The Holidaze...

Just a short one. Thought, really. Nothing more.

Mom and Pop; I miss you MOST of all during these days. Maybe life was not perfect; but it was certainly better with you here.

Evelyn M. and Lewis F. Hall Sr. - Wedding day, beginning of WWII.

Dreaming in color...

This one is true.

                I don’t dream. At least, not that I remember. When I was younger; yes. I dreamt quite a bit. But, as the years have gone on, I found I was dreaming less and less. A good portion of the problem, is quite probably my lack of ability to attain the deeper type of sleep that allows dreams to form. Worry, regret and just the every day stresses of life, have conspired against me on that one. *chuckles*

                When I DID dream, on a regular basis, my dreams were in black and white. I do not dream in color. Usually, my dreams were about beating the hell out of someone. These invariably involve me, in a suit of armor and swinging a sword. Hey, I don’t have a lot of use for the modern world. Lol.  

                I don’t even have those dreams anymore.

                My father passed on in 1999. It was not pretty, or pleasant. I was devastated, and angry at the world and the almighty, who would allow evil to run rampart across the face of the planet, while taking the soul of a simple gardener. My father was tough, but he was a good man. He did not deserve the miserable ending he got.

               Mom pretty much gave up, after Pop passed. She ended up in a nursing home a little over a year after he died. I would have kept her at home and stayed with her; but she required 24 hour care. I couldn’t work a full time job, a part time job, AND provide her the necessary care she needed. Needless to say, she was not happy with THAT decision… But I talked to her and went to see her several times a week. She passed on in 2007. Neither was her ending a pleasant or peaceful one. Mom was just as tough as Pop. But life didn’t give her what she deserved either.

                Pop had a little Boston Bull Terrier, named Ginger. She was not large, but thought she was a Great Dane. Her personality was at LEAST that large. She was confused, when Pop disappeared from the household, and clung that much closer to Mom. Then, Mom left our home. I did take her out to visit Mom several times at the Nursing Home. She would be beside herself with joy to see my Mother, each time we went. I would put her into the bed and she would lay beside her, trying to like her face. Mom didn’t care for that so much, but tolerated it, because she was glad the dog remembered her and was happy to see her.  

                Ginger passed on in 2001. Her ending was horrific. A brain tumor caused her to seize. She had a massive attack and died in my arms. I was alone at the homestead. There was no time to get help, or take her to an emergency vet. She was gone in moments. I swore never to have another pet after that. I had seen too much of death, in too short a time, taking everyone I loved away from me. I moved out of my home soon after she was gone. I couldn’t take being there anymore.

                Before Pop passed on, he had befriended a cat, which made its home in the garage where he stored the tractor and lawn mower. He was outside walking the grounds one day, and saw this little head peeping out at him from beneath his 1949 Farmall Super A Tractor. Pop was not a cat person, per se, but he could NOT stand to see any animal suffer or go hungry. So, he went back inside and cooked the poor creature some minute steak. He went back outside to the garage and sat the food down, intending to back away and let the cat eat. It came streaking out and rubbed itself thoroughly around my father’s feet and ankles, before turning to eat the steak. That was that. Pop had a cat. He named her Rosie.  Rosie was a dark calico, small and very vocal. My father was not sure how the dog would react to the cat, and so, took to walking Ginger in the front of the house. When he would go out back, Rosie would come streaking up to him, and stay by his side, as long as he was outside. He would sometimes sit outside out screened in porch, in an old metal lawn chair, and Rosie would jump up in his lap. He was concerned, because the cat would drool. He thought she was sick. I had to inform him that cats drool when they are ecstatically happy (thanks Sis, for the info).

                One day, Pop forgot his own self imposed rule, and took Ginger out the back porch door. Instantly, Rosie shot out of the garage. She ran right up to Pop and the dog. Ginger began barking frantically. Rosie simply dropped to the ground in front of her, rolled onto her back and gently placed a paw on each side of Ginger’s face. The dog swallowed her own bark. She tried to growl, but couldn’t even muster the bluster for that. Then she turned away in seeming disgust from the cat. After that, the two were fast friends.

                After Pop passed, we found Rosie a good home, where she could be an indoor cat. Her new owners loved her and treated her like a queen. But, her time outside had been fatal to her, it turns out. She had been infected by some sort of parasite, which eventually killed her, 3 years after my father was gone. Her owners were crushed. I was too, when I was informed. She had taken to sitting on MY lap, after Pop was gone. I am not a cat person either; but Rosie was a remarkable little kitty.

                As I said at the outset; I don’t dream very much anymore. When I did, it was always in black and white. Never have my parents attempted to interact with me, since their passing (to my knowledge. If they have, and I missed it, they need to do something I WILL catch!!!).

                One night, a very few years ago, I woke up. I was laying on the floor, in the living room at my family home. It was the original carpet, from when I was a little child. I was face down and crying. And then, something licked the side of my face. I raised my head, to find Rosie and Ginger looking at me. The little dog was doing her “smile;” eyes open as far as they would go, ears flat back against her head, and trying to curl her lips up to show her crooked little teeth. It was comical as hell when she did it, cause you KNEW she was trying to mimic a human smile. Rosie was sitting beside her, bent forward, with her little nose just touching my face. I KNEW they were both passed on. I KNEW this was a dream. But it was in VIVID color. It was like watching HD tv, it was so real. I spoke with them and told them how happy I was that they had come back to visit me, and how lonely I was with them all gone, INCLUDING Mom and Pop. They of course, did not speak back to me. The licked my face and hands and listened as I cried.

                To ME, THIS is a paranormal event; I rarely dream, and NEVER in color. Another clue to me, was the original rug in the living room, that I was laying on. It had been replaced long before mom and Pop passed on.

                I thanked them both for coming to me. It was good to know they still existed in some form. One of my great fears is passing over and finding out my animal friends from youth are not there. I won’t stay in any heaven that does not include them. Most animals have more right to a Soul and a Heaven, than people do. They love unconditionally. People don’t do that with people, most of the time.

                Now, if I could just get Mom and Pop to make themselves known somehow. AND the animals. I want to see Candy, Jo-Jo, Molly, Ginger and Rosie. AND Bo, Amos and Eddie.  Here’s hoping.

I love and miss you all. Drop in any time. 

Computer Room Shadow...

This one, again, is a true event. 

                One evening, about 3 years ago, I was standing in the kitchen, at the sink, doing dishes. There is a window above the sink, which faces out into the backyard of the house. If I turn around, facing into the living room, to my right is the back door, which exits the house, onto the screened in porch. To my left, is a doorway which goes into the “Computer Room.” The light above the sink was on, as I washed. The kitchen light itself was off. It was dark outside. The living room curtains were closed behind me. The overhead light was on, in the computer room. I had yet to turn on the outside light on the porch.

                Jack, our dog (Australian Shepherd), was lying on the floor behind me, facing the computer room. I had JUST finished doing the dishes, and had turned around to face the living room, drying my hands at that particular second. Suddenly, to my left, a shadow moved in the computer room. Jack immediately sat up, from a prone position, and watched the doorway intently, ears cocked. BUT, he did not bark, or otherwise show that he was perturbed.

                Whatever it was, was human sized. That much I could easily discern. I raised my voice and called to my girl-friend, asking where she was located in the house, presently. She replied she was in the bathroom. I informed her that we had a visitor. She already knew, and said he was just passing through.

Our home had apparently been built across an old pathway, that the entity was used to using. He was simply doing as he always had done.

I cannot say I felt threatened. I did not; especially seeing as how Jack did not react negatively to the spirit’s passing. Jack was a sensitive boy, and protective, although he was getting on in years, and did not move so fast as he used to, he could still set up quite a ruckus, if needs be. He merely watched intently for a few moments, then laid back down again. But, we BOTH saw the shadow’s passing through the computer room.  Paranormal activity is not ALWAYS out to get you, despite what the popular tv shows present. Most often, they are simply going about their business, just as they had done when they were among the living.

The problem is; the very EVENT of being faced with something paranormal, is out of our “comfort zone.” People get whigged out, when nothing has been done to them. They just “saw” something odd. I admit to as much myself. But I do not automatically assume that something is “out to get me,” just because it is of a supernatural nature.  Just because you are dead, doesn’t automatically mean you turn into a brain sucking maniac. If you were a good person in life, why would you be anything less in death? Conversely, if you were an SOB while you are alive, chances are, passing over is NOT going to improve your personality any.

I do not INVITE such activity into my life, but, if it occurs, I am very interested in attempting communication with it. Unfortunately, this passed so quickly, I did not get the chance to get out the gear and do my thing. Lol. I know the chance will come again. Next time, my shadowy friend will find me better prepared to ask him to stop and chat a while. 

 Jack. God rest his beautiful soul.

Eastern State Penitentiary - 2005

This one, is true. 


              Several years ago, my at the time girl-friend and I decided to do a daytime tour of Eastern State Penitentiary, in Philadelphia, PA. This was JUST after Ghost Hunters did their 1^st tour of the place. It was in July, I think. The middle of the week, in the middle of the day. Naturally, the place was empty; except for the tour guides, who really were NOT interested in leading a measly 2 people around the place, in such stifling heat. So we opted for the self guided tour.

                It was hotter than the hammer of whoo-haa that day, and the shade provided INSIDE the cell blocks was to be relished, even though the atmosphere was obvious depressing, even to someone with MY lack of “Sensitivity”. We inspected all the areas that were open to public view, taking our time, because of the oppressive heat.

                The place was literally falling apart. It really does need SOME restoration. Well, except for Capone’s cell. That one you could still live in… But the rest of the place needed serious help. It was quite easy to understand WHY, in the early days, so many incarcerated there, lost their minds. The cells are VERY small. And not being able to speak, or communicate with other people for months or even YEARS at a time, would make just about anyone go bonkers.

                The place is laid out like a wagon wheel, with central command at the center of the place, and the cell blocks radiating out like the spokes, off the center. We had investigated the who place, ending up in the Death Row area. We were quite alone. No one even in the center area of the prison (the only area with electric and therefore Air Conditioning, was the gift shop, where all the guides were hanging out). As we went to exit at the far end of the cell block, my girl-friend exited first, with me a step behind. As I was just about to pass through the open door, from behind me, there came a human voice. A drawn out moan, sounding to me, much like frustration. I stopped and Turned back, looking around intently. This was LOUD. I heard it, and I am slightly deaf ( the fault of the guitarist in my first band, whose motto was “If yer ears ain’t bleedin, it ain’t rock and roll”), I turn BACK to the GF, who is still out and moving. She says, without even slowing down;

                “Ignore him. Yeah, I heard it. If he had something to say, he should have done it while we were inside. I don’t play those games.”

                I shrugged, and said over my shoulder “Sorry Dude.” and continued on out the end door. As we moved along the side of the building, back towards the entrance, loud rapping and knocking followed us along the building wall that we were nearest.

                This is the MOST intense paranormal experience that I have ever personally encountered. It has always been my intention to go back and do a night time investigation there. Hopefully, I will get the chance to do so, before too much longer.



Eastern State Penitentiary

My Homestead...

This is another true one.

                In 2002, my father had been gone for 3 years, and my mother had been in the nursing home for a year. I decided it was time for me to pack up and move on from the family homestead.

                As I have mentioned before, I am not one who has had much, in the way of 1^st hand paranormal experiences;  my sister has.  And those around me seem to. This is one of those type of situations. MY house, someone ELSE’ experience…

                A friend of mine from grade school and high school, was unemployed.  He needed money, and I needed some things done on the house, to make it more marketable. He worked cheaply and did VERY good work. So, I hired him to fix up the place, while I was away working during the day. I also loaned him my father’s pickup to drive, so he could get back and forth from his place to mine, and acquire whatever materials he may need in the course of doing his work on my place.

                Things went well for quite a while. Then, one day, I came home from work, to find him sitting outside the house, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. He was shaking. I knew something had happened as soon as I looked at him. I just didn’t know what. We proceeded to tell me, that he had been working in front of the house, moving two old oil tanks, and the bricks my father had used to keep them in an upright position. He had been re-stacking the bricks, when he dropped one on his finger. He jumped and cursed.  Immediately he heard a low voice say,

                “Ow! That’s gotta hurt.”

                My friend looked around, but saw no one. He continued working. A few minutes later, he began to hear whistling, as if someone were going about their tasks and keeping themselves company. He stopped and looked around again outside, then went inside my house and searched it from top to bottom. The whistling had ceased, but he found no one.  At that point, whigged out, he went outside and began drinking. *chuckles* My friend was an amateur scientist. He had also been raised hard-core Roman Catholic. Angels and Demons figured into his world-view. The ghost of my father, haunting the home he was in for 45 years, did not.

                I calmly told him, that there was really only one person it could be, and that would of course, be my father. He knew Pop. I told him in no uncertain terms, that my father wouldn’t hurt him, and was probably appreciative of the work he was doing at the house. I also expressed to him how LUCKY he was to have heard these things. I had been there by myself, for over a year. I heard and saw NOTHING.  To this DAY, I have not had any person communication from my Mother or Father.

                My friend calmed down eventually. He never spoke of any more encounters in the house. But neither did he seem as frightened by the prospect of working there, with my father watching over his shoulder. J

My buddy's Paranormal Experience....

 This one is again, true. :)

A very good friend of mine, whom I have known for almost 25 years now, is not a HUGE believer in the Paranormal. He enjoys watching the usual shows, Ghost Hunters, Paranormal State, etc., but does not really contemplate the occurrence of the Paranormal in his own, daily life. Until recently.

Joe lives in his family homestead, with his wife, sons and his father. He grew up there with a brother and three sisters. Their mother was EXTREMELY Christian in her beliefs, which did NOT include spirits. Kinda like MY Mom, on that account. J

After living away from home for so many years, lousy circumstances forced him to have to move his family back to his ancestral home. Joe is unemployed. His father works several jobs. His wife works. His boys are at school. So, when he IS home during the day, he is alone. Or, he’s supposed to be.

Recently, he mentioned he often feels like he is NOT alone in the house, when he KNOWS there’s no one else there. I told him to get a small recorder and do an EVP session. If there WAS anyone hanging around, they’d probably speak to him. Well, he had no recorder, so he used his IPhone. As much as I detest those frikkin things, it actually worked. Go Figure.

He sent me a short clip, which he thought had something on it. But he wasn’t sure, as he did not have the gear at the time, to move it to a PC and “Pump up the Volume” so to speak. J Fortunately, I DO. I raised the volume on the clip, and cleared some of the hiss and grain away. One has to be careful not to go TOO far with such things, because one can LOSE the actual EVP you’re trying to hear.

The clip is 30 seconds. In it, a whispery voice can be heard. It seems to me to be male. What I hear is…

“…..Joe…..check…up…………………………………………………Jo-Jo………………………………………………

…….Joe..check..up……………………….Joe!............................”

There is some miscellaneous knocking and banging, which I put down to him holding the phone in his hand and maybe moving it as the recording is taking place.

When I presented him with the cleaned-up version, I asked him if any of his relatives had called him Jo-Jo. His response; his recently passed grandfather had indeed called him that as a child. So, I told him that whomever it was, appeared to be concerned with his health for some reason, and perhaps a doctor’s visit might be in order.

Joe is now taking college courses to try and make himself more marketable to find a job. So he’s not home alone as much as he was before. WHICH, even though the entity is probably family, is JUST fine by him. J

here is the actual wave file. What do YOU hear?

Joe.....Check Up......

Mom's Paranormal Experiences...

THIS one is of course, true!

My mother, the die-hard paranormal skeptic, had quite a few experiences in her life, including hearing heavenly music several times, right before someone would pass away in the family. The first time this happened, was when my father’s father was in the hospital. He wasn’t expected to die, by any stretch. She and my father, along with a couple of his brothers and sisters, were visiting him, and as they were getting ready to leave, Mom began hearing what she described as “Beautiful, Heavenly Music.” When I asked her to describe is, she said it was like a choir and an orchestra mixed up together, but it was definitely the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. She asked if anyone else heard anything. When the entire Hall clan said no, she clammed up and said nothing more in front of them. Later that evening, when she and my father were sitting at home, they got the call that Grandpa Hall had passed.

                It was a few years before she heard it again. This time, unfortunately, it was her own mother. Grandma Johnson had a rough life, to be sure. She lost two children. Mom was the only survivor of her progeny. As Gram sickened (pancreatic cancer. In the early 1960s, it was simply a death sentence), Mom cared for her at home. They sat one day, talking in the sun room. Gram knew she didn’t have much time left, and she was in great pain. Mom was concerned, as anyone would be. She couldn’t save her own mother, and she knew it. Gram tried to put her at ease, despite her own pain; “I’m going to a beautiful place. You don’t have to worry about me. I worry about who will care for YOU.” And again, my Mother heard that unearthly music. She knew for herself, Gram’s suffering was nearly over. Later that same day, it was.

                I often wondered to myself, if she heard the music when my father passed. But I was always scared to ask. It was a bad time for all of us.  Did she hear it when her own time came? I wonder that, too. I missed both of their passings, Pop and Mom, by minutes at best. All I can hope is that they knew I was there at the end. I of course, hear nothing.

************************************************************************

                In her later years, Mom was pretty intolerant of heavy anti-biotics. They made her more than a little loopy in the head. Sometimes, viciously so.  On those times, I wouldn’t stay long. Woof. It was rough to take. The last time she was in the hospital, doped up on anti-biotics, was in March of 2006. I went and visited her, but the first few days, she was unbearable. Then, they began to reduce the dosage. While she was not RIGHT, she was at least not Hell On Wheels. I went in to see her, and was nervous at the foul expression on her face. I thought the doctors upped her meds again. I asked her how she was. She replied that she was annoyed. My brother had been there last night, but would not speak to her. He just sat on a chair in the corner and shook his head. Well, I was more than slightly skeptical. My brother was out in Idaho, as far as we knew and had been estranged from the family for many years. He didn’t even come home for Pop’s funeral. So, I highly doubted his presence. I figured she was seeing things again. Turns out I was right; after a fashion.             

                Fast forward to March 2007. Just over a month after Mom passed. Mom’s only living niece received a letter from my brother’s wife, bitching the family out for not having included my brother in Mom’s death announcement, as a survivor. It upset my cousin quite a bit. I would have simply ignored it. My sister, was not so forgiving. She took the letter, and I knew my brother’s wife was truly going to regret having written it, once Sis was done with her.

                2 weeks later, my sister called me at work. She asked if I was sitting down. I said I was. Our brother had been dead for over a year. Her research revealed he had passed in March of 2006. The last time my Mother was in the hospital. Hallucinating, so I thought…

                I can’t say I was hurt that he was gone. He was never good to my sister or myself. And surely not good at all to my parents. But I hope he found peace anyway. And that they are all at peace with each other, wherever they may be.

************************************************************************

                I walked into the nursing home to see Mom one day after work. Normally, she was dozing and I would have to sit down beside her and touch her to wake her up. This time, she was wide awake and waiting for me.

                “I had a visitor this morning.” She said, looking at me pointedly, though she couldn’t see me well at all, through the haze of her just starting cataracts.

                “Oh?” I asked cautiously, “Father Romanowski?”

                “No. YOUR father.” She said, seriously.

                I was ready to go get the duty nurse and ask if someone had been screwing with mom’s meds. She was NOT a believer in “ghosts” and ghostly visitations. As far as she was concerned, you died and went to heaven, purgatory or hell, depending on how big a schmuck you had been in life. You didn’t get to hang around on earth and “appear” to people. I never thought I would see the day when my own mother would admit to having seen a Ghost.

                “What did he say?” I asked.

                “Nothing! He just stood there looking at me and cleaning his glasses on his necktie.”

                “Okay. What did he look like? Old or young? Sick or healthy?”

                “Young. Healthy. He had all his hair. He looked good.” She teared up a bit. Pop had suffered miserably in his decline. When he finally passed, he was a mere shadow of the strapping man that had taken care of all of us for so many years.

                “Well, I told you, you had visitors and people watching over you.”

                “Hell of a shock to see.” She had grunted, shaking her head.

                Maybe. But a comfort to know he was around and still trying to be of help in some fashion.

Mom and Pop - 1941

Paranormal Experiences are not quite as uncommon as you may think…

This is another true set of events!


Several years ago, 2006, I believe it was, my girlfriend wanted to do an audition interview video, for America’s Biggest Loser. I hate reality tv. Fat shows in particular, since they do no earthly good for anyone and are simply about people’s vanity. Being thin does not change who you are inside. Anyone who claims otherwise, is selling you snake oil. All of that aside, it’s what she wanted to do. So, I ran the video camera for her interview. She did her little bio blurb, and began speaking of her mother and grandmother, who had both passed. She teared up a bit, but finished her piece and we were done. THEN, I played it back.

All was well on tape, until she began to speak of her mother and grandmother. At that point, two small, but very bright balls of light came streaking into the video frame and repeatedly circled around her head. They danced, they bobbed. They gamboled. And when she was done speaking of her deceased relatives, they pointedly shot out of the camera’s frame. Now, while I was recording this LIVE, I saw nothing. Only upon playback, did this strange anomaly become apparent.

Playing this back for her, she began to laugh. “It’s Mom and Gram.”

***********************************************************************

My sister has had many interesting experiences, all relating to my father. He has come to her on business and personal drives, during the day, never at night because she really tries to avoid driving at night since her night vision is not very good. The most notable time she remembered, was on 95 south, heading from the Allentown, Pa. area back to Jersey, when she smelled cheap, smelly cigar smoke and slowed down, knowing Pop was trying to get her attention. Sis decelerated from 75 to about 45 mph. Minutes later coming upon a crash that involved a big truck (not an 18 wheeler, but big enough). If she’d continued along at 75, she would have been caught right up in the middle of the accident.

She also recalls smelling cigar smoke one night, not long after Ketan (my nephew), started sleeping in a crib in his own room, as she sat in Pop's old rocker (it had been reupholstered) trying to rock my nephew to sleep.

To this day, she occasionally smells cigar smoke in the car. When it happens, she either slows down or tells her husband Harry to, if he's driving. He knows enough not to argue when he is told that. In the past year, since moving into her current home, from time to time smell the scent of B.O. will mysteriously appear - exactly how Pop used to smell when he would come in from mowing the lawn or working in the garden on a hot summer day. Usually his scent lingers around the sliding glass door that leads to the deck (he's probably disgusted by the condition of their back yard, my sister surmises), and has recently been encountered in the dining room (the least used room in the house). I guess Pop has decided the cigar smoke trick is no good anymore since there are small kids in the house, so he's going with an odor that won't harm them but will still get attention! Maybe he's just saying "Hello."

*************************************************************************

The only paranormal experience involving Family, that I have had, was a message from an uncle that I have never met. Not while he was alive anyway.
Many years ago now, my sister Evelyn, and myself attended a séance, psychic Jane Doherty hosted at the Spy House, in northern New Jersey. I remember her stating at the outset, that everyone would hear from SOMEone that night, but not necessarily who they wanted or expected to. My sister and I got a shocker. It was better than halfway through the evening I guess, and Jane had given messages to most of the room by that point. When she stopped and got a funny look on her face; "I smell........baking bread? And I see.....OLD, stone, hearth-type ovens......who is George? George has been gone a very long time. I usually don't get personal messages from someone gone this long!"

I nearly jumped out of my skin, looking across the room at my sister, whose eyes were as big as dish plates. I raised my hand. "I think that would be my sister and I. But we never met George. He passed away long before we were born!"

Jane looked directly at me and said," Your Uncle George knows where your mother is. The situation she is in. He WANTS you to tell her that he's THERE. He's with her. He's watching over her." I choked up. And I know my sister did too. Uncle George had passed away in the mid 1940s. He had been a baker, in the early part of the 20th century, in Lancaster PA, where my mother had grown up. During the Depression, he had basically fed the whole clan. As a baker, he was the only one still making money. My mother would scrub the floors in the bakery, run errands for him, basically do anything she could, to help him. She was his favorite. He would give her what spare change he had on him, and tell her NOT to give it to her mother, but to go and buy herself some candy.

My mother loved Uncle George very much. Aside from Grandmom, the rest of her family was NOT very nice to mom. But Uncle George loved her. I guess as much as Grandmom did. As all of this was running at high speed through my head, Jane got a funny look on her face, and said, "And what's this he keeps saying about a pet turtle?" THAT for me, was the real clincher. Uncle George gave my mother broken pretzel bits, that he could not sell in the bakery, to take home. Which she would feed to her pet turtle, in the backyard of their home.

I related the experiences of that night to my mother, a day later, when I visited her in the nursing home. Mom had been bedridden and an invalid for 6 years at that point. I told her what the psychic had said. She was, of course, skeptical. Still, I told her that Uncle George visited her from time to time, and he was watching over her. She teared up a bit. Then I mentioned the broken pretzel bits and the turtle. Her eyes got wide."How could she know THAT??" "She couldn't." I told her "Unless Uncle George really was talking to her." Mom was always a skeptic. But she listened more carefully after that, when I related experiences such as those to her. Eventually, before she passed away, she even had an couple experiences of her own. But that’s going to be a story for another day.

My Father's Oldsmobile...

This one, is true.

                My father passed away in August of 1999, after a lengthy hospital stay.  He had been in since April.

                I lived with Mom and Pop, at the home I grew up in. As they grew infirm in their age, I tried to take care of them as best I could, while working 2 regular jobs and whatever side work came along as a musician. One gig was at a local Indian Reservation, where I would run sound twice a year (May and October) for their juried native arts show and competition. It was a large job, which required me to set up gear the day before the event started.  I had taken the gear up, the day before and come home that evening. The next morning, I decided to take my car, as it was more comfortable that the 1979 ford F100 that had belonged to my father. MY car, an 1985 Cadillac, wouldn’t start. Dead. No reason. Irritated, I went to the truck. It also was dead. NOW, I was in trouble.

                I called my friend, who was helping me on the job, hoping he had not left yet and could swing by and get me. No luck there. Already gone. I had no one to call to get a ride.  The reservation  was 50 miles one way. Taking a cab was out of the question. I looked out in the driveway. My father’s car still sat, undisturbed, where it had been for many months. I knew for a fact, it hadn’t been run or started, in nearly a year. As Pop sickened, I drove him where he needed to go, in MY vehicle.  His was a 1974 Oldsmobile Delta 88. A brown, 4 door, no frills, family vehicle. It had not yet broken 45,000 miles. Pop was proud of his Olds.

                I went inside and asked my Mom, where she thought his car keys might be. She sat there for a moment, before telling me they were probably still in his pants pocket. We had yet to clean out his things from their bedroom. Neither one of us could yet bear to do it. So, I went rooting through his clothes. I found the keys in the last pair of pants he wore, the day I drove him to the emergency room.

                Rushing back outside, I unlocked the Olds and climbed in. The interior still smelled like him; the sweat of a working man, and cigar smoke. I put the key in the ignition and said

“Oh please, Pop. Please start.”

                When I turned the key in the ignition, that Rocket 350 motor roared to life on the 1^st try. I opened the glove box and dug around for the insurance card. When I looked at it, I couldn’t help but burst into tears; there were 3 days left on my dead father’s car insurance. The exact amount of time I needed to do this job. I went back inside and sat on the couch, next to my Mom, still crying and showed her the card. She could see and hear the Olds running, as it was parked right outside the living room window. Mom smiled as she read the insurance card.

                “Well, he’s still trying to help you as best he can.”

                I drove Pop’s car for the next three days, without a problem.

                Paranormal? Maybe not. But I like to think so. Thanks Pop. I love and miss you both.