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The husband came home with yet another one of those free newspapers he picks up at the store every time he sees them. He really can’t help himself. But instead of the usual meaningless drivel, this publication had a few interesting factoids.
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A 15 inch flake? That’s almost as wide as Paris Hilton.
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We have Winnie to thank for OMG? Who knew.
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Well, alright then.
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I have no explanation for that whatsoever.
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And now my mind is truly blown.
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While at our local pub last week, a patron who was sitting on the other side of the bar bravely ordered this:
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Yes, you read that correctly. The beer was brewed with gummy bears. Why such an atrocity should take place I don’t know… but he laughed and gagged and promptly pushed the can back at the bartender who attempted to throw it away. I say attempted because you know my husband wasn’t going to let that happen.
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Yes, the beer was pink.
Yes, it tasted as horrible as you would imagine pink gummy bear beer would taste.
But you know what? The husband drank it anyway… because free beer is free beer.
🥴
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One little picture of Dudley on Facebook. That’s all it took for the Catopia algorithm to switch into high gear. And today? Unfortunately it’s bathroom themed.
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Yikes.
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Not anymore, no. Although thanks to Covid and an injured knee…. there is a whole lot more of it.
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Wow.
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I’d say this poster is a little cheeky, but that’s a tad too on point.
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If Dudley wanders in and hands me the toilet paper? I’m totally ditching Facebook.
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You’re back! Even though your eyes hurt from rolling so far up in your head? I appreciate that. Try not to think of me differently, I’m still the same margarita swilling, rock obsessed, chicken loving Mainiac (capital M thank you very much) you know and love. This is just another quirk to add to the list.
So that was strange experience number two. My reading with a psychic. It seems odd all these years later to even admit that out loud, but the simple act of rereading my blog from that time has lightened my heart again. If I took nothing else away from that weird and wonderful night it was the fact that our loved ones are never really gone. I truly believe that now…. and it’s a great comfort.
So here’s my last episode of that spiritual adventure. The aftermath.
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I think I opened the floodgates….
Added: Wednesday, January 30th 2013 at 5:29am by rivergirl
Since my experience last Saturday, I’ve told a few close friends about the psychic I saw and how she made a believer out of me… if just for one night. I was a bit fearful of their reactions… expecting eye rolls and chuckles. But I swear it was like they were all waiting for that particular door to open so they could tell their stories.
It was completely bizarre…. A totally no nonsense conservative told me of visitations from his late mother. An old girlfriend I went to school with and thought I knew everything about, admitted she’s been seeing a psychic for 15 years. A down to earth grandmother of 7 told me about her numerous feelings of deja vu. A man that works with my husband, the most rigidly analytical mind in the office, brought these books for me to read and confessed he is a devout believer.
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I skimmed a few chapters of these and think this woman is a flake……but whatever. It was the thought that counts.
I guess what really struck me is most people don’t feel comfortable talking about this subject until they know you’re on board.
So… I’m putting it out there.
I told you of my mind blowing re-connection with my late father. Are any of you willing to share your other worldly experiences?
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I’d love to hear your stories… if you’re willing to share. And yes, I have a few more strange things in the archives. Experiences from time spent at my mother’s bedside during her last days in hospice. Maybe I’ll post those as well….
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The husband’s brother and nephew stopped by yesterday to check out the man cave. (They hadn’t been in the barn in years and were suitably impressed.) Of course we heard them coming from half a mile away because they drove in with the nephew’s new toy.
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His favorite past time is buying and restoring old cars and this one is looking pretty good so far.
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Although I can’t say the same for the nephew. Pre Covid pandemic? He looked like this…
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Now?
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He’s sporting a Grizzly Adams type beard. But he brought us a jar of homemade maple syrup….
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So I guess I can overlook a little ( lot! ) of facial hair.
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He and his family do it the old fashioned way, tapping 32 trees with metal buckets.
He even built an honest to God sap house.
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Where he boils. And boils. And boils…
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In case you’re wondering, it takes 40 gallons of sap to make 1 gallon of syrup. No wonder it’s so bloody expensive. ( Good stuff can go for $100 a gallon )
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If you’re back this morning it must mean you want to know how my reading with the psychic went back in 2013. Funny, eight years later and I still have to pinch myself when I think about it. Roll your eyes, scoff, write me off as a nutcase… I don’t care. I would have done the same if I hadn’t experienced it myself. You know me…I’m a pragmatic chicka. A realist. There have only been a handful of things in my life I can’t explain…. and this was one of them. So jump aboard the crazy train and thank Swinged Cat for opening up my archive with his request for sharing weird experiences.
My evening with spirits…. **Friends only**
January 29th 2013 at 9:47am by rivergirl
I’m not sure I know where to begin.
And if I start rambling, please forgive me…it was a very emotional experience.
The psychic was a lovely woman who made me feel completely at ease. There was no incense, no crystal ball, just a table and the prerequisite box of tissues. She instructed me at the beginning of the session not to volunteer any information. Only to acknowledge or negate what she said. So for all you skeptics, there was no way she was pulling details of my life from me since all I said for an entire hour was yes or no.
I have to say it felt surreal. The moment we started she told me there was a man, who she felt was my father, waiting for me. I won’t go into all the details since none of you knew him….suffice it to say she had him down cold. There was nothing she related that wasn’t completely accurate. She had his personality, his job, his appearance, his love for my mother, his wartime experience, his poor health, his dry sense of humor, his love of the sea. She saw him surrounded by books, artist’s brushes, animals and gardens. She spoke of his grief over the loss of his brother when he was young, of his regrets in not being able to watch me grow up, his sense of duty towards his widowed mother and awful sister.
(And let me tell you…she had her down pat also. My hateful aunt who the psychic called spoiled, entitled and bitter. Fittingly, she is as alone in death as she was in life. Nice to know you really do reap what you sow. 👍)
I think the most amazing thing I came away from this experience with was the knowledge that our loved ones are always with us. My father said he was glad I had found a good man who loved me. That we were secure financially, that we were happy. He knew my husband had been in uniform and was older than I. He spoke of the big building project we had undertaken (the barn!) and how well we worked together as a team. He said he had been worried for me in my early teenage years right after he died because I, how shall we say….ran a little wild. (Which I totally did!) He said he appreciated the fact that I care for my mother… and to please have patience with her… as he had to, for she is not a strong woman.
The psychic told me of my father being there the night of the Marine Corps ball and how lovely he thought I looked in my dress. Of how proud he was of me for finding my own voice after so many years of being a shy wallflower. (Yeah….I know, hard to believe but at one time I was.) He wanted me to know that our beloved beagle Hiram was beside him now as he had been in life….which made the animal lover in me rejoice. He told me to lead the life I wanted to lead…that it is the regrets we take with us. And even though I never felt neglected as a child, his biggest regret was that he worked too hard and too long and didn’t spend enough time with my mother and me. He spoke of many little childhood memories I had all but forgotten. He spoke of the grief he carried over the loss of my brothers and sister. (My mother had multiple miscarriages early in their marriage) As I said…it was surreal.
Though I did choke up a few times….I didn’t babble. Which is surprising because even after all these years, I can’t often speak of my father without crying. I think I might have been too stunned for tears. My jaw was probably hanging open half the time because even though this was exactly what I had hoped for…part of me didn’t believe it could really happen. I’d happily crossed over into the Twilight Zone… and no one could have been more surprised. But aside from the other worldly vibe? The over all feeling of the evening was peace.
And love….above all, love.
For 35 years I have missed my father…. and wished over and over again that he could have shared my life as a teenager, as a young woman, as an adult. And now, the most remarkable thing I realized?
He has.
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My Facebook page is currently flooded with cat related products. I’m not complaining, it certainly beats the ball wash and butt deodorant I used to see. And hey… if I enjoy doing beer flights?
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I’m sure Lord Dudley Mountcatten would not be averse to a flight of kitty chronic.
This next product looked promising for me winning the cat box war.
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Though ridiculously large, it’s self contained and would stop our furry menace from flinging litter.
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Hmm. Guess that’s a no.
And I hate to admit it but yes, I broke down and ordered something silly.
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A personalized mask of me and Dudley. Granted I haven’t worn a cropped, midriff baring blouse in 20 (okay, 25. Geesh!) years…. but the hair color and wide hips are pretty close.
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I’ve been meaning to share this with you for a while now… ever since Swinged Cat asked me about it in the comments of this blog.
“It” being strange and/or supernatural events. If that’s not your thing, no problem…. feel free to skip the next few posts. It wasn’t my thing either. Until it happened to me. Not so easy to ignore then.
As most of you know I lost my father when I was 14. I was an only child of older parents and a total daddy’s girl.
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His loss shook my world to it’s core. Heck, I’m 57 years old, and to be honest I still haven’t gotten over it. Anyway…. back in 2013 my best friend gave me a very odd Christmas gift. “An Evening with Spirits” which was an hour long private session with a psychic. Now before you roll your eyes (like I did) it should be noted this was her daughter’s old college friend and not some loon on the street corner. She’s traveled world wide, studied numerous religions and spiritual disciplines, worked with the most respected people in the field ( you’re eye rolling again, I know… because I did it as well). But I assure you, my girlfriend is the most down to earth, no nonsense, grounded New Englander you’re apt to meet so if she said this woman was the real deal and forked out a major amount of money for a reading? I had to go along.
The following is copied from my old blog site, and while I normally don’t do that type of thing…. it was written right after the experience and was a harbinger of things to come. Read on if you’re interested.
A Twilight Zone moment….. For Friends Only
Added: Saturday, January 26th 2013 at 6:38am by rivergirl
Friends only because I really don’t need a larger crowd of people thinking I’m crazy.
As you know, I’m using my unique Christmas present this weekend and will be visiting the psychic I posted about earlier. Me…. seeing a psychic. And they say pigs don’t fly.
So… yesterday I’m sitting on the couch reading an interesting book about Tibet. It was full of legend and lore and spirits and demons…..which got me thinking about my upcoming reading. Basically I was wondering if it would be amazing or a total waste of time. Contact with my late father would be a dream, but we all know how rarely those come true. Still musing, I put the book down and looked up at our mantle where an antique English clock of my father’s sits.
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It’s a pretty little thing that my mother gave us 29 years ago when my husband and I moved into our first home.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. Hasn’t for the entire 29 years we’ve owned it and since it has a rather special pedigree….
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I never wanted to take it to just any clock maker to be fixed. Call me lazy, call me cheap… but there you have it…. it doesn’t work.
Until yesterday when I was sitting on the couch thinking about my father and the damn thing started ticking.
I’m not kidding…. I almost had a heart attack.
My jaw dropped, and I think I was shaking.
I jumped up to make sure I wasn’t hearing things and I swear by all that’s holy the stupid thing was working. After more than 29 years.
WTH!
Coincidence? I don’t think so.
Crazy lady hearing things? I’d be the first to say so if it hadn’t happened to me. The clock ticked for almost half an hour, and naturally stopped right before my husband got home from work.
Other people talk about experiencing weird things like this and I scoff. But I’m here to tell you when it happens to you? All bets are off.
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And I know more than a few of you have been waiting for this …
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Lord Dudley Mountcatten was not pleased with the new litter in his box.
How not pleased was he? Every time he needed to poo….
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I caught him digging in my houseplants. He would pee in the box, but not poop…. and it was a total nightmare. After picking him up and placing him in the box at least 426 times… only to have him jump out of it like it was on fire… I gave up and switched back to the old litter.
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With predictable results. $29 bag of Skoon?
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You can kiss my ass.
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In the continuing series Small Town Life Be Different…. here are the latest missives from mine.
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This was so sweet. Our local UPS man… who distributes doggie treats on his route… is in the hospital with pneumonia, so all his four legged customers posted pictures.
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Because traffic alerts in the country are less about speeding and more about manure.
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Every year the women of the Historical Society sew a quilt with local scenes to be auctioned off.
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The Town Office bought the first one where it still hangs proudly.
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Yes, I showed this to the husband. And no, he hasn’t removed his absolutely no chickens ban.
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Yikes. Critters that crawl under your house and die are the worst. But I can’t say I’ve ever known one to stink of garlic. And speaking of stinking…
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Word to the wise… if you think it’s your year? It most definitely is. 🤢
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As he predicted, this man’s post got a whole lotta hate. He’s new to the area… and I’m guessing he isn’t going to be very popular. Buying a house in a rural part of Maine means generations of the previous owners might still be inhabiting your back 40. A man up the road from us has a cemetery from the late 1700’s on his land. He doesn’t know the family or their descendants, but lovingly cares for the plot all the same. It’s called respect.
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