Tag Archives: stories

It’s a miracle!



I am reading the book “Dying to be Me:  My Journey from Cancer to Near Death, to True Healing” by Anita Moorjani.  I first heard of the book through Marianne’s blog.  Monday night, at the township meeting held in extreme frigid temperatures, Doris’ brother slipped me the book.

It shows you good can come even when we’re complaining about treacherous driving conditions, because I am thoroughly enjoying reading about Anita’s miracle.  She suffered four years with cancer until her organs shut down one winter day.

They rushed her to the hospital and she slipped into a coma, appearing to the world that her life dwindled quickly.  Her perspective, however, arose differently in the depths of her coma.  She perceived everything happening with clarity and joy.  Her awareness expanded; she felt pure love.

I won’t spoil the story by telling in detail what happened, but you can probably gather that Anita experienced a miracle.  She returned to Life and embraced a journey of healing.  Her tumors disappeared.  She shares her story with hundreds of thousands.

Yep, dear readers, miracles are possible.

They sometimes exist.  Not always, not every day, but sometimes they happen.

May I share a personal story of a miracle?

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“You simply wouldn’t believe it!” and other travel tales

I’m home!  Suitcase *mostly* unpacked.  Mail tended.

We’re headed off to a Turkey Supper at the Skanee Church in a couple of hours. (Barry will probably appreciate this after his week alone.  Although he made a mean tuna salad all by himself, and I can guarantee he didn’t starve.)

Want to hear some fun travel stories, just because I’ve got an hour to unwind?

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“And I thought you were JUST a housewife from Michigan!”


Dear friends and gentle readers,

As promised, here is the blog entry which, edited just a tiny bit, vacuumed its way into Suzi Banks Baum’s “An Anthology of Babes: 36 Women Give Motherhood a Voice” published in 2013.  If you’ve saved a few shekels, do consider buying the book. I promise you’ll hear some delightful, sincere, authentic stories.

Originally posted on Lake Superior Spirit:

Me. Pregnant. Housewife. Smirking. Gosh, that hair DOES look red, doesn't it? Aww, look at little Chris...

OK, OK, you gleaned the truth from that title, didn’t you?

There is a tiny part of me–just a tiny part–that still, after all these years, feels insignificant.  As a creative blogger, I am still trying to soothe the indignant inner housewife who is still, yes STILL, upset that I was once labeled as “just a housewife from Michigan.”

(Get over it, Kathy.  There is nothing wrong with being “just” a housewife.  A housewife is a wonderful occupation!  Husbands and wives attempt to quit their 9-5 jobs daily, begging one another, “Can’t I please be a housewife?  Can’t I please be a house husband?)

Nonetheless, you shall have to remember.

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This wild & precious moment

The Slate River Falls

The Slate River Falls

The kids have departed.  They now play with their kitty cats on opposite ends of the country.

Your blogger is still remembering the last week.  Her son departed for San Diego early last week; her daughter still remained until yesterday.

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The light of an ordinary trip through pea soup fog to Marquette

How Lake Superior looks in Marquette

How Lake Superior looks in Marquette

Here we are in Marquette, a town 78 miles from our Little House in the Big Woods.  It’s the Big City, kids.  It even has a Starbucks!  How I love the city–just as much as the woods…

Barry has to cover the Baraga Track Meet for the L’Anse Sentinel.  He–I mean we–have been covering this track meet for more years than you have fingers and toes.

Last year he limped in  to cover aforementioned event with a walker less than two weeks after his first knee replacement.  Oh, wasn’t he cute limping around!  (I wouldn’t know–I don’t stay for the track meet anymore.)  Someone snapped his picture and posted it on Facebook.  He was a sports reporter/hero for five minutes!

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Here’s what just happened.

I was out reading your blogs, buzzing here and there in the blogosphere for the past hour or so, when suddenly a Fierce Desire struck.  I’m never sure what to do about these Fierce Desires to write blogs, tell stories.  Do you simply allow your typing fingers to have their way?  Or do you attempt to discipline your Fierce Desires into some semblance of order, telling them that they must incubate until morning’s light, or perhaps stay silent until next Tuesday?

I try asking my Heart (which is always the best thing to do) but the Heart feels divided. Or perhaps it’s impossible to hear the heart because too many thoughts are adding their opinions.  So to heck with it, you’ll have to bear with another essay, or perhaps you’ll wander away to look elsewhere on your computer at Tonight’s News or maybe your friend’s latest posting on Facebook.

There’s a story I’ve been wanting to tell you, but haven’t figured out how or where to fit it in.  It has to do with glasses.  Barry’s glasses, to be exact.  I suppose you’re thinking this might be a boring story, but it isn’t.  It’s high excitement!  (At least it was to us.)

View One.  The Infamous Glasses.

View One. The Infamous Glasses.

View Two.  The Infamous Glasses

View Two. The Infamous Glasses

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The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth

Red and white

Red and white

I used to think truth was something simple.

Something one felt.  Something essential.  Something easily revealed.

After years of meditation–and the practice of blogging–it becomes more and more apparent that, yes, Truth is very simple.  But it’s extremely complicated to convey it to oneself or another person.

Most of the time we humans tell half-truths to each other.  We pick and choose what to tell.  We announce we think or believe something, conveniently leaving out the actual experience in our lives where we did the opposite.

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The crazy purple exploding mess…

I have a story to tell you.  (Do not raise those eyebrows to the sky.  I caught you!  Of course she’s going to tell a story.)

Worst of all, I’m going to tell you a story without photos.  This is a test to see if the story is interesting enough to capture your attention to the messy end where we add the spiritual philosophy to the mix and stir well.

Today’s story deals with making homemade sauerkraut.

I was pondering the different ways we storytellers can tell stories.  Some storytellers tell thus:  I made homemade sauerkraut.  {Here’s how you make it.}  It was good!

Other storytellers share their sauerkraut stories differently.

Some concentrate on details.  Others share the Larger Picture of health benefits.  Still others won’t even tell sauerkraut stories at all, claiming they’re boring.  Still others will ask, “What is sauerkraut?”

But never you mind.  My storytelling mind always goes to the drama.  Was there any drama involved in the creation of homemade sauerkraut?

YES!  *shouts Memory.  THERE WAS DRAMA!  There was high tension.  I kid you not.


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Why to try the orange toothpaste on your next dental visit.

Earlier this month I had to cancel a dentist appointment.  One of those six month cleanings that we all love.

It was snowing sideways and seemed too daunting to drive twelve miles into town.

“Don’t worry,” said the kind receptionist.  “It’s been a strange day.  Half the people are cancelling their appointments and half are calling wanting appointments.  We’ll be able to fill your slot.”

Phew…  It’s hard to cancel appointments even when it’s snowing because one is expected to drive valiantly in snow here in the Upper Peninsula.  It’s what hardy Yoopers do.  We gun up our four-wheel drives and barrel through snowbanks, no matter how deep.  (I am not a bona fide Yooper.  Have only lived here 34 years.  Was not born and bred with that much sisu. *Sisu is what the local Finns call courage.*  Would prefer to cancel dental appointments.)

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Hushabye...  2009 photo

Hushabye… 2009 photo

This is so odd.

No words have been rising recently.

Have you experienced silent times when nothing–no matter how hard you try–wants to come forth?

When the Universe issues a Silence Decree?

When all the stories dry up and don’t seem worth sharing?

I’ve written two blog posts in the last week, but couldn’t publish them.  They weren’t “bad” posts.  The heart just didn’t agree they should be published.

(I am sneaking this one in before the heart disagrees.  LOL!  You know–if the heart disagrees I’m outa here.)

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