KEEPSAKES…for the sake of enduring and growing love to keep

For some years now I have noticed that when I look at the clock, the numbers have more often been 11:11, 3:33, 5:55, 12:34, etc. and even more frequently 1:43am or pm…or like this morning I wake to 7:43am. I remember that two days ago with two different psychotherapy clients, my first glance at the clock is 12:43pm, then later 2:43pm. I can’t resist pointing the first time out to Katy, who recognizes its meaning numerically as I love you (1:43, or 12:43 as I, 2 love you). My second client Michele, does not make this connection with 2:43pm. When I give hints of 1 letter, 4 letters, 3 letters, Michele smiles with the recognition of “I love you,” which I translate to ‘we love you.’ Michele’s excitement is catching as she reveals that she has noticed for some time synchronous numbers like 3:33, 4:44, 10:10, etc. on her clock and had attached fear to them as being spooky; whereas I feel them as the DOU’s (Design Of the Universe, I use instead of god) support of my journey of EVOLving LOVE – a deeper and truer love. I am becoming more synchronous with the Universe’s Design that we are here to EVOLve into knowing how to truly love. (Notice the capitalized letters backwards in the word EVOLve, or the sentence written by the word EVOLution backwards in the mirror, as no-it-u-love!) This is a keepsake more and more precious to me. Michele and I hug goodbye as she says how happy she is to know now that this synchronicity of time is positive for her. A genuine smile. And why my first daughter Erin’s homemade card for my 37th birthday (she then 12) hangs next to my computer, and her tin engraved “To Mom, the ice cream lover, Love, Erin” sits on the top of the thermostat. My second daughter, Megan’s pottery bowl made at age 7 and soap dish at 9, utilized ever since in my bathroom, having moved 3 times since made by Megan’s child-loving hands. The love note my first granddaughter Denali (age 12) wrote in bed while over-nighting with me and left to be discovered by me in my bedside phone message notebook, now scotch-taped to my filing cabinet, next to second granddaughter Riley’s (age 10) love email note. This month, July 2013, my third granddaughter Emily (age 9) and I spontaneously wrote a story EVERYBODY REMEMBERS, together in my journal, where she wrote something she likes to remember, then I would write what I like to remember, back and forth. Several melted my heart, but one I will keep for love’s sake: “I like to remember how god made me so nice.” The love of a child is most precious to me as are the 100 or more letters my daddy wrote to me while in college and the first years of my marriage. One resides on the top of my printer as a constant reminder to appreciate his exponential love for me, his adopted daughter, his name on my birth certificate. The carved out willow-whistle he made for me (at age 10?) sits on top of a bookcase I see every time I walk out the front door. Most people will say that family photos are what they would save if their house flooded or was on fire. I’d like to, but my kitchen, hallway, bathroom and bedroom walls are papered with countless family photos – how will I choose what to keep? Like the fireflies I’d catch (age 10?) and place on my ring finger, flashing, then flying away.