May 14, 2017

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Steve is settling in with a rather large chunk of blackberry pie from the grocery store, and a cup of milk. I have to poke a little fun at him...we go to the grocery store most mornings, and he always has his eye on this blackberry pie, but $7.00 is too much in his estimation, so he waits for it to go on-sale. He tells me, "The blackberry will never be put on quick-sale, it is too popular," and yet, he looks for it every day. Suddenly, there it is--an apple, and the coveted blackberry, have both been marked for quick-sale! He takes his prize home, and before it even gets through the door, he is worrying how to eat the darned thing without totally blowing his diet. If he stretches it out it will just take that much longer to get back down to his desired weight; he might as well down the entire thing in large slices, and get it over with. Each slice he worries about, and checks his weight (he is not really overweight); but he does manage, somehow, to enjoy the pie while he is eating it. I will give him that much ;-).

You see, with love, you can nag, you can tease, you can do everything--and it is taken with love. Without love all these things, and much more, become irksome.

I have a birthday coming up--June 2nd. Steve has definitely not forgotten it this time! (He did, last year, some of you may recall.) But he doesn't know what to do for me. What does a girl in the astral world need? When she has her beloved, waiting for her and trying to make her an active part of his life, even on earth, the best he can? What, indeed? Nothing at all.

Except Steve sensed yesterday that I was sad and distracted about something, and that it might be that I am hurting with someone I have a personal connection with, on earth, who is suffering. This is when we become unhappy; we are not oblivious. We can--Steve is having trouble expressing this as I would want, rather than according to his philosophy--we can see the workings of the Universe for suffering people, in general, and trust in God and the Elders to set it right, eventually. We do know, as our Guru has also pointed out, that people mostly get themselves into their own scrapes, from one lifetime to another. Yet, when it is one of our own, someone in our own close circle of friends, we hurt with them and for them, and find no rest, here. That is how it is, with me, today. Of course, from our perspective, when they pass, most of the time they are released into joy. So it is the suffering on earth we are concerned for, not that so-many people have died. That is just our perspective.

Now Steve is permitted to stop and take the first bite of his blackberry pie ;-).

He says it is good, but that he seems to remember that I used less sugar in my pies, so that the sugar didn't overwhelm the taste of the berries; that our berries were fresher (as we had just picked them, together, sometimes); that my crust was crunchy but melted in your mouth; and he also seems to remember the filling bubbling, and him burning his mouth because he couldn't wait for the pie to cool, and me telling him it was his own fault, while smiling that my young man--who was still half a boy--praised my pies. Our minds may have been complex, but our hearts were simple--we just strove to find ways to love each other more, which means, happiness in the other's happiness. We still do that.

That is the secret (once again, as our Guru has also pointed out). Too simple. Too profound. Too much trouble to practice.

Now, we both want to pass along to you a secret. If you know this, you may skim ;-). You have heard of "repetitive motion injury," and you have heard of the "importance of diet." I want to tell you that 90% of what people go to the doctor for, is a result of "repetitive insult." Most of the time this is not coming from the environment--this is a result of habits. I'll give a couple of examples in Steve's life, currently, and we will get off this subject. He began developing a pain in his left hip. What could be causing it? He was worried that the new manual transmission car ("Kappa") he bought could be causing it, and then what would he do? (He worries a lot.) He finally realized there were at least two habits bearing on this problem--he tended to unconsciously "push" on his left foot, because he knows the left leg is just a little longer than the right, and he wants to even them out. The subconscious mind is a simpleton, you see. Some have likened it to a dog, or a child. You learn to treat it kindly, but firmly; and to this kind of treatment, it will respond. If you take the stance of a harsh master, it will rebel. Then, he also realized that when he was getting into the car, he would pivot on his left foot--but he was wearing rubber-soled shoes which don't pivot. So what was pivoting, but his hip, instead. Between these two habits, he was developing a pain in his hip. Had he gone to the doctor, only God knows what he might have prescribed, you see. Cortisone shots? An operation? Whatever they could make money on.

Second example. Steve was developing a pain in his right heel. (Sort of like Achilles' heel, he joked, to me--this is pure Mathew.)

We must stop for another bite of blackberry pie...

In this case, also, we found two insults. And Steve wants to interject, here, that often, when a disaster occurrs, it turns out there were two reinforcing errors. So to return to my explanation, he realized that at night, during that part of the night when he sleeps in a recliner, he slips down so that his heels are resting on the edge of the foot rest. That recliner, which was not top-of-the-line when it was new, has lost some of its padding on the foot rest, and for some reason, in his sleep, he is pushing his right foot down onto what is now the corner of an unpadded piece of wood in the chair's skeleton. That, and seated at his desk (where he is, now), his chair sometimes slides off the homemade wooden mat (because the commercial ones are outrageously expensive). When it does, and he pushes it back, some percentage of the time the wheel arm, on the bottom of this desk chair, is pointing straight forward; and it rams directly into this same ankle tendon.

So doing this over, and over, and over, unconsciously, has caused the tendon (as Steve supposes) to become inflamed and tender. If he went to a podiatrist with this complaint, what might he or she do? We shudder to think; but it would no-doubt be expensive. It would have a long name (or someone's name, if it is a syndrome); and it would have a drug developed for it, and a surgical procedure to fix it. It would also have lawyers specializing in it, when the procedure goes wrong, or the drug causes side-effects, you see. And there are drugs to combat the side-effects, and lawyers to sue over the side-effects of the drugs designed to combat the side-effects, and everybody is making money except yourself, you see, who is now going bankrupt and who still has a sore ankle, except now you may never walk properly, again.

Whereas, all Steve has to do is to solve these two silly problems. This morning we will go to the store and look for those long rubbery poles that kids love to whack each other over the head with--if they are hollow, Steve will cut it and place it over the edge of the recliner foot. And he is already taking care not to whack his heel with the desk chair wheel, when he brings the chair back onto the makeshift mat.

Case solved. Cost? $2.98 for the orange whacker pole.

This, also, is how Steve manages to keep a 98-year-old woman in reasonably good health, with hardly any doctor visits, and on only three drugs (including eye medicine, and not counting aspirin).

And I help him by prompting him with ideas. The whacker pole toy was my idea. (I love the engineering problems.)

For those of you in the know, if those turn out not to be hollow, no problem--I only gave him the impression of a tennis ball cut so as to fit over a walker leg, but lengthened out across the foot of the chair. So we will find some kind of rubber tube that works properly.

What else...

Steve is eating his pie, now, with more determination; and he has rubbed the juice on his clean white shirt (a la Mathew, the farmer), and that must be dealt with, and the cat is calling that it is time for her breakfast (it is, actually, two minutes past time), and perhaps we shall wrap this up for today.

Love to each and all,
Abby