Another Post!

Very early appointments today. I purposely scheduled everything to end by early afternoon so that I could write and practice the guitar and do laundry.

I've been busy securing permissions that I need for the book I'm writing. I had to decide between: (1) writing the entire thing and waiting to get permissions and then editing accordingly, (2) writing to the degree that I have permissions and (3) waiting until I had all the permissions in place.

I chose option #2 because the first would have been heartbreaking had things not gone my way and the latter would have meant possibly blunting the process.

Finally, I have some major green lights in place. Yay!!

The funny side of things

I think that being a mother, a homemaker and a psychic all at the same time -- while difficult -- actually has some comical moments. And I also think that it's impossible to separate one from the other.

Case in point?

Trying to book appointments while toilet training a two-year-old: I hope desperately that I can finish the phone call before my daughter starts yelling in the background, "Mummy, I'm pee-ing! I'm pee-ing!"

Nearly Sleeping On The Job

Though I get impressions from many sources, I seem to be overcome lately by a certain type of experience. Otherwise alert, I suddenly begin to feel extremely sleepy. Instead of succumbing to sleep, I get the urge to grab a pen and paper.

I start to write, and feeling more alert, the impression of a ghost occurs and I write what he/she tells me. In the case of one client the other day, I was able to tell her about her life because the ghost (a relative) had messages about different aspects of her life. He even told me what she did for a living.

When all was said and done, this was only qualitatively different from my usual experiences. The sleepiness was new but I'm getting used to it. Ghosts usually do appear but mostly at night or during readings and not often immediately beforehand.

I should be posting more often. Life gets crazy. Sometimes, I feel like giving up readings altogether (like tonight) and, at other times, I worry that I won't be able to keep doing my readings. Neither scenario is realistic. I'm just moody. Especially in the past few weeks. This probably explains my absence.

I think I need to cheer myself up.

A Playful Ghost

Last Friday, before my readings, everything was all set: my office caddy had all the essentials, my recording devices were prepared and waiting . I looked around, satisfied, until my sight landed on the antique green chest: The coaster, my favourite one, was missing.

I knew that it had been there but I launched a search around the house for it. It bothered me that the coaster was missing. When, finally, after searching the kitchen and the foyer, I decided to give up. Maybe I had moved it after all.

When I returned to the living room, I saw it: there, on the antique green chest, was my favourite coaster.

"Who did that?" I wondered aloud.

"It's me, Alfred."

Great, I thought, but I don't know an 'Alfred'. He had dark brown, almost black, hair and dark eyes. He wore a white t-shirt and he was pretty young looking.

"Are you here for one of the readings?" I asked.

He laughed. "I just come when I'm expected to."

That was a pretty cryptic response but, then, I hadn't seen him before and I haven't seen him since that day. So, as my husband suggests, he was probably there for a reading. At least I got my coaster back.

Exorcisms and Aliens

More and more of my days off are being used to fit in readings for people who are waiting and who want an earlier appointment or for whom I might have caused inconveniece by having to reschedule. I'm booked months in advance but if I have to reschedule someone at late notice, then I generally use my day off.

A movie seen recently: The Exorcism of Emily Rose. I thoroughly enjoyed it though I don't believe in demons or in the notion of possession.

I read the April issue of Fortean Times and really enjoyed reading the sections devoted to ufology despite my disinclination to believe in alien-powered UFOs. I want to be open-minded on the subject.

I actually stumbled across this magazine when I lived in London and frequently used to walk down to a major new-book store (whose name escapes me). At the time that I moved back here, I realized that I could ill afford a subscription to the magazine so I intentionally allowed my interest in it to wither.

Of course, this magazine is now available in some stores around the Big City and the Bigger City.

I have a link in my sidebar to the website.

Out and About . . . Ghosts

It has been a long time since my post. Yikes! Times goes by too quickly.

Yesterday, I only had a few readings but they were great. I really enjoyed them.

Ellen Potter's Olivia Kidney and The Exit Academy arrived, finally, last week and I'm trying to find the time to read. I don't have any spare time especially since the weather started warming up this week.

We spent two days at the park last week. So, things like cleaning and laundry really were ignored. We couldn't help it, however, because once she realized how warm it was outdoors, my little girl wanted to go to the park.

There has also been a lot of garden/yard work: raking up leaves, etc. Watching everything come back to life is my favourite part of the spring season. This weekend, we turn the clocks ahead one hour. It's already very light outside at 6:00 p.m. but I can't wait until the skies darken around 9:30 or so.

There's a ghost who sits on the end of my living room sofa recently: a young man in his twenties with light brown hair. He's not there all the time but I've noticed him a couple of times.

It reminds of when I was a little girl. We lived in a townhouse complex and one of my neighbours was a family with two children. The mother fascinated me. She told me often about the ghost of her father in her car and she spoke most frequently about the ghosts around her home.

Seeing the ghost on the sofa reminds me of one of her stories. She told me that she was sitting on her couch one evening, sewing, when the ghost of a woman came down her stairs and sat down ibeside her. Apparently, she, the ghost, stayed there for a very long time. My ghost doesn't sit down; he is already there, on the sofa, across from me. (It's a sectional.)

I was only nine years old. I was friends with this woman's daughter -- whose other child was my sister's age -- but I spent more time in conversation with her than I did playing with her daughter. I loved her because she was so honest about her experiences: She didn't avoid conversation about it, she promoted it.

I'll always remember the story of the smoke detector. One evening, without obvious cause, their smoke detector on the top floor sounded. Thinking there was a fire, they went to investigate. When they were unable to find any reason that it should have sounded, my neighbour's husband grabbed a stepstool, trying to shut it off, and it did not stop. So, finally, he removed the circular top, took the batteries out, replaced the top. That evening, the alarm sounded again. This time, however, it held no batteries!