Dreams

I am often asked to interpret dreams.  I love my own dreams but frankly, other people’s dreams confuse me or put me back to sleep.  At a recent talk I gave on intuition, I showed the audience my favorite dream book, The Dreamer’s Dictionary by Lady Stearn Robinson and Tom Corbett.  If you look up key words from your dream as soon as you wake up, you might have the answers I’m not able to give you.

For my entire childhood I had recurring dreams that I hadn’t studied for a test.  (Are you falling asleep yet?)  Unable to stop them, I started to teach at a school.  Voila, dreams gone. 

For my whole life, I had murder dreams.  At age 40 I began pro bono work on murder cases.  Flash, dreams gone. 

That’s the extent of my dream knowledge.  Buy The Dreamer’s Dictionary or save your money and create a new and different reality for your future.  That sounds more fun to me, and better and cheaper than coffee.   

Heightened Intuition in the Sky

I took my grown daughter to Negley Park in Lemoyne, PA for the first time on Saturday.  It sits on a big hill and overlooks Harrisburg and the Susquehanna River.  I dislike the cliff’s edge but I love being up high and close to what could be heaven.

My intuition is stronger the higher up I go.  One of my favorite parts of my flight attendant job at United in the mid 70’s was hanging out in the cockpit and letting my intuition soar.  Convention and inhibitions did not bind me.  Instead I felt free.  Sometimes I told the pilots their future because it came so easily. 

When I fly for vacation, I always take my tarot cards.  I don’t want to offend my seatmates, since I feel my belief system should not be broadcast in such a tight space, but I do love to pull out cards and lay them out on my lap.  First I ask my seatmates if they mind.  I tend to get friendly seatmates who ask for advice or comfort, which is lovely.  When I am in the sky I feel at home, earthy and spiritual.

Maybe you can try out your intuition the next time you fly.  Or when you are on a mountainside.  Or when you stand in the wind on a small hill.  It’s spring.  Time for anything natural to rock. 

Reincarnation

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” is a question I often hear.   

“I’m not sure, but I used to worry that I would drown in the ocean at age 26.  I thought it could have happened to me in a past life,” I tell them.  Then I listen to their stories.    

Reincarnation is in the news.  Ten year old Ryan Hammons and his mother believe he is the reincarnation of Marty Martyn, a bit actor in Mae West’s first film Night After Night.  Ryan was interviewed by Dr. Jim Tucker, associate profession of psychiatry and neurobehavioral sciences at the University of Virginia, who then spoke with the media.  With a fact based assessment, Dr. Tucker put his career on the line and reacted in a positive way.  On a personal note, the University of Virginia has an excellent paranormal library because I spent an afternoon there in awe. 

A belief system is personal and should be respected.  We all learn lessons from the past, from our parents and grandparents and stories they tell.  No matter how far past and to what dimension some of us go, I think respect is the key.  Why ridicule the unknown?

A McGee on St. Patricks Day

My McGee relatives all live in Alabama.  They say they are southerners and that’s the end of it, but one distant cousin recently worked on a family tree.  A (great, great bunch of greats) grandmother “knew things” so she is my psychic relative.  The family tree didn’t go far back enough to include other countries, but the name McGee screams Irish.  Today I will wear the green.

St. Patricks Day fits me.  It’s full of leprechauns, which are magical fairies in Irish mythology.  Like me, a leprechaun is a solitary creature.  It can be called a sprite, which is defined as a ghost or a fairy.  I can relate to ghosts.  I see them when I work on murder cases and I sometimes see them in houses and forests.  A fairy feels spooky to me, especially the one in the movie Peter Pan. 

Green beer and Irish whiskey and anything gluten now give me hives, but I haven’t aged out of sprite behavior, so frivolity is in order.  And guess what?  You don’t have to be Irish to enjoy a day of fun. 

When I'm 64

Send me a postcard, drop me a line, stating point of view…..Indicate precisely what you mean to say….Yours sincerely, wasting away…..Lennon, McCartney, James

My happy birthday is on Saturday and I will be gloriously 64.  On Valentine’s weekend I started my celebration with an overnight trip to Williamsport, PA.  Back in the lumber days, Williamsport bustled and mansions proliferated.  It’s no longer a happening place, but people are friendly and the restaurants excellent.  At 7 degrees, it was too cold to care about anything BUT food. 

If you ever hit that lovely little city, visit their Historical Society.  Spirits inhabit old dresses, work with farm and industrial tools and drive the Model T.  The extensive model train collection beats all.  I stayed at the Genetti Hotel, followed a trail of old photos along its halls and told free fortunes for anyone who crossed my path and wanted one.  I listened to points of view and tried to figure out what they meant to say.  I wasted away and enjoyed every minute of it. 

I look forward to the last third of my life.  Small adventures make big fun.  And sometimes they even beat out good old songs.

Winter Introspection

My least favorite day of the year is December 31.  I prefer to look at the present and the future rather than the past.  Thinking about my mistakes for more than a few minutes…as the song goes…don’t bring me down down down down.

2015.  An odd numbered year, so I will hope for offbeat occurrences.  But now it’s winter and dark, a time to be introspective.  A time to think about what I want and need.  I will give a toss to the unpleasant and ditch those bold blue pants I bought and wore twice.  I will think about my 64^th birthday and pay attention to the opportunities that are open to me as an old gal.  I will try not to be frustrated by what I used to be able to do.  I will enjoy each day, when young women open doors for me with a smile.  Now, children like me more because I look like their grandmas.  Groovy old men don’t leer, they just move close to talk and smile.  My neighbors help me with the snow and the yard because I am the older lady next door. 

I vow to adore the young people who help me read the fine print in the pharmacy, who help me decide on a new sweater because I am color challenged.  I cherish the babies whose own children will take my place when I die.  And oh, I hope to live to 102 and not a minute more.

This year already started differently since I did not make a New Year’s resolution.  Instead, I planned my new year’s dreams.  Good health comes first, the rest, I hope, is gravy. 

Halloween Letdown

It is All Souls Day today, which means I have to wait 364 days until I get to wear a slightly stupid, homemade costume and be someone I am not.  This year for Halloween I was Carmen Miranda, a singer and dancer from the 1030’s.  You might remember her as the Chiquita banana girl.  Fake grapes and a real banana adorned my hair.  With my grandmother’s mink stole around my shoulders, I sang Chica Chica Boom Chica to my piano and voice students.  And I laughed.  And they laughed.  The only people who recognized me were all over 60.  Same with my Elvis costume a few years back.  I like to live in the past on Halloween.

 

Last weekend I read tarot at a party and an 11 year old voice student of mine asked to have her palm read.  After we finished, she expressed the typical preteen embarrassment that comes with having a dad. 

 

“He’s old,” she said.  “He likes old movies and old songs.” 

 

“That’s not old.  That’s called a throwback,” I told her. 

 

When she saw me in my costume on Thursday and I explained who I was, she hollered, “A throwback!”

 

Time travelling isn’t just for psychics.  You can do it at Christmas or any time of the year.  Grab a memory, play some old songs and throw yourself back.