Byron Katie Rings The Bell. Again

A doctor once took a sample of my blood and came back to me with a long face. He said he was bringing bad news; he was very sorry, but I had cancer. Bad news? I couldn’t help laughing. When I looked at him, I saw that he was quite taken aback. Not everyone understands this kind of laughter. Later, it turned out that I didn’t have cancer, and that was good news too.

The truth is that until we love cancer, we can’t love life. It doesn’t matter what symbols we use—poverty, loneliness, loss—it’s the concepts of good and bad that we attach to them that make us suffer. I was sitting once with a friend who had a huge tumor, and the doctors had given her just a few weeks to live. As I was leaving her bedside, she said, “I love you,” and I said, “No, you don’t. You can’t love me until you love your tumor. Every concept that you put onto that tumor, you’ll eventually put onto me. The first time I don’t give you what you want, or threaten what you believe, you’ll put that concept onto me.” This might sound harsh, but my friend had asked me to always tell her the truth. The tears in her eyes were tears of gratitude, she said.

No one knows what’s good and what’s bad. No one knows what death is. Maybe it’s not a something; maybe it’s not even a nothing. It’s the pure unknown, and I love that. We imagine that death is a state of being or a state of nothingness, and we frighten ourselves with our own concepts. I’m a lover of what is: I love sickness and health, coming and going, life and death. I see life and death as equal. Reality is good; so death must be good, whatever it is, if it’s anything at all.

Until you experience death as a gift, your work’s not done. So if you’re afraid of it, that shows you what to question next. There’s nothing else to do; you’re either believing these childish stories, or you’re questioning them—there’s no other choice. What’s not okay about dying? You close your eyes every night, and you go to sleep. People look forward to it; some people actually prefer that part. And that’s as bad as it gets, except for your belief that says there’s something else. Before a thought, there’s no one, nothing—only peace that doesn’t even recognize itself as peace.

What I know about dying is that when there’s no escape, when you know that no one is coming to save you, there’s no fear. You just don’t bother. The worst thing that can happen on your deathbed is a belief. Nothing worse than that has ever happened. So if you are lying on your deathbed and the doctor says it’s all over for you and you believe him, all the confusion stops. You no longer have anything to lose. And in that peace, there is only you.

People who know there’s no hope are free; decisions are out of their hands. It has always been that way, but some people have to die bodily to find out. No wonder they smile on their deathbeds. Dying is everything they were looking for in life: they’ve given up the delusion of being in charge. When there’s no choice, there’s no fear. They begin to realize that nothing was ever born but a dream and nothing ever dies but a dream.

When you’re clear about death, you can be totally present with someone who’s dying, and no matter what kind of pain she appears to be experiencing, it doesn’t affect your happiness. You’re free to just love her, to hold her and care for her, because it’s your nature to do that. To come to that person in fear is to teach fear: she looks into your eyes and gets the message that she is in deep trouble. But if you come in peace, fearlessly, she looks into your eyes and sees that whatever is happening is good.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/byron-katie/bad-newsyou-have-cancer_b_10070892.html

Summertime

It's been a week and a half since I left for coastal Maine.  The first few days immediately feels like a vacation.   Then there is the process of settling in.  Getting things to work properly (which is often the  reason you left in the first place - so you don't have to get things to work), finding grocery stores, setting up your post office box, finding quaint shops and places to do your art.

Interspersed between these things is babysitting, helping family organize their lives and catching up with friends - both back home and here.  Two days ago it was steaming hot.  I took a walk with family in the woods. We were soaked upon our return.  Not from rain but from pure sweat.  We won't do that again, unless it is in the early morning.

It was hot that night and I couldn't sleep too well.  I awakened in the middle of the night to the most delightful sounds of rain against the wooden cabin.  Music to my ears!

Early morning brought a light jacket.  I went out to my pine sap covered car with spigs of pine needles and twirlies (that is what we call them) from deciduous trees and pollen everywhere.  I went through that three weeks ago in the south.  Sudafed is my constant companion. Again.

Soon, my hair will be shorter.  It is easier in this area with the humidity.  I learned that living here for several years.  It may even be a different color.  Summer experimentation time!

I do miss my coveted privacy.  Being a scorpio and all.  But I think the trade-off of summering here and being near friends and family will make up for it.

It is back for a nap.  Pretty soon my sleep will be caught up.  I am grateful to be sleeping longer hours now.

Happy Summer!

Hampton Inn

Happiness is remembering a time when things were just pleasant.  You could check into a hotel, anyone under the chain name and be assured of certain services.   That is why you chose to pay higher rates.

But in the greed of corporate America, that isn't so anymore.  It used to be you got points and they were not stolen by the corporation from you.  It used to be they would notify you if your points were going to expire.  It used to be that you could call Customer Care, ascertain the number of points you had, and their expiration and you could count on the company to honor that.

Not anymore.  I lost too many points a few days after I called to ensure my points had another year. For a time, I stopped staying at this corporation hotel.  It went downhill excessively then climbed back up.  I am sad to report my stays there are uneven.

No cookies on the weekend, newspapers run out fast, coffee is weak, heavily watered down, breakfast is sugary items like sweet breads, fatty sausage and bacon, no biscuits and not all the amenities are present in each hotel.  No tv guide, no extra toilet tissue (I even had a near bare roll on my last visit to a hotel in Sturbridge, Massachusetts) with a spare on the shelf. I suspect a few things are going on.  Housekeeping staff is overworked.  Corporate greed is cutting back on services.

I will stay in fewer and fewer hotels.  I may even seek upper tier ones in the future.  When I vacation, I do expect service. I always leave my room immaculate.  I expect the same when I check in.

I do expect Hampton Inn to compensate me according to their "100% guarantee satisfaction or refund".  Not like the one in the above mentioned site like the manager's clerk who called me yesterday to offer me a free night.

Are you kidding me?

Three Knocks

"What? They are making another drop?" Beth asked.

"Yes, we heard it is by the Naval Prison in Portsmouth," the voice whispered.

"Okay, I am heading in that direction so I will check it out," Beth said.

Suddenly there he was.

While you can't see it now, a tall and slender man dressed in a Naval Officer's uniform, dropped an envelope alongside of one of the grave markers.  Slowly, he turned his head side to side before he tilted it upward.  A few sniffles later, the man was back in his shiny black Mercedes.  

The envelope he dropped was quickly fingered by what appeared to be an Appalachian Trail through hiker. The hiker was clearly out breath, and even at a distance she could see his month old beard, that he had on a tattered Arc'teryx jacket, heavy backpack with a Neoprene water bottle dangling from it.  He had on an Army colored tee shirt, short hiking pants, socks and boots. It appeared that he had not seen a bath or shower in some time. 

Beth was glad to be standing near the water's edge and not so close to his view shed.  The flowers she laid beside a flagged tombstone was also her camouflage although her great-great grandmother was buried in this cemetery.  But just as she laid them down, he disappeared down the other side of the hill.

Beth continued to photograph areas sites as her palms became sweaty.

She was remembering when this naval prison closed in the late sixties, and imagined the cloak and dagger schemes a few of the inmates would later tell.  Government prisoners aren't always in the slammer because of crimes.  Sometimes...well, they just have too much information.  Reminiscent of Mandela, they are better kept alive for their deaths would have erupted a revolution for sure.

As Beth was packing up the Canon Power Shot SX 30 IS, the man in the Brooks Brothers ensemble returned.  This time he was in a vehicle with "The Property of the United States Navy" logo written on the doors.  He climbed the slight hill appearing to look down as though he was waiting for someone but didn't want to appear obvious.  The Appalachian Trail through hiker moved in.  Soon he was in place within a few feet of the naval officer.

It was apparent words were exchanged but never any eye contact.  The Naval Officer reached for a small white envelope from inside his pocket.  The through hiker took it placing it inside his pocketed tee shirt.  Beth dropped to her knees, afraid she may be revealed as she reached for Kleenex from her Baggelini purse to quell her runny nose.

"Beth!" the voice cried out.

She turned her head quickly as three more Naval Officers ran toward her in a soon-to-be-flanking position.  She didn't know either of them. Though she had been writing stories like this before.  But they had never been a problem.  At least not to her knowledge. Her heart was beating out of her chest as she ran toward the Mustang. Beth couldn't get inside the car fast enough.

Doing an S-curve toward the bridge,  she saw two more naval vehicles were positioned at and behind the bridge.  She couldn't go back because she didn't know what was behind her.  She did know her car could spin around them.  Perhaps Beth watched too much of the Dukes of Hazard while raising her children.  This wasn't the General Lee but it could sure get her to safety.  A friend's garage was just a mile down the road and Beth already had her on speakerphone.

"Beth, the door is open, just get in!" she said.

Bo closed the door behind me.  She was breathing so hard she could not speak. She was glad there was no light inside the garage to reveal she had just pulled in.

Bo had these people on a high tech GPS and alerted the team to follow them. Just then her cell phone rang and it was Barbara, her high school friend.  She had taken early retirement from the FBI and was ready to join us.  She had seen enough to last a lifetime.  Now she wanted to do something good.

"I'm on my way.  I'll be in about midnight.  Three taps on your door and you will know it is me."

These Expectations!

I am feeling sad right now.  For the past few weeks, I have endeavoured to get some things done around my house.  Some things were done.  Some things will be completed in September.

What makes me sad is unkindness.  To living things.  People, animals.  And being foul.  Last week, a local restaurant hung a really foul tee-shirt up.  I can not and will not show you a photo of this.  I would be beyond embarassed and you should be, too.

What kind of people think of humor like this?  Maybe they also make ethnic jokes?  I go through spurts where I really need to stay away from some people.  And this is one of those times.  I also know we can change of foci and I am doing just that as I type this note to you.

My little granddaughter is beginning to sit up.  She is 17 weeks old.  Quite stubborn.  Determined.  And laughs a whole bunch.  I will see her soon and it won't be soon enough.

It is hard to be away from her.  It seems so much of my life is upside down sometimes.  But times are changing and people want so very much in their lives.  It comes at a cost.

I do not know how mothers can work full time.  It has to be a heartbreaker.  I know it is for me.  My daughter wants more than anything to be home with her baby.  But then, there is the balance.  She is stuck at home.  I say stuck because she can't seem to get out enough.  Naps and routines tend to take over.  So do babies who refuse to nap.  My daughter was one of them.  It was exhausting and now she has one who refuses to nap and then gets overtired and becomes hysterical.  I remind her regularly that these phases come and go.  So do our attitudes about them.

As I look at my way-too-quiet life, I am saddened by all of this.  Why can't life be easier?  Why can't we expect less of it?  Why, why, why?

I am also sad when I leave my beloved home.  Sad that I won't be in my space where I can do what I please with whom I please.  And joyful that I can travel!  See my family and come home again.

I am truly lucky indeed.

What Do You Think?

Defense is the first act of war. When people used to say, “Katie, you don’t listen,” I would immediately bristle and respond, “Of course I listen! How dare you say that! Who do you think you are? I listen!” I didn’t realize that I was the one making war by defending myself. And I was the one who could end it. It doesn’t take two people to end war; it takes only one.

The ego hates criticism and loves agreement. Actually, for the ego, love is nothing more than agreement. A relationship is two people who agree with each other’s stories. If I agree with you, you love me. And the minute I don’t agree with you, the moment I question one of your sacred beliefs, I become your enemy; you divorce me in your mind. Then you start looking for all the reasons why you’re right, and you stay focused outside yourself. When you’re focused outside and believe that your problem is caused by someone else, rather than by your attachment to the story you’re believing in the moment, you are your own victim, and the situation appears to be hopeless.

Your partner is your mirror. Except for the way you perceive him, he doesn’t even exist for you. He is who you see he is, and ultimately it’s just you again, thinking. It’s just you, over and over and over, and in this way you remain blind to yourself and feel justified and lost. To think that your partner is anything but a mirror of you is painful. So when you see him as flawed in any way, you can be sure that that’s where your own flaw is. The flaw has to be in your thinking, because you’re the one projecting it. You are always what you judge us to be in the moment. There’s no exception. You are your own suffering; you are your own happiness.

There’s no way to truly join your partner except by getting free of your belief that you need something from him that he’s not giving. Nothing can cost you someone you love. There’s nothing your husband can possibly do to keep you from loving him. The only way you can lose him is by believing what you think. You’re one with your husband until you believe that he should look a certain way, he should give you something, he should be something other than what he is. That’s how you divorce him. Right then and there, you have lost your marriage.

Of course, sometimes it’s best to physically leave. If your husband is abusive, question your thoughts about why you stay. As you enlighten yourself to what’s true, you may come to see that the only sane choice is to leave him. You may love him with all your heart and simply know not to live with him. We don’t have to be fearful, bitter, or angry to end a marriage. Or, if you’re not ready to leave, you may stay in the marriage, but with a greater awareness of how you’re abusing yourself by allowing him to abuse you. It’s like a yard with a big sign on the gate: THIS DOG BITES. If you walk into the yard once and are bitten, the dog has bitten you. If you walk into the yard a second time and are bitten, you have bitten you. This very awareness can change everything. By questioning your mind, you begin to realize that ultimately no one can hurt you—only you can. You see that you are 100 percent responsible for your own happiness. This is very good news.

If my husband were to have an affair and that were not okay with me, I would say, “Sweetheart, I understand that you’re having an affair, and I notice that when you do that, something inside me tends to move away from you. I don’t know what that is, I only know that it’s so; it mirrors your movement away from me, and I want you to know that.” And then if he were to continue his affair, to prefer to spend his time with another woman, I might notice that I was moving away, but I wouldn’t have to leave him in anger. There is nothing I can do to stay with him, and there is nothing I can do to divorce him. I’m not running this show. I might stay with him, or I might divorce him in a state of total love, and think, This is fascinating; we promised we would be together always, and I’m divorcing him now, and I would probably laugh, love that he has what he wants, and move on, because there is no war in me.

It doesn’t take two people to end war in a marriage; it takes only one. And if two people have ended it, life can be twice as beautiful.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/byron-katie/it-only-takes-one-to-have_b_9810602.html

Cheap, Cheap!

Cheap!

There is one coffee shop I visit regularly.  The owner is well nigh known for being cheap. When she first came to town, her arrogance overwhelmed, hurt a few of the shop owners.  People were not impressed with her food.  Some offer a nick name "Chitty xx" for the store.

It is rare to enter her store where she would come over and offer a kind gesture.  Ask a customer to sample a food.  I let that go easily enough.  But what is really interesting is that she doesn't see herself.   She wears a shirt that says," Let's Make American Kind Again."  I try not to laugh.

Just the other morning, I was at the coffee shop at 8 a.m. when they are due to open. They are almost always open on time.  It was 8:20 a.m. until the woman arrived to open the shop. A home emergency made her late and I surely would never say a thing.  Life happens to all of us.  But I would honor my customer when those things occur.

It was well after 8:30 a.m. when she finally made me a vanilla latte.  $3.15.  I waited over thirty minutes for a latte.  Most of it outside.  I even encouraged her customers to wait because this was an unusual occurrence.

But what the clerk did made me think.  Most shops would comp a regular customer when they are this late.  Not this woman.  Not this shop.  $3.15 please.

A day later, I used my coffee card to get my FREE latte.  After ten lattes, the next one is free.  While the clerk was preparing my latte, I picked up a blank coffee card for my next visits.  I am a very good and consistent customer.  I bring friends here for coffee and for lunch. But this time the clerk asked what size latte I usually get.  I stopped to think a bit about this and told her I mostly get a small, but sometimes a medium.  I told her a medium would be fine.  They should incent their loyal customers with an occasional treat.  I do buy small because I don't like a lot of caffeine.

For five years, no one questioned the size of the free latte.  I have coffee cards for other places I visit in other towns and cities.  I am a good latte customer.  This all has changed.  Yesterday I handed them the blank coffee card and they punched it.  I didn't notice until last night when I was cleaning out my wallet that they marked the top VAN LATTE, SM on the top.

Cheap, cheap.  You are teaching me very quickly where I want to spend my money. Yes, LETs MAKE AMERICA KIND AGAIN.  Look in the mirror and start with yourself.

Thank you for the lesson.  cheap, cheap.

Excuse Me!

Excuse me!

Since when did a newspaper access the right to share my personal e-mail?

Apparently, my subscription online as well as the subscriptions of other online folks was due to expire.  So rather than bcc their customers, they chose to share them.

Once you share my personal e-mail or any of my personal information, any relationship we had ceases to exist.

But it won't end there.  I will share your behavior to this end, too.

Film Families

A heavy rain last night forced the tree pollen to the ground.  One fallen Bradford pear along the road near my house spoke of strong winds again last night.  The freshly scented air revealed blue skies and cloud puffs and lots of sunshine. Temperatures are much cooler with lower humidity.  A welcoming treat this Friday morning.

Another welcoming treat was the film crew who has been in town for a couple of weeks.  They are in town filming a story of murder in a small town.  And police more involved with the foul treatment of black citizens than finding the culprit.

Sets are unique.  Often a strong comaraderie exists.  Lots of encouragement from producers, directors and the crew.  The encouragement is both top down and bottom up.  Of course, everyone knows there is no 'bottom' only lots of talented people choreographed to bring to the big screen a story. Albeit, a big budget one.

Warm hugs, pats on the backs and handshakes abound.  The crew is full of smiles, appreciative of our small town and continually thanking us for being so gracious to them.  We are a gracious town and that is what attracted me here.  People genuinely care about one another.  We genuinely care about the crew and their comfort level here.

A location manager told me he is pulling together a group of crew members for a trip down the Tuckaseegee River this weekend.  He wants people to get out of their high stressed work and feel the goodness and nature here in the Nantahala National Forest.  He said he is staying locally and enjoys the quiet of the mountain.  A huge change from busy Los Angeles city living.

We are thankful for the heavy rain.  We hope it reduces both pollen and stress level.  And, we are grateful to see such loving film families enjoying the abundance of western North Carolina.

Tasteless Restaurant

One of the things I enjoy about small town living is getting to know the people who work and frequent it.

Just the other day a friend who works in a restaurant told me a story  The friend was hired full time.  The owner has a beautiful home and enjoys the fruits of an abundant lifestyle.  The worker, however, does not.

All too often we hear about the CEOs and upper management in Fortune 500 companies.  We hear the executives of these companies make enormous salaries, with enormous bonuses.  The people working in the lower tiers do not.  We complain about it as though it is a crime.  It is no different in a small business. For some reason, we don't hear very much about these environments.  It is no different and it is time we realize what goes on there, too.

This friend who was enjoying full time work had their hours cut.  They were cut 30%.  The worker told me they had not been able to go to a grocery store in two months.  They can't afford gas and their car is not working too well, either.  

Of course, I do not know the other side of the story.  I suspect there is some disharmony.  But I have to wonder what kind of owner would do this.  Knowing the owner as I do, I see another side.  A wealthy lifestyle, going like a bat out of hell to make a lot of money and forgetting the customers who frequent their restaurant.  For my part in this, I rarely go in their establishment anymore.

This one way ticket has grown old. Business owners need to realize their customers are their lifeline. Some of them even care about their employees.  But this place has lost its appeal.  The food never had much taste and the owner has even less.

I won't be going into this tasteless restaurant for a very long time.  Maybe never.

Night Visitor

Last week, I wasn't sleeping well.  A myriad of things went through my mind.  It had been a week of knowings.  Premonitions.  For friends.  For family.

If  you are blessed with psychic ability, you know you have to be careful with what you share.  Most people don't have a platform with which to accept new information about themselves and their future.  So you store it.  Stored for that time when it is safe for them.  Safe for you to remember.

Nearly sound asleep, a presence in the room awakened me.  From under the covers the presence felt huge. Solid.  Benevolent.  I wasn't scared - they was no reason to be.  But I was absolutely exhausted.   With little energy, I pulled the covers completely over my head.  I had no time for this.  Sleep kept calling and I dozed off.

Suddenly, the presence felt commanding.  Like I was being summoned.

I had learned lifelong to pay attention to senses.  Knowings.  Intuition.  Whether I could see anything did not matter.  I could feel that.  I readjusted my head. It was time.

Peeling back from the white, organic top sheet, I lifted my head off the pillow.  A large dark presence was visible at the foot of my bed.  It was just after midnight. A new moon would ensue in a few days.  It was a time of cleansing.  A deeper one now. Letting go in huge ways.  There had been reminders for the past few months.  But time was quickening.

In weeks before, I would hear the crinkling of my comforter yet I wasn't moving.  Once, I even crinked it to see if I could duplicate the sound.  I could not.  It required a hand and body larger than mine.  And,  I was especially tired that time.

Earlier in the day I had been working outside, moving flowers and transplanting them to a better location.  More light.  More drainage. More releasing.

Then there were the chimes, the bells, sounds that came from the direction of my LLBean Moonbeam clock.  Except it doesn't make those sounds.  Nor does my cell phone. But this isn't the first time I have heard these sounds.  It happened three nights before this time.

Then there have been crashing sounds outside my home at night. Not a thing was broken.  No evidence.  Nada.

Something is watching me.  A night visitor.

Happy Mother's Day!

A friend nominated me for several Mother's Day award categories.  It was beyond sweet of her to do this and I began to think about this day.

My children and their families are at a distance.  I don't spend Mother's Day with them.  Like most of my holidays, I spend them with self.  Now don't go getting all teary eyed.  I have what few will ever have.  I have had a loving family, loving children, and grandchildren.  And a strong and healthy sense of myself.

I do not expect anything from them.  I just want to love them.  Mother's Day, after all, is a marketing day.  And you know how I feel about marketing. Blech!

It is a day of gratitude as I told my friend.  I don't require flowers, notes, cards, gifts.  Knowing that they are happy in their lives is what my Mother's Day is all about.  I am in their lives by design, choice, luck, miracles.

This year, my daughter will enjoy Mother's Day.  Her first.  A death in the family meant that her husband had to go out of the country for a funeral.  I hope he makes it home in time to spend Mother's Day with her. Either way, she has a gift.  She is nearly four months old and we couldn't be happier.

Thursday, a card from my daughter arrived in the mail. I was too excited to open it so I sat in my car in the garage while I pulled the envelope apart.

"Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

I finally understand what it means to be a mom and am so grateful to have your unconditional love as an inspiration.  

Thank you in particular for your support in helping me to become a mom.

Love ~

her name

P.S. This stationary was bought for me by Grandma Eleanor way back when."


Almost immediately, I burst into tears.  There were three generations of women in this note.  My mom who bought the stationary gifting it to my daughter.  My daughter who wanted to pay it forward in her appreciation of me, her mom and my granddaughter who brought us all together again.

Thank you HG.  You are the gift that keeps giving.

Happy Mother's Day to all who mother ~ many of whom are not biological ones but mothers none the same.  To the mother in all of us!

Art For Emotional Instability And Resurrection

A great deal of art has been created to alleviate emotionality suffering.  Some would suggest emotional instability. Whatever the name, no one is immune to its affects. Our response to this is expressed in a variety of mediums. Literature, painting, music, and others. Many believe art evolved as a means to express oneself.  I certainly believe that.  

Whether one is moved to tell a story, explain human suffering or their own, art takes one to another dimension.  Within.  

When I am drawn to paint, time stands still.  That the hand is one with the brush creating a timeless and unbreakable connection. But it comes from a solitary place.   The now.  After all, that moment is all we ever have.

The writer, Ernest Hemingway, is believed to "have suffered from depression, bipolar disorder, had borderline and narcissistic personality traits, and later suffered with psychosis."  

As was the situation with Leo Tolstoy, Sylvia Plath, Franz Kafka, one of my favorites, and Virginia Woolf. Through their hearts, their angst, they shared a story.  Theirs and ours.

We admire their humanity, their ability to discuss intolerable social conditions and abuse. We admire their courage, their need to open a dialogue on our emotions.

http://blogs.psychcentral.com/hollywood-therapy/2014/12/7-famous-writers-with-mental-disorders/

Similarly, painter Vincent Van Gogh, was known to have a bi-polar disorder.  His rapid production of paintings was unattainable by many other artists.  After each completion of his work,bouts of depression, exhaustion and finally suicide ensued.

Likewise, Mozart's creation of Sonata no. 8 in A minor.  Please listen and see if you can't feel his confusion and anger. His consistent rhythm is easily heard.  Mozart wanted the world to know of his turmoil.  Perhaps by listening and feeling the suffering of another, we too, may experience less.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fRgxY8VUOz8

Woody, Selfies and A Cushion

"Nope, its just not my thing."

He couldn't understand.  She neither.  I enjoy my privacy and surely do not require accolades or patting myself on the back.  I prefer to stand back and observe.  And, that is just what I did.

She said it all.

" you don't seem like the selfie with a celebrity type." 

"Oh, lord.  I am not that superficial," I responded.

But it is alright for anyone else.  I would be beyond embarassed.  And no, I did not want to be an extra.  Yes, I was asked.  A bunch of times.

"No, thank you."

I was happy enough to get back home.  An early morning to Asheville leaving at 6:20 a.m.  I could barely open my eyes at my appointment.  It took about half the time and I am forever grateful.  I was hoping to pick up the reupholstered chaise cushion which used the three yards I had purchased three years ago in the event I needed them, but they were not in.  Just after I arrived home, the store called.

"Your cushion in is."

Back next week.  I have way too many projects going on to make another trip for a few days.