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Norm's Brooklyn

Updated: Feb 4, 2019

6/3/63 My Birthdate

6/3/80 My Dad's Deathdate

6/3/17 My Husband's Deathdate

I was 54. Numerologists have a field day with all this. “The nines! 6 + 3 = 9; 9 + 9 = 18; 1 + 8 = 9; 9’s are completion! Wonderful! 5 + 4 . . . “. Da da da da da whatever. June 3rd will never be wonderful for me and my family. (I know. I should never say never. Whatever.)

Norm was working in Brooklyn. My rough goofy burly bald simple complicated man was a millwright by trade but his bossy nature helped him rise through the ranks and run steel and conveyor jobs all over the states. He wrote like a 3rd grade boy but could run and troubleshoot a $5 million construction job efficiently. Robots, turbans (?), scales--he built big things mostly in the auto plants. He worked long and hard and expected everyone under him to work long and hard. That’s why he didn’t spend my 54th birthday at home in Michigan with me.

The previous weekend the Brooklyn workers (mice) did not work long and hard while he (cat) was home for Sam’s high school graduation and a Memorial weekend trip up north. We met in 87 and had spent every birthday together. He loved giving extravagant gifts especially to me. But, a previous experience he had after expressing disappointment in some NYC union guys resulted in a blown out tire on the Verrazano Bridge. He learned the hard way that if he wanted any work to get done on a weekend he’d have to be there and also not talk like a dick. He felt bad about missing my birthday so the evening of June 2nd we spent planning arrangements to fly me out the following weekend. He was so excited to show me his Brooklyn and the artist’s studio airbnb he had rented with the wine bar on the roof. Our last conversation was me sitting in my car in Kohl’s parking lot--him in the Brooklyn studio in front of his laptop. I was impatiently waiting to go in and buy my nephew’s birthday present while he was giving me the flight info. --Seriously, woodpecker is back on the feeder chirping this time. “Happy Norm? OK, ok, I’ll keep going. Just gotta get some damn tissue. Yes. I’ll blow out the candles and turn the night light off in the bathroom that will catch fire someday blah blah blah.” Tap tap tap. Anyways my 40-50 jeweled damselflies are out dancing right outside the window in the trees so happy I am writing. (It’ll make sense later-or not.)

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3 comentários

Came to this blog for the Im sorry mr President post but wound up here. Its very challenging right now. I have been awake for 30 + years off (college and family stress) and on and 21 years ago for good. Of course born very intuitive/ psychic realized since 8 years old. I was always wondering what was obvious to me was not so obvious to others. I don't know why I am commenting on this post and not the I am sorry mr. president. Your birthdate and father and husband's death date did it probably. I do amateur sidereal astrology and numerology for friends. This time has been presented to wake people up. The boomerang has not come y…


Tammy - thank you for including me in this journey! I love your writing and boy am I missing Norm! I’m so proud of you! Love and miss you!!! ❌⭕️


Tammy, this is awesome! Keep up the good work and sharing your gift of writing! Sharing your soul will help heal it!

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