This will appear in Wednesday's Bits & Pieces newsletter (where I write about Reiki, Animal Communication, and living in peace). My regular readers are familiar with my animals, who I write about from time to time. 

Photos of all of them will accompany the piece. I'm disappointed the new form doesn't allow us to include photos. 

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Hello everyone.

Here is a story about the black cat Panthero. 

Panthero is sitting in the doorway, licking his paws after eating his dinner of canned sardines in spring water.

My trimmer, Paige, smiles and remarks how handsome he is. Panthero doesn’t run away even though Paige is just a few feet from him. This is new, surprising, and welcome behavior. 

A few minutes later, Paige is trimming Tara’s feet in the aisle of the barn. This is a momentous occasion. Tara has foundered twice this summer and is finally to the point in her healing that Paige can begin to trim back Tara’s toes, making it easier for Tara to walk. 

Fuersti is in his stall so he will not be in the way. (Being in the way is what he does best. Really, he is a master.) He has his head out over the half-door, watching us, feeling very much part of the activity. 

It is late afternoon, chilly, the light fading, so Ziggy is in my SUV right outside the 

barn door, where it’s warm and safe. He is sitting on the console watching all of us inside. 

Panthero has stopped grooming, but is still sitting in the barn doorway, clearly comfortable with our gathering. This is new. This is amazing. 

Panthero has slowly, slowly transformed from “the feral barn cat” into “my kitty.” It has taken over a year, but he no longer waits for his dinner from several feet away, eyeing me suspiciously, no longer runs away if I get too close to him while he is eating. He runs down the driveway to meet me every afternoon, then runs back up and waits for me to open the barn door, walking in beside me.

Last week, I accidentally brushed his ear with my hand when I put his dinner bowl on the floor. He looked startled but didn’t back away. A year ago, he would have run. 

A few days ago, he finished eating and then seemed to be asking for more. I acknowledged that winter is coming and he might need more food but reminded him that there is plenty for him to eat, both inside and outside the barn. I asked him to please keep the feed room free of mice.

The next morning, there was a dead vole right inside the barn door. At first, I thought he was just saving it for later, but it was still there that afternoon. Clearly, it was meant for me. 

I watch while Paige trims Tara’s damaged front feet, thrilled at how they are coming along. Now, while she is trimming Tara’s hinds, I set about the task of changing the pads in Tara’s therapeutic boots. I am using a tack trunk by the front door as my workspace. 

 Panthero, my kitty, is still there. He watches me for a minute, then comes over to me, his tail straight in the air, little ripples of movement up and down. 

He comes closer, flops on his back, showing me his belly, squirming around on the barn floor. I cannot believe what I am seeing. I don’t say anything, not wanting to frighten him away. 

He gets up, comes closer, does that snaking movement they make when they rub against your leg, only he isn’t touching my leg; he is  thinking about it, testing out the idea, but is still a few inches from my body. 

And then he is touching my body. Not with his whole body, just the tips of his hair. But he is touching me. 

He stops, goes back to the barn door and sits.  

I glance out the door to check on Ziggy, who is sitting on the console of the car, keeping watch. 

 My family is whole. The moment is quiet, filled with the joy of healing, with the breath of life.

Peace,

Pam

I do not know exactly how many years it's been since I saw my mum in person. She is based at home in New Zealand  and I am in  Australia. I believe it may be at least 3-4 years.

2.5 years because of the Pandemic, and a year because we didn’t connect in person on my last trip home as it was a business trip.

Whilst I understand you can connect energetically with someone, seeing them in the human form allows for a different connection. 

The things I noticed:

• Her moko kauae (chin markings) looks like it's been there forever, and it was only 2 years ago that it was revealed.
• My mum is a little frail and has slowed down, yet still shows many traits of the Warrior Archetype.
• Her bout of ill health during the pandemic and the effects are evident. 
• Her connection to being the breadwinner and need to ensure those at home are well taken care of were constantly there with daily video calls. 

The gifts I received:

• Precious time and memories with my mum.
• Learning the basics on how to weave kakahu/korowai (Maori Cloak) and start my first piece.
• Reconnecting with home culturally  and a reminder of our way of connecting with Te Taiao (Nature) and how I can do that with a simple prayer each day. 
• Witnessing her strength to hold my family together.Beyond the call of duty as a mother and grandmother.

Being fully present with her allowed me to surrender to what her needs were rather than my own, and allow space for what needed to unfold. What I wanted and how I wanted things to be were actually none of my business. 

My role at this time was to hold space for her to do as she needed, and am grateful I was able to do so. 

Being a parent is full of challenges and also a journey of growth and self discovery. Having my first child, in  a new country and limited support was all about learning the skills of being a parent on my own. It also meant that, parenting did not involve training and most of it was left for me to figure out and learn as I go. 

At nearly 6 months from having the baby, I was beginning to experience the challenges, the emotional roller coaster, the setbacks and change of plans. Yes!! There were plenty of joys too, but being a new parent I was not ready to let go of my job and focus all my attention to this new little human. 

7 years of our life, of my life this new little human taught me that plans change, slowing down is key, letting go is part of life, challenges come and go, mind-set shifts happen, money will come and go but being PRESENT is a real lesson I learnt. 

To put aside everything and be PRESENT FOR ME AND HER. This is paying the price now, she is 12 and I can see she is proud of who I am today. I have learnt to manage my energy and prioritise my needs. Things are different today, much easier but being present is still key for me as a parent. 

Then comes my furry 3 year old son, TOKYO. When he first joined us at 6 weeks he was an absolute tornado. I was always ready to leave him back to where I got him from, because he was challenging and I was not used to having a pup indoors. Total chaos!! He turned my life upside down. Without our dog trainer I couldn't have done it. 

But he taught me the same lessons, being PRESENT and unconditional love. His love for us is  pure, I can see it in his eyes. I learnt to to care of him and his needs, dealt with the challenges and stretched myself to whole heartedly embrace this new family member. He definitely brings out the playfulness in me and surrendering to relax.. gosh!! I did not know how that felt like since I was a child. I can do it again with Tokyo.

Now, my third baby , my business, an year old .. which I am so passionate about is testing me in all sort of ways. There are some beautiful days and then there are days which makes me doubt myself. It's still early days, experiencing teething problems which I 'm learning to sort as I learn and train myself with new knowledge /skill. 

The experience of being a parent is helping me now in my business. All of it, learning to ACCEPT both the highs and lows, the challenges of growing, the unlearning and relearning, asking for help, the need for community and being fully PRESENT. Having a guide and mentor, knowing when to step back and take breaks all of it feels like exactly like being a parent. 

I'm hoping when my 3rd baby is a bit older, like my other 2 children I will be able to enjoy the fruits of my labour. It will be established and I can be there and say being a parent is indeed a tough role, it takes a lot from you but the returns are rewarding and fulfilling. The one that holds the most value. 

Parent and child relationship is  a life long relationship...

Hey everyone. This is what will become this week's Bits & Pieces newsletter (Reiki, Animal Communication, and Living in Peace). It will be accompanied by a photo that I haven't chosen yet.  This is much longer than usual. But I think it moves quickly. You can let me know.

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It’s Saturday night, about 6:45. I just got back from the barn. The sun is thinking about setting, but the giant moon suspended mid-sky isn’t thinking about that at all. She has settled in for the duration. 

At the barn, I walked my Tara on a lead—she can’t have grass, so I need to keep ahold of her. Fuersti ran on ahead, prancing and snorting, then stopping to let us catch up, always blocking the path, always in the way. 

The light was that golden light you get at 5:00 on what was a sunny October day in Northern Illinois. In the thirites this morning, but warming up just enough, mid-fifties. Perfect. The trees aren’t turning yet, maybe another week. But the squirrels are gathering acorns and the crows are pecking open black walnut shells, eating the sweet meat. It is definitely fall.

Fuersti stopped to munch on an appealing spot of grass and forgot about the walk. Tara and I circled all the way back to the barn, and Fuersti still had not appeared. I called his name, saw a head pop up, heard him thundering down the path—the long way, he wanted a good run—and then there he was at the barn door, head high, frantic. I laughed at him, reminded him that he was the one who had decided to mosey along, that we had not abandoned him. Forgiving me, he let me stroke his face. 

It will be cold again tonight, so I will spread the yellow blanket on the bed, the only thing in the house that my little Ziggy dog wasn’t afraid of when he came here from the shelter nearly four years ago. A yellow blanket. The only thing he wasn’t afraid of. A long road to peace for that little one’s heart. 

I am sitting at my desk, an empty white bowl that held a sliced banana and chunks of frozen mango a few minutes ago. Ziggy goes so crazy for both of them, the mangoes, the bananas, that I had to put him in his crate with a piece of each or he would have sat at attention under my desk, staring at me until I gave him more. And how can you think when someone is staring at you wanting mangoes and bananas? 

A perfect evening. Quiet. Still.

The day didn’t begin this way. It began yesterday, two days ago really, when I found out that the little job I thought I needed done on my car turned into a giant job, two jobs really, and gigantic amounts of money I hadn’t imagined needing to spend. This after the parched desert of a summer (I’m talking about work here; the weather wasn’t actually too bad) had given way to a torrent of work, of manuscripts and coaching and speaking to the four-legged ones, the horses and cats, the pups, and sharing Reiki hands with humans who had decided maybe this wasn’t weird after all, maybe this was something worth exploring.

Awash in work, beautiful work, beautiful beings, all of them. The water began to rise and lifted my little boat that had been grounded on a sand barge, the sand (if you will allow me to continue with this metaphor which is kind of getting away from me) not really sand but a nasty, shifting, silty mess of bills and bills and bills from my beautiful mare, Tara’s condition that caused a flareup that horse people will understand but others won’t, so I’ll just say it was awful, worse than that, and painful, and crazy expensive. The pain meds alone were $30 a day. Seriously, can you believe that? What kind of insanity is this? $30 a day for months. Just the pain meds. 

And the little boat had just started to float—because of the blessed work and some amazing, generous friends, angels really, and Tara was feeling so much better, not out of the woods but getting there, and Ziggy, who had been lame and needing a second set of X-rays because two different vets couldn’t figure out what was going on, but who responded to a homeopathic remedy I decided to try and was now running around like the little boy Jack Russell that he is—just as that little boat had begun to float, it got slammed again. And I was like really? Seriously? Can I just get one break, just one? Could I not have to worry for maybe a whole two weeks? Hey Universe, could you manage that?

And on top of the car repairs, and seriously, whatever you’re thinking, it’s worse, and the car is only six years old, on top of that I need hay and am having trouble finding any and I need a new barn because the one I’m in has a lot of problems and isn’t safe for Tara and on top of that is too expensive and I’ve exhausted all the avenues I’ve been peering down and winter is coming and I’m beginning to feel despair. 

And then the car.

And the fading light, which can be sweet but also sad. The loss of light. And the time of year. When I was three, my big sister, who was six, was hit by a car and killed on her way home from dance class, and it was October, right about now. It hits me every year, sneaks up on me and there it is. 

So, not to belabor the point, which I think I’ve probably already done, I woke up this morning in a bad way. Really bad. Stomach ache, pounding heart. Despair, yep that’s probably the best word for it. 

I tried the second Reiki precept—Just for today, I will not worry—but it wasn’t cutting it. So after I drug myself out of bed, I gave myself a pep talk instead. 

Pam, I said, this is how things are right now. You can feel crappy about it or you can get up, go kiss your beautiful horses (who, by the way, are rescues if you’re wondering. I didn’t expect to have two horses, but they’ve been with me since they were babies, are members of the family, aren’t going anywhere. And, no, I can’t afford them, but like I said, they’re family.), but first kiss your goofy little dog, try once again to figure out how to get the heat on in the loaner car because it’s freezing and this is ridiculous, and then do what you always do, what you’ve always done, take one frickin’ step at a time. 

So I went to the barn with a smile, which helped. And what really helped was later getting my car back (with only two-thirds of the work done; the rest will have to wait) and knowing how to turn the darned heat on and just being in my car, and I have no idea why that felt so great, but it did.

I opened the mail when I got home. The first letter was from the Illinois Secretary of the Treasury, a $50 check, some kind of tax rebate, a little bit of cash to help folks out. Nice, I thought. 

Then I saw that the second envelope was the electric bill, and I laughed out loud because I knew what was coming. 

Years ago, I’d wanted to take a class, a “heart-centered” business class that would help me identify my audience, write good website copy . . . but I didn’t have the money. I really wanted to take this class, and it wasn’t that expensive, but I just didn’t have it (did I mention I have two 1,200-pound family members?). And then one day, I got a check in the mail. I can’t remember where it was from. I was not expecting it. Some kind of refund. The amount was the exact amount of the class.

Today, I laid the $50 check on the table and, laughing, opened the electric bill. $49.98. I kid you not.

Not a big deal. Not even a dent. Just a message. Like a penny from heaven. Just a reminder to hang in there, to smile, to be grateful for the beauty, to take one step at a time. 

Peace,

Pam  

It's October! Sunny and all the sparrows are having a party in the bush. Pecking on berries and enjoying their mud bath. It is the day for hair appointment which means it's a trip to London.  Trains are delayed due to organised strike. So, I asked my husband to drive and we all went to London. 

It turned out to be a great day! Both me and my daughter had our hair done, my husband and Tokyo (pet) enjoyed their long walk by the canal and waited for us at the Broadway market. This place is bustling with people, food and market of all sorts. I was hungry, so I knew where I was going. Chinese!! 

A lovely family day out, nearly coming to an end. Some thoughts we had as we were heading back to the car were, should we move to London? There is so much here which is missing in Ashford. We sometimes call it THRASHford !! Wonder why? Because it's a smallish town with nothing much to do, it's boring and less interesting even when the sun is shining. 

Okay!! So all in the car and we drive back. Driving in London is not a joy! So many different rules, it's scary when you will just take the wrong road and end up getting a ticket. So, carefully watching and driving, we hit the motor way. I'm already thinking of watching a movie when we get home when all the traffic begins  slowing down and comes to a halt. 

This is so common !! There is always something going on here - road works, incident, queuing trucks etc.. so everyone is curious and just stayed in their lane. The queue just gets longer and longer. No updates, but  we can hear the police car zooming so fast. Followed by emergency response. Something is not sounding good and everyone around us have the same look on their face. Something is wrong! Something is serious! An accident !

My immediate response was to pray. A prayer to keep them safe.  The ambulance, fire engine , blood bikers, police were all trying to make their way through the long queue of parked cars on the motor way. I have worked with the emergency service and I know that they have to get to the spot as quickly as possible. Every second is precious. This is an 8 minute emergency call. 

It was a sight to see all the humans working in harmony. Making way for the life savers. Moving out of their way, clearing the path, getting out of their cars and directing the vehicles .. working in unison. I had goose bumps and my heart was racing at the same time. I felt a need to keep praying ... for the lives to be saved. 

Then my daughter asked, " Do you think they will die?" "What will happen to them." 

I knew this question was coming and looked at my husband hoping he would answer it. But she wanted to know what both of us were thinking,

I said, "Let's pray that they are safe, receive the timely help and they can reunite with their families." 

The October full moon, seemed bigger than usual pinned to the sky. It felt as if it was watching everything with it's gaze fixed on the scene along with the cool calming presence. The brightest thing I could see in the darkness. 

The ambulance sirens faded, cars and trucks started moving, red cones in the distance were shining ... crawling speed , getting a glimpse of the over turned car, I could not imagine the horror and the plight of the people involved in this accident. 

I was left with this thought - Will they return to see their family?  

I’ve been feeling within my being a shift coming for the last few months.  It is like a wind from another part of the globe which is making its way to my land.  As it arrives, it stirs up my inner landscape, breaking old tree limbs, and scattering the dry leaves from this year’s growth.  I also know that it brings news – small messages that will also fall like the leaves at my feet – first gently and then more strongly as the wind fully comes to inhabit my world.

As it fills my being, my emotions are stirred up and my mental world becomes reshaped.  I know that what is being pulled away is no longer needed.  As my inner space is opened, cleared and refreshed, I only need to remain still – observing and integrating the changes. 

And as the wind moves through me, it also opens me to new vistas – where I see the world anew.  Perhaps the ‘I that I believe I am’ is changing or evening departing… and in its place is a feeling of lightness - as open as the sky upon which the wind plays.