Craftsmanship Revisited

Many of you know I've been trying to get back in touch with "me" time and what makes me happy. In relation to this, I am re-running an excerpt of a post from the early days on my blog, about pursuing who and what you were meant to be.

I'm a busy busy girl still ... please forgive my lame blog habits. But hey, recycling is good for everyone, right? ;)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A painted garden spider was building a web between the dogwood and the hedge outside of my front window yesterday evening. The Hub and the boy were cutting the grass, so I had the time to sit for a while and watch her work.

I love spiders. I know this is an oddity among women, but I really do. Not only do they eat bugs that I’m less fond of (like mosquitoes and flies), but they are nature’s graceful epitome of the trade master and artisan. Delicate. Precise. Patient.

All the things I’m not.

I was reminded of a class I took in college as I watched her weave. It was a strange class of which I don’t remember the title, about becoming aware of our connection with Mother Earth and all her beings and elements. It was taught by an aging hippie with pewter colored hair that had not been cut (or shaven) for a long time. She wore cotton tee shirts and peasant skirts, and always jingled faintly when she moved, the way Hindu women do.

Part of the course involved picking a creature or element that would be our “life form” for the duration of the course. Something we would connect with, commune with and essentially become, symbolically and transcendentally. As our exercises evolved, so would our connection with their roles and purposes on the planet.

I chose the spider. The spider is a creature that I have always been fascinated by and respectful of, and this exercise in observances taught me much about why – and what I desire in myself metaphorically - perhaps the root of my admiration of them.

These memories of lofty standards pined for came back to me as I watched the garden spider work. She busied herself intently with her project, weaving skillfully. A perfect web. Beautiful. Delicate. Strong. Practical and functional. Graceful slender legs moving, maneuvering, measuring effortlessly. I thought upon the lessons of how success is rewarded for immaculate craftsmanship, lack of discouragement, and a bottomless well of perseverance and patience.

Perhaps my flippant attitude towards the notion of pursuing my crafts more seriously relates directly to that. The skills and traits of the spider within are not what they used to be. I don’t take myself and my so-called talents seriously anymore. But perhaps it’s not a matter of taking, but of simply being. Being what you were designed to be – doing what you were designed to do. The spider doesn’t worry about failure, only in creating what she must to live the life she was meant to live.

Thief

Most Beautiful Dog is not only beautiful. He is a problem solver. From the time he was just a tiny dollup of a pup, you could look in those scintillating amber eyes and tell his little gears were always turning - always putting things together to find a means to some devious end.

As I have comfortably grown into my thirties, making emancipating decisions about what's important and what isn't, I have abandoned the high maintenance hairstyles of my youth. For many years I have simply let my hair grow as it may, wielding arguable control over my locks with a variety of hair accessories.

MB Dog is obsessed with my hair ties. He must love the smell of my hair or something, but he has always confiscated any scrunchie, band, or barrette he could get his mouth around. I have to be sure to put all hair notions away in order to prevent this. Still my hair ties continue to steadily disappear for a few days, only to reappear ... in the back yard.

The Hub's been after me about it, and rightly so. I agree, it's not good for him. It could make him very sick. But I swear, I put that stuff in its designated drawer in my bathroom, and am sure to close the drawer. Always.

The Hub eyeballs me suspiciously at that. I get the feeling he doesn't believe me. But I swear it!

The other morning, I just happened to catch what's going on.

I had gotten myself ready for work and was getting Incrediboy up and at'em. As always, I was careful to close up my hair fixins drawer. As we shared our morning chortles while I changed him into his clothes, I heard a very soft, almost undetectable sliding of tracks in my bathroom. Being that the Hub is out of town this week, I had a sneaking suspicion who was rooting around in there. I made sure Incrediboy was secure and tip toed into the hallway to see what was going on.

There, in my bathroom, stood Most Beautiful Dog. Face buried deep in my hair notion drawer. Apparently, he has figured out that if he takes his lovely, obsidian-nailed, bespeckled paw and places it just so on the drawer handle, he can slide it open and reveal the goodies therein. A virtual bad dog buffet.

Mystery solved. Little sneak.

I said his name in my stern mother voice. He pulled his head out quickly, nonchalantly starting to close the drawer by leaning on it, and gave me the "(Uh-oh ... ) I love you, Mom!" face.

I was bugged, but I couldn't help but crack a grin. What can I say - he's the furry peg of my heart. And how can I not be impressed with his problem solving skills.

Hm, looks like I'll have to get myself some kind of makeup bag to put it all in now as well. Until he figures out how to operate a zipper.

A Life, in a Few Words

She was born into a farming family – the 13th of 15 siblings. Three brothers had died – two in infancy and one, a half brother, at the age of 35 – before she was even born. The rest grew into modest lives and professions: Dressmakers, farmers, postal workers, homemakers.

The tiny, cute redheaded girl grew into a petite, lovely blazen haired woman.

She worked briefly in a sweets shop. She and her girlfriend at work would snitch chocolates when they could, and throw the wadded wrappers behind a display. They laughed about their boss one day moving the display and having a conniption over all the wrappers he’d find.

She fell in love with a younger man. He was tall and handsome and very personable. She was 20, he was 19. There was never anyone else after they met. They married and had a son. He made a good living as a civil servant mechanic at the local air force base. She found complete fulfillment in caring for family and home. Their boy grew up, married, and had 2 children of his own. She lived for the time she could spend with them. They lived in another city but remained close. She pen palled with her granddaughter all through childhood, adolescence, and into adulthood.

When her husband died she moved to a retirement village. She missed her sweetheart each day as much as the first without him, but she stayed socially active and had many friends. She remained a sparkle on the water. She loved sharing - and pulling - a good joke, and enhanced any situation where she was present, though too humble to accept acknowledgment of it. She danced a jazzy number at her grandson’s wedding, and quite well, until the attention she drew embarrassed her and she sat down.

She had a physical therapy session one morning in March. It went well, and she was in good spirits - sharing her sweet sense of humor with the therapists as they worked. She returned to her room and an hour later, passed away peacefully. The world has been a duller place ever since.

Today is my Grandmother’s 96th birthday – the first I spend without her here. Happy Birthday, Grandma. I miss you.

Thanks! :)

A lot of you have expressed some concern over my poem excerpt I posted the other day. I wanted to let everyone know I’m fine, I just get the blues now and then (I didn’t name my blog “Clew’s Blues” just because it’s a cute twist on a popular cartoony type show!). It’s nothing that won’t pass. My life is blessed and my family is all well - I’m just a moody thing sometimes, especially in the long bleak spell of January. Thank you all for the kindness and concern though. I appreciate it so much!

May You Get What You Give

Animal abuse is up in the city I live near. So much so that the Humane Society can’t keep up with investigations and is now farming some of the cases out to other associations willing to help with them.

What’s wrong with people? Seriously, what it WRONG with people?

While I eat meat, own leather, and am not a supporter of PETA (for reasons I won’t get into here, but I’ll simply say I’ve learned they’re not as angelic as they like to put across), I have a heart for animals. I love my dog, and most any dog, more than a huge percentage of people I’ve met in my life. I believe that God put man over dominion of the animals, with allowances of domestication for labor, food, clothing and companionship - but we were meant to be responsible stewards, treating them with kindness and compassion – without waste and without causing undue suffrage or cruelty. Those that depend on us, we should treat with kindness and respect.

The woman on the news last night was in trouble for starving her dog to death. She’d disposed of the dead dog in a dumpster and its emaciated body had been discovered shortly afterwards. The woman said it was all a misunderstanding. “I can barely afford to feed my kids. Am I going to take food out of the mouths of my kids to feed the dog? I fed it table scraps when I could.”

Well, genius, maybe you shouldn’t have a dog if you can’t properly care for it. Even life at a shelter would offer some good meals and care for the dog. At least it wouldn’t have suffered a slow death of starvation while it watched you higher beings eat in front of it. Even if it got the needle in a few days after no one adopted it, it would be a better end than what you gave it.

You disgust me. You thoroughly disgust me.

What’s worse is this story is a mild one. And to each who bring unnecessary suffering to the creatures who depend on them for their livelihood, I hope you each die a slow painful death. You deserve it.

Excerpt

Inky waves roll me like laundry,
Like rocks in a tumbler -
Grinding me against ashen sands.
Eroding under a bruised sky,
My eyes don't see the sun -
I grieve alone beneath my clouds.

Remember that?

I've been totally busy and will probably remain totally busy for a few more days. So in lieu of me writing something, I'm going to ask that you, my dear blog friends, do this for me. You don't mind, do you?

I have been seeing this game going around for a while, but I think I first saw it on Kristi's and/or Kodijack's blogs. I just pasted the paragraph and saved it as a draft, so sorry for not keeping better notes. Anyway - Here’s the deal:

Post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP memory of you and me. It can be anything you want - good or bad - BUT IT HAS TO BE FICTIONAL. Even if you’ve only been here a few times, you're welcome to participate anyway. C’mon, it’ll be fun! When you're finished, feel free to post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you!

Okay, hit it. I hope you all have fond memories to share! Then let’s get out of here before somebody calls the cops!!!

The Duck and the Globe of Death

Have you ever seen the Globe of Death? That giant steel sphere, in which those crazy motorcyclists whip around the insides at a hundred miles an hour while some chickiepoo stands in the middle with a big grin, as if there was no place she’d rather be?

That was my family room the other night.

Some friends of ours brought over a gift for Incrediboy Monday evening before we all went out to dinner. It’s a duck, and when you squeeze its wing, it does a little dance and quacks out the most manic song you’ve ever heard in your life. (My OCD latched right onto it, BTW, and 36 hours later it’s still on a very loud, incessant loop in my brain. Remind me to kill my friends.)

Incrediboy loves it. And in its defense, it is very cute.

Most Beautiful Dog was outside when the duck made his initial appearance, so he didn’t see it at first. Later that evening we got the duck out again. MB Dog was immediately curious about the new item, and sniffed it with great intent. He is a sporting breed, and all things living and inanimate, large and small must be subjected to an intense investigation. Well, just as MB Dog was beginning to accept its presence, Incrediboy went over to it and set it off. It went into its raucous routine.

Well. MB Dog practically came apart at the seams. He knew it was Incrediboy’s toy and that he shouldn’t grab it. Such a good boy in that regard. But he just couldn’t take the excitement. His hunter’s brain flooded with endorphins and adrenaline. He began to shake – his eyes grew wide as saucers and he sprung around like a pouncing kitten, as close as he could get to it without actually touching it. Finally he began releasing his pent up energy by tearing around the room. Magazines flew. Train track pieces and Legos clattered about. He used the back of the couch as a catapult, building speed as he raced around the perimeter, practically running on the walls from his own centrifugal force. He hit the Persian rug. It curled and folded up on itself like ribbon candy, pushing the toy pile further into its corner with an incredible crash. All the while you could hear him snorting like a racehorse.

Incrediboy shrieked with delight.

We eventually had to wrangle MB Dog down and corral him to his crate until he could calm himself. The duck went to Grandma’s for a few days, where Incrediboy can play with it during his week, free from the Globe of Death.

Had the room not been destroyed, it would have been pretty funny.

The New 100

Once upon a time, my blog was a baby. When it was still quite young, I posted my rendition of the fashionable "100 Things" list. Over time I drew many topics from my list, and after a while decided it was getting redundant to keep it posted, so I removed my list.

I have come to a point where I find my posts quite uninspired more often than not. Therefore I have decided to compile a *NEW* 100 List. Maybe it will inspire and refresh my muses. Additionally, I hope it will entertain the regular visitor as well as the occasional passer-by at least a little bit.

As always, thank you for allowing me to bore you with my pointless blabble.


THE NEW 100 THINGS ABOUT ME

1. I'm suddenly in my - um, late mid-30's - and there's yet another birthday right around the corner.

2. Sometimes I forget I'm as old as I am.

3. Most of the people in my family have lived to be 90 and even older.

4. Statistically then, I'm nowhere near middle age. Whee!

5. Sure, we could all die tomorrow. But I like those statistics.

6. I live in exhausted delirium with 3 gorgeous men.

7. Husband, son, and dog - you perverts. ;)

8. I love boxing and strong man competitions.

9. I have a paralyzing fear of heights.

10. Also cockroaches.

11. Luckily, I rarely find myself having to deal with either one.

12. I didn't get my driver's license till I was 25.

13. I couldn't afford a car back then, so it didn't matter to me if I had a license or not.

14. If I have a sandwich that's cut diagonally, I'll always eat the round side first.

15. If the sandwich is whole, I'll always eat the round side last.

16. A lot of things I do make no real sense.

17. I used to run a political and theological website (before the word "blog" came around).

18. Being that I've been-there-done-that, I try to generally cover other things in this blog.

19. I have a silly dream of being a published writer.

20. That's one of the main reasons I started this blog, to find my voice and some kind of direction with that.

21. I don't know if I've made any progress with that.

22. I'm enjoying the experience nonetheless. I've run across a lot of fun and brilliant people and have benefitted greatly from this self-prescribed therapy.

23. I appreciate everyone who visits and comments. You'll all be remembered in my will. Seriously.

24. I am a born again Christian. :)

25. I am not a model born again Christian. :(

26. I'm trying to be better.

27. I swear. A lot sometimes.

28. I try not to swear on my blog.

29. I'm trying not to swear in general.

30. I have a propensity to count things and make them "even".

31. I'm a self-diagnosed obsessive compulsive.

32. My mind is constantly chewing on something. Very little downtime up there. Kind of maddening at times.

33. I don't get flu shots.

34. I can't take codeine. It gives me the sweaty shakes, and then I heave myself inside out.

35. Same with Vicoden, but worse.

36. The Hub suggested once that it's God's way of protecting me from an addiction.

37. Maybe so. God's pretty wise!

38. Brad Pitt? I don't get it. He just doesn't do a thing for me.

39. I like beer and I like pizza, but I don't like beer with pizza.

40. I still bite my nails. I've never been able to break the habit.

41. Well, I did quit biting my nails for a while, but then I quit smoking. And started biting again.

42. Better to bite your nails than smoke I guess.

43. I've never really wanted to be an actor or a model.

44. I did want to be a rock star.

45. I got over it.

46. I cry in movies.

47. I cry in movies that you wouldn't really think of as a cryer.

48. I'm kind of a sap.

49. I'm fascinated by serial killers. I want to know what makes them so sociopathic and so wrongly wired.

50. That doesn't mean I'm a bleedingheart. I'd throw the switch myself if they'd let me.

51. I know some might say that's not very Christian of me. Oh well. Refer to # 25.

52. I'm a member of the NRA.

53. I'm a damn good shot.

54. I have a very strange sense of humor.

55. I like the way vitamins taste.

56. I love to scrapbook.

57. I used to think scrapbooking was lame.

58. I got into scrapbooking totally by accident. I was just trying to make a cool photo album for a cruise we took. The rest is expensive but well spent history.

59. I love pen palling.

60. Lots of my letter writing is via email now, but I still have a handful of friends I write long snail mails with, just because we like it the old fashioned way.

61. One of my best girlfriends died of cancer almost 8 months ago.

62. My heart still breaks every day for missing her so.

63. I was blessed to know her - I'd rather have to suffer losing her than to have never known her.

64. I think everyone should remember how much good friends mean.

65. Regrets? Sure. Would I change anything? Probably not.

66. I have recurring dreams.

67. Most often I dream about tornadoes.

68. I am fascinated by those shows they have about stormchasers. I don't know which fuels which or if they're even directly connected.

69. If I can, I'll always watch a show about forensic investigation. Particularly documentaries.

70. I love trivia. I am a bank of useless information.

71. I would love to be on Jeopardy.

72. I haven't read fiction in ages.

73. I'm related to someone famous.

74. I won't eat anything with a face still on it. It's got to just look like meat, not like the animal it came from. (No that doesn't include gingerbread men and stuff like that, so hush up smartypantses out there)

75. I love the feeling I have after an intense workout. It feels like I just got a massage.

76. Chickens crack me up. I don't know why but they do.

77. I don't get chess. I've tried to learn, but I guess I'm too dumb.

78. My current profession has nothing to do with what I got my degree in.

79. I make more money in my current profession than I ever did in what I went to college for. Some say that makes me a sellout, but I'm not into the idea of living poor if I don't have to.

80. I love boating and being around the water.

81. I'm pretty miserable in the winter.

82. Our dog sleeps in our bed, but our son never has.

83. Our dog is spoiled rotten.

84. Our dog is so beautiful and such an absolute sweetie, you'd spoil him rotten too.

85. My husband is my hero. He can do just about anything. He's brilliant in ways I never could be.

86. A girlfriend of mine and I often say very strange things to each other in public. The Husband and I do this sometimes too.

87. We just like to freak people out.

88. I'm quite ornery at times. >;)

89. My best friend pointed out to me one time that puppy paws smell like Frito's.

90. She was right! Next time you have the chance to smell a dog's paws, check it out.

91. When I get a new CD, I listen to it about a hundred million times in a row before I listen to anything else.

92. Due to this compulsion, I can never remember what's been played on the radio and what's just familiar to me because I listened to the CD about a hundred million times in a row.

93. I misspell "and" all the time when I type. My fingers always want to type "adn".

94. Despite that fact, I went to the citywide spelling bee championship when I was in 6th grade.

95. I lost on the word "persevere".

96. I know how to spell it now, but still have to check on the spelling any time I use that word. Flashbacks, I guess.

97. I love anything fortean. Bigfoot, Loch Ness, Chupacabra, Springheel Jack, you name it. I just love the notion of things unknown.

98. Starting this blog has been one of the most fun things I've ever done for myself.

99. Also one of the most painful.

100. Even when life is bad, Life is good.

Happy weekend, everyone!

Dream Analysis

I had a peculiar dream last night. Not much to it, really, other than the creepy impression it left. I dreamt I was modeling a full length fur coat. I don't know if I was literally on a runway, but I was in a setting where many lights and eyes were upon me.

The thing is, I despise fur. It makes my skin crawl. Even as I was strutting confidently (or at least trying to give the impression of confidence) in the dream and running my hands through the soft, luxurious pelts, all the while I was trying to find a way to ditch the thing and run fast, run far.

I am a grain of salt type of person, and while I think many dreams can and do tell you things about yourself both literally and symbolically, I also think some of them are simply your subconscious flipping through old file cabinets in your brain and pulling out the occasional arbitrary memory, to look it over a bit. Considering I have never been in such a situation as to be wearing a furcoat, I assume this may be the former of the two.

I woke up in the middle of the night with the dream fresh in my mind and pondered for a while. My immediate thought was that it was a symbol of me feeling conspicuous and uncomfortable in my own skin, and searching for a way to escape that.

I've been spending a good amount of my on line time towards my new blog project, which focuses on better health and fitness in 2006. My own little initiated support group of friends, I guess you'd say. While I try to present an air of confidence, especially during boating season, I haven't been happy with my appearance for quite some time (childbearing can be VERY unforgiving to some), and so all this considered I can assume it has to do with the changes I'm hoping I (and we all) can accomplish together in the new year. Maybe this fur coat dream is related to that.

Or is that too prosaic? Maybe it's just a stupid dream. ;)

MOTIVATION - A Story of Fueling

A lot of people found the mirrors in the workout room cruel and insulting. But she loved them.

Yes, they helped her perfect her technique. But that wasn’t why. She loved them because they helped her visualize. She could lock eyes with herself and before she knew it, the class was over. And she felt better in more ways than one.

He was a special kind of mean to her. Yes, he roughed her up a few times, but that wasn't the worst of it. He gave her bruises and breaks that wouldn't heal too. While he once made her feel sexy and loved, he turned. He told her she was disgusting and worthless. And made her believe it. Why would someone who’s supposed to love you lie? Who knows. But they do. Too bad she didn’t realize it till he’d taken every ounce of self worth from her and then added insult to injury by keeping a lover for God knows how long. He couldn’t just let her go. He had to suck her dry first, and crumble her up like an empty gum wrapper.

She hated him for it. White hot hate.

They say to commit murder in your heart is as much of a sin as actually killing someone. She doubted it was as satisfying. She thought about finding out, but decided he’d stolen enough of her life already. He sure as hell wasn’t worth going to jail over.

She found her indulgence in the classes. They were explosive. Forceful. Fierce. She used them for revenge. She would stare at herself in the mirrored wall, imagining it to be his viewpoint while simultaneously superimposing his face on the reflection.

Jab, jab, punch. Jab, jab, punch. As hard as she could. He’d take the blows full force but would not move away. Upper cut left, upper cut right, Upper cut left, upper cut right. As hard as she could. His head was her punching bag. She grew delirious from the infliction.

Toe kick. Toe kick. Right in the chops. Round house. Round house. Right in the ribs. Right in the gut. Toe kick. Toe kick. Right in the groin. As hard as she could. That was the best part. The precious groin. Murder it.

Knee lift. Knee lift. Grab him by the ears and drive that smug face right into her knee. Again. Again. Drive that nose bone right into his brain. Make him bleed, but don’t stop when he begs for mercy. He doesn’t deserve it. When she thought about it, maybe that was the best part.

Combos. Combos. So fast and so hard that he couldn’t regain composure from one move to the next. She was crazy from the power.

Before she knew it, the class would be over. She’d heave air in and out like an animal. She’d stand over the bag of bones he had become and breathe in the smell of blood. Blood splattered from head to toe. The sweet smell of revenge. So satisfying. She’d lick her lips and give herself a gratifying, smarmy smile in the mirror.

She transformed at an incredible rate. She became strong. Powerful. And as her body reshaped, so did her soul. As her muscles tightened, so did her control over her life. As her butt lifted, so did her self esteem. Most importantly, she came to know that no one would ever hurt her again.

It doesn’t really matter what drives you, as long as you get there.

8 Reasons Why I Believe in Ghosts

I believe that when we die we go to Heaven or Hell. I also believe in ghosts. Perhaps Hell is not a physical place but a simple separation from God and the ones we love, wherever that may be geographically and dimensionally, those there doomed to an eternity of desperation for acknowledgment.

Here are 8 reasons why I believe in ghosts.

• When I was very little I shared a room with my brother. I have distinct memories of seeing a woman in a white dress come in our room and sit on the edge of his bed for a few moments and then leave. She never seemed to notice that I was there - she was only concerned with my brother. Many years later my brother told us all that he used to have dreams about a woman in a white dress coming into the bedroom, sitting on the bed and doing something nurturing such as smooth his covers with her hands or stroke his forehead before getting up and leaving. When I told him I remembered her too, he looked a little paler. He dismissed it by saying it must have been Mom. But I remember her. She didn't look like Mom.
• When I moved to my own room, I would sometimes wake up at night hearing a gentle but insistent tapping outside and underneath my window, as if someone were trying to get my attention. I never looked outside as I was afraid of what I might see (I had a wild imagination as a child and often scared myself with it). I told my folks and they assured me I must have imagined it. Later, as we discussed things as adults, my Dad told me he'd hear those taps as well. My room was located on the inside of an "L" in the floorplan of the house. He'd look out the window of the adjacent wing of the "L" when he'd hear them. No one was there.
• Several times there would be a noise at the front of the house which sounded as if a child were running along a picket fence, holding a stick against it. It would travel from one end of the front to the other. We would look outside as it happened. There was nothing there.
• My family had a border collie as I was growing up. He was the most loving, gentle, unthreatening animal I have ever known. One evening as we all watched television, the dog startled. He got up and moved in a slow, protective stance toward the front of the room. He looked down the hallway with great intent. His hackles raised and he emitted a low, guttural growl as we'd never heard from him. He held this position and body language for a good minute, and then relaxed. He turned around, tail wagging as if to say, "Okay, we're all safe now!" The light was on. Whatever he saw, we did not.
• When I was a teenager, I was home alone one afternoon and was doing something in the kitchen. The basement steps came up into the kitchen and the door was slightly ajar. As I was doing whatever it was I was doing, I noticed what sounded like faint shuffling in the basement. I froze and listened. The shuffling became light footsteps ascending the stairs. As the footsteps reached the top of the stairs, the door gently opened as if someone were walking through. Yet I was still alone.
• When I was in college I lived in a duplex with 2 other fellow students. My bedroom was upstairs at the end of the hallway, by the bathroom. One night I was up late reading in bed, and was in the house alone as my roommates were both out. The sound of footsteps coming down the hall towards my room caught my attention. I figured one of my roommates must have come home and I hadn't noticed. I looked at the door as the footsteps approached and stopped in front of my doorway. No one was there. I wondered if I was simply hearing traffic through the floor from next door but the other side of the duplex had been empty for a few months and I doubt if the landlord was showing it to someone at 2 in the morning.
• In this same house about a year later, I was watching TV with my boyfriend. He had his arm draped over me and it lay casually next to mine, spoon style. I was distracted by what felt like a feather being run across the top of my forearm. I glanced down, moving only my eyes, and saw nothing. I casually blew it off to imagination, and then my boyfriend said, "Did you feel that?" No more than a beat later, footsteps with no visible owner gently passed between us and the television.
• My husband’s and my first home had a lovely finished basement – beautiful plush carpet, tongue-and-groove honey wood walls, entire space open. We spent a lot of time down there, entertaining as well as just hanging out – it was our main living area. We would often get up in the morning to find the overhead lights on downstairs. My husband accused me of not turning the lights off when we came up the previous night, even if he was the last one to come up. I accused him of sleepwalking. It was amusing at first but it went on and became a little annoying. Sometimes we’d even notice them on when we’d swore we turned them off earlier in the same evening. One night we were downstairs watching television. Out of nowhere, the overhead lights came on. The switches were on the other side of the basement. We were alone and all the doors and windows were locked. Incidentally, it never happened again after that.