Each day starts with a stretch, a yawn, and taking a look at the weather forecast for the day. It’s been a long winter and I did really good. Much better than I have in other years.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through the years is that the winter weather, although sometimes extremely beautiful, can wreck havoc with my inner peace. It’s like my mind needs to dream, create, and accomplish. It needs to imagine or know that something really good is coming up. For some people, the little hints that spring is going to finally eventually come along is enough, but for me, I need the definite goal of something definite.

So this year, I decided to just cosy on down, watch some movies, learn to adjust to the -40 below weather, and relax. Going on a southern vacation just seemed to be too much money to just lay in the sand. As much as I love sand and beaches and sunshine, I liked my bank account a little bit more.

So as I lay in my recliner, with a cool drink in my hand, in -35 Celsius weather, I find the movie Ticket to Paradise. A love story set in Bali. George Clooney and Julia Roberts are parents of a young woman that recently graduates from university and takes a well earned vacation to Bali. There she meets the man of her dreams and chooses love over career.

As my eyes viewed the beauty of Bali, I remembered how often I was going to put it on my bucket list, but just assumed that I could never ever afford to be able to go there. Hell it’s above Australia and below Thailand. Only the super rich must be able to afford to vacation in Bali. But I was curious so I clicked on Expedia. Then I really checked it because it was saying that I could fly from Canada to Bali, 9 nights stay in a hotel, close to the beach, and fly home, for under $2500 Canadian. Oh my God.

I began my research. I double checked to make sure that I was on the real Expedia site. I reviewed all the presets and choices, and reviews, and YouTube videos. I took all the advice that I could find for which hotels were for me. I could choose the over 50 crowd at a much higher price per night, or the over 30 crowd and a much more reasonable price. One was a little farther from the beach to ensure that they had the quiet ambience. I was happy to just be closer to the beach, patios, and music.

Then I started looking at all the tours or sightseeing. Wow waterfalls, hike up a mountain to an active volcano, actually walk in paradise. I was starting to find out that the Canadian dollar really does quite well in Bali. Food was just as cheap as eating it in Canada or less. I could hire a driver for the day for $20 to take me anywhere.

So I took the dive. I figured out the days that I could go. I booked the days off from my work. I made a rough plan of what I would need to save to really enjoy this dream vacation. I clicked all the choices on Expedia. Triple reviewed my choices of flights, days, and costs. Then I made payment, got the confirmation of my itinerary, and was on the way to the most exciting few months I’ve had in a while. Now to plan.

To be continued…

May I be safe. May I be healthy. May I be happy. May I live with ease. 

Brain broke connection with mouth again.

Very often my mouth jumps ahead of my brain. I come off as extremely rude and uncompassionate. It’s one of my worst traits. I am not sure how I developed this habit and it’s always been a struggle to control it.

Many of you that have followed this blog know that I very much respect and attempt to honour the Seven Sacred Teachings of the Ojibway/Anishinaabe First Nations. Courage, honesty, humility, love, respect, trust, and wisdom.

For many years, I was treated as if my brain had nothing worthwhile to give anyone. I was not encouraged to speak out, give my opinion, or in anyway have the confidence that I may have something worthwhile to say. I spent the last 30 years growing some sense of love for my own thoughts. Many friends, both in business, volunteer groups, and work places, praised me for my knowledge and ability to speak in public and my ability to convey my thoughts in a comprehensive manner. Some good friends/ colleagues just ask what the hell is Carol talking about now!! Some good friends say I just love jumping from one story to the next and forget to hit the stop button.

Recently, I forgot about the humility part of the seven teachings. And that led to me using my mouth more than I did my ears. I cut someone off mid-sentence, waved my hand, and said pssht, that’s not relevant here. OMG I should’ve stopped, listened, and then responded. Sometimes when I feel like I’m right, I definitely come off as sounding bossy or dismissive of others. In fact, I know people must think what an ignorant bitch. I am immediately regretful, but usually by that time I have made someone feel uncomfortable and hurt. I apologize immediately, but as my mother used to say sorry doesn’t help if you’ve done the same thing over and over.

I know in our staff meetings I now put up my hand instead of cutting someone off. My coworkers appreciate this new approach as the old one again came off as rude and judgemental. Which was never my intention but definitely the end result.

As a problem solver and someone who grew up avoiding crisis, my mind races ahead. During the race it has no time to listen, just run. My task now is to slow it down. This is not a life or death experience. I can always take the time to think and listen. If I lose the thought that I wanted to express, then maybe it wasn’t that important.

I will definitely work on being a kinder listener. And a kinder talker.

May I be safe. May I be healthy. May I be happy. May I live life with ease.

This will be short and sweet. I have tried really really hard to be aware of my triggers. At the job that I work at, we call it shark music. When we start to hear the shark music, we have to prepare our brains and hearts to just calm down and look at it logically. What is happening now? Do I have to stop and take that deep breath?

We also have to be aware that others have their own shark music. Their own traumas that they may be recovering from. So not only do we have to care for ourselves, we have to remember to care for others. At the moment of the pain it seems that only you can feel it. Often the person you are talking to is reacting to their own traumas that they too are trying to recover from.

Patience with yourself and patience with your family and friends will work you towards a positive result.

So as you gather with family and friends, coworkers and neighbors, remember that we each are in our own space. We are each trying to get through sometimes a very difficult season. Remember to take the deep breath and be thankful for everything we have. Remember to say a prayer for those in pain. Remember, it is better to give than to receive. Happy holidays to everyone.

May I be safe. May I be healthy. May I be happy. May I live with ease.

(This was written over a year ago. Only published now)

I know I continuously talk about finding happy. Well I fell into the pit hard.

I could feel in the last couple of weeks that stresses were increasing. I was becoming more tense with any changes, sad interactions, angry interactions, and conflicts at work.

I was caring too much with the illusion that only I could fix things. When I couldn’t fix everything I condemned myself for failing. My usual happy cheerful self, definitely went the wrong way. I was harsher, less patient, and wasn’t choosing my words well. Be kind and gentle is a false motto if I was not keeping my thoughts and actions calm.

I recognized the stresses building, and I asked my employer to schedule me a definite break. I didn’t realize how bad I was until one failure on my part brought me back to my childhood.

When I was a kid the most horrible times of my life was when I couldn’t stop crying. Mom and Dad would have a fight, I’d be laying in my bed trying to cry against my pillow. Eventually my dad would come in, sit on the edge of my bed, and tell me to stop my goddamn crying!! If you can’t quit crying, I will give you something to cry for!! My dad often hit my Mom while drunk so the fear was real.

The hiccoughing gasps as I tried to stop crying. The sobs begging for air. My throat aching. Wishing the sobs to stop.

When dad got up and left, and it was quiet in the living room, I knew that Mom had had time to go to bed. It would be quiet soon.

The morning would have Mom and Dad pretending nothing happened. My swollen red eyes and puffy face would bring a look of guilt to my Dad’s eyes. I would do something silly or cute to make him smile. I didn’t want my Dad to be sad because of me.

I never wanted anyone to have pain because of me. I would always be the fixer. The helper. Never be the cause of pain or sadness.

That plan didn’t work out so well. Depression makes a person constantly think that they are hurting other people. Everything becomes your fault. Everything bad is caused by you. There’s no excuses, no rationalizations, no logical reasons. Only a horrible person could cause that much pain to so many people.

Two days ago I caused a person I love trauma, and all the hatred of myself came flooding in. I was supposed to be the kind person. I was supposed to be the good person. I crumbled in self hatred.

So I start my road out again. I know I have to climb out of the pit. I am a good person. I am a kind person. But I have to remember to be kind to myself. When I’m feeling the stress is building I have to be able to stop and acknowledge that my behaviour is not what I want it to be.

I have to hope my friends and family know I would never intentionally hurt them but that I am human. A very imperfect human that needs to forgive herself some days. Okay like today. 🤪😃 Or maybe tomorrow.

May I be safe. May I be healthy. May I be happy. May I live with ease.

I am not an expert in religions of the world. Being of European decedents and living in a small village in central Canada, I grew up with a very narrow understanding of various Christian religions such as Lutheran, Catholic, United, Baptist, Ukrainian Catholic, Presbyterian, etc. From a child’s point of view pretty basic. Ten commandments. Heaven and hell. Good and bad. And then just a bunch of rituals, singing, and fancy stuff.

My parents were Swedish Lutheran and Irish Protestant. When they discussed baptizing my brother it started an argument. Dad said the Irish have been fighting for centuries over religion. So they left it for us to decide.

When I was four my grandfather came to live with us. He would play solitaire for hours. Beating the devil if he could. I cheered every time he beat the devil. I learned how to count and add using cards. He was prepping me for crib. He looked like Santa Claus. White hair and beard. Round belly and hardy laugh. From what I learned years later, he had been a tyrant as a father and husband. But I was his buddy.

The subject of the bible came up. One always sat on the shelf in the living room. Grandpa said that God spoke to some men. About three thousand years ago those men attempted to write out books in their language on scrolls. Those men then took the scrolls, which were translated into Latin by priests. Six hundred years after the New Testament was completed, the Quoran was written.

Then men, supposedly guided by God, copied and translated and interpreted what God meant.

But all you have to remember Carol is to be good. Be kind. Be caring and compassionate. Four simple steps. God is smiling if you do them.

Seemed too simple compared to the big book with tiny print. But it stuck. Everything else I questioned.

My grandpa died of a stroke when I was almost six. The only time I seen my Mom cry is when she got off the phone call from the hospital. There was a lot of talk of heaven. That’s where people went when they died. Yes we buried them in the cemetery but then they go to heaven. Okay got it. Not really dead. Just go to another planet above the clouds and live there.

That July a Robin hit our big picture window. I ran out. The bird’s neck was limp. It sure was dead. So I went to the side of the house and dug a grave. I placed the robin in it and covered it up. I waited three days because someone said it takes a few days to rise to heaven. That hot afternoon I dug up the robin. To my horror all I could see was feathers and maggots.

My Mom calmed me by explaining about body and soul. But the nightmares lasted a while.

Around 9/10 I went to Sunday School and Bible Camp. Interesting. But I didn’t have fancy dresses for church so I only went once in a while with the neighbours.

I can remember getting into an argument with my best friend, a dedicated Ukrainian Catholic girl, who bragged about getting her confirmation gown, presents, and communion. My rebuttal was the following: You have to talk to your priest in a box. I talk directly to God!! So there!!!

Through the years I have attended services at Synagogues, Catholic, Jehovah Witness, Protestant, etc. churches. I toured the Vatican and seen opulent churches throughout Europe.

It all confused me. I realized I better understood the feeling I had in the forest. By a river or lake. Walking on a mountain. Swimming off a tropical beach. This was a beautiful creation that I get to love. Flowers, trees, a bright blue sky. A warm fire. Ice cold water to drink.

Every human needs hope and faith. Without it we have no purpose. I pray to a Creator/God.

I am pretty special. Two eyes, two ears, two kidneys, and a pretty well functioning body. I can think, plan, dream, and love. I have everything here on earth to survive. And I must care for my environment and world. Something must have had a means to create us. Something stronger than ourselves. Now it’s my time to use all the gifts given to me. My mind and body. The world and all of humanity. I have to do my best.

I do try to honour the Seven Teachings of the indigenous peoples in my area. Courage, Honesty, Humility, Love, Respect, Truth, and Wisdom. Again they are simple. I believe that if anything you do brings you peace and joy, it must be a gift of God/Creator. Creator loves you. Continue to spread that simple faith. Let it make you stronger. Have people in your life that have faith and hope in themselves. Share your hope and faith. Be kind. Be caring. Be compassionate. Be good. Keep it simple.

May I be safe. May I be healthy. May I be happy. May I live with ease.

“You are gonna get sent to the mental!!” was a retort often heard by children in the school yard in Tyndall.

The Lunatic Asylum was created in 1871 at Lower Fort Garry, 35 km north of Winnipeg. Selkirk is 27 km west of Tyndall.

In 1890 the Home for Incurables was built in Portage la Prairie. It was later named the Manitoba School for Mental Defectives, and then the Manitoba School of Retardates.

In 1884 the original building in Selkirk was built to care for the mentally ill in eastern Manitoba. In 1910 the name was changed to Selkirk Hospital for the Insane.

By 1929 a new brick and Tyndall stone building was built and the name changed to Selkirk Mental Hospital. That is the building that stands today. The original building was demolished in 1978.

But it was this current building that I remember from my childhood. It’s where my Dad came out of the pretty doors and huge steps when Mom picked him up so he could come home for a weekend.

Eight months prior to that my dad had major back surgery. Part of his shin bone was used to fuse discs in his spine. This was 50 years ago. Body in traction bed. Flipped like a rotisserie chicken three times a day. After weeks Dad came home in a body cast. No work. No insurance. And there was no way Dad would allow welfare, or his wife to go to work. We lived on nothing but our garden, wild meat, and the charity of family and friends.

A while before the surgery our next door neighbour was selling their piano. It was beautiful. I could play a bit by ear, or what my great uncle Emil had taught me. Soon I was taking piano lessons at Mrs Mordens. I was on cloud nine.

I honestly don’t remember too much else about that time but I definitely remember the day my weird childhood got a whole lot crazier.

I remember waking up for school. Having my puffed wheat and my brother and I leaving for school. It was only two village blocks but my brother was always ahead of me. Three years older he did not want to be seen walking with his little sister. When we left the house Dad was walking around in the back yard. The cast was off by this time but he was still not fit to do his iron worker job. He was not able to walk steel girders yet.

Because our house was so close to the school, we always went home for lunch. And as usual my brother was home already because I was playing too long. Finally I walked in the door.

On the couch was my Mom and my Dad was on her lap. I started to laugh. My parents never showed affection much. This was pretty silly to a 7 year old.

My Mom yelled, “Go to Mrs Sargents! Call the police!”

Dad yelled, “Tell them she stole all my money!! She hid it somewhere!”

Then I seen the old butcher knife. The one my Mom used for cutting meat. Dad was holding it in his right hand. His arm was around her shoulders.

I ran out the door to Mrs Sargents next door. She was crying yelling into the phone, “He might kill her!! Please come now!”

I wanted to be somewhere safe. I wanted to go back to school so I started walking. My Dad started yelling at me out the back door. Mrs Wenzoski, our across the road neighbour, yelled at me to come to her house.

She too was on the phone trying to get the police to come. 50 years ago police avoided domestic violence like the plague. But the threat of a messy murder must have convinced them to show up.

From Wenzoski’s front window I watched the police officer arrive. Dad stood in the doorway talking with him. The knife was dropped. Then he followed the officer who walked backwards to the police car. He opened the back door for my Dad. My Dad was talking and pointing at the officer. Slowly the officer moved to the hood of the police car. He undid his gun holster and placed it on the hood. My Dad climbed into the backseat and the officer slammed the door shut. He put his holster and gun back on and left. I didn’t see my Dad again for two months.

The only thing that I do remember is having to sell my beloved piano. We needed the money I assumed, but of course I remember my brother teasing me that my piano playing drove Dad insane.

My Dad’s younger brother committed suicide. We never talked about it. My Dad spent three months in a mental institution. We never talked about it.

I attempted suicide. We never talked about it.

I had a breakdown. I talked about it. I suffer from depression. I talk about it.

I still get triggered. I remember the fears. I remember feeling helpless. I remember feeling alone. I can’t just get over it. I have to face it. I have to accept that memories are subjective. The trauma occurred long ago. My mind chooses how I recall moments.

So I can give myself a break. I don’t have to get over it. I have to make peace with it. I have to recognize the power of those memories. I have to remember I am stronger. I am in control of me! I can take action to feel safe. I am never alone. I have me!!

May I be safe. May I be healthy. May I be happy. May I live with ease.

I have fought one single thing most of my life, fear. Fear is what can motivate us or freeze us in our tracks.

Too often, I am triggered back to memories of extreme fear. Not knowing what was going to happen next. Scared for the consequences of others actions, and of my own. For the first 40 years of my life, I was scared, even as I accomplished things and went to school, had friends, interacted with other people, my life was still always guided by fear.

I learned I am really good at motivating others. Reminding them to be brave. In enforcing that they can be whatever they want to be. They can do whatever they set their mind to. I remind them that they are brave and strong and able. I think that the reason that I do this is because it was exactly what I missed as a child.

I lived in a constant crisis mode. Everything I thought, every choice I made, everything that I did, from the time I woke up to the time I went to bed, was preparing for what could go wrong. I had to keep the peace. I couldn’t add to all the other things that were going wrong around me. If I was the catalyst to a family argument, or something going wrong, or just causing havoc of one kind or another as kids do, I would lie at night wondering what I could’ve done different. Going through the scenario 100 times of what if this would’ve happened, what if that would happen. And that fear just never ever went away.

I was in my mid-20s when my parents passed away. I had a family of my own, but I still constantly worried that they would drink, they would fight, and I wouldn’t be there to stop them. More than once I got a call that Mom was black and blue and dad was extremely remorseful. I hated to worry about what these two adults were doing while I was trying to deal with my own family.

My husband and I just continued the cycle of fear. If I did this, he might get angry. If I did that he might get angry. Every decision that I made or that I guided my children to make was to avoid making my husband angry. When he was mad, he would break things. He would have a reason to drink more. He would lay all the blame for his anger on me, or the consequences of having to be with me and our children. It was a constant and never ending circle of guilt, anxiety, and fear.

After 17 years of marriage, I was finally brave enough to leave. Leaving took away some of the anxiety, but he made sure that his actions forever affected me until the day he was gone.

I met my second husband and learned what unconditional love really meant. There was no fear. There was no jealousy. There was only caring and understanding. We didn’t agree on everything, but we respected each other‘s opinions and choices. We advised each other. We didn’t order each other. Our extended family was generous with their love and their caring. My daughter and my youngest son got to see families function with kindness, sincerity, and a really good sense of humor. It was a wonderful time.

After my first and second husbands passed away, one of alcoholism and one from prostrate cancer, I finally learned to be brave. I got a new career. I travelled to Europe. I left the fears behind. But I had never truly dealt with the scars that had formed from 40 years of fear and guilt. The therapy and medication treatments in the last 15 years have me living a pretty serene life. I have six healthy, successful, intelligent children. I live a very active busy life as a semiretired Early Childhood Educator. But….

A few weeks ago, I had an altercation with someone I care very much about. His anger brought all the fear back in a moment. I went back in time when I feared saying something wrong. Something that would trigger them to be angry. Something that would start everybody mad and yelling at each other. It surprised me how deep I felt that fear again. Fear I hadn’t felt for almost 20 years. It’s even hard to explain.

A friend came over one day this summer and was helping me with something in my garage. He was getting a little frustrated with something that wasn’t going quite right. I said, “ I have to tell you something. I came from a life of Can’t you see I need some help? to If I needed your fucking help, I’d ask for it!! So soon as I have to make that decision on whether to help or not help I have to be told. Or I panic.”

Had the same conversation with Brian when he was changing the toilet in our bathroom and he was getting very very angry at the toilet seal and I started to cry. He asked me why I was crying and I said, “ Because I have been taught that there’s only one right way to help. But I don’t have any idea what that is.” I was back to can’t you see I need your help. To if I needed your freaking help, I’d ask for it.

So here I was a few weeks ago, crying and screaming for about 5 minutes. Cried for another hour or so and then calmed. It is not my job to fix another’s ability to cope. I am only in control of my actions and reactions.

I am a wonderful person. I deserve to be respected and cared about. I never have to interact with people who scare me into silence. Even if I love them with all my heart. Being back 30 years to that crying screaming scared woman was what I now feared.

I am not that scared child. I am not that scared wife. I am not that scared mother. I am Carol. The best I can be. Taking on life with bravery, kindness, and understanding.

May I be safe. May I be healthy. May I be happy. May I live with ease.

There are some days that I don’t feel very confident in my abilities. I question how I do things. I question how I complete tasks. I even question my way of thinking.

I do appreciate that I am very well respected by my coworkers, friends, and family. Well, I should say I am respected by most of them. I am not conceited enough to assume everyone likes me.

Something occurred recently that has kind of thrown me a little bit. Oh hell, it threw me a lot.

I have always been aware in the last 10 years, of all the triggers that can happen that set me off. Whether it is with anger or with depression, often a simple statement or action can take me back to a time I lived in fear.

Growing up with the alcohol abuse in my family, I had two reactions as a child. Fear and guilt. Some days you’re just a carefree kid playing outside. The next time you’re tiptoeing around, trying not to wake up anybody, or trying not to get anybody angry, or trying not to cause any problems, or trying not to make any sounds. Your mind races to how can I fix this? How can I make everybody be calm? How can I get everybody to just go to bed without hurting each other? What if I don’t do it right and somebody gets even madder at me? Or even worse, what if somebody gets angry because I’m upset and blames the other one, and they all start fighting and the circle just keeps going around until I don’t know what to do or what to say!!!

My parents passed away when I was 22 years old. My fear and guilt of them fighting were gone. My first husband passed away when I was 41 from alcoholism. He could not directly cause me fear and pain anymore.

The nightmares continue to this day. But I can’t control that.

I learned to live with some of the guilt. Some of my choices had caused me so much pain. But with my Brian’s help, and a lot of years of recovery and therapy, I learned to be able to deal with the triggers, the fears, and the guilt. I learned to love myself again. I am an intelligent, caring, loving, energetic, crazy, happy human.

Recently someone, I care very much about, scared me. Threatened me with their anger. All the old fears and the old emotions gripped my heart. I screamed, and I yelled, and I cried. All the fear of getting someone angry, and the guilt that maybe I should just not talk. I should just not say, I should just be quiet. Along with, why can’t you just listen? And am I not worth five minutes of your time before you get mad?

It only took me a few hours after the incident to calm myself, take a big deep breath and say, I promised myself to not live in fear. I promised myself to not fall into a tunnel of guilt. I am due respect because I respect others. I have the right to be listened to just as I listen to others. I can have relationships without fear and guilt.

Each day is a struggle for people who suffer from depression. It’s so easy to go backwards. All those recognizable emotions such as fear, guilt, and sadness can almost be like a long lost friend.Or maybe a long lost enemy. Breaking that old familiar feeling.

So today I had a fantastic day. I laughed. I smiled. I helped people. I am a good person. I care about people. I love my family and all is really quite good with the world.

So yes, I will not be scared to speak. I have no fear. I have no regrets and guilt. Those who really care will listen.

May I be safe. May I be healthy. May I be happy. May I live with ease.

My family, my friends, and just about anybody else that will listen to me, has heard me say, “It will all work out in the end.”

That seems like a really easy thing to say, but it’s actually the most important phrase in my life.

Too often people are fighting to find solutions to a problem. Or they’re angry and hurt and upset because everything seems to be going wrong. Or they are heartbroken because of one disaster after another. They feel like they have not had a chance to get a break. Some feel that some higher power is punishing them. Many, including myself, have cried because they know they are basically good people. Why the frig can’t something go right???!!!!

I have learned that first my mind and body have to calm the fuck down. So I breathe and repeat, “It will all work out in the end.”

Think. I have the ability to change some things. I am not in control of anything or anyone but me. Accept the things you cannot change.

Let go of the need for only good outcomes. Learn from working through the bad ones.

You will realize how resilient you are. You will realize how strong you are. You will be amazed at how much time, energy, and sleep you lost being miserable and unable to think.

Learning meditation really taught my mind and body to clear, to relax, to restart my problem solving skills. Instead of going over the worries, reliving the trauma, and spiralling down, I could think. I could plan. I could accept and reject. I was in control again. In control of me.

Be grateful always for Mother Earth, your friends and family. Problems are only situations you have not yet found the solution for.

May I be safe. May I be healthy. May I be happy. May I live with ease.

After that series of six blogs I took a bit of a rest. It’s been a bit of a roller coaster in the last month or so. A few ups a few downs. A lot of sadness around me. And trying to be unaffected by it all. I have been on an eating binge and that has definitely affected how I feel. Comfort eating is never a good thing when you are type two diabetes, and have arthritis in almost every inch of your body.

So one of the things that I did do was to have a goal to work towards, and something to keep the excitement in my life. I booked four nights and five days in Las Vegas, Nevada. It was super cheap and it was a place with no snow.

With passport in hand, I was off to the city of lights and city that never sleeps. Or something like that. Everyone questioned why I was going because they know I don’t gamble. And it’s true Vegas is definitely known for gambling and casinos and betting. But I love Live theatre shows, and the great magic of nature. So off I went booking Cirque de Soliel shows and tours of the Grand Canyon and Antelope Canyon. In one day on the strip, I walked 18 km. My tours took 10 to 14 hours and started at the wee hours of the morning.

I was in photography heaven. It was everything I dreamt of and more.

I’ve now added flying in a helicopter into the Grand Canyon, going down to the Colorado river, and watching the beauty around me. But I think it’ll take a bit of planning for the next budget. It’s a costly adventure.

Remember to never put off until tomorrow what can be accomplished today. It’s working towards a goal that matters.

May I be safe. May I be healthy. May I be happy. May I live with ease.