Which Came First?

Good heavens.

What is the world coming to these days?

As a former vegan who was forced by a persnickety metabolism to abandon that fine practice, I still try to buy organic animal products whenever I can afford them.

This is actually MORE important to me than buying organic produce, because many of the practices of commercial agriculture are really quite horrendous.

In other words, I buy organic for the sake of the food donor, not for my health.

And never is this more relevant than with eggs, which produce the highest rate of animal cruelty that I am aware of, so I ALWAYS buy cage-free.

I won’t gross you out with the details if you ever want to eat again (besides, that’s what Google is for, God bless ‘em).

Just take my word for it.

Besides, they really do taste better, and since (by necessity) I hold to a very restrictive high-protein diet, I easily consume over 20 eggs a week. 

They are an excellent source of low-cost protein and nutrition, not to mention a sterling (pardon the pun) bacon-delivery device.

So when I picked up my usual, like, 30 cartons of eggs at the supermarket recently, I was pleased to notice that in addition to being cage-free, they clearly announced on the package that the animals were “Certified Humane Raised and Handled.” 

I could not have been happier.

Egg Carton

Why, just look at that cheerful, perky, kind-looking woman, humanely raising and handling those…

Wait.  Just.  A.  Minute.

That’s not a CHICKEN!!!

Just which part of the cow are my eggs coming from, anyway?

And how can these people humanely handle anything, when they don’t even know what a chicken LOOKS LIKE???

Besides, if eggs come from cows now, then what have the chickens been producing?

Cadbury Creme Eggs?

Oh no, I remember.

Those come from rabbits.

I am SOOO confused right now.  I think I need more protein.

I’m gonna make myself a moomelet.

Identity of Mystery Person #3

Here are the results of our most recent psychic experiment!

When my boyfriend originally sent me this photo, I had already correctly identified quite a lengthy string of people, so he informed me that this one was meant to be a “challenge” for me.

“Bring it on!” I shouted, pumping my fists Rocky-esque into the air.

Or probably not.

But you gotta admit it sounds cooler that way.

Mystery Person 3

I figured that if she was really a challenge, i.e. perhaps not quite as well known as the others, my best chance of finding her would be to work out what her name was, and as usual my synesthesia came in handy for this task.

So as soon as I opened the photo in my email, I started trying to get a sense of her colors right away.

“Is one of her names red?” I asked Chuck after looking at her for a moment or two.

“Yes, actually,” he replied, looking a bit surprised (he was kind enough to memorize my synesthetic alphabet colors shortly after meeting me, which needless to say bought him about a million-quadrillion boy-points, which are also red).

“Is it her last name, like, maybe a B?” I wanted to know.

“Yes, her last name does start with a B,” he answered, looking even more surprised.

She didn’t want to tell me much more at that moment, but as I returned to her over the next day or so, I kept getting impressions of a go-go dancer or a stripper, and the name Betty kept popping into my head.

I asked Chuck about Betty, and he confirmed that this name did have a connection to the person in the photo, as did the stripper/prostitute concept.

So I kept working.

Over dinner that night, I asked Chuck if the last name had a double letter in it.  He said that it did.

“Is the double letter an L?” I wondered out loud.

He confirmed that it was.

“I’ve been hearing the name Bell or maybe Bella for a while now,” I told him.

Looking startled again, he said “Her last name is Bell.”

Oh.  Well.

That oughtta do it.

With the clues I already had, and especially the last name, it didn’t take much more searching to figure out the identity of this young woman.

Her name is Mary Bell, and as two of my readers, Lisa and seabluelee correctly guessed (but you don’t think it was psychically – really?) she was in fact a killer.

Mary BellIn 1968, when she was 11 years old, Mary murdered and mutilated two young boys, Martin Brown and Brian Howe.  I will spare you the grisly details – unless you really want them, in which case here are two links that don’t spare much of anything:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Bell

http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/notorious_murders/famous/bell/index_1.html

Interestingly, I did not get a sense that Mary was an evil person when I was reading her aura, and I’m still not convinced that she is one. 

Her mother, whose name, not surprisingly, was Betty, was in fact a prostitute who allegedly forced Mary to engage in sexual activity with men from the age of four, and who cruelly abused the young girl in other ways as well.

It seems pretty likely that Mary is a sociopath, based on her actions and her demeanor during the case, but it’s also clear that the abuse she endured may well have been the cause of her behavior. 

Now, I’m not a big believer in the concept of evil as such, but rather in damage – and it seems obvious to me that while Mary may have been born with what I would call innate or inherent damage, she also received a great deal of applied damage from her mother, and this combination is fairly common in triggering a sociopath to take murderous action, where otherwise they might not.

In fact, Mary served twelve years in incarceration, and has apparently not offended again since that time.  She has a daughter and a granddaughter, and was granted lifelong anonymity in 2003, so it is impossible to know exactly what she’s doing these days.

But if she had killed somebody else, I daresay we would have heard about that.

Oddly enough, when I was reading her initially, I was getting something about her being a nurse (and who knows what might have been, before or long after all that damage got applied).

In reading about her afterwards, when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, she replied that she would like to be a nurse, so that she could stick needles into people and hurt them.

Not exactly what I had in mind, but hey.

What we need here is therapy.

Lots and LOTS of therapy.

Thanks to my readers for playing along!  I was interested in Martina’s comment that she connected Mary with Sylvia Plath:  for one thing, Sylvia was an extremely disturbed person, but more intriguingly, her best-known work of literature and only novel just happens to be called The Bell Jar.

Coincidence?  Or psychic tickle?

You decide.

And drop me a comment!  I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Speaking of coincidences, in researching this person, I kept getting a strong sense of water, swimming, and youngest-person-to-do-something.  In searching for Mary Bell (once I knew her last name), I immediately ran across Marilyn Bell, who was the youngest person to swim Lake Ontario and the English Channel. 

Who knew?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marilyn_Bell

Mystery Person #3

For the more intuitively inclined (or those who would like to be), here is another Mystery Person for you to flex your mental muscles on.

Have a look at the photo below, and drop me a comment with your impressions on what sort of person she is.

Mystery Person 3

It sometimes helps to relax your eyes and look AROUND the subject of the picture, rather than directly at her.

It’s kind of like one of those old Magic Eye puzzles, you know?

If you look at it without really looking at it, then eventually you SEE it.

That’s how it works for me, anyway.

I like to read the colors of a person’s aura this way too – and the results are often surprising.  I will share some of these in stories about future Mystery People, as they come up.

I have quickly learned not to discount any information I receive, even when it doesn’t seem to fit the image in front of me.

So ask yourself something about this woman:

  • How old is she, and from what time period?
  • What is her social status?
  • Does she have a good character, a bad one, or a combination of both?
  • What did she do to become a notable individual?
  • What type of personality does she have?
  • Do you get any ideas as to her name?

Feel free to drop me a comment or an email, and let me know what your impressions are.

Don’t be shy, and don’t rule anything out!

I will reveal this person’s identity (and how I was able to locate her myself) sometime early next week.

Have a great weekend, and happy intuiting!

Can I Have a Word?

Well, the New Year is sailing right along, with the first month half-over already.

This seems like an excellent time to pause and evaluate how things are going.

It also seems like a good excuse to sit on the couch in my pajamas and do a bit of navel-gazing, don’t you agree?

Well, not literally, of course.

That would just be weird.

But if the above were my only criteria, then the year would be going perfectly so far.

Which, come to think of it, it is.

Now, I’m not much of one for resolutions, since as most people know, they typically get tossed into the dumpster before they ever get rolling.

The problem with resolutions is that they they tend to be a bit vague, or are so overambitious that they only inspire feelings of failure and regret, instead of the progress they’re intended to achieve.

They end up lying wrinkled and deflated by the wayside, and the regulars get the use of the gym back in remarkably short order.

So nice for them.

Not so nice for the well-intended.

Dumbbell

Keep weighting. The dumbbells will be gone soon.

Recognizing the inherent shortfalls of this approach, therefore, on the advice of my dear and sainted mother (who got it from a life coach she’s quite fond of), rather than scripting resolutions doomed to fail, I select a specific word or two for the year instead - something that resonates with power and guiding intention.

Or at least is a really pretty color, so the synesthetic in me stays satisfied.

Because if she ain’t happy, ain’t NOBODY happy.

Last year, for example, I chose the word “Energy,” with the sub-word “Passion” (an appropriately crimson word to stimulate the base chakra, which I desperately need).

I even ordered a custom-made necklace with “Passion” stamped on it, which served to remind me of my better intentions, and helped me absorb the idea by proximity.

I was interested in discovering more about my own energies and how to strengthen them, as well as learning to read and understand the energies of others.

I also wanted to focus on deciding what my personal passions might be, and to develop them into something that could be useful to other people as well.

So I started researching and practicing aura reading in earnest, as well as meditating even more than I already had been.

I tightened up my diet (which is unfortunately quite restrictive by necessity), and this gave me a lot more clarity and mental focus than I had before (more on that topic some other time, if you think you can stand it).

Since I’m self-employed now, I’m able to set my own schedule, and eat, sleep, and meditate when I need to – this works much better for maintaining my energy levels too, as I’m sure you can imagine.

Overall it was a very progressive year, and I’m really pleased with the outcomes I achieved from the words that I chose.

So pleased, in fact, that this year I really just want to expand upon many of the things I started in 2011.

Thus the word I have chosen for 2012 is specifically designed to keep me moving in directions already established.

And that word is “BETTER.”

I initially considered the word “Improve,” but that’s a sickly white see-through word which somehow puts me in mind of nuns looming over me with a ruler, so “Better” seemed – uh – what’s the word I’m looking for?

Oh yeah.

Better.

It’s another nice round juicy fat red word, of the sort that curls up next to you and gazes at you adoringly while you do your work.

It says to me “Hey, things are already singing, but why not step back and see if you can hit just one note higher?

“Would that really be hard?

“Just a little bit better.”

It’s a word of mindfulness rather than judgment, and awareness instead of unheeding oblivion.

It requires me to be more awake to everything I do, and not to accept ritual and habit in exchange for creativity and thoughtful effort.

It asks me to step outside myself as an impartial observer, and make small improvements every day, for example the following:

  • Get up just a little bit earlier.
  • Turn off the TV and read more books.
  • Do NOT eat that, no matter how good it looks and tastes and smells.
  • Seriously, don’t. It’ll kill you.
  • No, I don’t CARE if your boyfriend can eat it, you CAN’T.
  • Do a little exercise, even if it’s only for a minute.
  • Clean that corner you forgot about, even though nobody cares but you.
  • Be a little kinder, think of others more, and try not to be too critical.
  • Yes, even after that thing that they said.
  • They probably didn’t mean it.
  • Keep on developing your intuition, by any means necessary.

That’s my story for the year, and thanks to my marvelous new word, I’m stickin’ to it.

So what about you, beloved readers?  What word or phrase would be most powerful in helping you reach your goals this year? Does anything spring directly to mind?

The right word will grab you by the midsection and give it a little wiggle – that’s how you’ll know it’s the one.

Drop me a comment and let me know what you think! I’d love to hear ANY old words from you.

Either one of you!

Narcissists Unite!

My boyfriend and I have been together for nearly five years now, and as anyone can attest, the concept of what constitutes a romantic gesture in a long-term relationship tends to evolve from roses and candy to dishes and laundry in remarkably short order.

And so it is at my house.

But he did surprise me recently with a box of paperwhite bulbs for winter forcing, and since narcissus is pretty much my favorite flower, I was understandably excited.

Because the only thing more fun than GETTING my favorite flower, of course, is demanding that it germinate at a truly unreasonable time of year.

I have a bit of a God complex, clearly.

So sue me.

Narcissus Flowers

Thus, five or six weeks after immersing the bulbs in the magic creepy-expandy peat pellet mixture they were packed in, my little darlings have finally started to bloom today, and I could NOT be more enthused about it.

Just look at them, staring out the window at the snow in utter bemusement, wondering what the heck they’re doing up at this ridiculous hour, and smelling exactly the way I imagine Heaven will smell, if I behave myself well enough to get there eventually.

That’s if the good Lord isn’t too miffed about the whole God complex thing, I suppose.

But if anything has gotten me to stop and appreciate the flowers, in the midst of all the vastly more sensible and productive things I have to do today, it is this very thing.

Because there they sit, in all their glory, and will hold that fragrance for only the briefest of magical moments. And what a wildly blooming fool I would be to miss one fleeting second of it.

They teach us everything we need to know, if we’re willing to listen.

Grow strong. Stand up straight. Get some sun. Drink lots of water.

Bloom where you’re planted, even if you have to wake up early to do it.

Look out the window, laugh at the winter, and make your own world a Heaven.

Because really, what else can you do?

Hot Dog!

Radiator Dog
Robot centipede dachshund

Always drinking from my floor
Are you proof that I don’t get out
Of the house much anymore?

Please explain it, space-age puppy
I implore you, throw me a bone
Cuz I should have been writing a real post
But all I have is this doggone poem.

-J.L.F.

Monday Mantra

In the interests of starting off the week (and perhaps the year) on a positive note, here is a beautiful Buddhist prayer that popped back into my head recently, following an extended and regrettable absence.

I used to use it and enjoy it quite a lot, though, so it returned with the familiarity of an old and cherished friend:

May I be filled with loving-kindness
May I be well
May I be peaceful and at ease
May I be happy

Praying Statue

Now, the nice thing about this little affirmation is that you can say it for yourself, or you can fill in the name of someone you love (or don’t) in the place of the “I” in each sentence.

Because, let’s face it, there’s no “I” in “enlightenment.”

Oh wait, there totally is.

But it’s a lower case “i.”

So there.

I think this one works regardless of religion, and may tend to attract all the good things it mentions if you repeat it often enough.

And at the very least, it’s just relaxing.

So give it a go, and I hope it gives you a lift on this, everyone’s favorite day of the week.

Have a happy Monday, on a wing and a prayer!

P.S. In a total coincidence (as if I believed in coincidences, which I do NOT), I just received this link today from life coach Cheryl Richardson’s Life Makeover for the Year 2012, on much the same topic:

http://www.cherylrichardson.com/newsletters/week-2-stick-to-it-making-changes-with-loving-kindness/

Great minds think alike, I guess.

And so does mine!

Fire and Ice

Hello, peeps and peoples!

Happy New-ish Year!

Today is the first day of the rest of the weekend, or however the saying goes, so today I am sitting in front of the fire in my (thankfully nonflammable) robe, rocking in my super-comfy chair, and watching the wildly overfed neighborhood squirrels (courtesy of my sweet animal-loving boyfriend, Doctor Jewlittle), frolicking on the deck.

And also climbing the walls with they teenity feets, which is more than mildly startling if you’re not expecting to walk into a room and find a splayed-out squirrel staring at you through the window screen, peanut fever in its beady little eyes.

Thank goodness they’ll be too fat for that soon.

Because I now possess far more detailed information about squirrel anatomy than I rightfully require for any useful purpose, I can assure you.

But in any case, I’m happy today, because I finally awoke to just the merest scurf of snow all over the world, pure and blissfully untrammeled (although needless to say, that condition did not persist following the onslaught of squirreldom).

Snow Squirrel Tracks

As a result, I decided that it was definitely time to throw a very fake log into my very real fireplace, turn on the lights on my even faker tree, burn a candle that smells like the mulled cider that I can never, ever drink because the sugar would murder me, and sit on my berob-ed bum for most of the day, tippy-typing away.

Not a bad job if you can get it.

Doesn’t come with benefits, though, aside from that squirrel anatomy thing.

And that is clearly a matter of opinion.

Squirrel At Window