Mom said, "Don't Wish Your Life Away"

I like the future more than the past.  I plan next season and next year.  It doesn’t matter if my plans change but the fantasy thrills me.  Sometimes I wonder if it is because of my psychic work.  In both murder cases and when helping people with their problems, I time travel to the past and soar to the future.  While the past seems fraught with angst, the future equals promise and potential. 

Now it’s summer, a season that reminds me of my mother.  She worked swing shift as a nurse so summer meant the two of us washed sheets and made beds.  I ironed my dad’s handkerchiefs and complained of boredom.

“I wish there were something to do,” I whined.

“Don’t wish your life away,” she barked.

She was right and wrong.  Right because I miss those slow hot days and her long sighs.  Wrong because the future does fill me with hope.  The present is fine but with it comes an assessment of what I have and what I do not.  Right now I have hives from who knows what, poison ivy in my yard and bees I am allergic to. 

The future holds all things.  A chance one of my children will give me a grandchild.  The possibility of another trip to Europe.  Maybe a boyfriend before I am 80. 

Wish what you want.  Wishing is good.  Wishing is rich and free. 

Am I Scared of Being Psychic?

I hear two questions over and over regarding my psychic abilities.  The first is….How Long Have You Known You Had This? The second is….Aren’t You Scared?  The first question is easy but I struggle with the second.  Do these people mean, am I scared of my own abilities?  Or do they mean, am I scared that a murderer I helped convict will get out of jail and hunt me down? 

There are many scary jobs.  The recent accident with circus acrobats falling to the floor is one.  What law enforcement personnel deal with every day is another.  I thought my mom’s job as a nurse seemed scary but she said it was not. 

My answer is no, I am not scared.  I have had this ability since my first memories.  Why be scared of what has always been with me?  If the person asking the question has committed questionable or negative acts, I say, it’s YOU who should be scared of ME.  They giggle nervously and move away.  And I’m glad. 

Fear gives me a stomach ache.  When I feel it, I banish it and replace it with a positive forward force.  At 63, I have today and maybe tomorrow.  I have people to love and places to see.  None of us should let fear hold us back from what we need to do. 

Some Ghosts Can Be Bullies

People hire me to chase away ghosts.  Go ahead and laugh, but fear is real and I try to do my part to mitigate it.  I don’t do it on my own.  I enlist the help of the person being bothered.  Some of these people seem to like having a ghost.  They talk about it to everyone and almost brag.  I tell them it sounds like they enjoy their cohabitate with the spirit so live in peace.

Other people are frightened.  They feel the a ghost is using its superior strength or power to influence or intimidate them, and maybe even forces them to do what that ghost wants.  Those people I try to help.  I think a ghost is often a disgruntled spirit.  Like a mad cat or a pesky neighbor, they come into a home and do not want to leave.  This is my advice.

Do what you would do with a caught bird.  Go into the room with the ghost and open the window.  Get a broom and move it out slowly.  Talk to it and tell it YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE in a firm voice.  Do not make a big deal.  Ghosts can get energy from you, just like bad or mad people.  Temper your voice and actions but make it clear YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE.

That’s it.  No big fights.  No fear.  Try to understand that it is an entity out of your realm.  That doesn’t mean you have to put up with it in your home.  Be a ghostbuster!

Be An Angel

Some people have a guardian angel.  Others do not, but I wonder if they want one.  Is it something you can just go out and get?  I don’t know.  I do think guardian angels are like prayer and meditation, all yours and yours alone. 

You want a guardian angel?  Be one.  An angel can be defined as one who manifests goodness, purity and selflessness.  Break it down and you can do it. 

Six weeks ago my sister Judy and her husband Louis arrived from Vermont to remodel my kitchen. For 27 days they hammered and planned and sweated and cursed a little.   My 1940’s source (of embarrassment) kitchen gave way to the bare outside wall.  Next came a room to make Martha Stewart proud.  In the middle of the job my well pump broke.  We had no water or toilet for a long weekend but no complaints from Judy and Louis.  Of course, two sisters in close quarters caused the past to rear its ugly head, but that is a separate issue. 

They worked for free.  Selflessness and goodness.  The purity came from the clean lines, the drawers that close by themselves instead of ones that scraped sawdust, the smooth cork floor and the lights that help my old eyes to see. 

For 27 long days I felt inadequate, so I tried to come up with a few good deeds from my past.  It worked to make me feel better. 

Search your own past and find your own angelic deeds.  Then pat yourself on the back and soar.  Next week, be an angel again.  I will try too.

Lines on My Face

I teach piano and voice to several boys who are on the autism spectrum.  At Halloween they all noticed the mat that said “wipe your witchy feet” and took it literally.  Their way of telling it like it is thrills me, especially since my mother’s side has a bunch of men on the autism spectrum.  But last week I had my most favorite moment with a 6 year old.

“WHAT are all those LINES on your face?”  he asked, with his face about 5 inches from mine.

I took out my lipstick mirror and looked.  Maybe I had some chocolate smeared on my face from lunch.  I saw my same face, nothing tricky.  I tried to see it from his perspective.

“Oh, you mean those lines down the side of my mouth?”

“YES,” he hollered, all concerned.

“It’s lines from old age.  You will get them too when you get old.” He turned happily back to his music.

Unlike a lot of women, I am not bothered by the lines on my face.  Before I had them, I did not have the wisdom I have today.  The young me spoke too rashly and got angry too often.  The old me can help people with their decisions and angst and know that I will not steer them wrong.

Out of the mouth of babes is a fabulous saying.  Here are two more. 

Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional.   Chili Davis

Do not regret growing older.  It is a privilege denied to many.   Anonymous

Psychic Readings and Tears of Change

A few weeks ago a beautiful woman came for a reading and kept crying.  I felt helpless.  I was tempted to ease her pain and tell her what she wanted to hear, but I HAD to tell her what I knew to be true, which was actually something better for her.  She just needed time and healing to experience the changes and make her way towards a new kind of life.

It’s difficult to change a perception.  I give speeches at colleges, clubs and women’s expos, and after my last speech a woman told me emphatically, “Do not say everyone can do it, because I can’t and they can’t.”

I do believe everyone is intuitive, but I think she meant not everyone can help police on murder cases nor see the future clearly for others.  When I was young, I thought my psychic ability was imagination, like other kids had pretend friends.  I saw through walls into houses and lives and thought it was hope.  Back then I figured I was imagining scenarios and conversations.  Any special powers I had were flights of fancy.  Now I accept my abilities. 

People often tell me they wish they had my gift.  If I had my druthers, instead I would have wanted my baby son’s blond curls or my daughter’s good directional sense, his quiet calm or her strength, his engineering mind or her analytical brain.  Yet I am content. 

Fall brings winds of change.  I wish everyone the best kind of autumn changes followed by a winter of content. 

Lacking Intuition

My trip to Norway was a group bus tour, my first.  I worried whether anyone would like me.  During the first two days I was sure I was disliked.  I felt awkward picking a spot to eat with the others and I worried whether I talked too much or too little.  I felt odd sitting alone on the bus.  I couldn’t remember names.

I should have honed my intuition.  I should have seen that they were being respectful and careful.  Some felt a bit isolated and some wanted to be left alone.  One couple acted like they were on a honeymoon and for another, it was their first trip out of the USA.

Bonding happened slowly.  I asked people to go for walks and I was rejected.  I tried to respond to openings.  I treaded carefully and only acted wacky when I could no longer avoid it.  I tempered my outrageousness.  By midweek I found friends.  Close and brief friends.  Smart friends and bewildered friends.  Friends who ate platefuls of fish for breakfast and sat in the hold of the ferry instead of out in the breeze. 

After our farewell dinner I had to leave for a 3:15 wake-up call.  I went around the big table and touched each person.  Several hugged me.  Some looked tearful.  I felt warmth from all of them and a deep sadness mixed with happiness at our time together. 

Oh me oh my.  I rush too much.  I expect too much.  Disappointment in others can flood me.  But I get surprised.  In Norway, I was surprised with love.