I do believe in spooks, I do believe in spooks, I do, I do I do….

OK, maybe I don’t really, but it is an intriguing subject. We’ve been getting into watching Paranormal State (A&E, 10pm Mondays). There are definitely more things under heaven and earth than I can explain.

So, who believes in things that go bump in the night? Anyone care to share?

A few weeks ago as we were watching a particularly disturbing Paranormal State, the lights inexplicably went out. Poof, just like that. The light was off at the switch. Of course I explained it away to the kids. The switch must not have been on all the way and it just popped off. However, in 20 years in this house, that has never before happened. Then, the next day a different light was on when I came home that I swore I hadn’t turned on….
dododododododododododododooooooooooo….

To add to the mix, I told my dad the story. He was intrigued and kept teasing my about my spooks. Until… a few days later. Now he’s telling me to take my spooks home with me. In the dead of night a banjo that had sat in the corner of his bedroom for over twenty years inexplicably crashed to the floor. His radio turns on for no reason and the microwave won’t shut off….
dododododododododododododooooooooooo….

So, that got me thinking of my ‘paranormal’ experiences. My grandmother died when I was ten. The night before, in a room full of laughing family, I suddenly knew she was going to die. Then a few days later I was alone in the house and I sensed her presence. I was certain if I stayed where I was, I would see her. Of course I did what any ten-year-old would do, I ran.

My other grandparent’s house was always an unsettling place. Resting between tree clad hills, daylight came late and sundown early. And, my grandparents didn’t believe in any extra lighting. It is an older house, the house of my grandmother’s parents, a bit worse for wear from the damp and coal dust. A place made spookier by grandma’s superstitions. She knew the charms and incantations for getting rid of sickness or warts. Probably passed down by some Scottish granny. But be it the physical properties or the unconventional doctoring, there was just something unsettling about that house. My father told me of how he’d be reading at night and the hairs on the back of his neck would rise, as if he was being watched. The blinds in the back bedroom would fly up for no apparent reason. That room always got to me. If I had to sleep in it alone, I left the light on. Even into my twenties. Later my cousin’s child woke crying, saying he’d seen a face. I certainly didn’t disparage their claim.

Then in my early twenties, my friend and I were housesitting for her sister. Her bedroom was at the top of the stairs, mine all the way down the hall. After we went to bed, I heard her come down the hall and stop in front of my door. I waited for her to knock or come in, but she didn’t. In the morning, she asked me what I wanted in the night. She had heard the same footsteps.

Later that summer a friend of ours left the bar drunk, went left of center and slammed into an oncoming semi. I might have been the last person to see him alive. The night of his funeral we were housesitting again. I sensed his presence so strongly at that house that I knew if I opened the patio curtains, he would be standing there, lost in the darkness, forever separated from humankind.

So, those are my stories. Halloween a little early. What are yours?

Is Kindness a Thing of the Past?

Whether it’s the Wall Street fiasco or the fracas that is an election year, I’m done. Add to the mix three teenagers and a neighbor who finally succeeded in chopping the tops out of my trees on this his fourth covert attempt, and you get one sick to death of it all, worn out by the selfishness that is mankind, bag of bones.

What ever happened to simple kindness? Courtesy? Compassion? Is it so rare that when it does happen it makes the evening news?

Fed up, sick to death, becoming a recluse and moving to Montana.

Journal of an Undecided Voter: Vol. Three

Well McCain came out of left field for me with his VP choice. My first response was, whoa, not another young candidate in the mix with no experience. Then I watched her speech in Dayton and whoa turned to Wow. I LIKE her. Really, really like her.

So, just when I thought I’d gotten the parameters laid out, in comes the dark horse from Alaska. She’s got all the reform and non-partisan ideals I love. A maverick with no obligations to Washington, lobbyist and good old boys.

But, can she run a country? It’s a long way from Alaskan hockey mom to Chief Executive of the most powerful nation in the world. I know in an earlier entry I expounded upon the limitations of a VP in an administration, but with McCain being 72 years old, the possibility of Palin being handed the reins are probably already calculated by Vegas odds makers.

****

That was written last week. She’s certainly taken some hard shots since then. One of the strangest comments I heard was she better not let her hair down or she will be too sexy for male voters. Hillary never had that problem. Nor Geraldine Ferraro and definitely not Margaret Thatcher. Guess she better keep that hair up and glasses on. Wouldn’t do to have an attractive woman with political power.

The worst thing about Palin is that next to her, McCain looks like pathetic white stuffed sock puppet whose movements are controlled by a puppet master’s stick.

Journal of an Undecided Voter Vol. Two

The Democratic Convention is well underway, and no I’m not watching it. Party politics disgust me, rhetoric is nauseating and analysts make me want to shoot the TV. I watch politicians enough to get a feel of their character from body language and unscripted exchanges. Beyond that, they might as well have a bubble above their heads saying – blah, blah, blah.

I’ve been reading some strong comments in condemnation or defense of both candidates. Sways me this way and that, but still no decision.

As to what I wrote about the names, just a little quirk in a Dr Who kind of way. Bad Wolf and all. A name won’t influence my vote in any way. Being a POW does add to the pot. Who better to know the horrors of war than one who’s been there? But it’s just a piece.

Now as to the prevalent Democratic battle cry that McCain would be four more years of Bush. I’m not sold that is the truth. I’ve never seen McCain as the same kind of candidate as George W. other than they are both Republicans. What’s he supposed to say - yeah Bush sucks? That’s not how party politics work. He’s not going to bash the outgoing party man any more than Al Gore was going to say – yeah Clinton’s a skirt chasing whoremonger but I’ll bring dignity back to the Oval Office. The incumbent party candidate’s tongue is tied when it comes to addressing the last four or eight years. Another reason I wish we’d do away with parties all together.

What I do like about this election is the involvement of the populous. Something some people want to attribute to Obama. Horse hockey. There’s a generation out there who has decided to take things into their own hands and that greatly encourages me. They turned out last election because they didn’t like the way things were going. Democracy in action. For when all is said and done, politicians are supposed to be working for us. When millions of voters start caring and paying attention to what’s going on, things change.

So, I am still concerned Obama’s not experienced enough and will try and give the sun moon and stars with no way to pay for it. I am concerned McCain is too old, too entrenched in Republican politics and too dug into Iraq.

Iraq, my feelings…. I want the hell out. Here’s what has bothered me from the start. Everyone knew our reasons for going in were false. The position Bush put Colin Powell in is inexcusable. My belief is this was more of a continuation of a family vendetta than national defense. George Sr. didn’t get Sadam so George W. finished the job. Was he a despot? Or course, but I don’t see us rushing into African nations where people are oppressed and starving to death. But, then, they don’t have oil.

The other thing that has bothered me is the mentality of the region. I don’t believe they want peace. If peace isn’t wanted, all the peacekeepers in the world won’t bring it.

But, there are the economics. We do need oil. We are hooked like an addict on heroin. What if we had changed our ways back in the 70’s when oil prices skyrocketed? Instead we went from Gremlins to Hummers. Stupid, lazy, gluttonous Americans that we are. So here we are. What if we hadn’t been pouring billions of dollars into the region purchasing oil for the last thirty years? Would we even have the terrorist issues? Would they have the funding? Would they have an incentive?

My feelings are we can’t get independent from that region fast enough. If we don’t need them, aren’t in their homelands, aren’t pouring billions of dollars in…. What would foreign policy look like? Oil has dictated our foreign policy for far too long.

I want to be independent from foreign oil. I want to be independent from the world. I want to know we could close our borders and take care of ourselves. I do believe it is time we spent more time looking inward.

Journal of an Undecided Voter - Vol. One

This will be the first entry in my journal of an Undecided Voter. I really have no idea which candidate I will choose come November. When the political surveyors call, I honestly tell them I am completely undecided. Were the election held today, they ask, who would you vote for. I don’t know, I answer. If you assigned a particular candidate a percentage of possibility, what would it be? Fifty percent, I answer, much to their consternation. But, I digress.

So, here’s what's on this undecided voter’s mind – Obama’s choice of running mate. When I read he had finally announced, I went to the most impartial source I knew for information, BBC news. Sideline – if anyone knows of a reason not to view this source as impartial, please enlighten me.

Joe Biden. Interesting on so many levels. Not one of which makes me feel better about Obama as a candidate. I agree it is an admission of his inexperience. Admitting he doesn’t know what he’s doing in the foreign policy arena. Admitting he doesn’t appeal to the most basic sector of the population.

And exactly how is this good old boy, this Washington insider going to aid Obama’s campaign for change? Biden is supposed to help woo the blue-collar vote. But, aren’t we to be voting for President, not the package? I know that’s the way it’s done in politics, but when all is said and done, the signature that matters won't be Biden’s. What guarantee is there that Biden will have any input at all?

And does anyone else see the terroristlike names? Osama Bin Lauden? Bin Lauden – Biden? Barack Hussein Obama? Osama – Obama? Sadam Hussein – Hussein. Ok, Ok, I know they are just names, but still, feels a little weird in the mystic or sci-fi kind of way.

But what disturbs me the most in the selection is what I’ll call the Cheney Syndrome. The inclusion of a pseudo-elected character in the power pool. Face it; we let Cheney get away with a lot of things solely because he wasn’t the President. He acted under the radar. Acted with as much power and authority as the President. I don’t want to get into that scenario again. If a candidate cannot get elected on his/her own merits, they he/she shouldn’t be president.

Joe Biden as a cabinet member may be a great choice, as a VP it causes me great concern. Just who will be running the government? Cheney- Bush (funny how his name came to mind first) at least stood on the same platform. Will Obama-Biden use a bi-level platform, a split stage, individual soapboxes?

I don’t know, it just doesn’t gel for me.

Where Has All the Summer Gone?

The summer is winding down. One more week to do all those things that have been put off. Or, one week to prepare for what is to come.

My youngest is sleeping in a tent out back with thee of his eleven-year-old friends. A very belated birthday party. Then again, he couldn’t be sleeping out if it were December. Last night the yard was littered with pop cans and bodies slain with dollar store foam swords, later to be resurrected into Ninjas or doomed to be Zombies.

Friday we will move our oldest into his dorm. All six of us. Our loaded down van with his brother and sisters will descend upon Mount Union College and move John-Boy into this next phase of life.

The girls are ready to go back to school, to be amongst their friends. But, as happens every year, the cry of ‘where did the summer go?’ echoes with the cicadas. We never made time for those camping trips I’d planned back in May. To go to Kennywood, Lake Erie or even the zoo. So much time spent doing – what? Reading. The kids do spend a great deal of summer time reading. Swimming, though never often enough for my ten-year-old. But too much sitting. At the TV, at the computer. Is it the schedule that creates these void zones? The minutes stuck in-between baseball, play practice, marching band, jobs, church and all the other things that fill pieces of the days?

Will I ever learn to manage those moments effectively? To not be in perpetual limbo? Perhaps, and then again, perhaps not.

Regardless, summer ends this week. Oh, we have the reprieve of Labor Day weekend. Those three days to do at least one of the things you’ve been meaning to do all summer. We really have to get our heads together and decide what it will be.

Eris is Alive and Well

Eris, the Greek personification of discord, survives into the modern world. Not only survives, but is alive and well and wreaking her havoc along highways and byways and high school support groups. Why do some have a pathetic, desperate craving for dissension?

According to tales of old, Eris when barred from a wedding due to her meddling ways, crashed the party and tossed out the apple of discord. The eventual result was the Trojan war. How may apples are still being tossed by suburban Enis’? Bushels full it appears.

Not only does Eris, bring her evils to the party, she brings along her children, the personifications of Quarrels, Lies, Disputes, False Oaths, Pain & Sorrow, Fighting, Battles, Famine, Forgetfulness, Labor, Lawlesness, Ruin, Manslaughter and Murder.

Oh, Eris you favorite of evil, you thrive today. Your spirit infests schools, boardrooms, churches and anywhere people capitulate to the necesitude of creating drama for their own twisted purposes.

I’m beginning to believe one of the greatest blessings art can bring into our lives is the satiation of the ugly human desire for drama. When confronted with a modern Eris, I want to tell them to go read a book, watch a movie or even a soap opera. To quench their requisite desire to embody that woeful goddess by observing others tossing their apples of strife into parties fictional. Fictional beings who cannot be hurt by the results, for though they may live in pages of books or TV screens, the drama of their lives end with the closing chapter or scrolling of credits.