I had to jump

The day was like any other. It was summer. It was the Euclid house. My brother and I were playing, like usual. We had a babysitter, like usual. We were doing stuff we weren’t supposed to, like usual.

It was the blue house, just two houses down from ours. It had a porch on it. We were constantly climbing on the roof of that house. I think we started in a pine tree near the back and then climbed onto the roof. It was easy.

We were on the really high part of the roof and made our way to the front of the house. It was kind of a jump to get down to the porch roof. Probably three or four feet. The porch roof was probably 12-14 feet off the ground. It was high. To me, anyway.

I don’t know why we actually climbed on people’s roofs. What the heck? They must not have been home, otherwise I am sure they would have yelled at us to get down and get away from their house.

So, like I said, it was just like any other day, until it was different. We were on the porch roof and we were playing. We must have gotten bored because now it was time to head out. Hmm. We had a dilemma. We were too short to make the little climb back to the regular part of the roof. Remember, that little three or four foot part I talked about?

I told Jeff I would help him up. He either stepped on my back or he could jump to hang on and I boosted him the rest of the way or I laced my hands together and he put a foot in and I boosted him. I’m not sure what we did. Anyway, I helped him and he was back up on the main part of the roof. Now it was my turn. I asked him where he was going. I yelled at him. I helped him. Now it was his turn. Only he didn’t help me. He left me.

I kept trying to jump up and grab something to hang on to so I could pull myself up to the other part of the roof. I couldn’t. I tired myself out. It was too hard and I was too short and now I was too tired. I was also really, really mad.

I just hung out on the porch roof. Waiting. I’m not sure what I was waiting for, but I was there, waiting for it. Just waiting.

Pretty soon my sisters came over to the house and were talking to me. We were trying to figure out I was going to get out of this mess. After going through several scenarios we decided the only thing and best thing for me to do was to jump. That’s pretty sad that that was the best thing for me to do. They decided they would get some pillows and some blankets and I could land on those when I jumped. About the only thing to break my fall was some grass and a sidewalk. That’s it. Nothing else.

They left and I waited some more, contemplating my sure death. I mean, seriously, how could I not get hurt jumping off this porch roof? A while later they came back with blankets and pillows. They set them all out very nicely on the ground and let me know when they thought everything was ready.

I looked down and it was so high. There had to be a better way. If there was, we couldn’t think of it or figure it out. It was the only solution. I kept looking down at the ground. I was scared. It was really high. Really high.

I had to do it. It was time. I wasn’t getting down unless I jumped. I walked up to the edge of the porch and looked down. I looked at the pillows and blankets. I looked at the grass and the sidewalk. I looked around for another way. I looked and looked. Nothing. I really did not want to jump off that porch roof.

I counted, 1. 2. 3. When I got to 3, I held my breath, closed my eyes and I jumped. I landed with a giant thud. I landed on the sidewalk in a seated position. I was scared to look. I was scared to open my eyes. I was scared to breathe. Hmmm. I opened my eyes and looked around. I managed to miss every single pillow and every single blanket. I knocked the wind out of myself. I couldn’t breathe, but at least I didn’t die and at least I was down.

I can’t remember if we told our parents what happened. I am pretty sure that I wasn’t too happy with my brother for a long time after that. Maybe that curtailed my roof climbing expeditions too. Maybe…

I heard a whisper…

Today’s blog post was inspired by a Facebook post from a friend…thanks Ronn.

Call it a whisper. Call it your inner voice. Call it a gut feeling. Call it a hunch. Call it fate. Call it God. Whatever you want to call it, it is telling you something. It is telling you to listen. It is telling you to take action, or not take action. It is telling you. It is warning you. Intuition. Your intuition is the unexplained feeling that something is true, even when you have no evidence or proof of it. Your intuition tells you when something is wrong or when something is about to happen. How many times have you said to yourself, “I knew that was going to happen” or “I should have listened to my gut.”

It happens to me all the time. However, I never used to listen enough. I knew it was there. I think I just didn’t want to listen. From the time I was in my late 20s, periodically, I would get a “bad feeling.” This usually meant that something not good was about to happen or had happened. It happened when my uncle died. It happened when a friend got a DUI. It happened when there were near misses when my husband avoided car accidents. It is kind of scary to have these feelings. It is kind of scary to know that you can feel or tell or hear when something bad happens. Not that we can really do anything about it, because really, our life is already planned. God has us covered.

Sometimes the feeling is so overwhelming it takes over. Everything feels kind of warm and kind of weird. Almost every time, the tears flow. I can’t help it. It is that overpowering. It lasts anywhere from 5 minutes to 30 minutes. Sometimes I can’t shake the feeling for a few days. More often than not, it involves someone close to me. Sometimes I don’t know what happened or if anything happened at all. Maybe that means it is someone I am not super familiar with. I have no idea. It is quite interesting though. I’m not quite sure I want to cultivate it just yet.

A couple weeks ago I had an appointment in Rapid, and I left early in the morning, taking the back way, which is usually filled with wildlife. Anyway, the day before I kept “seeing” in my head, visions of deer. It happened several times that day and even the morning I left. I listened that day. I was extra cautious. If I would not have been paying attention, I would have hit deer in several places along the way. Places where I usually don’t see deer. Places where they seemed to come out of nowhere. I was ready though, because I listened. I was thankful I listened. I was grateful I listened.

Do we all have this inner voice, or do some of us just listen more? I think we all can listen to ourselves more and trust our inner voice or our gut feelings more. I like to call it trusting my faith, guardian angels and God.

Do you listen to your gut or your inner voice? If you want to learn to listen more there are things you can do to help foster your intuition. You can start journaling. Try your hand at the surge of consciousness exercise. Begin with a prompt such as “What is the best decision? or “What do I need to know? Start writing what pops into your head. Just do it. Don’t wonder why, don’t think about it. Just write it. A few days later you can go back and read it, now with a more objective perspective. See what it means to you then.

You can also use meditation. Meditation clears your mind of crazy thoughts, worries and overthinking. It helps you to tune in. It helps you dig deeper into your feelings. Even 5 to 10 minutes can make a difference. Pay attention to any interesting, or what you perceive to be odd, thoughts that may arise after your meditation.

Try getting creative. Draw a picture. Paint something or start writing. Get lost in the activity and feel free of any distractions or worries. This is pretty similar to meditating. During this time, you mind is receptive to awareness and ideas or insights. Creativity provides an outlet for your to express emotions you otherwise would be aware of.

When I was researching things to help foster your intuition, I realized that the things I listed are things that I started doing within the last year and a half or so. Not realizing that I was helping this process. Not realizing that I was moving towards understanding my intuition more. Not realizing that I was moving towards a closer relationship with the spirit world, with guardian angels and with God.

The next time you hear that voice, or you see that vision, or you just feel something in your gut, stop and really listen. Hear it. Feel it. Use it. Be grateful for it.

Kid Friends – Branch and Peggie

It was the Euclid house. His house was the Oak house. We played together all the time. I spent a lot of time at his house. His name was Branch Wolf. Is that not the coolest name ever? He was in my grade. I just recently saw a second grade class picture that one of my friends (Ronn McDaniel) shared on Facebook. I kept looking at the row behind me and I kept looking at the guy with the glasses and red shirt, with the blue neck trim. I kept looking and looking and recognized the smirk or the half smile, or whatever it would be called. It took me a few days. I kept going back over it and looking at it and studying it. Until finally, it hit me. It was Branch. My kid friend, Branch. He is the fourth from the left in the picture in the back row. I am in the middle row, third from the left. And the best thing about this picture is that it is second grade and it was Mrs. Eklund’s class. My favorite teacher. I wrote a blog post about her a while back. You can read it if you want right here. http://peggielarsen.com/2017/04/26/mrs-eklund-was-my-favorite-teacher/

Branch lived a few houses down from our house on the corner. The corner of Euclid and Oak. He had such a cool house. Victorian. We played a lot of games. In the basement of the house there were a ton of games. It was a game storage room. Every game you could imagine. The kind of games where you had to use your brains and your imaginations. The kinds of games where you learned things. Educational games. He also had a ton of Hot Wheels. I can still smell the plastic Hot Wheels tracks that we put together to make roads. I also remember Monopoly and Sorry and Trouble.

I also remember a piggy bank he had. It was a First National Bank piggy bank. His dad worked there. The bank was cool. It was square shaped with a picture of the bank on one side and then just plain gold color on the other side. It had a tiny key to open it. They key turned and the whole back side of the bank came off. For some reason I really liked that piggy bank.

We played outside a lot. His driveway was kind of a hill. It seemed enormous. I drove by it a few months ago and it looked so tiny. It is so weird how when you are a kid everything seems bigger and faster and scarier. Summer days were fun. We played outside all day until dark most of the time.

We used to take the skateboards and sit on them and then zoom down that driveway out into the street. Luckily Oak was a quiet street. Luckily it was not Euclid or there would easily have been squished children or drivers having heart attacks.

One day during the summer, we had been playing outside all morning and it was getting close to lunch time. I was starving. His family offered lunch to me. The sandwich choices were liver or ham. I thought to myself, how amazing, someone else likes liver. I used to love liver and onions. Yummy! So, of course, without thinking there might be some other kind of liver, I said liver. We went in the house and there on the plate was the liver sandwich. Um, wait a minute. This didn’t look like liver. This wasn’t liver. It looked a little familiar. My dad used to eat it. The light colored disgusting paste-y looking something in a tube. The tube or outer wrap was kind of yellow orange in color. It was liverwurst. OH MY GOD! I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t eat liverwurst. I remember sitting there thinking. I was thinking how I was going to get out of eating the liverwurst. I can’t remember what I did. Ham was one of my least favorite lunch meats, so I am pretty sure I didn’t ask to switch. I may have eaten a few bites and then feigned fullness. Morale of that story is to have liver defined every single time it is offered. Every.single.time.

I think it was the next day or that afternoon we were playing outside again. We were playing with a ball. It wasn’t a basketball, it was one of those red playground balls. I always wanted to have one of those to take home. Those were the best. We used them at school for kickball and four square. We were playing on the driveway and just messing around with the ball. Bouncing and kicking. Kicking and bouncing. On the next bounce I leaned over to grab the ball and Branch went to kick the ball. Well, his boot landed right in my eye. Immediate shooting pain. My hands covered my eye and I started to cry. I know he felt terrible. He definitely did not do it on purpose. He was afraid he was going to get in trouble. I felt bad. But my eye felt worse. My first shiner. After the sting wore off and the bruising started to develop, I felt pretty cool. Very few people had black eyes. Very few. My journey to becoming a badass began.