No bunnies in the garden, Easter bunny statue
after a visit by the ghost, April 2009, photo ©
2009 by ybonesy. All rights reserved.
On Easter Sunday night, the night Patty came over with my ugly rabbit in tow, the ghost was active. We sat in the great room, exhausted but satisfied. The party had been a success. The house was clean (we vacuumed up edible Easter basket grass from all corners of the playroom), ham was in the fridge, the dishes done. Patty, Jim, and I stared at my ugly Easter bunny — Patty found it at Marshall’s — and laughed. It stood two feet tall on hind legs. Other than the basket it carried in its paws, the rabbit was meant to be realistic, not a cartoon bunny. It was painted khaki tan.
When the gate outside the window snapped closed, Jim glanced my way. “What?” I said, knowing exactly why he looked at me. He told Patty that it was the ghost. Like Jim, Patty has a sixth sense. Jim told her that the ghost was matriarchal, that she had been a gardener and wanted the place to be looked after.
Patty looked out into the darkness. It was late. She got up to leave. I walked her to the front door as Jim took my ugly bunny out to the back patio.
The first year we lived here the ghost was most active in the master bathroom. She flushed the toilet at random, sometimes several times a night. One time she bumped me as I leaned over the sink brushing my teeth. Jim had also felt her presence, even seen her—not her face but the old-fashioned fabric of her dress—in the laundry room. I pictured her to be matronly, gray hair in a bun, benevolent but stern like an elderly woman in a Mary Cassatt painting.
But lately she’s been out by the side gate, along a brick path leading from the front porch to the rose garden in the back. That’s where the greenhouse is, too. Jim is convinced she wants to see us using the greenhouse. He thinks my recent project revitalizing the rose garden is especially making her happy.
It is a sweet spot. An old apple tree anchors it, hanging like a weeping willow over the large plot. In the dirt are the graves of two dogs, an entire sprinkler system that no longer works, and several round stepping stones that were (until we uncovered them) buried under debris. The only living remnants of a thriving garden, besides the apple tree, are the several rose bushes, one taller than me by a couple of feet. I’ve told Jim, “Someone once loved this space.”
It must have been lush at one time.
Day after Easter we wake to rain. It’s come down all night, gentle but steady. I stay in bed; I worked hard getting ready for the party, getting ready for spring, getting that special garden into shape for the first round of perennials I planned to plant there soon. Em runs into the bedroom.
“Mom, did you paint the rabbit?”
I’m not sure if I heard her right and if I did, what in the world was she talking about?
“What?”
“Did you paint the rabbit??”
Paint the rabbit? I turn it over in my head. What rabbit?
Jim comes in behind Em. “Roma, the rabbit has green splotches on it.”
Green splotches!?
I get up, trudge to the windows looking out over the wet patio. There the ugly rabbit stands on hind legs. He is khaki tan, yes, but now he has big army green splotches all over him.
“Were they there before?” Jim asks, mostly to the universe. We wrack our brains. I don’t remember them. Em doesn’t remember them.
I call Patty. “Patty, our rabbit has green spots. Big green spots. Did it have green spots last night?”
“No,” she says, laughing.
“Are you sure?”
“I drove around with that rabbit in the back seat for weeks; of course I’m sure. It did not have green spots!”
We develop our theories: water-activated paint, all of us were just too tired to see the splotches, or the ghost has a sense of humor.
Two weekends have passed since Easter. I’ve managed to get more than 40 plants into the flower garden. Two mums, four hollyhocks, three clumps of daisy. I planted the Easter lillies we got as gifts for hosting the Easter celebration. Under the rose bushes I put leafy coral bells, the color of ruddy cheeks, as ground cover.
A patch of columbines sit in the shade of the apple tree, penstemons in full sun, flowering woodruff, soapwort, salvia, coleus for the exotic red-green foliage, evening primrose, Icelandic poppies, a bleeding heart bush. Near the brilliant violet of a plant whose name I’ve forgotten, I seed small marigolds. I can just imagine the bright orange-yellow against the purple in summer. Because I know Jim loves herbs, I plant a large oregano in the corner closest to the back door, and I leave room for the chives he bought at Grower’s Market.
Jim remarks that she’s happy to see the garden take shape. I have noticed less of her. The last time I felt her presence was one morning early in the week after Easter; I went outside, not a breeze in the air, and the gate swung slowly closed. It dawns on me that I had been schooling our pug, Sony, to use the garden as her potty area. Nowadays my refrain to Sony is, “Out of the garden, out of the garden.”
The ghost is happy.
Jim is comfortable with her presence; me, less so. I don’t much like the idea of just letting a ghost be. At one point I suggested that we invite a friend of a friend, a ghost whisperer, to come and at least make contact with her, see why she’s here. Jim looked at me askew. “You’re not going to pay for him to do it, are you?” I know what he was thinking: I know why she’s here.
And the truth of the matter is that I trust his instincts. I can sense that she’s found some peace of late. Or maybe it’s me, finally digging my hands into the earth, taking the patch of land into my care. A few days ago I moved one of the mums from the spot I first planted it. Too crowded into the rose bushes and the flowering woodruff at their base. I planted it in a roomier spot, in full sun.
Mums are an old-fashioned plant, hardy like dahlias and zinnias, a flower I associate with ancestors from a long-ago past. I have a feeling she likes them.
Image, I noticed the image of a face in this photo that Jim took of an ice crack over a hole, photo © 2007-2009 by Jim. All rights reserved.
Postscript: I wrote this as a Writing Practice (later edited) Monday night on the plane ride from Albuquerque to Portland. I was looking through pictures stored on my computer when I noticed the above photo that Jim took two winters ago. It is a shot of an ice crack over a hole. Suddenly the image of a face jumped out at me. It’s a benevolent face, like a young Madonna or the Christ child.
I marveled at Jim’s gift, how he can commune with hummingbirds (they’re back, by the way; just showed up this week) and the ghost of a former matron of the house. Patty says Jim is an innocent, that he has a clear channel to things the rest of us don’t.
This photo made me realize that the ghost is OK. As Jim said when I brought up the notion of inviting over the guy who talks to ghosts, “Not everything has to change. Some things are fine just the way they are.”
redravine.wordpress.com 
ybonesy, this is a great ghost and garden story. I’m amazed that no one knows how the paint got on the rabbit statue. Wow. I remember you talking about the ghost when I first visited you there. And, honestly, I think I could feel her presence that night I stayed there.
She seems friendly though. And I trust Jim, too. Hey, Liz and I watch a lot of paranormal shows, people who show up to help people with bothersome ghosts. But this one doesn’t really sound bothersome. Only protective of her gardens.
I’m convinced that ghosts abound around us. When we watch these shows like TAPS and Paranormal and Psychic Kids, there are tons of these friendly ghosts out there in people’s homes, moving things around, nudging them on the arm, playing with their kids’ toys. Most are friendly. But once in a while, you get that one from the Dark Side. Those are scary.
It makes you wonder why some ghosts are restless and can’t seem to rest in peace. They wander the Earth, maybe as Guardians. Kind of angel guardians. There are many people who have had ghosts from the other side visit them after someone has died. Or had their own paranormal experiences.
I’m glad you are getting into gardening this year. Bob has started gardening as a practice and his front yard was full of plants native to Missouri. I also added a twice a week, two hour at a time gardening practice to my structure. So far, it’s rained the last few days. But I hope to get out in the yard over the next few evenings.
In the last haiku I wrote, I mentioned the names of some of the Missouri plants from a conservatory place that Bob took us to walk in Missouri. It was a peaceful oasis in the middle of Kansas City.
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Oh, wanted to mention that some things that really stuck out for me in Kansas City were the sycamores and the redbuds. Maybe we have them here, too, but I honestly have not noticed them the way I did in KC MO.
Also, Liz and I have watched a couple of shows where kids are psychic — can see spirits, or know when someone is ill (healing with hands), or can hear what others can’t hear. The kids can’t sleep and are sometimes scared since paranormal activity happens most often at night. Their mothers try to be supportive but reach a point where they don’t know how to help their kids. This guy named Chip, a psychic and consultant, helps bring these families together so they know they aren’t alone in the world with these gifts. He helps the kids to learn how to use their gifts in positive ways, too.
It’s really fascinating how mature these children are. They have to grow up pretty fast. When they tell their peers about what they see, they are shunned. So they are relieved to meet other kids who have these kinds of gifts. Many times they are passed down from generation to generation. ybonesy, have your girls met any other kids with paranormal gifts? It sounds like Jim as a few.
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This ghost whisperer who I was going to call to come talk to our ghost has a daughter who also has the gift. Apparently, he brings her along so that she will grow up to learn that it is normal and not something to be afraid of. I still would love to hear what else he might know about her.
He went to a house of someone we know and found out why the ghost there was being aggressive. (She had pushed someone down a set of stairs, and people were getting so fearful of her that they refused to do work in the house.) Apparently, she committed suicide due to chronic pain. The people who owned the house were trying to figure out whether to keep parts of the house or tear it down and start from scratch. She wanted a particular part of the house torn down, which they did.
Regarding the paint, I’m not so sure it wasn’t there. I don’t remember it, but perhaps we just didn’t catch it. Although the green splotches are not subtle; they’d be hard to miss.
I’m loving the gardening. I’m also do planters all over, and I’m adding to an area in the front of the house. That one requires much more drought tolerant plants.
What I love about this rose garden is that so much of it is in shade on account of both the apple tree and a huge ponderosa pine behind the apple tree. We don’t get to plant so many shade-loving plants, but I love them—columbines and many of the mountain ground covers, like woodruff.
BTW, we had a red bud in our old house. A great tree. And sycamores. Love that kind, too. Had one growing up. Ours was the kind that made itchbombs. At least I think that was a sycamore.
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Another thing: Jim sees a man with a beard in the image in the ice. He says he didn’t take the picture because of the image. It just happened that it was there.
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yb, this post was a fascinating read. I love reading or hearing about the paranormal. Your ghost sounds intriguing. My guess is that she is thrilled with the gardening that is going on. I’d bet that she talks to the plants & I predict that the garden will flourish. She is your garden angel. The green a sign of her happiness.
As I’ve mentioned before we had a ghost or ghosts at the old farmhose we rented. I had a set of fiesta ware dishes (the small dessert size) in a wooden cheese box on display in my old old stepback cupboard. There were four-green, yellow, blue, & orange. They were stacked 2 by 2 with the yellow & green in the front. The ghost would change them around occasionally while J & I were at work. They would also drag furniture around during the day in our upstairs bedrooms. This was witnessed by Gritsinpa, who was there alone during the day, typing her resume on our computer down stairs. She fled the house while our black lab was undaunted by the noise. We were set to have ghost hunters from Gettysburg come, but moved before that happened.
And you mention the toilet flushing. That happens in our new home. both upstairs & down. We joke that the original owners have come back. The wife died at the kitchen table & her husband Bob (a good friend of ours) died in a nursing home. We tend to think it is Bob, who designed, built & loved this home. We have promised his granddaughter that we will sell the home to her when our time to downsize comes.
Great story, yb, & welcome the ghost. She seems to love the home & garden. And please keep us posted of any new developments. D
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diddy, so great to hear from you! I had forgotten about the ghosts in your current home. Hmmm. Bob sounds right. I didn’t know about keeping the home in the family either. It’s on a great lot. It feels like you are out in the country — well, I guess you are. I remember when gritsinpa fled the old farmhouse. That place was definitely haunted. Was the barn there haunted, too? That must have been 100 years old!
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ybonesy, it seems like ghosts often get attached to homes and get really riled up when the remodeling by the new owners starts. So with your friends was it the ghost who wanted parts of the house torn down or the owners? Sometimes homes are built over old mine shafts where the land has been filled in. Or next to or on old burial grounds. Wouldn’t it be eerie to have a home on a burial ground or next to a cemetery?
The redbuds were in bloom in Missouri and were beautiful. The old sycamores had amazing bark and skin.
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In the case of these people I know, they were looking at a remodel. The owner got pushed down the stairs, and that’s when they brought in the ghost guy. The guy said that the ghost did not want a particular room to stay, that she wanted it torn down, I think. In the end, they leveled the house and built a new one. So the ghost got her wish, and apparently she never has returned.
I think a lot of folks around these parts have their homes built on burial grounds. This fertile Rio Grande Valley was populated for so many years. The school where my sister works was a former indigenous community, and recently when putting in a new track field they uncovered several graves. They exhumed the bodies, which are still sitting at ground level. Once the archeologists are doing documenting and archiving the site, the bodies will go back and the field put in.
They’ve had archeologists come and talk to the kids, because you can find pottery shards everywhere. The kids have been instructed to leve the shards and not take them home, that it’s disrepectful to take what belongs there. My sister often has to remind the kids, or have them empty their pockets and take the shards back out. She’s glad they’ve all been instructed on protocol when dealing with ancient sites.
Finally, she says that clocks will go haywire on their own, big hand and little hand turning circles over and over. Other things happen that remind them that where they sit is an ancient site and probably haunted by many spirits.
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diddy, I’m also fascinated by the paranormal. I’m also probing for ghost stories. Lots of my friends have had experiences; these homes and the areas where they’re built are old, old.
How did you come to know about the house you live in now. I read that you knew the owners, but were you long-time friends? I’m curious.
I also think it’s great that you’ve promised the granddaughter that you would sell her the home when you move on. I take it she wants it, yes?
I get spooked in the house by myself. When everyone else is here, I’m fine, but by myself I’m always looking for signs of the ghost. Do I see her reflection in the mirror? I have all these images from horror movies in my mind, and I keep expecting them to happen to me. It’s totally goofy, but it’s the way my mind works. I wish I could be at ease, the way Jim is. My daughters also seem to be fine, and I definitely don’t exhibit any fear in front of them. I don’t want them to be afraid of ghosts.
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I really enjoyed this, the story, the writing, the mystery of the green paint. thank you.
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Hey Janine, so great to hear from you! I hope you’ve been well. Are you writing a lot these days?
Thanks for stopping and leaving a comment. Would love to hear more from you.
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yb, I too am afraid to be in the house alone. I felt the same way at the farm. Both places are very secluded. I am more concerned about burglars than ghosts, though I’ve been spooked a couple of times! J was traveling a lot when we lived there.
We came by this house, as it was the house that R3’s wife grew up in. Her father was Bob. J had known them for many years & after the wifes death & Bob’s medical needs, we came to help ready the house for sale. I saw great promise in it & we ended up buying it from Bob. Bob had attended many parties & get togethers at the farm. It is R3’s older daughter who came to us last summer & asked to buy it when we get ready for sale. It holds a lot of memories for her.
QM, I’m sure the farm & barn were both haunted. Remember the graveyard & grave caps in the front corner of the lawn close to the barn? Both are well over 150 year’s old. A lot of history there. The original house was built in the late 1700’s & built upon after that. I’m sure it was a beautiful estate way back in the day. D
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What a cool story – and I love the photo of the green-splotchy bunny. Did it rain/sleet on Easter? I thought it might have, but maybe not…the green spots are certainly obvious and look very odd! I don’t think she’s ugly, though…
We had a strange event, came home Easter morning after a little breakfast, and when I got out of the truck, I almost fell over – there was a dead hawk in our garage.
Looked like a sharp-shinned hawk – beautiful – with lovely tail and wing feathers. We checked him out and took photos…then wrapped him up and buried him.
This inspired a Hawk symbol-card-reading – nobility, cleansing, recollection…very interesting…then Buzz a week later wrote a poem about the hawk – which must have struck the glass of french doors. We had seen him around for several weeks, eyeing the finch feeder.
As for ghosts – our old place in Corrales was rumored to be haunted when we first got it – it had been vacant several years, and had wooden gates in front that hung in shatters and it was all overgrown.
We used to joke about the ghost – attributing some strange sounds and squeaks to her – and it was the source of many late-night tales…then someone told us, the old woman Mrs. Gutierrez who lived there for many years was struck and killed crossing the street to get her mail…by the person who had just purchased the house.
Before us, of course.
I did feel that moving in there with a little family, even giving birth to a baby there, and all the years we tended the land and irrigated and cared for the roses and the trees, that Mrs. G, left us alone, may she rest in peace.
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I don’t think you’re ugly rabbit is ugly. I think he’s cute. 🙂
I envy you your garden. We have neither the room nor the water to handle that many wonderful flowers. But it sounds like heaven. 🙂
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Thanks, J. S/he is not bad looking.
‘lil, it rained/sleeted the day before Easter, and then just rain on Easter night. Sad to hear about the dead hawk. They are such wonderful creatures.
Very strange that Mrs. Gutierrez was struck and killed by the person who bought her house. How can that transaction still take place, I wonder. What a weird thing, but yes, may she rest in peace. Is your house from one of the original Gutierrez that have lived in Corrales all their lives? Isn’t that house next to Indigo a Gutierrez house? Or maybe I’m confusing it with Gonzalez.
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Oh wow, diddy, what a small world. I know you love all things old and treasured. Hey, today I hit an estate sale in a wonderful old adobe near the river. Such wonderful lighting, all original. And I got a cool footstool that is actually a camel saddle (the woman who lived there traveled all over the world) and a most gorgeous and rare mid-century modern chair. I’ve seen something similar and quite expensive, but this one didn’t cost much. The prices were great compared to most estate sales; sign of the economic times, I believe. Stuff was moving fast. You would have loved it, as there were antiques from all eras. I really liked the way things were mixed, these different antiques (old and more modern) and ethnic furnishings.
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Love the garden bunny tale … those splotches don’t look like they are seeping up through the tan. They definitely appear to be on top. If you ever come up with an explanation you’ll have to disclose it.
In Jim’s ‘Image’ I see a melded face – human to the top left / horse on the bottom right. I like his take on ‘not everything has to change’. Too true.
We too have a benevolent ghost which will be active for a time and then go quiet for months. It is primarily active in the master bedroom but we’ve felt it elsewhere in the house – living room, kitchen. We both felt it run a hand up the bed cover, and flipped on a light to check to see what it was. Hmmm, nothing there… I’ve had it gently grip my shoulder as I’m lying there seemingly in a gesture of solace or attendance; a nudge to say ‘It’s okay, you’re being watched over.’ Ours seems to have a sense of humour as well as we’ve also had the toilets going, doors closing and small items moved.
We’re both fine with it now – at first it was disquieting. The house is only about 35 years old and so far as we know no one has died there. We’ve had it about 10 years. The area itself has been settled for ages and could have had aboriginal settlements there previously. (very likely given the location)
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Oh yeah, I see a horse’s head down near the right-hand corner, too, Norm.
Interesting about the touch piece with your ghost. That might freak me out, especially at night. I have felt a presence standing over me at night, like someone watching me. I always open my eyes because I want to catch the ghost. I’m kind of silly that way.
Yesterday evening I was working in the garden, trimming off spent leaves and blooms from a geranium. I could swear the scissors tugged in my hand, but I brushed it off. It could have the been the ghost, yet it could have been something else I suppose.
I’m glad to hear you’ve both settled in with the notion of having a ghost in your house. I think I will, too. We’re not so sure this person lived here. This house is about 50 years old, has had at least one person die in it, but it is on an area where there has been human settlement for ages as well.
I’ll keep you posted on what we find out, if anything, about the rabbit and its splotches. Thanks for stopping in (and thanks for plugging QM’s mandalas…really nice post you did and fun to see you also coloring mandalas and starting up drawing again!!)
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Wonderful story. I’ve always felt that “ghosts” should be left alone unless they are doing negative things to those they co-exist with.
It sounds like you’ve done the right thing with this one. She does sound like she’s happier now.
We lived in a house where we always heard voices in the master bedroom. It was the voice of a child, and sometimes the laugh of that child. It never did anything other than let us hear its voice. We lived there with our ghost for 18 years.
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I hate that I said “you’re ugly bunny.” That’s one of my very least favorite pet peeves. Please know that I meant “your ugly bunny”, and that I do indeed know the difference.
pathetic much? I know.
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J: your note cracks me up. I noticed, too, but were I to get all grabbitical about it, I’d deserve to be known as “you’re Ombudsbunny”. Sorry. Sometimes puns overwhelm me.
yB: I know it’s a statue. I know it is not made of chocolate. I know. And yet every time I see your bunny, I channel Sally Forth of the funny pages and want to bite its ears.
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LOL, Ben. Yeah, it does have a sort of sheen to it that makes it seem edible.
J, I hate it when I do that, esp because you can’t go in and edit your comments on other sites, and sometimes when you’re typing a comment you just don’t edit before hitting Publish (who has time to? I don’t.). So sometimes when I’ve seen that I’ve done that, I cringe. Ugh, and a writer to boot!
Corina, I once lived in a house where the phone would ring in the wee hours of the morning and there would be a child on the other end, what sounded like a party in the background, and the child asking for her or his mom (voice was at that young age–6/7ish—where you can’t tell if it’s a boy or girl). The calls always creeped me out, plus the house was haunted with a negative force. One night while I was asleep my pillow fell off the bed and on to the wall heater. I woke up in a house filled with smoke.
Something about a child ghost is a little extra spooky to me, maybe because of that one experience I had.
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lil, amazing story about the hawk. We’ve got a resident hawk, I think. It landed on our deck a week ago. Yesterday it was flying low over us when we were out cutting down buckthorn. Hawks are one of my totems so I pay attention to them when they show up. I think they are beautiful raptors.
ybonesy, thanks for alerting me to Norm’s mandala post. It’s so great to see that some are inspired by those posts, inspired to draw and color again. BTW, what were those markers you were talking about that change color with pressure?
BTW, Liz and I were looking at Jim’s photograph over the weekend. Definitely a face shape for me. But Liz saw something entirely different. I can’t remember at the moment. I’ll have to ask her again what it was she saw.
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Oh, well, any of the markers I use will deepen with color if I change pressure, but what I mostly find is that if I vary the point size—use a larger point size instead of finer—I can cover larger areas. (Oh, and thanks for the reminder; I need to go and leave that info for Norm.)
Below are four types that I carry with me for doodling on planes and during waits at Dept of Motor Vehicle (that kind of thing) (ha…had to do that today, and being as it was the first of the month, well, the line and the wait were not pretty).
Staedtler triplus fineliner – these are an inking pen that I buy mostly for the color options.
Faber-Castell artist pen – these ones are a brush, and so you can also cover a wide area.
COPIC sketch (Japanese) – my all-time favorites, but expensive. Have a brush on one end and a wedge on the other, good for edging. Also, these are one where each time you go over it, you get darker color. They come in so many colors, really wonderful, but I kid you not, one pen can be $5 or more.
Micron Pigma (Japanese) – these are my favorite inking pens, and I like them best in .01 size (fine).
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p.s., looking forward to hearing what Liz sees in the image.
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ybonesy, I love that specific list of markers. Reminds me of the Writing Topic: Tools of the Trade (LINK). There are some great Sinclar Lewis quote on that Topic post. Very specific. The brush pens sound really fun to use. Can cover wide areas or edging. Then the other two for fine point inking. Cool! I can’t believe the prices on art materials these days. I thought they were high when I was in school but now…. We had a store at MCAD called The Art Cellar (LINK) where I’d buy many of my books and materials back then. Their prices were comparable. And it was only a short walk from class. I could spend hours in an art supply store. Don’t do it much anymore though. Only what I absolutely need! 8)
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ybonesy, I asked Liz again last night what she saw in the image — it actually was a face, but her face was the dark part only, then with a pipe coming out — of the nose! It’s kind of crazy! She actually didn’t see the same silhouette that I saw where the dark part was a beard of a larger face. It took a while for me to see the pipe though. Always fun to see what people see in these artsy Rorschach tests. 8)
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Thanks yb, for the materials list; I like going with people’s recommendations so I’m not mis-spending by operating blind.
I mentioned to Lynda that the ghost had been quiet lately and her eyebrows went up. ‘Funny you should mention that,…’ she said and began to relate a couple of incidents last week when I was on nights. Not so quiet as I had thought, ha, ha.
There was another one at her work that doesn’t seem so nice as ours. It snatched a file folder of patient records out of her hand and strew it across the floor. Glad I wasn’t there for that one.
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Interesting, well told story. My husband and I joked that we brought “Lily” home from the St. Francis Inn in St. Augustine. During the night she would move the slider on the kitchen light dimmer about a quarter way up, but no lights would be on. Normally the lights engage the minute you move it. There were other little unexplained things and others we came to blame on Lily that would probably be more properly attributed to our aging minds. What a wonderful foil a ghost can be for that. 😉
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Thanks, anhinga, and glad to see you stop by. I’m sure Jim and I also blame a lot more on the ghost than we should, but she becomes an easy target. 🙂
I do sometimes wonder if ghosts can haunt a person instead of a place. And if so, can you carry the ghost around with you wherever you go? And do ghosts ever bond with a person and decide to become transient?
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Whoa, Norm, wonder if that ghost at Lynda’s work is a past patient who’s not so happy with the outcome of his or her treatment? 8) That kind of ghost would cause me to panic, I think.
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That would be one good explanation for it; that hospital has been around for over 50 years so there has likely been at least one patient who wasn’t ready to leave this mortal coil.
Lynda described that incident as a particularly spine-timgling, hair raising one. Her co-workers started looking at her ‘kinda hinky’, like why does this stuff usually happen when you’re around?? She does seem to draw or attract these sorts of things tho she doesn’t claim any communication with them.
8)
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Just a practical note here for those of us with “phantom flushes”. You might try replacing the rubber flapper in the tank in case it is worn out and enough water seeping out to trigger a flush.
Ghost Hunter/Plumber
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Our phantom flush went away on its own, no tinkering on our part, but thanks for the advice. I love your moniker: Ghost Hunter/Plumber. 8)
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Norm, interesting that those things happen when Lynda is around. And that it’s something like that, so overt, where others see it happening, too. I wish we had that kind of activity here at my job to liven up the place. (just kidding)
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Nothing like some on-the-job spooky-ness to get some lively conversation going. It tends to be one of those great equalizers – everyone has a story or knows someone who….
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I’m always surprised at how open people are to hearing about ghost stories. Some (like me) are downright eager. And if they’re not begging you to tell them, then they’re at least receptive to hearing. It is a great equalizer.
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So true, ybonesy. I still get hits on a post I wrote about Lily, the resident ghost at St. Francis Inn in St. Augustine. If you are interested, here is the crass commercial link:
http://anhinga.wordpress.com/2008/10/02/ghosts-of-st-francis-inn/
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Not crass at all. I like reading pieces that are along a similar theme, and it’s hard to know with new blogging connections what all they’ve written about before. Thanks for adding it. I’ll definitely check it out. Lily…good name for a ghost.
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anhinga (aka Ghost Hunter/Plumber), that’s quite the story about the disappearing pillow. Now you see it, now you don’t! I would have been scared to stay in that room from the beginning. I think I’ve been watching too many of the ghosthunters and paranormal shows. They make a believer out of you.
It does seem like many of the ghosts they encounter are friendly though, people who seem to want to hang around closer to the Earth. Or get attached to people or places. But there is that occasional strange encounter that happens that just makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. 8)
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Hey Ybonesy!
I liked this piece! I remember Jim or you telling me about your ghost when you first moved in. Sounds like she was observing and testing you to see if you were worthy.
I’ve said it many times before, Jim is a special kind of person.
MM
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Hey MM, good to hear from you. Any ghosts in Venezuela that you know of?
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Just the ghosts of Marx and Mao.
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Ah, clever MM.
Hey, Jim is wearing his MM t-shirt today and I was admiring your logo. I sure do like that logo. You should make a lot of those shirts. They’re great!
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I am going to make more this summer…and more girly versions too. You’ll get one.
I am going to look into getting lycra jerseys made down here with the logo on it. Thinking of colors to use…have to be NM colors…desert grass, juniper tree green, and pinon nut brown…
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[…] to posts: haiku 2 (one-a-day), Ghost With A Green Thumb, PRACTICE: Digging in the Dirt – […]
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[…] have known it would be raining the day before the party. It rained leading to and on the day of our Easter gathering, the tapas to-do, and my oldest daughter’s end-of-school party. Either our party planning […]
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