A Maze of Moments Every Day a New Beginning

By Lee Ann Corbett

Dont say a word. We have never needed them to communicate with one another. Whether its an energy or an ancient kinship between our souls, I dont know. But whatever we have goes beyond language. Between us, even the silence is extraordinary. Even the stillness speaks (Beau Taplin, Silence).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Jul 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504361736

Lee Ann Corbett

My hope is that writing this book will be my antidote for my fears and will enable me to dismiss my ego. Do I care what people think about me? I guess I do. Some say “Who cares what people think?” “Who cares if they believe what we believe?” But deep down inside, everyone worries about others’ perception of themselves. I don’t know how this book will be welcomed, but for those that know, you will understand. People ask me all the time why I don’t go on vacation, why I don’t travel. My response is always the same. I have too many animals to care for. While writing this book, I realized the true answer. I’ve been traveling for the past sixty-three years. I am on a journey, as we all are. While on this journey, I realized I am happy with my life just the way it is. There is no reason I should be looking for happiness anywhere else. I have found the quiet within myself. One day, the time will come for me to end my travels and return home, and maybe someday, you will find me in one of your thoughts, smiling in one of your dreams or floating on an unexpected breeze. I want you to know that the spirits of our loved ones never leave us. They stay with us for as long as we want and need them; they are just a whisper away. There will be rolling of eyes and some disbelief. But if you quiet yourself and look back into your life, I bet you will find that one moment where you cocked your head and asked yourself, “What was that?” There was a time when you knew something was going to happen, and it did. Or you thought of someone, and they called. Those are the whispers. The question I have for you is “Are you listening?” Because if you’re not, you’ll miss them. So the next time you have that aha moment, just smile and say thank-you because you do believe, you have to believe. And when that happens, the feeling is like no other. This book is not written as a guide in any way. This book is solely based on my experiences and nothing else. It is to let you know that we all possess the ability to communicate with our loved ones—animals or humans, alive or passed. If we so believe, we can. My hope is that my experiences will enable you to touch on your own. If nothing else, maybe it will leave you with a smile.

Book preview

Chapter 1

MY FIRST VISIT

B ack in 2005 my morning routine consisted of; up for work, quick shower; feed the dogs, coffee, read the morning paper, out the door, pretty simple.

This morning was like any other, well so I thought. I got into the shower and while washing my hair, suddenly, a picture popped into my head, red sweater, with pearl buttons. I remember it being very quick, just a snap shot, but this picture was so in my face I couldn’t ignore it and the weird thing was I knew that sweater.

The picture was bright, clear and crisp. I rinsed my hair and stepped from under the shower and there it was again, this time, I was wearing the bright red sweater and I get the name Eleanor Johnson, as if someone was saying it out loud, but in my head. Her name was quick, loud, then gone, then back again, this time with her face, not as a person, but as a picture.

I wasn’t shocked or frightened, more startled, surprised, I’d say. Did that just happen I asked myself? What was that? It was like someone popping out at you, you’re not scared just startled. I didn’t have to look around like there was someone else in the room, somehow I knew it was me, the sound was coming from my head, in my own voice. It’s hard to explain, it’s hard to put into words even today.

I hadn’t thought of Eleanor in many years, at least since Buckingham Junior High School where I attended my 7th, 8th and 9th grades, I think around 1964 or 1965.

If you would have asked me if I had a bully, I’d say yes, her name was Eleanor. It wasn’t until days after the shower incident, I realized I hadn’t known Eleanor’s last name. How would I have known it in the shower?

Eleanor was my bully. She tormented me every single day she was in school. I would walk to school hoping she would be absent. I’d scan the hallways looking and hoping, then I’d go to class, sit at my desk and suddenly she’d be behind me, my worst nightmare. She’d pull my long hair and stick gum in it. She always cheated off my school work; knocked my books off my desk, she did something to me every single day she was in school. This had become an awful time in my life. Until, one day, I’d had enough. Tattle telling, was not an option then, I knew I had to call her out.

I wore my brand new red sweater with pearl buttons that specific day. Eleanor, sitting behind me in class started drawing with what I thought, was her finger, pictures on my back. Even when I’d moved up in my seat she’d reach further up. When I walked out of class I asked someone to look at my back. And there they were, pen marks. I was furious, South End, tom boy furious. At home, we didn’t have many new things, so when we got them we took care of them and she ruined my new sweater.

I found her just outside the classroom and told her I had had enough, to meet me after school. Everyone was shocked and of course word spread fast. Fight.

I knew she was either going to beat the crap out of me or never bother me again but it had to be done. I probably weighed 90 pounds soaking wet and Eleanor was twice my size or seemed to be.

I met her after school with many supporters or non-supporters, the crowd would only be on the winner’s side.

I remember saying to her, Lets go. She didn’t move she just stood there looking at me. I said nothing; she said nothing, everyone was very quiet, waiting. She then said, I was only kidding. She didn’t apologize but I knew we were done. I didn’t push it, I was getting out of there with my honor in-tack, but most of all, without getting my butt kicked.

In days forward, Eleanor never bothered me again, ever. She didn’t talk to me, didn’t acknowledge me, ever, ever again, until the morning of June 8, 2005.

I stepped out of the shower, dressed, feeling very weirded out, trying to wrap my brain around what happened and when I glanced at the clock, my quick shower took much longer than usual, somehow time got away from me. I didn’t have time to read the entire paper so I jumped ahead to the obituaries and there staring me right in the face, Eleanor Johnson, 53, born March 28, 1952 died June 7, 2005.

Had she come to apologize to me? If she did, I accepted whole heartedly. I told a friend about my experience that morning, she knew Eleanor, and she told me Eleanor’s home life was awful. Now I understand and I think of her often, always with warm loving thoughts. Thank you Eleanor.

Chapter 2

THE FEATHER

I ’d like to give you a little back ground on Fletcher the rooster and how, during our short time together, we became close.

The evening of Tuesday, January 27, 2009, Fletcher the rooster became the first rooster to live at S.A.R.A.H. our non-profit animal rescue.

One freezing evening a woman called to say her son brought home a rooster he found walking down the side of a dark road. She was unable to keep him because his crowing was scaring her horses. We divided the storage shed in half to make a small chicken coop and hooked up a heat lamp, a heated water dish, geese pellet (that’s all I had at the time), stocked the floor with fresh shavings and made a warm nest of hay for him to sleep in.

It was dark when she dropped him off and the wind was howling. We brought the crate into the new coop and opened the crate door and out popped this absolutely gorgeous bird. He was black, brown, green, purple and blue, what a beauty.

First place he went was the water, took two large gulps then pecked at some food and hit the nest. I watched him for a few moments but he seemed very tired and now safe and warm under the heat lamp he was drifting off to sleep. Just before I walked out the door I turned and said, without any thought, good night Fletcher and so he was named.

The next morning, I couldn’t wait to see him but soon my excitement turned to concern. He seemed very friendly and immediately walked up to me, or should I say hobbled up to me. He was limping badly.

Never having chickens to care for my knowledge was nil, so I began my hunt for a chicken doctor and found one in South Hadley, MA. I spoke with Dr. Ray that evening and made an appointment for the next day. He asked me to bring Fletcher into the house over night to keep him warm, so in he came, snug as a bug in the warm spare bathroom. The next morning, we piled into the work truck and drove to the doctors.

The truck had no back seat, so the dog crate, with Fletcher in it, had to sit between Bill, my husband, and I. Nice and cozy, the crate even had cup holders. The trip took 45 minutes, we waited in the waiting room for a few moments then they brought us to the exam room. The tech took Fletcher out of his crate and he happily pecked around the floor until the doctor came in about 10 minutes later.

For some reason while waiting in the exam room I felt very fidgety. That morning I had taken a really hot shower which seemed to make me itchy, even my darn hair was bothering me and wished the doctor would hurry up, itchy, itchy, itchy.

I easily caught Fletcher so the doctor could examine him and said he had either a pulled muscle or a torn tendon. It didn’t seem to be a death sentence; however, he did need to be kept warm and quiet. It would take approximately 4-6 weeks for him to get better so it would be best if we kept him in the house to recuperate. If he didn’t die from his injuries he would most likely walk with a limp.

While the doctor is talking to me, he’s applying something under each of Fletchers wings and under his tail. Then he says, Oh, by the way he is covered in mites. The something was called Revolution, a puppy spot used for fleas. Then he says, that won’t take long to work. The doctor pops him back into his crate and walks to the sink.

OMG, the rooster had BUGS and there were