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Creating a Shadowbox of your dreams

carriesuepepper • Mar 05, 2014

In Jeff Olson’s book, The Slight Edge, he says, Stretch for what you could be, or Settle for what you are. Those words, to me, say it all. I have never been one to settle. I have started a morning routine called The Miracle Morning, created by bestselling author, Hal Elrod. One of the parts of this routine is VISUALIZATION. Sure, we’ve all heard of visualization but today, I had a bit of a breakthrough in this area.

I have always wanted to live in an old-fashioned house on the water, preferably a lake with a dock. I want a big front porch with blue Adirondack chairs. I found a photo online of a front porch that called to me; it doesn’t have the chairs, but the colors and feel of the porch are wonderfully warm and inviting. It was a tiny picture, but I took it to my wizard, Bud, at Floppy’s copy shop in Sacramento, and he made it a Big Porch picture. So, here it is now, on my wall with a little blue index card over it that simply says: ACT AS IF.

This morning, during my visualization period, I sat here in the shadowy early morning and gazed into my screened-in porch. I looked through to the far end, past the soft green, peach and cream colored rug and wicker furniture into the green trees beyond and I actually thought—and it was real—there’s the lake; I can just see it through the trees. Then the image of my dock down there on the lake came into full vision in my head. My dock, My porch. My old fashioned house on the lake. I thought, “you need to make a shadowbox that shows the lake in the distance and my subconscious awoke and said—aloud— you have a shadowbox in your mind!   That’s right. I do!

My porch is taking on a whole new dimension now; I can see my things on the little tables, hear the voices of my friends who come to visit, see the pages of my manuscript on the table and smell the dampness from the lake down the hill. The blue Adirondack chairs are out on the front part of the house waiting for me.

Carrie Pepper

Relaunch

By Carrie Pepper • 15 Feb, 2024
Separate Lives

Time to Fly

By Carrie Pepper • 04 Feb, 2024
Today, while out on a walk in a very high wind, I spotted a little bird way up in the tip top of a bare oak tree; she was holding on every so tightly as the wind tossed and shook the branches. Hold on, little one, I thought. And just then, this quote came to mind. “A bird sitting on a tree is never afraid of the branch breaking, because her trust is not in the branch, but in her own wings.” ― Charlie Wardle As I watched her, I imagined my own wings and wondered just how hard the wind is going to need to blow in my life for me to loosen them, pinned tightly to my sides, unfurl them—then TRUST as the currents lift me off my (branch) and I soar effortless and without fear.

Street Signs Can Be Memory Joggers

By Carrie Pepper • 30 Nov, 2023
Out on my morning walk, street signs acted as memory joggers. Perhaps they were nudges so that I could remember, and be grateful for, these two women who were there for me as a kid. BRADFORD was the first sign. Grammy Bradford. I never called her anything else and I have no idea what her first name was, but I do remember she was there to tend to me when I was little while my mother went off to work at her government job "in procurement," which she hated. I know nothing, really, of what she did there, but I do remember the room. It seemed there were hundreds of desks in this huge room, no partitions. Dark grey desks and heavy black telephones. I visited her there a few times and she'd give me tablets and pens to keep me busy. I was ALWAYS thrilled to have a tablet and a pen! What she did there is a mystery to me, but when she and my father would argue, which was often, she'd always say, "I want my own money," and so off she went to work every morning at the Defense General Supply Center. He told her she didn't need to work, that he could support her, but, again, she wanted her own money. Back to Mrs. Bradford, Grammy. She was a bit on the heavy side (which I thought made for the best, most cuddly hugs) with long grey hair that she wore up with tons of bobby pins. She always wore a floral bib apron with large pockets and she'd fill them with pears when we'd go to that special corner of our back yard. Oh the smell! Those yellow pears and the carpet of yellow leaves. Memories of Grammy Bradford brought back memories of Thelma Massenburg. She looked exactly like Aunt Jemima (OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKES, we can't say Aunt Jemima anymore!) Recently a friend told me he'd made pancakes and I asked what kind of syrup he used. When he said, "Pearl Milling," I thought it sounded kinda cool, but when I looked it up I found out it was the new name for Aunt Jemima syrup. SERIOUSLY? Anyway, she was wonderful. She cleaned our house, scrubbed the floors and walls and worked harder than anyone I'd ever seen. I loved her. She always wore a bandana tied around her head. She lived in a tiny reddish tar papered house with ten children. Who knows where they all slept! She was diabetic and I was a little stinker and liked to tease her with Hershey Bars. I'd wave one in front of her nose and she'd smile and say," "You bad, chile." The last time I saw her she was in the hospital and her eyes were very, very yellow. Liver disease. The scarf that was always wrapped around her head was gone and I am sure that I could hear her say, "You bad, chile," although she probably didn't. Thank you my sweet Thelma. My Aunt Jemima.
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