Part III: Unexplainable, but interesting...

I look back now to my growing up as a mix of moving a lot and of unusual experiences mixed in with a lot of normal.   Maybe the early not so normal experiences were, in some way, a preparation for what was to come. Time passes. The business of life can sometimes be a bit overwhelming and one tunes out some things. It’s a matter of survival. Moving now to more current and in many ways better and easier times -- I started to notice “out of the ordinary things” a few years after I had settled into my new home which I had built in 2001 and where I still live now twenty never boring years later.  A case in point -- one grandson, when very young, was talking about things that he had no way of knowing – odd things really.  I asked him how he knew whatever it was that he was talking about, and he told me that my friend had told him – the one I had the photo of on my dresser at that time.  Now that was understandable to me as I had lost a good friend a few years prior to my grandson’s arrival, and it only made sense to me that he might be communicating with him is some way.  Further -- I think this friend might also have been communicating with my granddaughter even before she could talk. She would look up, smile, listen and laugh at someone no one else could see.  It was later, when she could talk, that one day, reaching her limit in patience, she blurted out to a someone/something no one else could see, “Stop tapping me on the head!”  It was at that "enough now" moment that I decided to begin paranormal research of the property including my barn and on what has become known rather tentatively, yet fondly, among family members, as “the creepy corner” inside the house itself.  

And so, it began – a series of mediums, psychics and a team of ghost hunters who liked to come to my land, barn and home to test new equipment.  Why?  – because there is so much activity here. (Actually, I think the ghost hunters would prefer to be called Paranormal Investigators. Sorry.  The ghost hunter thing just slipped out.) Anyway – they think my property is a wonderful place for exploring the unknown. For me that is a dubious compliment, but we have had rather amazing experiences in my home and barn…and on my land – especially in one garden where one medium told me not to dig too deeply. (How creepy is that?). Conformation of this is that one of my dearest friends, who has the gift of intuition and mediumship, has told me more than once that when she comes into my home, she doesn’t know if “they” are all waiting for her, or if she brings them with her.  (How does one respond to something like that?)

Activity is sometimes so commonplace that my granddaughter, for a period of time, would mention casually that Nanny (that’s me) has a portal in her kitchen. That is how some of the expert opinions explained it all.  The was a time when my granddaughter tended to speak of this to visitors when they dropped by. These people were often total strangers to her, but I guess she thought they should know - especially if they were standing on the spot that one investigator had designated as the portal area. (I think of that often when standing there while making toast.) Imagine, for a moment if someone indicated that you were standing on a portal.... Anyway -- she would mention it as if the portal were a point of interest like one might point out hand painted wallpaper or even something more commonplace and not at all exceptional. I actually have no idea how many people she shared this with. Eventually I mentioned to her that some people may find the idea of a portal to be a bit unnerving … that perhaps we should keep the portal business within the family for now. Portals are not good Show and Tell topics.  She gets it now a few years later – now that she is a grown-up 10-year-old.  For a while though -- after our "talk", she whispered the world portal when talking about Nanny’s house – much like my Mom used to whisper the word cancer.  What can I say? I have to admit that I did find the whole thing amusing.  Both my nearby grandkids take it pretty much in stride these days. They have grown up with it. Things have been relatively calm of late and the last time there was an unexplainable loud noise in the kitchen, my grandson and I just looked at each other and shrugged.  It was a bonding, but “there they go again” kind of moment.

Anyway – the consensus of the experts I invited to explore the situation -- mediums (3), psychic (1) and the ghost busters (an entire team, who came several times) is that there is nothing negative or dangerous going on here.  The "entities" (is that a euphemism?) seem to be passing through (perhaps sometimes utilizing the aforementioned portal in my kitchen). It is the land, actually) that is the basis of activity. Part of my home just happens to be sitting on that land.  There is also a lot of activity in my small barn. Lucky me.  Further -- the collective opinion is that there is a strong Native American presence as well as other spirits hanging around, but it is important, I think, not to discount the possibility of a residual haunting presence of runaway slaves. Whoever they are - I live with them.  They don’t bother me at all except for the pipe tobacco smell now and again. I don't like anyone smoking in my house. The occasional tapping, knocking, bells ringing, or gentle brush on my face that feels like spider webs is nothing I can’t handle. I do find that guests are sometimes not so easy-going about the taps which, sometimes, are more grabby than tappy. I don't get a lot of company.

Things that bother me more are of an electrical nature like the TV coming on in the middle of the night, but that has only happened once… so far.  It was startling - blaring actually. I thought there were people arguing in my living room, and I didn’t invite them. Scary.  Then again there is the fact that my son, when visiting one time, refused to sleep in the back bedroom after a rather impressively firm grab on a leg.  Now that he brings his dogs, (yes – plural wagging tails), things seem to have quieted down in that room… the hangers in the one closet have stopped rattling and nothing has grabbed him in the dark --- recently.  Point of interest -- that same grabbing thing happened to my nephew’s wife. They haven’t been back to visit since then. Actually - now that I think of it, they did come back once since then, but they stayed at the local Cobblestone Inn.  Anyway -- the level of activity varies.  Another grandson once mentioned that it sounded like someone was preparing an entire meal in the kitchen in the middle of the night. The sounds woke him up and kept him awake. He hasn't come for a visit in quite a while. 

These kind of things affect people differently. Denial is real.  My son-in-law was, until a couple of years ago, a total sceptic.  Then he heard voices in the room near the kitchen where he was washing up a few things, and he realized that everyone was outside – including the kids. Then when these “entities” leaned in and began to whisper in his ear, he joined the rest of us outside on the patio -- immediately, and of course, had to share the story of his conversion from a sceptic to a believer -- complete with his wonderful sense of humor. He is an outstanding story teller. His goose bumps were most impressive.  He says now though that nothing whispered to him, but that is not how I remember it.  My daughter-in-law, however, is still a bit on skeptical side, even though I have seen her react to a presence. Actually, everyone in the room saw her turn to look as if she had been tapped on the shoulder. I think I may have heard her say "What?". Those kinds on taps are pretty routine “stuff” around here.   Those in the “fam” are quite used to it. We hope that she will join the rest of us soon.  Her level of hope for that? Well - maybe not so much, but she is a good sport about the whole "thing".

 

But – there is more…. 

  

Part II

 

… to continue …

There was a certain level of ESP or telepathy that I witnessed between my Mom and my sister. I observed this tender, and at times poignant connection, my entire life.  They knew what the other was feeling… and thinking. They finished each other’s sentences. They communicated with their eyes.  This ESP was a firm given in our family dynamic.  It was comfortable.  I didn’t realize that not everyone had that sort of communication somewhere in their lineage.  It’s a nice thing really. Wish I had paid closer attention.  Wish I could have figured out how it worked.  But there is more…

As far as other single incidents of the unexplainable go ... and I am not thinking of all of them at the moment … I have a couple of favorites.  They both occurred at the corner of Wayne Street and Columbus Avenue in Corry, PA in a home where I lived from age 8 to age 20. (It was in a house across the road from a home that was a part of the Underground Railroad… our section of the county having been a bit of an Abolitionist hot bed thanks to the good people of Beaver Dam, PA.   A slight digression here… runaway slaves are thought to have moved along what was called the Beaver Dam/Columbus Turnpike (currently Turnpike Road) and on toward Canada and freedom. I discovered this important tidbit of information when researching the small parcel of land that I own in Wayne Twp. PA (more on that later).  Anyway -- we came home from church one Sunday morning to our locked home only to find that someone/something had been sitting on the couch in the living room – reading the Sunday newspaper. It was spread out all over the place.  Now we know this was an intruder of some sort because my Mom would never have allowed anyone to read a newspaper while sitting on that couch.  Back in those days, newspaper ink smeared off on everything.  You could smell the ink and you needed to wash your hands after even a glance at the “funny papers” section. 

The second incident that comes to mind at this location was the case of the missing a sewing project.  The material, pinned to the pattern, cut and ready to sew, disappeared and then reappeared several years later.  I found it wrapped in an old towel in a built-in drawer in the attic of that home. Very weird.

Hmm – then moving to relatively current times….  These at home episodes call to mind the framed print of Santa Claus that has been missing now for over 15 years in the home where I currently live.  I wonder where and when that will be found?  Hope it is soon. I miss it.  It belongs on the mantle in the living room during the holiday time, or perhaps on my Mom’s easel for Christmas Eve celebrations.   Every year now for the past few years, I have offered an ever-increasing reward and mounted an in-home search – to no avail... even though I have to say that my grandkids who live nearby are outstanding snoops -- definitely of the highest caliber. I have trained them well.  I sometimes call them when I can't find something, and they usually know where it is. I love that about them. Anyway -- I have no doubt that Santa will miraculously show up when I least expect it. 

I sometimes wonder if the same mischievous presence that I recall from my days as a young child, then in the Wayne Street house and on to where I am now has moved with me from place to place all throughout my life.  To continue and to backtrack a bit – It occurred to me when I was a freshman in college that this Wayne Street house “presence” had gone to Allegheny College (Meadville, PA) with me Freshman year.  By then I had named it JJ, and was totally comfortable with it hanging around.  My roommate?  Not so much.  She left after freshman year.  She said it was because she didn’t get into the sorority she wanted, but I always thought that JJ might have had something to do with her departure.  She was particularly annoyed, perhaps freaked out is a more apt expression, when, for one thing, the window blinds would go up and down slowly -- by themselves.  When you are used to something, you tend to forget that certain things bother other people.  I honestly don’t recall much activity when I was finishing my undergraduate studies at Skidmore College, but then again, I seriously think most of the town of Saratoga Springs, NY is haunted in some way… lots of historical activity there, including perhaps lingering "memories" of the bloody battle that insured the American victory over the British in the Revolutionary War in 1777.  Yep – that Saratoga. I could even feel "it" when walking down the sidewalks in the center of the town. Not creepy -- just sort of an atmosphere of something hanging around like an invisible light mist... sort of there, but nothing you could really put your finger on.

 Unexplainable, but interesting…  More next week….

 

Part One: Unexplainable, but interesting...

The world seems to be full of things that are difficult to understand and I am thinking that it has always been that way.  People are confronted with the unexplainable -- like a pandemic of some sort, border issues or... politics putting its big nose into everything.  Seriously....  It is exhausting (as I have said before... maybe too many times).   Right now, though, I want to switch gears and take a look at what is my world and those things that are unexplainable but interesting to me.  Writing helps me sort things out or at least to explore them....

The saga begins...

When I look back on it, I don’t remember ever feeling really “to the core frightened” – not even when as a child I found myself wondering, in the silence and darkness of the night, if something were in my room with me… although… getting up enough courage to look under the bed was sometimes a challenge. Later on, when upon returning home, I became aware of sensing that someone had been/was still there – moving around within my personal safe haven, I guess I always thought that I was not alone in this… that everyone sensed a presence or had a certain tinge of awareness that only peeks its head above the surface once in a while. Should I have paid more attention…honed my focus? Even now, I let a lot of weird things slide.  I am comfortable with a certain amount of the unexplained.  It’s interesting. Living where I do now – I have a lot of experience with the unexplained.  I am thinking that not everyone lives on "haunted" land (more on that later) … yet… perhaps it is that not everyone is aware of it.  Maybe we all need to pay closer attention.  Maybe we all need to develop a certain kind of mindfulness.

Perhaps this lack of fear is, because from a young age, I was familiar with various levels of the hard to explain.  For example, one of my aunts could see things that were going to happen.  It was sort of unnerving to get a call from her. You never quite knew if you wanted to know why she was getting in touch. I sometimes found myself holding my breath when I heard her voice. One time she called me because she wanted help getting in contact with my Mom.  At the end of the conversation, she simply said… “Be thinking pink’”.  My daughter was born a few months later. (That was back in the day when no one knew the gender of the baby they were carrying.)  My family explained her special abilities by agreeing and totally accepting that she was "clairvoyant". Anyway -- the family story, as it was told to me, was that it all began when she was four years old.  She described, in great detail, a horrific train wreck. This was dismissed as the vivid imagination of a young child … until the next day … when the exact scene she had described appeared as a photo accompanying the report of a train accident. This photo appeared above the fold on the front page of the local newspaper.  And so, it began…. 

This “gift” was a blessing and a curse. She struggled with it her entire life.  It was a difficult journey for her.  I hope it helped that we always believed her.  A case in point – is something that happened one time when I was visiting in their home in Eastern Pennsylvania.  As I remember it, my aunt came into the kitchen and told her four sons to rush to the bottom of the alley way to help their father because he had fallen on the ice and was hurt. Second sight.  Without questioning, they immediately dropped their morning toast, grabbed jackets and headed out the back door.  They found him crawling back up the alley way… with a broken ankle. That is just one experience. Her stories abound – including her particular ability to locate lost objects even if they were hundreds of miles away from her. She once called my Mom and told her that the ring she was looking for had fallen down through a radiator and my aunt was able to tell her how far from the left side of the radiator to look down at the floor underneath. There was the missing ring. She also knew how to locate important maps of secret campaigns during WWII, but that is a whole other story.  All kinds of these stories were a part of my growing up.  They were definitely an integral part of other hard to explain experiences as well. As I got older, I must mention that I found it rather ironic that my aunt worked for a newspaper.  Honest -- you can't make up this kind of "stuff".  It happens.... 

More next week ….

Sometimes there are memories...

Today a thought popped into my head -- not sure why. I decided to run with it -- probably because it makes me smile and also because it brings back some fun and goofy memories of times with my sister while we were growing up. I miss her (it will be three years this week since she left us). I have lots of those fun growing up memories and of other times we shared later on as well; that is good. I hang on to them. They are treasures. Wish we could have had more time ...  thankful for the time we did have.   ... to continue ....

I have won two trophies in my entire life.  (It's not an impressive trophy list.) One was in a summer program called Jr. Golf and everyone got a trophy of some sort... so they basically meant nothing. I think I was about 10.  Anyway -- I won the end of the season trophy for being a good sport.  My sister and I thought of it as the "good loser" trophy. In truth I have never enjoyed golf. Neither did my sister.  Actually, she was more of an indoor person.  Think I referred to her more than once as a house plant. She loved me in spite of that. She loved me in spite of a lot of younger sibling shenanigans.  But -- back to the golf thing and to continue my rambling -- I don't like playing, watching or hearing about it. For me the best part of Jr. Golf was getting to walk around outside.  Now golf carts have pretty much ruined that aspect as far as I can tell.  Does anyone walk a golf course anymore? Does anyone walk just to be outside -- for the fun of it?  I see very few in my travels...  By the way, I find walking to be a lovely pastime.  I should do it more. (My sister came to love walking outside as well. She was at the expert walker level for sure. She should have had a trophy for that.)  By the way -- my Jr. Golf trophy eventually disintegrated.  I think it was made partially out of a coconut. So - I am now down to just one remaining trophy and the last time I saw it, I think it was damaged somehow - can't remember exactly how. Don't care really.

Anyway -- this "last trophy standing" is the one I won in my high school days.  My speech teacher convinced me to enter an area competition in original oration. I was too afraid of her to decline. (A smile from her was a rarity indeed. She also had rather severe facial expressions and remarkably hairy arms. Those are the three things that stand out the most in my memory. Can't help it.) I still have that trophy somewhere in my book room -- probably pushed back behind books on a shelf somewhere.  My books tend to be two deep on those shelves.  I need more shelves but the ones I do have already run from floor to ceiling in that room, and I simply don't know where else I could put more. Books seem to be stacking up all over the place these days. (I do not like electronic readers.) Anyway -- my sister dubbed it the "gift of gab trophy".  It makes me laugh to think about.  She took the time to write me a little note of congratulations as she was away at college at the time.  Wish I still had that note... probably do if I could remember where I put it.  I hope someday to run across the box where I stored all such treasures.  In the meantime - there are the memories. I cherish them. They all seem to run together sometimes; don't they? 

Now that I think of it -- I just wish I had made a trophy to give to my sister - it would be a best ever sister trophy and it would be impressive... and it would not fall apart. Knowing her, she would have placed it in a position of honor somewhere in her home office.  Her office held all sorts of treasures - each one with memories of its own. Yep. Sometimes there are memories.   

...a Slugville of my own making...

 

Some days I live in a “Slugville” of my own making and it is really sort of enjoyable. I pad around the house or wherever – content but not exceptionally motivated to do much of anything.  Recently when spending time in Slugville, I was reading a short column entitled “What to Do in APRIL” The suggestions included things like a severe warning to be aware of pandemic-savvy identity theft and how to avoid all-too-common Zoom meeting mistakes like standing up when you have only dressed the top part if your body. (Who does that?). Particularly mind provoking were suggestions on how to grow your own herbal tea while at the same time using garlic to boost your health.  Oh – April is also National Poetry Month.  BUT -- more importantly -- April is National Humor month! (That section begins with a “Laugh a little” suggestion and ends with websites for puns and hoaxes, etc.)

Now scuffing around in Slugville and reading that kind of wisdom is okay once in a while.  It’s restorative for me and it balances “things” out.  Other days though, I am up and alive and ready to go. And – related to the laughter suggestion mentioned above -- one thing that I especially love about those “other” days is the potential for laughter – maybe because laughter usually involves more interaction with real people. I like real people – well – I like some of them.  There is absolutely nothing like a good, hardy laugh – especially at something that pops up unexpectedly like the time my 10-year-old granddaughter was explaining to me that she felt it was her obligation to be the annoying little sister from time to time as it is an expected behavior indicated in the younger sibling's "job description".  Yep… she did say that.  Then there was the time, just a couple of years ago, when two of my friends and I were trying unsuccessfully to apply cheap false eyelashes in front of the same mirror at the same time. You had to be there to appreciate the full stomach hurting hilarity of that. Seriously though -- unexpected laughter is, for me, a deep joyfulness. Laughter is, perhaps ironically, a most serious thing.

Simply put – I love to laugh. Although I have been known to enjoy my own jokes, I don’t usually find myself to be particularly funny – but - I so appreciate funniness in others for sure. Luckily -- I am blessed with two extremely funny children.  They married people who are also extremely funny.  It is no surprise to me that their children, my grandchildren, can easily make me laugh. Is this trait hereditary? Anyway -- our times together are often a bit of a laugh fest – at least off and on.  It’s fun.  The bursts of laughter sometimes come from things like comments made by a grandchild at the dinner table – the “out of the mouth of babes” type of comment.  Or – there is the laughter induced by an outrageous meme of some sort. Shared memes are prevalent and popular these days  (especially in my family) --  wonderful… brilliant… true, and surprisingly, sometimes painfully, accurate... not to mention socially unacceptable at times  -- which makes them even funnier. (Who thinks of them?)  And… I must mention the laughter inducing group texting “thing” that my children inflict on me -- all too often.  I do admit that it is lovely to be included but … I sometimes participate in sleep texting mode and then laugh at everything the next morning.  (I never could get my kids to go to bed  -- especially my son. I just tucked them in at a socially acceptable time and hoped for the best.  I must say they turned out very well indeed in spite of that and the fact that I am still not sure that my son ever sleeps or has ever slept.) Back to the present though -- aren’t adult children wonderful?  It is heavenly to hang around with them and especially relaxing to listen and be able to say something like, “Oh my… you will have to let me know what you decided to do about that.  That’s a tough one for sure.”  Yes, I am a retired person -- in all realms.  Well -- retired most of the time.  Back to laughter though… 

Sometimes old sayings hang around for a reason and that reason is that they are true – for all times and for all people everywhere.  “Laughter is the best medicine.”  Actually, I read one other time while in Slugville, that a good laugh really does strengthen your immune system, lessen aches and pains and protects you from the damaging effects of stress.  See – living in Slugville once in a while is not a bad thing.  You learn stuff sometimes. Really. I do think that people create their own unique escape havens.  Sometimes they are called Slugville. We need them these days. 

Happy April 1, 2021. No joke....