Eyeliner, a highlight of my teen years . . .

I always thought it hadn't fazed me in the least.

At twelve, my family became unwitting hosts to what would generally be described as a poltergeist though, myself, I'm reluctant to use such a label. Although I did fit the conventional model for such experiences in the popular school of thought, I don't actually believe that a storm of hormone and emotion typical of puberty was responsible.

There was definitely energy 'focussed' on me but not only upon me. At different times, we were subjected to very terrifying experiences and, yet, I was strangely detached, more an observer who occasionally became annoyed than a victim.

I got a rush of adrenaline whenever my mother described the latest event to which she had been witness but that was it. I didn't want to run under my covers and hide.

When objects of mine were destroyed -- while I and the rest of my family were away -- it definitely niggled. I'd had a wall covered with my favourite posters culled painstakingly from magazines over a period of time. One day, returning from school, I discovered that every single eyebrow of every person in each poster (dozens) had been coloured over with black eyeliner. The posters were ruined! And my stick of eyeliner was lying on my dresser. And I wanted to blame somebody, anybody, even my stepfather who had been at work! But there was no one to blame. No one that I could see, anyway.

Again, I was shocked, my heart pumping as my eyes scanned one end of the wall to the other, but I wasn't truly afraid during this episode or during others (and there were many, many more both before and after.)

I find it interesting that I wasn't afraid.

Freaky Friday -- and funny, too

So, today I'm working out at the gym and I see a good friend of mine whom I haven't seen in a week or so.

"Hey," I tell her. "I had a dream about you the other night."

OK, she's hooked. She turns away from the direction of the class and moves closer.

"I've had the exact dream twice now."

Her eyes brighten and she has a conspiratorial smile on her face. "What is it???" At the gym, we keep my vocation on the D-L.

"Well, it's strange. You take me to this show of some sort, paranormal in nature with readings, products, etc. But it's in a church basement."

She laughs.

"My (bimonthly channelling) group is having a fair/event. It's in the church basement this summer. Guess I'll be taking you!"

"I guess so! See you there."

"Yep, see you there!"

Freaky Friday I

The basement was the worst part of our old house. It was old; the stone sweated. The floors were cold and bare and the only time we used this part of the house was to do laundry.

Personally, if I needed to get clothes, I would run down, race to the dryer, and get back upstairs as quickly as I could.

My sister -- six years younger than I -- had a different attitude. While she found it a creepy place, her friends wanted to play there and she ended up spending a lot more time in the basement than I ever would.

(When we first moved in, as I've explained, there were many paranormal events. I remember, especially in the early years, that my stepfather and mother would wake us up with their conversations. They heard loud, heavy footsteps starting at the bottom of the stairs and going all the way to the top, just outside the master bedroom. I heard them, too, but, more often than this, I heard my parents talking about the sound.)

One night, I woke up because -- two floors beneath! -- I heard sounds coming from the basement. It sounded like heavy wood hitting concrete or stone. As my parents and I sat and listened, we heard chop, chop, chopping sounds followed immediately by a hollow-sounding thud (wood on stone). This happened over and over and over.

My mother and I ventured -- on tiptoes, for some reason -- down to the kitchen and approached the basement entrance. The sounds stopped. This happened several times.

When I look back, I shake my head and I think how fortunate I am that other people experienced these events at the same time as I did . . .

I'm BACK! And Freaky Friday is here.

Well, I didn't actually go anywhere. But, after a 2.5 year hiatus, I'm booking reading appointments again.

It wasn't just burnout that caused me to want to stop that long while back: Having children, requiring childcare, etc. all played a part. Also, I was worried about the stigmatizing effect it might have on my children. But, I've worked it all out and, if I'm very discreet, it can be done.

The last thing I want to teach my children is to be uncomfortable with who they are; but, let's face it, childhood can be difficult where peer relationships are concerned.

My intention is to post daily but, additionally, I want to post weekly about a psychic or ghostly experience.

Let's start now: we'll make it Freaky Friday.

Recently, I had been hearing cupboards door slamming, people walking around upstairs in the evening and during the day. I called out (for I'm a lazy psychic) and asked, "Scully? Is that you?" or "Girls, are you running around up there?"

Of course, Scully was watching a video on his laptop with the HEADPHONES on and didn't even hear me, let alone budge from his comfy spot. And, the girls? They were asleep each time it happened.

No, I didn't think I was losing my mind. I didn't think this each time I felt a presence or when I heard a gravelly voice call my name.

Then, a day after the last event and week after the first, I received a phone call from my sister:

"I'm sorry to disturb you this late, but I just had to tell you! (Terri) died!"

I was stunned, actually. I'd known her for about 33 years. She'd babysat us daily. I'd grown up with her own children.

Then, a phone call to my mother:

"She died last Wednesday, a massive coronary."

"Oh, between 10 and 11 pm?"

"Yes, that's when they believe it happened."

Well, that's when Terri had started visiting me. Slamming my cupboards though? Let's just say, I'm not the most organized psychic nor am I the best housekeeper. She was organized, immaculate. In my own way, I'll miss her.