IS IT WICKED TO MAKE A GROWN MAN BLUSH?

I don't know if it's wicked, but I *do* know it's fun! Poor man, he's such a dear and I'm so mean. Maybe I've forgotten how to be nice? Wonder if I can learn, or even should? Actually I'm going to need all the mean I can muster to deal with Dr. Badshit. He's going to make trouble about the electric chair. Not very wise. He won't keep his job long long if he does.
I found out who died-Reagan. Granted I never met him, but he was one of the reasons I came here when I did. I learned to appreciate him, but am glad I came here then. It reminded my of that whole long autobiographical post from the early days of Dark Matters. Might as well stick it in here for explanatory purposes. There was a lot of discussion of psychic stuff and of course I jumped right in.



AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL ODDS AND SODS
THE DELL COMICS VERSION



Ok, here we go. I'll be taking some of your questions out of order as most of
it is age related!
My very first experience with anything of this sort was a deja vue that
happened when I was about three and a half. It quickly turned into family
legend, but I do remember it quite clearly. We were going to visit my mother's
newly married brother in Brookline Massachusetts. None of us had ever been there
before, all my dad had was the address and some vague directions from my uncle.
We were stopped at stop sign and Dad made some comment to Mom about the
vagueness of the directions. I piped up from the back and told him which way to
turn, until I said "That's the place" and it was! Now, how in the world could a
three and half year old know that?
That was the beginning of my career as family navigator. Somehow we always got
to our destination!
My next brush with the otherworldly was in high school. A boy who had been a
very close friend and whom I played guitar and wrote songs with and saw or spoke
to daily, killed himself with a gunshot to the head. I'd had very bad feelings
about him for several days but he refused to tell me what was wrong. The
previous summer we had made one those pictures you make by squirting paint on a
spinning piece of paper. He gave it to me and I somehow managed to attach it to
the ceiling over my bed. The day of his funeral I put my guitar in it's case in
a corner of my room, after taking the strings off. It sat there like that for a
year until I felt like playing again. The day before the year was up, I bought
new strings and put them on without tightening them or tuning the guitar. That
night I was woken up by each of the strings popping in turn. Not plucked, but
that twang when they break. I looked up at the picture and there was Peter's
face, looking both sad, and at the same time telling me it was all right. I took
the broken strings to mean that he preferred I not play without him, so I never
did. I could also never carry a tune after that. Still can't.
The next time was a few months later. I walked into the house as the phone was
ringing (my parents were in New York on a buying trip) I picked up the phone and
without waiting, said " Hello, Aunt Mimi (my mother's sister) when did Grandpa
die?" I don't think Aunt Mimi has quite recovered from that one. In fact she
told my daughter and her husband about it when they all went out for dinner in
Florida last year when the kids were there on their honeymoon. Things were
pretty much quiet after that except that I always had a feeling in my stomach if
things were wrong for/with those close to me.
After high school I spent most of the summer out on Casco Bay trying to decide
what to do next. I really didn't want to continue in school, coaching figure
skating or in the family business. I knew I had to get away and find out who I
was, and turning into a hermit on an island in the Bay just wasn't an option.
Something pulled me towards Israel, a place I had never thought much about in
spite of growing up in a pro Israel environment and fairly traditional Jewish
family. I took all my savings out of the bank and bought a one-way ticket to
Israel. The original plan was to stay for a year, but the minute I got off the
plane, I knew I was home. I spent the year wandering around and learning the
country and language and about myself. My parents started to put the pressure on
for me to return. I agreed on condition that they send a round trip ticket as I
KNEW I'd be returning, which I did, again knowing I'd come home. I'll try to
keep this part short as it does lead to a few odd twists. When I got back, I
decided to try a new kibbutz, one founded by holocaust survivors, and there I
met the man I KNEW I'd marry. Another lad from the kibbutz was trying to get my
attention and I told him to forget it. I'm going to marry 'him'" I'm not sure
who was more surprised, but I did marry 'him' after we went back to Maine where I
started school, worked in the family business and did some coaching and radio
spots. In fact, I took myself straight from the skating rink to the hospital to
have my first baby! The years in Maine dragged on with me pushing to go home. We
even gave our daughter a name that could be said easily in both languages (sort of),
our son too After he was born my mother was diagnosed with cancer, so obviously
we weren't going anywhere. I was starting to panic as there seemed to be a black
curtain drawn across my future from the age of 30. I knew that if I stayed in
Maine, I wouldn't live beyond 30. I just KNEW. My mother also knew I wanted
desperately to go home and told me to do it. She also knew I was not happy in my
marriage. I quit school and the family business and went to work for the Maine
State Republican Committee. At the time I was suffering from extreme acute
eczema. I took a weeks vacation and went to Israel where the eczema vanished. My
mother died in the spring of 1979 and two good friends forced me to promise not
to do anything drastic for at least a year. I kept that promise and in June 1980
packed up the kids and moved here. No more eczema and much happiness and many
adventures. I was home. That black curtain went away and I made it past 30. I
had a wonderful wild celebration on my 31st birthday! And I'm still here 22
years later in spite of Hizzbolla's valiant efforts to get rid of me!
Back in '82 when I was living in Upper Nazareth and going out with a doctor
who was serving in the Army in Lebanon, I had my first psychic experience here.
He had been home for the weekend and I dropped him off at the agreed junction
for him to be picked up by the army transport. I went to my cousin's house
instead of straight home and as I walked into her flat, went off my
rocker...."something bad has happened" I went on like that for a hour or so
shaking and trembling hysterically. Then suddenly it went away and I knew he was
ok. Two weeks later when he was home on leave I found out their vehicle had over
turned on some very twisty turns and fallen into a ditch. It overturned at the
same time I walked into my cousin's. It took an hour for them to be rescued. The
frustrating part is knowing that something happened but not what. Then there was
the time when I was at work and knew something had happened to my daughter. The
phone call telling me she'd hurt her knee badly was quick in coming and I raced
home breaking every traffic law on the books but not caught! The incidents with
my children go on and on so will not bore you with them.
I've never seen a ghost here, but have heard my mother's voice several times.
As I mentioned before someone once explained to me why ghosts are not seen here.
I'm trying to find out the explanation, but it might take a few days.
The effect I get when someone I know dies is just white lights across my
eyelids when I close them to go to sleep. It happened last night but I still
don't know who. I'll be checking the obits later.
The explanation of purple is very simply that it has always been my color.
Always and forever I have been and will be purple. I added the Cloudwalker to my
name because I've been walking on clouds since a certain weekend in Bournemouth
England last month and I'm still not back on firm ground quite yet, but I'm
getting there fast.

Franne Cloudwalker of the purple