On April 6, 1968, two uniformed Marines came to my parent’s front door to deliver the news of his death in Vietnam. On April 14, 2013, 45 years and 8  days later, a Sacramento police officer came to my front door to tell me my nephew, Christopher James Bartish, had been killed the night before on a motorcycle. Chris was also a Marine.

When he was honorably discharged in 2005 due to a shattered leg (motorcycle) his mother was relieved. She feared he, too, would go to war. He never saw the battlefield or experienced hand-to-hand combat or a war zone, but in his lifetime, Chris experienced his own war.  He had minimal contact with his father, and after the passing of his grandfather, the male figures in his life were few. Thank God for his friend, Matt Carroll, who became almost like his big brother and helped us with his memorial services this past May 11.

45 years apart, two young, handsome Marines were taken from us. Far too young. Tony was 20. Christopher was 34. They are together now.

This morning as my husband scuffed off in his slippers to the kitchen saying, “I have to put some toast in my tummy” he sounded so like a little boy. I immediately thought of all the times my mom made toast for me—either Raisin Tea Loaf, or Cinnamon Toast, or one of my all time favorites, Brown Sugar Toast. The slices were always cut in strips for me, so I could put toast in my tummy in tiny slivers that would last much longer and allow me to savor each bite.  She’d bring the toast to me on one of the little TV trays my Dad made. They were put together with two hardwoods, walnut and maple, and had the prettiest mosaic pattern. She usually brought my toast with a side of bacon or my favorite “mushy eggs” which were hard boiled eggs mashed in a bowl with gobs of butter. Oftentimes, I’d eat my toast with Captain Kangaroo or Sailor Bob or I Love Lucy, sitting in my big chair with the little tray across my lap feeling oh so special.

I still cut cinnamon toast in strips because it just tastes better that way. I haven’t had brown sugar toast in eons. I can’t eat pure brown sugar swimming in butter anymore without getting a major sugar rush. Still, I can taste it in my memory. I can remember the tiny black cast iron skillet she’d make it in, first melting the butter, then mashing the brown sugar in with a fork. Finally, she’d spread it thick on slices of bread, cut each into three and bring it to me with strips of crispy bacon. Bacon and toast is still one of my favorite breakfast snacks ever.

As I enjoyed the Toast in my Tummy, I was joined by Lucy and Ricky, Fred & Ethel, Captain Kangaroo, Mr. Green Jeans and Grandfather Clock along with Sailor Bob, Popeye, Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote—all there to entertain a little girl who grew up in a big house without any real playmates. My brother and sister, nearly ten years older, weren’t around much and we lived miles from any neighbors. I had my Barbie dolls and my tomcats and hamsters and a huge backyard where I’d spend most of my time in Nature, tending a little garden of violets or making mud pies or writing down descriptions of everything I saw and smelled. As I heard toast in my tummy  come  to me this morning from our kitchen, and the smell of  organic raisin bread wafted down the hall, those days growing up in that big white house came rushing back. My heart ached for my mother and for her sweetness in taking such good care of her little girl. Remember, Mommy, cut the toast into strips for me because I’m a little girl and it makes it oh so much better!

Whenever I tell my husband that I intend to do something big, perhaps something that will cost a bit of money, he always comes back with the same question:   HOW will you do that?  It does tend to get frustrating after a while because, honestly, the HOW doesn’t matter. It’s the WHY that makes things happen.  John DeMartini said, “When your why is big enough, the how will take care of itself.”

I know that in my life, whenever I have wanted something really badly, I always managed to manifest a way to get it. And I never knew how I would get it when the idea to attain it first came to me. So, if you’re stuck on how, remember, it is the why, not the how, that will get you to where you want to go.  No matter what it is.

What is your Why?

While writing this, I came across the most amazing website:  www.hayhouseradio.com You can listen to some of the top success coaches, authors, etc – free!  You can also call in with questions!

From afar, he looked like an ordinary boy of seven or eight, poking holes in a cone of yellow corn with a stick. But as he went on down the sidewalk, I crossed the street toward the spot where he’d been standing. It was then I noticed the stick was a white-tipped cane.

He walked alongside a woman—his mother?—tapping the cane from side to side as he walked away from me, tap, tap, tap, and as I stood there looking out at our little neighborhood pond alive with white and grey geese, mallards and coots, gulls and pelicans fishing, I felt hot tears come flooding forth as I realized one little boy who couldn’t see any of this and I felt ashamed.

I said aloud to God, “I am so ashamed to complain about my life—about anything I don’t have, or can’t do. I am so ashamed.” I stood looking at the corn with all the divots from his cane tip and the tears wouldn’t stop. Out on the muddy pond I watched colors blur into a wash of greys and whites and blacks and I thanked God for my life, for my sight, for the cold wind in my face and for the lesson he’d just provided.

A friend of mine called me this morning to ask if I’d like her to share what she learned in a recent class on money.  I was intriqued. The information she shared was very thought provoking and—after six pages of notes—I have a lot to ponder.  One of the most powerful observations was how people react when they see money on the ground.  You’ve no doubt picked up a penny.  Well, maybe not.  The shift in my thinking was this:  I’ve always picked up change and, on occasion, bills, when fortunate enough to find them.  But when I did so, I always felt as if I was needy and that I snatched these up out of lack. Maybe, I even felt a little embarassed.  However today, I realized this isn’t the case at all!  Money is coming to me for a reason; I am attracting it.  Bev told me about an experiment she conducted in an airport.  She dropped pennies on the floor then sat back to see who’d pick them up.  99% of the people just walked on by, not noticing them or not caring at all.  Until one very graceful and well-dressed woman glided by and effortlessly picked up the shining coins, then kept moving toward her destination.  This happened twice with two different people.

I thought of all my bowls and jars full of dimes.  I find dimes.  Sometimes, I find pennies or dollar bills or even $10 or $20 bills, but most of the time, dimes.  I still don’t know the exact meaning of the dimes but I know there is something magical about them.  I put them in special places—two of which were given to me by my sister who I lost to cancer earlier this year. I drop them into the pretty vase or the tiny French sugar bowl, and I say thank you. I tell my sister I am grateful to have had her for a sister. I tell her I love her and that I miss her.

If you love horses, kids and want to help . . . visit this link for Horses, Hope & Healing!

http://vimeo.com/17664988

The wind of heaven is that which blows between a horse’s ears.
~ Arabian Proverb ~

This is from the Dr. Oz show.  Please watch this – it’s about 5 minutes.
 
Published online October 17, 2012, this study shares invaluable information regarding a long-term study on supplement intake and its correlation to the reduction of cancer.  The article is readily available online, or I will send to you if you are interested.  In the fight against cancer, Dr. Oz’s show: Cancer Fighting Antioxidants, the link below will give you valuable information in the assessment of your own personal antioxidant level.

Call me @ 916-342-5668 or contact me at carriesuepepper@gmail.com to schedule your own screening.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fG3eChWvx9Q
 
This particular episode, “Cancer Fighting Antioxidants,” involved the use of the Pharmanex BioPhotonic Scanner.  This is the only patented, non-invasive instrument that conducts a live tissue measurement in only 90 seconds for personal antioxidant assessment.

If you want to learn about how to stay young and vibrant and look younger as well, listen to what Dr. Joseph Chang has to say in his bestseller, “The Aging Myth.”

http://www.agingmyth.com/content/agelocbook/global/blog.html

On a recent trip to the grocery store, I noticed a new brand of eggs on the shelf.  “Comfort Coop” eggs.  The label read, “More space to stretch, perch, groom and nest.” The fact that someone is promoting that they give their hens all the room they need to stretch, perch, groom and nest – that they are actually given enough room to flap their wings, instead of being jammed in a tiny cage so small where they cannot move, flap, groom—or nest, naturally—turned up my internal temperature a few degrees, I’ll tell you.  Are we supposed to read that and think, Oh, my, how wonderful that these “comfort coop” eggs are coming from chickens that are treated with TLC and actually allowed to MOVE around an inch or two.  Their website is even equipped with video cameras so you can watch the chickens as they move about in their Oh-so-spacious (right) quarters. 

Please!  Whatever happened to chickens that are OUT OF THE CAGE altogether, roaming around the barnyard, stretching, grooming, strutting their stuff as they pluck worms and bugs from the ground and poke about in the remnants of last year’s garden?  How do you think chickens “groom” anyway?  By taking baths in dirt!  Read this quote from a local chicken farm: Hens love to give themselves dust baths. When it is warm outside, your hens will look for a new place and scratch down until they reach nice, fine dirt. They’ll flop onto their backs, close their eyes and just roll around. They get the dirt way down into their feathers until it reaches their skin. When they are done, they’ll shake it all off and feel fresh and clean. Now, can you tell me how these “comfort coop” hens are going to do that living their lives in a tiny metal cage? Hens are about the easiest and most care-free animals to keep and they seriously require no care aside from a little corn, a nesting box full of straw and a source of water.  These “comfort coop” eggs and the message they send to the consumer is just another way of trying to get over by making their product—and their methods—sound better than the rest.  Get together with a friend, build a little chicken coop – and make your coop one that chickens can truly live in the way God intended.

When I was 15, my mom left home.  She wrote me a “good bye” letter and in it, she tucked this little note.  I do not remember reading it then, but her handwritten note in the corner said, “Carrie, Please keep this.”  I did, Mom.

To My Children – At Christmastime

Be yourself, be what you are.  There was never anyone just like YOU in the history of the world; there isn’t now; therewon’t be again.  Allow others the right to be themselves, to be what they are.  Don’t try to change or reform them.  Don’t try to change or reform the world either; it can’t be done.  The world does not want to be reformed; it is perfctly happy to be mortal, tormented, confused, deluded forever.  Being populated and run by human beings how could it be anything else?  Live with style. Don’t run away from life; do the things, be the things, you really want to do and be.  Do not be frightened of anybody or anything.  Fear is death.  Don’t look for security; it does not exist.  Look for wisdom instead, which you will learn from danger and difficulties, from blunders and disasters.  Do what good you can in your own small corner; you will have plenty of opportunities.  Get what joy you can from living; wild and wicked as the world may be, it is still full of beauty, love, courage and laughter.  Don’t worry about the future; it will look after itself, it always has.  Take short views, hope for the best and trust in God.   
                                                                                                                                                              Love, Mom   (December 1970)