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."

Catching up a bit...

Strange things have been happening lately. Besides the usual, that is.

Last evening, I noticed that my husband had placed a newly-received wedding photo of his parents on the mantlepiece. Well, it didn't really fit in with all the other frames in that area. My scheme is black-and-white and the photo is colour, 1950s; my frames are gold trimmed and the photo is framed with brown wood. So, I took it down from the mantlepiece and placed it on the radiator, face down.

Later tonight, as I went into the living room to grab my laptop, I looked above the fireplace: on the mantlepiece--the opposite side of the now removed photo--a double frame of my husband's paternal grandparents was (1) face down and (2) upside down. Clearly, it could not have simply fallen over: It would have had to have fallen and then turned around. It's possible someone is trying to tell me something.

Well, it's my living room and if one of his grandparents is upset, that's too bad! I haven't had any impressions of his grandparents, so I don't know...

Also, I hear 'Mummy' being called, extremely faintly, when anyone old enough to speak is actually out of the house. My baby is only 6 months old. It's happened at least twice a day but I haven't paid much attention to it. Maybe I should.

I keep seeing someone standing near the garage but it's only out of the corner of my eye. If I look there, the image is gone. Mostly, ghosts come in my dreams and my dreams have been a bit 'noisy' lately.

I remember when my older daughter was quite a bit younger, she used to talk about "Ollie", the little boy, who lived in the backyard in my turn-of-the-century potting shed. She doesn't talk about ghosts anymore.

My husband says he often thinks he sees our deceased cat on the stairs in the basement for a split second and, when he looks again, the image is gone.

When I was pregnant, we had plumbers come in to fix the pipes in the basement bathroom. My husband tells me that one of them pointblankly asked him: "Who's really into ghosts around here?"

To which my husband replied: "Oh, that's my wife. She's a well-known psychic."

I apologize for the delay in responding to the dozens of emails that I receive. With a new baby, it's hard to find spare time. I will get to them, tho'.

The Problem of Privacy

Over the summer, I revisited an issue that I'd once put on the back burner, shoving it nervously away from the fore after making a resolution: When I have an impression of someone -- negative or not -- I will not just announce it to the person; I will store it away and try to forget about it.

Why? Though some people have asked if it's because I'm not working at the time and therefore wouldn't get paid for sharing the intuition, it's actually because of a sense of privacy that I avoid announcing my impressions. What right do I have to just intrude on what could very well be a private issue that isn't meant to be confided?

A friend of mine visited and told me that she and her husband had postponed plans to conceive a child. Immediately, I had the sense that she was already pregnant and the impression just got stronger.

When I received the news of the impending birth, I was overjoyed and confided my first impressions then. As it turns out, my friend would not have felt that her privacy was being invaded if I'd shared the intuition.

It's an issue with which I've struggled for some time.

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.

Hiatus Over

OK, I'm back.

It's amazing to me that I'm always struggling to keep up with everything. While I wouldn't say that having two children is difficult, it does keep you extremely busy.

One day, I'll read again. One day, I'll write again. One day, maybe one day, I'll sleep again.

In the meantime, I've continued to book reading appointments into February 2008.

By the way, does anyone still read this blog???

Dear Ghostiegurl:

We have experimented with a kind of "game". It consisted of calling a soul which would give us answers, even predicting the future.

The alphabet, numbers from 0-9, yes/no, and goodbye were written on pieces of paper and put on the table forming a circle. A plastic glass with our fingers on it was being moved by that spirit to give us the answers.

I don`t know the name of this "game" but it used to be very exact in giving answers about the past. I would like to know the name of this game and if it is dangerous. I heard some people who tried it lost some family members. It might have been a coincidence or maybe not.........Please give me some answers.

Answer:

You're talking about a handmade version of the talking board, a method of divination/spirit communication that dates back to ancient times.

It is believed to be an easy way of establishing a connection with the ghost world, especially for people who aren't naturally aware of such a connection. In the 19th century, fascination with the spirit world and communication therewith grew--in the form of the spiritualism movement--and some now-famous people got swept up in what was essentially considered a parlour pastime.

It was popularized in the 19th century but it was marketed in the early 20th century in the most recognizable form of a board-and-planchette game by Kennard Novelty Company and William Fuld's company, to name a couple. Parker Brothers acquired William Fuld's company in the 1960s and produced "The Ouija Board". (Since 1999, it has been a very different-looking product.) There are other companies that produced talking boards under different names and, today, different religious groups have other names for it.

Beliefs about talking boards run to both ends of the spectrum: some believe that it's not a game, that it's very dangerous. In a religious context, it has been labelled "an instrument of the devil" or the playground of demons. At the other end of the spectrum, some people believe that the planchette or message indicator is moved, subconsciously or consciously, by one or more of the participants in the game and that the predictions/answers are actually an expression of the participant's or participants' subconscious.

There is a good collection of literature on the subject of the talking board, each piece detailing anecdotes or techniques or warnings. Perhaps the most famous is the early-20th-century tale of Patience Worth; she was believed to be a spirit--apparently contacted by Pearl Lenore Curran --who produced poetry and novels.

Whether or not to use a talking board is, of course, a personal decision and I, personally, don't like them and don't advocate their use. Why? Because I believe that ghosts are everywhere and those that wish to help us are already doing so.

Many people report false information, vulgar language and insults in their experience with talking boards while a very few relate positive experiences to me. In my years of providing readings to people, I have found that many people are very curious to use one but are afraid to do so. I have never received firsthand or even second-hand stories of injury or fatalities and I've read for hundreds of people.

Not Too Much Longer...

I'm near the end of my pregnancy now and I have even less of a lap on which to rest my computer than I did last week.

My pregnancy has been pretty difficult and posting regularly has been next to impossible. So, posting the many questions that I receive by email and answering them has been a good alternative.

Once the baby is born, I'll post more.

Dear Ghostiegurl:

This happened to me when I was five years old.

I´d been lying on my bed for a long time, and all of a sudden this glowing green human-shaped thing came in my room. He walked around for a while. When I tried to get up and run away, he walked right to the bed, sat next to me and tried to touch me or something like that but disappeared.

I want to know if that was real, or at least if it could have happened. My mother and grandmother both can see dead people and all that stuff.

Thanks.

Answer:

Green seems to be a common colour when it comes to the orb that you sometimes see before a figure appears, in my experience at least. You saw the residual green glow of the orb as the figure became more strongly human-looking, though you didn't see the original orb itself.

I believe that a spirit guide was reaching out to you to let you know that he was looking out for you.

Dear Ghostiegurl:

. . . I'm hoping you can offer me some quick advice regarding my infant and the other inhabitants of my 112-year-old house.

Since my husband moved in early last year, there's been an energy shift in my house -I can no longer sense "the others" as strongly as I used to, perhaps due to the distraction of another living being within the walls. It's been such a whirlwind year with the wedding, pregnancy and birth of my daugther that I hadn't given the ghosts a second thought. But in the past few days even my husband is beginning to notice unusual things in the baby's room - closet door opening by itself, objects having been moved, baby following something with her eyes or staring at "nothing".

As I become more aware of things in her room, my senses seem to be awakening to where I can feel a stronger presence throughout the house. After having my house cleansed a few years ago due to some problems with negative energy, I haven't had any worries about lingering entities (I get a little creeped out by the thought of them at all to be honest and would rather NOT know they are there). But, now with a baby in the house and memories of scary dealings of my own when I was a small child, I worry that the ghosts may cause her fear or confusion. It could be why she mysteriously wakes up for long stretches between 2 and 4 am and seems a little too wide-eyed for a baby who had just been sleeping peacefully.

I'd prefer none of us had any interaction with or awareness of them - but since that's not possible, what can I do to protect my baby from any potential negativity or disturbances? I don't want to call in some big "ghost hunting" team since the matter does cause me a fair amount of fear and I prefer to be blissfully ignorant as to how many others I share my home with. I prefer to discuss the matter with someone who can help reduce my own fear and provide me some tips on how to protect the most important life force in my world.

Thanks in advance for any advice you may be able to offer. Best wishes for the rest of your pregancy.

Answer:

I think that fear is an understandable, instinctive response to the unknown but I believe that it can be overcome. Unless they're around specifically to help you, ghosts usually have little interest in your life. It just so happens that babies and small children are extraordinarily sensitive to that part of our existence and often see what adults cannot detect. (Sometimes, invisible friends are only invisible to adults!)

As regular readers already know (and I do think that I should repeat it here), I usually try to help people become more comfortable with their usually-unseen guests. After all, it's my opinion that there are ghosts everywhere and that all homes have ghosts.

If your daughter sees that you're afraid, she'll likely fear ghosts, too; if you discuss the fear with her and help her to know that it's normal but not necessary, she'll grow comfortable. If you're able to do it, an open dialogue about her experiences as she grows -- i.e., normalizing the experiences -- would actually help her to retain the ability to detect ghosts throughout her life.

I believe that we all have 'spirit' guides -- ghosts that come around us to help us and watch over us.

You're clearly uncomfortable, however, with the idea that ghosts may be around your baby, so assure yourself that you can ask ghosts to leave and you may also simply set boundaries: no entering this or that room, no being around while you're around, stay away from baby, etc. You can set these boundaries simply by announcing them aloud. You do not need a "ghost hunting" team to come into your home or a psychic to come into your home in order to do this.

At any rate, please keep me posted.

Dear Ghostiegurl:

I was wondering do you see souls that have passed or do you only have weird things happen to you? I have had weird things happen to me all my life. It started when I was young seeing what I call 'shadow people' in homes or in the yards. Now that I'm older not only do I see shadow people but I also see people walking through my home, running in my yard.

It used to not upset me until they started to look more mutilated... I've asked them to leave but they never seem to go away. It's not always the same person either. I worked at a dentist office and in one room the lights would flicker; and, when I was there by myself the radio would turn on by its self and the creepy thing would be it was unplugged. No matter what station it was on it would play 'oldies but goldies'. I even have pictures of me at this job that the dentist took and there's reddish orange blobs around me. I'm from Ms and when I try to ask any one about what has happened, they always change the subject. I feel that i'm going kind of nutty, can you give any help?

Answer:

I've always seen/had ghosts around me and I've always had premonitions, precognitions, etc. happen to me. I've never seen "mutilated" ghosts at all. I don't know what to make of that. I grew up around ghosts and became quite comfortable as did my entire family-of-origin.

In all the investigations that I've done, I've advised people that it's better to learn to live with the ghosts and become comfortable with them. I just don't believe in rituals designed to get ghosts to leave. If the situation is uncomfortable, or if you live in constant fear, you may try to ask again. Or, you may simply ask them not to appear while you're around. If they're aware of you at all, in my experience, they usually listen. If they don't seem aware of you at all, ever, then you may just be getting impressions of the past instead of seeing actual ghosts.

In my experience, some ghosts use electrical appliances such as lights, tv, telephone and radio in order to make themselves known.

As you've no doubt experienced, it's not possible to talk about ghosts or psychic phenomena with everyone; in fact, many people are either too frightened, too skeptical, or too quick to judge someone as mentally ill. This kind of conversation can be liberating, so I hope you have or find some kindred friends and I'm glad that you wrote.

--Ghostiegurl

Catch Up

I can't believe how many people have already booked appointments for exactly one year from now.

One of the clients who booked said, "You're really popular."

It kind of makes me feel pressured to resume readings but, as my husband points out, I could always cancel the appointments and tell people that I won't be giving readings anymore.

Then, again, I may really want to do readings at that point. We'll see. . .

Through the fog that pregnancy has induced around my brain, I'm still able to see some things. Actually, I'm intuiting.

It's a close relative's new boyfriend. I don't trust him. I can't even bring myself to meet him. There's something not right there . . . This close relative -- close in the sense that we speak often -- can't understand my reluctance.

I've told her of my impression in this respect but she disagrees, even though I predicted his arrival in her life a couple of months before he actually appeared.

Just Moments Ago...

Gigi was lying down for her nap and I could hear from downstairs that she was finally silent.

As I started to allow myself to drift off, a sudden, loud bang startled me. I called up to Gigi and she was OK. (I almost ran upstairs but I'm not able to do this very quickly since I'm 6+ months pregnant. It was actually quicker to glean information from communication.)

"What was that noise?"
"I don't know."
"Was it in Mummy's bedroom or your bedroom?"
"My bedroom."
"You don't know what happened?"
"No, but Arthur [her talking doll] started talking very loudly and it woke me up."
"OK, where's Arthur now?"
"In my hand."
"Take him back to bed and go for a nap."
"OK, Mummy."

She was unfazed. I didn't want to alarm her by suggesting that anything bad or scary had happened. I still don't know what made that loud bang.

Update

I'm taking time off from readings to have my baby and then to care for my baby. I'm giving readings to the last clients over the next month-and-a-half. I've announced that I'll be back next year but, honestly, I don't know if I will be.

I'm tired of giving readings now. I think I'm burnt out again. I read an article in New York Magazine that described being burnt out as a battery that no longer holds its charge. That's how I feel.

I will continue to write here about my experiences -- and more frequently than has been usual--and, probably, I will give readings once I've had my baby.

A Bad Day

It has been difficult to write for the past few months since I use a laptop and it's no longer possible to keep it on my lap.

At any rate, I couldn't fail to write about what happened early this evening as my Gigi and I waited for Scully to return home.

I was in the living room when she started crying, wailing even. She yelled something about not wanting to be alone.

I ran up the stairs to find tears streaming down her face. She was saying that nobody was around. When I asked her what was the matter, she told me that her television had come on by itself and it scared her.

The television was now off. Her VCR was mysteriously rewinding a tape. She can't reach the VCR and we hadn't had a movie in the machine at all today.

I scooped her up and we sat at the top of the stairs together.

"I need to sit and just calm down, Mummy."

She explained again what happened as I comforted her.

I turned to the room and said sternly:

"You leave my daughter alone. If you cannot stop scaring my child, you are not welcome here."

Gigi was visibly relieved.

The Pregnant Psychic

The day before I even thought of testing for pregnancy, we went to pick up my daughter from school.

In the parking lot, as I was holding onto her hand, she declared:

"I'm going to be a big sister!"

No kidding.

The Helpful Wife

Scully tromped through the wilderness with his friends over the weekend, canoeing an hour-and-a-half to his campsite. He was completely out of reach of cellphones and email.

On the way home, he called me from a payphone:

"I should be home within a few hours."

"OK. Wait...I have an impression." A terrifying image followed a mental picture of my husband but I knew that he would be fine.

"There's going to be a very bad accident on the way back but it doesn't involve you or your friends."

"It already happened. A car was half-submerged in the lake."

"Oh. OK." It didn't feel like the accident I was talking about, but, hey, how could I be sure?

When he got home that evening, he told me: "Some guy decided to walk out into traffic... It was a huge accident! Cars piled up, etc." This happened after talking to me.

I honestly don't know why some people think that crossing a highway is, well, even possible. But, there you have it, someone did and the consequent mess delayed Scully's arrival by about two hours.

On The Phone

I'd been telling my sister for the past few months that her best friend had something wrong with her stomach. Something wasn't right.

Last week, the doctor found something: a bacterial infection.

"You were right," my sister said.

Nice

When clients take the time to tell me how my predictions turned out, I always appreciate it. I mean, people usually just tell other people which -- don't get me wrong -- is a good thing.

I recently helped a client get in touch with a long-lost relative by giving her the name of someone who knew where he was and in which city he could be found. She wrote to tell me that it all played out exactly as I said it would, names and all, and that she was now in touch with the relative.

She was so grateful. I felt all . . . I don't know, just so happy that I could help.

All Apologies

My absence is inexcusable. I've just been busy both personally and professionally. Still, I should have popped in at least once before now.

Stresses have piled up on top of me and, when that happens, I end up feeling disinclined to write. I should write.

Well, the other day, my daughter and I went to the local bookstore and bought a few interesting titles. Eva Ibbotson's The Beasts of Clawstone Castle caught my eye:

When Madlyn and Rollo are sent to ancient Clawstone Castle they fell in love with it --- especially with the mysterious white creatures that roam the grounds. But the owners are practically penniless and the castle is crumbling away. A magnificent money-making plan is Clawstone's only hope.

Helped by a gang of hilarious ghosts -- including a one-eyed skeleton, a sawn-in-half circus girl and a pair of dancing feet -- the children turn Clawstone into a genuine haunted house! Soon the money is rolling in, but just as things start looking up a terrible fate befalls the beasts. Madlyn, Rollo and their phantom friends now face some very sinister enemies...

We have thousands of children's books and I shouldn't be buying anymore right now but, then, I decided that it would be a good addition.

MacMillan Children's Books
Trade Paperback
London (2005)
232 pp

Note:
The Sunday Times
May 15, 2005
Children's book of the week

This weekend

We went to a festival specifically meant for children. There were many activities/stations for preschoolers including a mat full of 'gymboree' toys. Gigi was unimpressed.

She played in a tiny pool filled with toys. She sat at a table and played with an Etch-a-Sketch-like toy. Finally, there was a travelling caravan comprised of instruments which she loved and which was the source of a tantrum.

The sky threatened rain the entire time. So, we headed off to grab hotdogs and make the 10-minute walk back to the car.

My Lips Are Sealed

You know my ethical guideline about not discussing clients or the details of the sessions when clients come to see me?

Sometimes, I really wish I could. But, I can't.

Friday went very well. I know that I have to confirm my next batch of clients now...

Ghost Baby

I'm lying in my bed, barely able to open my eyes after a deep nap. My baby (OK, my preschooler) is sleeping in her room, too.

I can hear my sister approaching on the stairs and she starts to head into my daughter's room.

"Where are you going?" I whisper
"The baby's awake." She says, pointing to the room.
"No, she's still sleeping." The room is silent.
"I swear I heard her!"
"You heard the ghost baby."

Never Say Never

I gave in and did a reading for my sister last night. It was her birthday and it made her feel good to know that I was willing to try. It actually went very well. Ah, it softened the blow of turning 30 . . . though that was so long ago for me that I can't remember the pain.

The hard part about reading for family and friends is the ability to be objective. Still, somehow, being close to my sister -- she's my best friend -- actually helped last night.

A House of Sound

I apologize for the absence. Life happens so . . . quickly.

My house has been kind of quiet as far as ghosts are concerned. After telling a particularly annoying ghost to leave (who, last month, despite a fantastic security system, opened a door to the outside sometime before we all woke up ), there has been nothing very significant around here.

Well, nothing, that is, except for some intermittent banging and loud 'thumps' and the sound of a baby crying. Scully -- who is also my biggest fan -- tried to convince me that the loud sounds originate at a construction site. I know they don't.

My maternal grandmother is making herself known. I don't actually get along with my mother and, about the time that this bout of activity began, we'd had a pretty heated exchange. We are still not really speaking.

As for the baby crying? That's new to me. I heard it just after waking up one evening and it was easy to dismiss as a sleep-related event after I realized that it wasn't my daughter. It's extremely faint and I think my sister heard it, too. (Needless to say, my sister tells me that sleeping over at my house really freaks her out at times. Considering that she's so skittish, I'm shocked that she actually does stay over.)

The only thing that has caused me to raise an eyebrow is my daughter's insistence that she hears noises in her room every night. I've been in a number of times to try to hear them and I haven't detected anything. There used to be squirrels and raccoons climbing around on the roof but, again, I haven't heard them. They may still be there but I think she's hearing something else.

Interestingly, my sister pointed out that my paternal grandfather -- whom I met only 2 or 3 times throughout my childhood -- had the name of Alfred (see here and here). The impressions that I have of the ghost look nothing like my memories of my grandfather: he is young with dark brown/black hair and he wears a white t-shirt. He has a sense of humour and is pretty laid back.

What's Been Going On...

On Monday, we kept hearing large "thumps" around the house. Scully explained that they were the products of construction work next door. I didn't agree. I spend everyday in this house -- right beside the construction -- and, what I heard was the sound of a heavy box being dropped on the front porch.

I was in the bath when I first heard it and thought, "F---! I missed the Purolator guy!" (OK, I swear when I speak to myself.) As I'd stepped into the bath that morning, I'd forgotten about the possibility of delivery. I was awaiting the arrival of the rest of my daughter's birthday gifts and was worried that I'd have to go pick up a large box at a postal outlet with a toddler and a stroller.

Anyway, I jumped out, got dressed and ran downstairs: there was nothing.

The thump occurred at least a few times again throughout the day and I ignored it.

What was very frightening to me -- and it is very unusual for me to be afraid -- happened as I was trying to rest in my bedroom while the baby slept. The air conditioners in our rooms were on but I heard the sound of my living room door open and shut (a door that leads to the enclosed porch).

"Hello?" I called out, leaning over the upstairs railing. Why? I don't know. It's not as if I think a burglar would shout back or anything but what else do you do?

A second later, I slipped down the stairs, ready to close a door or to call 9-1-1, only to discover that all three front doors were securely latched. In fact, the doors leading to the porch have an old-fashioned style of lock that requires much more digital manipulation than those of today. It would be impossible to open these doors from the outside.

Confused, for some reason I chose to ignore my impressions of my maternal grandmother and of another, different ghost. I mean, I saw them but just didn't think about them. It was the day of this grandmother's birthday (which I'd also forgot).

That night, with sufficient responsibilities to erase all-but-essential data from my mind, I went to bed after locking up and arming the house.

On Tuesday morning, I awoke and went downstairs. I couldn't help but scream. The porch door in the dining room was wide open!! How long had it been open? Anything could have happened to my baby, to us, throughout the night.

Scully came down to investigate, assured me that it must have been unlocked but I was unconvinced. I know that I'd locked that door. I know that I didn't open the dining room door at all throughout the previous days.

I believe that my grandmother is here but it's not her behaviour because the activity is uncharacteristic of other visits to others in my family. Someone else is here, somebody more . . . annoying.

Just the other day, last Thursday, I was doing laundry and waiting patiently for my load to finish. After an hour it occurred to me that I hadn't actually heard my washing machine in the longest time.

When I went down to the laundry room, I was astonished to find that the lid to the machine was up -- which means that the machine won't run -- and, thinking that I'd been careless and forgot to actually start the laundry, I went over to put the lid down.

At the panel, I saw that the load was actually almost finished -- meaning, that the load had been interrupted -- and the knob had been pressed down (which means the machine was turned off).

I hadn't been down there at all. My daughter doesn't go down to the basement without myself or my husband and there's no way that she could have reached the machine's lid anyway even if she'd stood on a chair.

So, in the end, I'd forgotten again who I am and what I actually do for a living: If there's one thing I've learnt in the past twenty or so years, when you're doing renovations, activity increases.

The Cat

At ballet class last week, all the dancers were asked if they had pets.

"Yes, I have a pet. I have a cat. It's orange."
"What's his name?"
"Darfy."

Gigi has often spoken of Darfy (whose name is her pronunciation of 'Garfield') and, very recently, I came to the conclusion that it is her imaginary friend.

Scully has told me a few stories over the past couple of weeks that Gigi has related to him. I remember vaguely hearing something about Darfy rolling around and around on her bed.

This means, of course, that I forgot who I am and what I actually do for a living until my sister asked a very poignant question:

"Could she be seeing Avery?"

Avery had been my cat since 1996. He died last year, suddenly, in August. He was, of course, orange. Now, I had to know.

"Gigi, do you have a cat?"
"Yes."
"What's his name?"
"Darfy."
"What does he look like?"
"He's orange."
"Oh, where do you see him?"
"He sleeps on my bed. I tickle his tummy."

This goes to show that you're never too old to learn. Or to be humbled, for that matter. I've never believed in 'animal ghosts' before now. I'd always thought that, if you get the impression of an animal, it's either at a distance (and the cat is alive) or it's in the past. She may very well be seeing Avery.

"Do you still see Fred?"
"No, he left my home."
"He did? Where did he go?"
"He had to go to another place."

The Case of the Crystal Skull

OK, remember when I said that I don't stare at crystal balls? Well, that isn't to say that I haven't stared at them.

I have never owned a ball but a former friend of mine in the university days had one. He wasn't psychic to any appreciable degree but he did have a lot of money. He believed in magic of sorts (and I don't). Unfortunately, he spoke altogether too often about Aleistair Crowley for my comfort. In the days that seemed so distant from our common goal of graduation, we met in the evenings and our quiet friendship lasted about four years.

But I've digressed.

I saw it sitting on a glass shelf in his immaculate apartment. He took it down protectively, placed it on the carpet and showed it to me. I think I stared at it for half a second and thought, Poor guy! He's been taken.

Not wanting him to feel stupid, I said:

"Is it supposed to have an image of a skull in it?"

I've never seen fear or shock grip somebody so quickly. His brown eyes stared back at me and I thought, for certain, that I was seeing fear. No, shock. Both? (I couldn't tell which since, if you think about it, they look pretty similar.) He quickly covered the ball up and put it back in its box. Needless to say, I was completely confused.

"You're joking, right?" He asked.

I shrugged. "No. It looked like a green-greyish skull and it looked like it was manufactured that way." His reaction was bothering me. I truly believed in its earthly origin; he was a scientist, why didn't he?

"I've been staring at it for hours and I've never seen anything... I don't want you to look at it anymore."

Umm, I thought, OK.

So, there you have it: my first and only time staring at a crystal ball. What happened that night? I don't know. I'd obviously seen something he'd wanted to see but what was it? I don't know and he jealously guarded the crystal ball, never allowing me to look into it again.

Scary and Good

Anyway, many of you have asked me for details and I think it's time to dish. I want to tell you about the scariest reading that I've ever done. Well, let me rephrase that: I want to tell you about the reading that frightened me the most.

It happened about eight years before I started reading professionally. I'd always read for friends and acquaintances for free. The settings varied: Sometimes they were done at my home, in the university cafeteria (I think) or a cafe.

An acquaintance of mine always wanted a reading and I think I generally declined. One day, in a cafe, I gave in and pulled out my cards. (By the way, cards aren't necessary).

As I lay out the cards, I could feel a familiar anxiety rising in my chest. Voices around me became indistinct as I focussed more clearly on the task at hand.

The reading went along pretty smoothly: I told him about his past and what was going on in the present very accurately. Then, I saw it:

"You're going to be going on an unexpected trip really soon!" I felt a sense of urgency.

"Flying," I continued. "It could be just a couple of days away but it actually looks like a couple of hours away."

He looked puzzled. "Really? Why?"

I didn't know how to tell him so I just said, "It's family-related." Gawd, I had such a sense of dread.

The next day, I didn't think anything about not seeing him. I didn't see him everyday. I didn't even know him very well. I just went about my secretarial job and went home. Days followed days, of course, until I saw him again.

"You were right," he said, a look of fear spread across his face.

"What?"

"You were right. About the reading. After working that day, I went home and went to bed. In the middle of the night, my family got a phone call from the ---- coast. My grandmother died... We flew out the next day."

I found this frightening for some reason. These days, it's quite commonplace but I was jolted right then. I didn't want to read anymore for anyone.

Of course, you know that I did keep reading but, when I started doing it professionally, I actually called myself the 'reluctant psychic'.

***

Generally, since my appointments come via word-of-mouth for the most part, people leave pretty satisfied with the reading.

The times that make it seem very worthwhile are those during which clients go out of their way to let you know that they enjoyed the reading, like when they tell you they've been talking about you on the radio or want to do so or when they ask to take all of your business cards (which reminds me: Print up more business cards). Yesterday was just such a day.

I don't need the publicity but it makes me feel . . . I don't know, good and much more enthusiastic about my job.

All Walks, Just Thoughts

Honestly, getting back to work, I'm not as enthusiastic as I'd hoped to be but I wouldn't say that I'm burnt out anymore.

I can't believe the number of people that I've met: politicians, doctors (academic, medical, and veterinary), lawyers, strippers, heroin/coke addicts, waitresses, psychics, television producers, abuse survivors, depressed people, psychopathic people, psychotic people, social workers, sales reps, horse trainers, carpenters, authors, teachers, dental hygenists . . .

Life is full of interesting folk. My job has taught me that more than anything else. (I also see just how rare psychopaths really are. Of all the hundreds of people I've met, I believe I've only ever come across one. )

I don't think I began giving readings specifically to help people. When I began to see that I was helping people in my own peculiar way, it felt good. I liked it.

When I see signs that I'm helping, I want to keep doing it.

I know that I'm different from other psychics, probably because I'm so strongly convinced that my ability -- whatever you call it -- is biologically based and not the product of some strange confluence of ether and crystal (not -- cough -- that there's anything wrong with that).

I have spiritual beliefs and I don't think biology precludes spiritual reality. I see ghosts and the past and the future because my brain works that way: It enables me to see what others may not. I feel what others feel, even after they've left a room or when they're on the other end of the telephone.

I don't stare at crystal balls; I don't think tarot cards hold any inherent power. I don't think that I'm special. I think I get information and I, ultimately, don't know why except that this is connected to neurochemical events originating in my brain.

All this being said, I hope that my brain works effectively enough to help me drive in the days ahead. I am relinquishing my status as one of life's pedestrians. As my child ages, I realize that I need to be able to get her to her art class, ballet class, keyboard class . . . Somehow, I foresee it only gets busier from this point on.

Your Opinion

I've been blogging in relative anonymity. This blog in particular has received a great deal of attention.

Often, I receive email from people who would like me to give readings to them.

I've been tossing the idea around: On the one hand, I don't want to make this blog commercial; on the other hand, I'm turning down many requests from people who truly want readings from me.

Should I reveal my identity and offer readings from this blog? Looking for feedback.

Vacation Time

I'm tired. I only have two more readings until my three-week vacation starts (and these are booked for today).

I think I'm burning out. I think that I should want to do readings but, lately, I don't want to think about anything.

It could be that I've been extraordinarily busy at home. After my vacation, however, I believe that I'll be enthusiastic again. I've been doing this professionally for a few years or more now. I see a pattern: I'm busy, I get burnt out, and then I rest.

There's something I want to write about here but it'll have to wait until tonight since I have to do my readings now.

Where Is The Love?

So, I’m sitting at the supper table with my daughter and she’s insisting that she’s not hungry, trying to delay bedtime, long after Scully and I have finished the meal.

I can’t help ruminating: My paternal grandmother visited my brother for years and my maternal grandmother still visits and guides my sister. Neither of the two visits me! There have been a couple of isolated incidents. I see ghosts for other people ALL THE TIME but not my own grandmothers?

My preschooler daughter is pushing food around in her bowl while asking me to not be upset that she’s not eating. Distractedly, I assure her that I’m only upset because I love her and I don’t want her to be hungry while we’re all sleeping. Besides, I’m not really upset; I’m worried. By now, I must be staring into space.

“Yes!” I think, “One should have visited me by now!”

Suddenly, the A-string on my guitar — across the room — sounds beautifully and I’m stirred from my thoughts. The very interesting part? The note does not run its course; it stops less than halfway through.

Helping Out

I often wish that I didn't see dead people, especially when I'm asked to help one without really knowing how or why. Sometimes, however, the reason for the request becomes known to me in interesting ways.

Last week, a friend of mine came to me and asked me to find out how he died.

Without having had any of the details of his death confirmed, I strongly suspected that he'd committed suicide. I hadn't seen him in the years before he died -- we'd fallen out of touch -- and I didn't know anything about what had happened.

So, the other night, I sat watching television after midnight. Suddenly, his image kept appearing to me and I tried not to think about him. When I finally gave up or gave in -- I don't know which -- he said, "Find out how I died."

I thought, How do I do that?

Well, without saying I would do so, I went online and found some reports. Apparently, officially, it's said that his death was an accident but I don't believe it. I do, however, believe that he took his own life, now more so than ever.

I get the impression that his request was for me, not for him. He didn't need a mystery to be solved, etc. He wanted me to know, but why?

I believe that he saved my life once, shortly after dying (though I didn't know that he had died at the time). I had fallen asleep with -- gulp -- a cigarette in my hand (back in the days when I smoked). I woke up because a man called my name, my first name. The cigarette had burnt through two layers of blanket and was about to burn my pajamas. When I woke up, I couldn't place the voice but I knew that I KNEW it.

The voice had been loud and had yelled my name directly in my ear. I know now who it was. Since researching in the media to find out what happened, I can place the date on which I was saved from imminent burns after his own death by some months.

He's with me, at least sometimes. It's nice to know.

Ghost Stories

Things have been so quiet, lately. Even my dreams are pretty mundane. I can't seem to watch TV and I always have my nose in a book or magazine. In my spare time, I'm writing or reading and this isn't to say that I've had a lot of spare time.

The "channelling" experience happens more and more to me, too often to write everything down. I don't always pay much attention to it, either. Like so much of my experience in this regard, it has become commonplace.

I remember a fascination with the paranormal while growing up that manifested itself in a desire to read everything that I could. I see now that it was an attempt to understand what was going on. I needed to know that others experienced the same!

When you grow up watching fans having been turned on (while the switch remains in the 'off' position), hearing ghost children running up the stairs and singing, and having ghosts tap you on the head, it's bound to make you feel different from most people. Thankfully, once I discovered that all of my family were experiencing the very same things and once we experienced them at the same time, I felt better.

Until about five or six years ago, I collected every work of nonfiction that I could find on the subject of ghosts. I couldn't help it. I still have so many that I've yet to read. I even collected in the area of fiction. Once I accepted who I was, however, my fascination just kind of ended and I could get on with just being myself. So, devoting so much energy to collecting and reading in this area was really all about finding myself. I guess we all do it differently.

Anyway, as I browsed through a second-hand store on Tuesday, I came across a collection of the ghost stories of Charles Dickens. This time, as I took a book to the checkout counter, I realized that I was buying it because I like the genre.

The Complete Ghost Stories of Charles Dickens
Edited: Peter Haining
Hardcover
Franklin Watts (1983)

Play-by-Play Today

While waiting for my first client to arrive this morning, I'm thinking about the fact that I really would like to clean Gigi's room but can't think when I'll be able to do so today. At this point, her wind-up bunny -- it plays Brahms's lullaby -- begins to play.

I hurry to her room because I'm excited that someone is here. Just as I open the door, the bunny stops playing. Where is it? I have to search for it. It's lying under her table. I pick it up and wonder, "Who is here?"

Hmmm....

This morning, my daughter (not quite 3 years old) took me completely by surprise when we had the following conversation:

"Mummy, I'm scared."

"Why are you scared?"

"Because of Fred's shadow."

"Really? Who's Fred?"

"He's a very scary ghost."

"What does he say to you?"

"He says, "Hello, Gigi", just like that."

"Wow. Well, you tell Fred that Mummy says to stop scaring you."

Fred is new to me. Actually, I know of a ghost around here called Alfred (I mentioned him here): He started hanging out here a little while ago. Could she be interpreting his name as 'Fred'? Could he have told her that his name is 'Fred'?

I'm Back!

For unknown reasons, I've had difficulties posting to this blog: getting logged in, losing data, etc.

But, everything seems OK at the moment.

An interesting anecdote:

My sister, alone at my mother's house last week, heard loud, booming footsteps coming up the stairs on the porch behind her and these were followed by a loud bang on the screen door. When she went to investigate immediately, she found nothing and nobody there: There had been no descending footsteps.

So, the ghosts on the porch are still there. I used to hear them all the time but now, when I go to my mother's house, I rarely hear anything.

My sister also told me that my maternal grandmother visits her regularly. She actually rarely visits ME. She and my sister shared a closer relationship than my grandmother and I had.

I can feel things slowing down for me: not in terms of reading-volume overall but in the sense that June is my family vacation time and I might have accidentally on purpose scheduled fewer readings in the weeks leading up to it.

I generally do more readings per day than I would like to do and I have shuffled the majority of requests off to July.

I've been gardening with my husband lately because 'tis the season. I'm a bit overwhelmed by the amount of gardening that needs to be done. Last year, I had a small baby and I didn't do much gardening at all. The gardens lay barren, practically. Now my baby is a little girl and I've been able to do more work around the 12-or-so gardens.

Though I'm plodding away out there during spare moments, I'm well aware that I'm ignoring what I normally consider to be the spiritual benefits of working the earth and in nurturing seeds to seedlings to mature plants: the biological connection to the earth, engaging in an activity that connects me to the generations before me.

My readings tomorrow are all back-to-back and this will give me more spare time in the middle of the day.

Happy May Day!


The link I used last year.

Now, you're supposed to go roll naked in the dew or wash your face and walk barefoot in it, at least.

A post revisited.

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!

Iceland, Ghosts and A Busy Day

So, if you've been reading this blog for a while, you probably know how much I can't stand television shows based on the paranormal: Medium, Ghost Whisperer, Supernatural, etc.

Sometimes, a documentary will catch my eye. This weekend, I recorded one concerning Icelandic beliefs in persistence beyond death and it aired on the Documentary Channel. I've yet to watch it but the television blurb itself described the doc as "uninvolving".

It's entitled, Investigation into the Invisible World:

While scouting locations in Iceland, filmmaker Jean Michel Roux discovered that many Icelanders truly believe in the existence of pixies and elves. Enchanted by the beautiful Icelandic landscapes and intrigued by the sincerity of the people he interviewed, Roux pursued his investigation. The result is Investigation Into The Invisible World, a feature-length documentary about the relationship between humans and invisible beings such as elves, ghosts, angels, water-monsters and extra-terrestrials. (The Documentary Channel)

If anyone has seen it or does see it in the near future before I do, please feel free to tell me about it. Time goes all silly in my home when the lapse between the point of recording to the point of watching a show is measured.

Tomorrow, there are no breaks in my reading schedule at all. I often wonder why I do this to myself: I mean, it's my time, my home. I could control this better but I haven't yet.

Lost Tarot

Last week, I discovered that my daughter had drawn in pen over the backs of the tarot deck that I use during readings. It's really cute but I had to explain to people during readings that the marks had no significance to the reading other than that it meant I hadn't been careful enough.

I discovered the artistic impressions quite by accident. There were no bits of evidence to suggest that the deck had been tampered with at all: It was neatly put away in my "office caddy". (She is extremely neat and orderly, like Scully.)

It's my favourite deck. I hardly use the tarot, really, but, among my dozens of different decks, I like this one the best. So, I had to concede to Scully that I couldn't keep using it professionally and I ordered another, similar deck. Unfortunately, I couldn't find the exact deck. Oh, well.

Hopefully, it'll arrive today.

"I live too much with the dead. My mind is something like the ghost of an ancient, wandering about the world and trying mentally to construct it as it used to be, in spite of ruin and confusing changes." (George Eliot, Middlemarch)

I just love the above passage but it's really only a cut-and-paste fragment and has no meaning to this particular post.

I will be one year older in a few days and I think I'm a bit down about it.

My last post bore complaints but I'm determined to see the good in things.

First, I'm not doomed like Cassandra of Greek mythology. Apollo granted her the gift of prophesy but she was doomed to never be believed. This would have driven the poor woman mad. (Well, this and the fact that she had no fewer than fifty brothers.)

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...

A Conversation About Ollie

This morning, as my mother-in-law listened, my two-and-a-half-year-old and I had an interesting conversation. Within three seconds, I reached for my luckily-nearby digital voice recorder and captured it. While I won't transcribe it verbatim due to time constraints, I'll try to recapture the spirit (...sorry...) of the exchange.

She told us about Ollie, how he lives sometimes behind the door outside (potting shed) and sometimes she sees him in the downstairs hallway. She doesn't like him at the moment. He makes her feel like crying because Mummy doesn't hear him. (I have to assume she feels alone and afraid because she is not sharing this experience with me). He calls her by her first and last name.

At some point, my mother-in-law decided to ask a question. I don't know if she was just trying to make light of the situation, but here's what she asked:

"Does he say 'boo!' to you?"

"No, " my amazing little girl explained. "Ghosts don't say 'boo'. Children say 'boo'." Then, my daughter laughed because she found my mother-in-law's suggestion funny.

Well, I asked her to tell Mummy when she sees him or when he speaks to her. I also explained that, if she felt uncomfortable, she could ask him to leave her alone.

At Home

Ooo, time flies, doesn't it?

I get so caught up in our family schedule that I sometimes forget throughout the day that I wanted to blog.

Things have been busy on more than one front lately. Today, especially, ghosts are active in the dining room. You can hear objects dropping a lot.

Oddly, our little girl, when greeting someone, has taken to announcing: "It's me. I'm not a ghost."

Will write more later.

A Week In

I had trouble getting my daughter off to 'school' (daycare) today. She didn't want to leave so I gave her my leather PDA wallet and asked her to take care of it for me until she came home today. Hopefully, it has done the trick.

Today won't be anything like last week as far as scheduled insanity goes. Last week, I had, perhaps through professional guilt due to taking a vacation, so many clients scheduled for my first day back that I was exhausted by the evening. (I did the scheduling months ago and planned for my vacation at the same time.)

Today, there are not so many.

I suppose there are many perquisites to working at home: I set my own schedule, I can go to the washroom whenever I need to and I can throw in a load of laundry between appointments. The drawback, however, is that my home has to be spotless. If you have even one child, you know how hard this can be.

Anyway, I need to get ready for my appointments.

Back To Work

On Friday, my vacation will have ended and I will be giving readings again.

Unfortunately, January--rather than being productive--was fraught with illness. Finally, after a course of antibiotics, I think I'm better. I think.

Running From The Ghosts

My family was very open to paranormal experiences and, every now and then, each one of us harboured the memories of an event that we wouldn't share with the others.

I was no exception. Whenever there was nobody home, I heard the sound of running on the front porch. I could hear feet running from one end of the wooden porch to the other and back again. This would last for a few minutes. Then, after one last run back and forth, I could always hear the sound of the metal screen door being sharply kicked.

For a while, I didn't think about it. For a while, I'd forget about the porch. Then, when next I was alone, I would hear the running and the final kick again. Eventually, I realized that I could hear the running from any point in the house (and it didn't occur to me as strange, actually).

Then, one day, after my mother left to do some errands, I cranked the volume on my stereo. That was when it hit me: I could still hear the running. So, being as young as I was, I thought that this indicated that I was losing my mind: if it were actually happening, there would be times and places at which I wouldn't be able to hear it. I swore to myself that I would never speak of this to anyone.

One evening, my mother opened my bedroom door to tell me that she was going to work.

"Could you keep your door open for your sister?" My mother asked me.
"Uh, I guess," I replied. To me, it was a strange request.

We lived in an old mid-19th century home. My bedroom was on the second floor directly across from my sister's room. Then as now, I liked my privacy so I had only begrudgingly agreed.

"Why? Doesn't ---- want to be alone?"
"No, she just doesn't like to hear the ghosts on the porch."

My secret experience had been paranormal after all and not so secret. As it turned out, everyone in the family was aware of "the ghosts on the porch".

Feverish Activity

I finally secured daycare for my little girl. Now, knock wood, my troubles are over. We have enrolled her in a fantastic daycare, part-time, and, though I'm nervous about it, I know that this is a good thing. She needs to be around children her age in order to learn more about successful social navigation.

She has been sick lately which, in part, explains my absence from the blog. She has had a nasty cold/flu with a fever and this has kept me up at night with worry. I know that the fever is her body's means of fighting the infection but, when it gets high, it is extremely frightening.

We have watched many DVDs--selected on her own--and read many books.

I have to note that her favourite book for the last month or so is still Babar and The Ghost by Laurent de Brunhoff. She absolutely loves this story. (Spoiler ahead.) It wonderfully illustrates how confusing the common adult stance that 'ghosts don't exist' can be to children. Babar and his wife, Celeste, though they have inexplicable events involving object levitation and driverless cars, cannot allow themselves to say that ghosts exist. In fact, Babar goes so far as to actually warn the ghost to stay away and thereby acknowledges its presence but, in the end, reverts back to a skeptical posture.

Our little girl asks us to read it everyday, twice: at naptime and at bedtime. I wonder when she'll tire of it! I mean, she will get tired of it...Won't she...?

Commonplace

There isn't much to write about since my vacation started: I'm catching up on reading and writing, cleaning, watching movies that often feature Steve Buscemi. (I think he is my favourite actor).

I just may have solved my childcare problems: Scully and I have an appointment with a daycare/nursery school in a neighbouring town on Monday. How difficult it is to find daycare in this province! Could it be? Could it really be??

I recently joined a gym and I have been trying to keep a low profile, changing subjects in conversations before anyone can ask me, "What do you do for a living?" So far, people, if they recognize me, have not said anything, thankfully. Two of the staff know and I've been asked questions in a very low-key manner. Some people look at me as if they might have seen me somewhere but can't quite recall...

I've been booking appointments steadily as usual and I even broke my "no working on Saturday" rule by responding to some business email today.

I spent the entire morning doing millions of loads of laundry while listening to edgy covers of Billy Joel songs.

As this post amply illustrates, life as a psychic is pretty mundane this week.

A Ghost Washes Up

At five o'clock this morning, my mother heard the sound of water running in the bathtub. She assumed, naturally, that someone was taking a bath.

One floor below, my sister lay wide awake listening to the sounds of water being splashed about in the bathtub. She, too, assumed that someone was taking a bath.

This morning, they both discovered that everyone else in the house had been asleep, nobody had taken a bath.

As The House Settles Down Tonight

"This house really spooks you," I observed while my husband and I were turning in for the night just a little while ago.

"Yes! It does..."

Scully is a scientist and, before meeting me, he had never thought seriously about the existence of ghosts. Now, he is extremely open-minded.

Our little girl continued over the holidays to speak about ghosts. She actually is talking about (1) the ghostly characters in cartoons like the Backyardigans and (2) her ghost named, "Ollie". (She actually spoke of ghosts around the home before being introduced to the images of popular culture. When she started to talk about seeing ghosts, I decided that I needed to teach her to be unafraid and to speak openly with me about her experiences.)

Late this afternoon, we ventured out to the backyard and she insisted on going up to the potting shed again. She knocked on the door.

I asked her, this time as before, "Who lives there?"

"Ollie lives there."

So, Ollie lives in our house and, according to our two-year-old, in the potting shed. Fascinating. I have seen him around but not very often. She sees him often.

The other day, I heard her telling him that I had put a tablecloth on her little table:

"My Mummy do that. Not fair." (Funny, she didn't say anything when I put it on the table.)

Anyway, I just couldn't fall asleep tonight, so I came down to my office.

What's In A Name?

The holidays have been very enjoyable and I think that everything is settling down again. At the very least, my toddler is resuming her regular schedule and is no longer overwhelmed by company and by too many gifts.

It's a relief to have begun my month-long vacation from readings but now I'm unsettled:

I had a very frustrating experience last night. The ghosts that came to my dreams gave me the first and last names of a person and I haven't any other clue about her identity. She isn't a client of mine (at least, not yet). I've written the name down for future reference.

Also, a ghost from my family's home--in a dream--came to warn me about something but I can't remember the content! She was actually the "ghost from the porch". She was angry, she was dressed in white (how cliché!) and I know that it was important.

Glass Breaks

Last night, between four and five a.m., my sister and her friend were awakened by the sound of glass crashing in the kitchen, right beside them. Apparently, it sounded as if all the glass in the kitchen had been smashed to the floor.

They got up to investigate, turned the light on and found nothing out of place. This is not unusual for the old family home. My sister is accustomed to hearing glass breaking and finding absolutely nothing (though it is usually my mother who experiences this).

Her friend, however, was frightened almost witless while my sister fell back to sleep.

***

Yesterday, a very long day, was my last set of readings until February! My writing vacation begins. I'm so thrilled.

There was something of a storm during the last few days and more stormy weather was expected yesterday; not one of my clients, however, was deterred. One lady even said, "Look, if I have to ski to get there, I will." Blush.

A Light In The Dark

The place is simply abuzz lately with ghostly activity. Both Scully and I have often heard our names being called and, thinking it was the other, were shocked.

Orbs, flashes of light and figures--all seen and sensed--are really notable.

This afternoon, before leaving for our visit with my in-laws, I was entrusted with securing the house and I did so diligently. I made certain that each light was off when I left.

Many hours later, my dear husband exclaimed:

"You left the hall light on!" He was frustrated.
"No, actually, I didn't." I snapped.

The conversation stopped there. You know, the light being turned on could be interpreted by others as intrusion but I thought it was a nice gesture: while we were away, I thought more than a few times about coming home to a pitch-dark house. (It's on a very large lot without extra lighting beyond those on the street. Tucked back from the road, it is very dark.) It bothered me that I had chosen to turn every light off before leaving.

Anyway, there are four spirits around.

Ghost Etiquette

Gigi continues to talk about ghosts that I've seen, too. Lately, the strongest ghost (in the sense of "most often perceived") is in the basement. He is large and he died an angry man. He has not tried to talk to me. I believe that he is associated with the home as a former resident but not a former owner.

Gigi doesn't become afraid very often because, since she started speaking of them, I've introduced her to cartoons with images and songs about ghosts. I also tell her not to be afraid and she says, "Never, never."

Nice is the transformation with Scully: he has had some experiences (recounted at various points in the blog) but it's Gigi's growing capacity for speech and her fascination with them that intrigues Scully.

Since becoming a professional psychic a couple years ago, I have to say that I've become more detached from the ghosts around me. They're there, definitely, but often in the sense that wallpaper is there or furniture even. I guess I'm no longer intrigued by my experiences. I've just accepted them.

If a ghost needs me, it contacts me. If not, it doesn't and I don't push the issue. I guess I've developed a 'ghost etiquette'.

A Tale of Two Parties

I receive a lot of email to I See Dead People. There are often many questions and, overall, it's nice, warm and supportive. One in particular was really touching because I suddenly realized it was from a complete stranger. I couldn't help but think back to a conversation that I'd had at around the time that the media started buzzing around me.

It was with someone whom I only knew as a celebrity.

"Look around you tonight. Many of your friends won't be around in the next couple of years. Before you've even gotten to the height of your career, so many people will have just dropped out of your life."

I tried to be casual. It was, after all, a party and I didn't want a scene or anything like that.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Some will be envious of you. Some have been around because they felt more successful than you. Others will resent how quickly you became successful. And others won't believe in what you do and won't have an open mind."

"I think my friends'll support me." I could feel my cheeks burning with resentment. How dare this person presume to know anything about me or about my friends? Besides, life at that time was all about a great husband, a beautiful home and I went from media event to media event while subsisting on hors d'oeuvres and wine/champagne.

Boy, I was wrong. So, so wrong. Last weekend, I was at a party (a very good one, indeed) and met up with someone who resents me. (I have it on very good authority that she does.)

I dreaded the encounter. I wasn't about to apologize for having made something of myself and I wasn't about to apologize for having a career that most people didn't understand and, worse, wouldn't even try to understand. I often write about what I do for a living but I don't speak of it often unless it's brought up in a certain context or by someone else. So, obviously, I wasn't going to force the issue by saying, "Hey, did you see me on television?"

When I did see her, my own resentment dissipated. I just felt saddened. Here was a person for whom I could be happy if she were happy but who, in turn, could not be happy for me: she knew about the interviews, many radio appearances, the documentary, etc. but she could not mention it.

And, so, the celebrity had been right after all. This person had spoken from experience. I'm not as well-known as she--or, maybe I am but how could I possibly know?--and I didn't ask to become well known nor did I ever expect to be. It has all been a nice--and oftentimes embarrassing--surprise to me.

I could have dwelt on the fact that not all of my friends have come through for me. When I look around now, I see the numbers have dwindled.

When I looked around at this most recent party, I chose only to see the people who supported me. People who said, "Hey, congrats on the documentary" or "I wanted to watch you on television but was at work" or, even better, "How are you?"

These were my friends. As for the resentful former friend, I bid her goodbye. I mean, really, I did. When, as she was leaving, she kissed my cheek and said, "Goodbye", I returned the nicety though my word was more meaningful.

The rest of the night, I was grateful to be among people with whom there was mutual respect. Not everyone believed in what I did but they treated me with respect just as those who take the time to make comments, to ask questions and to send email.

(cross-posted to Miscellanea & Ephemera)

Patterns

My stepfather doesn't have much to do during the day. He shuffles from one end of the house to the other, puffing on his cigarette.

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Puff. Puff.
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Puff. Puff.
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Puff. Puff.

I remember it well from the days when I lived at my parents' home. My sister still lives there; she also doesn't have much to do during the day.

"It drives me nuts!" she yelled down the phone to me this morning. "Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Puff. Puff. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Puff. Puff. Oh my gawd, I'm going insane!"

"You know, he's going to do that when he's a ghost, too.".

Peals of laughter. It broke up my sister's mood. I actually meant it seriously.

Fear and Ambivalence

This morning, my sister informed me that she had stayed up last night and was feeling sick from sleep deprivation.

"Why the hell did you stay up?" I ask with my normal sisterly concern.

"I kept listening to the fridge door opening, to the sound of juice being poured into a glass and to the fridge door closing."

"Oh, don't be silly!" I scold her. "That was just Grandma!"

"I know. Still, it really freaked me out. Everyone else was asleep."

You might have detected just a hint of impatience in that conversation. My family is no stranger to ghosts or to paranormal phenomena and my sister knows that she needn't be afraid. Besides, I was still sleepy.

Ah, forgive me. It has been a long time since my last confession...er, I meant post.

Things have been at once pretty busy and quiet.

My reading schedule is heavy but manageable (I hope) and I'm now booking into March. I can't forget about my 'writing vacation' that take place throughout the month of January. Everyone needs a break, right? I'm overdue for one which is probably the reason behind my slow-to-post-here behaviour.

Interestingly, I've discovered that I have referrals from a local police department. This shocks me and, yet, it doesn't.

More About Ollie

While getting changed today, Gigi knocked on the bathroom wall.

"Knock, knock." she said. "Ollie!"

I asked her why she was knocking on the wall. "Ollie," she replied.

"Is Ollie in the wall?"

She spoke into the little space created by the edge of mirror and the wall: "Hello!!"

"Gigi, where does Ollie live?"

"In Gigi's house. In my house."

Speech Developments

Now that she can speak more fluently, our two-year-old daughter talks about the normally-unseen occupants of the house. I overheard her (and Scully) the other day:

"Daddy..."
"Yes, honey?"
"Ah 'cared."
"You're scared? What is scary?"
"Shadow."

This past Thursday, I took her out to the backyard for some fresh air. It's a very large yard and, at its end, there is a locked shed that's connected to our detached garage. We climbed the old, stone steps and it was cold.

Mini-me turned around and started knocking on the door:

"Ollie!" she yelled. "Ollie!"

"Um, who's Ollie?" I asked her but she didn't want to talk about it.

I have seen the ghost of a young boy around the house but I didn't know his name.

All's Well That Ends Well

The documentary went really well. Thank you to everyone who asked about it.

Basically, I answered questions about myself and my work for about one hour and I did a walk-through of a home while giving my impressions. I hope it was interesting.

I'm a little shocked that some friends didn't congratulate me or even mention it to me. Oh, well.


Our Jack-O-Lantern

Scully carved the pumpkin in the front yard on Hallowe'en. We think he did a great job.

We took Gigi out for Hallowe'en for the first time. It was amazing. I taught her the day before what to expect. Only 27 months old, she said, "Trick or Treat", "Thank you" and "Happy Hallowe'en" at every home. She also surprised us by being able to walk up and down 1.5 streets before she got tired. I also explained, that evening, that we could look through her treats and maybe have one or two before going to bed. She had never had a Coffee Crisp before -- and, thankfully, she only took a bite -- but it was exciting for her.

Several times throughout the week, she watched her favourite episode of the Backyardigans called, It's Great To Be A Ghost.

My readings went well and I look forward to those scheduled today as I wait for my babysitter . . .

I See Dead People . . . In A Documentary

Today, the documentary about my life/work begins. I'm more nervous than I thought that I'd be but definitely not as nervous as my first national TV appearance. I'm used to the camera, I guess, but I can't really believe that it's happening.

Gigi had me awake from 3:00 - 5:00 this morning, so I'm not exactly chipper.

Sleepless

At the moment, I'm listening to talk radio on the station on which I have often been a guest. I accidentally changed some function on our elaborate home-theatre system and, this being the second time tonight, I can't be bothered to problem-solve my way through it again.

I have insomnia and I think that it's due to this illness.

Anyway, last night (Saturday), I dreamt that a major bank was seized by many men. There were many hostages. I don't know the location but I know that the motive behind the crime wasn't entirely related to monetary gain. There was more of a 'terrorist' element than financial motivation. I wish I knew the location. I haven't listened to the news, so I don't know if it has already happened.

Me, In Translation

Will I get lost in translation? I have a client who does not speak English at all and she has recruited someone to translate for her in order to have a reading. This is a new one for me.

An Interesting Experience

Last night, my two-year-old daughter ran into the darkened kitchen and came running back out at double the speed.

"Mummy!" she called. "Mummy, 'cared!" She had never told me that she was frightened before.

"Oh, come here, my baby," I told her. "What are you afraid of?"

"Kitchen. Dark."

I took her into the kitchen, flipped on the light and showed her that everything was okay. Satisfied, we walked back into the foyer.

For some reason that I can't recall, we started singing a song from a Backyardigans episode: It's Great To Be A Ghost.

When I make that moaning sound,
I get the urge to float around.
With my arms out before me, I can float all day
And there's a word I heard a ghost once say
It's boo...

There is a dance that accompanies the music and we love to act it out.

Then, she started talking about "a ghost". I couldn't understand what she
was saying, so I asked her questions that sounded similar:

"Do you see a ghost, Gigi?"

"Yes."

"Where is the ghost, honey?"

Then, she took me back through the kitchen and down the step to the mudrooom area. She stopped at the top of the stairs to the basement.

"There," she pointed without prompting. She was pointing to the bottom of the stairs. I couldn't see anything.

"The ghost is in the basement?"

"Yes."

"What does the ghost look like?"

I forgot that I was speaking to a just-turned-two-year-old. The question didn't make sense to her and I was at a loss for any questions that she would understand.

I had to wonder: Had she orchestrated our play to tell me about a ghost?

The Spectre of Danger

Exposure. Transparency. I thought about these words while reading a book recently--a children's book--that I had considered to be wonderfully original. The main character--a superintendent's child--enters the apartment of a quirky, nay strange, tenant and finds herself looking through objects: everything but the ceiling in this apartment is made of glass including the floor. She can even see the tenants below.

The issue of transparency in this novel is not incidental or an accident of production. Olivia Kidney, the titular character created by Ellen Potter, finds a world turned inside out in which what isn't normally seen is exposed. The author uses various devices such as humour and psychic phenomena in order to achieve this and Olivia learns that things don't always appear as they seem: this is sometimes dangerous and sometimes not.

Reading this book brought back so many memories. Back in the mid-90s, I lived in a three-story walk-up in the middle of downtown. It wasn't in the least glamourous: dingy, yellow walls absorbed the smoke from unidentified burning substances while a feckless 'superintendent' sat on the front steps mentally recording everyone's activities. I didn't want to be there but I couldn't bring myself to leave: there was something familiar about the bizarre array of occupants, even about the strangeness of everyone and everything. It takes time to reach that level of familiarity.

Olivia Kidney knows this well. She has moved from building to building as her father is fired and hired as superintendent around the city. Settling and developing friendships are difficult--if not foreign--ideas for Olivia and her initial uneasiness isn't exactly quelled by the occupants of this latest building.

Again, more memories arise for me. An elderly woman befriended me. 'Ursula' called me--whether I liked it or not--daily and once cryptically warned me: "Nothing is as it seems in this building." When pressed for more information, she squirmed away from the conversation. I never did find out what she meant but Olivia is more fortunate in that she gains insight into the nature of both her surroundings and her relationships.

In this little girl, you'll find courage, strength and a fractured sense of well-being after traumatic experiences. You'll also find sorrow, anger and a determination to conquer her fears.

You'll also find her funny because Ellen Potter has a sense of humour and she's not afraid to show it. At the outset of the novel, Olivia carries around a book--about seances--that once belonged to her older brother. The following is the most original passage that I've ever read concerning the paranormal:

The first chapter of the book was full of warnings. It told of all the bad things that could happen if you didn't conduct your seance properly. It seemed that dead people could be quite ornery about being disturbed. If you didn't summon them in the right way, they might pinch your leg or tackle you to the floor. Then there were the boring dead people. If you had the misfortune to summon one of these, they could yabber on and on about bathroom towels and how the weather was so terribly changeable, and what sorts of plants were best for indoors. And they would not leave either, even after the seance was over. That was because none of the other dead people would talk to them. So they would float next to you, blathering and blathering without stopping, night and day. In some instances boring dead people literally drove living people insane. In fact, the book said, many psychiatric hospitals are 40 percent full of people who have accidentally summoned a boring ghost.

One problematic area of Olivia Kidney is the pace. Olivia leaves an elevator and enters the unknown; maybe she lingers in certain areas longer than necessary. It did seem to slow considerably in the middle but it regained its momentum near the end.

At one point, Potter introduces the possibility of insanity but it is fleeting. You are supposed to decide if Olivia is delusional or if she is experiencing the paranormal. I don't think that this device was necessary. First, Olivia Kidney is not a genre gothic novel and the question of sanity is not required. Secondly, the novel could stand its own ground in an argument about the paranormal. There are sufficient numbers of those who believe in the paranormal to ensure that this book will reach a wide audience.

There are so many features of this book that deserve discussion but the scope of this blog entry won't cover them. Besides, it's better to discover these for yourself. At any rate, this is the kind of book that you'll read in uncomfortable positions if necessary.

Book Information:



Author: Ellen Potter
Illustrated: Peter H. Reynolds
Publisher: Puffin Books (2004)
Format: Paperback, 160 pp
Trim Size: 12.9 cm x 19.7 cm
ISBN: 0-14-240234-6
Reading Level: Ages 8 - 12

Lenses

I've been so busy lately that I've hardly had time to consider what a documentary about me and my work is going to look like. I mean, I'm flattered and honoured that I've been asked but I doubt that I will even watch it once it's complete.

(Actually, I can't believe that it's going to happen: I forgot about the proposal sitting in my inbox and, when I responded affirmatively, I didn't know if the offer was still on the table or not).

I've never watched anything that I've done in the media before. Reading interviews can be upsetting and I certainly don't want to pick my television appearances to pieces (and I'm sure that I could). After being on the radio a dozen times, I don't bother with recordings of the hour-long sessions.

Through A Lens

I was approached over the long weekend to do a documentary about me and my work and I've agreed.

A Note On My Absence

I'm still sick but I'll get back into the swing of things as soon as this illness is gone.

End of Day

I've had the luxury today of staying in bed while Scully takes care of me. I have three comforters on and I'm still cold.

Yesterday, I had a scheduled telephone reading and, given my babysitting woes, Scully had come home early to babysit while I did my readings.

"Mummy! Mummy!! MUMMY!!!" she yelled, over and over again. Bear in mind that our house is large enough to require intercoms and she could still be heard. My client was less than impressed and I had to put her on hold (at least, I hope that she was on hold) while I called to my husband to keep the baby quietly occupied.

It was bound to happen that being a Mummy and a psychic would eventually meet at the same spot. Poor baby, I really wanted to take care of her instead of doing the reading. She was accustomed to having her dinner prepared by me and that was what caused the fussing.

Aaaack!

I'm sick again: fever, chills, sore throat, etc. I think it was only two weeks ago that I was sick with something similar; in fact, we all were. Scully has been very good about taking care of me and the baby.

I had a light day for readings today and this worked out well for me.

Today, the bathroom door was difficult to open when a client was trying to exit and I'm afraid she worried that it might be a ghost. It was just an old door in an old house that refused to cooperate but I could see how it might have been frightening considering that it was my house.

Ken Burns's Jazz documentary is on right now and my laptop battery is running low.