I See Dead People, and Some Really Cute Stuff on Home Shopping Channels

The nights of an insomniac and a mom of an infant are basically the same. Thanks to 24 hour news channels, I am SUPER up on current events. I feel like I have personal friendship with Isaac Mizrahi and I love his ENTIRE collection on QVC. We are totally besties. Also, caffeine. Lots of it. Cannot get enough. *twitch*

Middle of the night is a great time to binge watch Game of Thrones. 

Except, during my long nights I occasionally “see” people, dead people who are waiting around for me to either:

A. Get to their loved one’s email reading

Or

B. Hanging out in preparation for their loved ones in person appointment the next day.

This week, everything was the usual in my middle of the night routine, except that I don’t have a squeaky rocking chair, and I kept on hearing a squeaky rocking chair. Feeding after feeding the squeaking got louder and louder, yet I could not find where it was coming from. As I stumbled around the darkness of my kitchen, the noise level didn’t change wherever I went.  While my ear was to the ice maker in the fridge, as I attempted to rule out appliance failure, I felt a comforting presence with me and I smelled a cinnamon fragrance of a pipe.

“Okay,” I said quietly, “Send me your people and I will read them.” The squeaking stops.

Next day, I get a request for an email reading from a woman who just lost her beloved grandfather. She sends me his pictures. As soon as I open them his presence hits me like a ton of bricks. I hear the squeaking again.

In her email reading, I ask if grandpa had a squeaky rocking chair. I share that I have been hearing this for about 12 hours before her request of a reading. “Yes,” she replies “An old ugly squeaking rocking chair that was his favorite.” She continues by saying she grew up visiting the house and the comforting smells of grandpa’s pipe were part of her best memories. 

I never hear the squeaking again. 

Pennies From Heaven

During a reading I am always focused on channeling spirit for the client, however recently when the table got turned on me, it was quite a pleasant surprise.

My client, a young woman, and I were discussing recent foretelling dreams she was having that were coming true. She was having a hard time letting her guard down enough to accept the fact that she had a connection to the other side. 

Her guides were trying to tell her to embrace her psychic gifts, and as I was in the middle of a sentence, she jumped out of her seat and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

"There was a man behind you! He had such black hair, he was tall and kind of big!" 

At once I knew who it was! 

My grandfather, Patrick, passed away in 2010 at the age of 93. Those who knew him often remarked at what a head of jet black hair he had in his younger days. He was a tad "round" as well. 

Little did my client know, that I always talk to him as I bless the house for readings. That particular day I saw some pennies as I was cleaning. I smiled because he used to collect them for me when I was little.

"Oh how nice!" I exclaimed "You saw my grandpa!" 

She looked visibly shaken. She stared at me as if it was the craziest thing that had ever happened to her. 

"See?" I said "I told you your guides are saying you can channel Spirit!" 

How to Teach Your Six Year Old to Read Auras

Reading Auras for me is like observing what people are wearing at the mall. If you stop and specifically make yourself pay attention, you’ll see some really interesting things. But if you’re busy in your own little world, you’re not going see a thing unless someone has shown up in harem pants and clown shoes. 

Because it’s just a natural thing for me to see them, I actually spent most of my life thinking everyone did. Sometimes I still forget that other people can’t perceive them. So last week when my six year old daughter, Breezy, became mesmerized at the sight of a very violet aura person walking into the bar/restaurant we were eating at, I took notice.

“Hey Breezy, what color do you see around that guy?”

Breezy closed her eyes real tight. “Purple!” she exclaimed.

My husband Scott, who has grown used to these odd conversations over the years, looked surprised.

 “Is she right?” he asked me.

“Totally!” I replied.

“Breezy,” he asked, “How did you see the color?”

 “In my brain!” she called out, “Let’s do another one!” Scott looked a little weirded out.

 “She sees it in her third eye,” I explained to him, “She can read auras, that’s good!”

“What does purple mean, Mama?” Breezy asked me.

I explained that violet or purple means the person is artistic, very intuitive and an overall cool person. Differences in hue matter of course, but my kid just isn't there yet. Offhandedly I said to both of them, “I bet you ten bucks that guy plays a wind instrument, I see a saxophone.”

Scott slapped his hand on the table and said, “You’ve got a bet!” He proceeded to walk toward the guy.

This is where I stress out. I am not the Long Island Medium. I don’t do the whole “Oh My GWAD! Your grandmutha is here, she is making lasagna and saying you play the sax!” thing.

Breezy meanwhile is super excited, she wants to know. “Mama,” she whispers, “If you get ten dollars from Dada, will you buy me Shopkins?”

These are Shopkins. There are four hundred billion of them and if you have a 6 year old you know all their names.

Watching my husband approach a stranger at a bar to ask if he plays a wind instrument is a tad random. I sit back and wonder what possible reactions might be.

I see them talk. Scott points a finger at me. The guy kind of looks at me and smiles. Then they laugh, chat for a while and eventually Scott comes back with a beer. 

"He bought you a beer! He is in a Beach Boys cover band. He plays the sax! They play tomorrow night, and we are invited."  

Purple aura guy holds up his beer to me, we do an “air” cheers from across the room. I smile.

“Hey, where’s my ten dollars?” I ask Scott.


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