Under Construction…Proceed with Caution

When the Universe conspires to answer my prayers – it comes with an affordable lease of 1,000 square feet of mixed use industrial space to live, and breathe, and work, and dream, and imagine myself earning more than my fair share while becoming more, playing more, doing more of what I love to do…building, working, doing more of what I want to do rather than what everyone else thinks I can’t. I want to work with my hands, use my brain, my strength and my passion – put my tools to work for me, nurture my creative side, and live the way I want. I am literally within a stone’s throw of making every impossible thought that passed through my mind within the past year a reality.

First, a log splitter of my own, I enjoy cutting, splitting and stacking wood…who knew? A friend who has been asking me to start this type of service believes in me enough to invest in my first piece of equipment…Incredible actually, how few people who are “family” can encourage me to follow my own path… with nothing but arguments, negativity and reasons not to…Is it the cart before the horse? Absolutely…and it’s only the first company asset purchase. I see lawn care, snow removal, smaul haul and other pursuits… I have worked for others forever, but have always believed I would someday build my own [insert every possibility here]….

Pagosa PCS here I come. And all you nay-sayers, just sit back and be someone else’s reason for not believing in their abilities, shooting down their ideas, inspirations and their dreams and not because they can’t or don’t work hard – but because of stereotypical judgments about women being weak.

Have you seen me? Do you know me? You think I can’t? Because I am female? I can back a trailer like a pro. I’m not only intelligent, but have super common sense and critical thinking abilities. I can build, destroy, repair, refinish, redesign or repurpose most anything. I have literally lost 50 pounds working my ass off, and if I don’t already know how to do something, I teach myself what I need to know. I know how to run the business. i know the financial, tax and insurance laws and requirements. I know the contractor side. Now I want to know how to build my happiness, build my tiny homes, build my dreams and finally be on my own side. Apparently some don’t know me at all.

For those who do believe in me, and have waited so long to see me move off the fence…thank you for your encouragement. The log-splitter purchase will pay for itself with the four clients I know I will ask me to clear land, gather deadfall and help stock their wood sheds with firewood this season,

I’m grateful for friends who have helped me to this point, We sign the commercial lease tomorrow. I am no longer without a home or purpose. And I am brought to tears with humility, gratitude and have already expressed how fucking excited I am to have hope.

Update: July 2019

It has been far too long since I’ve written anything substantial – with the exception of “One Night Two Empaths” at the end of last year.

I’m renovating my site to include new categories, new articles, new interests and new direction!

Page is currently under construction…proceed with caution, an open mind, and keep your judgments to a minimum.

Much love and appreciation!

Patricia 07/21/19

Empowered Feminine Rising

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Embracing 50 Strands of Gray

So…I’m pretty sure this is the real me, forever to remain me. So a handful of opinions deserve a handful of truth…

First of all, I wasn’t thinking about how anyone other than me would be affected by it.

I was inspired by a very hot and supremely badass Demi Moore in GI Jane…





Second, my hair hadn’t always been unhealthy, thinning or wayward in weird circles of cow-licked-growth. It is now, and I can accept that. I don’t need to be reminded of it daily, and the benefit of no bed head, no products or blow drying, no hairs blowing in my face, in any of my food or shed anywhere…and the #2 pencil-eraser size dab of shampoo and conditioner… Huge. HUGE! All the way around.

Third, while original estimates were that I lost about 60-70% of my normal rate of male approached advances and basic interactions – I have clearly gained at least 35-50% more female advancement…and 99% of women tell me how they would be too afraid…shame.

It is my thing to have, all mine to explore and BAM! I own this look! Plus, my kids know that appearance isn’t everything, and what other people think…they can OWN IT and keep it too.
LADIES and GENTLEMEN rock your day with the Energy of Appreciation!

Mom Deserves A Holiday

One Night, Two Empaths

Amber hues of Twilight blue
Dancing in the shadows
Playing tricks on the eyes
A touch of magic bends reality
Suddenly fantastic, genuine delight
Fireflies in flight?
A flashback or flash forward?
Glitter glued pieces put back together?
A Sparkle of hope?
Must be dreaming.
Butterflies churn butter.
Goosebumps tell the truth.
Hot flashes, shortness of breath
Even a giggle or two
Beacons of light?
A Call for help?
Love energy ignites the moonlit sky
Streaking Naked, Beautifully Expanding
Our horizons in this Universe
When did electricity learn to Tango?
Rhythmic movements, such passion
Arcing, aching and sparking flair
Could you hear the music playing?
I tasted it, completely, consumed by it
Coiled and broiled in heated connection
One body, two, three attempts to breathe
Aromatic, sweet, pheromone rich air
How long have we been here?
Long enough to notice
The quality of care
To appreciate tenderness, the moment
And still we linger, entangled
Beautifully captured, enamored,
Savory in flavor
Gasping desperately for more…life
Depths of dimension,
Intimate truths
Silent conversation
No music just melody
Don’t worry.
Don’t hurry.
Catch another breath, touch once more
Rinse and repeat as needed
To breathe air back into your life


© 2018 – P.C. Shoffner

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This work by Patricia C. Shoffner is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Based on a work at  http://www.pcshoffner71.wordpress.com

I am relatively easy-going. Okay, realistically, I am a control freak who likes to pretend I am easy-going. I’ll be real. I do like things my way. But who doesn’t? Honestly?

I do, however, try to play the “Devil’s Advocate” while considering my own feelings, my life, my way of doing things – in contrast with someone else’s. In most circumstances anyway.

One thing I keep telling myself (over and over, while beating myself in the head, over and over again) is “everyone is doing the best they can.” That said, what someone else might consider their “best” is rarely what I would consider my “best.” I get that. Truly, I do.

And on most days, that simple observation and explanation does it for me. Ok, that’s it! My self-indulgent, control-freak, internal conversation and momentary judgmental, psycho attitude is over. Done.

But I am struggling to understand how a parent could routinely and voluntarily leave their adolescent or pre-teen kid(s) at home alone, or with a roommate, so-called babysitter, relative or otherwise – every night or every day, most often both – and not feel even the slightest bit remorseful for doing so.

And I’m not talking for a just the regular 8 or 10 hour workday. That and more, as this person is gone at 7am almost every day of the week, and comes home just long enough in the afternoon to make or buy dinner. After maybe an hour or two at best, they leave the home and the children behind for the night. Only returning a little (or a lot) inebriated, typically sometime during the wee hours of the morning.

Every night, and it is now the schedule they’re used to. At least every other week. You see, these parents share joint custody of these children, on a week on, week off schedule.

Two weeks. Fourteen days and nights each month. That is all that is available to each parent for spending with the kids. That’s it. And school nights go by so quickly, there isn’t much time left to spend doing family stuff.

Realistically, it is four days (two weekends) a month for their parents to spend sharing quality time with them. Not much time at all in my opinion.

Then again, I have (almost) always enjoyed spending time with my kids. Teaching them, playing with them, talking with them, holding them snuggle-bunny style while watching a movie. For me, the more I learn about them as they grow older, as I watch them become the person they will be, the more humble I am; my heart filled with joy and overwhelming gratitude.

And for a parent who is so blatantly ignorant of the children’s needs – quite frankly, pisses me off. And it breaks my heart to see and know the sadness in their eyes, their lonely, heavy hearts, and I know how it feels, as a child almost lost from a parent’s life. My dad was gone most of the time, and even when he was there, sometimes he just wasn’t.

For this parent, any time not spent as taxi driver and/or cook is far and few between.

I just don’t understand, and I don’t want to understand. It kills me, and the control freak in me wants to do something about it. And as I sit and stew, and brew on the reality of the situation, flames in my heart grow hotter.

I believe wholeheartedly these parents love their kids. But spouting off the routine spoken words, “I love you” as they are leaving the house just doesn’t cut it. And it’s certainly not the best they can do. Can’t you spend every other week doing what you do while you’re not doing for your kids? And focus your good energy and attention solely on them during your week? Can you imagine how special that would make them feel?

These children are young, impressionable, vulnerable and lonely. And this is not okay. This behavior is teaching them how to parent, and they will most certainly show this behavior with their own children and families later in life. Get it together.

Parenting is the toughest job on the planet, but ignoring or neglecting your children is not the answer – at any age. If you’re not there to guide them, someone or something else will be.

Our kids deserve the best of us, not the rest of us.

(Getting off the soapbox now) since beating good behavior into someone’s brain is certainly illegal.



P.C. Shoffner – ©2015

Creative Commons License This work by Patricia C. Shoffner is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Based on a work at http://www.pcshoffner.com.

The Empath & The Divine Feminine Energy

The journey through the life of an Empath is beautiful and dangerous, transcendent and terrifying. For me, most of the time and above all else, confusing. Always aware that a constant fluctuation in energy, as presented by other human’s emotional state and karmic burden, will either “feed” me, or “bleed” me dry.

The exposed Empath is a vulnerable one. The energy of another human’s emotion—whether positive or negative—carries with it a certain electrical charge.  Excited or depressed electrons, interpreted, and often absorbed simply by our close proximity to others. But I don’t have to physically touch you to understand you, just share your space.

Powerful surges and depressed spikes, heavy karmic presence – all humans carry with them this energy. How I react to it depends solely on the human being’s emotional energy (frequency). Some of which is hazardous for me, most of which is dangerously enticing as well. Being a toddler in my spiritual knowledge and growth, my innate curiosity desires knowing (and ultimately testing) the boundaries of what limits me from ascension.

With those most dear to us, the energy is felt hundreds or even a thousand miles away—and the message, transmitted and received at the speed of light.

My brother called me while I was in the emergency room last month. I had maybe been there 30 minutes.

“Hey, I’m going to have to call you back, I’m in the hospital and can’t talk.”

“I know. So is your chronic pain (headache) behind your right ear?”

“Damn! How do you do that?”

“You’re my twin. We are connected”…..

He is much more in tune, especially to me, but his Universal connection is exponentially superior to mine. The light and energy of his creative and artistic mind is always in use, therefore he too is always in a state of heightened cosmic awareness. Mine is more of the “build a wall and retreat into hermitic hibernation” disconnection. This is my preference. To disconnect. To protect myself. Most of the time.

And this fear of connecting is the direct result of an experience I had about 7 years ago. Standing in an upright position, thoroughly entranced in a beautifully transcendent guided meditation, I found myself in the grips of the most powerful force of energy I ever met. Hello, Metatron.

The weight of the collective Universal energy quite literally brought me to my knees. It was too much. Heavy. Crushing. Beautiful. Godlike. I was not worthy. Or maybe I was? Either way, I knew then that I had to be very careful with who, what and when I invited the energy in.

That experience was so overwhelmingly powerful, it actually scared me into retreat. Instantly I understood my spiritual connection to the entire Universe—and my fear of tapping into something that, without knowing how to control its influence—could be both spiritually enlightening and physically dangerous. Sounds like a drug, right? Oh it is.

Much like a dry sponge, just add water and the sponge becomes full, to the point of being unable to absorb any more. I too absorb what surrounds me. Sometimes without wanting to. But what if the sponge could choose what to soak up, or when? Would it decide to still take on all that water weight? Or would it keep the water from entering its space? Would the sponge protect its shape and dimension, and avoid the water?

After learning of my clairsentient ability nearly 15 years ago, over time and with practice, I have learned a few moderately effective methods of managing this invasive influx of “stuff.” Now, when I am aware in advance) of a situation that may affect my natural state, I prepare my body with a meditation and mantra for spiritual protection. This routine works well for me—and I rarely need to balance after encountering a problematic field of energy.

And on Friday night—the night of my party—I forgot. Many things slipped my mind actually, but most importantly I failed to invoke the “bubble” of protection before 24 lady friends arrived at my home. Of course, thinking back on the hectic schedule—especially after four hours of CPR training, and performing chest compressions all morning—it probably would have been wise to shower, or at the very least, freshen up with even a stroke of deodorant, toothpaste, makeup…

But they started arriving and I kept moving.

The party was fun, and the individual energies were amazingly positive, shining brightly and perfectly in their own state. But collectively, my home filled quickly with two dozen feminine energies, their mingling frequencies electrified the air around us. This was undeniably one of the most amazing spiritual experiences to date for me. An abundance of powerful love energy, I felt positively charged with overwhelming gratitude and joyful exuberance.

My empathic soul binges on an abundant spread of divine goddess energy—old souls and new—my soul is fed full. Later brought to tears—in humbled gratitude, grateful and so universally blessed for having had the unique opportunity to experience our spiritual connections. Similar to cosmic nerves simultaneously firing every direction, all at once—an experience near to an omnipresence—for which I can’t seem to find the right words for.

I can tell you that this is the natural communication of our ascended selves. Our soul circle communication is energy, bright light, silent yet heard, powerfully hypnotic, genuine and full of love.

My spiritual body, elated and joyful. My human body however is physically spent, full of minor aches and pains, especially the residual headache. My home carried the energy for a few days. Finally smudging it and myself clean with a stick of Shaman-blessed sage. The spiritual cleanup is exhausting and takes days to fully clear.

Overwhelmed by everything and everyone—I am left feeling lost and frustrated. My bubble mantra prevents the inevitable damage. But it also prevents the feeling of joy the experience brings altogether.

The creative expression required after such an overload…to wring out the water from the sponge…for me, this means I must journal about it and meditate on the subject further, always grateful for the joy of living in the light that each day brings. Blessings be.

I am the sponge.  And the sponge doesn’t get to choose. I do.

P.S. I have never discussed this “ability” in an open forum. Only a few people know this about me—or knew this about me. Here is a link to an article about the Empath. How many traits do you carry around?



P.C. Shoffner – ©2015

Creative Commons License This work by Patricia C. Shoffner is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Based on a work at http://www.pcshoffner.com.

Crawling From Under Your Feet

feet pictureHate is a strong word, and in most cases it’s too strong a word for me to use. However, there are a few things I have an aversion to in this world: whiners, spiders, liars, thieves and feet.

Today, I will talk about feet.

I am a foot-watcher. I look at people’s feet all the time. In fact, I could say that what I dislike about feet is my obsession with looking at feet. If exposed feet are within my field of view, my gaze immediately falls upon them. It’s an involuntary reflexive act and I don’t realize I’m doing it until after I have already fed upon my obsessive, compulsive need.

I admire pretty feet. Perfect toes make me smile. Babies’ feet, those are some amazing little eye-candy. It’s funny, how I can’t recall ever laying eyes on a baby’s foot that was ugly or rough or unsightly. They are soft and beautiful, no matter the child. I have found myself even reaching out to touch babies’ feet, just to remind myself that feet were not always the most disgusting features on the human body.

Most feet repel me. I see more of the ugly, misshapen, calloused and rough versions than I do the faultless ones. Toes that twist and bend in unnatural ways, or lengthy ones that curl off the end of the sandal to touch the earth below. Gnarled knuckles and bunions make me want to puke. So do rippled toenails hued jaundice yellow, whose thickness and texture would only be likened to Ruffles® brand cheddar potato chips.

My father’s feet were not bad-looking, but oh my goodness, the smell would permeate the room in two seconds flat after removing his work boots at the end of a hard day. I would almost bet his socks would have stuck to the wall if I had thrown them at one. Yuck. The thought, the memory, of my dad’s feet jolts me back in time. He passed away years ago, and so did the stench.

My feet are not the ideal perfection I so often seek in the world. My second toe is slightly longer than my big toe (but it doesn’t hang off the end of my sandal). Once, when I was a little girl, a cousin once compared that second toe to her pinky finger. Snuggled together, side by side, they were the same length. I think I was eight or nine years old then, young enough to know embarrassment and avoided wearing sandals with open toes again until l was twenty-six years old.

Yes, I stare at feet. I admit it. Am I proud of myself? Definitely not. Maybe what I seek to find are those rare examples of natural beauty – so few among the masses – and from those I have seen, most are simply repulsive.

Will I ever find the cure to my rotten obsession? I often daydream of a day, sometime in my future, where I can actually look someone in the eye when I’m speaking to them.

For now, all I can say with relative certainty is, “If you’re wearing sandals, I’m crawling from under your feet.”

P.C. Shoffner – ©2012

[This was a creative writing submission to Gotham Writing Course’s Creative Writing Class. I had so much fun writing this one. The professor loved it and recommended I expand it from 500 words to 1500 and submit it for publication. That time has not come…yet]

Creative Commons License This work by Patricia C. Shoffner is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Based on a work at http://www.pcshoffner.com. 

The Poet

Love Shines
Truth Knows
Kindred Spirits
Old Souls
Beauty Fears
Passion Rocks
Wisdom Listens
Ego Talks
Trust Your Self

© 2015 – P.C. Shoffner

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This work by Patricia C. Shoffner is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Based on a work at  http://www.pcshoffner.com. 

Freedom to Express My Soft and Fluffy Self


How do we go about profiling ourselves? What do we want others to know and ultimately appreciate about us? Words are so fun, yet so damned intimidating.

At last, I think I have found the right words to express my soft and fluffy self.

If you’re looking for Barbie – I ate her for breakfast. (Just kidding. I prefer dark meat).

My friends describe me as fun, witty, intelligent, optimistic and kindhearted. My guiding principle is integrity (how you act when no one is looking). I am honest, almost to a fault. I am bold and beautiful, through and through. I know who I am and what I want. Most people are attracted to my sense of humor (as twisted as it can sometimes be), my easy-going nature, overall lightheartedness and electric spiritual energy.

I am fun to be around and have no problem with making friends socially, professionally or otherwise. I am an eternal optimist and can find the positive in any situation.

And I hate to shop. Sorry, fellas. (No, seriously).

I am a divorced mother of three children – but don’t run for the hills just yet – I’m not looking for a “baby daddy.” Their father is an active and integral part of their daily lives. We shared 15 years of marriage – now we share 50/50 custody weeks. Now, having every other week off from motherhood, I really have some time to explore new relationships.

Honestly, I never thought I would ever be here – single. I was a devoted wife and mother who worked hard to maintain a beautiful home, have fun, set a good example for my children, and gave everything I had to everyone else. Everyone else but me. I learned rather quickly that by sacrificing my happiness for the sake of my family, I wasn’t doing anyone any favors. Ultimately, my (ex) husband found comfort in the arms of another woman (for the second time) and I found comfort in kicking his ass to the curb.

Personal growth. Respect. Honesty. Integrity. Loyalty. Humor. Kindness. Non-judgment. Drama free. These things are all personal qualities I possess, and offer my future partner, and what I will expect in return. I drink on occasion and hope to quit smoking for good someday. My partner will be comfortable leading by example and being a positive role model for everyone else in the family.

If you are an addict or an alcoholic, I’m not the girl for you.

I love to fish, hike and camp, and snuggle next to a warm fire. I am equally comfortable at home and in bed. I love good sex and never claim to have a headache. Actually, orgasm produces oxytocin, which eliminates headaches, so women who claim to have a headache just plain irritate me.

I am looking for romance, chivalry, passion, adventure, a fabulous sense of humor, intelligent conversation, shared interests and a joke (dirty or otherwise) from time to time. I love to have fun, laugh, play, kiss, hug, hold hands, eat great food, enjoy a drink here or there, and make people laugh. I used to be an adrenaline junkie and have gone skydiving, bungee jumping and rock climbing. I don’t do it any more, but it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t again. I face my fears head on – except for spiders – that would be your job.

I am a pretty good shot when it comes to billiards, but not so much with a .357 – not for lack of trying. I play an average game of chess and enjoy games like cribbage, scrabble, and trivial pursuit. One game of pictionary had me laughing so hard, I farted loud enough for everyone to hear. Now that was fun!

Is it too early to mention power tools?

I live in a small mountain town in Southwest Colorado. I don’t make a lot of money, but I have a job that makes me happy and affords me the opportunity to make a difference in my own community. I am a good listener, attentive, ready to make the quick decision if need be, and can remain calm and resilient in a crisis.

I’m not sure I can successfully navigate a long distance relationship, but I am willing to try. If the opportunity presents itself, and Mr. Right On The Button sweeps me off my feet, relocation is a welcomed possibility.

If you like your women full-figured (soft and fluffy) then please, by all means, inquire within.

© 2015 – P.C. Shoffner

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This work by Patricia C. Shoffner is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Based on a work at  http://www.pcshoffner.com. 


Flirting at Forty-Something

The first date was fun, without a doubt. However, after having been married to one man for 15 years, I can’t remember how this works.

While I am certainly not shy, I found myself less talkative than normal. Everyone who knows me knows that I speak my mind – blatantly. My integrity and up-front form of honesty is my trademark. However, as nervous as I was, I felt like I was picking and choosing my thoughts and words before speaking. Imagine that – me thinking before I speak! Ok, so maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

When he leaned in for the post-date kiss, I quickly gave him a smack on the lips, the cheek, and pulled away. I was so damned nervous. And scared. It was only a short year ago that I found out my (now ex) husband was secretly spending time with “the cockroach” (my heartfelt nickname for the other woman, in his other life).

I don’t want to get hurt (again). I don’t want a relationship, I don’t think. I would however, like to have fun, enjoy common interests and activities – and yes, have sex. Please – and thank you.

And we agreed to see each other again. The invitation for a second date, accepted.

I have decided that I don’t have to do anything I am uncomfortable doing. I am a strong, independent, beautiful, sexy, voluptuous woman – despite still reeling from those last several years of constant insults about everything – but most especially my weight. The last five years were the most difficult, but now I am free. And I am moving on. I am dating.

This particular guy made it a point to shower compliments upon me, and my curves. He thinks I am sexy. Of course, my lower-than-normal self-esteem wanted to believe there was a hidden agenda. Seriously? Seriously!  Then I got to thinking. The conversation with myself went something like this:

Enjoy the hell out of this, Tish! Remember who you are! Forget the past, and the jackass who couldn’t love you for who you are. Move on already! Get your shine on. Be proud. Be beautiful! Be real. And maybe consider this… maybe, just maybe, there are some men in this world who truly appreciate the beauty of the renaissance woman, the Rembrandt. And if one has found you, then at the very least…you’re going to get laid. And if there is a hidden agenda, you’re going to get laid.

Ok, problem solved. I’m flirting my beautiful forty-something ass off. At least that is what we called it when I was twenty-something. I’m not sure what the hell I am doing. And if I could find the word, it would most certainly be a dirty one. Taboo.

Bullshit. Let’s go with mature fun.

First Date

Butterflies. That’s what yesterday brought for me. Butterflies. A forty-three year old woman – with butterflies. Seriously?

It was a first date. My first-first date since the divorce. I was anxious, like a prepubescent child waiting for puberty to come and finally make me a real woman.

Yeah, that fucking anxious.

The food was absolutely decadent. The sangria was flowing as fast as the pheromone perfume racing through my blood – both of which, I couldn’t get enough of. His compliments seemed genuine and thoughtful. The conversation was intriguing, reciprocal (and that’s a good thing) easy and playful.

The dinner date ended with a kiss. Wait – that’s a lie… There were many kisses. Sweet. Gentle. Soft. All of which left me wanting more.

Patience Grasshopper…