Using DeeDude's Laptop and Watching Television at the Same Time

This is a sort of test post. I'm using DeeDude's laptop in the living room. First 48 is on television: She knows more than she's letting on. Yeah, go ahead. Have a cigarette. Who were you with? Bailey said she was with Trap in the trailer last night. Two other people, a man nicknamed Blow was also in the trailer. Did anybody get into an argument? "No!" Somebody knows what happened. What do you think happened? Bailey thinks Blow might have shot Trap.

And, does Trap have anything to say about this? If my family ever came across this I think they'd be upset with you. Well, I can't help it. I talk to dead people. Did they ever catch who shot you? No. They're still looking for them. Are you sure? Well, I'm the one who died aren't I? You'd think I'd know. That's not what I mean. I mean I can be a sucky channel sometimes and maybe I didn't get it right. No, you got it right. Maybe we can wait for the end and see what the detectives think. Now, they've got the lady you were with on TV. She says she doesn't know anything. Do you believe her? We've got to take a time-out while they work on the other case.

Man, it seems I'll do anything not to write my articles. Hey, this is getting hot. That's what happens to laptops. They might be convenient, but they also use up a lot of heat. In about 5 years the technology will have advanced so much that the laptops will use less energy. So will a lot of things. Do you figure that people are even going to be remotely interested in this post? It depends, Dear. If they want to see what it's like for one person to channel they would be. As far as what we are talking about I would imagine not. Why not? Are you attempting to start an argument with me? Well, that might be more interesting than blathering about. You cannot win. You do realize that, don't you? Yes. I'm just funning. Right. Funning. New word. Pulling your guide's leg is what you are doing. I wish the show would come back on again. I want to know if the stuff Trap was saying is true. Dear, there is a reason you don't do psychic readings. Right. You don't have to rub it in.

Okay...it's on. Be quiet. Take your fingers off the keyboard, dear. Yeah, yeah, that blurry guy knows something. That's why he is blurry. They have put him into a witness protection program. See, he says Blow did it.

Okay. I'm a sucky channel. They've charged Blow with Trap's murder and he is currently awaiting trial. So, I didn't channel that correctly when you said that they hadn't caught the guy.

Something I Just Channeled

I don't talk about it much, but I'm always in touch with Spirit. It's like a connection that just is never severed. I'm so used to it now that I don't think about it all the time, but I sometimes pull it all back in and remember to give thanks.

I'm reading a book right now, "Home to Holly Springs" by Jan Karon. It's the first in the Father Timothy novels. It's got to be the 6th or 7th or even 8th that I've read by Jan Karon about Father Tim and Mitford. Anyway, I've mostly been crying through the whole thing, no waiting for the end on this one to let loose. It's a terrific book. I'll write more about it in my book blog, but out of the blue as I was heaving a big ole sigh and wiping my eyes Somebody in Spirit just said to me, "It’s all a prayer no matter what is said just like it’s all a polka no matter where you put your feet."

Oh, Well....That Sucked

Channeled Recipe – Dump Cake

So, it’s Mother’s Day and I wanted to do something a little out of the ordinary. It had been a long time since we’d done a channeled recipe and that’s what I was up for.

So, it’s in the oven. I do hope it turns out. Actually, if you see this on the web it did. Otherwise we’d have another go at it.

And, I argued with them through the whole thing…I wish I was more gracious about this. Maybe if I did it more often and wasn’t so faint of heart and a more daring-do sort of person.

Dump Cake ala Seth and Assorted other Folk in Spirit

Grease and flour the little pan. I believe it is 9”x9”. We won’t know until it comes out of the oven. I’m not measuring it now. It’s hot. But, they say it is 9”x9”. We’ll go with that. If it’s any different I’ll fix the recipe.

Pour in half of the cake mix. I used Pillsbury yellow cake mix.

Prepare the apples: I peeled and diced up about 4 or 5 apples. There were some brown spots and I had to cut those out, so if you’re using really primo apples you’ll probably only need 4 of them. In the end it measured 2 cups. I put them into a sauce pan and added one TBS of butter and ¼ cup of brown sugar. Cook them up a bit. The juice from the apples comes out so you’ll have a bit of liquid to work with. But, watch them towards the end…it could all start burning on you if you’re not watching. In all? About 3 or 4 minutes. Just until they’re soft. Oh, and throw in a handful of raisins towards the beginning so they plump up nice too.

Pour the apple and raisin mixture over top of the dry cake mix in the pan. Sprinkle about half of the remaining cake mix over the apples and raisins. Pour over a whole stick (1/2 cup) of butter that you’ve melted in the microwave. Now, top this with what is left of the cake mix. Sprinkle with cinnamon sugar if you want to. Oh, and I sprinkled a little cinnamon sugar into the apples as they cooked too.

Mix it up a little bit. Not until it is smooth. Just lumps and bumps and it looks sort of interesting. Top with a ¼ cup of nuts.

Put it into a 350 degree F oven for 45 minutes. I’m using a convection oven, so if you’ve got a regular oven this might go for an hour. Use your cake tester to see if it is done.

I suppose you’d better let it cool a bit before you cut into it. I imagine this would be really good warm with vanilla ice cream.

The Results: It burned. At half an hour the top was like totally burned. So, if and when I do this again I think the oven should be at 325 and the time about half an hour and I watch it like a hawk. I ate the part that didn't burn and it was good with vanilla ice cream like I thought it would be.

Where I Talk about Writing and Then Channel a Story

Sometimes I think about how I’ve never really written a story. It’s something I’m almost afraid of doing. What does interest me, though, is the idea of writing a tiny little story about a character. This would be a character I know from a previous lifetime I think. This would be from another lifetime where I was a writer and this would be a continuation of the story I had started then. Figuring that as a writer in that lifetime I had already spent the time growing my character. I had watched that individual come to life and begin to speak. I had grown with that character and seen how they acted in the world, how they reacted to harsh situations, how they softened and loved. All the hard work, I would imagine, was done. Now, all I have to do in this lifetime is to tell a part of their story. Or, actually, allow them to tell their own story.

This is sort of weird.

Well, no I guess it isn’t. I’m a channel. Secretary to Spirit. No reason why a character can’t also speak through me.

Okay, I’m ready.

I’m here.

You are?

Yes.

You’re a man.

I’m glad you noticed.

I’m upset about this.

Why?

I was expecting a woman. I can’t write about men things.

I don’t see why not. Actually, I’m telling the story. You’re just recording things.

Well, yes, according to the rules.

And, you made the rules, didn’t you?

Yes.

You’re frowning.

Yes. I’m not sure about this.

I know you are afraid.

Thanks. Like I really need you to see me in all my fine cowardly ways.

Hey, nobody’s perfect.

Okay. We can do an experiment. You can talk for half a page. How’s that?

Well, it’s better than nothing.

Just like a man.

I should take offense at that, but look at what I’ve got to work with. You’re frowning again.

You’re one of those heroes aren’t you.

You’re not describing what I just did.

A squinty thing with your eyes.

I’d describe it a bit differently.

How?

He cocked his eyebrow at her.

Oh. Yeah, that’s better.

I’m brown. No.no.no. I’m swarthy, tan like a cowboy. I’ve been out in the weather for a long time. Riding trains back and forth across the prairies. I’m a cattle buyer. I go to where the cattle are, make arrangements for the Chicago Meat Packing Plant to purchase the cows and then move on.

Is this real?

If you’d quit interrupting we can go somewhere with this.

I’m not sure that’s how cattle buying goes.

That’s your problem. You’re afraid to make a mistake. Just pretend. It doesn’t matter. Just allow the words to roll out.

Okay. So, you’re a cattle buyer. Must be in the Wild West.

Well, it was starting to settle down by then. It was after the Civil War was over. Only that war kept going on for a good generation. Bad feelings on both sides. It took a long time to wind down. Anyway, the story opens in 1880. That’s where I am now. I caught the tail end of the Civil War. Just like you caught the tail end of World War II.

Can I ask what your name is?

Seth.

Oh, come on.

What’s the problem? Seth was a popular name in those times.

Yeah, and it’s also the name of my guide. This is you.

Well, yes, but I’m fully capable of helping you with this particular exercise. Do you mind?

I thought I was talking to a character I’d already written about.

Well, so I lied. Does this mean you want to stop?

No. Go on with your story.

Petulant are you?

No. Just getting tired. I don’t have the stamina for this anymore.

Well, it doesn’t matter. Just relax and let the story unfold.

In the beginning I was able to ride the rails with impunity. I had the job of buying cattle for my company. The people moving west were hungry and feeding them was what we did best. No more buffalo. Antelope were scarce so the raising of cattle was what drove the wave of immigration west on it’s belly.

I wasn’t married. What wife would have a man who traveled as I did? I wasn’t sure I wanted to marry anyway. Though I’d saved money and could afford my own place I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. I wasn’t suited to farming. And buying cattle was nothing like raising them, so a cattle ranch was out of the question.

I had no trade like making shoes or black smithing. I was a city boy who’d gotten a job as a traveling salesman. I kept in touch with my family by writing infrequently. They would send letters to me care of general delivery at different cities along my way. They knew, for instance, that eventually I would be back in Chicago and so, when I did arrive in town I’d stop by the post office and pick up a bunch of letters sent in. Mostly it was my mother who wrote to me, though occasionally my pa would write. He was a preacher. I suppose I could have turned my hand at preachering but my heart wasn’t really in it. The war and all. It made people question their faith.

So, although my life seemed lonely it wasn’t really. In all the towns I went through there was always a restaurant or a saloon. I wasn’t a very big drinking man, but I did enjoy company occasionally. The only ones you wanted to watch out for were the cow pokes with their wages burning a hole in their pockets. They tended to drink too much and create an unholy ruckus what with wanting to get laid and accusing each other of cheating at cards when their luck didn’t hold out so good. But, I knew when to make myself scarce from those situations so that I didn’t run into trouble too often.

Once, though, I did have a spot of trouble with as ill tempered a man as you could imagine. His name was Bradley Burns. Son of a bitch was the owner of the local land office and he was a slimy sort of fellow. He used to salt mines and then sell the claims for really high prices.

Anyway, I'm not proud of it but it was good ole Bradley Burns who gave me the idea of a job I could do. That's when I turned to robbing banks. I rode the trains back and forth across the land.

And, that's enough for tonight.

Hey, thanks. That was sort of fun.

Where I Complain, Cry and Talk to My Mother

For as many entries that I write these days I delete just as many. They go quickly. I look at what I’ve written and find fault with it. It doesn’t excite me. It bores me. And, if I am not pleased with it how can I possibly expect anybody else to want to read it? I sit here for half an hour and type, pouring my heart out, complaining, crying. It’s menopause. It’s mood swings. It’s something I would keep to myself.

Anyway, enough of that….if it swings one way it’s sure to swing the other way eventually.

I just finished reading, “High Five” by Janet Evanovich and wrote a bit of a review for it over on my book blog. Very cool book. If you were anywhere near me I’d lend you my copy. I’m thinking of taking it with me to Curves tomorrow and leave it in the box by the door. I see ladies pawing through there occasionally. Maybe some day I will too.

See, sometimes I’m sort of frozen. I don’t know why this is, but it’s been that way my whole life. I just say I’m shy. But, it’s really worse than that. I’m frozen. It’s like I don’t know how to dance but I keep trying. Like I’ve got a wooden leg and it swings wide, skidding on the rugs and kicking out at the table legs. But, I try. It’s not pretty. I’m not graceful. I’m not socially savvy. I don’t always say the right thing. I can piss my husband off and not really know what the frap I’ve said to make him angry. I’m like in a fog most of the time. People can talk to me and leave and I wonder what they said. It’s like it blows right through me. Which ain’t a good thing for somebody in a responsible position in an office. I’ll just have to get folks to repeat things and write them down quickly. That way I can go back over them and figure out what somebody just said to me. I wonder if that’s a psychological thing or if it’s just menopause?

I wish I was a cat. That would be easier. If I were a cat in my house. I could sleep wherever I wanted at night. I could curl up on the bed. I could sleep on somebody’s hip or on their shoulders. I could find a box or be on a chair. I could be in the living room or sit on the printer. Right now to the left of me is a cat on a scanner and to the right of me is a cat on a printer. Now, the scanner cat left and the printer cat moved over.

I wish I drank.

It would make things easier.

Maybe I’ll go make tea.

It’s times like this I wonder what the guides think of me. Must be a mess. Just a living, loving mess.

I don’t like to let people see me like this. I hide myself away. I wipe my face quickly to hide the evidence of tears. There’s no reason at all I should be crying.

Why? All I can say is menopause is sucking right now.

And, maybe I’m not so frozen that I won’t delete this mess. I’m sort of reaching for something here and I’m not sure what it is. I just need to reach out and not act like an adult right now.

Go make dinner.

I already ate.

Well, go eat again. You didn’t eat very much.

I could have some soup.

Yes, you could.

Should I delete all that?

No. leave it.

I think this is wishful channeling.

Could be.

My mouth still hurts.

Yes, you were grinding your teeth earlier and it hurt.

Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t grind them.

Grink or grind.

Who is this?

Who do you think?

Mom?

Yes, Sweetheart.

What should I do?

I used to go bang pots in the kitchen.

I can’t do that. Dennis will come and see what I’m doing.

So? He can see you banging pots.

I hate this.

I know you do. You’ll get over it. It will end. Eventually.

Thanks. I love you.

*****************************

Next Day: And, a bit of a post script. I was of two minds about deleting this entire entry. I felt almost as though I had paraded around in my underwear. But, I decided to keep it. Why I'm not sure. I still feel a little strange about it. But, I do feel better and, in fact, felt better immediately after having written it. I think it released a bit of tension.

A Slice of Time During the Morning (Channeled parts in bold and italics)

I bounce between two schools of thought about the entries I make in my blogs. On the one hand I am a long winded writer. It’s just a more natural flow for me to examine the minutia and find it absolutely fascinating. The tiniest little detail is worthy of being brought into the light to be examined. In really getting into whatever it is I happen to be writing about it is not uncommon that I lose track of how long the piece is getting.

On the other hand people tend to get bored. My husband’s eyes will glaze over and he develops a noticeable twitch when whatever story I am telling him grows too long. He says to me, “The Short Version!” I counter with, “This is the short version!”

Is this what is called being caught between a rock and a hard place? I think not. I believe I can take awhile to tell a story and to that story come the folk who don’t mind spending a bit of time. It is difficult for me to manage the short version. It’s like sweeping the icing off of the cake and presenting somebody with a bald and rather forlorn looking cupcake. Something is missing.

But, people like the short version. My boss is like that too. I wrote up the story of a disgruntled customer the other day. It caught everything the person had to tell me of their complaint. Finished, I was pleased to see I’d kept it all to one page. And, that was when I said, “It’s too long.” So, I erased the bottom 8 inches of the story and rewrote it. Now, interestingly enough, deleting all that large amount of story did not in any way cause one moment of consternation for me. Rather, it was like I got to write some more.

It’s not like vomiting on the page like was the case once upon a time. I’m taking the time now to spit judiciously. Oh, this is sick.

Dear, you are having a ball this morning.

Well, yes, you’re right. I don’t know where I’m going with it though. I’m just writing.

Yes, we can see that. Is there a story you’d like to tell?

I’d like to talk about what it’s like for me to read. How the letters move to sounds. How the letters on the page are like paint and are like music to my ears. Am I going bi-polar?

I think not. Continue.

I worry about that, you know.

Yes, we know you are worried about it. You will know if and when it happens. Your husband will be sure to say something to you.

Okay, in the quiet of this lovely Sunday morning maybe I ought to address whatever psychological shitty things need to be aired.

What a way with words you have.

Right. Well, it was fun a moment ago. Now, it isn’t fun anymore.

We realize that examining psychological issues is not your favorite thing to do. Why did you make the shift from writing about nothing to having a purpose?

Well, you were sort of standing there and I figured I ought to do something useful.

Your father would not consider this useful at all.

No, not much of what I do is.

So, there you have something to center in upon if you are so inclined.

You know, I was thinking about doing Byron Katie’s, “Loving What Is” work earlier today for somebody else. Maybe I should do it for my father too. I know when I did it with the kid downstairs everything between us altered. That was 2 years ago and it has never gone back to when I was so angry with him.

That is a good thing to do, however, your first inclination to move to the standard stand up on the table and beat the crap out of it with a baseball bat would also do more toward moving you into a rather productive time for the remainder of the weekend.

Like that, huh?

Like that, Dear.

Something Wierd

A preface to this bit of channeling. It was a joke. They were pulling my leg. But, it does make you think.

So, we begin. Our plan is to take over the world. We have nothing against those of you who presently reside here. We just don’t see you as any use to us in our own future plans. So, as we take over the world we will be relentless in overcoming and correcting the damage as we see it that you have caused. First of all is the violence towards each other and toward the plants and animals and oceanic life of all who dwell on your planet.

The leadership you have had is abysmal and we will be shooting all who claim to be politicians into space. They can be there together and see what they do in a space ship with no running water for the rest of their
lives.

Also, life-spans will be cut somewhat. People will begin to last about 40 years rather than the 70 or 80 that you presently have. You’ve just fouled it all up and that was your chance. Why spend longer trying to get something right that you never were able to get right in the first place.

There will no longer be cities or farms. There will be small collections, pods of people. There will be no health care, institutionalized as you have it now. It will be home remedies for all.

No fire trucks. No police. No lawyers. No farmers.

You’ll be eating out of the stock piling of cans you have for a long time. Spam will be king.

Now, with that done we will move on to a more realistic view of things.

All of that was a warm up.

It could come to pass. A meteoroid could hit the earth, cause immediate climatic changes, upset economic systems and life as you knew it would be but a memory.

Are you going to worry about it? Should we start thinking of you as Chicken Little?

I think not. Have the prayer in your heart that you do good. That you learn much. That you pay attention to spiritual matters and your life will progress as you planned it once upon a time.

Where We Speak of Various Things

This is an excerpt of a conversation I had with the guides this evening. I was thinking about how to get increased Google interest in my website Talking to Spirit. The parts from Spirit are in yellow which with a long conversation is a pain in the behind to format. Anyway, for what it's worth here's what we talked about tonight:

Okay, let me think about this. Thayer was saying something about going through and doing a global search and replace the “include virtual thingamabob” periodically. He said that would be 365 days of channeling, except he’s using that for his stuff, so I can’t really be using it.

I could write new, though, if you all wanted to.

We might consider helpful hints for carpentry.

Carpentry?

Yes.

What about recipes? That’s what I’d like.

Food works too. First aid would be good.

I’m thinking this isn’t really good, though. When you talk to Spirit you figure you’ll be getting good spiritual advice and not stuff that’s going to help you with building bookshelves or stuff like that.

Well, there is that consideration.

Maybe you could help me with it and we could just say I came up with it?

That’s cheating.

No, it’s not. You guys help me all the time.

How about one-liners from Spirit? Humorous quips. Or, quotes from once upon a time famous people in real life who are now in Spirit. Like Moe from the Three Stooges: Hey, like this is really weird man.

That wasn’t entertaining.

Neither are you.

Am I having a conversation with Moe?

Yes.

Hi.

Hello.

This isn’t helping any on the stuff I needed help with. I can’t seem to concentrate right.

Well, maybe you need to go into “The Zone” more. Listen to some more of those Brainwave tapes.

Those really work?

What do you think?

Yeah, they work. I’m just full of pie.

You did eat an awful lot of it.

Maybe I didn’t leave enough room for it. That was the problem.

No throwing up now.

No, I don’t do that anymore….a girl can dream though.

You’re sick.

You know if this didn’t hit so many personal buttons of mine I might consider publishing it in one of the blogs. Maybe the Psychic Vents is better. It’s more obscure. I’ve been thinking about that one, though.

What about it?

Well, I first decided to have it for when I want to act nasty, or, at least not real polite. It’s for when I’m in a bad mood and back when I started it I was in a bad mood a lot of the time.

What’s changed?

I’m taking more drugs.

What sorts of drugs?

Mostly herbal supplements designed to help with menopausal symptoms.

Do they work?

Mostly.

Not all the time though?

No, not all the time. But, better than it was before I started taking them that’s for sure.

So, what do you take?

What is this an interview?

Yes, of a sort. If you end up publishing this interchange in your blog people will see how you are with Spirit. Certainly, you are not polite, neither are you un-polite. You are, instead, yourself. The other reason is that someone reading this interchange might actually be interested in how you have managed to alleviate your menopausal symptoms.

Okay, here’s what I take. Two St. John Worts a day, one in the morning and one at lunchtime. I take 2 extra strength Estrovens, one in the morning and one at lunch. I take an evening primrose at lunch. I take a Kava Kava in the morning. I take a Melatonin at night. I take 2 soy supplements, one in the morning and one at lunch. And, I took a vitamin B this morning that I’m thinking wasn’t too smart as I’m having a hot flash right now.

You guys wore me out.

If you’d been listening to the Brainwave tapes you might have lasted longer.

Right. I will next time. I promise.

We’ll remind you.

Thanks.

Psychological Work This Morning

Preface note: The channeled parts of this entry are in green.

How well do you take rejection? What happens when somebody says, “No” to you? I don’t know about you, but even though I’m grown up, I’m hardwired to be a 3 year old and the word, “No” absolutely, without a doubt, makes my stomach go into instant knots. It’s weird. It’s probably something psychological I could work on. But, any form of rejection or correction gets me tied up in knots. Life would be a whole lot easier if that didn’t happen to me.

Okay, so maybe I’ll work on that.

Maybe?

Well, yeah, tomorrow.

You have time now.

I’m writing now. By the way, hello.

Yes, and hello to you too Dear. You are evading the issue again.

See what happens when you channel? You get help from all quarters. Is this Seth?

No. It doesn’t matter who it is.

To my readers: First I get a hit that it’s my mother. Then, I get a hit that it’s Elvis. Then, Henry Kissinger. I think we’ll just leave it that it is one of the guides I’m talking to.

That would be a good idea. Less stress on your brain.

Okay, so you figure I can go fishing after this particular psychological curiosity right now.

Yes, you have 30 minutes before you should go about your morning ablutions and dress yourself for your day at work.

I don’t really want to do this.

I know, Dear. You never do.

Thanks.

You’re welcome.

Okay, I’m doing it.

Yes, I can see that you are.

You’re teasing me.

Yes, and you’re not doing your work. Stop for a moment or two. That’s all it’s going to take. Sit quietly while your husband is still asleep and the cats are quiet. Close your eyes and drift back to a time when you first were aware of the sense of rejection and of correction as you referred to it. You don’t have to do anything about it. Just become aware of it.

Okay. I did my time out for exploration just now. I got a sense of why this is going on right now. We’re in a state of transition at work. I’m in the process of training a new person to do my job even while I’m learning to do another person’s job. That’s stressful for me. I’ve never been a supervisor. Now, I’m going to be one. I don’t know if I can do it. And, because it’s stressful I’m reacting and dragging all these bits and pieces of psychological flotsam to the surface of my awareness. I think.

Everybody knows when the “thing” happened. Back when you were a kid somewhere along the line. And, I don’t think it really matters if you zero in on the very first time. It might have been going on for awhile and your memories of it surface at age 2 or 3 or 4. But, maybe it started earlier. It was no great crime. It was just how you were raised. But, somehow, a damage was done.

What I haven’t quite understood is how a normal, level headed, mature in years person can still be reacting to this shit. I’m sort of pissed about it. But, that’s life and those are lumps. And, seeing as how I’m carrying an extra 100 pounds on me is a dead giveaway that something ain’t quite right. So, there. I’m done. I dabbled my toes in the psychological waters of healing just now and the water is not too hot and not too cold. I’ll be back. I promise. It was a another step towards healing.