Tag: life

How one mysterious sighting opened my mind to the impossible

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

mysterysightLeftover debris from summer storms accumulated in a pile in our yard, larger this year than most. Outside temperatures finally cooled to the point one can actually stand to turn the air conditioning off. Both were signs that it is truly Fall once more. My boys, including the biggest kid of them all, eagerly piled as many limbs and dried leaves as they could in our fire pit and soon the evening was lit by its merry blaze.

The activity caught the eye of Her Royal Highness. Leaving the couch she has assumed as her throne, she padded her way to the edge of the fire ring. The boys threw another pine cone or two on the pile, sending ash and embers in the air. Her Royal Highness was not impressed with this display and returned post-haste to a more cushioned viewing distance. It was one of those times I was reminded how very different she is from our late dog.

He was much more possessive of the great back doors than she ever has been. An errant snap of a branch or roar from a car in the distance would have sent him running outside with his hackles at full attention. He’d hold his ground in the middle of the yard and bark at least a half a dozen times before running along the length of the fencing to ensure that the perimeter remained secure. Only then would he return to our side with a huff, puff, and or snort.

Could we not sense the unseen danger? He would ask without words, our fireside evenings anything but relaxing. There could be squirrels out there, cats, or even worse, deer! Eventually, his doggy paranoia would grow too much and with another huff, snort, and ruff, he’d trot off for another inspection of the parameter.

dog watching out window
My dog took our protection seriously. When he wasn’t in the yard, we often found him on guard at the window.

Shortly after he passed, I remember staring into the fire afterward, listening to its pops and crackles, and thinking to myself how quiet the evening was without him. Motion caught my eye, a shadow against our fence. The shadow moved as the fire blazed, and I swear it was dog shaped. As quickly as I noticed it, the shadow shifted across the fence as if my dog running his defense of our perimeter one last time.

I know the light can play tricks on you and eyes can sometimes make something out of nothing, especially if there is something they really want to see, but this time of year I can’t help but wonder if there may be truth to some of the stories about things that go bump in the night. And maybe, just maybe, that’s not a bad thing. I’ve never seen that shadow again, nor heard a bark from a dog that was not there, but it was enough to make me ask what if and think about other impossible things.

I am a huge fan of paranormal stories in general, particularly so, this time of year. The thought that there may yet be mysteries out there for us to discover thrills me.

Two quotes, attributed to Albert Einstein resonate with me:

“The important thing is not to stop questioning; curiosity has its own reason for existing.”

“Once you stop learning, you start dying.”

As much as I miss my late big sweetie, I am in no hurry to learn the answer to the question of whether or not there is life after death beyond what I take on faith. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other mysteries to ponder or other discoveries out there to make.

Imagine if Einstein or other researchers or scientists had stopped their work just because everyone told them the questions weren’t worth asking, or the task, impossible to perform. This is why it is so important to maintain an open mind, to accept that there are things we do not know, and to challenge the things we think we do. While some ideas may prove to never be anything more than a good fireside tale, there remains plenty out there for humanity to discover if we are only willing to consider the impossible.

Related Reading

If you have a spooky story of your own to share or would like to share a bit of news that no one else thought possible, feel free to either submit it or the link in the comments section.

 

No critter wants that litter, so best be on your way

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it
Litter sign
Image by Wade Tregaskis, courtesy of Flickr.com

I was standing outside, miles from home, with a trash bag in hand. A liquid of questionable make-up was running down my ankle from where I’d accidently brushed a leaky corner of the bag with my leg. It was a perfect morning.

My hubby, a regular member of the local Rotary Club had volunteered us all for a service project on Saturday. All of us. Even her Royal Highness. Our task was to go to a nearby park and walk the trail, scooping up litter along the way. When we arrived, the volunteer coordinator gave my boys a grabbing tool, a pair of gloves, and draped an adult sized fluorescent yellow vest labeled Park Volunteer vest over Kiddo’s shoulders. Then we’d gotten to work.

Kiddo decided it was a contest. Little did the other volunteers know, but they were now locked into a race against the clock to gather the most amount of garbage. It was a contest Kiddo was determined to win. The boy ran down hills, jumped into the brush, and time after time returned with a bottle, can, or cigarette butt clenched in his grabbing tool’s claws as proudly as if the trash were trophy.

Other park visitors were quick to notice, coming over to thank my son for his service. I beamed with every compliment they bestowed upon my son as I clutched our trash bag, now made heavy through his efforts.

Another couple from the club met us on the path. They’d finished inspecting the next section and it was time to head back. We turned to follow with Kiddo still on the lookout for any scrap that might have been missed. LT, more eager than his brother to call it a morning, begged his father to carry him the rest of the way. In order to shield our ears from the full assault of preschool cries, Lamont scooped LT up, placing him on his shoulders while I took charge of holding her Royal Highnesses leash in one hand and the trash bag in the other.

The path narrowed as we rounded the corner to the final bit of stairs leading to the park’s exit and a group of women approached us. I glanced at Kiddo, once again off the path in search of loose trash, as I anticipated the comments that would surely come.

A woman screamed.

Not the reaction I was expecting. I looked over. I realized then I’d let the lead grow too long and in that split second of inattention, Her Royal Highness had decided to make new friends.

The woman screamed again, clearly not interested in Her Royal Highness’ friendship. The group parted and I saw they too had a dog in tow. Only her dog was not idly sniffing around as if she was annexing the grounds as was mine. Hers was on its hind legs as its owner tried to yank its leash up to heaven. The dog barked frantically, mirroring the emotions of its owner. I pulled Her Royal Highness back to my side as soon as I realized what happened. Her Royal Highness, bored by the exchange, came at once without complaint.

So… almost a perfect morning.

I started to head back toward the stairs, but the other dog’s owner wasn’t yet satisfied. Turning she shouted a number of things at me and mine not caring at all who heard her spew, including my children.

I could have returned her righteous anger with my own. The encounter was an unwelcome surprise to us both. I hadn’t seen her dog. Didn’t she see my children? We were doing our part to make the park better, for people like her to enjoy. If anything she should be the one apologizing to them if not to me for her extended reaction.

I could have, but I didn’t say any of those things. I didn’t say anything at all. Instead, I simply looked at the stairs in front of me and decided my enjoyment of the morning would not be ruined by a passing moment. I’d reach the top, dispose of my bag, and be on my way.

I know the bags of mental negativity are far less easy to get rid off once you let them weigh you down. I could see all to clearly their impact on her in her body language as she continued down the path and could hear how she still simmered over my lack of reaction to her words or actions as the distance between us increased. I knew I didn’t want that kind of energy.

She’d tried her best to hand her bags of negativity to me. To spread her anger like the litter we’d collected, but I hadn’t let her. I’d resisted taking anything more than this little scrap for the purpose of telling a story. After all, my hands were full. I realized then I felt sorry for her. Not sorry enough to share her burden, but sorry she wouldn’t have the kind of day I’d had, even if it there had been a scattering of litter along the way.

I felt a cool drip on my leg, reminding me of the mystery liquid, best left unexamined and my need to get home and take a long shower. It was definitely time to make our exit. Kiddo’s face flashed another smile before shouting he’d collected another wrapper. At the top of the stairs, Kiddo announced to the volunteer coordinator he was the day’s winner.

I smiled. He was a winner for sure, but it would seem, I’d won too.

How to make an author panic in 3 easy steps

by Allie P., posted in Book Stuff and Publishing News, General Tips and Tricks, Indie book promotion, Life as I know it, Life Hacks

A friend posted a picture of her son, roughly Kiddo’s age, riding a bike, which while cute, was more notable by the fact that the child’s training wheels were off. Seeing the picture, I’d asked Kiddo if he’d like to give it a try too.

“Just imagine – you’ll be able to go biking with the big kids. When you don’t have training wheels, you could even go to the park by yourself or even to Nana’s. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Lamont and I wheeled the bike out. After strapped Kiddo’s helmet on tight, Lamont and I took turns holding Kiddo’s bike upright as our son wavered and wobbled down the side of the street. Still, no matter what we said, or how we cheered, it was clear that Kiddo’s confidence wasn’t quite there. Lamont tried the old parent stand-by. Running behind Kiddo, he simply let go.

Kiddo wasn’t fooled for an instant. Crash. Scrape. “How could you!”

“It’s important you keep trying,” we’d told him, hoisting the bike back up. To give him credit, he did. Several more times. But no matter how hard we tried, gravity (and more than a little fear) continued to knock him down.

“Try pedaling faster,” we’d suggest loudly. “Try actually steering…” we’d mutter more to ourselves.

Flustered, we eventually decided we’d tried long enough. “Most people don’t get it right on the first day,” I told Kiddo. We’d keep trying, a few minutes a day. He’d get the hang of it in no time.

We didn’t. He didn’t. The weather got hot. The dog needed walking. There were any number of excuses that cropped up. Finally, we simply reattached the training wheels. The timing simply wasn’t right.

It is easy to make excuses. But the weather has begun to cool. Those excuses are now running out. It is time for Kiddo to get back on his bike. Which brings me to the other subject of this post.

How to make an author panic in three easy steps.

  1. Tell them you’ve bought their book. Okay, technically step one is usually enough to send me into cold sweats, but then again, just because they’ve bought it, doesn’t mean they’ve read it. So…
  2. Recommend they look into marketing techniques such as podcasts. All the cool authors are doing it
  3. Encourage them to contact hosts. It’s so easy! Just follow their instructions.

There are those in the writing world with far more years of experience under their belts, who recommend not worrying much about book promotion until you have at least three if not five books to your name. In theory, this method allows you to have a greater catalog ready to offer readers when promotion efforts hook new readers. One book at a discount could turn into multiple book sales by return readers.

Take the Apple for example. Sure, Apple spends most of its time promoting the iPhone, but that is only one of their products. Once they’ve gotten you hooked on the device, you are more inclined to purchase accessories or even less advertised gadgets. The same principle applies to books. Promotion takes a lot of work. You want to ensure you have the best return possible.

This was also a convenient strategy for me. I accepted I would not be an overnight success. I dare say I embraced it. I felt justified not worrying about marketing beyond the occasional giveaway or occasional guest piece as I worked away on the next project.

Unfortunately, as I neared the final pages of this draft it occurred to me that I will have three books to my name in the coming months. Which means it is time for the marketing training wheels to come off. In a fit of insanity, masquerading as bravery, I researched blog and radio hosts who might be interested in discussing a book like mine. I figured, what’s the worst that could happen?

Within days I received a message back. They’d love to have me on their show. My heart began to race as the reality of what I’d done began to sink in. I’d have to talk to people I’d never met. Publicly! I read further. In September. Phew! September was weeks away. My breathing calmed. I’d have plenty of time to get myself mentally prepare by then.

Only… the weather is beginning to cool. School has resumed. It is already mid-September and my show is coming up in one week. September 23rd at 6pm Eastern time to be exact.

So now I have one week to calm my nerves. It’s not like this is your first guest appearance, Allie. One week to practice my selected reading. Wait. What? One week to ponder why writing, which traditionally is such an introverted activity, requires so much extroverted follow-up. Really. Why? And one week to remind myself of reasons I am doing this. I want to be able to ride with the big kids one day as much as I want to set an example for my sons. But also, just as importantly, I am doing this because I’m proud of what I’ve done.

It is time to dust off the virtual helmet and restock the band aids. So wish me luck. Here I go.

A tale of fright and fate on one crazy night

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it
Spiderweb
Image courtesy of Sebastian Gerhards and http://www.flickr.com

I’ve written before about my family’s Friday night routine. How we typically crank up the music and dance like no one is watching. But not this past Friday. No, this past Friday was not our typical Friday at all.

It all started earlier in the week. Kiddo complained that his stomach hurt. A kid had accidentally kicked him earlier that day. Boys, I sighed to myself while I took a look. His skin was red and swollen ever so slightly. “Did you get bitten by an ant or something?” I asked Kiddo, not really expecting an answer. The raised area was larger than the typical mosquito bite, but then again it was located near his waist line. His clothing could easily have irritated it to a larger size, especially if he was scratching it, but it looked more like a larger insect bite.

“I did see an ant on my tummy,” Kiddo advised. “It could have gotten stuck.”

After Kiddo went to bed that night, I looked up images of fire ant and poisonous spider bites as well as medical articles their associated effects on children. An ant bite can result in a rash in some children for up to a week one article said. Another said three days. Another said to consult your child’s physician. It was the usual mixed of contrary information. We decided to simply monitor bite for the next few days, treating it with a mix of hydrocortisone cream and Benadryl.

The following day, the bite still looked ugly. The surrounding raised area seemed to have grown smaller, but the bump in the center had grown larger as if troops of bad news under the skin were amassing for a larger assault. However, because there had been at least some positive change, we decided to monitor and treat at home for another day.

Friday rolled around. The bump now appeared like an epidermal volcano compared to the flat plane that is typically Kiddo’s abdomen. Lamont would take Kiddo to the doctor’s office. I expected a phone call to say that they’d given him a steroid shot or something of that nature, thinking that it had to be an allergic reaction. It was not.

Instead, I received a call from Lamont. “We’re going to the emergency room.”

That bump proved to be a golf ball sized abscess (and not a bite at all) and required immediate treatment involving light surgery. My mind instantly went into pure what if panic mode. “What should I do?” I asked while my mind desperately sought a lifeline to cling to. I wanted to be there, but what about my other son? An ER is no place for my 4yo.

“I’m with him,” answered Lamont. “You, take care of LT.”

“If he has to stay overnight, I’m staying with him,” I informed Lamont, although I wasn’t yet sure how we’d manage the child swap. Either Lamont would have to leave Kiddo and meet me at the house or I’d have to somehow find someone to watch LT, last-minute, on a Friday night. Then it hit me. My dad, stepmom, and brother were spending the evening with us. We’d set it up weeks ago. My other brother was moving into his new place and our house was to serve as a hotel.

My dad’s other title is Doctor and my stepmom’s is Nurse.

My dad’s first question upon arrival was, “would you like me to go to the hospital?” He looked at my face. “Or should I ask, do you want to go to the hospital?”

“We are happy to stay with LT,” my stepmom added. “Whatever you need.”

Just knowing that had options was a balm to my nerves in and of itself. LT rounded the corner, just as frantically hyper in activity as were my thoughts just seconds before. A three to one adult to child ratio might not be enough to contain him in this state. I realized there was little I could offer in the hospital room beyond what Lamont was already providing. The procedure could well be over before I even arrived. “I’ll stay here for now,” my logical side ultimately decided. “But if anything changes, I’m going immediately.”

My dad continued to rattle off a slew of medical questions and terms as the time progressed. My brother asked if I understood anything our father was saying. He laughed when I shook my head. He hadn’t either. And like that, things began to feel, if not more normal, at least more manageable.

We continued talking in between updates from Lamont, the conversation keeping the worst of my what if fears at bay. Kiddo had been given a sedative. Kiddo’s procedure was underway. The medical team is awesome. My parents would nod with each report. They would have treated the same. Kiddo was resting. Kiddo was coming home. When it was all done, I was mentally and emotionally tired, but I knew deep down could have been much worse. Kiddo’s prognosis could have been less favorable. I could have been alone with my what ifs.

The next day, released and back at home, Kiddo was healing as he should (my dad verified). As I waved to my departing family, it hit me once again just how fortunate I’d been. Of all the times to stay over, they just happened to visit me during a medical emergency.

Whether the timing was a lucky coincidence, fate, or blessed intervention, I make no judgment. I wrote last week about my fear of sharks not then knowing a much more immediate threat lay waiting at home. I wrote about my father’s advice to mentally combat the ups and downs not then realizing how soon I would have to put that advice once again to the test. I continue to marvel at the interconnection of things, this web more comforting to see especially after experiencing a spider’s bite.

In this case, the how or why doesn’t matter. All I know, all I care, is that my son is already acting like his normal, goofy, lego-dinosaur-and now Pokemon-obsessed self, and for that, I am grateful.

 

Fear and Loathing in the Hot Days of Summer

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it, Personal Favorites

ocean courageI took an extended weekend on the beach with a handful of friends. We’ve known each other a long time and they pretty much know everything there is to know about me. Including my near irrational fear of getting added to a shark’s sampler pack as I dabble my toes in the water.

“If you get eaten by a shark, I’ll be sure to take everything I’ve ever said back at your funeral,” one would say before diving head first into the breakers. Because equal parts support and ridicule are just what friends are for. I watched enviously from the shore as they floated on their backs, looking oh, so, carefree. I’d forgotten to pack my shark repellent. Shame on me.

A battle launched in my brain. My logic side shouted – Just go. My creative side rolled its imaginary eyes.  Don’t you know what can happen out there? One accidental nibble and it will be open season on us.

The chance of that happening is next to nil and you know it.

But not zero.

Not zero, but still. . . Go on. What’s the worst that could happen?

I get bitten. Duh.

Is that really so bad? Think about it. Most attacks this close to shore are survivable. Sure, you might not be all in one piece, but you’d have a story to tell. You could get on the news or even the talk show circuit. Imagine the improved visibility. That shark bite could be just what you need to launch your writing career into the stratosphere.

Yeah. Um. I think I’ll stick to my existing plan.

Bah. Well, then we have a problem to solve then because it is only getting hotter out here.

“A man who fears suffering is already suffering from what he fears.” – Michel de Montaigne

Pressured by my body’s aversion to excessive heat, my brain got to work. I tried to look at the problem differently. What was it that usually sent me running back to the shore while my friends passed beyond the breakers. My friends aren’t dummies. They are fully aware of what calls the ocean its home. What did they do differently? They don’t look down, I realized. They look at the top of the next wave or just out ahead.

I always looked into the waves, looking for a shadow to appear, and once spotted, my imagination filled in all the terrible things that could be that shadows cause (other than a cloud). My imagination, that thing that works so well for me most other times, was holding me back. So, stop looking down, I told myself.

“Never fear shadows. They simply mean there’s a light shining somewhere nearby.” -Ruth E. Renkel

I focused on the horizon and not at the waves around me, a trick my dad had taught me years ago to combat seasickness and took a step. Then another. The water hit my knees. Then my waist. Then my shoulders. I lifted my above me and dove into that blue-green water and swam.

I only managed to stay out there a few minutes, but it was longer than I had the day before.

But apparently, not everyone’s weekend was as relaxing as mine. While I was away, there had been an incident at the shopping mall near my work. My neighbors, a family of four, were lunching in the food court when they heard a “thunderous sound.” Crowds of people began rushing to the exits in a panic. A man reported seeing a gun. Others reported shots fired, but no casings were found, nor victims of a shooting. However, that doesn’t mean that no one was hurt. At least eight people were transported out of the mall with injuries, likely caused by falls and or the press of terrified people as they tried to make their escape. In this case, fear was the more destructive weapon.

My neighbors were not among the injured, but instead now have to explain to their sons, one of whom is only as old as mine, why any of this could happen. Why things like this (and worse) keep happening.

Fear. That’s what it comes down to.

Fear is what kept me from enjoying my time with friends fully. Fear is what causes me to see danger in each unexpected shadow. Fear drove ordinary people to push their neighbors. Fear is a root cause as well as an end result in a seemingly never ending cycle. Seemingly. It doesn’t have to stay that way.

“F-E-A-R has two meanings: ‘Forget Everything And Run’ or ‘Face Everything And Rise.’ The choice is yours.” – Zig Ziglar

I am so tired of being made to feel afraid. So while I am aware of my surroundings and recognize the things their shadows may hide, I will try to keep my eyes on the horizon, of what can be, and not look down. And maybe, just maybe, if you join me, we might just get through these breakers, one step at a time.

quotes attributed to http://www.tinybuddha.com. photography is my own.