Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanza...Happy Holidays!

Tis the season! Hanukkah is kicking off this Holiday Season! Hanukkah started last night. For those of you celebrating: Happy Hanukkah! Enjoy these 8days and nights! My family is Catholic; we celebrate Christmas! Merry Christmas! I hope Santa is good to you! There are 12days of Christmas. For those that celebrate Kwanzaa..Happy Kwanzaa! I must admit, I don't know much about it. No matter what you celebrate, I hope you are celebrating in a deliciously healthy way!

Do you get offended if someone says Happy Holidays? If so, why? Do you expect a stranger to know what religion you are and what holiday you celibrate? Unless you wear the Star of David or a Cross on your neck, how is anyone to know? It's not like you can just look at someone and know automatically what religion, if any, a person practices. Happy Holidays is a nice way to include everyone without stereotyping and guessing. Wouldn't you rather someone acknowledge you in an inclusive way? I would. Personally, I don't find offense in it. I am grateful someone is thinking of me and wishing me a Happy Holiday. It's better than a Scrooge! The holidays are about being kind to one another and finding peace within oneself and with others. So, the next time someone says Happy Holiday to you, say thank you and pay it forward to someone else! You never know when you are uplifting a person with something as simple as an acknowledgement with a smile and a few simple words. Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanza...Happy Holidays! From my family to yours... I wish you love, peace, health and happiness!

Domestic Violence is Very Real! You Can't Ignore it!

I've talked about Domestic Violence before. I am a victim of it myself. NO, I am a SURVIVOR of it! So, why am I talking about it today? A few reasons, you can never talk about it enough. This is not, nor should ever be a hush hush topic. This is a real epidemic in our country and all over the world. I am currently surviving my hell. I am grateful to my friends and family, the police and the courts for keeping me protected. I know now that I have nothing to feel ashamed about. I didn't cause my abuser's issues. That's all I will say about that. Why am I so outspoken about this? I am vocal about my experience in hopes that my story will save lives!

Recent events bring me to the following: I belong to several business groups. Last week a friend/member of one of the group's reached out to us. He had just found out that a family friend was beaten by her spouse. A long list of members advised him to call Turning Point. I reached out to him and gave him my number for his friend to call me. Why you might ask? Simple, I felt I needed to help this woman in any way that I could. I find out that she is alone. She reached out to me and is where I was two years ago. Unless you go through something like this, you will never understand the thoughts and feelings that we go through. You can be there as a support system, but you will never truly understand. I met her today at the courthouse. Thankfully she had family friends with her today, whom I met. I saw myself in this woman. The fear, the deep gutteral cries, shakes, helplessness, confusion, sadness, nausea and the feeling of wanting to pass out. Then there is also a feeling of love. Yes, you heard me, love. You are probably asking yourself, how can you love someone that physically and mentally hurt you? You just do; especially if you have children together. It doesn't just disappear overnight. It is normal. So many questions run through your head. In court, the hate and lies from the abuser is to much to take. The abuser doesn't like to lose control over the victim. Plus, the abuser doesn't think they did anything wrong. Instant blame on the victim. Yes, ridiculous but true. This is an illness; a mental illness of the abuser.

As the moments, days, and weeks go by, you go through a whole bunch of emotion; the grieving process. No matter what you go through in life, let me assure you one thing, nobody and I mean nobody can tell another human being how to feel. That is something that is personal in each individual. That's what makes us human. People mean well in their own way. But in the future, just keep this in mind - try not to force your feelings or opinions on others. Allow yourself and others to feel. It's okay!

If you are an abuser reading this, please get help for yourself and end the cycle. Maybe you were abused as a child. I don't know. That is something to deal with. As a human being, are you happy with beating up a woman or man? If so, you need to examine why. You need help. End the cycle of violence. Please!

If you are a victim reading this, YOU ARE NOT ALONE! There are many organizations like Turning Point of the Lehigh Valley to help you. Whatever you do, DON'T GO BACK! You deserve to live a life of freedom. YOU are WORTH living YOUR life without harm! You can survive this! If you or someone you know is being abused, please get help! Remember this...the physical pain goes away but the psychological scars stay with you forever.

Yes, You Can Have a Happy Healthy Holiday Season!

Tis the Season! Yep, they're here; the holidays! You know what that means?; parties and celebrations galore. How do you survive? How do you NOT gain weight? Try doing the following:

1. Exercise! Yes, get up and get moving! Go for a walk or run, go to the gym, use the home gym you put in years ago, or dance! Whatever you do, have fun and move! Like Nike says "Just Do It!"

2. Have parties to go to? Bring your own healthy dishes. Of course, call the host/hostess and offer to bring something. That way you know what you prepared and feel good about eating it.

3. Make sure you eat healthy most of the time so that you can enjoy the "fun stuff" on occassion. You should be eating healthy food every 2 1/2 - 3 1/2 hours anyway.

4. It's ok to say no! Meaning, if you are offered certain unhealthy foods, you can decline. You can also decline an invitation if you so choose. Don't feel pressured to do everything and be everything to everybody!

5. Before you head out to a party or get together, eat an apple or banana with peanut butter. It will satisfy your stomach. You won't arrive starving and eat the whole buffet table!!!

6. Between each alcoholic beverage, drink a glass of water. It's healthier and you won't get drunk as fast!

7. Snack on fruits and vegetables if they are an option at the gathering.

8. Don't stand near the food. It's to tempting! Engage yourself in conversation.

9. Drink Water! Keep hydrated!

10. Finally, HAVE FUN!!! Enjoy yourself and the people you are with! Let yourself be free!

Love Letter to My Lil Town of Emmaus! Shop and Eat Here...You Will Fall in Love Too!

I live in a small town called Emmaus. It's right outside of Allentown, PA. You might have driven through but did you stop and look around, shop and eat? Today is Small Business Saturday. I supported my Emmaus.. I went to Cottage Emmaus and got my hugs and candles from my friend/owner, Emma; Emmaus Bakery where Gavin got his cupcake, Sweet Memories Emmaus PA for some strawberry lemonade, Baked for a pumpkin cheesecake bar, and lastly Creamery on Main for some dirty chai..kitchen is getting prepared for burgers soon, missed friend/owner Bill by an hour but ran into my beautiful friend Denise and her beautiful daughter Alex getting some ice cream! Beautiful day in my small town of Emmaus! We welcome you to Shop Local Shop Emmaus!!! There are so many wonderful stores and restaurants here that I didn't get to today, but shop and eat at often! You bet I will continue blogging about them and my experiences. For me, it's about community, relationships and friendships built.

Wellness isn't just about eating well and exercise. It's also about having a sense of self, community, and building lasting friendships and relationships. When you get stressed, of course I encourage you to exercise. It helps to reduce stress. But also turn to family and friends to help you through whatever it is you are going through. What does that have to do with Small Business Saturday? Simple, I am also a small business. I can't do it alone. I cultivated and continue to grow my friendships with my friends/fellow business owners. They lift me up when I feel low as I lift and support them too. They all mean something to me and have a piece of my heart. So, I encourage you to go and support your local businesses where ever you are. Small business is the backbone of our communities! If you are in the Lehigh Valley or just driving through, stop in the shops and restaurants in Emmaus and say hello to my friends. You will be greeted with a warm smile and you will leave with a piece of them in your heart too!

Think of it from the Turkey's Point of View!!!

Gobble Gobble! It's turkey day tomorrow! No matter if you are hosting or going to someone else's home, try not to sweat the small stuff! Traffic is backed up for miles? Don't sweat it, turn up the music and sing! Uncle so and so is loud and obnoxious? Shove a turkey leg in his mouth.. just kidding! You can think it though and laugh! The point I'm trying to make here is, think of all the things you are thankful and grateful for! Look around you. Are you surrounded by family and friends? Feel the love! Embrace it! There is no room in anyone's life for jealousy, hatred, judgement, or anger. Let it go! Forgiveness is for you; not the other person! Free yourself starting today.

Are you running around like a turkey with it's head cut off preparing for tomorrow's feast? Try not to stress! If you are, take a moment, have a seat and take deep breathes. Everything will turn out fine! Think of it from the turkey's point of view.. at least you aren't getting stuffed from behind and getting shoved in an oven! Happy Turkey Day!

"From the Darkness to the Light"

I had the privilege of reading the following true story. I was given permission to share by a family member Sharon Jaymes Falk. Why am I sharing? Simple really, not only is it an important part of our history, it's Thanksgiving Week. Read this story. It's about love, friendship, family and bravery. This is the time to give thanks and count your blessings. I wish you love, happiness, wealth and peace! Always, Lisa "From the Darkness to the Light" Memoirs of a survivor of the Holocaust Barbara (Borka) Klima

My husband's grandmother wrote this memoir in 1980.  His brother made a few grammatical changes before he posted it on his website, otherwise it is the original text.

Born in Czechoslovakia, an only girl with two brothers and loving parents, I had an almost idyllic childhood. My father owned the most prestigious store in the city, and everyone in the area knew him and the store. Our villa was beautifully furnished with surrounding garden, and a lovely environment added to our pleasure. Always an outdoor person with an appreciation of nature, I obviously had every opportunity for a full and rewarding life ahead of me. I married a wonderful young man who was a Hungarian citizen, and we had a baby girl named Eva. In this environment life was wonderful... until Hitler destroyed our peace. When Slovakia and the Czech Republic split, a Nazi government took over in Slovakia. My father's store, the largest in the city, was taken away from him. My husband and I moved to Hungary, where Horthy was still in power.
It was hard to leave my home, my parents and brothers, and the place of my birth, where there was so much happiness. In Budapest we had to begin a new life. Although it was difficult, we were young and managed. It was 1942 when we heard that Jews were being taken to concentration camps from Slovakia. Three cousins and other good friends had disappeared.
Many Jews fled from Slovakia to Hungary illegally. Our apartment was loaded with refugees from there, who slept on the floor in the bathroom or the kitchen or wherever they could until other arrangements could be made. We worried continually about my parents and the brother who was still at home. Louis, the other brother, was abroad on business when the political change occurred. Then, for a while, the first wave of persecutions stopped in Slovakia. Later, Hungary was occupied by the Nazis; my husband left for a so-called labor camp and was subsequently shipped to a concentration camp. In extreme uncertainty I remained alone with out little Eva, always with nagging worry and apprehension for all of us.
One day, a man came to my apartment with a letter in my brother's handwriting. I was instructed to follow everything that the man told me to do and to trust him completely. He said that he would take me home to my parents, that I was to be at a certain place that afternoon, but without any packages or luggage of any kind. He gave me a Court Diplomatic passport with my photo. Since my Eva was so young, with no understanding od the situation, I asked our pediatrician to give her a tranquilizer. She was alert and talkative, and I feared she would disclose something at the border. We arrived at the designated place where the man was waiting with a Court Diplomatic Car for us, left Budapest, and headed for the border at nightfall. Little Eva fell asleep quickly, and we arrived at the border. The man took my passport and went to the Customs House, situated among the cornfields about a quarter mile away from the highway. When half an hour passed and he did not return, I feared that this was a trick. In my viviv imagination, I heard motor bikes coming to catch us. Even though Eva awoke and was playful, I had no peace, wanting to find out what was happening inside the Customs House. There, I heard the loud voices of several men who seemed to be in a jolly mood, drinking and celebrating something. A little calmer, I returned to the car and waited. Probably, the man in charge of our affairs was waiting until the Customs Officers changes shifts. Finally, our man returned and we arrived at our destination without incident.
Oh, we were all happy to see each other alive! After two weeks, the Nazis marched into Slovakia. The Jewish population was in trouble. My parents had a good friend, a German but not a Nazi, an elderly lady who had a cleaning store, who offered her help. My father was hidden in her apartment while my mother, Eva, and I stayed in her store. There were two rooms divided by heavy drapes. We slept on the floor and cooked on a small range. During the day when the store was open, we had to be silent for our protection, and incidentally for hers too. Poor Eva ... I stuffed her mouth with towels lest she speak or make a noise. To torture her like this made me sick, and at
times when she made some noise it seemed to reverberate through the store in a piercing sound, while people came and left all through the day. Therefore, we decided that the child should be placed somewhere else, because of the danger to us all. I contacted my college professor, who I knew could furnish us with false identification papers. He was a splendid man and helped everybody. I procured a false birth certificate for the child and tried to teach her her new name, which she did not accept. Finally, she was accepted at a Christian orphanage.
During the night, our German friend locked us in the store, but at daybreak when she opened the store we could go out, though we never dared. American and English planes began to bomb the city, and we decided she should plan our escape in case of an attack. That evening she gave us a key in case of emergency, and the following day she did not come to open the store. We dared not call, but I had no peace, eager to know what had happened to our good friend and savior. I disguised myself and went to her apartment in the light of day. No one answered, so I went to inquire of the super. As an excuse, I said I needed a dress from her store. She and the Jewish man she was hiding had been taken away by the Gestapo, he said, adding with a laugh "It served her right." I almost fainted, knowing that the Jewish man was my father, and that our friend would now be punished for her compassion. How would I tell Mother, I thought, and what would come next? In the meantime, we learned that my brother had been caught and taken to Dachau. My mother's reaction was tragic. I was the only one who could give her strength and the will to go on and try to accept this new life without any hope for the future.
The following night I went to see my mother's former cook, who had married, and told her of our situation. With her husband's help, we moved from the store to their house that same night. A few days later, I placed my mother with a lawyer who was my father's friend, while I stayed with Kathy, the former cook. Now all three of us were in different places, and quite far from each other. Sometimes I visited Eva at the convent. She carried on so when I left that the nuns refused to allow me to visit her anymore. To my mother, I went only at night. The darkness was a shield to protect me. No lamps were permitted in the city during the air raids. One night while I was coming back from my mother's hiding place, the sirens began blowing and an air raid started. I went to the first shelter I passed and sat in a dark corner, in fear that somebody would recognize me. I was thinking they might say "How is it possible that there is a Jew here? They all belong in the concentration camps." When the air raid was over, I came out to the dark streets where everything was broken and ruined. The tramway was upside down and the cement of the streets was all cracked, and everyone was trying to find his way.
I stumbled and fell on something. Looking back, I saw a headless German soldier. I thought, "They are our enemies, but still human beings like everyone else. Perhaps he has a family at home worrying about him." War, persecution, hate ... why? Though we call ourselves civilized, the human race has learned nothing since the time of the cavemen. I returned to Kathy. She was a seamstress, and ladies came to her often. We prayed that my presence be kept completely secret, and that I be able to conceal myself whenever the bell rang. Primitive as it may sound, we decided that I would hide in bed with the heavy comforter and bedspread over me. So many times I felt I was suffocating without a breath of air, remaining motionless.
The next evening when I visited my mother, the snow was very heavy and the streets looked lighter in spite of the blackout. My mother and I were overjoyed to be together. On my return, I had to pass down a ramp. A Red Cross train was standing there, filled with wounded Germans heading home. It was dark everywhere except at the ramp where people were waiting for the ramp to open, and I feared recognition. One German soldier stepped from one car to another, and I asked him if I could step through to the other side because the train might be standing there for a long time. He answered in a friendly manner, "Sure Fräulein, you can do that because we will probably be staying here fore a long time." As soon as I stepped into the train, it began to move, heading toward Germany. Only the slightly wounded soldiers had been placed in that compartment. Some, happy to see a female, tried to hug and kiss me. It seemed like the end of me then and there. Somehow I managed to run out of the compartment; I felt the train slowing down, opened the door, and jumped. The heavy snow saved me from injury. So there I was in the snow up to my neck unaware of where I was. The freedom gave me the strength to find my way back to Kathy. It was 4 A.M. Kathy always placed the key on the window sill of the basement apartment, but she had stayed up the entire night, completely dressed, concerned that I might have been caught. Nervous due to this worry, she was tough with me and yelled at me for giving her this added burden. I simply asked for tea and promised to explain everything the next day. When I explained all we thanked God together for my salvation. Kathy and her husband were good to me and helped me to the best of their abilities.
Kathy had worked for my mother for twelve years and we considered her one of the family. In consideration of her precarious position, I now felt that I must leave them and go out on my own. I had a strange feeling, as if someone were saying to me "Leave fast!" I decided to follow this strange feeling in spite of the fact that I had no idea where to go. They were concerned and asked if they had done something to offend me, and where I would go. I reassured them of my gratitude and my love. I took my little bundle and ran into the unfriendly street and the awaiting danger with no idea of where I would go. In despair, and longing to see my child, I went to the convent. There the Mother Superior met me at the entrance. She was the only one who knew my situation. When I told her that I had no other place to go, she said that God had sent me there and allowed me to stay only one day. She refused to allow me to see Eva. Now my situation was truly hopeless and homeless. I hid where I could, in cellars and attics, starving and freezing. I managed to go see my mother, and learned that an hour after I had left Katy's home the Gestapo came looking for me. She truthfully denied knowing my whereabouts. It was 1944.
The lovely family who hid my mother owned a house on the outskirts of town, which had a furnished room, and they offered to take us there and supply us with food and other necessities. This was a most generous offer, since we had no alternatives. We accepted gratefully. They contacted my overfilling college professor, who supplied the necessary false identification papers. That same night, we moved into our new sanctuary. At last we were together. There really were people who wanted to help others. Always, one thought stayed with me: "If I survive, how can I return their kindness? How can I repay their good deeds?"
Snow fell earlier than usual, but December was mild and rainy. Schools had Christmas vacation, and since we were living in a room with an almost "normal" life, I took Eva home from the convent for the vacation. For the first time since the persecution began, we felt a bit of comfort and happiness. It didn't last very long. It was just before Christmas, but the Christmas spirit did not prevail. There was still persecution all around us. One day, a Guardist (Slovak Nazi) came and asked for our papers. He was collecting Jews and demanded that Eva and I come along with him. He did not know that my mother was related and believed that she was a non-Jew. We were pushed out of the house into an empty truck. It was stormy. There were two Guardists and we were their first victims. The Nazi who took us wanted to light his cigarette because of the strong wind and rain, so he asked the driver to stop at a sheltered corner. As they left, I pushed Eva down and jumped out of the truck, and we succeeded in disappearing along the little zig-zag streets for another escape. We wandered around the streets in the wind and rain, and my poor child was confused and miserable. They could not find us. Later that day, we went back for my mother, knowing that they would look for her when we were not found. How can I describe the look of happiness in her face when she saw us? Though we did not have a place to go, now that I had tasted the sweet joy of temporary freedom I rushed her dressing aware that they would be back to look for us in the only place we had.
The rain stopped and we walked to the outskirts of the city and left the houses behind us, coming now to only shacks and cornfields. Darkness began to fall. The moon was shining and we tried to spend the night in one of the shacks, but all the ones we tried were sealed and impenetrable. An abandoned soaked haystack stood there in the field. I started to make an opening with my hands, hoping we could spend the night. I succeeded and amazingly it was dry and warm and safe enough for a night's rest. Eva cried and complained about the scratching of the hay, but finally fell asleep while Mother and I tried to plan our next move. She was ready to give up, feeling that she was at the end of her rope. I tried to bolster her spirits and made her promise not to give in. We slept a little, and early that morning I looked around and found a little house with a dirty grocery store where laborers met and drank. My mother had some money, so I went there and bought some food and hot tea. The men stared at me because I was an unusual customer, but they were not suspicious. Again we had had to leave a safe place and risk our lives. I brought Eva back to the convent, contrary to her wishes and despite her protests. Poor child! While the other children would glow about their lovely Christmas at home, she was compelled to remain silent about her charming vacation.
That evening was Christmas Eve, and we went to good friends of ours who had offered us a room. They had come to see us in the meantime, and, finding the place empty, surmised that we had possibly been found and taken away, and that this would be a sad holiday indeed for them. In their large and spacious apartment they were expecting friends, but Andrew, our friend and a lawyer, insisted that we stay in the little room they had for us. His mother, who was visiting with them, stayed to take care of us. She had the maid prepare a bath, and what a luxury it was to sit down to a decent dinner and sleep in a clean, comfortable bed. I was sorry then that we had not brought my daughter along. They had two little girls about the same age. How I envied them, living like the fine human beings that they were, while Mother, Eva, and I were living like criminals, hiding like animals. The following day, Christmas, Andrew brought us to their little home in the mountains, and there we occupied the empty furnished room. A big orchard filled with apple trees surrounded us. We loved it there. Andrew said that this was one of their very best Christmases.... they felt like true human beings who had done a duty and a great kindness. There was a tiny room occupied by a single man. It boasted a bed, dresser, little iron stove, a big table, and two chairs. There was no light other than from candles; the room was normally used for drying apples.. The ceiling was very low. It was a remote place and the scenery was beautiful, with a view of the Danube flowing by. Andrew assured us that the man was no threat to us, since he had explained to him that my soldier husband was away on duty, that we supported ourselves by doing stitchery, and that we would usually deliver the work in the evening returning with new work on the way back. My college professor's home was not too far from our present sanctuary, and Andrew had arranged with him to supply us with food. In front of their home was a big fir tree where it had been arranged between the two friends that every other day I would come to the tree to find our food supply. The professor's wife, Margaret, a lovely lady, agreed to the plan. Thus, we began our new secret life. Since these explanations sounded reasonable to the man downstairs, he never suspected our true identity.

Sadly, I never visited Eva. When I did, she would cry and beg me to take her. However, one day I felt I could not resist, and ust see her regardless of the risk involved. Mother begged me not to go, but I could not listen and that afternoon, in broad daylight, I left to visit Eva. It was now March 1945. Both the child and I were so happy to be reunited. When it was time to leave, she begged me once more to be taken home. Now I regretted having to refuse her for her own sake. For when I left, I saw Gestapo cars in front of the convent; in fear, I did not dare to go home, but instead I went to see a friend who lived just two doors from the convent. She was half-Jewish, married to a Christian man. I then asked her to go to the convent to pick up Eva. She refused because her papers pronounced her half-Jewish, and she feared being taken by the Gestapo. However, she sent her maid immediately. Darkness fell, and the Gestapo cars were still there waiting for the Jewish children. I stood outside while Julie, the maid, went into the building. It was dark, and I stood across he street hiding behind a big old chestnut tree, peaking out every minute in the hope of seeing Julie with my little girl. Instead, one of the Gestapo men must have noticed me, and flashed his blinding headlights in my direction, but somehow the large chestnut tree concealed me and again I was saved. Finally Julie emerged from the building, but without Eva. I whispered her name and she found me. The Mother Superior would not release any of the children anymore. They had been counted, and the Jewish children separated from the rest to be taken away. When I heard Julie's words, I thought I would faint. Now I would not have cared if the Gestapo had taken me. No, they were too busy by this time carrying the children out, and I saw that mine was among them. I got a terrible stomachache and felt dreadfully sick; I even wished to die on that very spot. The cars began to leave the building and, as if in a trance, I ran after them, screaming for my child. Mother Superior was at the door, and she ran after me and caught me by the coat dragging me back with her. She begged me to stop and think and stay there, explaining that Eva and I would be separated anyway. She said that she would pray and try to help me in every way possible. Deathly sick, I never thought I would survive.

Although Mother Superior took me to her room to comfort me, I decided that I must go back to my mother. She would be convinced that I had been captured. But how could I return to Mother and tell her such a tragic truth... that her only grandchild had been taken away? How could I go back anyway? My feet felt too weak to carry me, and I wished to lie down in the street and never awaken. But this was selfishness and not a solution. What about my child? Now, stronger than ever in my love for my child, I must do everything to recover her and keep her alive. I must explore every possibility to this end. Usually, the Gestapo kept the prisoners for a short time, and then sent them in transports to the concentration camps. So I dragged myself back... It was four A.M. Mother was sitting at a table with the light of one candle. When she saw me, she hugged and kissed me with a strange light in her eyes. I began to cry. How could I tell her of what transpired? I was back unharmed, but what about the child? When I broke down and cried out the truth, we could not look at each other, but sat as if in a trance. We felt like the living dead, so much so that I couldn't even go to the fir tree for our food. Eventually our friends, the professor and Andrew's family, heard the sad news, and then Andrew's mother came to us to comfort us, and she assured us that Andrew would do everything in his power to try to find Eva and free her from the Gestapo. The next day, we were assured that Eva would not be sent away. The authorities wanted to keep her for questioning to discover our whereabouts. They kept her for three weeks, interrogating her about our hiding place. They did not torture her, since they realized that she really did not know where we were hiding.
Now in March 1945, everyone knew that Germany had lost the war. D-Day had been in June 1944, but the Germans remained, harming as many people as possible. Andrew's attempts were unsuccessful, except that he had gained time. Some territories were already occupied by the Allied forces. The Russians came from the East, the Americans and English from the West. After three weeks, Eva was sent to the Theresienstadt camp with many other children and adults. They were sent in cattle cars, packed in so tightly that they had to stand, and they were without food, water, or other necessary facilities. Although many people arrived at the destination dead, thank God Eva survived. Andrew discovered that it was a model camp, and that the Red Cross had gone there to supervise.
The war was over. When the Russian troops took over, we watched the German troops fleeing. From our window, we could see the Danube. The Germans were using every possible means of escape. Overcrowded boats were floating around in the river, and the Danube seemed full of swimming Germans. Two boats sank while the Russians stood shouting at them. The city was in a dreadful turmoil. Russians were all over the streets, constantly shouting, emptying the liquor stores, even drinking eau de cologne or anything with alcohol. Watches were their favorite plunder, and some of the Russian soldiers lay around the streets drunk with a dozen watches on their arms. Nobody could tell the difference between a dead soldier and a drunken one. They raped women and then shot them. They robbed all of the stores. This was a different kind of war. Nevertheless, we were advised to act friendly towards them and welcome them into our homes. One day, a Russian officer came to our place, and, following orders, we allowed him to enter with a show of friendliness. Due to a language difficulty, we could not communicate very well. When he ordered Mother to leave the room, I resisted and would not let her leave. He became angry and seeing what he wanted, I ran to the door, removed the key, and threw it out the window. He was insistent that I go with him, and when I refused, he took out his revolver and pointed it at my chest, but somehow I was not afraid. Mama was deathly pale. I showed him the beautiful wristwatch which had been my husband's and gave it to him. He put it to his ear to test it, then put it on and was appeased. Thus he left, and as I looked after him from the window I watched him showing it to his colleague with satisfaction, and he left in a jeep. My husband's watch possibly saved my life.
The next day, Margaret, the professor's wife, came for us with an empty suitcase which we filled with clothing; we then went with her to a lovely apartment to recuperate from our numerous brushes with death. Oh, how happy we were to be free and to be with people who cared about us. Andrew now learned that Eva was still alive and would be shipped to our city by transport. I went to the railroad station with her photograph. Some people arrived from the concentration camps. I showed them the photographs of my husband, father, brother, praying that someone had seen them during their incarceration and that someone could give me some information about my loved ones. All of
them looked like skeletons, half dead. Alas, most of those with whom I spoke were so sick that they could barely speak or show any interest. Their troubles were too heavy to bear. By June 1945 one transport arrived with children only. The Jewish Committee set up food kitchens for the new arrivals. I went there to look for Eva among the children sitting around a large table, but without success. I walked out saying "My daughter is not here." Eva recognized my voice and jumped up crying, "Oh Mommy, I am looking for you all over; I thought you were no longer alive."
I looked at her, hardly recognizing her with the shaved head, her face and body full of rashes. Her eyes were unnaturally bright. I took her to our new room where we had two beds and a couch, just perfect for us. After bathing and feeding her, I called our doctor, and was fortunate that he was available. He was our old doctor and almost a friend, and he came the very same day to see her. After an examination, he pronounced her a very, very sick child. We were so happy to be together and we knew that if good care and love could do it, we could have a healthy little girl once more. At the moment, though, she had pneumonia in both lungs and antibiotics were a necessity. In 1945 in war-torn Europe, antibiotics were often unavailable; besides, in our area all the pharmacies had been looted by the intruders. Much of the looted goods were lying around in the streets, so where and how could we procure the necessary drugs for her treatment? Well, for once we were in luck! The professor had a Red Cross box at home, from which he supplied emergency drugs. The two men, the doctor and the professor, emptied the rather large box and found a sulfa drug, which was thought to be helpful. We three women treated Eva with great care and to the best of our ability. A thousand thanks to Margaret, who cooked nourishing food for all of us. Food was scarce, but she always managed somehow. Eva, however, had no desire to eat what was prepared for her, but always yearned only for bread with fat and onions. Perhaps her body was making these demands, and she was responding to them. After a while, the fever stopped and she began to eat normally. She was recovering physically, but her nerves never really responded. The trauma she experienced never left her. Today she is married with three wonderful, healthy,
and highly intelligent children. these children are aware of the past, and should be, and they realize what their forebears went through in that horrendous period... never again should such horrors happen.
Finally, after Eva's recuperation, I wanted to find the rest of the family, although few were left alive. Whenever a transport arrived with skeletons of people from the past, I went to the railroad station. It was still dangerous to walk in the streets. Russian soldiers preyed on young men and women and forced them to work for the intruders. They caught and held women for other purposes too. The only pity they seemed to have was for little children. When a woman said "I have little children to care for" they usually let her go. Therefore, I always carried a picture of my little daughter. This, they would accept in most cases.There was no sign of my husband, father, brother, or the many others about whom we were constantly concerned.

Then came a day when I was walking along the street and a man collapsed in front of me. As I helped him to his feet, he said, "Lady, do not bother to help me; I do not want to live anymore." I scolded him saying, "You are wrong... you survived all these atrocities... why give up now?" No, I said, you must have the will to live again. I went to the Joint office, only a short block away, where there was always a crowd that needed help. This man needed a doctor's care and money. Money was always given to those who had a certain paper verifying their needs, and this he had. There he just sat down on the ground -- there was no other place to rest -- while I stood in line and rocured the money and the certificate for entrance to the hospital. All schools were closed and had been converted into hospitals. I took this man to the so-called hospital where they were equipped with the most vital equipment, including X-ray machines. He had three broken ribs and other problems, but nothing too serious. He received a clean bed and care and then I wanted to leave, but he implored me to come and visit him as soon as possible. "You have returned me to life," he said. I remained a bit longer and told him of my worries about my family, and mostly my husband. He promised to pray for me and tried to reassure me that my husband was alive and would eventually return to me. The following day I visited him and brought him some of Margaret's home-made cakes. Although he was ever so grateful to me and gave me his address in Budapest, and I have been to Budapest since then, I never did look him up. He was saved, and that was the important thing.
Now we were happy that Eva showed signs of a positive recovery, but there was always the gnawing worry about our family, of whom we heard nothing. There was no mail service or phone service; nevertheless, I wanted to search for them... but how? Crossing the border was prohibited, but the Russian soldiers assisted for compensation, mostly watches, so I resorted to their tricks and crossed the border illegally. Good friends of ours, the Vandors, lived in Budapest. With their assistance, we made numerous inquiries and learned the awful news that my husband was indeed dead. Although he had survived the horrors of the Holocaust, when the Allied forces came into that territory the Nazis killed the remaining prisoners with a spray of gunfire  before they themselves fled. It was such a painful and sorrowful homecoming for me, besides which I faced the difficulties of proving that I had been a prisoner returning from the concentration camps and that I had to go to Slovakia. In spite of great difficulties, I was able to obtain false identification papers. I had to dress accordingly and to ride home in cattle cars and any other form of transportation going in my direction. When I finally reached my destination, it was I who needed consolation and counseling. Now I almost gave up, but Margaret and her husband, wonderful people that they were, helped me greatly.
Also there were my mother and Eva, who depended on my guidance and leadership. All of these responsibilities gave me the strength to fight and make an attempt at beginning a New Life. What beautiful words they were,. But how would we start? Could this tremendous damage and trauma ever be erased? The Nazis had tarnished our morale and harmed us mentally and physically.
Life began to assume a more normal aspect in the streets... Every Jew who survived and met a fellow sufferer in the streets would embrace and kiss whether they had ever known each other or not. They had a common bond of sorrow. One day a gentleman who looked familiar came over to me, hugged and kissed me saying, "I am happy to see you alive." I felt that I had known him in that other world of the past, but could not place him until he identified himself as the father of one of Eva's former kindergarten classmates; his name was Fritz. We saw each other occasionally, cried to each other, and exchanged tales of our experiences. He was most helpful when I explained that I must start anew, and the first step was to recover my father's store and our villa. He knew a lawyer specializing in restitution who succeeded in obtaining the keys to the store for me. Fritz and I then entered the store. With the outside windows broken, the store had been looted and the first sight was terrible and frightening. Everything had been robbed, and only dirt and garbage were visible. People had used the basement as a shelter, and we could not find one perfect piece of merchandise. Consulting the records in the office, we found that the German who had confiscated the business had also sent cases and cases of fine merchandise back to Germany. Fritz found the consignment papers where the figures were broken down to prove this bestial operation on the part of the German thief. Our first move was to attempt to catch this shipment before it reached the border. Knowing the impossible progress of transportation in those times, we were hopeful, and were rewarded. We succeeded in redirecting the it back to the store, and so the goods were recovered. Now we were so busy in rehabilitating the store and the stock, and making slow steps towards that New Life. When the store looked presentable once more, the old employees
began to come around for their former jobs. I was delighted to take them in since they knew more about running the business than I did. So we started anew with the old employees and Fritz began to organize the office. He was an accountant and had a position of his own. However, things were not so rosy. It was discovered that the German who had taken over the store during the years of horror had not paid taxes, and it fell to us to pay the back taxes. It was October when we opened officially and now our problem was to obtain merchandise, which was so scarce at this time. How lucky we were that we had at least recouped the stolen things on their way to Germany. Now the store gradually became well stocked; we were the richest store in the city, and here it was just before Christmas. Although I was really ignorant of the procedures, I tried to learn from my employees, and promised them Christmas bonuses and increases in salary if we did well over the holidays. Christmas was a booming triumph, and I was grateful and happy to keep my promises to them. Fritz, on the other hand, would accept no money, so I tried to compensate him with gifts for the marvelous assistance I received from him and his fine wife, who really lifted me out of my depression. These extraordinary people became our good friends.
In the meantime, we secured a nice apartment, inasmuch as the apartments in the house we owned were all occupied, and there was an extreme scarcity of housing. Now, with Eva a lovely little healthy girl, Mother surviving, although very sad, we could now go on, always hoping that I would remarry. Nothing was farther from my mind. My wound was too deep and painful. One day, a gentleman came to the store with merchandise to sell from Switzerland. After he finished his business, he asked to call again and take me out. We dined, went to the movies, and exchanged stories of our hardships. He had been able to survive the concentration camp, but he had lost his wife and had no children. He was sympathetic and kind, and when he asked me to marry him after after only two weeks, I agreed. During this period we recovered our villa, and then Mother, Eva, and I moved into our own home together with my aunt and cousin. Later, we moved to my new husband's apartment, which was miraculously equipped with every comfort, and I began to like my new life. In the summer, we took a nice vacation in the high mountains, and the rosiness began to return to our cheeks after all the horrors we had experienced. I had good and reliable employees at the store, so I could enjoy these vacations with a free mind.
But I was restless; I no longer wanted to spend my life among people who I knew had committed untold sins during the Nazi occupation. Now they were the most avid communists, and I thought they were just as corrupt and cruel as the Nazis had been and had similar ideas and ambitions. For Eva, I wanted to live in a land of freedom, since it was apparent from the new restrictions that I had not misjudged the communists. As yet, we were not affected personally, but I could see the writing on the wall. And sadly, I was right. Soon the big blow came when the larger stores were nationalized and ours was included in that category. After the struggle to build up the business, would I again be at the mercy of the authorities? Our apprentice became the manager, and I would be allowed to stay on as an employee. They claimed the back unpaid taxes from us on the grounds that the former Nazis who had stolen the store had "forgotten" to pay the taxes. I was so discouraged and disgusted. After the awful trial of freeing ourselves from the Nazis, now to have to contend with this was unthinkable. My husband's apartment was too large to avoid the new edict which specified how much space would be allocated for a certain number of people. The extra space was confiscated, and the ruling government moved a strange couple into the so-called "extra room". This was separated from our dining room by a door, and we were afraid to speak above a whisper for fear that we would be reported or criticized. It was an unbearable situation; we did not know what kind of people were living within earshot of us.
My desire to emigrate thus grew stronger every day, contrary to my husband's wishes. My brother who had been abroad during the occupation and war was now married and living in France. We knew nothing about France except that it was a free country. The law in Czechoslovakia for Jews who wanted to emigrate was that they were only permitted to leave to go to Israel. When we requested passports, we received a visa for Israel. It was my wish to emigrate to either the United States or Canada, but we did not have any way of obtaining an affidavit to ensure our acceptance in the United States, but we began preparations to go anyway. The first step out was to France, where my brother had been for a long time, so we suspected that he would have some connections and that we should therefore establish ourselves there. So we continued our preparations to emigrate. Since the only possible way to go was to Israel, we obtained Marseilles to Haifa tickets. Arrangements for the estate were a problem at the time. There were still taxes on the store that had to be paid to the state. Andrew bought our villa. It was a bargain for him, but how else could we show our gratitude for his many kindnesses? The government agreed that they would accept our other property for the unpaid taxes. Now we could start packing in earnest.
In the year 1949 we left our country. There we were, we four... facing a new land and civilization: Louis (my second husband), Eva, my mother, and me. We arrived in France with an uncertain future since French law did not permit aliens to earn money. Louis, fortunately, had a little money in a Swiss bank from his Swiss representation business, and we settled in the South of France with my brother, his wife, and her mother. My brother was privileged because he had served as a  volunteer with the French against the Nazi invaders, so he had a small income. Now that we understood that we were again at an impasse, our only hope was to go to the United States. In the meantime, we rented an apartment, and Eva began to go to school where, since she was ignorant of the language, she was under great strain. My poor girl was suffering and came home in tears almost every day. She understood neither the teacher nor the children, but after the first few months she spoke French fluently and came home with the best marks... now getting honors, she no longer felt like an outsider. Our lives were still very insecure. Trying to earn a bit of money, my mother, an excellent seamstress, began to obtain small sewing jobs, and although I helped her sew dresses for the ladies, this was just a drop in the bucket. Slowly, we began to sell our possessions, and steadily strove to obtain an affidavit for the United States. My brother's family was successful in getting an affidavit from somebody. There was a quota system, and our family belonged to various quotas. My mother's status was the worst to contend with because she belonged to the Hungarian quota.
We contacted friends of my late husband, a man who had feelings and compassion for everyone. He, his wife, and their daughter, who was the same age as Eva, loved all of us. They were not citizens yet, and therefore could not obtain an affidavit for us, but they wrote that they would leave no stone unturned and work constantly for affidavits for us to come. This promise gave us a ray of hope. Meanwhile, my brother and his family left for the States, and since we were almost on the brink of financial failure, the future once again seemed hopeless. Finally, however, they sent us an affidavit from a man we never knew. This was a life-saving piece of paper, which came just in the nick of time for our deliverance. Next came the chore of obtaining a permit. We sent papers to the American Consulate, and had to wait a long time until we received the notice by mail to go for a physical examination. We then rushed to the American Consulate in Marseilles for our examinations, and we hoped once more that the time would soon come for us to leave the old continent for the "Promised Land". When the permits finally arrived, my mother's had been withheld because she belonged to the Hungarian quota, and at this time the Hungarian quota was at its worst stage. Where would we go for help? How could we depart and leave my mother in a strange land? It seemed impossible for me. I feared she would never be allowed to come with us, and I could not conceive of leaving without her. Our permits were the last ones for the Czechoslovakian quota. If we did not use it at once, would we be stuck in France forever? Again we faced a deadlock. My husband urged me to go saying we might never get this chance again, and
though I knew he was right, I had to strive for my mother's departure too.
There was a priest in Paris who had been a rabbi before he became a priest , and he had studied at the Vatican for a long time convincing himself that the Christian religion was right for him, and then converted. Now he was established in Paris and knew of homes in various cities in France for immigrants who had trouble emigrating overseas. These homes were for people who had no source of income and were waiting for their papers to leave. These homes provided board and shelter, and were financed by the French government. This priest, Dr. Glassberg, supervised these homes, and they were for anyone who needed this protection, regardless of religion, race, or nationality. My husband contacted him, and he invited us to meet with him in his office in Paris. This was the only
solution for us now. My husband and I went to Paris to speak with Dr. Glassberg, and explained our situation. It was difficult to place anyone in these homes because after the war Paris was crowded with refugees. After we spoke with the priest, he promised us he would place my mother in one of the best and most modern of these homes. We then visited the home, which was in Dunn, near Verdun. here were nice modern rooms, double occupancy, with three meals a day. Good as they looked, it was hard for me to get used to the thought of leaving my mother behind. She was desperate too, but she told me, "You belong with your husband." When our visas came and we took Mother to her new place, it was heartbreaking to leave her there, and I felt terribly guilty. We all left in tears but faced reality, and assured mother that we would work on this matter in the States and, hopefully, soon bring her over to join us.
The time came when we were ready to leave. The International Refugee Organization arranged our trip. We had to go to Bremenhaven to a camp and were forbidden to go into the city. We stood in line for our linens and food, and it felt somewhat like being in a concentration camp. As much as I longed to be in the United States, I was losing zeal and ambition. My thoughts were always with my mother. The following day was the time for the train to take us to the pier. Before the train left, the German customs official called some names. These people would have to be left behind because they would have to be searched and reprocessed. My name and Eva's were called, and we had no idea what was going on. We were taken to a little room, where a woman ordered us to undress completely. First she searched my handbag, then ordered us to open every other belonging of ours. The train left, and we and a few others were left behind, while Louis left with the train, upset and unaware of what was happening. Fortunately, there were people there representing various organizations, and I told a lady from HIAS what had happened. She drove us to the ship where Louis was, and we reached it in the nick of time.
Not exactly a ship, but a boat for eight hundred people. However, we were twelve hundred people. It was December, and the weather was exceptionally bad. The name of the boat was "General Stewart". It had been used by the Navy during the war, and the furnishings had never been changed. Men and women were separated, and the beds were placed on top of each other and had to be folded during the day. Everyone had a job assigned to them, as there was no crew. The passengers had to work instead of a crew. Anyone who did not work did not eat. Eva and I were appointed to supervise the children. It might have been a fun job if only the storm at sea had subsided. But it was relentless, and almost everyone was sick, walking around with brown bags. To the waves, the General Stewart was a toy to be tossed from side to side. In the kindergarten room, the furniture shifted from one side to the other amid the shrieks and laughter of the children. Many were too small to buck the movements of the boat and had to be protected from the ever-moving furniture. Eva and I had to be on our toes every minute to watch the tiny children, many of whose parents were completely immobilized by the stormy weather and rough seas. My husband did not work. He, too, was sick, and had a  paper from the doctor excusing him from work. We stood in line for food, and often one was knocked to the floor, tray in hand, by the severity of the waves, and there went the whole meal: a tragedy to the lucky few who were capable of eating their food. It was a case of one time around with the food, so it was a grievous loss when it was thrown off the tray. The storm did not abate, and the General Stewart was too weak and overloaded to withstand the elements. On one side of the boat, the water was knee-high, and the men's room unusable due to flooding. Christmas and New Year's were spent on this boat, but there was no festivity due to the
weakness and sickness of the passengers. After two weeks of constant swinging, we came closer to land. On arrival at New York, we were dispatched to the deck at three A.M.
It was foggy, rainy, and bitterly cold when we finally arrived at eleven in the morning. At arrival time, everybody's  papers were checked, and now Louis was in trouble. He had four different names... in Hungarian he was Lajos, Ludwig in German, Ludovit in Slovak, and Louis in French. Because he spoke no English, he was unable to explain. A man in line behind him heard the misunderstanding, and since this man spoke both German and English very well, he came to our rescue. The officers had been quite puzzled. Exhausted but happy, we were now preparing to begin a new life... it was like entering into the unknown.
Our first stop was the HIAS organization. Not the ideal place, but we had no choice. After five days in our new country, Louis fell ill and was sent t the Beth Israel Hospital for examination, but the doctor kept him as he needed an emergency operation. What a shock this was, and a sad introduction to the new land. After the operation he developed complications. Blood was scarce at this time, during the period of the Korean War.. The doctor said, "I don't guarantee his survival." I offered my blood and it was accepted. I called my brother Louis and our very good friend who got us the affidavit. All three of us gave our blood, and these transfusions saved his life. It was not an auspicious moment, to be sick in an new and strange environment, but the doctors and nurses were most kind and patient and showed us every consideration.
Perhaps, although this was a rough way to be assimilated into a new society , it did give us a better feeling than any we had experienced in years of oppression in the old country. Here in this hospital, everyone was treated in a humane fashion, regardless of race, creed, or national origin. At least we had a future and a worthwhile goal for which to struggle. Hopefully, we would see our grandchildren grow up in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.
Louis recovered and I held up with the difficulties at the hospital, trying to understand and be understood in the foreign language. Even when he was released from the hospital, he was going to need careful after-care. I wished we could have an apartment and not be compelled to return to HIAS. Again, with the assistance of our good friend Frank and his lovely wife, Margaret, who searched the advertisements for furnished apartments, we established ourselves in our own apartment in a short time. Now, with the address on a piece of paper in my hand, I set out for the particular street; but, alas, I got lost on the subway. I did not understand English and also misunderstood the directions. It was rush hour, and the platforms were filled with people. I was desperate because I could not find the address and was unable to communicate. Fortunately, I recovered my senses and tried to show the piece of paper with the address to a man who was waiting in the crowd. I opened my mouth to try to say something in English. He noticed my accent immediately and said, "Why don't you speak Hungarian?" I was happily shocked and gratified that among so many people I had approached somebody who could speak to me in my own language. I told him my predicament and found that he was originally from my city and even knew my store. Instead of going directly to his destination, he went with me and helped me find my way. The apartment was in Washington Heights, and I found it appropriate and quite welcome indeed. Without knowing how we would be able to pay the rent, I took it, gambling because my husband needed the comfort immediately, and we moved in as soon as Louis was released from the hospital. I kept looking for work and accepted anything I could in order to bring home some money for our survival and to keep a roof over our heads. These were mainly factory jobs, but when Louis became stronger we registered at the nearest evening school in order to learn to speak and spell the new language. There were may times when Louis fell asleep and I had to nudge him in class. He was still not fit. Later he found work too, but it was at night and we wrote notes to each other to keep up our communication ... our hours of work never corresponded. Although Eva had the same problems here as in France, initially unable to understand either the students or the teachers, in a short time she knew much more than either of us did.
Our early years in America were a real struggle, but we had the zeal and ambition to build ourselves a new life. In America, everyone had a future and the chance for success, and we were, before long, to realize it over and over again. This new freedom gave us the chance to plow ahead, especially since we feared nobody and knew that nobody could take our freedom and our right to exist away from us. If only my mother could have joined us, our happiness would have been overflowing. We explored every avenue to try to bring her here. Her letters were very sad. She missed us terribly, so we tried to bolster her spirits by promising her that we would do everything possible to bring about our reunion. Her worrying developed into an illness, and one day she had a stroke. We telephoned her doctor often, and one day my brother Louis  went to France to visit her in the hospital. But before he arrived, she suffered a second stroke, so she was unable to speak with him. While my brother was with her, she died, and was buried in France. Her death was a horrible blow to me. It wasn't only the loss of a dear mother that plagued me, but I also had a feeling of guilt. My sorrow was so great to realize that through all of those tragic years, I was able to keep her spirits alive, and then to think that she had to die alone in a strange land and without any of her kin to comfort her. It seemed too much to bear in spite of the may obstacles we had overcome. But life has taught me that one must accept what is offered to him, and that very often one is powerless to change his destiny.
We were still young enough to snap back to reality and we began to enjoy ourselves. We both had employment, our own apartment, and even bought a car. We began to take trips around this wonderful country, and eventually we could afford a trip to Europe. Our first step was to visit my mother's grave. Eva grew up, became a young lady, and married. When our first grandson was born, I was really happy. Eva has three fine children now and the eldest is already married. Both Louis and I are retired and we have visited our relatives in Europe and even in Israel. Our most fervent wish is that there be no more war, no more hatred, and no more discrimination in the world. Peace is always in our prayers, knowing that there are no winners in any war, only misery and defeat for the entire population.

Meat Eaters Vs. Non-Meat Eaters

I would like to know why there is so much judgement against either or re: meat eaters vs. non-meat eaters. I eat meat, poultry and fish. However, as I get older, I find my body feels better leaning more toward a plant based lifestyle. At least one or two days a week I don't eat meat of any kind. On my "vegetarian" days, I get my protein from nuts and seeds, nut butters (peanut, almond or sunflower seed), legumes/beans, quinoa, soy and almond milk, Greek yogurt, and soy products including tofu (rarely). I know I'm getting all of my vitamins because I drink Chocolate Shakeology every day.

It is not heart healthy to constantly eat red meat. I suggest limiting it to once a week; once a month would be better. I am anemic and can feel when my iron is low. On those occasions, I will eat a burger or lean steak. My vegetarian/vegan friends accept that about me and do not try to change me. I in turn do not judge or try to change who they are. No matter what you are, the goal is to live as healthy as possible. You are better off physically eating more plant based foods. You cannot eat cookies, chips and processed foods and call yourself vegetarian. True vegetarians and vegans eat properly and make sure they get enough healthy foods in daily.

Vegetarians/vegans choose to eat and live this way. Some for religious reasons, some for health reasons, some because meat, poultry or fish makes them physically ill, etc. No matter the reason, there should be no judgement. There is no right or wrong here. Remember, each "body" is different and reacts differently to certain foods.

As a certified nutritionist it is my job to help you live your healthiest life be it as a meat eater or vegetarian. I ask that you don't judge one another. Respect and try to understand one another. Please feel free to contact me to start living your healthiest life no matter what you are!

Power

Why am I writing about power? If you live in the Lehigh Valley, PA most of us experienced a few hours, to one day to well a still ongoing power outage that stemmed from a freak snow storm on Saturday, October 28th. I lost power at 1241p that day and didn't get it back until 730ish Monday night. There are still alot of people without power. Crews are working hard around the clock. Some crews came from far and wide. We thank you! I have to admit I had some mental and emotional breakdowns over those few days! It's even harder when you are a single mom of two children. Well, a teenager and a ten year old! I know I can live without cable (really hard though as I love TV!). It was really hard not having my computer working or my iPhone not having service. I, along with many people have come to rely on our modern day technology and conveniences! I thank God for them! I'm glad I live in this era and not Little House on the Prairie! I do think there should be big leaps and strides in people converting to solar energy. I think by doing that we won't need to worry as much in a storm. My dad's theory is that big corporations; especially the energy and oil industries are lobbying against it and winning. Ahhh, big industry...

Why am I writing about all of this? Well, power isn't just electricity. You have power in your life; through the choices YOU make, how YOU decide YOU want to live YOUR life and the people YOU decide to surround yourself with! You have the power within to live in a positive and healthy lifestyle. Truly focusing and surrounding yourself with positive in your life brings you an abundance of goodness. If you focus on the negative that's what you breed, more negative. Stress levels and blood pressures rise, depression can set in, plus a whole host of other not so great things happen physically, monetarily, and metaphysically. So do yourself a favor and start each day being grateful, put a smile on your face and think positive thoughts. If a negative thought creeps in replace it immediately with a postive one. What makes you happy? As Vincent VanGogh once said, "I dream my painting. Then I paint my dream!" Are you painting your dream?