White-haired and Quiet

A few minutes ago, my little niece came running past me and said, "I saw a ghost! I saw a ghost!"  She had just come from upstairs and then from the living room.

I picked her up:

"What did you see? I didn't hear you." Just to be sure.
"A ghost. I saw a ghost."
"Where did you see it?"
"In the living room."
"Was the ghost a girl or a boy?'
"A boy."
"A little boy or a daddy?"
"A daddy."
"Was his hair light or dark?"
"It was white!"
"Did he speak to you?"
"No."
"What was he doing?"
"Standing there, looking."
"Could you take me to where he was?"

We go to the living room.

"There!" she said, pointing to the coffee table area where Mimi was standing.
"Was he smiling?"
"No."
"Well, there's no need to be afraid.  He was just visiting. Just saying, 'Hi.'"

Downstairs . . .

A couple of weeks ago, I expected a guest of ours to appear at the top of the stairs in the middle of the night.  After all, somebody climbed the steps and stopped at the newly-installed fish tank on the first landing.  That's been going on every night since.

Also, Mimi has played with someone called "Lucy" -- younger, maybe two -- on the porch. 

"Do you play with her often?"

"No."

"Oh."

"She usually just watches me."

And the other night, I was afraid that our youngest, visible houseguest might be wandering around downstairs in the middle of the night.  It sounded like a little child in the kitchen -- the indiscernible words, the little shuffling of feet -- so I went down to investigate, noting that the cat was on our bed.

Nobody was awake. 

Lucy is with us for now.

The dining room

Mimi still won't go into the dining room unless someone is with her.  And this weekend, during my reading in the dining room,  my client bundled up the entire time, sometimes warming her cheeks.  At least you couldn't see our breath!  I felt oddly apologetic though I don't have any control over such things; after all, the ambient temperature was 20.5 degrees celsius -- pleasantly warm!

As my client spoke, I kept seeing the spirit of an elderly man around her.  He was kind of distant from her but seemed congenial.  I told her about him and that he was somehow connected to her friend. The ghost's name was Tom.  I'd seen him before around her but hadn't been able to give her a name.  I knew he'd been in an airplane accident and I had told her so during a previous appointment.

"That's my friend's father!" 

She paused and added, "I forgot to mention last time: My friend's father died in an airline crash . . . "

Still, I don't know who is in the dining room.

It has been a crazy week

Though there have been signs that a ghost is around, nobody has approached me in any way. So, maybe it's not about me.

Anyway, Mimi still won't go into the dining room without me because of the ghost with a tennis racket.  I'm not going to force her.  I think Gigi would really like to be able to see this sporty ghost.  I think I would, too. 

I have a bookswap (for moms) meeting to go to at the beginning of next week and I'm trying to decide if I should take some of my duplicate works of ghost fiction and non-fiction.  I keep meaning to sell them; some are quite valuable.  But the space on my shelves is becoming prime real estate these days as I have no more room anymore.   The basement is already filled to capacity with boxes of books.  Last year, we donated about 12 boxes of books to someone who takes the money she earns by selling them and donates it to Haiti.  The year before, we sold a few thousand.  So, the bookswap idea works very well for me: I'm not taking up any more space and I get to read something new.

The moms who usually attend are mostly interested in "chicklit" but I've picked up some fantastic literature on occasion.  I can't wait.  It's funny, though, because only the person who hosts the event actually knows what I do for a living.  So, I might raise a few eyebrows if I bring along my extra copy of Ghosts on 87th Lane or something!

Overheard

I lay in bed resting before supper while Scully prepared the meal and the girls played in the bedroom beside mine.

The girls were chatting:

Gigi: I think there is a spirit in here.  (She always says she doesn't believe in them.)

Mimi: Gigi, there's no such thing as ghosts! (She actually sees them all the time.)

Gigi: Really, I just feel like there is one here with us.

Mimi: Oh.

I asked Gigi what she meant and who she thought it might be.  She shrugged: "I don't know.  I just feel like it's here."

Then, not much later, at the table, Gigi asked: "Mum, are ghosts real?"

"Well, some people believe they are and some don't."

"No, Mum! I need you to tell me if they are real or not."

"I'm sorry, I can't do that. You're going to have to decide for yourself."

She growled at me.  She knows I believe in ghosts but I don't want to tell her what to believe; I want to promote independence of thought.

Walking thoughts . . .

This morning, Mimi and I were leaving the gym and, as I walked through the door and grabbed her hand, I said: "Oh, Daddy got a job!"

When we got to the end of the plaza, about one minute later, my phone rang. It was Scully:

"Hi, guess what? I got a job . . ."

He finds things like that so eerie.

As soon as it gets quiet . . .

Tonight, we were watching, of all things, The Ghostwhisperer and, in the middle of the show, Scully and I decided to take a break for snacks, etc. So, I paused the show and, being the first back to the living room, waited very patiently.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash. I bolted up the stairs and over to the kids' room as Scully asked, "WHAT was that?"

They were both soundly asleep. I checked our bedroom, the hallway, etc. -- all over -- but there was no evidence of a crash. As I turned to go back downstairs, I looked over at my office: There didn't seem to be anything out of place. As I peeked around the door, I saw my laptop computer lying on the floor.

It had "fallen" from my desk. Either it jumped off or somebody helped it along the desktop to the floor.

O, would that I were omniscient. I didn't see or sense a ghost but, of course, that doesn't mean that a ghost isn't around. Hmmm. I wonder what's up . . .

Dining room

Yesterday, as I prepared for my date with Scully, Mimi came into the kitchen:

"I'm afraid of the dining room."

"The dining room? Why?"  There was no need for her to go into the dining room because dinner was done.

"Because of the ghost."

"Oh, what ghost? What does the ghost look like?"

"He has a tennis racket."

Who's That?

One day this month, I heard my 27-month-old waking up from a nap:

"Who's that? Who's that?" She called out. She had never used that phrase before.

I ran upstairs. "Who are you talking about, honey?"

"That man." She pointed to the floor beside her bed.

There was nobody there. I told her so.

"The man was there."

"Did the man talk to you?"

She nodded.

"What did he say?"

"It's my house."

"He told you it was his house?"

"Yes." My heart pounded. I told her it was our house, our home.

"Did he say anything else?"

"He said 'Thank You'. The books."

"What's his name?"

"Jeff. He gave me my [pacifier]."

My heart jumped. We don't know anyone by that name and it's not a name in the few cartoons that she watches.

She also told me that he often visits her and reads books. I told her he wouldn't be back. Though I didn't see him, I asked 'Jeff' not to return.

My children and their 'friends'

At bedtime, my almost-six-year-old announces:

"At night, the ghosts come and give me Poe (an Ugly Dragon toy)."

"They what? How do you know?"

"They give me Poe. Every morning, I wake up and I have Poe in my bed." But she doesn't fall asleep with the stuffed animal and neither Scully nor myself ever gives her the toy before at bedtime.

But the heart-stopper? My just-turned-two-year-old, about a half-hour later as I'm lying beside her so she'll fall asleep, says:

"Ghost, Mummy."

"Where?"

"There." She points above her.

"Sad," she says using the sign for sad. "Misses me."

"Is it a lady or a man?"

"A man."

"What's his name?"

I couldn't understand her response. My heartrate still has not returned to normal.

I grew up with 'em . . .

We gave my younger daughter a very large, wooden, Victorian-style dollhouse. It's as tall as she is. The girls love it.

It reminds me of our old family home. We knew the house was haunted -- all of us -- the day that we moved in. At first, we heard footsteps that would wake us all up in the middle of the night. Eventually, it transpired that each of us heard the patter, and the laughter, of children on the front porch and on the stairs in the foyer. Over time, we were able to put names to the, er, faces via the city's registry.

Anyway, the most striking aspect of the children's presence was that it could be heard -- at exactly the same volume -- no matter where a person was in the house. It could even be heard above the din of televisions and stereos.

I heard running, as did the others, and the incredibly faint strains of "Ring Around the Roses."

Frankly, I was still more than a little frightened by the idea of disclosing my experiences to the rest of the family even though we all knew that the others knew about the running on the porch.

One shadowy afternoon, my mother was napping in her room and I was in mine. I heard her call me.

"Yeh, Mum?"

"Will you turn off the TV for me?" My mother didn't open her eyes.

"Oh, you don't want it on anymore?"

"I didn't want it on in the first place. It just came on again." This had been going on since my grandmother had died a few weeks before.

As I was talking to her and turning off the television, I asked her if she'd heard anyone.

"You mean the children singing?"

"Yes!" I was excited. I was relieved. This was good. "What song do YOU hear?"

"Ring Around the Roses."

My sister had heard it, too. And so began the dialogue that, for so many years, nurtured my intuition and perception.

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.

She isn't afraid

At the beginning of summer, we moved the girls' playroom to the screened-in front porch. The other day, I got Scully to put batteries in the mini keyboard/all-in-one musical instrument. For days on end, I'd been hearing faint classical music but couldn't tell where it was coming from.

Then, Scully pointed out that it was the keyboard on the porch going off due to some kind of "short". I tried to accept that but it didn't feel right. My little daughter, almost 17 months old now, says 'hi' to people and only to people. She'd been saying 'hi' every once in a while throughout the house for the past day or so. Strange, but nothing of great importance.

It got to the point that I couldn't take the classical music anymore playing at all times of the day and night, so I removed the batteries yesterday and then went inside to get a Freezie for the baby.

She grabbed the Freezie, walked straight over to the porch, walked out and said 'hi' in the direction of the keyboards. Then, she held her Freezie up proudly to show someone in the same area.

I told Scully who admitted it was a bit "freaky". The poor guy. Living with three sensitive females must be hard.
Whoever it is, it's her ghost because I get only the faintest impressions.

It reminds me of Gigi who, at 18 months, used to run over to the potting shed in the backyard looking for "Ollie".

What boy?!

This evening, I confess that I couldn't wait to get the children to bed. With Scully being away on business, I'm tired. So, after putting Gigi to bed, I was done and reclining (or, refusing to move, if you prefer). The house was mostly silent except for the sound of the fan in the baby's unused nursery.

But I could hear a soft conversation (with laughter) between two children and I just passed it off as the product of sleep deprivation or a simple error in perception.

Later on, I did actually move and went to check on the children. Baby was asleep and Gigi was, too. Just as I was leaving, Gigi woke up and lifted her head, squinting:

"Mum, where did the boy go?"

I couldn't get her to say anything else. Five-year-olds are surprisingly protective of their sleep. At least, mine is. I must make a mental note to ask her tomorrow to please elaborate. These days, however, I often get a sigh as if talking to me is a real chore; well, at least as if I'm not as interesting as Arthur and D.W.

Not Gone But Maybe Forgotten!

It isn't really that things have been quiet around here for as long as my absence from the blog.

My house is periodically buzzing with ghost activity. Back in February, for example, every night for weeks, one or all of my baby's noise-making toys would be set off. One night, every single toy was blaring music across the hall from our bedroom in the nursery. One night, even I was freaked out and didn't get out of bed. Sometimes, the noise would come from Mini-me's room and she would come running out to tell me.

Just a few weeks ago, she told me about a man named "Cory" in her room who was looking for bad guys. He had a hard "green hat" and a gun and he was dirty. He also had a dog with him who helped him. When I asked if it frightened her, she said, "no" but she didn't think he would find any bad guys here. Then, just recently, I asked her if Cory was still around and she said that he had left to go to another family's house; in fact, to one of her friends' house, just to look after her for a while.

Premonitions are strong. But I've given up readings entirely because of the stress of childcare. I stopped after January, actually. I honestly had no clue before having the baby that trying to work inside the home as well as be a mother of two to very small children and work from home would be so difficult.

Lately, however, I've been able to read more often and I've come across some great titles that I intend to share at some point.

At any rate, I haven't disappeared. I guess I just needed a break.

A fitting Hallowe'en post

Today, something very unusual happened. I lay the baby in her cot beside my bed and left to wash her bottles. From the kitchen downstairs, I could hear her laughing uproariously. She wasn't giggling or babbling as she normally would: She was laughing heartily and squealing with delight. And it was LOUD.

I walked upstairs and her behaviour continued. The temperature, I noted, had fallen in the room. I got the impression that someone -- someone I don't know -- was around her. She was "looking" at something during all this. When my husband came up -- at my request -- he was as surprised as I was. He noted that it was cold in the room and, the scientist that he is, chalked it up to wind coming through the closed window (it holds the air conditioner, so that's a plausible guess.)

"I think a relative from your father's side is around her," I told him.

"Could be," he shrugged.

Moments after he left, the room warmed up and the baby stopped laughing. All the while, a name had been floating around my head. I ran out of the room, down the stairs and straight to the basement.

"Did you have a relative named Mary Margaret on your father's side?" I'd never looked at his genealogy project.

"Yes...I think she was his great aunt."

"That's who is around her."

Visiting Baby

Whenever I come down to my office, a ghost run across the floor directly above me. It happens each and every time!

It's the ghost of a child and the running is at full speed. I get the impression that he wants to see the baby.

Harmless, I know, but it makes me a little uncomfortable.

Update

I've really missed writing here. I just got so busy with my new daughter (Mimi) and my other daughter (Gigi) and . . . and . . . my recovery from surgery was, therefore, not going very well.

I've recently acquired a few novels about which I'd like to write here once I'm finished reading them and I will.

That's another feature that I've always intended to add to this blog: book reviews.

Also, I've received many questions by email and I will get to them all as soon as I can but there is a bit of a backlog...

It's nice to see that people still read even though I took a hiatus for my pregnancy.

The Weekend Is Nigh

I shouldn't complain but I've got five consecutive hours of readings today without a washroom break. Why was I not more careful in my scheduling? Oh, well.

My readings are an hour long and, once I've started, I'm quite happy while doing them. It's just that . . . beforehand . . . I start thinking about other things that I would like to be doing such as practicing the guitar, reading, writing . . .

I know. I'm very fortunate to be able to make a living doing something that I enjoy. So, shut up, right?

Ugh. It's just one of those days, I guess.

My dreams have been of two types this past week: there are those in which I'm reliving a past life somewhere in the southern United States and others that are filled with vague anxieties as well as shadows of people from this life.

One good thing about today: My house is cleaned for the weekend. There are friends coming over Saturday, family visiting on Sunday . . . If I can just remember to email Scully with a grocery list before he gets home, I might be able to pull off the entertaining successfully.

We're all getting sick again, I think. At least, it's the usual: sore throat, etc. Maybe we'll all fight it off!

Does anybody still read this blog? Just wondering. I know that I only post weekly but, trust me, you would be bored beyond belief if I wrote about every single detail...