Some Thoughts On The Season

It's a beautiful autumn day here today. The sky and water are blue, the trees are a mixture of green evergreens and many others whose leaves are changing and beginning to fall. The breeze is pleasantly cool and the sun is comfortably warm. I feel very peaceful. I realize how grateful I am for the simple gift of these moments.

Last week was very busy and stressful, but this weekend has revitalized me. I've taken time to rest and to play and to laugh and to talk and to sing. Whenever I am not careful to keep my life balanced, I find that, if I pay close attention, life brings me the opportunities that I seek to regain my center. These opportunities will stand before me waving their arms, saying "Pick me! Pick me! You know I'm just what you need right now." If I'm not paying attention, not doing what I need to take care of myself, these opportunities become more aggressive. They will pout and cry and scream and finally, if I'm still ignoring them, they'll hit me over the head. Ow! O.K. There's no ignoring them now.

Autumn is my favorite season because it is a season of transitions. It is a time to harvest all that we have grown in our lives, and it is also a time to let go of what has served us in the past, but is now no longer useful. We let go of what we no longer need to hold on to, so that there is room within us for what new things we now need. It is all O.K. It is alright. Life moves on. Life changes, just as the seasons change, and we can harvest what we need and release the rest.

I've been grieving these past many months for losses in my life, for things I can not change, for the witnessing of a loved one's tragic self-destruction. These things have left their mark on me. I have been through fire. I have been burned. Yet, I am a success story.

It is not because I have obtained fame or fortune. Not at all. Really, I find those things hold but fleeting joy. My success lies in my survival. It lies in my continual striving for growth. I consider myself a fearful person, but I'm working at facing those fears rather than hiding from them. I have good days and bad days, just as we all do, but I feel my life is getting better and better everyday. I'm becoming a better at planting the seeds of change within myself, at nuturing those seeds, and at harvesting what comes out of them. Sometimes I get what I expect from them. At other times, I am surprised to discover what has grown.

It is not a clear and easy path that life gives any of us. Yet, if we pay attention, there are always new opportunites to learn, to love, to grow and to appreciate. I see the cycles of our lives mirror the cycles of nature in that there is a time and place for everything. Sometimes we feel the need for change, for movement. Sometimes we feel the need to stay still and enjoy the beauty of the moment. At all times, I find, it serves us best to pay attention to what we need.

No matter how busy we might be, each day holds moments when we can nourish ourselves. There are always moments when we can ask ourselves "What do I need right now?" It might take us time to find the answer sometimes, but that is perfectly fine. If we are seeking to find the answer than we are on the right road. The most important thing is to keep asking the question.

Until I type again,
Kami

WIDE AWAKE - - Part Three: New Believer

Photo courtesy of http://freedigitalphotos.net/

***Author's note: "Wide Awake" is an original, previously unpublished, fictional story that I wrote. It will be told in multiple parts. If you've yet to read any of the prior parts, here are the links to do so. For Part One go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-one-crazy-talk.html For Part Two go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-two-haunted-house.html ***

WIDE AWAKE

Part Three: New Believer

I've always been fascinated by the fact that a single incident can forever alter the course of ones life. This happens all the time. Often those events are obviously life-altering, such as a birth, death, marriage or divorce, for instance. At other times, we are not able to recognize what impact an incident will have upon our future. We may feel that something has changed, but all too easily this can be considered to be of less than life-altering significance. After being saved from a fall off a chair by unseen hands and being warned to be careful by an invisible source, I had the feeling that some things would be different. A brush with the supernatural had turned me from non-believer into believer. This was not a natural leap for me. I'm the sort of person who is comfortable with the concrete and logical. A belief in ghosts was neither of these. My coming to hold such a belief required a shift in myself. The old Lily Wilson could no longer exist under these circumstances. A new Lily Wilson was forced to begin her existence.

This creation of a new me was not something readily apparent. I didn't realize that I was forever altered until the transformation was fully under way. One day I was a business grad. student on summer vacation, and the next day I was a woman who communicates with a ghost. Yet, at the time, I was so caught up in these bizarre new circumstances that I had no thought about how my life might be changed by them. I had the obsession of a new believer so caught up in the practice of their faith that they can not seen the world beyond it.

My focus became centered upon a ghost. In particular, I was locked upon trying to communicate with Professor Harper's resident ghost, Thomas. My sister had been in contact with him for a couple of weeks, but his rescue of me was the first time I'd had contact with him. Oh, that doesn't mean he hadn't been around me. The night he'd rescued me from falling off the chair, I'd puzzled over the cold drafts and the sensation of being watched. I hadn't wanted to conclude that there was a spectral origin for these. Now, I was sure that Thomas had been there with me all that night after my sister, Stephanie, had gone to bed. He'd been near me, hovering about. Had he been planning to make contact with me that night? Stephanie had said that he'd told her he was planning to speak to me soon, but that he'd been putting it off because it was hard for him to do so for some reason he'd been unwilling to explain.

Could a ghost be nervous about speaking to someone? Had he been hanging around me, trying to build up enough courage to say something? It was an odd idea. Why would Thomas be nervous about speaking to me? He couldn't have known that I'd nearly fall off a chair in the pantry. He'd prevented me from injury although, in doing so, he'd suddenly put himself in position to make the contact with me that he'd been reluctant to initiate.

After my near-accident, I sat in the kitchen drinking my tea. Although I'd originally made the tea to help me sleep, I doubted I'd be able to relax anytime soon. My eyes scanned the room over and over, but I saw nothing. I put down my cup, held my breath, and listened as hard as I could.

Silence.

I might have thought that I was alone if it weren't for the on-going chill in the room and the continuing sense of another's presence. No, I wasn't alone at all.

Alright. Enough is enough. I wasn't just going to sit there all night. I could passively wait for Thomas to contact me again, or I could take action. I decided on the latter.

"Thomas?" I whispered into the icy kitchen.

I paused, and then I whispered again. "Thomas?"

No answer.

"Thomas? If you're there, then answer me."

Still no answer.

Standing in the brightly lit, silent kitchen, in the middle of the night, it occurred to me how foolish I must look. Maybe it was this house. Could poison vapors coming through the floor boards lead us to hallucinate? I'd been perfectly fine before I'd begun house-sitting here, a couple of weeks ago. Although, it had only been Stephanie who was in contact with him until tonight. If I could have continued thinking of Thomas as her imaginary friend, it would have been so much easier. Then, I wouldn't be feeling like an idiot, talking to myself.

These thoughts made me angry. Why should I be spending time trying to get a ghost to talk to me? I never asked for this drama. I was here to house-sit, not to ghost-sit. Other than house- sitting, I was on vacation. I should be having fun, and this was not my idea of a good time.

I poured the rest of the tea down the sink. I was too angry to drink it now. Tired and grouchy, I ranted aloud as I paced around the room. "Fine. Don't answer me. Don't talk to me at all. Apparently, that's how you want it. Why is that? Huh? Why is it that you'll talk to both Stephanie and Professor Harper, but you don't want to talk to me?"

Silence.

Silence and more silence.

"Forget it! I don't care if you talk to me or not." I stopped pacing. "Oh, this is ridiculous. Reality check, Lily. You're having a one-sided argument with a silent ghost. Not your brightest moment."

I nearly jumped out of my slippers when these comments at last elicited a response. "No, really?" An invisible, amused man spoke right next to me. "I was enjoying this one-sided argument of yours. It's a shame to interrupt it, but I suppose I should start talking to you before you go back to believing that I don't exist."

"Not much chance of that now." I replied. "I assume that I'm speaking to Thomas?"

"Yes, you assume correctly, and you're Lily."

I nodded, although it had been a statement rather than a question. Now that Thomas was speaking to me, my anger had drained away. Jagged frustration had become smooth relief. I couldn't understand it. Once I believed in Thomas' existence, it became important to me that we start talking. His reluctance to get to know me in return only increased my interest in him.

"Are you going to tell me why you've not wanted to speak to me?"

He laughed. It startled me that his laugh sounded so warm, so rich, so alive. A ghost surely shouldn't sound like that, I thought. Although, I really couldn't claim to be an expert on ghosts. My only knowledge of the supernatural came from t.v. and movies. So, all of what I knew could be purely invention. Maybe all ghosts have laughs that make them sound as if they are still alive.

Thomas finished laughing and asked, "That really bothers you, doesn't it? Do you hate not knowing why?"

I would have glared at him if I could have seen him. I settled for eye rolling and shaking my head. "Will you just answer the question?"

"I've been watching you, Lily. Ever since the first time that you entered this house, I've watched you, and I've listened."

He paused, and I asked, "You've been spying on me? Don't you think I deserve any privacy?"

"Yes, to both questions. Don't worry. I don't watch you all the time. I've not seen anything you'd be embarrassed to show a stranger."

I blushed. It hadn't occurred to me that as a ghost he could watch me anywhere, at any time. Hopefully, he was telling me the truth about giving me privacy at those times when I'd most want it. Oddly enough, I believed he was being honest about it. For some reason I couldn't explain, I didn't feel that Thomas was a liar. I did, however, see that he was trying to distract me as a way to avoid my original question.

"I'm not going to bed until you tell me what I want to know." I crossed my arms.

Thomas laughed again. "It's not wise for the living to try to out wait us ghosts. Time doesn't mean the same to me as it does to you. If I choose not to answer you, then you could stand there until you collapse."

I didn't budge. My family has called me "stubborn". I've never disagreed with this assessment. It was foolish, in this case. I was already tired. I wonder, in retrospect, if I would have actually stood there until I collapsed? Was I stubborn enough for that? I think that I might be. Fortunately, it never went to that point. Sounding exasperated, Thomas finally answered my question.

"Alright, alright. Fine. I'll tell you. Jeez, you're stubborn, Lily. . . Well, as Stephanie told you, it has been hard for me to speak to you. It's not that I haven't wanted to talk to you. I have. Since you moved in, I've been trying to work up the courage to say something. It's been. . . difficult. I've been too nervous."

"Nervous? Why?"

"It's because I like you, Lily. I like you in a way that a ghost has no business liking the living. It's not right, not natural. If I were a regular man, it would be different. That's why I've been reluctant to start talking to you. Usually, I'll look at you, and I'll think how beautiful you are, and then the words will just stick inside me."

My head was spinning. I couldn't process what he was saying. "You like me? You think I'm beautiful?"

"Of course. You're beautiful woman. I've listened to you, Lily, and you're also smart and interesting. That's why it's been so hard for me to be comfortable speaking with you."

"Yet, you're doing it. I mean, you're speaking to me now."

"Yes, I wasn't sure I would have if you hadn't almost fallen off that chair."

"Well, thanks for saving me from falling."

"You're welcome. I couldn't let you get hurt. Until then, I know you didn't believe in ghosts. I'd considered letting it stay that way, but then that was no longer possible. You started talking to me, and I finally found I couldn't resist answering you."

"I've never been liked by a ghost before. At least, I don't think I have." I smiled. "Actually, I could have had a whole supernatural fan club, and I'd never know it."

Thomas groaned. "I shouldn't have told you how I felt. This is can only cause trouble for us both."

My smile grew wider. I'd worried that I wasn't having any fun on my vacation. Yet, suddenly, I was having a good time. In fact, my life, usually very practical and well-planned, had suddenly become very unpredictable. It surprised me that I didn't mind the change. I'd never wanted trouble more.

***To Be Continued***

Until I type again,

Kami

"Lewis Black - Evolution"

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kamikae5 has shared a video with you on YouTube: I'm posting again from my cell phone. My internet access at home is so poor these days that it's nearly non-existent. Yet, I am not going to let that stop me from posting! Today, I'm in the mood to post some comedy. This bit is from the comedian Lewis Black on creationism and evolution. I'm not someone who believes that it makes sense to take any religious text literally, including the Bible. I find more meaning in taking religious text as I would other books, as cultural tales and metaphors. I find I value the stories more when I treat them as I do other stories, and there can be a lot of meaning to be found within any story. This is why I find that I can fit science and religion together very well in my own life. Of course, this isn't the case for a lot of people. Science and religion are in opposition for many. I think this allows for some prime comical material. Until I type again, Kami Lewis Black - Evolution Lewis Black
© 2009 YouTube, LLC 901 Cherry Ave, San Bruno, CA 94066

A Lovely September At Dawn

I was taking a walk at dawn before work this morning (I go to work quite early), and I took these photos on my new cell phone (a purple LG Lotus - - which I love). It was so quiet and peaceful this morning, and I was able to watch the sunrise over the water. I captured a tree just beginning to change colors, some interesting pretty flowers just peeking out of the near darkness, and plenty of shots of sky, clouds, sun and sea.

Until I type again,
Kami

WIDE AWAKE- -Part Two: Haunted House

Photo courtesy of http://www.freefoto.com/index.jsp

***Author's note: "Wide Awake" is an original, previously unpublished, fictional story that I wrote. It will be told in multiple parts. If you've yet to read Part One, here's the link to do so first http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-one-crazy-talk.html ***

WIDE AWAKE

Part Two: Haunted House

Goosebumps covered my arms. I shivered. My sixteen year old sister, Stephanie, had just told me that she'd been communicating with a ghost for the past two weeks. She said this ghost was named Thomas, and he lived -- no, wait, lived is surely the wrong term to describe it -- he resided in Professor Harper's large house in Seattle's Capitol Hill neighborhood. I was house-sitting for the professor while she was on in Europe on sabbatical, and my sister was staying with me for the summer. I'd thought things had been going very well in the those two weeks, since we'd moved in, but I questioned this after Stephanie's announcement that the house was haunted.

My name is Lily Wilson. I'm twenty-three, and I have to admit that living in a haunted house was a frightening idea. It gave me the chills. At the same time, I was sure I didn't even believe in ghosts. I thought it likely that my sister had things wrong. After toying with several ideas, possible drug use or physical or mental illness, I'd decided that Stephanie was just imagining her conversations with Thomas. This so-called ghost had to be the product of the overactive mind of a lonely, excitable, troubled teenage girl. If it was O.K. for little kids to have imaginary friends, then it was possible, and even O.K., for a teenager to have one too.

Alright, alright. If I'm being honest, then I'll have to say that a child's imaginary friend and my sister's so-called ghost aren't really the same thing. Comparing the two was only designed to make myself feel better about the situation. Stephanie, not surprisingly, had no problems with any of it. She thought it was cool that she could talk with a ghost. She said Thomas was very nice and friendly to her. I couldn't fathom how the words "nice" and "friendly" could apply to a ghost, but my sister had her own way of looking at things. It was never easy for me to understand her point of view.

I did try to understand. After she told me about her imaginary ghost friend, I reached the just-play-along-and-humor-her stage. I tried to learn more about Thomas.

I asked her, "Do you see him? Or do you only hear him?"

Stephanie said Thomas chose to talk to her most of the time while invisible. He had made himself visible to her, but that was only twice. He told her that any contact with "the living", as he called us non-ghost people, wasn't easy. Making contact required both concentration and practice. For years, Professor Harper had been the only one among the living to whom he'd spoken. He'd managed to appear to the professor several times.

It was at this point that I interrupted Stephanie. "Thomas told you that he's also communicated with Professor Harper?"

She nodded. "Yeah, he says she's a great lady. He knew he'd miss her during her sabbatical, so he's glad to have us here."

"Whatever makes the ghost happy." I muttered to myself too softly for my sister to hear. Louder, I asked her, "If he's so glad to have us here, then why has he chosen to only communicate with you and not with both of us? Isn't he going to be pretty lonely when you go back to Portland for school in the fall?"

"Um, well," Stephanie seemed reluctant to reply. "I've asked him those same questions, and I told him that he needs to start talking to you too. He. . . he said that it's hard for him to talk to you, Lily."

"What do you mean? Why would talking to me be any different than talking to you or to Professor Harper?"

"I wondered the same thing, but he won't explain it. All I could get him to tell me is that it's hard for him to talk to you, but he does plan to try it soon."

"He does?"

I felt chilled, as Stephanie nodded her reply. The goosebumps returned to cover my arms again. Even though I'd only been pretending to believe in a ghost, the thought of hearing a dead person speak to me creeped me out. I didn't make sense. How could I be afraid of something I didn't believe to be real?

Fear and logic are not comfortable companions. I thought of myself as a logical person, not someone who is afraid of things that go bump in the night. Stephanie was the one with the overactive imagination, while I was the one with a cool head for business. That's why I felt getting my master's degree in business was logical. I was investing in my future, and I was keeping things practical. It wasn't practical to be afraid for what couldn't possibly be real.

Later than night, I was reminding myself of this as I tossed and turned in bed; the bed that was mine for the year I was to spend in Professor Harper's house. I told myself that it was illogical to be afraid. I wasn't Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol". Ghosts weren't coming to visit me at bedtime. Only my sister, sleeping in a room down the hall, was in the house with me. No one else. There was no reason I should have the uncomfortable feeling of being watched.

I'd already gotten up once to make sure the window blinds were tightly closed. They were. I was quite sure no one could see into the dark room. I hadn't really believed that anyone could. Even before I'd gotten up, I'd doubted the possibility, but I was looking for some kind of rational explanation for why I felt the way I did.

Huddled in bed beneath a quilt, I puzzled at the chill in the room. I could see my breath floating out of my mouth in small clouds. When I'd made my sleepy way to bed, the room had felt hot and stuffy. It was a warm summer night, and, after I'd brushed my teeth, I'd planned to turn on a fan to cool down the room. However, this odd feeling that I was being watched came to me when I returned from the bathroom. A draft of cold air came along with it. I'd pulled a thick bathrobe over my light, summery pajamas before climbing into bed. Yet, as tired as I was, I was quickly too cold and too anxious to fall asleep. Neither of these feeling made any sense, and I dislike it when things don't make sense.

My feelings drifted from fear into anger. I was angry with myself for being afraid. It was unacceptable. I blamed Stephanie's stories for sparking my imagination although I'd previously thought my imagination nearly non-existent. My sister's attempts to convince me the house was haunted hadn't been the best conversation to have right before bedtime. I found it ironic that, while she no doubt slept peacefully down the hall, to my frustration, I was wide awake.

Getting out of bed, I decided to head to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of chamomile herbal tea would help me relax. Wrapping and tying the long, thick robe tighter around me, I slipped on a pair of slippers and went downstairs. As I went through the house, I checked the doors and all the windows. They were closed and locked. Of course, they were. It was too much to hope that there would be a sensible reason for the chill breeze or for the feeling of being watched. Both sensations came along with me into the kitchen.

I heated a mug of water in the microwave, pulled it out, and added a tea bag. While my tea seeped, I dug through the cupboard looking for some honey to put in my tea. I remembered seeing some in the house, and, after a few moments, I recalled seeing a jar on a shelf in the pantry. Sure enough, there was a jar of honey on the highest shelf, out of reach of someone as petite as myself.

Grabbing a chair, I pulled it into the pantry and climbed up onto it. I could barely brush my fingers against the edge of the jar, not quite enough to grab hold of it. Raising myself onto my toes, I stretched up as far as I could. Just as my fingers wrapped around the jar, I felt the chair sway and start to rock to the side. In a split second, I became certain I was going to fall. The thought had barely registered itself when I felt the sensation of the chair suddenly stabilizing itself, as well as the touch of someone firmly grasping onto my left arm. Thankfully, both of these movements prevent my fall.

"Be careful." A masculine voice said near me.

If the grasp on my arm and on the chair hadn't been so firm, the sound of that voice might have startled me enough to start falling again. I jerked my arm away from the hand and quickly jumped off the chair. Frantically, my eyes darted around the room. I was looking for the man who had first broken into the house, and then had prevented me from falling. I was breathing hard, lost in the grip of panic for a short while. I remained this way until my rattled brain registered what I was looking at - - empty room.

I could see no one in the pantry, and I knew that no one had broken into the house. Everything was locked up, and I would have heard someone if they had tried to break in. Nevertheless, I knew, deep within myself, that I wasn't alone. There was a man in the pantry with me; a man who had saved me from a fall off the chair. I was certain that I had felt his hand on my arm and heard him warning me to be careful. I was also certain that I could no longer claim that I didn't believe in ghosts.

***To Be Continued***

Until I type again,
Kami

Hallelujah (Leonard Cohen) - Allison Crowe live performance

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kamikae5 has shared a video with you on YouTube: I am posting to my blog using both my e-mail and my new LG Lotus cell phone. I love my cool new phone. I was way overdue for both an upgrade in cell phones as well as a phone play with data & texting. I'm curious to see how well this entry posts. Also, I've been meaning to post this youtube video for some time now. I find this song haunting & beautiful. There are many verisons, but I find this to be my favorite. Hallelujah (Leonard Cohen) - Allison Crowe live performance "It's, as I say, a desire to affirm my faith in life, not in some formal religious way but with enthusiasm, with emotion.... It's a rather joyous song." ~ Leonard Cohen, creator of the song, Hallelujah. He says: "I wanted to write something in the tradition of the hallelujah choruses but from a different point of view... It's the notion that there is no perfection ~ that this is a broken world and we live with broken hearts and broken lives but still that is no alibi for anything. On the contrary, you have to stand up and say hallelujah under those circumstances." Canadian indie singer-songwriter Allison Crowe's uniquely potent interpretation is heard on her album/CD, "Tidings". (The song enjoys increasingly wide appreciation - even marching into the mainstream recently with performances by American Idol contestant Jason Castro and by UK X Factor winner Alexandra Burke and Dutch X Factor champ Lisa Hordijk. Leonard Cohen himself has b... more
© 2009 YouTube, LLC 901 Cherry Ave, San Bruno, CA 94066

Wide Awake - - Part One: Crazy Talk

Photo courtesy of http://www.freephotosbank.com/

***Author's note: "Wide Awake" is an original, previously unpublished, fictional story that I wrote. It will be told in multiple parts.***

WIDE AWAKE

Part One: Crazy Talk

I wished it were a joke. A twisted stupid joke. I looked over at my sister's face hoping that she'd show me some sign that she wasn't serious; that she hadn't just told me the craziest thing I'd ever heard her say. My false hope slipped away along with the sigh that escaped my lips. She gazed at me expectantly, worriedly chewing on her bottom lip, trying to anticipate how I was going to respond to what she'd just told me.

"Steph," I sighed again. "I . . . I really don't know what to say."

My sister, Stephanie Marie Wilson, is seven years younger than myself and my only sibling. The age difference between us was hardly noticeable by this time. At sixteen, Stephanie could almost have passed for my twin. We had the same petite, slender frame, the same blue eyes, the same shoulder-length, silky brown hair. We weren't identical, of course, but looking at our pixy-like faces, it's obvious that we are sisters. The most noticeable difference is in our personalities.

Stephanie is more adventurous, more rebellious, than me, Lily Ann Wilson. It isn't just that she is a teenager. She's always been like this. I, on the other hand, have always been cautious, hesitant. I do very little without analyzing my options first, weighing the pros and cons, judging the risk involved. My sister thinks this makes me dull. I don't see it that way. I see it as being smart.

"Lily," Stephanie sounded annoyed with me now. "Just tell me what you think. You believe me, right?"

I couldn't lie to her face, so, looking down at my feet, I mumbled, "Um, yeah, sure."

When I looked up again, it was to encounter her silent glare. I couldn't take her looking at me like that for long. I sputtered. "O.K. Fine. No, I don't believe you. I don't believe you at all. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Crossing her arms, Stephanie stuck out her bottom lip like a petulant two year old. Her question came out sounding whiny. "Why don't you believe me?"

I couldn't help myself. It was such a ridiculous question that I rolled my eyes as I answered. "Oh, pulleeeeze. Come one, Steph. It’s . . . well, it just sounds crazy."

"I'm. Not. Crazy." My sister spat out her response one word at a time.

"Well, I'm not saying you've completely lost it or anything. You must have let your imagination get carried away. Or, maybe, it's something you've dreamed."

"I was wide awake, Lily. Wide awake."

"Are you sure of that? Maybe you dozed off without realizing it." I frowned. "I hope you're not sick or anything. You could have a fever that's causing hallucinations. I should take you to a doctor." I tried to touch her forehead to see if it felt hot, but she dodged my arm.

"I feel fine." Stephanie grumbled. "I don't have a fever."

I chewed on my lip. I was growing more and more worried by the moment. "I don't know, Steph. Maybe you're a narcoleptic or something. You might be falling asleep suddenly, without realizing it. That could be dangerous."

Just as I had become the lip chewer, Stephanie had become the one rolling her eyes. "You don't have to explain it. I know what a narcoleptic is, and I'm not one. I'm not sick. I'm not crazy, and I'm not going to a doctor. So, forget it."

To be honest, she didn't look sick at all. In fact, she appeared to be doing better now, than when she'd first arrived in Seattle three weeks ago. Then, Stephanie's face had been blotchy and her eyes red from crying. She'd been fighting with Mom and Dad after she'd skipped the last day of school, along with her boyfriend, Cody. When Stephanie had come home again, it was the next morning. She had a butterfly tattoo on her ankle, a belly button piercing, and a hangover. It was the worst trouble she'd ever been in. It was hard to say what in this whole scenario they had been most upset about. Probably, it was her spending all night alone with a boy. That fact alone most likely had trumped tattoos, body piercing, school skipping, underage drinking, and even disappearing for twenty-four hours without a word. I just hoped that whatever she and Cody had done that they'd been safe about it. My adventurous little sister wasn't ready for the adventure of motherhood. Not at sixteen.

Mom and Dad had responded to her behavior by grounding her. It was the start of summer vacation, and she wasn't allowed to go anywhere, do anything or to see Cody or any of her friends. Stephanie responded by sneaking out of the house two days later. Unfortunately for her, she got caught, and this only made matters worse. Mom and Dad took away both her phone and her computer. No texting, no chatting, no calls, no e-mails, nothing. She was in Teenage Hell.

After only a week of watching her cry and mope around, Mom and Dad said, "Enough! We're driving you up to Seattle to spend the summer with your sister. You know she'd love to see you."

It was true. I'd been trying since Spring Break to get Stephanie to come up from our family's home in Portland, Oregon to spend her summer vacation with me. I planned to enjoy a summer off from grad school at U.W., University of Washington, in Seattle where I was working on my M.B.A., Master in Business Administration. After working so hard on my degree, I felt the need for a break, and I thought it would be nice to have Stephanie spend some time with me. Of course, I hadn't considered that Mom and Dad would practically force her to come; that I'd be taking responsibility for a moping, moody, misbehaving teen for the next two months.

My plans for a fun summer break had quickly begun to feel like a punishment. I wondered what I'd ever done to our parents that made them think I deserved this. Maybe it was their way of getting back at me for going to college out of state. They'd ended up helping me with tuition a lot more expensive than it would have been if I'd gone to an Oregon state school. If this was my punishment, Mom and Dad had a sadistic streak I'd been unaware of previously.

I’d still be suffering a miserable summer if it weren’t for a great opportunity that had suddenly fallen into my lap. One of the art history professors at the U.W. was going on a year-long sabbatical. Professor Christine Harper was originally not leaving Seattle until the fall, but she’d changed her plans suddenly. She’d begun asking her colleagues if they recommend a student willing to housesit for her as soon as possible. I’d made it known to several of the faculty members that I was looking for just this sort of opportunity long before I’d thought there was any real chance that my sister would be spending the summer with me. Once she was with me, I’d figured house-sitting would be off my summer agenda, at least until she went back to school in the fall.

Although I had never met her before, Professor Harper called me based on recommendation from one of the professors who knew me and knew of my interest in house-sitting. I drove to her house in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighbor that same afternoon. It was a large, two-story, five bedroom home; an older house that had been recently remodeled. Its outside was painted a shade of ivory with the door and the trim painted dark blue. It was obviously a home of an art history professor, since every room was filled with a variety of carvings, sculptures, ceramics, watercolors, and paintings. The professor herself was a tall, lean woman with a flowing mane of gray hair. She had the kindest smile I’d ever seen.

After just the one meeting, Professor Harper said that she had a good feeling about me and asked if I’d be able to move in right away. She was eager to catch a flight to Rome where she’d be beginning her sabbatical. When I explained that my teenage sister was staying with me over the summer, the professor said, “No, problem. It’s a big house. Everything will work out just fine. You’ll see. Please, Lily, will you take the job? I promise that you’ll not regret it.”

I had agreed then. I mean, how could I not? I was a beautiful house, and I'd be getting paid to stay there and take care of it, and all its artwork, for a year. Now, though, I'd started to wonder if Professor Harper was right. Would I really have no regrets? How could that be true when my little sister was telling me that she’d been hearing voices?

Well, to be exact, Stephanie claimed to have heard one voice, other than our own, since we arrived at Professor Harper’s house. Personally, I would have been equally disturbed whether she said that she was hearing one voice or twenty of them. Either way, didn’t it indicate that something was wrong? Surely, this wasn’t normal. Didn’t it mean that something had to be very wrong with my sister? Another thought suddenly occurred to me.

“Steph, you haven’t been using drugs, have you?”

Stephanie scowled and spoke slowly as if she considered me dim-witted. “Nooooo, Lily. I don’t use drugs, and I only drank that one time, which I really regretted by the next day, so I’m not an alcoholic either. I told you. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“How can you say that when you’re hearing voices?”

“Lily, it’s not like that. I’m not hearing voices in my head. This is real. He is real.”

“He?” When she had told me that she was hearing a voice, I hadn’t considered that Stephanie was hear a male voice.

“Yes. His name is Thomas, and I don’t just hear him. We talk to each other. We’re friends.”

All of this was really too much for me. If my sister wasn’t sick or crazy, then she was letting her imagination get out of hand. Was I supposed to believe any of this? It sounded like a fantasy to me. I gave up trying to reason with her and turned to sarcasm instead.

“So, is your friend, Thomas, a gnome or an elf?”

Stephanie laughed. “No, that’s silly. He’s not a gnome or an elf or anything like that. Thomas is a regular person. At least, he was. Don’t you understand what I’ve been saying? This house is haunted, Lily. Thomas is a ghost.”

***To Be Continued***

Until I type again,
Kami