Tarot Redux

People who know me well know that I have been fascinated (to put it mildly) by tarot for four decades. I have read the cards in a variety of settings including fairs and events, online readings, in my home, and even on tarot phone lines.

I moved across country twice in as many years, and my cards got packed away. This of course, prompted me to buy new decks, rather than tackle the chore of going through dozens of boxes and bins where my old ones were stored.

This past Christmas, my eldest son showed an interest in learning tarot. It prompted me to begin writing a book on the subject, to create in one source, everything I know about the cards. This is primarily so that my children will always have access to my thoughts and experiences on the subject should they ever take an interest in it and I'm no longer here to speak to them about it. Being older now, the idea of preserving my tarot insights for my children, and anyone else for that matter, to peruse at their own leisure, is attractive to me.

I bought my son his own first deck of tarot, and during this process, it made me long for my old familiar cards that I haven't seen in a while. I solicited the help of my husband and together we dug through most of the boxes in our basement to find many of my old decks from the 70's through the 90's. I still haven't found all of them,

Being reconnected to my old decks has been amazing. Some were more beautiful than I remembered, some not so much. But as I rediscovered each of them, it was like being reunited with an old friend.

Since it coincided with the new year, I resolved to make tarot a greater presence in my life. I committed to an Instagram feed  where I do one daily reading at the start of each day. It is the first thing I do every day, some days even before my morning coffee. It has become part of my daily zen. I wake up, choose a deck for the day, cleanse and charge it. I think of an intent for all my followers, I focus on something along the lines of, "What is something that we all need to work on today?" I have taken a collective approach to my readings, not focusing on myself, but on all of us. The collective self.

I handle and mix the cards while focusing on my intent. When it feels right, I pull a card from the deck and that is the card I use for the day's message. Sometimes multiple cards spontaneously fall from the deck before I deliberately choose, and in those instances, those are the cards I use.

It's been wonderful for me to commit, not just to use the cards for profit or for myself on a daily basis, but to really commit to using them every day for a much broader audience. I have a respectable following after just a few months, with more followers than I have for my other instagram feed for my unrelated business account which has been up and running for nearly two years! Although only in the low hundreds, it is an auspicious beginning and I am proud of what I am accomplishing and happy to be doing it. Much like riding a bike, it is a process that comes naturally to me. I am a visual person and often think in pictures, not words. Tarot is like that too.

In order to keep the feed interesting to my followers, I use a variety of decks and always identify all of them. Most days I offer a 2nd photo, either a selection of random cards from 'the deck of the day,' or sometimes a collection of one particular card from a variety of decks for comparison.

My primary purpose is to have an intelligent feed devoted to tarot, to present it in the best possible way. Non threatening and educational, especially for followers who are curious and enjoy a daily read. The teacher in me wants to educate as well. The beauty of tarot is that every card relates to every person, every day. It's the way they're made. It's virtually impossible to miss. They are always relevant.

A lot of people must agree because I've been getting so many requests for readings that I had to set up an online tarot website dedicated to readings and, I now also have a tarot blog.

I welcome any of you interested in my passion, to join my Instagram feed. If you are like most of my followers, I believe you will begin to look forward to 'the card of the day.'

xoxox~ Marilyn

The (Kennedy) Age of Lost Innocence

I was the age of innocence.

I was just barely five years old and feeling elated as I skipped down the hilly road from Rose Tree Media Elementary School toward home.  My kindergarten teacher, Miss Espenshade, had just dismissed us unexpectedly and I was thrilled.

An upper classman derided me for being happy about it. “The president has been assassinated; it’s not something to be happy about.” I didn't know what that meant, but I knew it wasn't a good thing. It was a sobering moment and I remember it vividly.

When I got home, my mom was crying. The television was on. It hurt me to see my mother cry and it scared me. Walter Cronkite told us the president was dead. The nightmare had to be true if Walter Cronkite said it was so. Even he was crying, you could tell. The television stayed on for days. Words like ‘grassy knoll,’ 'Dealey Plaza,' ‘lone assassin,’ and ‘book depository’ became iconic words that weekend. ‘Kennedy, Oswald, Zapruder, and Jack Ruby’ were all names burned into my impressionable psyche. The ‘Magic Bullet Theory and the Warren Commission’ would soon follow.

Both of my parents were glued to the set. I saw Oswald shot and killed on live television. It played right out on live television. I remember my father shouting out an expletive. My father rarely cursed. I know my father and presumably my mother, had voted for Kennedy. It was the only time my father had ever voted for a democrat.

A few days after the assassination , again on television, I watched a widow with her babies, a daughter slightly older than myself, and her little boy, hand in hand, walking. A flag draped casket. Her son saluting as his father’s casket passed.

It was no longer the age of innocence, and neither was I.

I don’t know if President Kennedy was a great president, but he must have been doing something right.  I do know that the country was doing pretty well, and those who weren't doing great were doing better. My father was a Hispanic male, and living a relatively fat life in suburban Philadelphia in a district known for its superior schools. It was a life that I’m sure blew him away in contrast to his rough and tumble upbringing in the Marion section of Jersey City, NJ where he grew up as just another minority. My mother, a daughter of a successful Philadelphia architect, was already raising four children in a nice home on a nice block while still only in her twenties.  Growing up, I never identified myself as a minority because that was not how I thought of myself. My parents were college graduates in a neighborhood where none of my non-minority friends’ parents had educations. I went to great schools. Life was hopeful. In ’63, we all had a fighting chance.  I don’t think any generation since has had such a promising reality and horizon. My own children certainly have not had as promising a start in life as the time I was born into.

The music of Camelot was prominent in my childhood home. My parents took me to the play. I know every word of every song. The power in the title song, “Camelot”, instantly evokes melancholy and yet is so close, so close, to defining ideality. For a generation of people it’s the ‘go to song’ for 'what could have been' or for 'what once was.'

It’s been a fast fifty years. That day when my parents cried, when the country cried, that day is coming around again, for the fiftieth time. And this time might be the last time we look at it with such sharp focus. It is the fiftieth anniversary, a landmark year. Will it ever be looked at again with such scrutiny on say, year sixty three? Will as many people care in year sixty-three? I am among the youngest people who were alive on that day to have a conscious memory of that day, and the days that followed. Many of the grown-ups from that time have died. My father, who was only in his twenties when it happened, has been dead for over a decade. People of my age will be the last to have a living memory of that day. After we are gone, will the truth be told to a public who no longer has a vested interest in the truth?

Unlike Lincoln's assassination, we do have the benefit of the Zapruder film, and maybe that will help keep it a real and human event.

As providence would have it, my husband and I had a reason to go to Texas in late October, the October before the 50^th November. How could we go to Texas without going to Dallas? I had never been to Dallas before, but my husband had. He arranged for us to go to Dealey Plaza during our trip to Texas, and I can’t thank him enough for making it happen for me.

Being in the location where President Kennedy was shot was very familiar. I knew the layout. After fifty years in the media, I have seen every nook and cranny of the place. I instantly recognized the spot where Zapruder was standing while filming his infamous footage. Even without the white X on the highway, I could identify the location of the president’s car. The ‘grassy knoll’ was exactly as I knew it to be. The 6^th floor window of the school book depository was readily identifiable from the sidewalk.  The only thing that was in contrast to the video images that played in my mind was how small the space was. It was an intimate space, and not as expansive as it seems on television. When I drew the invisible line between the 6^th floor book depository window and the X marking the spot, it looked like a very doable shot. In contrast to everything I had ever believed, for a fleeting moment, it occurred to me that Oswald might have pulled the assassination off on his own. Being there was at the same time chilling and exciting.

At some point my husband and I wandered off in different directions to take photos. I am almost fanatical when I take photos, in avoiding tourists in a shot. I have waited hours on occasion to get the perfect shot without bystanders in it. Perhaps it’s because I carried a double major in photography and painting in Tyler School of Art in Philadelphia, and have a good eye for composition, or maybe I’m just a snob. But unless I’m taking family photos or commemorating an experience with family and friends, or deliberately taking photos of people, I just don't want strangers in my scenic photographs.

 I stood on the sidewalk at the foot of the grassy knoll facing the wooden barricade and the white concrete structure known as the Bryan Colonnade, the birthplace of Dallas, and I snapped a photo. As I prepared to take the photo, I realized that a gentleman was descending the steps and entered into the frame, but I snapped it anyway. The man, realizing that he was in my photo, apologized for walking into the view as I was taking a photograph and offered to step aside so I could retake the shot. For the first time ever, it didn't bother me at all. In fact, I could hardly believe my own words as I said them,

 “That’s alright, I took it on purpose, I wanted a human element in this photo.”

What he told me next, blew my mind.

“Funny that you should say that”, he said. “I was here that day, and right about at this same spot the day the president was killed.”

My jaw visibly dropped. What are the odds of spontaneously meeting and engaging in conversation with someone who was there when it happened, and standing in the same general spot as where I took his photo? He said he had returned, close to the 50^th anniversary, to revisit the memories for himself. I was all ears, an eager audience of one, hungry to hear his memories and anything he was willing to share. I wish I had asked his name, and unfortunately I didn't, but for the sake of the rest of this story, I will refer to him as Bob.

Bob told me that he and his friends were behind the stockade fence, behind the grassy knoll, playing ball and running around. He was young, nine, and indifferent to the parade for the president, but he does remember certain things. He remembered there were men in suits behind the fence where he was playing. Lots of people were back there, looking over the fence without restriction. Bob also remembered that immediately before the president was shot, the overpass was closed to both cars and walking traffic, and there were men in suits on the bridge too. Bob went to Dealey Plaza with his mother that day to see the president, and as the president neared the plaza, his mother retrieved him to join her on the lawn across the street from the knoll to see the president as he passed. He heard the shots, and within seconds, everyone there agreed, something happened from behind the fence. Bob told me that to his dying day, no one will ever be able to convince him that the shots that killed the president didn't come from behind that fence beyond the knoll.

Bob told me that immediately after the president was shot, the bridge was immediately and oddly opened to everyone, cars and foot traffic alike. No one secured the location. And here's the most amazing thing of all, before he left the plaza with his mother, everyone knew there was a man named Oswald who worked at the book depository. 

“How can that be?” he asked me, “when today with all our technology, surveillance, and communication it takes us forever to know anything, but that day, almost instantly, everyone knew the name Oswald and that he worked at the book depository and that he had killed the president.”

This excellent point is what brought my mind right back to the conspiracy I grew up believing, which had been the common knowledge shared among those who had been alive that day. The intimacy of the plaza put the president in a turkey shoot. With open and non-secured windows everywhere, and barricaded fences perfect to hide behind, it was an assassin's paradise. Standing there, I could see that there were multiple easy perches for one or more assassin. 

After chatting with Bob for about twenty minutes I figured I should look for my husband and I reluctantly said goodbye to my Dealey Plaza friend .

My husband and I ended our day at the plaza by spending a few hours inside the Book Depository Museum. Interestingly, the immediate area surrounding the supposed assassin’s nest on the 6th floor is completely encased in Plexiglas. There is a little staged area with boxes near the window from which Oswald may or may not have taken a shot at the president. You can see the work elevator that Oswald would have used during his work day. The other floors and the stairwell were not open to the public.

The museum is a place with all kinds of media, reflections of the age of Camelot. If you weren't yet born in '63, the museum does an excellent job in transporting you back to that brief moment in time. If you were alive then, it will remind you of a few things you've forgotten. The commercials, the music, the news clips, it's all there to take you back.

After '63, it became easy to believe that our government could and probably did lie to us. I don't know what the truth is, but the fact that the records will remain sealed until 2063 is a strong indicator that something is fishy in Denmark. If the Warren Commission is the truth, as so many now believe, then why keep the documents classified top secret until 2063? 

Oswald was clearly a troubled loser and a loose cannon. It is easy to believe that he was probably involved. He is known to have lied and I believe he had a pretty good idea of what was going on in Dealey Plaza that day. He was the only employee of the book depository to high-tail it out of the building that day. He was not an innocent. He knew enough to figure out that he was the chosen one, the fall guy. In his own words, he knew he was set up as the patsy.

For the truth, follow the power. Who became president?  What did LBJ have on J Edgar Hoover that forced Hoover to demand that Kennedy choose LBJ as a running mate when it was known that Kennedy hated LBJ? And what did Hoover have on Kennedy that made Kennedy acquiesce on that point? If it wasn't LBJ behind the assassination, then what entity had the most to lose if Kennedy remained in office? Kennedy knew about, and stopped the CIA hit on Fidel Castro, and was considering disbanding the CIA. At least one member of the Warren Commission was CIA (Allen Dulles, former CIA head). Who worked in the CIA at that time who later cashed in his chips for his silence and became the 41st president? There is photographic evidence that our 41st president was in Dallas that same day standing in front of the School Book Depository. Besides the fingerprints of Oswald and other workers at the book depository, why were there also prints of a known hit-man (Mac Wallace, look it up) on the box by the 6th floor perch. And isn't it quite the small coincidence that Mac Wallace was a known associate of LBJ's at the time. Is this nonsense? Fifty years is a lot of time to let theories fester.

We need the truth already.

Always the Officiant Finally the Bride!

It's been almost a year since my last entry. My bad. It's not that I haven't been writing, I write all the time. But I have embarked on new efforts which have been more demanding of my time, such as launching a new business as a professional wedding officiant and also getting married myself.

It was interesting being a bride with an officiant's perspective. It allowed me to understand how stuff works, much better than I understood before. For one, I realized that I could have any kind of wedding ceremony I wanted since it's something I'm now an expert in.

My sweetheart and I decided that we'd like an intimate wedding in a location that was special to us. During our courtship, John and I have made repeated visits to Niagara Falls, NY because it is one of the most incredibly beautiful locations relatively near to home (only 400 miles away) and just so much fun! So we figured a wedding as close to the Falls as humanly and legally possible was the perfect idea for us.

We notified family members months in advance on the day we were engaged, so that everyone could get their passports in order. (Who goes to Niagara Falls without going to the Canadian side?) Oh, and for the record, John proposed to me behind the Falls on the Canadian side on New Years Eve. It was awesome.

As the months progressed, some of our family members made the commitment to be there with us and it meant the world to us to be able to share our happy event with people who love us so much. John's best friend, besides me, married us. I instructed him on how to become legally ordained and I wrote our wedding ceremony. Considering Wes, our officiant, didn't have any prior experience in marrying people, he did a great job for us. Thank you Wes!

Our ceremony included a Love Letter component and a Handfasting component, so we actually tied the knot! Our location was Terrapin Point on the American side since we weren't sure if everyone would be able to get their passports in time and we had to reserve it months in advance. But it was the perfect location and I wouldn't have chosen any other location at the Falls even if I could do it over. We got married between 8:00  and 9:00am in front of an insanely perfect rainbow on a gloriously sunny morning.

My sons gave me away and my daughter read Shakespeare's Sonnet #18, which is something she used to read as a child and has very special significance between us. She did a perfect job. She also tied the cords around our wrists and tied the knot during our ceremony. Thank you Evan, Eric, and Ellen!

My six-year-old nephew, Alex, was our "Ring Bear" as he called himself. In attendance besides my children, Alex, and Wes was everyone in my family. My brothers, sister, nephews, one of my son's girlfriends, and my mom. It meant the world to us that they were there. So much love. xoxox Thank you folks.

After the ceremony we spent the day doing fun stuff: Maid of the Mist, Wind of the Caves, and we all gathered back together in the evening for an informal dinner at a fun place on the Canadian side called Johnny Rocco's. We spent two nights together at the AFB in Niagara Falls and then on the third morning, we began the long treck home.

John and I rented a comfortable and large Town and Country Van which allowed us and my children to ride in comfort and safety and spend a lot of time together.

At the AF accommodations, we had fun too. My sister-in-law fixed my hair, my daughter's hair, and mom's too, to help us look pretty. Thank you Donna. After our wedding day came to a close, everyone came together in our room for a champagne toast as John and I danced to Etta James' wonderful song, our theme, At Last.

It was a wonderful event that was tough to beat, but for our honeymoon we managed to top it all off with an amazing two week visit to Hawaii! Does life get any better?

The highlight for each of us was the kissing love scene between Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster in the exact same location where the film was shot. (That we re-created at least a dozen times.) And we have the photos to prove it! Anyone who knows me knows what a thrill that was for me. To make it even grander, not only did we do this incredibly romantic gesture on our honeymoon, we did it on my 54th birthday. Oh yeah, it was an awesome day. We visited many locations on Oahu as well as a day trip to Maui, and we have many wonderful photographs of paradise.

We don't know how anyone who ever visits Hawaii leaves, and we are plotting our permanent return. We want to live the rest of our lives there and are working towards making that happen.

With Aloha.  Mahalo.

You Say Banahhna and I say Banana

A month or two ago, a facebook friend posted that a European friend was visiting the US and needed a place to stay as a home-base while she toured. She asked if any of her fb friends would be willing to put her up.

Within seconds of reading the post, and without consulting my better half, I answered, "Any friend of yours is a friend of mine." Our mutual friend is a good person, and she wouldn't let a bad person into my life. Plus, I was young once, and used to travel alone, and I would have loved to have been able to stay somewhere with local people who were aware of my comings and goings and could serve as a safety net for me.

The next thing I knew, I was in contact with our young traveller and anticipating her arrival. The world really isn't that big a place as long as you have friends in it and opening your home and heart to a complete stranger is one way to make the world a better place. So we embraced the idea wholeheartedly, as no half-assed effort would do the gesture justice.

Davinder stole my heart before she ever stepped foot in my house. Immediately I knew she was lovely through and through, and John and I can't do enough for her because we really want to. She's stolen our hearts.

Sometimes, you just have to go a little out of your safety zone to take a chance on humanity, and the rewards, are yours.

FOLLOW-UP to Jury Duty

Whew, after all is said and done, I dodged the jury duty bullet for two years. I was instructed not to go in.

And Now for Something Completely Different

Jury Duty.

First response: ugh. Second response: I feel guilty for my first response.

It is my civic duty after all, and if I were to find myself facing a jury of my peers, then I'd want someone like me on the jury. I try to be fair, I try to be honest. I try to be unbiased. That's the best I can say. I am not a perfect person and I am guilty of human emotion.

I can't complain really. I've only been called upon once or twice before, and both times I appeared but was dismissed because the jury was picked before they got to me.

Both times I actually wanted to be picked. I wanted to serve on the jury for the experience of seeing how our justice system works. I wanted to ensure that a defendant had a fair trial because I would make sure it was fair. I was so ideal then.

Now I don't want to be picked. Now I don't even want to have to appear at all and I'm hoping that when I call the number the night before I will learn that I have already been dismissed.
And it bothers me that I have a bad attitude about it.

I did a google search where all I typed in was "jury duty" and the very first thing to pop up in the search was, "How to get out of Jury Duty" a wikihow article. So that suggests  to me that getting out of jury duty is what most people want to know about it.

So here's a chilling thought: If everyone expects a fair trial, but no one wants to serve on a jury how does anyone get a fair trial?

What is the root of this problem? You can't fix a problem if you don't understand the problem. So where does the problem lie? Why is jury duty so undesirable?

In an effort to figure it out, I put the question out there to my facebook and twitter friends for two consecutive days:
"Why don't we want to do jury duty?"

Total apathy. I only got two responses on twitter. One friend said that she actually liked jury duty and looks forward to doing it. The other responder replied that the state of NJ only pays $5.00 for serving. That would barely cover the cost of coffee bought en route to the courthouse. Clearly, if you are self-employed it makes jury duty very undesirable indeed.

Based on the State's webpage regarding jury duty; while the employer is obligated to allow the juror to attend without consequence of being fired, it is not obligated to pay the employee. Double Wow. And those employers that do pay, may expect the employee to turn over the money earned for jury duty. All $5.00 of it.
OK, so mystery solved. It is abundantly clear why most of us try to wiggle out of jury duty.

Now here's a scratch your head question:
If the summons isn't delivered via certified mail, why don't jurors just shred it and put it in the trash? No one can prove it was properly delivered. In fact, even after I moved and voted from my new location, my summons was still mailed to my old residence in a different municipality. It is highly possible that I would not have received it. How can a bench warrant be issued for a person who may not have received a summons in the first place? That's presuming an innocent person who can never prove their innocence, is guilty. That's messed up even for New Jersey!

I found a youtube video put out by the State, describing the importance and honor of sitting on a NJ jury:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFBfYX3wcTI
It's well done by a judge and a high power attorney who undoubtedly make $6 figures a year and make it all sound so dignified.

It should be an honor but I think the fundamental problem is that jurors aren't treated with respect. And it isn't only about the $5.00 day salary or the pressure put on us by employers to get out of it or postpone the date. (I should mention it goes up to $35.00 day after serving four days.)

What the video doesn't mention is that sometimes the county courthouse is in the sleaziest section of the sleaziest towns, and that parking can be blocks away if provided at all. There should be a shuttle system in place to pick jurors up and take them home. (Except that we all know if the State provided such a service it would be so lame nobody would ever arrive to court in time.)

The video addresses the responsibility of being a juror and an impartial participant, but it doesn't mention jury nullification, which allows a jury to find the defendant guilty, but of an unjust law. It's one of the most powerful rights a jury has. Think Rosa Parks for example. We aren't told of this aspect of jury duty, because it poses such a headache for the system that if the judge or attorneys know you know about it prior to being chosen as a juror, you will most likely be excused. It's so hush hush they won't ask if you know about it. You have to ask them to explain it to you as a function of the jury and then it is almost guaranteed you will be let go without the explanation. A jury can only utilize nullification if one of the jurors knows about it and kept mum while being selected in order to preserve his/her right to use it if it is felt necessary. In the words of Voltaire, "It is dangerous to be right when the government is wrong."

A fair and impartial juror can be dismissed for prejudices of the court. Is the defendant grossly overweight and a juror a health nut? Without explanation a skinny juror can be dismissed because the attorneys might assume he or she'd be prejudiced against a fat person. Many assumptions and stereotypes are made based upon a juror's profile. Ironic, huh?

I think it all comes down to this: we owe each other this courtesy, despite the hardship, unpleasantness and indignity, because it's the right thing to do.

I'm not saying this out of an idealized liberalness. I'm as bitter as the next guy. I've worked alongside corrupt individuals. I've done my job by the book while others didn't because I believed that hard work and loyalty is recognized and appreciated. But it isn't. I was the employee who was laid off due to political reasons and administrators who were gutless and corrupt enough to do the easiest thing instead of the right thing and don't even get me started on the union who forces you to pay whether you belong or not but won't lift a finger to help if you aren't tenured. But that's a different article. Trust me, I'm as disgusted and bitter as the next guy and just as suspicious of the corruptibility and fallibility of even the judge that sits before the jury.

And I guess now my logic has come full circle but from a different place. Selfishness.

It's the right thing to do not because of some idealized notion, but because of the realization of how corrupt the world really is and what a difference a sincere juror could make. It's not just for the sake of the innocent men and women who sit in jails or are executed because they had jurors whose motivation was to get out of there asap. (Think Twelve Angry Men without Henry Fonda's character.)

It's just as much for my sake as for the protection of a possibly innocent defendant: to make reasonably sure that the real perps stay off the streets.

Best Wedding Advice I Ever Received

Here's something I wrote a while back for Associated Content. In light of the fact that I am now officiating weddings, it seems very fitting to include this article in my blog:


The Best Wedding Advice I Ever Received


Second only to the birth of our children, our wedding day is considered by most of us to be the most important day of our lives. And yet, how often do brides and grooms too for that matter, confess that their wedding

 

  day was a blur that they barely remember? Or worse yet, that their wedding day was a day to forget and filled with one blundering disaster after another?

We've all heard enough wedding horror stories to suspect that it may be the norm. But how on earth can you rise above the wedding madness to ensure that your wedding day is a day that you can actually enjoy and remember with a happy heart?

Here's the secret that brought me to my senses. It was good advice 25 years ago and it's sound advice today. Do yourself a favor and repeat it daily to yourself for days, even weeks before your wedding day. Heck, memorize it if you can.

Remember that at the end of the day, it isn't about how fabulous your hair was or how shapely you looked in your gown. It isn't about how lovely the flowers were, (or if they even arrived at all). It isn't how the adorable little flower girl stole a little bit of your glory (as kids at weddings often do) or that your mother-in-law wore black. What it is about is how you are now bonded, hopefully for life, with your most favorite human being on the planet. That is the focus, and all that other stuff is fluff. It seems so obvious a truth, and yet it's an almost completely overlooked aspect of the day.

If you focus on all those other aspects, then you will not enjoy your wedding day, guaranteed, because something will inevitably go wrong. More importantly, if those other aspects are your focus, it may be a red flag that you are getting married for all the wrong reasons. And if that's the case, it isn't just your wedding day that's in trouble.


It's fine, even advisable, to have an organized plan in place to ensure that your guests have a good time. But as things go wrong in the course of the day, and they probably will, just remember what the focus of the

 

  truly day is. It will help keep the trivial aspects in their proper perspective so that you are free to experience the real beauty and magic of the day.

Good luck!