“I just hit A.V.’s (dog) trolley with the tractor roll bar and the carabiner sling shotted back and knocked me out. I have a buckle in my forehead,” read my husband’s text message.

“And you’re texting me instead of calling?! Jesus Christ.”

“Trying to stop the bleeding. I’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.

“You’re so pretty. So very, very pretty,” was my typed response.

Knowing I couldn’t convince my stubborn husband to go to the emergency room, I didn’t even try. Instead, I shrugged my shoulders, set the phone aside, and listened to the peaceful quiet in our Fargo home. Then, with a smile, I thought, Hot damn! I’m getting a nap in today!  Hell to the yeah!  I could do this because our (then) seven-year-old was with her dad at our lake home and that allowed me another twenty-four glorious hours without hearing “Mom. Mom. Mom? MOM. MOM! MOM?!” fifty-five times in eight seconds.

When I awoke, I saw I had missed a call from hubby and that he had sent a text. “Come get me,” read the message.

Hope he’s come to his senses and is ready to go to the E.R., I thought.  With a smirk blooming on my face, I dialed his number only to have it wiped away when our little girl answered.

“Mommy!” she sobbed, and then uttered a string of unintelligible words.

“Honey, I can’t understand you,” I said calmly. “Slow down and tell me again, please.”

I heard her inhale and when she spoke again, this time in a slightly less garbled voice, all vestiges of sleep were immediately erased. “Come get me. Now! I think Dad’s dead.”

“What?!” came my shocked response, then, “Honey! Tell me what happened.”

Her wailing returned and her voice rose to a pitch making it impossible for me to understand her. I tried again, “Honey, let’s take a couple of deep breaths together, okay? Ready . . . inhale and exhale. Good. And let’s do one more . . .  Okay, do you feel like you can tell me what happened now?”

Without delay, she said, “Mommy! Daddy is bleeding all over the place and he’s jerking and making scary noises. He won’t open his eyes and he just keeps rolling around on the floor.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“Okay, honey. Can you wake him?”

“No. I don’t want to be near him. I’m so scared, Mom! I took all of my blankets and hid in the closet for a while. COME GET ME!”

“Okay honey. Okay. I’m here. I’ve got you. I need to call the police for a wellness check and then I’ll call you right back. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes, but hurry!

She didn’t need to say it twice.

“Stubborn, stubborn German!” I muttered while Googling the number for the sheriff.  After explaining the situation and letting him know I was seventy-five miles away, the sheriff said he’d get back to me and then did what I should have done – called 911.

I called Ceta and told her help, in the form of the sheriff, was on the way and that I was coming to get her. Then I asked, “Will you sit by Daddy, honey? Can you put your hand on his arm or rub his leg? Let him know you’re there and he’s not alone?”

“No! He’s scaring me! He keeps moaning and making weird noises and he’s twitching all over the place. I’m not going near him!”

“Okay, honey. You’ve done wonderfully. I’m so proud of you for knowing to call me and having the courage to do so. I’ve got help coming. Would you like to stay on the phone with me until they arrive? I’m gonna grab a few things and I’ll be there to get you in no ti—”

As I was finishing my sentence, call waiting beeped and I told Ceta I needed to call her right back. The incoming call was an officer from the Highway Patrol.

“Ms. Schaff?” he asked, mispronouncing my name. Out of habit, I corrected him and then rolled my eyes. What does it matter?!

“This is Officer Dogooder.” (Not really, but I can’t remember his name.) “We have your husband en route to the Perham Hospital. We have procured arrangements for your daughter to be . . .”  He continued in his professional police talk voice until I cut him off.

“Look. Officer. I’m coming from Fargo as soon as I can figure out this fucking Bluetooth hands-free-technology-shit in my car.  I’m gonna ask you for an assist. Can you do that?”

“Ma’am, that’s really not warranted. Your husband’s injury isn’t critical.”

“Okay, then you should know I’m gonna be comin’ in hot and I mean, I’m gonna be speeding my ass off.”  I honestly don’t know what got into me. I was raised to respect authority figures and by that I mean if I even see a uniformed police officer, I’m kegeling and thinking Oh my GOD, did I do something wrong!?  To further my point, since age sixteen, I’ve received exactly two speeding tickets and they’ve both left me in tears; not from the ticket itself, oh no, but from the presence of Big Blue – Officer John Law. 

Growing older, finding my voice and extreme stress changes people, at least it has me.

A mere sixty-five minutes later (I guess I’m not that much of a pedal-to-the-metal rebel; the trip normally takes eighty minutes) I pulled into the hospital’s parking lot and saw that the helicopter’s rotors were starting to turn. Walking quickly into the emergency entrance, I heard her sweet voice before I saw her and when I saw her, she was in the waiting room talking with a member of the First Responders staff.

“Hey Mom,” she said casually, as if this was an ordinary Saturday where we often hung out in hospital waiting rooms.

“Hey honey,” I replied with equal calm and stooped to give her a hug. I wanted to give her a real beaut, but she wanted nothing to do with me, keeping her body turned away, so I hugged her shoulders and asked, “Are you okay?”

She nodded and the lady said Ceta had kept her entertained with stories and pictures.  That’s so my girl, I thought.

A nurse came forward and asked who I was there to see. I told her and she said the doctor wanted to visit with me but that my husband was fine and would be fine, and if I wanted to see him before the chopper took off, I needed to go outside now.

Her words, while reassuring, sparked the first flames of anger.

Oh, you bet your sweet ass I wanna see him. Yes, I do. Very much.

Taking Ceta’s hand, we walked to where his gurney was parked several yards away from the increasingly noisy copter. My eyes scanned his body and returned to the white gauze bandage wrapped around his head.  I bent and peered a little closer at his face, noticing dried blood in his ear, eyebrows and by the corner of his mouth. My hawk-like eyes missed nothing and when I was satisfied, I raised my eyes to his and when they met, he said, a bit sheepishly, “I’m fine.”

Internally snorting, I thought, You’re about to be life flighted to Fargo. You’re not fine, you stubborn ass!  But instead of voicing this, flames of anger fully replaced worry and as I shook my head, I mouthed not “I love you” or “You’re gonna be fine,” but “You stupid fucker,” and then briefly kissed his lips.

Bet that was a first for the EMT’s.

Ceta and I reentered the hospital where the doctor was waiting. He explained Trinity had received a concussion, whiplash and a skull fracture. I had a brief thought that “someone” was trying to get his attention, and that “someone” may have saved his life. Before I could explore that, the doctor continued, validating my thoughts. He told me my husband was lucky; if the projectile had been an inch lower, he (Trinity) would be dead. He also said the puncture wound was small and no bone fragments had entered his brain; a positive, for sure.

“Why Life Flight, then?” I asked.

“Because you don’t fool around with head injuries and you certainly don’t want a small hospital like ours treating this.  Right now, he’s stable but his brain could bleed at any moment and he needs to be at a hospital where they are experts at this kind of stuff.  We are sending him to Sanford.”

“Oh no you’re not!” I protested. “He’s a veteran and needs to go to the VA.”

“Nope. Sanford. The VA is not equipped for this. Sanford is the only option.”

After a quick stop at the lake home to get the dog (and the I-pad, can’t forget that modern-day babysitter at a time like this), I saw a portion of what Ceta had witnessed. In addition to the bloody floors, rugs, towels, counter tops and furniture, Trinity’s t-shirt had been scissored off by the EMT’s and lay discarded among the carnage.

I walked to Ceta’s bedroom, looked inside her closet and saw the blankets and I-pad stuffed into a corner.  I understood what she was trying to do because I had employed this technique as a child too. My shoulders sank, my head fell forward, and my hands went to my eyes, covering them in an attempt to blot all of this out. It didn’t work.

In addition, the adrenaline was starting to wear off and tremors began, real teeth-clackers. I thought my knees were going to give out and if that happened, I knew I was an emotional goner. Silently, I prayed, Not yet God, I gotta get us home first. With that, my game-face returned, and after giving Ceta another sideways hug, I shoo’d her and A.V. out of the house and into the car and then drove to Fargo at a much more leisurely pace.

Ceta and I talked about how, just two weeks before, the Fire Department had come to her class and talked about what to do in case of an emergency. She and I roll played some scenarios before I tucked her into bed. I had no idea her “training” would be put to use – or so soon.

After dropping our goldie off at home, Ceta and I headed for the hospital.  It was there I thought to contact a neighbor, and after explaining the situation, I asked if Ceta could spend the night. Without hesitation, she agreed, and not only that, but she offered to pick Ceta up at the hospital.

Trinity awoke in the E.R. after several hours of fitful sleep. He didn’t have a clear memory of the last eight hours. His pain was manageable, he said, but when tests showed his kidneys were shutting down, something common with severe head trauma, that guaranteed him an extended stay at Hotel Sanford.

During this time, I received a text from the Fire Chief who had attended my husband. “Wanted to let you both know how amazing your daughter was yesterday. Not only did she have the presence of mind to call you when she knew there was something wrong with her dad, but she was the calmest, coolest kid I’ve ever seen on a call.  . . .Hats off to her for being such a trooper.”

Unable to sleep in the hospital’s hide-away bed, my mind again turned to Ceta. I wondered how this would affect her. I tried to make this less scary for her by turning it into a positive; I had also opened the lines of communication, so much so that she would eventually say, “Can we just quit talking about this? Please!”  I decided I would ask her if she’d like to speak with her school counselor and when I did, she said yes.

The next night, alone, and in the confines of my own bedroom, I cried hard, letting out all the fear, worry, and anger over not only this event, but also for what I had experienced as a child. As the sobbing let up, I thought it was crazy that Trinity’s accident had triggered a still painful memory from my youth and that by facing it as an adult, I was now able to heal it.

A few weeks after Trinity left the hospital in mid-October, everything was settling back to normal when I received a text from one of the First Responders. She said that the entire staff was so impressed with our little girl that they’d like to do something for her. I replied I wasn’t sure if Ceta wanted any more attention; she was trying to put the event behind her after sharing her story at school and getting a badge at Girl Scouts. After speaking to Ceta about it, she reluctantly agreed that they could do something for her as long as it didn’t involve her being on a stage or having a spotlight on her. I relayed her wishes.

Six weeks later, Ceta and I were sitting on the couch talking about Christmas when she announced, “You know how I know I won’t get coal from Santa?”

“How?” I asked, raising an eyebrow and thinking this oughta be good.

“Because I saved my dad’s life, that’s why.”

That knocked the wind out of me. Both Trinity and I had been careful not to put that weight on her shoulders, but somehow, she knew. After what felt like several seconds, I responded, “Yes, you did, honey. How do you feel about that?”

“It’s okay, Mom. I did. I did save Dad’s life but I just wanna put it behind me.”

Spoken like a true sage.

On New Year’s Eve, an envelope arrived addressed to Ceta. I suspected it was the “something” the First Responder had spoken about. Ceta, with a smile on her face, ripped open the envelope (what child doesn’t love getting mail?), removed the card and out floated her very own life-sized Fire and Rescue patch.

The perfectly timed item was the best “something” she could have received. Not only did the simple patch honor her heroism but it reminded her that she made a positive difference, not just for her dad, but for others as well.

Out of something bad, good will come.

Melissa’s Note: Trinity is doing well – he’s still having concussion issues, which frustrate him, but he is also loosely following doctor’s orders. Does that surprise you? Not me. He is also very aware that his life was spared and humbled by it. Apparently,  he has more to do on this earth – something which both Ceta and I are grateful.   


My jaw dropped this morning when the media released the story about how brutally and inhumanely a journalist’s life was ended.  My first thought went to his parents; those people nursed him and fed him and tucked him in at night and read him stories and taught him how to sing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” and helped him with his math. They must be in incomprehensible pain. They have emotionally and physically lost a part of themselves in a brutal and horrifying manner. What’s worse (?) the vicious murder of their child, their son, is repeatedly displayed via social media for anyone who wants to watch.  Would you want that?!

Then I thought about a wife or a child(ren) he may have left behind.  This wife was robbed of being able to share her life and to grow old with her beloved. Her child(ren) will not get to hear their father’s voice, feels his hugs or learn from his wisdom any longer.

Then I thought about him, the victim, and the sadness and loneliness he may have experienced being away from those he loves while on assignment…a JOB for pity sake. I thought about the fear he must have had and the injustices he must have endured because he was an American pawn. Then I thought about the humans who committed these egregious acts.

While I understand there are two sides to every story, I just don’t understand why the world seems to be in such a snit. And why do we, the public, need/want to hear about this stuff? For me, personally, it’s overwhelming. To recap, we have children being raped and killed. We have pedophiles and drug dealers in our neighborhoods, sometimes in our own homes. We have parents willfully killing their infants. We have teenagers taking aim on schools. We have sects shooting planes out of the sky and we have militants using women and children as human shields.  It’s in our newspapers, on our radios, televisions and social media. It’s talked about in coffee shops, at dinner tables and for those like me, it reverberates inside my head.

Is it any wonder many believed the world would end in 2012?!

With great sadness (and more than a little disgust for my fellow human beings), I looked at my 2 ½ year old daughter and said, “{Expletive} I brought you into this hell hole. I chose to have you even though THIS is what’s going on in the world. And you chose to come. How are you supposed to help with this? What’s your part? How can you stop all this crap?” She looked at me and said, “Mommy not be sad. Mommy be happy!” and then she burst into a rousing rendition of “Bingo was his name O!”

But somewhere inside my head, I ‘heard’ the much older and wiser version of her say, “Teach tolerance.”

So what is tolerance?  Webster’s dictionary describes it as (among other things): “sympathy or indulgence for beliefs or practices differing from or conflicting with one’s own.”   Yes, yes! I like that. My mom used to say, “To each his own.”  I, for the most part, did grow up understanding and using tolerance so maybe that’s why this stuff is so difficult for me to understand.

My daughter has a favorite Sesame Street book entitled, “We’re Different, We’re the Same.” I read it to her daily and it often reaches the ad nauseam point for me but she loves it. It talks about how our bodies are different but they are the same.  They “stretch and bend and work and play. They all need food and rest each day. They dance and wiggle and ride a bike. They might look different, but they’re alike.”  It talks about how our skin is different but our skin is the same. It talks about our feelings are different but our feelings are the same, “Lonely, worried, scared, excited, happy, loving, glad, delighted.”

You get it, right? We ARE all the same. We might look different, but we’re the same. We are all ONE. All of our blood is red. We all have a heart and lungs and skin. We all have emotions. We all have beliefs. We all have ‘baggage.’ We were all born and we will all die.

It’s now the end of the day and I’m still agitated. I’m left wondering, in a shell-shocked sort of way, what’s it going to take to stop all this killing and other injustices?  Is teaching tolerance the answer? Maybe. Teaching hate sure isn’t working.


I have a client whose deceased husband has been coming to her sessions, almost without fail, for about two years.  Their love for each other has clearly transcended boundaries and it continues even while one of them is no longer in human form.

Dick is a joy to communicate with. Sometimes he is quiet and takes everything in, other times he is all smiles and eager to talk.  Sometimes he does energy work on his wife right alongside of (or through) me and sometimes he lets me have the floor.

He is respectful, courteous and polite and has a fabulously dry sense of humor which brings happy tears to his wife’s blue eyes.

He shows up in human form or as the color orange. Sometimes I don’t see him but he telepathically talks to me. Sometimes he shares quips about his life with his beloved and sometimes he tells me information about the spiritual realm.

In life, Dick was a scientist and a professor which made him naturally analytical/logical. He preferred to do things that didn’t involve people. His wife, on the other hand, loves helping people and Dick didn’t understand this need. He also didn’t believe in his wife’s ‘hunches’ and he most certainly would never have given Reiki or channeled messages the time of day.

But now, in death, he tells me he has been ‘awakened.’

Last month, right around the time we were learning about downed air crafts, Dick briefly popped into session and seemed excited but worn-out and rushed. This was a far cry from his normal calming, sedate and respectful manner. It was kind of as if he was overwhelmed with the enormity of something.

He said he couldn’t stay as he had a lot of work to do. He said he and others were helping newly deceased souls find Home.  He popped in and out of my client’s session that day. He was clearly torn; he really wanted to be with his wife and to have me communicate his words, but he had obligations elsewhere.

During my client’s most recent session, Dick returned and he was enthusiastically excited.  He said he has been tasked to work with people. He, and others, were helping souls leave their physical body and return to energy, just like him. He told his wife he didn’t realize how tiring dealing with emotions could be. His wife of 40 years laughed and said that dealing with emotions was NOT his specialty. She found comfort in the knowledge he was learning to do so.

Up until Dick’s recent communication, I thought once you died and became a soul you’d live on Heaven’s easy street. You know, nothing to do because it was already done. You were free from all pain, you took a vacation from all this spiritual learning crap and you played golf/cards or fished/napped all day until you reincarnated. But Dick’s revelations about his continued learning left me questioning all of what I thought.

Dick knew what I was thinking because my brain was instantly flooded with a whole bunch of telepathic information concerning this. For instance, I knew Dick was helping individuals who died en masse by guiding their ascending souls from earth.  I knew it wasn’t just Dick doing this; it was a large group or ‘pocket’ of entities (200 or so) who had banded together to help and they’re very happy doing so.

I learned that once you physically die your work or maybe more appropriately, what you need to work ON, doesn’t stop. You are given opportunities to learn and grow by taking, ummm, let’s call them classes.  As is the case with Dick, he was given the opportunity to spiritually advance – after his physical death – by learning about and dealing with the complexities of human emotions.  The last piece of knowledge I remember is that there are literally thousands of courses you could enroll in.

After our session ended, it once again occurred to me how fantastic this gift of communicating with the deceased (and the Ascended) is.  It also, once again, reminded me of how limited my human brain is.  I believe strongly at one point my brain knew all of this information as I had literally been there and done that.  But in order to not overload the circuits, I (we, really) had to forget some stuff so we could eat, drink and be merry.

I love these sessions with my client and her deceased husband. It reminds me that there IS more out there, that love doesn’t stop just because one person has left the physical plane (right, Angie?) and that death ISN’T the end.

How fabulous is that?


When I walk my daughter to daycare, we cross a busy 4-way residential intersection that is controlled by stop signs.  I’m amazed that some people can’t wait seven seconds (yes, you know me, I timed it!) for us to cross and yet others are so respectful they’ll stop a car’s length away. Some smile while others just look inconvenienced.  A few others keep their faces averted as if saying, “If I can’t see you, you’re not there” and roll through the stop sign.

But I’m not judging. GOD no, because I’ve done all of this, too.

Last year, I was approaching this busy intersection and I noticed a wee lil’ guy walking to the end of his driveway and then back up to his garage.  As we passed I said, “Hi!” and he ran to the garage, looked back and said to me, “I’m waiting for my daddy.”  I scanned the area and didn’t see anyone, not even a guardian. I kept walking but something didn’t feel right.  My ‘spidey sense’ was tingling.  I looked over my shoulder. No adult in sight and the sweet little guy (maybe 3?) was at the end of the driveway again.  I kept walking; after all, I had to get my daughter to daycare.  But something stopped me and I turned around and crossed that dang busy intersection again.

As I approached, he ran to his garage and looked at me with a side long glance. I said, “Honey. Is your daddy coming?” And he said yes. Then I asked where his mommy was and he shrugged his shoulders.  Ok, in for a penny in for a pound.  I, with my new born in her stroller, began walking up his driveway. I asked him if we should go look for his mommy together.  His face split into a huge, relieved smile and he said yes.  At that point he was no longer leery of me but giddily ran ahead of me while excitedly asking me about my baby.

We reached his front door and I noticed that it was open a bit as if this precocious pre-schooler had let himself out.  I rang the bell and soon mommy came to the door. She was trying to take the situation in when I said, “I found this little guy at the end of the driveway. He said he was waiting for his daddy.”

She blinked and instinctively looked towards the busy road. I could tell by her wide eyes that she was calculating what could have happened. She instantly dropped to her knees, embraced her son, cradling him and saying his name over and over and over again.  She looked up at me with eyes that were so full of thankfulness that the memory brings tears to my eyes two years later. She thanked me and I reddened and sputtered, “Oh, you’re welcome. I have a wee one, too and I would want someone to do the same thing if she pulled a Houdini.”

As I was leaving the drive way, I heard her call out, ‘THANK YOU’ once more.

Now, this whole intervening thingy was very out of character for me. I have been trained to keep my nose out of other people’s business. I most often assume that someone is taking care of the situation and everything will be fine without me being a budinsky.

Another ‘budinsky’ incident happened on an unusually warm January day. Trinity, our 2 month old and I were out for a walk and we noticed two little girls (2 and 4 maybe?) were knocking on a home’s door.  The youngest was naked from waist down and was carrying her dolly. The older one was clothed, wearing a light jacket but no shoes. Trinity and I were confused by this but assumed they were at their own home and the parent’s had this under control. We continued walking as I wanted to get home (read: in a rush). But bless Trinity’s not-in-a-rush intuitive heart, he sensed something was wrong and stopped dead in his tracks. I remember him saying, “This is not right. I have to do something.”

A long story short, this wasn’t their home. The oldest child told us their mommy was napping and she thought she knew how to get back to her house. She was a beautiful child who didn’t show any fear and already had a lot of maturity.

After wrapping the half-naked little girl in my coat and an extra blanket of our daughters, I picked her up and we started walking. She was as beautiful as her sister and so innocently sweet. I remember that she smelled of Vaseline and fit nicely in my arms.

When the oldest little girl said, “This is my house!” we rang the doorbell twice and a disheveled and bleary-eyed young mom came to the door. She, too, was trying to assess the situation when Trinity asked, “Are these your girls? We found them 5 houses down.”  I watched the emotions cross her face. First there was confusion, followed by acknowledgement and then understanding of what may have happened.  Then, her understanding turned to anger, not at us but at her two little innocent girls.  She started to chastise them when my husband stepped in and calmly said, “No. No. Please don’t be angry with them or yell at them. This isn’t their fault. Maybe just install a lock on the door?”

We left feeling proud of ourselves for stepping in and helping those two little girls. But I kept wondering, WHAT IF?! What if I/we didn’t stop? What if we minded our own business and assumed everything was fine?? The whole thing bothered me so much that I talked with Susie about it.

Susie, being Susie, said, “People react differently when they are in a hurry versus when they aren’t. It’s human nature. If you perceive you are not rushed, you will feel as if you have the time to help. If you are rushing, you will feel you don’t have time to deal with it.”

Yes. Yes.  That makes sense, right?

So now I think of those drivers who are in a rush to get to their destination and feel frustration with the mere seven second delay I’m causing by using the cross-walk. What are THEY missing? What am I missing when I’m in a rush?

Then I think about the ones who aren’t in a rush. Those who can wait the seven seconds. Those that stop and help a child. Those people, like me, may be rewarded by glimpsing a little chubby hand waving to them, a wide, brilliant smile on an innocent face or perhaps, a direct, big blue-eyed gaze that could melt hearts.


A new acquaintance recently asked me, “What personal quality of yours do you hope your child will adopt?”  Surprisingly, with all the great qualities I possess (cough), it didn’t take long to come up with the (as in the royal “the”, not the American “the”) answer.  As a side note, what was surprising was being able to condense my response into one SMALL paragraph!

My first thought was that of kindness. Then I thought about my uh, ummmm, let’s just call it, ‘superior multi-tasking and attention to detail’ skills. (You can read anal-retentiveness but I’m not writing it.) Then it hit me; I’d like for my daughter to adopt the gift of understanding why a person, including herself, reacts the way they do.

How did I arrive at choosing this particular personal quality over so many others? Let me weave a story that spans a decade.

I’m going to take you back to my Fate part I and Fate part II blogs. These are the blogs chronicling how my forever husband and I met, how he dumped me and how Susie saw, with her spiritual eyes, what was going on spiritually.  Even back then, when I was in such intense emotional pain, Susie was teaching me new ways of adapting and looking at things.

These conversations showed me that often a different set of eyes is needed in order to see what’s going on behind the scenes. What I mean by this is seeing why a person lashes out at you or why you lash out at them. And it doesn’t have to be lashing out (anger) either; it may be avoidance, sorrow or animosity.

A few years after Susie guided me through that emotional abyss and several instances later, I began noticing I often had a knowing or an intuitive ‘hit’ as to how a situation was different from what we saw with our physical eyes.

For instance, a client recently told me she was angry with a friend who had distanced herself without any explanation. I ‘looked’ into this and saw that the friend was trying to be supportive of my client’s busy life.  She wanted to give my client some space in order for her to accomplish all that she wanted to do. I also saw that this friend would be there for my client when my client was ready to reconnect. This took the hot air right out of my client’s anger balloon.

In another instance, my client was confused when a romantic relationship ended prematurely. She didn’t know what happened as everything appeared to be going well.  I ‘saw’ that this guy was very afraid of his intense feelings for her and bailed. This allowed her to understand she didn’t do anything wrong, she didn’t cause this and it helped her figure out what she wanted to do next. Hummm, this scenario sounds familiar, right Fate I and Fate II blog readers???!

One more example would be a client who was having extreme anxiety over how a coworker was treating her. I saw that this coworker was trying to help my client grow spiritually by putting some fuel on the proverbial low self-worth fire.  This person was trying to give my client opportunities to say no and to stand up for herself.   After hearing this, my client told me this was a life-long issue for her and something she wanted to work on. She emailed me a week later stating she had set some boundaries for herself, her friends, coworkers and others.

Developing this gift has allowed me to step into another person’s emotional shoes and better understand why a particularly painful or reactive response was triggered. It has helped me calm nerves and soothe anger. It has also helped me deal with my own emotional pain. But you don’t need to be an Intuitive to do this, you just need to be perceptive and open to looking at things in a different light.

What if we all practiced seeing each other’s pain with compassion and empathy instead of with anger and hostility? What if we all calmly said, ‘Wow, it looks like you’re having a strong reaction to what I said. Can you tell me why?”  Or, what if you internally said, “Wow, I am having a strong reaction to that. What do I need to look at and work on in order to try and heal the pain inside of me so this doesn’t happen again?”

By holding off on reacting to what we think is true and looking at things from a slightly different angle, it may help all of us to heal old wounds. And that, for me, is why I chose this particular trait or gift for my daughter to adopt. I believe it can literally change the world into a better place.

Channeled Message 6.20.14

Melissa’s Note: I’ve seen so much discord and physical injuries with my clients lately that I asked my Guys for a channeled message. I asked them if all this upheaval was due to Mercury being in retrograde or the upcoming Summer Solstice.  This is their response….

“You humans put too much emphasis on a certain day (i.e. Summer Solstice) when the reality is, the energy exchange has started weeks prior.  Have you not all felt it? Maybe it translates into unease for some of you. Maybe it shows itself as unrest or even fear. Maybe you are struggling with relationships or letting go of that which you know is no longer for your highest good. Whatever it is, the majority of you are feeling out of sorts or distended, if you will.

We offer you this: This energy blast will not last.  This One rolls her eyes as she transcribes this and perhaps she is wise to do so. She is no stranger to how we work and she knows that when we say something will not last, it could become worse before it becomes better. She is a veteran in the trenches and has seen her fair share of triage as well as bruises and bumps.

We wish to let you all know that YOU are making this more difficult than it really needs to be.  You are given options and sometimes you choose the easy route and sometimes you do not.

What is the ‘easy route’ you ask? It is simple.  Let go of all that is no longer serving a purpose (for your highest good). Time to declutter? Then do so. Time to weed out the weeds in your life? Then do so.  Time to cut dead weight? Then do so.  See? We tell you it is simple and yet you humans sometimes make mountains out of mole hills.

We do not understand why you languish at some of these changes. Have they not served you better in the long run? Have you not thanked the Powers That Be for allowing you to move forward and find greener pastures?  Have you not rewarded yourself for getting through the emotions and energies that seem to plague you?  Yes, YES! We see that you do! Time and time again, we see that you do.

And still some of you struggle to retain the Old. Yes, yes, we know it is ‘comfortable’ as this One is telling us. We see that patterns are hard to break but we offer you this; why did you choose to reincarnate? Why did you willingly and lovingly choose to return to a planet where there is so much dysfunction and abuse? We will tell you. It is because you CHOSE to do so. You CHOSE to return in order to work out issues, amend judgments and right wrongs that you were not able to do in past lives.

Everything, EVERYTHING that you are struggling with can be made easier if you will allow it to be so. We do not wish to sound trite, we wish to sound knowledgeable as that is our role in your lives. We are here to guide you and help you but ultimately, you make your own decisions. Right or wrong, you will live out the consequences of your actions.

Sometimes you will need to sit with your decisions and other times it will come naturally to you.  It is as it should be. You are guided by an inner compass, if you will, that you humans call “intuition.” For some of you, you have forgotten this innate gift, while others embrace it and hear its call.  Intuition is there to help you, to guide you, to show you and to help you heal. Ignore it at your own peril.

We offer you this; do not fear what you cannot see for it often turns out to be exactly what you need. We deal with your spiritual growth and we never steer you wrong. Ever. It is not in our DNA as you humans like to say.  It is our job and we take it very seriously. We are here to guide you and help you grow. How you perceive our help is up to you.

You are being asked to let go of all that does not serve you. That may mean ending relationships that are tired and worn, moving beyond taxing emotional burdens or embracing something new.  Whatever it means for you, do not fear it for it is not to be feared. It is to be embraced, rejoiced and enjoyed.

Are we speaking directly to you? You might think so, but this is something that is meant for the masses.  Globally.  There is no “right or wrong” as it is all just energy. How you deal with that energy is soulely (did you catch our play on words?) up to you.

We leave you now with gratitude.  You are strong and have an amazing sense of character.  Keep honing and refining and you will see the load lightening or shifting. Or you can choose to stay just as you are and feel battered and broken. The choice is yours.”


“Oh, you got some sun!  You look SO good!”  Or, said with an enviable voice, “You’re soooooo tan.” I have overheard these and similar comments being said and I’m finding I’m having a very strong reaction to them…so….a blog is born.

A tan is NOT healthy, it is NOT good for you and it is NOT to be envied. Do you know what a tan is? It’s your body’s innate reaction of trying to protect you…your skin… from further damage. So let’s tweak the above statements.  “Oh, you got some sun DAMAGE! Your poor skin!” or “You’re soooo tan. I’m so sorry!”

Yeah, I’m having a little fun with this but I do speak from experience.  You see, when I was a teenager and a young adult, I remember racing home from work so I could lay in the sun, even for a half hour.  I would bake in my early to mid-twenties by applying baby oil or Hawaiian Tropic Tan Accelerator.  Then something changed and I started applying sunSCREEN.  That was also about the same I started washing the make up off of my face at night, but that’s another story.

As a child, I was lucky enough to be at several lakes throughout ND, MN and SD. I used sunscreen, but I don’t remember reapplying.  I loved being in the water, and my pale Norwegian/Austrian/Mutt skin had many, many severe sunburns. I remember one, in particular, that caused me to throw up several times.

In my mid to late twenties, I visited my parents while they wintered in Arizona.  It was a cloudy day but I was in Arizona and I wanted to get a suntan, dang it!  Oh my LORD! I’d been warned that the Arizona sun was much different than the North Dakota sun but I didn’t listen. Sans sunscreen, my face became so badly burned that my eyelids swelled shut.

When I was in my late thirties, I worked at a skin and laser clinic.  I learned much about our skin and how to take better care of mine. I also learned that the cosmetic industry was capitalizing on the fact that women were willing to pay big bucks in order to reverse the damaging effects of their days of fun in the sun.

My oldest niece (she was 38 at the time) was diagnosed with Melanoma. For those of you who don’t know, Melanoma is the mack daddy of skin cancers. It is scary stuff and it takes lives. Based on my childhood/early adult sun life, I’m a prime candidate for melanoma, as well.

So how did we get our love for tanning?  Here’s a little tanning history; back in the olden days, you were considered ‘lower class’ if you had a tan because that meant you had to work outdoors.  Conversely, those without a tan were considered ‘upper class’ because they didn’t have to work in the sun.

Then, in the 1920’s the designer, Coco Channel, became sunburned while on vacation and well, that was the start of our sun tanning love affair1.

It doesn’t matter if you choose to get your tan on from a tanning bed or the sun; both give off UVA (aging) and UVB (burning) radiation. In fact, tanning beds emit concentrated doses. I can usually spot a tanning bed user as they tend to give off a weird glow, kind of like a neon bulb.

And don’t think you can’t get burned on a cloudy day. I asked my 14 year old bonus son to apply sunscreen the other day and he looked at me like I was spouting a second head (he IS a teenager, after all!). He said, ‘It’s cloudy outside! You can’t get burned when it’s cloudy!!”  Ohhhhh…chil’….I have the same argument with your dad.  YES, yes you can. The sun’s rays penetrate through the clouds.

When I was younger, I didn’t take aging very seriously. Who does?! Back then my attitude was ‘get a bronzing tan today, feel/look good and don’t worry about tomorrow.’  As a teenager/young adult, you never think about your own mortality because you are invincible. Plus you know more than your parents, right?

Now that I am older, I am trying to reverse the damage. I’m fighting the odds of skin cancer and aging. I am proud to be pale. You’ll not hear me apologizing for being un-tanned either, as that would be like me apologizing for trying to stay healthy. “I hope my white legs don’t blind you. I’m trying to remain cancer-free.”

So here I am, years later and much wiser, a self-proclaimed ‘sun-safety girl.’  I wear sunscreen almost all of the time (I’m not perfect!) and I wear hats. I seek shade whenever possible, I wear UVA/UVB protective sun glasses and I am rarely out during the hottest part of the day. I watch my moles and have my doctor check them once a year.

I hope this blog causes you to rethink, even for a moment, how we aggrandize a tan. It is nothing more than our body trying to protect ourselves from harm. The rays, whether they are from the sun or a UV lamp, are NOT healthy; they CAUSE CANCER.


Many, MANY years ago in a what seems like a different lifetime, I lived in a home that was located within a budding new development (read: open lots/fields). I was trying to be domestic by planting flowers (ewwww…shutter!) and I was truly the ultimate Attila the Mom with my new plantings.

That’s where God’s little creatures and I butted heads for the first time. Let’s just say I had to do a tango with some chipmunks who were nesting under our front porch. They were eating my ’ittle baby budding flowers, for pity sake! You can mess with me, but when you eat my precious flowers (again, I HATE planting flowers!) then you’re gonna get the horns, my friend.

I seem to vividly remember chasing these little chipmunks from their hidey hole with my teeth bared and a broom (or was it a shovel?) over my head while producing a feral scream in the back of my throat. And yes, I performed this little dog and pony show in broad daylight. 

I cornered a couple of them in downspouts and thought I was so smart. Then, when I’d try to raise the downspout and capture them inside, they’d move, scratch their little claws on the metal and I’d let out a little girl scream and drop the downspout.  Some warrior, huh?

And let’s not leave out the time I tried to ‘drown’ them when they were nesting under our front step. That was before I realized it was all sand underneath the steps and the tons of water I was pumping into it was just being soaked up and spit out by our sump pump.

I was consumed by these little machines of mass (flower) destruction. I don’t remember quite how I did it, but I got them all into a 5 gallon bucket and they were either too cute to kill or I didn’t have the chops, so I took them to an empty field about ¾ of a mile away and released them.  They didn’t come back and we didn’t have any more ‘renters’ under our front porch step, either.

I wish I could tell you my flowers survived, but they didn’t. Alas, to add insult to injury, my well-meaning (ex)husband thought my flowers were weeds and he pulled them. ALL of them. I kid you not.

Fast forward 17 years. New husband, new house and critters again, this time voles.  The first year I was all like, “Oooh, they’re so cute! We can’t kill them!”  Wait, that was like the first week or maybe the first day.  Then, the little shits started eating our house, literally, and our window screens AND to top it off, our new landscaping!! 

Well, that’s the proverbial kiss of death right there.  Landscaping is expensive and now you’re eating our HOUSE?! Something changed inside of me and I hardened, if you will. It’s primal. It’s like, “Me or you, buddy and it ain’t gonna be me. This is MY turf and you are not welcome here.”  Picture me beating on my chest with closed fists, because that’s the energy I was exuding.

Trinity was on it. In fact, he was waiting for me to give him the approval. He was much more effective and efficient in dispatching the ravenous rodents in our window wells. Granted, he didn’t try to use a two iron or a basketball as my starter husband tried to do, but he got the job done in a humane way.  

By the way, interesting fact about voles (who look like mice but are smaller), they can have 100 babies a year.  Yes, ONE vole can have 100 babies. They have a three week gestation period and can start breeding at one month. 

In 2013, Trinity started, evidently, evolving into the bird whisperer and built two bird houses. One was for a wren and one was for a robin. We got our wren who is really a fabulously polite renter and instead of the robin, we got a black bird that is so damn high strung she flies out of her nest when I sneeze INSIDE the house with the windows CLOSED.  Oy! We call her Nelly, as in Nervous Nelly.

So now I’ve noticed barn swallows around our home. I don’t recall seeing them around here before and today one of them flew into our garage. I investigate and the bird flies out. Ok, that’s weird, but whatever. 

Then, THEN! I walk to the end of the garage and about 6 of the little aerialists dive at me. Oh hell no. HELL NO! I see what is going on here and I won’t have it. I look for nests inside the garage and I don’t see any. I shut the garage door (I really wanted to type ‘down’ after that but refrained myself!) and immediately hear a racket of excited chirping. Then I see the posse land by our front door and on the eaves above it.  Nope. Not going to have it.

I grab a broom. I have visions of my Grandma Jessie doing this at the lake and have an instant flashback to the chipmunks. I pray nobody is outside when I open the door.  There is (of course!). I start shouting (as if the birds can understand the lunatic woman), “Get out! Get the hell out of here!” and wave a broom around.  My neighbor looks up and I justifyingly and righteously stammer, “They’re trying to build a nest in MY garage!”  He smiles and says, “Oh.” And I’m thinking, with one eyebrow raised, your garage door is open too, buddy, I’d be on my guard if I were you.

After repeated failed attempts  (doi!) to use the broom as a baseball bat and the birds as the baseball, I slunk back inside with my head low. Then, my friends, sadly I quietly shut the garage door. For now.

You may have won the battle, barn swallows, but I WILL win the war.