Category Archives: Spirits talking

Receiving the Signs and the Magic of Numbers

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I believe in signs. They come from everywhere and they can appear at any time and from both normal and unusual places.

Last night, I met with an agent online where I talked about a major, fairly new project I was working on, one that I believe is going to garner a lot of word-of-mouth promoting, “you’ve got to get this,” from writers to their writer friends. Which in turn could have publishers approaching me.

Even though I’m indie-publishing the book, I wanted to have an agent I can turn to once a publisher approaches me. She said, most certainly reach out to me when that time comes.

I left the meeting last night with goosebumps.

I went to bed not a hundred percent confident in which of my dozen projects I should concentrate on next, as I’m in the process of publishing the last book in my Laurel Ridge romance series this weekend, and which will get finished once I post this blog.

Plus, I have a historical gothic romance coming out in an anthology this October, which earmarks my turn into a new genre, writing Gothics, much like Verity by Colleen Hoover, My Cousin Rachel by Daphne du Maurier, and other gothic writers: Phyllis A Whitney, Mary Stewart, and Victoria Holt.

Today, my sign came in the form of two numbers.

The first was 11:08.

I had just woken up. (Yes, I sleep in late. It’s because I’m up late. Last night, I didn’t get to sleep until about 4 a.m.) The minute I saw this number, I got goosebumps. knew it had meaning, but I wasn’t sure what it meant specifically.

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, the clock said: 11:11. A repeated number but repeated 4 times not just 3. Major goosebumps.

I grabbed my book, The Angel Numbers Book, to find their meaning.

I looked up the first number I had seen: 11:08

11 means that the angels want to send a sign and are trying to get my attention first before sending it. I need to be on the lookout for signs and important messages yet to come.

 8 is the sign of abundance. I need to be ready to go with the energy flow of abundance, which for me is about my writing, my life’s passion, the fire I’ve been flaming hot of late, and which coincides with the book I wrote, Finding Your Fire & Keeping It Hot, which aligns with my life-long desire of writing and my life’s purpose of helping others, especially other writers.

Given that I’ve been doing a massive study on manifesting abundance this entire past year, receiving the sign of 8 made sense.

The spirits—and there were many (!)—were getting my attention first with the 11:08 message. 1111 was the true message.

111 represents a “screenshot” being taken of my life of “everything that is going on—all your thoughts, feelings, goals, and dreams” and it’s going to be repeated, provided I stay aligned with higher vibrations and my dreams, my life’s purpose.

1111 – means 111 emphasized! Be prepared to move FAST.

Immediately, I knew these signs referenced my agent meeting last night and the project I had discussed with her.

A project I need to be working on FAST.

A project I started working on immediately after getting the idea earlier this spring.

Right now, I have four fantastic beta participants using the worksheets for their current works-in-progress (WIPs), along with my using the worksheets for four of my fictional WIPs.

All I have to do now is tweak the worksheets and write up the guts of the book—the how-to information, and then publish it.

Having published 16 books—17 after this weekend, I know how to publish quickly.

The goosebump factor is high.

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These Boots Went-a Walkin’

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Recently, I pulled an oracle card that night, asking what tomorrow was going to be like. The card indicated that there was going to be a loss.

Oh, great, I thought, but then countered with, It is what it is. You can’t change it. Just go with the flow.

I went to bed not thinking about it, not worrying about it.

The next day, I went out to eat and stopped at the mailbox before going inside. As I walked toward my front door, I noticed something was sticking out of the sole of my snow boot. Something about four inches long and skinny. Not a stick. Whatever it was, it appeared attached.

I waited until I was inside and took off the boot to see what it was.

I was crushed. It was part of the sole, the side of the boot itself!

NO! No, no, NO!

The piece hung loosely, still attached. I pulled it off, thinking I could glue it all back together. Gorilla glue, after all, is a marvelous repair tool. But alas, the sole was loose as well and had been for some time with debris deteriorating the underside of the sole and the bottom of the boot, more than what could be repaired.

And then, I realized—THIS WAS MY LOSS from the oracle card! I’d had those boots for 20 years! They were older than most of my grandchildren.

When I’d bought them, I’d paid somewhere between $129-$159, which was a lot of money for me at the time considering my job status with no benefits and being a fulltime student, as well. Unfortunately, I had no choice but to purchase them as I couldn’t wear cheap shoes as they hurt my feet. I suffered from neuropathy in my feet and hadn’t been able to determine the cause. (It would be another 17 years before I would.)

These boots were ECCOs—hence the expense—and I discovered I could wear them all day without pain. Plus, I’d always had trouble finding a boot I could slide into easily because of my high instep and the high bone on the top of my foot that prevented that easy slide. At least with this pair, I didn’t have that problem.

These boots were perfect! Both in wear and in looks. They got compliments everywhere they went. They were coveted, desired, and admired by many.

Quickly, with an online search, I discovered there was no replacing them. No longer manufactured, there wasn’t anything even remotely close to a pair like these, not in any brand. Of course, being the middle of winter, stores had boots on sale. Had I made this discovery a week or two later, I’d probably have found nothing in the stores to replace them.

I ended up replacing them with what I called old lady boots, ankle-short boots that zipped on the outside. Not made for being in the snow at all. But then again, given my age and the fact that I no longer live in the lake-effect snow district or play in the snow, I guess ankle-short boots will do the job. For now.

When I told the story to a friend, she told me to call my new boots princess boots instead. I like princess boots a lot better than old lady boots, don’t you?

I hated the thought of having to trash these boots. They were the best friend a girl living in the snowy northland could have ever wanted.

They will be missed.

Amarillo By Morning

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My sister, Eileen, died suddenly in February 2013. Before that, she was taking care of Mom, doing her laundry, taking her to doctor visits, etc.

At Eileen’s funeral her favorite song, Amarillo By Morning by George Strait was played.

I downloaded it into my iTunes account and added it to my playlist, which I used while writing on my iPad. While teaching and working, I carried my iPad everywhere just as I did my paper planner. I discovered I could write on my iPad with it acting very much like a computer, wherever I went and could block out noise using my earphones and playlist. At the time, my iPad was lighter to carry than my laptop and far easier to turn on, use, and then turn off.

The thing you have to know is that whenever I shut down the iPad, I shut down all and any of the apps that are open. I learned to do that because, during one month, I discovered apps had been running in the background using up data even though I wasn’t using the apps. They couldn’t update automatically if the apps were all closed and the iPad turned off.  

I carried the iPad, the planner, and any school work I might working on with me in a black bag that always had my pencils, pens, a cord extension, and other incidentals that I didn’t want to put in my purse.

On this particular day, my brother and I were in an ER room at the hospital. My mother had arrived by ambulance before we got there, and just as we got into her room, they were wheeling her out for some tests. We waited.

I was sitting on a stool next to where her bed had been, my purse and bag on the floor, close but out of the way so no one could kick or trip on them. My brother was standing next to me, legs crossed, arms crossed, and we were talking about Mom’s situation.

All of sudden, music started playing. Amarillo By Morning. And, it was coming out of my bag.

He looked down at it. Then, looked at me, a questioning expression on his face.

I held up my hands, saying, “I didn’t touch it.”

I pulled out the iPad and opened the cover from the keyboard so that we could see the screen. It was dark.

I double-clicked on the home button to reveal the apps that were playing.

None.

Yet, the music button on the taskbar was highlighted. I clicked on it. George Strait’s picture filled the screen.

I looked up at my brother and said, “Eileen did that. She’s letting us know that she’s here with us, with Mom.”

That was the second time she had turned on my music, while my iPad was in my bag.

I’ve been waiting to see if she’d do it again. I suspect that she’s waiting to surprise me, to catch me off guard, knowing that she got me. I can hear her chuckling now.

The Day I Couldn’t Breathe

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Almost two years ago, on March 7, 2019, I had only another minute to live. I was gasping for air, tying to inhale, and couldn’t.

My bronchial tube wouldn’t open.

A cold had become acute bronchitis. It was the second time in two years where I was coughing so hard, my sinuses were being pushed out through my eyes, so said the doctor.

I was taking expectorant, drinking lots of broth, chicken soup, water, and Gatorade. I had two humidifiers running, that were going through two gallons of water each day. Plus, I was taking Mucinex D, which was supposed to be drying my sinuses up, but it wasn’t working enough this time.

The problem was that my sinuses were draining during the night and the next morning I’d wake up and have a ten-minute coughing fit. This morning, though, there was no coughing.

That 7th day of March, I woke up and immediately couldn’t breathe. At all. And, I didn’t know why. My gaze went to the clock, watching the minute hand. I kept gasping for intake air but couldn’t make it happen.

Nothing.

I started panicking. Thirty seconds has already passed. I lifted my arms straight up into the air, a trick my ex-mother-in-law used whenever she was coughing. It always worked for her.

Didn’t work. Now, sixty seconds had passed.

I had thirty seconds left, sixty at the most, if I was really lucky, but I’ve never been able to hold my breath longer than ninety seconds. Thirty. That’s all I had.

I start pounding my chest. I tried to cough hard. Bent-over, coughing harder than I ever had before.

Nothing.

I’m trying anything and everything I can think of, anything from all my first-aid training. Mind scrambling through the actions of TV doctors and EMT techniques.

Nothing.

This is it. You’re going to pass out, and they’re going to find flies. Right here in the middle of your bedroom.

And then, I heard a voice. Relax. Just relax.

I dropped to my knees beside the bed, my torso and head on the bed. I let go, relaxing everything. I’ve done it in the dentist chair when I’ve felt myself tensing up. I’ve done it before when falling, which has kept me from severely injuring myself, so I do it again. Drop the shoulders, relax the muscles, blow out the air…

In only a second or two, I’m relaxed. My airway opened up, just enough for me to finally breathe in. In another minute, I’m up and breathing normally again.

Scariest moment of my life.

While I’ve always believed that I’ll probably die alone, I never thought it would be because I couldn’t breathe. Though, I have had moments of choking on a grape, laughing, and inhaling air wrong, and now there’s the horror of COVID-19.

Obviously, someone on the other side wasn’t wanting me to join them, yet.

Listening to those voices from the other side and following directions without question does have its advantages.

Mike McGuire’s Send Off – January 19, 2016

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We said goodbye today (Jan 19) to my second cousin, Michael David McGuire, who died suddenly last Wednesday, the 13th.  The service was beautiful, the memories bringing both tears and laughter for family, friends, and his beloved working family from the Michigan State Police community throughout many locales.

My father’s family is large.  While I know my first cousins once removed (my father’s cousins) well, I don’t know my second cousins the same way.  I was the first born of the second cousins, which easily number several dozen or more, some I’ve yet to meet.  My aunt and uncle were only three years older than me, with some of dad’s cousins only eight or ten years older.  As a child in the middle of this big boisterous family, I preferred listening to the adult conversations, sitting in a corner of the big farmhouse kitchen, than playing in the parlor with the little kids.  The adults’ laughter was always infectious.  Still is today.

As for all of the second cousins’ kids, well, I can’t keep track of them all.  In fact, I’ll confess that due to my living in the South for a decade and a career kept me away from a number of reunions and family gatherings, I have a lot of catching up to do.

When I was growing up, from time to time, because I was older, I was asked to babysit for my second cousins, which included Mike and his younger brother, Robert.  The job was always an adventure, as they were close in age, would collaborate with each other and hide from me or be investigating something they shouldn’t.  They were always in action.

The next time I would saw him, over 20 years later, he was an adult, married, and with kids.

Unfortunately, because we are a large family, there are many funerals and today was one of those days.  While we always enjoy reuniting with family members and being introduced to kids and spouses we may not have met, we never like the circumstances, such as was today’s event.

I attended Monday’s visitation and while driving home, I sensed Mike’s presence, but I didn’t hear anything.  Just a comforting presence.

The next morning, however, when I got up, I keep hearing the word, “Giddy up!”  All that morning I heard it said as a gleeful exclamation.  Not a part of my everyday vernacular, I knew I was hearing Mike’s voice.

During the service, that included a bagpipe, the Michigan State Police guard,  who additionally provided a flag to Linda, his wife, recordings of favorite music, there was one particular silence where I felt the urge to say “Giddy up, boys.  Giddy up.”  The urge was strong and I sensed it would bring laughter, but I refrained.  As confident as I was that this was Mike speaking, I questioned the timing.

As fellow troopers got up one-by-one and started telling stories about Mike, including hearing he would tell them to “Saddle up,” as they rolled out on various duties, I discovered he was all about making people laugh, that he enjoying laughing as much as he enjoyed his family, fishing, and his work.  Saying “Giddy up” in that silence was something Mike would have done.

Mike was a marine who served in the Gulf War, with a commanding presence due to his height and demeanor.  He served undercover, provided governor protection, to name a few of his various teams, and had been a medical first responder with his local fire department.

The love and affection his family, friends, and police brethren have for him was easily felt.  Deemed as a tough guy, he also had a soft heart for his family, friends, and the people he served, and anyone who needed help.

Mike was only 52, far too young to be gone.  The service was truly a celebration.  As a collected group, we provided him a fitting, loving send-off, which was surrounded and sheltered with his presence.

Giddyup, Mike.  Giddyup.

 

She Was Playing with My Computer

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So, I was at work, realizing it was the second anniversary of my sister’s death (Feb 12, 2013).  Eileen always enjoyed a good joke, especially if she got to play them on someone else.

I saw that the slide show that had been played at her funeral had been reposted on Facebook, so I opened it.  It began with her favorite George Strait song, Amarillo By Morning, a song that now always reminds me of her, and I do have to say, it is a great song.

Anyway, I watched the slides with Strait’s song and then there was a pause for the next song to begin.  It was at this point that I saw an e-mail coming in and I wanted to check on it, while the slide show continued.

I moved my mouse to make the move and clicked.  Nothing happened.  Nothing.

I went to diminish the slide show so I could see the e-mail program, which was behind the slide screen.  Again, I clicked, and the slide-show screen, which had been in a half-screen mode, became full screen.  Now, some of you might be thinking that I’m clicking the wrong buttons, but I wasn’t.   This time when I tried to return to the half-screen mode, the mouse clicker refused to work.

I tried to click an icon down on the bottom ribbon and the mouse icon moved to the middle of the screen.

I clicked the diminish sign and nothing happened.  I clicked it again, and the volume went up.  That’s when I began to have my suspicions about what was really going on.

No matter what I did, the mouse clicker wasn’t working.  I even tried to use the escape key and got nothing.

I couldn’t get off the screen.  No. Matter.  What.  I. Tried.  Not even CTRL+ALT+DELETE. Nothing.

The thing is, I needed to return to work.

So, I called our IT Department and reported the faulty mouse, telling them that I couldn’t send them an e-mail because the mouse wasn’t working.  He asked me if there were any other mice available.  There was.  In the meantime, he’d report the failure and David, our resident IT employee, would deal with it later.

So, I unhooked the mouse and went to a neighboring computer and took that mouse and plugged it into my computer.  It worked.  I was able to shut down the slide show and return to work.

I continued working with the substitute mouse the rest of the day.

The next day, when David stopped at my desk, I explained to him how the mouse had stopped working, particularly the left clicker.  He took it, saying he’d try it out to make sure it wasn’t working before turning it in.

Minutes later he returned.  “It works just fine.”

I told him about Eileen, and added, “She must have been playing with me.”

He just looked at me, smiled, and said.  “Uh, huh”

I sensed Eileen laughing, totally enjoying the joke, covering up her mouth so she wouldn’t explode.

This wasn’t the first time a computer has acted up when there was someone’s favorite music playing or when I could smell someone’s favorite food, drink, or tobacco that alerts me to the fact that I’m not alone.  Spirits love anything electrical, and they let me know they’re around by playing with my TV, cable, lights, and computers.

Have I told you the story about a neighbor and classmate who played with my writing lamp?  And who later wanted me to give a message to another classmate, a best friend of his at our last class reunion?