Brownstonelit's Blog

4/3/2012

This may be the last entry…

In the midst of my living, I have been touched by many events…the birth of my children, the deaths of my parents, the discovery of life after death and the event of last night. Exhausted by recent schedules, I worked a partial day and then came home to do some light homework and rest.

Once released of minor chores, I indulged and watched some episodes of my favorite’s to catch up.  As fate would have it, the chosen episode of the Gilmore Girls turned out to be the last episode where Rory gets a job as a traveling reporter and Luke and Lorelei make-up and the end scene hints of their renewed relationship. It is a bittersweet episode full of endings and beginnings…of holding on and letting go. Later that night, I watched another favorite, Castle…There too, Beckett and Castle struggled to get their timing right in love.

Now, I am not the diehard sap queen this makes me sound like, but I am always deeply touched at the potential loss of love for want of someone being unable to step forward and claim their heart, or because they have suddenly had an epiphany to set someone free from an untimely obligation. That being said, I thought about recent events with my own children. The hole in my heart at their independent strides away from me…their heartaches, triumphs and disappointments…the daily battles with coming to terms with the empty-nest syndrome, work struggles and the lag in between where I am and where I want to be. All this to say that aside from an interesting phone call, a stray thought to Jessica and Charley that evening, I was as far from connection with the case right before I went to bed as I have been of late.

That is why this is so incredible. My dreams have been so vivid of late. One night it involved pastries in the form of a frog decorated case and my having to choose between the yellow and green checkered cake and a pastry on a tray in Bavaria and feathers in my hair from a little girl. (I know… what did I eat for dinner that night?) The night before, I dreamed about a snake- an Asp to be specific and I was struggling to stay safe, trying to hold its head away from me so it could not bite me. Then, later in the dream I lost the snake somehow outside a house and when I went inside, the building was full of theatre props which began to spontaneously combust as I walked past them. It was so odd… Needless to say, I ate a healthy meal- very light with mostly vegetables, but it didn’t matter, the dreams continued to haunt by night and confuse by day.

So last night…

No sooner had I fallen asleep than I was mentally placed back inside my theatre with the set fromCharlotte’s Web still intact. The barn set design was still untouched and as I was pulling props from the scene and down from the walls… a group of people began to enter. I felt bad because I knew the show had already closed and so as the group began to form in a line,  I advised them that the show had just closed the weekend before…but they didn’t seem to care and then I noticed there was something about this group that suddenly pulled me out of step.

There were four women, two men and one small boy. When they came in, they looked around and after I informed them a second time that the show was closed, they went to the seats and sat awaiting my recognition. The odd thing was, everything around them was in full color, but the people and their immediate auras were that color of Sepia that you sometimes see or create when you process photos.

I went to the first woman; she had short hair and pearls on. The hairdo gave her away and I immediately recognized her as Hazel. She said hello and thanked me. Stunned, I smiled and turned to the next seat which held a man I did not recognize.  He smiled and nodded his head…puzzled, I moved on. The next woman had long blonde hair done up and she smiled big like Adele and I suddenly knew she was a slightly older version of the debutante Roxanne. I spun around and saw another young woman I deemed to be Jessica and ran to hug her too. When I pulled away and wiped a tear, I saw the last woman at the end of the row waiting. She had a cold look on her face and though I did not immediately put 2 and 2 together… I could not understand why she would not look me in the eyes. I moved to stand in front of her and asked why she would not look at me. Her answer confused me. “I cannot look you in the eye…it would pierce my soul.”

I did not understand what she meant. Had I harmed this woman somehow? Had I done something to anger her? Why was she so cold to me? Who was she and why would she say something so odd when the others seemed so happy to see me? It was then I realized the only person left in the equation for her to be was, G. It took me aback and I stumbled away from her in silence and stared. Struck by the assembly, I realized who the group was. The other man I did not recognize must have been the MOT. So where was…

I heard a child laugh and turned to see a young boy run from the hands of a man who stood silent on the other side of the room and smiled. The child I assumed to be one of the children Hazel  had lost. A child who ran about as playful as my own at that age… a child that would have captured my heart had it not been for my need to see someone else– the man who watched him. I looked up from the child and saw him. A man I have talked to and cried with for over three years. A man who waited 44 years to save me. A man that took the broken pieces of my life and glued them back together with the fragments of his own….a man you have come to know as, Charley. Grayed at the temples and minus hair, but for the sides of his head he walked slowly towards me. His eyes shown softer than the painted steely blue of his 8 x 10 and his voice graveled like the snippet on my recording.

No longer in black silhouette, no longer made of wispy smoke…this man was real and he was Charley. My Charley…. my shepherd. He smiled again and told me I was beautiful. It was an odd compliment and I brushed it aside, knowing I had gone to bed in PJ’s and a ponytail. He said it again and I knew it to be the compilation of his impressions of both heart and soul and it made me cry. He was there- a whole person just as I had prayed he might appear one day. Not a bust of a man or a postcard imprint of a personality- he was there in person, just the way I imaged he appears to R.  Filled with gratitude and love, I ran to hug him and prayed that I would be able to feel something more than air beneath my fingers.

I hugged that man for everything I was worth and sobbed into shoulders that held up to the touch. He was real…Charley was real and I knew in that instant that maybe the reason why I had not been able to finish the book and let justice follow its own course, was because I had not been able to let go of something I had never held. He kissed me on the cheek and I held him tight as I cried like a child begging him not to go. He thanked me again and I held tighter knowing that heaven would soon take him away. I whispered I loved him…that I had done everything I could to help and that I never wanted to lose him, though I knew he couldn’t stay.

I held tight until I awoke with tears on my cheeks. It was 1:11 AM.  Even now as I write, tears stream… but for joy, not for sorrow.

Yesterday while driving home with the top down on the Mustang, I said a prayer that I wanted for us all to be able to move forward… that the case would come to fruition, that those living would confess and those that were dead would repent and find a new path for their evolution. I prayed to be able to finish writing the story because I wanted to be able to release them all to where they needed to be, but confessed that while I wanted Charley to be free…I did not wish to lose him. That maybe that was why I could not commit to the ending.

For three years, this man and his life and death have been my constant companion. His lessons, my lessons…his strength, my strength and my weakness… a reason to hold on tighter to his tragedy. Last night I received the gift I’d prayed for… a hug from a man I could see and feel. A solid validation that the connection was as real as the flesh I felt beneath my trembling fingers… a glimpse at a face I could recognize…a word and smile I could calculate. I needed to know it was real- all of it. Charley, my parents… life after death, Karma and consequence, and a chance to rewrite my own life.

I have that validation now. I have that peace.

I do not know where we go from here, my dear readers. The dice are cast…the game afoot and the players now begin to scramble upon the board. What will be from this point forward is what the universe has designed-not me. My portion of this may now be finished. Know that I will continue to seek the truth…to follow the leads and pass them on accordingly to those who can cause real effect for that is my duty and my privilege.  This was my part in this; my journey and I have carried my stone in the building of this bridge between life and after-life as far as I am allowed. It is not my time to cross that bridge…along with R, it is my job to help build it and we will…one case, one soul, one book at a time.

Like Terrance Mann, in the Field of Dreams, I have been to the cornfield and now have my duty to finish my portion of this grand adventure. The wheels can now move forward without my oversight at the helm. Greater powers now prevail and I must follow their lead… the yoke of discovery has been replaced by the mantle of responsibility and I have another chore to finish now. I must let go and let God.

Charley was right… we are forever. I not only know this academically, but now feel it inside. I have finally held the man inside the 8 X 10 and he, the hand of a woman who thought she had lost her way.

Found…I leave you all to look at your own lives and make the connections you need to make to the one’s you love, to the one’s you’ve lost and to yourselves.

Blessings in your travels…

T.A. Powell

4/2/2012

The irony in my life sometimes takes me by complete surprise. Take for instance last week… In the midst of an absolutely insane week of chaos between, a familial crisis, a major forensic project for college course, a full production and a heavy work load… I lost the Saint Teresa medal that hangs on a chain around my neck.

Now why is this important? First of all, she was given to me by my parents. Second, she is the patron saint of all writers’ and my patron saint. Am I overly religious? No… But I am overly sentimental and losing the medal created a breach of personal security that was just one more straw that tipped my scales.

Odd how the loss of something so small can create such a stir in one’s equilibrium and yet… I became slightly off kilter emotionally and spiritually in its absence. The trouble was, I had traversed six different counties during that 24-48 hours and moved a child from two different dwellings. The possibilities of the medal’s whereabouts were daunting and I almost caved just from the sheer magnitude of the area I had covered.

Exhausted from a preliminary search, I sunk into my desk chair and said a prayer to Saint Anthony (Patron Saint of Lost Articles) to find my Saint Teresa medal. When no inspiration came as to where else to look… I went immediately to Saint Jude for help. Saint Jude is the Patron Saint of Lost Causes! He and I are well aquainted!!

Convinced I would simply have to replace the medal myself at a later date, I tried to move on… but things just felt wrong. Saint Teresa is the one whose prayer always keeps me sane. “To know deep within your soul that you are exactly where and who you are meant to be…”

So, having lost that… how does one function without such an internal compass? Hours went by and to keep my mind occupied, I did my best to read chapters in my forensics’ field manual and outline my paper. I sat at my desk and worked dilligently for several hours and then suddenly got up for no apparent reason and went to the kitchen. Once there, I stood in front of the sink and thought… “Damn, I’m so tired and upset, I can’t remember why I even came in here!” Convinced there had been a subconscious reason I went through a grocery list of intentions. Was I hungry? Was I thirsty? Had I been on my way to the laundry room and got sidetracked by a thought? Had I forgottent to turn on the dishwasher?

Hmmmm…. nothing came immediately to mind, so I turned to retrace my steps thinking maybe it would come to me!  For some odd reason I turned back to look out the window over the sink and saw a Cardinal.

Ahhhh… my mother. I silently apologized for losing the medal and vowed to continue my search after completing my homework. As nothing else presented itself, I turned around to leave the room. When I did so, I stepped on the mat with my bare foot and felt something underneath. It felt cold and without my glasses; I assumed it to be a wayward day old dog turd. Why? Because my darling dogs do not always wait for the great outdoors to do their duty!

Envisioing a foot full of pooh…I hopped up and down while I gathered a piece of paper towel to grab the foreign object and wipe the bottom of the affected foot. Just as I bent  to wipe…I saw a glint of light flash across a metal surface and my heart jumped for joy!

The lump underneath my foot was not a tiny cold turd, but the medal I had been searching for, for over 2 days! Now seriously… what are the odds? In the last 48 hours I had been everywhere, including down to the boat and the beach! Every room of my house and three other houses…hauled furniture and boxes from two different homes… ridden in three different cars and walked the dogs randomly over 2 acres of property! But there on the mat, just at the same spot I fill my tea kettle every morning laid the medal my father and mother had given me over 40 years before.

I picked it up- said a prayer of thanks to Jude and my mother outside the window and placed it back on my chain and sighed! Sometimes you have to go through every saint in the book to get the answer you need.

Or, had my mother been trying to tell me something simpler. That sometimes we have to lose something in order to find something even greater… our appreciation!

3/28/12

I am heartened today by the fact that I have discovered there are more still alive involved in this, than originally thought. You see… over the past three years I have worried that too many of those involved had passed; their information and input forever lost. Then of course I met R and that all changed. Though several have passed, most have stepped to the plate with information from the other side. I know that makes many of you squeamish and that tickles me so.

Why?

Because I am constantly amazed at religious folks who raise the roof with praise and prayers to a deity they claim can do all things and that all things are possible with faith in that deity… and yet they default and doubt! They who claim all things are possible, then scream impossible from the roof tops when I speak about this case and are minus the faith necessary to honor their own definitions of faith. It’s such a George Carland kind of thing! It is so obvious on Sundays or Wednesdays and and yet it escapes them the rest of the week. They spout  the miracles of faith and then vomit nothing but limitations out of fear. See where I am going here?

I can tell you this story is real. That Charley was real… that the other victims in this case were real and while you will concede that they lived and died… that there is a Heaven and a Hell, you leave them no remedy to reach beyond and either teach of of the glories or warn us of the flames! Why on Sundays can you believe Lazarus was raised from the dead and yet not afford the same on Tuesday to the MOT? Or Jessica? Or Roxanne? Or my beloved friend, Charley? Each of them and their souls raised from the grave to find resolution… to grant forgiveness… to make amends… to adjust Karma and find another path for their soul’s evolution?

How can you speak to a deity through prayer each night before you sleep, asking for support and guidence  and not beg the same of your deceased grandmother the next morning at the kitchen sink in the same fashion? Why would a deity so omnipotent and compassionate force us to forget in death what it so strongly begged us to learn to love in life? Do we believe to see? Or see to believe?

Ok… I will jump off my soap box, but I have to say that folks who pooh-pooh the connection with the afterlife will suffer the loss of loved ones without the redemptive salve and blessings of continuing that relationship after and I grieve for those who never come to know the peace this process has brought me.

Enough said…

Knowing that some key players are still alive keeps me pleased, as it would have made little sense that Charley would have gone to all this trouble to challenge only the dead to rise to a higher vibration. Now this may come as a shock to you, but I am trying a new approach to this. Do I abhor the actions taken by men and women whose sense of greed and sexual perversion far exceeds the norm? Absolutely! But I am trying to find a way to come at this from another angle… to help the guilty release their guilt, make peace with what they have done and confess before they stand eternally beside the shooter at the water’s edge, unable to rinse the blood of innocents  from their hands.

I want and ask for their confessions; for them to give up the ghost, so to speak and tell the truth now before it must be dragged from them by others far less compassionate than I. Why? Because I have promised to make good out of bad… to make joy out of sorrow and peace out of chaos. And… I  have vowed not to let this thing die no matter the cost! Those of you who know me, know that I am dogged in my determination and unrelenting in my pursuits.  But more importantly, because it is too late for any of us to turn back and though in the end it serves my purpose too… the fruits of collective efforts should come from a place of something more divine than merely justice.

We are in the final days… not of 2012, but of The Coffee Pot Conspiracy. Charley’s story will be a part of my story; my story part of his and together we will tell the tale of a loving man who got caught up in the midst of other’s people’s sludge and sins. A man who walked blindly into a den of thieves and sycophants who treated young women without regard and defiled both their bodies and their legacies. A man who approached middle age with doubts and fears, who lost and found his way back home at the edge of a gun… just like me.

There is more to our story than you will ever know…

3/26/12

This has been an exhausting month and it still isn’t over yet. I had a dream last night that a little girl with untied shoes brought me a feather and placed it in my hair. I knew what the feather meant…that there was a special message or event on its way, but the significance of the untied shoes remained unvetted. Was I meant to tie them for her? Was I to teach her how to do this for herself? Or was this a metaphor for the winding down of this case?

It feels as the strings on a shoe are being pulled tighter and tighter to make a better fit and we are just at the point where the rabbit rushes through the hole to bind the knot! Are you ready? Can you not feel the build within this case?

There are just a few things now that tug at my brain. The man in Hazel’s journal who badgered about the location of the bag which contained the lighter. Now that I feel somewhat certain as to the owner of the lighter… the word conspiracy rings true louder than ever.

How does a three dollar lighter bring fear and terror to so many? Where was it found? Who took it to the pawn shop and why? How did Charley know to buy it? And how did they know that he had?

You know… for a long time I thought the watch that Roxanne was talking about was one between her and the MOT. But now it appears she was trying to tie the watch to the pipe smoker…the man she lay with. The man she said something to, to make him snap. The man who ultimately placed his hands around her throat as the others kicked and held her down. The man who walked the shoreline days after her strangulation and pretended not to know how her body ended up in the water. The man who stood above the rolling waves as the sunlight glinted off his watch and blurred in the smoke that filled the air.  The man who Charley said I would find if I just looked in the car. The man who Charley confirmed with a game of Tic-Tac-Toe. The man who now squirms within a body he no longer controls…

The circle begins to shrink.

The 4 in flannel:

The shooter who cannot wash the blood from his hands

The man with the muddy boots who walks the streets

The pipe smoker who wrote the checks

And Grim… who told them all what to do!

The shoe laces begin to tighten just a bit more… Ahhhhhhhh. The perfect fit! The knot is bound and so are their fates!

3/23/12

The other day was my three year anniversary on this case, so I asked Charley for a few Anniversary presents!

Yesterday I got them!

A camel colored coat, a watch, a lighter, a phone call and a game of TIC-TAC-TOE!

3/22/12

I have a riddle for you…

When is the best time to buy DEPENDS?

When you’re GUILTY!

3/20/12

Today is the Spring Equinox… meant for endings and new beginnings and it is. While relationships and personal portraits wax and wane for some, there is a glimmer of hope on the horizon that new things and nothings may be just what the doctor ordered. In the meantime, we must prepare ourselves and take the time to look deep within to see what works in our lives and what does not. Those things that bring us to our knees; our doubts, our fears, our angst’s and our excuses for not living our dreams must be dragged to the curb and left out for the garbage trucks to pick up and take away.

I have learned in this last move that I carried things with me for fear that I would someday need them and be found without. It was a tremendous weight; the extra furniture, the extra bedding and sheets, superfluous paintings and knick knacks…things and stuff, stuff and things that bind us to the past and to people who not longer grace our lives. Now I look around in this new smaller space and think; I have everything I truly wanted for myself and am surrounded by the most favorite of the favorite. I have my family, my dogs, my paintings, my books… a fireplace, a desk, a view and a purpose. It feels good to live smaller- think bigger and I recommend it to everyone. What are you waiting for? Stop wasting time and wasting your space in life. Live in a smaller footprint, but make a bigger impact!

School has begun again and I am pressed for time. When it comes to the book, I dabble- waiting for something to happen I cannot put my finger on. When it comes to Charley…I know he is still with me. Hazel remains solid and stable at his side. The MOT somewhat elusive. The shooter is till washing blood from his hands. G? She has made her appearances and has little left to say, I fear. As for my dear, Miss M? I miss her and wish she would drop by as I found her quite a character; carefree and engaging. As for Roxanne? She is my constant companion these days. I can feel her beside me and I long to hug the shoulders of that child and tell her I will bring her home soon. Jessica still circles the camp, close but not as close as Roxanne- ‘but I am here for you too,’ I tell her and smile.

Life has been full of disappointments and abrupt endings of late and as I help my own girls ride such rifts in their affairs, I reflect on these two young women and wish to bring them inside the fold. They could have been mine… they are now mine, and I will not leave them forgotten and alone. I cannot. It is something inside me that needs to gather and protect such orphans. Roxanne took R by the hand the other day and took her under water…then two days later she brought to my attention an interesting photo.

The 1970’s were my Baby Boomer years. Great music, great adventures, ridiculous fashions and hideous glasses that everybody and his brother wanted to wear. You know, the big yellowed egg looking things. Like tinted aviator glasses on steroids, men in silk shirts and pleated bell bottoms wore these above lap dance mustaches they thought sexy. Do you remember those days? That’s why I love photos. They capture us in the most vulnerable or bodacious moments of our lives. Silly moments when we smile for the sake of smiling… for the sake of saving memories, for the sake of chronicling our family and friends, for the sake of work ID’s for security reasons…for the sake of fun, for the sake of sadness.

Photos for every facet and fancy of our lives…a chance to chronicle our evolutions in Kodacrome. They are also a way to record the evolution of features; from toothless grins to geriatric grimaces. From the color of our eyes to the color of our hair, the blush on our cheeks and the peeks of our wrinkles! It also records something else…scars.

Scars received from the hands of innocents as they fought back.

Have a nice day, Grim.

3/15/12

So much has happened in the last few days and my schedules have been so booked that I have literally left the house in the dark and returned in the dark and had no time in between to breathe or to take a moment to sit and write.

The article came out Monday and as usual those who cannot extend their minds beyond the immediate and obvious found fault with what I do. It is all right for them to scoff… the joke will be on them later. As for the case, some interesting things have begun to happen.

Roxanne pulled R under water to show her who stood upon the shore… the law enforcement uniforms shadowed by a tall man in a camel colored coat who wore a watch with the initials _________. This same man owned a lighter which Charley bought 3 days before he died from the Morris Pawn Shop. Roxanne was very upset when he stood upon the shore and acted as though he knew nothing of how she ended up under water…especially since he was there when they dumped her into it. And there are other things too, like the pipe smoke in the parking lot when there was nobody there beside me. Was that you Mr. 4th in flannel? The Pipe Smoker?

And what of the eagle? I have seen him three times now and yesterday a huge white feather. Another message is on its way.

Here’s an interesting tid bit of info for you. Do you know how many times somebody Googled the phrase:  remains under water?

I do.

You’ve been busy this week, Grim. You, Einstein and the farmer. Be careful… someone might be watching.

Some one other than me.

Maybe even more than one…

Sleep tight.

3/12/12

 Something special was bound to happen today!

Why?

First and foremost because…

It is my father’s Birthday. So Happy Birthday daddy! Have a slice of cake in heaven for me!

Second… because two pairs of chocolate brown eyes now smile again; a daughter’s and her German Shepherd puppy’s.

Third… because an article about this book just came out!

Fourth… because I saw an Eagle yesterday!

And we all know what that means, don’t we?

Justice is not far behind us now!

3/10/12

This afternoon is the seminar with John Edward.

I just heard a crazy song in a silly movie called, “Route 30” my husband is snoring through.

A song that started…

“Don’t ever hit grandma in the head with a shovel… it will leave a bad impression on her mind!”

Maybe Jessica has something more to say than we think???