Ghosts I have known part 2

So skip ahead a few years . . . I have gotten divorced and met a knew "love of my life" whom I have moved in with. The house we are living in is the same one that his grandparents lived in when his mom was little. In fact, his grandpa died in the house.

Nothing happened for a long time, then I started seeing things... there was a hallway next to the living room that connected the two bedrooms and the bathroom. I would be sitting in the living room and I would see an elderly male figure walk back and forth between the two bedrooms. It was quick, like he was curious or trying to not be seen. It happened more at night . . .

After awhile, the stereo in our room would turn on by itself at night, and the CD player tray would open and close by itself, then it would shut off by itself again. That freaked me out.

We bought a house in Chubbuck. It was a pretty new house, not much of a chance for spooky things to happen there. Except . . .

This sounds weird, I am sure, but there is a person whom I never met, who actually passed before I was even born, whom I felt I have a lot in common with and that we could have been friends . . . no one famous or anything ... but someone I knew of.

On days when I did not have to work, when I would get our daugheter down for a nap, I would too sometimes lay down for a little bit. After all, I was working, going to school and working full time. For about a month straight, every time I would get to the point where I was almost asleep I would feel a presence in the room. Ya know how you can just feel someone watching you even if you can't see them? It bothers you until you look up and then they hurry and turn away? It's so strong . . . you can feel their eyes drilling into you. It was like that. I felt someone watching me. And it was cold, the room literally got chilled.

I have never felt anything like that before. It was so strong, like nothing else. Eventually I would feel it lessen and I would fall asleep. . . or I would just kinda lay there, too afraid to get up.

Several weeks into this, I had enough. One day, without opening my eyes, I said aloud, "you're freaking me out, please go away." It never happened again. Maybe it was just my mind messing with me... I don't know . . . but I have never felt that before or since.

The final weird thing that happened at that house . . . Aria was in bed and Jayson was at work and it was late. I was sitting on the couch watching TV. The TV was turned down low so as not to wake up the toddler. As I am sitting there, a male voice came up behind me on the left side, right by my ear and whispered, plain as day, "Are you tired?"


I literally jumped off the couch and spun around so fast I think I was dizzy to see who had snuck into my house. Of course, no one was there. The crazy thing is, I know who it was. I want to know what he wanted. I would love to talk to him, but how?

Maybe I am crazy, you can call me that. I am not the kind of person who believes in bigfoot and aliens and all that stuff. I never even thought about ghosts or the supernatural until any of that happened. Maybe there is some sort of logical explanation for it, but if there is, I have not found it.

Life is a highway

I hate insomnia for everything except one . . .. when I can't sleep I usually get incredibly inspired. But it is dark and I can't see my keyboard, so forgive any typos.

Lately I have been thinking about how we are all connected somehow. Like the 6 degrees of separation but much bigger than that. It is like the U.S. road and highway system. I could get to anywhere in the country I wanted to. There are few places I could not get to because every road, street, lane, whatever connects somehow. Such it is with people. I may not know you, but I bet if I asked around long enough I would find someone who does.

We all affect each other, whether we know it or not. Call it the Butterfly Effect or whatever, but we all influence people we don't know. We all have twtwists and turns, and we all need repaired once in awhile.

The difference is that roads have maps so you can't get lost. (well, Ok, so most of us can't get lost). With people you just have to take your chances. Some lead you to a beautiful place, others lead you to a dead end. Some you wish you would have never traveled. But you learn from all your wrong turns and build your own map... full of wisdom.

In my road map of life I could map out many things . . . major highways where I did not want to stop where I was going . . . rest areas when I needed some space, and toll booths where I have had to pay a price. Places unmarked and unseen by anyone else . . . stop signs, detours . . .

Too much of a coincidence. We really are simple creatures, aren't we?

The power of forgiveness

A weird thing happened today . . . not that anyone cares but I feel the need to get it out because I have been thinking about it all afternoon.

It requires a back story....

A few years ago, not long after my daughter's father and I split up, I went out to have a few drinks with some friends. That night I ran into a girl who had been a good friend of mine in high school. I had not seen her in years and was so excited to see her! I started talking to her, and instead of being happy to see me as well, she was very cold and irritated. She informed me that back in the day I had broken a huge promise that I had made her and basically ruined her life.

I don't think I have ever been so shocked in my life. I had no idea what she was talking about. I tried to talk to her, but she and a friend sitting next to her got more and more agitated until I thought they were gonna try to fight me or something.

I hate hate hate confrontation, and this is not high school... so I gave it up and walked away.

I am sure I worry way too much, and that night was no exception. I sat on the side walk and just cried and racked my brain trying to figure out what I had done wrong (next to me was a friend who has since said something to me that I have not been able to forgive, ironically). I could not imagine myself doing something so hurtful to a good friend. And she was a good friend, I drove her home from school everyday, we had known each other since we were little kids. I would never, ever hurt her like that. That is not me. There just had to be some misunderstanding. If I did do the terrible thing she had said I did, I do not remember it, and if I did, I would certainly offer her a thousand apologies and wonder what the hell was wrong with me.

High school kids do stupid things. Apologies to any high school family and friends reading this. Maybe I should re-phrase. I did stupid things when I was in high school. We all say things we don't mean and do things with out thinking of the consequences. I am not one of those people who will claim to have never done anything wrong or said something that has hurt someone's feelings. The point is, if I did do something like that I would admit to it now because I know better.

I have thought about that night off and on over the years, wondering if she would ever forgive me for something I don't remember doing, wondering if there was a misunderstanding, etc.

I found her profile on myspace once and decided to write her a very heart felt letter. I explained everything I just did above, and told her that if she did not respond I would take that as a "F-U" and would not bother her again. She did not respond.

I have not thought it a lot lately. I havew made a point to put all things negative aside and focus on how great my life is now. I feel healthier.

I ran into her today. She was picking her kid up from day care while I was there trying to figure out where to take Devin after my grandpa has surgery on Friday.

I froze. What the hell would she say, we were like two of only three of four people in the building. I thought she would stare me down, call me a nasty name, something, anything. She made it clear a few years ago that her hate for me was boundless.

But she didn't. She talked to me. I was telling the day care provider about my baby boy, and this person who had wanted to kill me a few years earlier asked me how old he is and introduced me to her son. We chatted for a minute about how great the place was and how much her son loved it there. I told her that our kids were about the same age, etc. We just chatted for a minute, then we each left, going about the rest of the day as if nothing had happened.

My heart was pounding when I got into the car. I don't know what to make of it. I want to believe that she has either forgiven me for the awful thing she says I did to her, or if she realized that I did not do it after all.

I over analyze things and I care too much. But if she had not been a good friend back in the day I would not care so much. I think life is like a great novel you are reading for the first time, there are twists and turns and surprise characters in every chapter. But in the end it all makes sense and you don't want it to be over. This will make sense.

Ghosts I have known (Part 1)

When I was younger I never thought about ghosts or the supernatural or anything like that. I did not believe or disbelieve, I just never really thought about it much.  It is said that seeing is believing, and in this case especially I think that is true.

Although I had many strange experiences when I was a kid, I don't know if any of them can be attributed to anything other than my imagination, so I will leave that out.

I got married the first time when I was 19. Dumb, I know, but that is another blog. We moved into this ancient and barely inhabitable farmhouse in McCammon. There was an old wooden staircase, and when you walked on it, your footsteps made a very distinct clunk clunk sound. Days when I did not have to work and or go to school I would stay in this creepy old house by myself while he went to work. Believe me, you have no idea how quiet quiet can be when you are sitting in a house all alone in the middle of no where.

I would be sitting in the living room studying when I would hear it ... "clunk, clunk, clunk." The very distinct sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.It would come all the way to the bottom, stop, and then go all the way back up. I was alone in the house, but thinking someone was playing a trick on me, I went to the stair, and of course, no one was there.

The tank lid on the toilet upstairs did not sit on the tank evenly, so that if you put something on it and the weight shifted it would make a clunk sound. There was a tree next to the window in the bathroom, and our cat liked to jump onto the tank lid to watch the birds. We would hear the clunk sound when she would jump onto the tank.

One day I was downstairs, home by myself again, I heard the clunk sound of the tank lid shifting positions. Now keep in mind that those tank lids are heavy, and the sound they make when put on or moved is  very distinct one. Moments later I heard the sound again. Then again and again really fast as if the cat was jumping off and back on really fast. I decided to investigate and went upstairs. The cat was not there. Ok, so she heard me coming and got spooked and went in the other room, right? As soon as I got back downstairs it started again. Clunk clunk clunk clunk over and over. K, what the hell is going on? I turned around, getting ready to go back upstairs, and when I turned around I saw the cat, sleeping peacefully on the living room floor....

My wedding ring only came off my hand when I washed my hands or rolled cookie dough or something. One day it simply disappeared. I could not find it and had no idea where I had left it. We literally tore that house apart for the next few weeks looking for it. We even tore apart the sink drains looking for it. Months went by... then one morning when I got up and went into the bathroom, there it was, sitting on the lid of the toilet as if someone had carefully placed it there for me to find. My hubby at the time swears it was not him, and I believe him. Why would he want to hide my wedding ring for that long?

But this is where it gets crazy.... and no one will believe me . . .

I woke up in the middle of the night, but it was not a gradual waking up, it was like something woke me up. I felt eyes on me, so I sat up in bed, and I swear on a stack of Bibles, at the end of my bed there was a male figure standing with his fists clenched as tight as they would go.

He was wearing blue jeans and a denim jacket and a white T shirt. He had sandy blonde hair. Where his face should be there was like a mist, a fog, but it went back forever. What I remember the most is the absolute anger. I have never felt anger like that, it filled the room, it made the air thick and it was hard to breathe, it was like suffocating.

I did the only thing I could think of, and that was to hide like a child. I curled up in my head and pulled the covers over myself and froze. After a few moments I felt the air lift and when I got brave enough I looked out from my little cotton cave, and he was gone.

Later on I found out that the people who had lived there had a son who had been killed in a motorcycle accident . . .

I've still got it . . .

I remember a time, when I was 15, 16 or so, when insomnia ruled my life. I literally would stay awake for hours every night. Sometimes exhausted, sometimes burdened with the thoughts of the day, sometimes just simply not tired. I memorized the shapes the shadows from the headlights of passing cars would make on my wall, and followed the light with glassy eyes as the light moved faster and faster around my bed room walls .. .my own personal light show.....

Now I almost think I would sell my soul for an few hours of deep sleep. Just a few. That's all I will take, I promise.

That is just one of the things that have evolved in my life in the last ten years since I pushed myself out of the nest and joined "the real world." I have been dealing with that a lot lately, the "holy s***, I am almost 30." I am responsible now... I have two small children to take care of, a full time job, finding alone time for my hubby and I, bills . . . . I still can't sleep, but for different reasons.

I went to a concert last night. . . I have gotten really into concert photography lately and there was this great band from Utah performing and I wanted to help them out.
There is a certain rush you get from going to a concert, and it is even better when the show is in a small, underground club with 30 people. The lights, the smell, the people. We are all friends, though we've never met. If you get knocked down I'll pick you up, and you'll do the same for me. There is just this unspoken code that we all follow. This is the only place where some fit in.Some people want to close down all these little clubs. ... saying music promotes violence... I would argue to the contrary, music soothes the savage beast. But that is a different blog...
Looking around last night at all the high school kids, especially the 14 year old girls who no way in hell walked out of their houses wearing what they were that night, I thought, "is my time over? Am I too old for this? Do I stand out here?"
Back in the day my friends and I went to this little place called the Roach. Believe me, it was aptly named. But it was amazing. We saw bands like System of A Down, Static X and Sevendust before they were big. I crowd surfed, I got in the pit with the boys. Not because I wanted to be cool .. . but because that was and is who I am. There is a rush that comes with floating around on top of a crowd, trusting the hands of complete strangers, that no drug can provide. I knew it was not normal for a girl to be into this stuff...I was supposed to be listening to techno and light jazz right?
But my group of friends have always known who I am, and for that I am grateful, and some of the best nights in my life have been spent in a little warehouse on First Ave. in Pocatello.
Last night while I was watching the familiar chaos before a show, sound checks, extension cords and last minute make up checks from the groupies, I wondered if I still belong to the club.Do I still "get it?" The code could not have changed that much in the last 10 years, right? What would these high school kids think if I got in the pit and showed them how it's done?
I love my family. I would not trade what I have now for the world. But every once in awhile I need some reassurance, something that reminds me I still have the passion for  a live show that I had when I was "young."  I got that last night.I felt great, and it has stuck with me all day. Thanks to the amazing bands who have let me into their worlds via an interview and hanging out at a show, I have some GREAT rock n' roll stories from some of the most famous rock musicians of the last few decades, and some of the most talented local bands from Idaho and Utah.
It does not matter how old I get, I will always know who I am, and the people who matter in my life do too. Now I think it is time for me to try that sleep thing . . .

Memories from great grandma's house

I remember my great grandma Anderson's house from my childhood. It was right down the street from my house, somewhere in between Thomas, Riverside and po-dunk nowhere West of Blackfoot. The front yard was shrouded with bushes and trees, making it dark enough to scare any child from it's shadows. The porch was on the side, and the several fountains that lived there were always running, providing hours of entertainment and soaked clothes.

Their house was the only one I hav ever seen that had a garden indoors. Rather than have pots in plants, there was a gray brick wall with dirt in the middle that supported what must have been 50 philidendrons, ivy, and other tropical plants. For a child, it was an indoor jungle. All the grand kids wondered why we all could not have a built in jungle at our house.

The back room houses a wood burning stove, but since we were never there in the winter I don't know if they ever used it. There was a tin, or box (my memory has already started to fade) filled with Lincoln Logs. REAL Lincoln Logs, not the modern plastic so-the-kids-don't-get-splinters Lincoln Logs, the real wooden deal. They were scarred with dings and dents from countless forts, garages and barns.

In the back yard grew an ancient Weeping Willow tree, the kind you see illustrated in children's books. Long dragging, yellow branches really did make it look sad. But then again, how could any tree with  a tire swing be sad? It took some effort, and the flexibilty only a child posesses to climb into, but, if it were not filled with water from an afternoon storm or morning sprinklers the black rubber and thick yellow rope was the best place to spend a summer afternoon.

We drank water straight from the hose . . . it was so cold an actually clean enough to not send everyone who saw us into a panic. That was some of the best tasting water I have ever had.

I never realized that the field behind the back yard was their's too. And my great grandpa had probably spent hours in the vintage farm equipment that now sat collecting rust and bee's nests. Those are the stories I wish I knew now; how that tractor ended up there and the days spent working the earth. The stories we rolled our eyes to as children are the stories we wished we had payed better attention to now. History should never be allowed to die.

The last time I saw my great-grandpa he was sitting at his usual perch, a soft covered rocking chair in the family room of my grandma's house. The thought occured to me that I should hug him and say goodbye. But then, being shy, I figured I would do it next time. Of course, I did not get a next time because he died not long after. My great-grandmother sold the house and moved in with family members.

Awhile later I learned that their old house had burned to the ground. The person who had purchsed it claimed it was an accident, but there was speculation that it was set on purpose for insurance money. As silly as it sounds, I was upset. I drove by, wanting confirmation, and sure enough, the home where I had spent so much of my time was now nothing but a pile of blackened wood and concrete foundation. In a way it was a symbol that everything comes to an end, and a lesson in enjoying what you have while you have it.

I miss that house, but more importantly I miss what it represented. I experienced so many classic childhood "musts" there, and I will always remember those things. ..

This is not a race

Wow, I wish I had more time to write. I have so much to say. The thoughts in my mind just never stop, it is like a constant stream that I can't shut it off.
Life is good, my grandparents took Aria bowling today and she got two spares and a strike! Grandpa teaches her to "hit the pocket!" and is an excellent bowling coach.
I started feeding Devin cereal about a week ago, mixing it with his milk of course. At first it helped and he slept great, now it seems like he wants to eat more and more. Last night he went to sleep at midnight and woke up at 4. We are beyond exhausted.
But we are happy .  .. we can't wait for a quiet night at home on Thursday night. Now that we are old we just want to stay home with the kids!

Last night Mike and I watched a show on the true story behind the movie "The Blind Side." If you don't know, the movie is a true story about a wealthy couple who took in a teenager who was in dire straights . . . well he could play football, and he played it well, and eventually he was a first round draft pick for the Baltimore Ravens. What a great story!
There was a segment on the show that talked about how some people are saying the movie perpetuates race stereotypes. That really bothered me . . . it made me think how often that happens. A great story is told and the two parties who are involved just happen to be of different races so that fact has to be analyzed over and over. Why? Why does it have to be about what color someone's skin is? Why can't it be just as simple as the fact that a family helped someone in need?
It is important to remember that segregation and racism existed in our history, because we learned from it. But it does us no good to seek out things like the fact that one person in the story was white and one was black and focus on that. So what if their skin was different colors? That is not the point. Isn't that, in a way, continuing the stereoypes?
I read something once that read something to the effect of . . . we will continue to try to get ahead of each other as long as we keep calling each other "races."
Sandra Bullock seems like a caring, intelligent person, and she was also affected by the accusations. So much so that she turned the premier party for the movie into a fundraiser, donating the money to aid a high school in, Memphis I believe.
I gotta say I have a lot of respect for her. . . when she was asked about what she thought of people accusing the movie of pushing race stereotypes she basically replied, "If that is all you get from this story you are missing the point."