Something really cool is getting ready to happen - I can tell.
It will have something to do with my obsessive quest to document folks in my family tree.
I'm thinking probably the Williams, Baldings or Chapins.
The signs are too clear to dismiss.
For those of you who know what I'm talking about, this will be old hat.
And I am well aware that there are those of you who, if we met in person and I told you this, would plaster on that stiff, straight smile of the disbeliever who is just too damned polite to say, oh, bullshit,
and would listen, but would also be looking out of the corner of your eye for a handy exit.
That's okay. I'm good with it. I've had my whole life to deal with disbelief.
In the wee small hours of Friday morning, I suddenly awoke.
I tried to figure out what woke me, so I listened carefully to see if the cottage felines were partying hearty and knocked something over.
All I could hear was silence.
I'm always reluctant to get out of bed and hunt down shit like that because 1) I have a hard time going back to sleep, and 2) at least two of the cats magically appear from where ever they were, circling my ankles and looking up at me, saying well yeah, since you're up, how about a treat?
(Life must be at least a little bit of a bitch when you are born without opposable thumbs.)
I wandered out into the kitchen and living room, and looked around. Everything was in order. Stoney and Tig approached, whined, and got their treats.
I beat a hasty retreat back to bed before Emma could rouse and want treats too, which would mean treating Stoney and Tig again to keep them outta hers...
Friday morning when I got up for real, I wandered out to start my day. As I was pouring coffee and cat food, I noticed something just wasn't right.
Couldn't put my finger on it.
It wasn't until I walked by the living room gallery of dead relatives on my way to the den to feed the birds that I saw it.
Every single picture was tilted. The bottoms of all of them listed to the left.
After I fed the birds, I straightened all the pictures and contemplated that. The week before, I had taken two of them off the wall to get photos of them for the genealogy blog,
and I considered that maybe I knocked all of them askew when I re-hung those two.
Uh uh. I am way too Type A to live with crooked portraits of the ancestors for a week or so. I am too Type A to let you do it, either.
So I called my next door neighbor and asked her if I had slept through a thunderstorm or a sonic boom.No,
she said...why do you ask?
She's one of the ones who gets *that look* on her face when I talk about this kind of stuff.
Except she wants to believe. I can tell. And I think she probably almost does, since she witnessed my haunted bathroom light switch. It's her brother that does that. He died in 2007.
One of my cousins got the straight, tight-lipped smile when I told her about my haunted coffee pots (plural, mind you, plugged into three different kitchen outlets) and my haunted computer printer.
Then, she had her own close encounter with the printer one day over here at the cottage, and now...she believes.
My ancestors have been giving me signs for years...
I think the first time I understood how important it was to take notice of the signs - even if I don't know what they mean in the moment - was the week long experience I had with clairaudience
that began on October 9, 2006 and ended on October 13, 2006, never to be repeated again.
That one culminated in the suicide of a really, really sick man, who tried to kill his wife with a sword, got arrested and hanged himself in his jail cell, after being continuously denied bail because he kept telling the judge if he got out, he was going to go back and finish the job.
She swears I saved her life.
I say I just paid attention to the signs.
The portraits that were tilted on Friday morning tilted again on Friday night while I slept. Yesterday morning I straightened them all up again with a shit-eating grin on my face.
The journey is good.
There are signs along the way.