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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781418443368 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 05/19/2004 |
| Pages: | 260 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.59(d) |
About the Author
Studying under a spiritual teacher for eight years, they learned to channel, read auras and feel etheric energy. They’ve traveled to Egypt, Israel, Greece, Italy, Ireland, England, France, Scotland, Peru, Mexico and Hawaii on spiritual healing trips. For three years, the twins worked at a metaphysical bookstore as channels.
Noting the absurd, ridiculous and contradictory in the colorful world of New Age practitioners, they realized they had a fresh and fun take on the business of spiritual searching. Their extensive experience with New Age practices and practitioners has been the inspiration for their fun-filled adventure, Anne’s Way.
Originally from suburban Detroit, they now reside in Vermont.
Read an Excerpt
Chapter 1 Escape from Lake Winnemuc
I wish youd quit pouting. Im sorry about the timing but we had this trip planned for six months. Its not like I intentionally planned it for the day after your graduation, for Gods sake. Cat tapped her foot on the lawn and lowered her voice. Taking out her gold compact, she angled it to reflect the crowd, making sure no one was listening.
I took my usual belligerent stance with her. You knew this was a really important day for me and instead of helping me celebrate, you fly off to Rio or something. Crossing my arms over my graduation gown, I turned and stared into the distance, hoping the intensity of my anger would somehow pierce her cool facade.
Cancun, she corrected.
Whatever.
We stood with our backs to each other, like strangers, on the grounds outside Winnemuc College. A typical midwestern summer day, the close June air clung to my skin like contact paper. The ceremonies finished, I could still hear the band struggling with a Nirvana tune. In the hands of the brass section, Smells Like Teen Spirit sounded more like a cheer than an angst-ridden anthem.
Anne . . . Anne Davis? a voice shouted over the noise of the band. I turned and watched as a fortyish balding man trudged up the grassy incline toward Cat and me. His face was red and shiny with sweat.
Reaching us, he paused. Holding up a finger to indicate one moment, he bent over, hands on thighs, and gulped for air. Anne Davis? he asked, squinting at Cat.
Dismissing him with a glance, she stepped back and tilted her frosted head toward me.
Still crouched, he turned to me. Anne Davis?
Yeah?
This is for you. Placing an envelope in my hand, he turned and hurried away.
It must be another graduation thing. Smiling, I took out the thick contents, prepared for kudos. Then, I froze. The blood drained from my face, as the words Subpoena and Deposition bounced off the page.
Whats this? A subpoena? I glanced at Cat. It says Im being sued for $300,000 by the Midhaven Tenants Association. I dont get it. I skimmed the papers in shock, letting the envelope fall to the ground. In the background, the band seemed to be breaking up, the faint strains of U2s In the Name of Love swallowed up by the buzz of the crowd. In disbelief, I looked at Cat.
Her stony silence and refusal to catch my eye set off a panic. Oh God, this has something to do with you, doesnt it? She avoided my gaze. Look at me! I shoved the papers in front of her face. This is your doing, isnt it? Her eyes darted from the papers, my face, the lawn. Why do you hate me so much! I screamed at my mother, the elegant Cat Davis.
***
After a four-year struggle, I had finally graduated from Winnemuc Technical College. It felt good to have a marker of accomplishment, at last. At twenty-two, I was ready to gain independence from my parents and start my life.
Look, its true. Ive finally graduated. It says so right here, I said, laughing. Sweating from the 85% humidity, I ran up to my mom after the ceremonies waving my certificate of accreditation. My polyester graduation gown trapped the heat like a weight reduction suit; I felt my 95-pound frame losing precious muscle mass by the second.
Cat, in a cream-colored suit with a matching leopard print hat, bag, and shoes, stood aloof from the swarm of green and yellow clad graduates milling about the football
field. She waited near the main building, under the big Maple tree. I could see where her spiked heels left holes in the grass, aerating the lawn.
Fanning herself with a graduation program, she cast a cool look at the certificate, sniffing. It only took you four years to finish a two-year program. Yes, you should be very proud of yourself, Anne. She tugged a loose strand of hair behind my ear. That color makes you look sallow. You should have worn a warmer shade.
I pulled the hair from behind my ear and let it stick to my face. Its the school colors. Yellow for the girls, green for the boys. We didnt have a choice, I said, flipping my head to shoo away a lazy fly with the tassel of my cap.
Still, green would have looked better with your autumn coloring.
I thought I was a spring, like you.
Cat looked me over from head to foot in a way that made me feel like a turd floating in the family gene pool. Spring, maybe. Like me, hardly.
It was always the same. I could never please my mother, the perfect Cat Davis. She received the nickname as a child because of her tendency to hiss through her missing front teeth when she laughed. The name stuck, even after the teeth grew in, and so did the feline characteristics of an abrasive tongue and self-absorbed manner.
Cat had the manicured look of a TV anchorwoman: frosted brunette hair and chestnut eyes in tailored designer suits that hugged her lean frame like a spandex leotard.
Next to her high gloss, I wilted. At 5'3", with straight brown, shoulder-length hair and bangs, my best feature were my large, hazel eyes, which Cat said were intelligent, yet ordinary. I felt like a Milk Dud compared to my mothers bright, shiny, jellybean.
Wheres Dad? I asked, looking around.
I sent him to get the car. God, that ceremony was long. She eyed her watch. I havent even packed yet.
Typical Cat. She had the concentration of a two-year-old when the subject was something other than herself. I was an only child of an only child; Cat didnt like competition.
When I rebelled against taking the real estate exam, like her, or working as a gofer in my dads foreign auto dealership, our tenuous relationship became even more strained. She insisted I get some marketable skills and give up my dream of becoming an artist; describing my watercolor paintings as pedestrian, at best.
As a compromise, I enrolled at Winnemuc Technical College. My major, Home Decorating, offered art and design classes, with an emphasis on color swatches and texture. The curriculum was geared toward preparing graduates for jobs as decorator/consultants in the furniture departments of major stores like Sears or J.C. Pennys. Practical and somewhat artistic, in a paint-by-numbers kind of way.
Snap. Cat took out her compact and re-applied lipstick to her full bottom lip, gliding the tube back and forth like a Chapstick. Rubbing her lips together, the creamy fuchsia fanned to the corners of the collagen-enhanced lips.
Snap. The compact slid back into her purse.
I watched the yellow and green mass of graduates and their families dispersing in the direction of the parking lot. I longed to go with them.
Anne . . . Anne Davis? An overweight man, clutching an envelope, lumbered toward us.
***
Dont be ridiculous, I dont hate you, Cat said nervously, trying to smile. She grabbed the subpoena from my hand, eyes darting from line to line, as she read. She turned the pages over, and then back again, becoming more agitated with each pass.
Those bastardsTheyll pay for this Ive got a good lawyerI cant believe they went through with it Her voice came out in angry bursts, like a gun being shot and re-loaded after each round.
Mother, what are you talking about? I snatched the documents back. It says here Im supposed to appear for a deposition. Im being sued for $300,000 by something called the Midhaven Tenants Association for failure toI dont know, um reading further, honor my obligations as landlord. I looked at her. Landlord? Me? The only property I own is my crummy car. Tell me theres been a mistake!
I expected her to laugh and say April Fools or something. But she was silent, avoiding my gaze. A nerve throbbed at the back of my head. And then I understood. Youve used my name in one of your real estate developments, havent you?Its always about you and your money! Why cant you stand to see me happy?
Dont take that tone with me, young lady, Cat commanded. She lowered her voice while adjusting her hat. Look, Mr. Pipers over there, you dont want him to see you make a scene do you? Mr. Piper was the president of Winnemuc Tech. Up til then, Cat couldnt be bothered to acknowledge the minor administrator with the modest income.
Embarrassed, I leaned against the tree and slid to the ground, defeated. A scene was the worst thing that could happen in our family. People might think we had problems like them. I swallowed the anger welling inside me. My God, were not English! I wanted to scream.
Cat picked lint from her sleeve. I could almost hear her brain working to fabricate an excuse; damned if shed admit to any wrongdoing. When she finally looked at me, she was wearing her clay beauty mask expression, tight and pinched. I was saving the surprise for your graduation gift. You remember your grandmother Bernaby, dont you?
Bebe? Of course. She always made me feel special, I wasnt ready for her to go away. I glared at Cat.
Stop blaming me for that. Old people dieits not my fault I had to show a house when she collapsed. I called her a cab for Gods sake. In a syrupy voice she added, Anyway, remember how she was always giving you gifts for later, when you were older?
Yeah. Ive got a room full of great stuff from her.
One of her gifts was the apartments she owned. Midhaven.
Midhaven? I thought for a moment. You mean those skanky tenements by the train station?
Well, theyre not really tenements, Anne, just a little run down. They were very nice in their day. Youd be amazed at the expense of maintenance. Theres only one complex left; it has seventeen units. I had to sell the rest over the years for back taxes and such
I tuned out. Flashing back to when I was ten years old, I recalled a collection of silver dollars that Bebe gave me. I kept them safe in a ceramic piggy bank on my dresser. It was my hidden treasure, my wealth. I loved those silver dollars, so heavy and large in my small hand. Real money, Bebe called them. Old and faded, they felt like history to me, like the currency of the Civil War or something.
One day, as I was playing Treasure Island, I opened the piggy bank. Turning it over on my bed, five quarters, a nickel, and three pennies came tumbling out. That was it.
I ran to my mother crying, convinced Id been robbed by Long John Silver. She stroked my hair, shushing me. In a fake southern accent she said, Dont worry, honey pie. I knew you had no idea how valuable those silver dollars were so I put them in the bank for safe keeping.
I cried louder. Her shush was sharp this time, telling me not to make a scene, that Daddy was watching a game on TV. Now go on into the fridge and grab one of my Cokesyoull feel better. A forbidden Coke in exchange for my hidden treasure. Even at that age, I knew I was being taken. Besides, she knew I only liked Red Pop.
That was the last time I played Treasure Island or heard of the silver dollars.
I think Im going to be sick. I rocked on the ground holding my stomach.
Heres Daddy with the car. Well be home in no time. Cat snatched the papers out of my hand and stuffed them into her purse. Shush, now. No need to tell your father about this. Hes got enough on his mind. Ill take care of everything, dont worry. She smoothed her skirt and walked in the direction of the dark blue Jaguar. When hes nice and relaxed on the beach at Cancun, Ill tell him all about it. Okay, honey pie? she said, fake southern accent oozing.
I was in big trouble. I had the sinking feeling that to save her butt, Cat would sacrifice mine.
Bitch, I whispered to myself, fighting back tears.
The throbbing in my head filled my ears with a raging swell that sounded like Shush.
Hey, kiddo. Nice job on the diploma, Dad said, as we pulled into the driveway.
My father had a winning smile, stunning blue eyes, and sandy hair with gray patches at the temples. His slow drawl and bowed legs gave him a cowboy on the range image that people gravitated to. John Wayne without the backbone.
Certificate. Its a certificate, Phil, Cat said.
Certificate, diplomaits the same to me. A piece of paper that says kiddo has completed her studies. And, to celebrate, Im taking my best girls to the Winnemuc Country Club for dinner.
Thanks Dad, but Id really like to stay in. Im not feeling well. I couldnt deal with the family thing right now; just looking at Cat made me sick. And my dads nickname for me, kiddo, seemed distant and inappropriate now that I was grown. I needed my space and time to think about my options.
He glanced at me over his shoulder. You sure, kiddo? The skys the limitanything you want. He peered sideways at Cat. Now thats an offer your motherd never turn down.
Oh, stop it, Phil! Cant you see shes tired? Look at her, her skins jaundiced. Anne, you just take your time and relax while Daddy and I are in Cancun, okay? Youll have the house all to yourself. Ill help you with that other matter when we get back. She had the nerve to wink.
And dont forget, youve got your pick of cars over at the lot as my graduation gift to you. My dad sent a smile over his shoulder.
Cat threw a possessive arm around Dads back as she turned and winked at me again. The bile rose to my throat as I walked behind my parents into their fake, Tudor-style house on the man-made lake.
***
I paced the bedroom floor in my worn, fuzzy slippers and nightgown, racking my brain for a way out of this Midhaven nightmare. My cat, Christa, dozed to the sounds of a waterfall from a Natures Music CD. It was supposed to calm my frazzled nerves.
It didnt. My hair was a ratted mess, frizzed from the humidity and constant twirling with my fingers. On the way to my room, I grabbed a five-pound tub of red licorice twists from the pantry. Hours later there were only ten strands left.
Okay, think. What are my options? I couldnt trust Catshe had kept the property secret from me. In fact, I doubt that I wouldve ever known if it werent for the subpoena. Dad? I dont know, thats tricky. Itd be like asking him to choose between me and Cat. Ive never won that competition in the past, and frankly, I didnt think he was strong enough to overpower the strength of Cats will.
The police? And say what?My mother set me up for a lawsuit and has been stealing from me since I was a child? Right. Cat, who was on the Lake Winnemuc City Council and organized the Lake Winnemuc Clean-Up our Community with Unity weekends? The community paragon who ran the yearly potluck barbecue and raffle for the homeless?
No. Cat was the star in Lake Winnemuc. I was merely a non-union extra.
After fitful tossing and turning, I finally dozed off around 3 A.M. and the dream Id been having off and on since I was seven began again. It had never made much sense to me, until now.
Im in India, studying great spiritual wisdoms under the tutelage of an ageless guru. We sit in a sparse, sunlit room decorated with tiny brass holders that cradle smoldering cones of jasmine incense. The faint scent, carried on swirls of smoke, meanders through the air, lulling us into a joyful trance. A quiet gong sounds in the background.
Legs crossed yoga-style, eyes closed, wrists resting on our knees, palms upward, we meditate. We listen to God for hours and I lose consciousness of my body, my surroundingseverything but the absolute security, peace, and expansiveness of my oneness with the Divine.
Id wake from these dreams with leg cramps, craving curried stew, jasmine tea, and aching for that lifetime of bliss that was so real.
The weird thing was, I had very delicate digestion. I read somewhere that my moons in Virgo. Virgo rules the stomach and the moon rules the emotions, it said.Translation: I had an emotional stomach. So, though I loved the idea of curry, it didnt sit well with me.
Thats it! I said, sitting up in bed, startling Christa, who was lying at my feet. The Himalayas! Ill go to the Himalayas. Or the American version at least Southern California. Start a new life. Become a different person.
I bounded out of bed and ran downstairs. Peeking out of the curtains shading the front window, I noticed the Jaguar was gone. My parents had already left for Cancun. Good, that makes it even easier, I thought. I rushed to the basement and scavenged for boxes and luggage.
Ill have to change my name, of courseand Christas, too.
My mind raced as I laid out my plan. Rifling through the bookshelf, my eyes fell on an unopened copy of Autobiography of a Yogi. Bebe had given it to me years before along with a legacy of books on eastern mysticism. Til now, Id had no use for them.
I picked up the orange book and thumbed through the pages. Stopping in the middle, a name caught my eye: Krishna. I liked the sound of that.
I turned to my cat. Krishna. How do you like it?
She brushed up against my legs and purred.
Krishna it is.
As the sun reached the midday point, I packed the trunk of my battered Nissan Sentra with the oil-stained, plaid suitcase I had gotten on my sixteenth birthday. A worn leather belt tightly cinched the middle, corseting the waist of the bulging valise. Two cardboard boxes housed the rest of my worldly possessions.
I tossed Autobiography of a Yogi in my tapestry shoulder bag, adjusted my rose-colored sunglasses, and surveyed my handiwork. Krishna had already curled up in the passenger seat. Usually, she hated car travel but I guessed she was as anxious to leave as me. Sliding behind the wheel of my 85 dung-brown bomber a sense of freedom rushed through me.
I cranked up the sound of Enya on the cassette player and laid a patch of rubber the size of the Taj Mahal down the evergreen-lined street. Laughing, I gnawed the last piece of licorice and gave a one-finger salute to the fake Tudor-style house on the man-made lake.
Four days later on our Passage to California, we limped into Laguna Beach. Thats where the Sentra heaved a death rattle and died.