "Yep, there are.  Irish people in an Irish pub." 
    The point is that I wish I was Irish.  I 'tried' perfecting the dialect for months, even read an entire book to my kids while acting as if Irish blood ran boldly through my veins.  Then I worked on the Scottish dialect, and read them this:
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Back cover quote:
Ad so the scene is set for a muckle battle between the scunnersome fermers and the tremendous tods. He'll need all his wily wits to escape the fermers' wrath and find a new way to feed his faimlie. But is he sleekit enough to succeed? 

    The whole book is written like that.  After finishing the book, that's about the time my DNA test came back.  I shook, so eager to find out I was really Irish.  But I had 0% Irish.  I'm a whole lot of Italian--which I love--and a whole lot of Scandinavian--go Vikings!
    "You're hilarious," Mike said.  "You want to use your Irish accent, don't you?"
    I nodded.  "But I won't.  That's weird!"
    We hadn't been sitting there long when one man came and introduced himself to Mike.  "I'm from Belfast--I'll answer that right off because people always ask me.  And you?  Where are you from?" 
    He sat by Mike and said, "Oh, the land of potatoes."
    Mike and I smiled at each other.  It doesn't matter how far we go from home, people hear the word 'Idaho' and they know about the potatoes.
    As Mike talked to his new best friend, another man came up to me--straight out of the bathroom.  He shook my hand and said with a slur, "I have herpes, you might want to wash that."
    I kept gripping his hand, not wanting that brute to get a rise out of ME.  "A man takes a piss," I said boldly, "then gets enough balls to try scaring some poor girl.  That's nice."  I refused to break eye contact, a bit worried I'd be in my very first bar fight! 
    "American."  He grinned so wide and slapped me on the back.
    I nodded, and tried not falling off the damn stool.  
    "Only American women respond like that.  I like ya.  I like all of ya."
    "Where are you from?" I asked.
    Then he walked back to his group of rowdies, and when I realized he wasn't looking back at me anymore, I went to the bathroom and washed my hands.  I didn't wanna look idiotic, but I also didn't want herpes!
    Anyway, the night went on, and Mike and Mr. Belfast had the most interesting conversations about war, life, and love.
    We went to another bar and Belfast came along.  I got bangers and mashers, and another beer!  After a moment, Mike went to the bathroom and Belfast and I sat awkwardly next to each other.  
    "Okay, fine," I said.  "I've been dying to ask you a question, so I'm gonna ask it!  Looking back at your exciting life--of travel and adventure--what's your most important memory?"
    He took a long draft of his fourth Guinness, and tapped the table with his free hand.  "All right....  It was over forty years ago, in the yard with my dad.  Before things got weird with growing up, and fighting for different countries.  Before it was hard to always know what's right and what's wrong.... He played football with me--not that American football.  Anyway, we played for hours.  If I could go back to that moment, well...."
    He didn't say anything more for a minute and took a swig of his beer.  "He's gone now, my dad.  But that single moment, playing football with my dad, that was perfect."
    Mike came out and Belfast started saying how he's done things his dad might not be proud of.
    I suddenly felt so impressed to say something, something I couldn't get from my mind.  
    "If you met us for anything, I hope it's for this single statement," I said, "it's time to forgive yourself.  Really, you've been carrying this around for too long.  You know your dad's love.  Forgive yourself.  It's time."
    Mike and I left shortly after that.  But not before I got to practice my Irish accent on the man.  "Oh, shit!" he laughed.  "That was pretty good.  It really was."
    Mike grinned so big that his face turned a bit red and his eyes sparkled with mirth.
    THAT moment was awesome--totally worth MONTHS of practice.    
    When Mike and I returned to our hotel that night, I kept thinking about Belfast's memory: playing football with his dad.  What a powerful thing, to pinpoint the most important memory, and see the value of life so clearly.

   The key moments of life often become painfully clear when those we love pass on. 

Saturday, January 6, 2018

Staten Island Musician -- 10 Things I Learned in New York

Part 7 -- Staten Island Musician

Mike and I drank smooth, black coffee on Staten Island, when suddenly a guitar melody drifted from nearby. 
    We followed the notes, and ended up in the large room where droves of people waited for the return ferry to New York.  Almost every person watched a guitarist, playing anything from Jamaican rifts, to a mix of Latino and rock harmonies.
    Anyway, he was astoundingly good, and I wished more than anything that I could jam with him.  So, I went and gave him a tip.  But as I turned to walk away, he saw my violin case, and he stopped playing.  "Are you pretty good?" he asked.
    "I've played since I was 5."
     "You wanna jam?"
     "Oh my gosh!  Are you kidding?!  YES, I want to jam!"
    So I took out my fiddle and we played—right there in front of the ever-growing crowd of people.
    After a couple of measures he leaned over to me and said, "You ARE good.  Let me turn down my guitar so people can actually hear you."

     Here's a picture Mike took while we played:

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    Music is life-changing--it's math that we can hear.  He played a third, so I played a fifth.  Then I knew he'd drop back again, so I countered with a root note.  After a few minutes, my mind stopped making predictions and the music poured straight from my soul.  Toward the end of the third song, I felt so connected with the melodies, it sounded as if this man and I had played together for years.  That's the thing about music, it brings out your soul--all barriers removed--and that's when we can really connect with people, even strangers.  I've always wondered if our true selves come out during music--the best version of ourselves.
    "Oh shoot," I said at the end of the last song.  "Our ferry is almost here.  I've gotta go."
    "But what's your name?  When will you be back?  Who are you?  We need to jam again--we could get a contract!"
     As I continued frantically packing up my fiddle, I felt like Cinderella, leaving the ball.  "I don't live around here."
     "I play at Staten Island every Sunday.  You have to come back.....  Where are you from, anyway?"
    "Idaho?  Huh."  He smiled so big.  Then as I slid my bow into my case, Mike got the guy's number.  
    Before going, I gave the man a huge hug.  "This moment--what you did for me....  Letting me jam with you in front of all these people--I'll never forget it.  You made my entire year.  
    He beamed.  "Keep in touch!"
    As Mike and I boarded the ferry, I asked him if that whole thing amazed him as much as it amazed me.
    "Typical day."  He shrugged.  "Come to a city you've never been in.  Meet some guy.  Get propositioned to play music with him on Staten Island every Sunday.  No, Elisa, I'm done being surprised. Life with you has always been an adventure."
    "You're such a good man to stick by me through all this craziness.  Some people I've been didn't like stuff like this.  Not everyone can be as supportive as you are.  I love you so much, Mike."
    He winked at me and as we sat down on the ferry, I snuggled next to him.
    The South Africans, who we had met on the ferry ride there (that post HERE), well, they found us and sat down.
    "Have you met that guitarist, before today?" the son asked.
    "Nope," I said.  "I can't believe he asked me to jam, right there.  People are so awesome."
     The South African father turned to his son and said quietly,  "See, this is why I brought you to America.  Americans are different people--sometimes they do crazy things.  Fascinating!"
    The son nodded and grinned at me.  "Both of you should come visit us in South Africa.  You would love it there!"
    After we got off the ferry and the South Africans had gone their own way, Mike chuckled so hard.  "Oh, Elisa, I hope they don't think all Americans are like you."
    "What does that mean?!"
    "You're of a kind."
THAT was truly one of the best days of my life!🤗  I'm so grateful that man took a chance and asked me to jam with him.

—If we approach life with arms wide open, 
we’ll be amazed with what follows!

Friday, January 5, 2018

Ferry to the Statue of Liberty -- 10 Things I Learned in New York

    We waited for about half an hour, then boarded the free ferry to Staten Island, and of course I still had my violin with me.  Here's the thing about being a musician.... 

    You know you're a musician when:

    1. You bring your instrument on vacation with you.
    2. Your idea of "fun" is listening to the same song 50 times just so you can catch all of it. (I'm sure my family LOVES it when I do this...those lucky folks.)
    3. You hear other people jam--and can hardly stand not being able to rock-out with them.
    4. You meet strangers--and can almost guess what they play (just by their mannerisms).
    5. You end up playing the table drums far more than you'd like to admit.
    6. You've owned a QUEEN album--or tried to steal one from your brother. 
    7. You can make immediate friends with people, just after hearing they're musicians too.
    8. You've made up random rhythms with your family's best silverware.
    9. You think Johnny Cash is sexy (okay...maybe that's just me).
    And 10. Your crazy schemes of being a full-time musician make NO SENSE to your non-musical friends and family.

    Anyway, enough of THAT.  So, as we rode the ferry and saw the Statue of Liberty (which is actually much smaller than I anticipated), I wanted to break out my violin and play either THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER, or AMERICA.  But, realizing no one on the ferry could voluntarily escape my music--I decided that wouldn't be cool.
    The ferry puttered on, and Mike and I met people from Israel, Australia, Germany, and then South Africa.  
    "New York?"  I asked one of the South Africans.
    "Yeah," Mike said, "what brings you here?"
    The man smiled at the ocean.  The wind tussled his hair as he turned to us.  "This is my son," he said.  "He's eighteen, and getting ready for college in South Africa.  I told him that he needed to see New York now that he's a man."
    We talked to both of them for quite a while, and I found myself so struck by the beauty of the conversation.  For those two, the only thing that mattered then was taking in the world, experiencing New York, and appreciating their time together.
    "You're going to play your violin?" the man asked, after I told him about my instrument.
    "Not on the ferry--but maybe on Staten Island."  I smiled mischievously.
     A man's voice blared through the ferry's speaker system, "Go to your nearest exit.  We've arrived at Staten Island."
   "It was nice to meet both of you," Mike said as we walked toward the exit.  I realized though, both of us looked back at the father and his son.  They pointed at various sites from the ferry.  Both of them laughed, and I could almost catch the hues of happiness emanating from both of them.
    As Mike and I stepped onto Staten Island, I recalled a story from a while back.  A man had lost contact with his son.  They had gotten in a fight and both were too proud to give in.  Anyway, the son died....  The father had told me how devastating it was, because looking back all his son had ever wanted was to be accepted, appreciated, and loved.  But the father had realized all of this too late--he hadn't been really present for his son's childhood, adult years, or really his life.  At that time, the man felt compelled to tell me the importance of always showing people how much we care.
   As I thought about his words, my thoughts went back to the South African father.  He's the epitome of a good person--kind, genuine, selfless--bringing his son across the world, just to show him something special.  That love, well, it was breathtaking and I won't forget it.
    After a few minutes, Mike bought both of us a coffee and we were about to sit down when I heard music drifting from somewhere close by.  That's when my favorite moment in New York happened--right there on Staten Island--and I'm proud to say the South African father and son were part of it!
    To be continued tomorrow.... 

P.S. So many of us just want to feel accepted and loved, by ourselves and others. 

Being empowered by acceptance and love--that can yield true peace.

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

Aspiring Rapper -- 10 Things I Learned in New York

An Aspiring Rapper -- Part 5
Mike and I walked into Time Square and I stared, astounded by all the people working for tips.  People strutted around dressed as famous cartoon characters and...the statue of liberty.  A woman sang and strummed her guitar.  A man did handstands, right there on the cold ground.  But as I studied all of those people, smiling and laughing, I caught a sad look from a man in his twenties.  He held a stack of CDs.  As various people passed, he offered them CDs, but no one paid attention to him.  With each person, the man became more and more dejected.
    I grabbed Mike's hand and pulled him in the direction of the guy.  I didn't know who the Hell he was, but we were about to find out.
    "I want a CD," I said.
    "Wait--you do?" the guy asked.
    "Of course!"  
    "Well, okay then.  Okay!"  He brightened.
    Mike smiled at the guy kindly and shook his head at me.
    "So, what's your story?" I asked.  "What's this CD?"
    "I'm a rapper.  I want to go somewhere and I figure this is the way to do it."
    "Hang on!"  I suddenly set my violin case on the ground and opened it up.  I gave him the cash I had earned earlier from playing in Central Park (that story HERE). 
    "Hold up," he said.  "You're giving me the tips YOU made."
    "And why not!  People wanted to give them to me--now I want to give 'em to you.  A dream for a dream."
    He smiled so big and laughed.  
    "But you have to sign the CD!  To Elisa and Mike."
    He pulled out a magic marker--from his pocket--because ninjas carry markers!
    After Mike and I were a way up the street, I looked at the CD and burst out laughing.  "Oh my Gosh, Mike!  Look who he signed the CD to."
     "Does that say Eloise?"  Mike laughed pretty hard too!  "To Eloise and Big Mike."
    "I love it!" I said.

    I thought that guy was pretty awesome. Who carries a marker around, just waiting to sign stuff--that guy.  I wish him all of the success in the world; I really do.  He's one of the good ones.

    Thought for the day:  If we can't support each other, we ain't got nothin'!

Here's a picture of me playing my violin shortly after Mike and I met the rapper:
 photo A367DDFA-2CE5-4A2A-A43A-271C1E7BC312_zpsjfsi2x2h.jpeg 

Have an amazing day!

Tuesday, January 2, 2018

Symphony Violinist -- 10 Things I Learned in New York

 Part 4 -- 10 Things I Learned in New York

My bucket list contains some pretty strange things, but each of them has the capability of making a great memory for myself--and hopefully people around me.
    So, one of the items is: play my violin on the streets of New York.
    For Christmas, Mike bought us tickets to New York.  The first place we visited with my violin was Central Park.
    The weather bit at my fingers, freezing cold.  But after I began playing my violin, nothing else existed except the wind and the melodies.  The music wrapped around me, a symphony let loose from my fingers.  It not only warmed my soul, but the air around me as well.  
    When I really get into music, it leads me--I don't lead it.  And I can't help getting lost in the eye of the hurricane.  When that happens, I remember the first time I played by ear--after years of taking lessons.  Like a bride with the veil removed...a person seeing color for the first time...a child who can't just walk--but can finally run....
    I smiled then, dancing right there to my own music.  After a time, I opened my eyes and realized people watched me as they passed by in horse-drawn carriages.  Some hotdog vendors nodded to me as I continued jamming on.  And Mike--that kind, selfless man--waved to me happily knowing he'd made one of my biggest dreams come true.  
    It wasn't until the end of my second song that an elderly woman came up and put some money in my case.
    "Oh, thank you."  I smiled so brightly at her.  
    "It's beautiful," she said.  "Absolutely beautiful."
    "You play something too, don't you?"  I caught a sparkle in her eye--one that matched my own.
    "Why yes, I do. I play the violin."
    "And I bet you're amazing!"
    "Well, for years I played with the New York Symphony."
    I gasped.  "And YOU gave me a tip?!"
    She winked at me, then before turning and sauntering away, she said, "You're good, kid.  Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.  Shoot for the stars."
    I beamed so big, feeling like I'd met an angel--right there in Central Park.

    The actions of strangers can completely make or break a day.  
    Encouragement--sometimes it's the fuel we need to accept AND give freely to others as well.  :)

Monday, January 1, 2018

10 Things I Learned in New York -- The Italian Restaurant

The Italian Restaurant -- Part 3

He brought us water in a wine bottle, and a plate loaded with the most delicious bread I've ever tasted.  I smiled widely at him, simply jazzed to still be in New York.
    "You aren't...from here," he said to me, and hesitantly refilled our waters.
    "Is it that obvious?" I asked.
    "Yes, it is."
    "Fine, so what should I do to fit in?" I asked.
    "Well, for one," the waiter said, glancing from me to Mike, "you shouldn't smile--at everyone.  And you shouldn't make eye contact--with many people."
    "Don't people smile in New York?"
    "Yeah, but not like you do, honey.  They'd have to smear vaseline on their teeth, just to remember to smile that big."  He stared at me and suddenly laughed.  "God, doesn't your face get tired?"
    "She smiles a lot.  Practice makes perfect," Mike said and winked at me.
    As the waiter walked away I thought about something I've been dealing with lately.  A couple of years ago, my parents, brother, sister, and all of our spouses sat at dinner.  My dad always thinks of the best topics, and that night he said we should go around the table and say which animals we represent.  Well, someone was a mountain lion, a powerful moose, and a wild mustang.  When everyone got to my sister they said how she's a leader, someone who everyone looks up to--SHE is a lioness.  I got so excited at this point--I could hardly wait to see what they thought I was.  And soon it was my turn.  I nearly shook with excitement when my brother said, "Elisa, you're a cute little otter."
    "What?!  An otter?"
    "Yeah!" everyone agreed.
    "I can see it," even Mike said.
    "Otters are awesome!  They're so happy and fun.  They make everyone around them happy," my brother said.
    And as Mike and I sat in the Italian restaurant in New York, I kept thinking about the waiter's words.  I didn't fit into New York because I'm such an otter.
    When the waiter came back, Mike asked him about his past and his city dreams.  He'd lived in California, but went out to New York to pursue a singing career.
    "I suddenly felt so compelled to tell him how he was there for a reason.  That if he was doubting himself, he didn't need to.  It would all work out."
    He looked down at me as he cleared our plates--and he actually wore one of those vaseline smiles.  "I needed to hear that more than you know."
    As he began walking away, he turned back.  "I used to smile like you do--really.  I guess I just stopped because I've gone through life exhausting so much energy getting from point A to point B.  I hire a cab just to get to work every day because the Subway is such a mess of construction right now.  Anyway, what you said to me--don't change.  Don't ever make it so you need vaseline just to smile."
    Mike and I both gave him odds looks.
    "You know what I mean."  He laughed.
    When Mike and I got back to the room I looked up what otters mean.  It said otters help give people what they need to discover their true selves--and that's what makes people happy.
    I might not be an amazing lioness, or a bear, or someone epic who fits in at The City--but being myself comes so naturally.  I guess if that means I'm an otter--I'll try to be the best damn otter you've ever seen!


Which animal are you most like?    

Sunday, December 31, 2017

10 Things I Learned in New York -- Front Desk Clerk

Part 2 -- Front Desk Clerk

The hotels--and buildings in New York--were a lot different from what I expected.  For one, they're super compact.  The elevator in our hotel even had a sign announcing it is "consolidated": fancy word meaning 2 people will physically fit there, even if the sign reads "limit 7."  That saying "packed like sardines in a can," well, it must've come from New York!
     In the cheap hotel we picked, people plastered themselves against the wall just to let others pass by.  And my husband, a man of average height yet exceptionally broad shoulders, only had a couple inches of clearance on each side of him in the hallway.  
    Anyway, after arriving at the hotel, the front desk clerk looked at me strangely as I continued waving at him until he gave me his full attention.  "Ummm, can you?" he asked.
    "I just wanted to see how your day's going."
    "Well, it's average...."
    "Average?!  Are you kidding me?  You work in New York.  You, my friend, you're livin' the dream."
    At this point, Mike (my husband) chuckled. I remind him daily--he got into this marriage voluntarily!
    "This isn't the dream, ma'am."
    I set my suitcase (which would hardly fit through the teensy hallway) next to Mike.  My feet sprinted over to the front desk clerk and then I faced the same direction as him.  "You see out that door?"
    He nodded warily.
    "Out there is so much excitement.  It's just waiting for YOU!"
    The man snorted and couldn't help smiling.
    "You're not from here, are you?"
     "You from Texas?"  
     "No--I'm from Idaho!"
     "And, you, lady from Idaho?  Are you livin' the dream?" he asked.
     "We all are."  I grinned.  "It happens when you simply realize it.  Life can get so messy, so miserable, so hard.  But it can also be amazing...if we embrace it.  We're still alive aren't we--it's a good time to act like it!"
     He quieted and instead of looking patronizing, his eyes studied me and then he nodded.  "Okay." He looked from me to Mike and laughed.
    "Goodnight," Mike said in his low voice.
    "Have a good one," the front desk clerk said.
    As we waited for our tiny elevator, I heard another tourist ask the desk clerk how he was doing, I couldn't help grinning when he told them he was "livin' the dream."

What I learned from him: people can be in the best place ever--the land of opportunity--and not even realize how amazing that is.      
    Sometimes we all need a reminder that life can be crap, but it can also be the best thing ever.  

Perspective has the power to change the quality of our lives.

Signing Off for Today,
EC Stilson 

To read Part 1 of this series, please click HERE.

Saturday, December 30, 2017

10 Things I Learned in New York -- The Taxi Driver

Part 1 -- A Taxi Driver

Mike and I arrived in New York while darkness ate even the stars.  Lights shone brightly from looming buildings, and even though I felt like an ant, I couldn't wait to see everything and meet everyone!
    A taxi driver pulled to the curb at the airport.  Mike had called him shortly after we landed, so we didn't have to flag anyone down.  The drive to the hotel was a bit crazy--and long; cars jerked back and forth; the driving lanes seemed much smaller than the kind we have in Idaho.
    After a while, the driver asked us where we're from.  
    "Idaho," Mike said.
    "Are the freeways different over there?"
   "Oh, yeah!" Mike said.
    I laughed so hard--I nearly choked.  "Idaho...doesn't have rush hour.  Idaho has mostly two-lane freeways.  We don't have traffic--we have potatoes.  Potatoes and deer."
    The driver glanced at us in the rearview mirror and smiled.  "So, what brought you to The City?"
    "He bought me a ticket to New York for Christmas.  I have a kind of strange bucket list--and one of the items on it is playing my violin on the streets of New York."
    "You're too young to have a bucket list," he said.
    "Not in this traffic!" I said.
    "The violin, huh?  You're in a band."
    "A huh," I said.  "And you play something too?!" I could tell by how he gripped the wheel. Years of playing an instrument, well that changes how people hold things. 
    "The drums," he said.  "I used to be in a band--thought we'd go somewhere.  But I'm too old now, so I quit."
    "You're never too old." It was a stark rebuttal--but I meant it.
    Mike and I held hands in the back seat, and I smiled at my sexy Italian.  I couldn't believe I married a man who gives me my dreams for Christmas.
    "So," I finally said to the cabbie, "if you could give us one piece of advice--one thing for us to remember from this ride--what would you tell us?"
    He thought for a minute before responding. "Well.... I've been married for almost 30 years.  My wife, she might be opinionated, and I might have to give in...a lot, but Heaven brought that woman to me.  When I was young, I had more women than I wanted.  I'd go out in this crazy city--and girls would just find me.  And then I started getting older...and it's strange what time can do to a man. Once I couldn't have enough women.  Then I started wanting something different.  Just one, you know?
    "So I tried giving my ex a call.  Was gonna tell her I wanted to settle down.  But I dialed one wrong number.  You know we didn't have cell phones, or even those cordless ones. It was one of them rotary phones.  Well, I dialed the wrong number and a girl answered.  I married that girl a while later and now it's been almost thirty years."
     I could see his eyes; he stared out the windshield nostalgically, probably thinking about all the years with his wife.  "Sometimes in life you might think you got the wrong number, but you actually got the right one.  People think they should: go back and make other choices, change things, be different. If we accept mistakes, they can make our lives better than before.  You remember that--it's coming from a has-been musician who drives cabs to put his daughters through college!"
    As he pulled up to our hotel, I thought of that saying: God doesn't always give us what we want. He gives us what we need."
    "Thank you," Mike and I both told as we got out of the cab. 
    "I'll never forget what you said." I waved.  "And I want you to remember something from me too--you're not too old to play the drums.  Maybe you met us so we could hear your story, and then I could tell you to pick your drums back up again!"
    "Okay," he smiled fondly.  "Have a great time in New York." 
    We shut the door, and he sped off between those mammoth buildings.

Sunday, November 19, 2017

I Am Scared to Die. Are you?

    Last night I woke up with the strangest sensation--something I haven't felt in over 15 years.  I woke up, scared to die.
    Woody Allen once said, "I'm not afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens."  That's how I've felt for quite some time...until last night.
    You see, yesterday was my angel baby's birthday.  He would have been 15.  And while it doesn't hurt like it used to, I still miss him.  Yesterday, Mike took me to lunch to cheer me up.  I'm remarried and Mike never met Zeke.  I don't tell him too much about my angel baby, but for some reason yesterday I did.  I told him how the doctors knew Zeke might not make it, so they had me deliver him in a room directly connected to the NICU by a window. When he was born they whisked him through the window and put him on life support.  They ended up taking me to a recovery room and told me I couldn't move for a while.  Well, those schmucks were wrong--it would take a lot more than THAT to keep me from my baby.  I hijacked a wheelchair when no one was lookin' and several minutes later one of the nurses found me struggling down the hall.  She took pity on me, and even though she wasn't supposed to, she brought me to see my baby. 
   After sharing all of that, I searched Mike's eyes.  We were sitting in the middle of a diner, eating soup and salad. I suddenly felt my face warm from the tears I tried to keep at bay.  My lips trembled, and I raised a fist to cover my face.  "Nothing could keep me from my baby: not doctors, not stupid rules...  The only thing that kept me from him was death."  Then I cried and cried, on his 15th birthday, right in the middle of that damn restaurant in Pocatello, Idaho.
    A few people looked at me sympathetically.  I didn't want to cry anymore, so I whispered to Mike, "I feel bad for you--they probably think you're breaking up with me over something stupid."
    He held my hand, squeezing it like he'd never let me go, then he smiled. 

    I normally think about death as a reunion, a reward after patiently waiting to reconnect with those we love.  I could see my baby, my family who has passed on (especially my grandparents), my best friend who died 2 years ago....
    But last night was different. I thought of death as one thinks of stepping in front of a train.  It's so final, so gloomy, so quick.  You can't have someone hold your hand.  You go all alone into the unknown.  And good luck listening to advice from everyone else--everybody has a different spin on death.
    As I sat up in bed last night, my blanket clutched to my neck, I suddenly thought of how many funerals I've played the violin at.  Hell, I've even played for people right before they died in the hospital.  And the look of peace on their they didn't give a damn about the final adventure; they were simply ready.
    Maybe I shouldn't be scared. Life could be like pregnancy?  I didn't want to go through labor--I wanted to see my babies (all 5 of them), but I NEVER wanted to go through labor.  'Cept at the point your skin is stretched to oblivion, you can't even bend over to tie your shoes (let alone shave your legs) AND you feel like you're starring in a sequel to aliens....  At THAT point, labor sounds easy.  
   Maybe death will sound easy when I'm ready.  But right now, going into the unknown alone...even if I will get to see God (and He doesn't give me the smack-down), traveling alone to the afterlife does NOT sound fun.
    Moral of the story, I guess I'll stick around.  I can live with that!

    Have you ever felt like this?

A very much happy-to-be-alive,

P.S. Silly moment of the day--I googled "I am scared to die," and one of the most popular searches is currently "I am scared to die on a treadmill."  Treadmills--now, maybe that's what I should actually be scared of! 

Thursday, June 1, 2017

A Lesson--Cherish the Time You Have

We’re sitting at an old Chinese restaurant.  It’s so dilapidated, the chime no longer works at the front door.  I look at you, your bright eyes smiling back at me because you’ve been waiting weeks for this date out with Mama.  Your chubby hands grip the water glass in front of you, and your darling sandaled shoes kick rhythmically under the table.
    “We don’t have much money,” I say, “so we’re gonna share a cup of soup.”
    Your eyes light with excitement because you don’t worry about money; you’re a seven-year-old who’s ready for adventure.
    “We’d like a cup of egg-drop soup,” I tell the young waitress. “That’s all.”
    “We’re going to share it!” you squeal, eager to spill our secret.
    The waitress studies us, doesn’t write anything in her notebook, and walks away.
     As we wait for our soup, we talk about the beautiful stringy lights, the slippery red seats, and the soft music playing around us.  I’m totally in the moment then, so part of that place even the smallest details are committed to memory.
    “Mama, you’re the best,” you say.

    “No--you are.” 
    You giggle.
    The waitress arrives then, holding an enormous bowl of soup and two little cups to go with it.  She sets it down with such kindness. “One small cup of soup.”
    I know it’s not their “small” size, and I’m taken aback.  You on the other hand think it’s amazing.  You don’t even notice the waitress has walked away because your eyes are glued to the huge bowl of egg-drop soup—your favorite.  “She’s so nice, Mama!  Look what she did—she made it big this time.”  You can hardly stop talking, even to drink your water or eat your soup.  You tell me about friends, math, books, life…. After a moment you stare at your water flabbergasted, “You know, this is the best water ever!  This is the best day ever.”
    I realize the waitress sits in the corner; she's listening to ever word as she’s rolling silverware.
    We pay the check, before the waitress pulls me aside. “You are both so grateful—you’ve taught me something today.  Even the simplest things, can be the best ever if it’s with someone you love.”   
    I walk out, a bit changed.  I’m not quite sure why it was so magical, but it was.  Sometimes simple truths are that way.
    “That was the best date ever,” you say. 
    I nod.  “Yes, it was.  And it hardly cost anything.”  I realize then, as I gaze down at your sparkling blue eyes, all you’d really wanted…was time.

    We got some devastating news last week, something I can’t write about.  And the point is, some things are truly too sad to express.  As I think about an uncertain future, or how much the hearts of my children are hurting—and how much mine is hurting too—I keep remembering the waitress at the Chinese restaurant.  “Even the simplest things, can be the best ever if it’s with someone you love.”  Please cherish those who matter most to you.  Why not take a moment today to do something nice for them; I bet it would make their day, the best ever. Sometimes all people want is time….  

Monday, May 15, 2017

The Zombie, a TUNG Brush, and Some Bullies

We all know kids can be cruel, but when my 8-year-old Zombie came home the other day and told me a story, I was shocked....
    "Mom, I was at recess and the popular boys were picking on Jeremy."
    "What did they do?" I asked.
    "Kicked him, and punched him.  It got really bad because they even picked him up and swung him into a pole."
    I blinked, completely speechless.  
    After a minute, the Zombie continued.  "It was really hard, Mom, but I stood up to them.  I didn't know if they'd start beating me up too....  Or calling me mean names like they have in the past.  Plus, there were a lot of them."
    The Zombie is really big for his age, but he's the sweetest kid.  I wondered where this story would go, or if any of them would really mess with my boy because he looks so intimidating.
    "I finally went right in the middle of them and yelled," he said.  "I asked why they were hurting him.  Carter said it's 'cause he's a whimp.... Because he's a pansy, and he's different from the rest of us."  The Zombie took a deep breath, and looked down.  "I got so mad, Mom.  They looked like they would start hurting him again, so I stood between him and them.  I was so angry--I couldn't believe they threw him into a pole just because he's different! And for some reason, I screamed, 'HE'S SENSITIVE! SO WHAT?!'"
    We both sat, silent for a while.  I digested his words; he'd gotten to the heart of the matter in just a few seconds.  We ALL should be treated with respect--and appreciated for our differences--thank God my boy was brave enough to stand up for little Jeremy. "Did they stop after that?" I asked.
    "Yeah, they kinda seemed surprised.  So I brought Jeremy into the classroom for the rest of recess and the teacher let us hang out there.  We stayed in the classroom for lunch and ate together too."
    "You're a good kid," I said.  "I'm so proud of you, Zombie.  Did you tell your teacher?"
    "No!" he said.  "I'm no tattle-tale!  I stood up for him, and it wasn't a big deal.  Those kids are mean.  They'll make fun of people for anything.  One day they kept saying I have bad breath and calling me names."
    I raised a brow.  "Kids will be mean about anything.  When I was your age my last name was Stilson.  Kids used to call me Rumpelstiltskin--and then at one point it just turned into Rumple.  They'd say it all recess long.  No one wants to be nicknamed one."
    "Yeah, and no one wants to be called liver-breath."
    "Liver breath?  You're right, that is worse than Rumple."
    "Mom," he looked seriously perturbed, like this had bugged him for ages, "I brush my teeth every day, maybe we need to get new toothpaste.  Maybe I do have liver breath."  
    I momentarily remembered how hard it was dealing with kids in elementary school and junior high.  "Sure, kid.  We can get you new toothpaste...or something."
    He sighed.  "I do have liver breath.  Anyway, I beat everyone in the long jump last week.  I was 7 percent popular, now I'm back down to 0 percent and they're probably gonna start calling me liver breath again."
    "We'll see what we can do about your tooth paste, don't worry about that.  And don't worry about the zero percent thing either.  You did the right thing.  That's worth a lot more than being popular."

I ended up having the Zombie try this thing called a TUNG brush--after watching this video:

"If You Don't Clean Your Tongue...It Will Smell Like Bum"

The TUNG brush came with it's own kind of tongue gel and everything.  The kids can't (truthfully) call him liver-breath anymore--and he's feeling more confident.
    You can check that out, or get your own for free brush with this code:

Code: 97H86K
Also, the Zombie had a much better week last week.  He said it's crazy how fast the boys forgot.      
    "I think I have a new friend," he said.  "Jeremy is great at building things AND he's nice.  Who knows, maybe we'll be friends for a long time."
    "Maybe." I smiled.
    "I'm not back to being 7 percent popular, but I'm probably at 6 percent."
    "Oh?" I asked.  "How do you know?"
    "'Cause a cute girl told me I smell nice.  I think it's my breath, and because I used that bottle Mike has on his dresser."
    Mike's cologne....  I swear, you never know what will happen around this place!
     So all in all May has been a good month: the Zombie was a hero, he got good breath, a friend, and maybe even a girlfriend.  And me, well, I'm excited for school to get out!
Have a great day.
Signing Off,

Friday, April 21, 2017

Why is Society So Cruel

Guestpost from my twelve-year-old, The Hippie
Why is Society So Cruel?

I feel like sometimes people don't realize what they say when they say something... one word can ruin, or make someone's day. You can make a difference between somebody's life or death... you may not know it but you affect everyone with your mood, actions, and thoughts. 
    Some people are going through stuff that you cannot even imagine. So why do you have to put them down? It's not funny to mess with someone's emotions, to mess with their feelings, to mess with their pain or their happiness. So why do people still do it? 
Why is society so cruel that they can't realize that one action, one word, one glare, one smirk, one laugh can end a life? Can end a story that never got a chance to start. 
    I have seen so much negativity being passed around. So much cruel language, so many rude thoughts, so much negative energy that I don't even know what is happening to people. 
    Society acts like emotions are a joke, like they don't even matter. But would they matter if they were yours? If you got pulled into that person's position? Society puts people down. They keep building negative thoughts over and over again. Until finally you crack... you're done... and that's when they realize their mistake... 
    I have an amazing family, amazing parents, and an amazing life. I'm not saying that any of this is representing me, because it's not, but I just want to make everyone aware that people are becoming so negative. And the saddest part of all is that nobody is realizing it.     
    I was looking through old family pictures, looking at old friends, and that's when it hit me.. why have I become so negative? Why has everyone become so negative? All I've figured out is what the problem is... but unfortunately I haven't found a solution.... 

- A Concerned Soul
The Hippie

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

A True Example of God's Kindness--and I Didn't Deserve That At All

    On Sunday, let's face it, I was a jerk. I'm still not sure why, but I went into full-on beast mode with my husband (and not in a good way).  So, yesterday, Monday, when I got home from work, I expected for him to treat me the same way....  I was almost ready to be "on the fight."
    Instead, he'd made a crock-pot dinner, and cleaned the house and garage.
    I was so stunned.  "Why?" my voice nearly choked on the word.  "Why are you so kind to me?"
    Instead of yelling, or being rude, he gave me a huge hug and said how much he loves me.  "Elisa," he said, "you're stressed. I figured you needed my help.  Maybe you'll feel a little bit better now."
    He went to work and I just thought about how he'd responded to my own actions. 
    "Wanna play Yahtzee?" the Hippie asked.
    "What are you thinking about?" she finally asked, after rolling yet another full house.
    "Just how I need to be a better person sometimes. I was so mean to Mike on Sunday, and look at everything he did to help me today."
   "You weren't that bad, Mom.  But I know what you mean.  He's a good guy."  She handed me the cup with the dice in it  "Today I asked him what he would do if he won a million dollars.  You know what he said--without even thinking about it?"
    "What?" I asked.
    "He said, you'd be able to be a stay-at-home mom, and you could write.  He thought about what we would want--instead of himself."
    I couldn't even shake the dice because I felt guilty. "I can be so spicy," I said.  "But he doesn't feed the fire.  He'll just cross his arms and ask if I'm done yet."
    She laughed.  "I think that drives you crazy."
    "It does!  But he's good for me; it's not very fun fighting with a brick wall.  You know what's so strange about all of this?" I asked.
    The Hippie shook her head, her bright, blue eyes shining.
    "Mike doesn't believe in God, but he's one of the biggest examples of God's kindness in my life.  That's pretty ironic, huh?"
    "I know what you mean," she said.  "He's been really good to me too.  He came into our lives right when we needed him."
    "I should be a better person," I said, thinking how strange life is, and how miracles are around us every day.  His actions not only made me feel better, they made me want to rise to the occasion.
    I rolled my dice, smiled, and got absolutely nothing except a score of 23 for "chance."  I love rolling for my "chance" score--it's the best part of that game.