I love New England.  I love where I live, with all four seasons King of their own highly irregular weather patterns.  Yesterday it started snowing, continuing through today.   Silent snow falling is strangely otherworldly.  Mother Nature’s coverlet comforting a weary mind. 

My sister cannot abide the cold weather.  A few years ago she went down to central Florida on one of those tours to sell you a home and never looked back.  She physically cannot tolerate the cold.  I miss her.  She is not mesmerized by this weather, she sees it as harshness.  I am under the power of white crystalline flakes.  Looking out my window I can recall sled rides down Front Street, wool pants and mittens so encrusted with snow that they felt like an extra forty pounds on my body and the sound of chains on car tires marking cadence like marching soldiers.

Joy through memory.  We all have that gift.

I asked my grandchildren if they could see Suzy Snowflake today.  They just blankly looked at me for a few seconds then ran to the Hallmark snowmen singing Jingle Bells.  No clue.  Poor Suzy.  Thank goodness for YouTube.  I can watch her in the original black and white commercials that I grew to love each winter as a child.  She was my idol.  A Winter-fairy, all sparkly, riding on that sleigh in the sky and making a snowman, one-two-three!

The photo is my sleeping herb garden covered in a foot of snow.  Birds were swaying in the branches as they foraged for any uneaten seeds.  The little roots of plantain, thyme, French tarragon and nettles in a dormant slumber until next March.  This is the message of nature when it snows.  Rest.  Snuggle up with a book and let the warmth of your hot cocoa cup unthaw your fingers from shoveling.

Take stock at what you harvested from the summer.  All the herbs you dried, or infused with extra-virgin olive oils.  The tinctures you made with glycerin or alcohol.  The salves you made with pure beeswax.  Little gifts locked away in your cabinets for use throughout the next few months. Then the cycle will begin again.

Shaman in Training.

Today my four year old, going on ninety-six, granddaughter told her mother that she was singing to make the rain come.

Even though the Sun is currently shining, I admire her determination.

Update 2 hours later:  It’s raining.  I think she’s got the singing thing down.

February 15, 1961

Dear Diary:

I found out that I insult people, so I have to stop it.

I don’t think I’ve stopped insulting people since 1961.

It’s not an intentional thing.  After decades of being told I was aloof, disconnected and rude to people whom I have little in common, I now discover that my lack of social graces is probably due to Asperger’s Syndrome.  It’s not a disease, or something to be fixed.  It’s just the way a person is wired.

A few examples of Asperger’s symptoms in children, along with my reflective thoughts growing up:

Dislikes any changes in routines. (“What do you mean we’re not having spaghetti tonight? It’s Wednesday!)

Appears to lack empathy. (Oh, Paul fell out of a tree and has a branch hanging out of his knee cap? Yah, so about my new dress.)

Be preoccupied with only one or few interests, which he or she may be very knowledgeable about. (Does making up codes, then writing out advanced codes to understand the original codes count?)

Talks a great deal. (“I swear Frank, your daughter was vaccinated with a phonograph needle!”)

Avoids eye contact or stares at others. (“No Mom, I am not lying.”  “Then why can’t you look at me?”, says Mom.  Jone continues to stare at floor.)

Have unusual facial expressions or postures. (Could this be a reference to my obvious look of disgust when people could not follow my theories of how everything on the planet contained numeric values and male/female genders?  You know, forks and spoons are female with numeric values of four and six respectively, and knives are seven and male.)

Have delayed motor development. (Handwriting totally illegible coupled with no sense of balance.)

Have heightened sensitivity and become over stimulated by loud noises, lights, or strong tastes or textures. (I think I’ve read enough.)

So where am I going with all this?  Reading through diary entries and reflecting on cumulative feedback from friends, family and books I’ve been reading on Aspies, I’ve come to the realization that most of my life I’ve actually had no interest in trying to fit-in to the status quo.

I thoroughly enjoy my own company, am passionate about sharing what I know, and look forward to hearing from others about their experiences all from the womb-like comfort of my computer.  (More of that perceived Aspy arrogance.)

Having early experiences of Spiritual visitations allowed me to compensate for the social skills I never developed.  Conversations with the departed were fascinating, sometimes scary and always unexpected.  Accessing the plant and rock kingdoms were more grounding with their easily understood languages and a keen sense of belonging.  The hundreds upon hundreds of experiences that I have been fortunate enough to remember and share is a seamless transition to the practical world of everyday living.

Don’t be thrown if I stare while you talk.  I am listening to two sides of my realities and it gets a little crowded in my head.

As a teenager I coveted my sister’s silver necklace which housed the most unusual translucent blue stone.  It was a statement piece.  The stone was a beautifully turned piece of silica (ahem), glass, but to me was a large calling stone.  It totally sucked me in.  I had to touch it, to gaze at it.  It fascinated me.

My sister finally tired of it or more accurately, she tired of me asking to wear it and gave it to me.  You can imagine my joy.  In an unexplained moment of generosity she gave me this object of total affection.  It was treasure.

I wore this necklace every day and night.

When I was nineteen years old my boyfriend took me to a Celtics Game at the then named Boston Garden.  It was a vast place, an arena of space that made me feel unsafe with so much noise and people blowing air horns.  I would often reach my hand up to hold my touchstone suspended by a silver chain.  This simple gesture somehow centered my being.

When I returned home I went straight to my room and took off my coat, boots, etc.  My hand went to my neck to remove my necklace.  No necklace.  Panic quickly ensued and I literally micro-inspected every piece of clothing I had on.  I called my boyfriend and made him search his car.  I went outside with a flashlight and retraced my steps from the curb to the front stairs for a full hour.  I went back to my room and turned every article of clothing I had on inside out and checked it at least three times.  No necklace.  I was miserable.

It would appear to the casual reader, at this point of my story, that I was over-reacting.  While true things do get lost, this was not an ordinary necklace to me.  It was mine; my sister had generously given it to me.  It was an extension of what I found to be beautiful and a source of comfort.  And it was lost.

Climbing into bed, exhausted, the expected tears came and with it the thought, “I’m getting it back.”  I prayed to St. Anthony, “St. Anthony, St. Anthony please come around.  Something is lost and needs to be found.”   I prayed to St. Bernadette, whose name I adopted on my Holy Confirmation.  I prayed and cried until my eyes could no longer stay open.

The chirpiness of the birds the following morning coupled with the sunshine flowing through my bedroom window irritated me beyond belief.  I had lost my necklace.  I’d been careless, irresponsible.  As I lay in bed salvation hit me!  I would call the Garden and talk to the people in Lost & Found.  Yes!  I pulled my covers off and jumped out of bed.  Before I had time to comprehend what had happened I looked down.  My right foot had landed on my necklace chain.  My treasured necklace that my sister selflessly gave me was returned, where hours before my floor was bare.  Words are truly inadequate to accurately describe the feeling of gratitude and overwhelming awe I felt at that moment of discovery.

Now for all you skeptics out there, you need to know a little more about me.  I am the biggest skeptic on the planet.  I question everything.  I rip it apart.  I turn it upside down, inside out, and drop test it some more.  I questioned everyone in my home to eliminate any possibility of human intervention.  I knew in my heart that my necklace was clearly not on my bedroom floor when I crawled broken-hearted into my bed to pray.  Something not normal had occurred, something para-normal.

Since that time I have had material things given to me by manifestation or lost items returned no less than four times, all without the benefit of prayer.

Consider me an extremely grateful skeptic, with an unshakable belief that there are examples of manifestation in our life of unknown explanations.  I welcome and humbly thank the manifestations in my life.

Once we limit our mind to possibilities those opportunities narrow.