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Since I didn’t go to church today, I decided to venture out a few blocks to a friend’s church for part of their session. Several people greeted me though no one I recognized. It was a different meeting; I had gotten the times wrong.  My back was achy so I decided not to stay and quietly slipped out of the back row after everyone was seated.

Next to the churchyard was a historical display of pioneer wagons. I kind of looked like a pioneer with my moccasin like boots, shawl and tie-back scarf. I’m participating in the family’s selfie-a-day challenge, and this would be a fun background.

I have yet to master the art of selfie-ness, and even for a mediocre photo it usually takes me quite a few tries. I took off my sunglasses and put my purse down and found the camera setting.   Too much smile looked fake. . . Now I look mad. . . .  Oh my tired eyes, can’t you perk them up a little bit?   Now the other wagon is in the background, do it again. . . .  The wind is blowing the shawl around. . . . No wait, the other one was better.  . . .  Time to stop taking pictures because you are just looking more tired. 

It took a while. So what, whose watching anyway?

As I gathered my things I discovered that sometimes feeling like you are alone is not always the same as being alone.  It turns out anyone from the congregation that happened to look out the window probably  wondered why this  pioneer looking stranger skipped out of church early to go outside and take pictures of herself.

Anne Carlson


In Spite of my Bumbles


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Maybe its being at the grandma age, but I am rethinking things I wish I had have done particularly with my daughter as a little girl.  We didn’t share the world that I love of paints and crayons and making things. These “movies” of  how I think it should have gone and how it went seem to be coming up.

However, I don’t think she really liked all that art stuff.  Come to think of it, that stuff bored her. Had I played that “movie” she wasn’t working off that script.  She probably would have been miserable.  That was my mother fantasy.

I didn’t take her into my world, I took her into her world.  I think that’s what I was supposed to do. She’s turned out okay in spite of my bumbles.  I’m proud of her.

Anne Carlson


Stolen Mates

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The accomplishment of the day: conquering the ole sock pile.

There are rules for this. 1. All laundry has to be done,  and 2. All socks must have migrated to one place. All sorted and accounted for.  As is predictable I am left with a large pile of singles.

I have been doing laundry for a long time and the mystery still remains.

Where do all the mates go?

got to be leprechauns.

Anne Carlson

Reality, who makes the mold?

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I have found it curious in my conversations  concerning my visit to Moctezuma’a pond last week, to learn how people assimilate information regarding mysterious reports.   It has provoked some thought.

Other than those who have had confrontations with paranormal phenomena, people seem to have a predetermined tolerance.  The standard seems to be made through a reasoning process such as, “How does what I see, hear or experience, fit into the mold I call reality?”

Who made the mold?

Anne Carlson


Drum Fingers


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Two weeks ago there was a message on my phone.  Word had gotten out that I do drum activities with my drums. Making drums the traditional way with raw animal skins and home made frames was a hobby of mine I have had to put aside with the fragile bones.

I didn’t reply to the message.  I didn’t want to say no, but there was no way I could dance around and beat loudly on a drum to lead a group as I so enjoyed doing in the past.  Was there any way I could still do it in some way?

Instead of starting on what I couldn’t do, I started with, “What can I do?”   I can move my fingers as long as I can keep my elbows stationary.  Maybe I could turn my fingers into something like piano key hammers.  I was so confident that it would work, I accepted the invitation.

My friend Linda and I headed for the art supply store to look for something about the size and weight of dum-dum lollipops.


This morning the glue was dry.  My fingers were wrapped in electrical tape and ready .  I kind of felt like Edward Scissorhands.

It worked! Here is a video:

I’m going to need a little practice to get re-coordinated.  I have a week and a half to get in shape, I think I can do this.

17.4.24th drum fingers

Anne Carlson

Uh oh

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I was putting away groceries while listening to a seminar that was on my phone.

I could hear the seminar through my blue-tooth headphones but couldn’t find the phone;


I had my son, Denver call me.

The phone was in the frig.

I guess there’s a first for everything.

Anne Carlson


A Moment’s Glance

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I saw a lady with no hair showing from a crocheted hat at the store.  She was at least ten years younger than me.  I recognized her flair for color and style similar to mine.  Was she a cancer patient? I wondered.

Perhaps she wondered the same thing about me.  In my curiosity, I must have held the glance a little too long. as our eyes met in this quick passing moment.  A minor little social mistake similar to that when you run into someone in a isle because you were not paying attention.

This was different. The moment was a flash, and in that particle of a second there was something familiar, I was looking at myself, unguarded..  We both knew we had much more in common that we would have chosen.  It was awkward, embarrassing and painfully invasive.  Yes, she was a cancer patient.

Anne Carlson

Reflections from a pond

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I’ve been reflecting on what I have learned about my visit to a place an hour and a half away called Montezuma’s pond.  This has attracted national media coverage and professional divers.  All have eventually been turned away through unexplained mischief or sightings of warrior ghosts warning them to stay away.  There have been many odd deaths around this project, the most recent, only a few years ago was the landowner, a man who was a close friend of two people I know quite well.  One of which never returned to the ponds after his own ghost warrior siting.  {}

Other than being an intriguingly interesting story,  what has lingered with me, is the vastness of unknown mysteries of the spirit world with which we all return to.  All I have is little clues, like random puzzle pieces, with not enough for the whole picture.

Those that manage to get a message from Heaven, it’s always the same.  “It’s more beautiful than you can imagine.”  It’s just indescribable.

I guess I’ll just have to trust that they are telling the truth.

Anne Carlson


Took the Scenic Route

Had a great time today, my friend Kathy Pace took me on a road trip. 17.4.20

We drove through Zion National Park

as well as many local sites.

Its nothing like hearing about the events first hand.

We have it on good authority that just behind us is where Montizuma’s treasure is hidden.  Many experts and treasure seekers (including a friend of mine) have been turned away by visitations of Spirit Warriors telling them it is not the right time.

Fortunately they didn’t mind us stopping by for a quick photo opp.

Anne Carlson



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