apparition or exhaust?

the first time i saw her was in the spring.

it was one of those glorious spring days that start out brisk and slowly unfold into something warm and wonderful. because of that, i chose to enjoy another cup of coffee and leave for work at the last possible second. after all, you can never know if this might be the last beautiful dawn you will ever see.

and even if it's not i can assure you, looking back your fondest memory list will not include being at work on time.

so at the last possible second i reluctantly got into my minivan. i started it, put it in reverse, checked for anything that might be in the way and began backing out of the drive.

i was certain there was nothing behind me and we lived on the edge of nowhere so i have no idea why i looked in the rear view mirror again, but when i did there she was.

she was standing there in the middle of the drive, mere inches from being hit.

ohmygod!

i slammed the breaks so hard the shoulder belt pinned me into the seat and i found it hard to turn and see whether or not i'd hit her.

with my heart pounding in fear that i had while my brain silently attempted to calm me with the facts; i did not feel or hear an impact, i turned fully around to see for sure.

she was still standing, directly in the center of the back of the van, but she fast fell into a whisper of white that tangled around the side toward me like smoke and then she was gone.

again my brain attempted to calm me with the facts; it was probably only warm exhaust rising into cool air. and, maybe i had imagined her inside the instant that warm exhaust rose up and hit the cool air.

but i know i saw her clearly enough to think i was going to hit her. to slam on the breaks and scream. i even remembered features. memorable features. she was frail and aged. her hair, though covered with a scarf or hood, was long and white. i could tell by the bits that stuck out at the front. she was wearing a long white dressing gown with a gray overcoat or robe that stopped just below the knees and it had sleeves so long that i could only see a small bit of her fingers poking out from them.

quite detailed exhaust vapors indeed.

every one of my senses told me i'd encountered something amazing. something that didn't belong on my plane of existence. something i would never be able to explain. something no one i told would ever believe.

and for the most part they don't.

i am not alone

i have ghosts. or maybe they have me. or maybe i really am just as jumble brained as some people think i am.

i've felt them all my life and on occasion i hear and smell them (one is a chain smoker).

i have even seen them a handful of times.

my first visit to a therapist for something unrelated had her asking me a series of dumb questions. you know the sort;
what is today's date?
um... is it the 12th?
hmm. i don't really know myself, let me check.
(yeah, i shoulda ran right then)

who is the president?
of which country?

what is the next holiday?
that depends on who you are and what god you follow.
okay, what is the next CALENDAR holiday.
valentines day. or doesn't that count?
sure, it counts. i think?

do you or have you ever heard voices?
yes. all the time. i hear yours right now.
i mean when nobody else is there?
yes.
no. i mean; do you actually hear people talking when you are completely alone?
yes
. i do.
ok... do they give you instructions?
as in lizzie borden? um. no. most times it's just singing or chatter that i can't really decipher.

ok...[pause scribble pause] do you ever SEE things that are not there?
yes.
no. i mean like ghosts and demons and things like that. have you ever seen those?
yes. but only twice.
are you a smart ass?
i can be, yes, but i am not a liar.

[pause scribble scribble pause scribble]

(she's becoming excited and i start to wonder if she has a serious nutjob sitting directly across from her)

[her pencil is poised]tell me what you saw.
a very visible angel. okay, not visible really. i could see through her but she was extremely detailed. you know like the ghosts that got off the titanic in Ghost Busters ...

[she scribbles though her excitement has visibly waned]

an angel. well. if you saw an angel that's quite normal. if it had been a demon now THAT, my dear, is entirely different.


(i laugh. not because i lied. [i didn't])

so you're saying my visions are allowed because it was an angel and not a demon?
yes, missy, that is exactly what i'm saying. angels are godly visions. demons, of course, are not.

i note that she is obviously catholic. i am not, but i recognize the signs in those that are. i decide not to tell her that i am not 100% sure that it was an angel. i just use "angel" as a descriptive term because what i saw was white and it's long hair and garment were billowing around it.
of course i got the impression it was also female and angels, so i've been taught, are sexless.
we won't go there here, but i will tell you this;

yes. i do believe in angels.

some people hear without listening

it seems a simple thing.
i talk. you hear. you understand.

but it isn't.

and there are probably as many ways as there are number of times you can tell someone the same thing and still have them respond as if they heard something entirely different.

so there i am explaining it again in a new way hoping for better.

and there i am explaining it again in much simpler way adding; 'do you understand?'

and there i am explaining it again in much simpler way still adding; 'look at me while i tell you so i know you are hearing me'

and there i am explaining it again in an even simpler way adding; 'repeat after me what you heard'

and finally i am cursing under my breath while i explain it again and add; 'tell me what it is you heard me say'

and then i'm just cursing.

and as i stand there frustrated i am reminded of my son and how we had to resort to concise two or three word instructions because 'clean your room' was a concept that was far too broad for him to grasp.

i wonder.

a straight little line

the following is not mine. it's from a book that i quite enjoyed and it's just here for safe keeping.

for some reason which i don't understand yet, it spoke to me.

won't tell you here where i got it from so kudo's to you if you already know. ;)

i hope its clear that i was really really trying not to be weird about the way things were. all the time i was telling myself; just enjoy it for what it is. don't be weird. don't get all screwed up over something that isn't.

my name is bill. i carry a pen.

i recently handed over some strange happenings for a book someone else is compiling and the author sent back the finished work for my final look through.

my initial reaction was far less than jovial.

i guess i expected more from a published author. something with a bit of style and flair. but this? this was Joe Friday's penciled notes typed verbatim - complete with spelling errors. this was just the facts ma'am. just the facts. and, even some of the facts were wrong.

it was disappointing to the max and i moaned out loud to nobody that had i known it was going to read like that i would have submitted something with style and flair.

but wait. what's this? a glimmer of hope at the top of the page?

"below is the finished product. feel free to correct any errors."

my in! yes! i can just rearrange his stuff a little. tweak it here and there. yep, that'll work.

i started typing my heart out thinking; now this will be something i can show off to my friends.

"hey look! i have a story in a published book! me! little old aeolistic me! how cool is this?!?"

and as people are wandering through my thoughts looking at my story i see that the author is sitting behind the book signing table lighting my firework display. people have read the book and thought; 'damn i like this author's style and i love this book excerpt enough to stand in line on a dismal rainy night to have it signed!'

wait a minute! that's my writing! you're getting the glory for my story! i put my personal stamp on that and i got nothing but a nasty taste on my tongue!

i thought better of the author's Sergeant Joe Friday style.
i realized maybe Officer Gannon was wise to keep his mouth closed and let Joe think he was the smartest guy on the force.

i backed up the curser deleting my style and flair. i simply corrected his facts (and his spelling, though i thought long and hard about that) and sent it back.

his name is Joe Friday. he writes the books.

my jmubeld theory

in reply to IndigoRoth's blog entry;
Do Not Send Ransom

post script comments:

eolistpetite said...
fo cuorse yuo raeleiz, ym fiendr, evnetaully ouy wlil evah ot litf taht vile. !!ahahahawb
Indigo Roth said...
Just in case today's blog entry makes no sense to anyone: click here. And it's a lot harder to do that it seems!

interesting theory in that link;

buseace the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

and it could be true. though if you can decipher what i jumbled in my previous post you will know that isn't true. it simply makes it easier when the first and last letter are where they should be.

****
my reasoning - which comes not from books or education but from teaching small children who had a very difficult time learning how to read and write;

we learn words by the sounds that go with actions
we learn to talk by mimicking those sounds to communicate what we need.

we may learn alphabet letters by sight, but i will argue that we cannot use those letters without first learning the sounds that they make.

reading and writing come from learning how to construct those simple letter sounds into words.

therefore; if you know the sounds the letters make you can guess what words someone is attempting to write no matter how they are spelled.

certainly it is far more involved than my simple dribble here, but i dare say efficiency in reading incorrectly spelled/jumbled words in sequence only became difficult by education and it's rules. ;)

no use crying over

spilt milk.

for the past month i have been promising myself that tomorrow i will do nothing at all but things that make me smile.

and the sun comes up and the sun goes down and there i am promising myself that tomorrow i will do nothing but those things that make me smile...

but as always there is "eolist petite's" laws.
you know the ones
- best laid plans...
- if something can go wrong...
- just when you think things are running smoothly...

so this morning i wake after a troubled nights sleep and i think;
it's raining, i'm tired, it's cold, i have nothing on the calendar...

my god! today is the day!
be good to yourself and do only things that make you smile!
even in my email there is a note that says; 'it's raining today! you can finally RELAX!'
it's a sign!

so
i start my coffee
get my big comfy clothes on
find my book
locate my old sweater
and fluff the pillow on the sofa

the coffee starts to send it's scent through the house - yeah that's what i'm talking about!
i realize i am smiling as i make dark rye toast, spread it with orange marmalade and put it on a china plate. mmmm...

i search through the fridge for that special sweet cream i buy just for me and find that as i pour the coffee in my favorite mug i'm humming - jingle bells in fact. (its the song i always seem to hum when i'm happy)

Damn! it IS going to be a great day!

and then i shake the cream.

and...

the top isn't on tight.


who knew?

sweet sticky cream everywhere but in my coffee.

it's
on the counter
on the floor
on the fridge
on the cabinet doors
it's even inside the cabinet drawers

and there am i on my hands and knees with a soapy wet sponge thinking;
yep. somebody is definitely testing my sense of humor.

bent thinking

some day i shall have something brilliant to place here. it won't be today.

today i am far too angry at the world and all that is in it to create a fair assessment of anything including my own tiny existence in the grand scheme of things.

today i'm not even certain there is a grand scheme (sorry god).

today i'm just bent on thinking that there is a life out there with my name on it and the person living it is having a grand time.