SEARCHING FOR THE ELUSIVE ORB

When I transferred the Christmas photos from the camera to the computer, I noticed a number of random photos -- mostly of nothing in particular -- that I hadn't taken. I laughed to myself. Apparently someone was making certain no ghosts were lurking in dark corners.




No, no. That's not an orb -- just a reflection of the flash in the windows at the end of the hall. (Or is it?)


What disarray! Yes, there are ghosts in this room -- the vintage sewing room. They are the ghosts of unfinished projects hiding behind the clutter. Ina disapproves of such haphazard living. My dad says, "Kathy, clean this room." But my mother understandingly knows it will all be taken care of in time.


This picture was taken in the upstairs hallway looking into the bathroom. If you have to get up in the night, you want to know that ghosts do not inhabit the bathroom. My dad made the latch hook rug on the wall for my mother. The Aladdin lamp hung in Ina's dining room [see old photo below left] for many years. My dad converted it to electricity for our house in Orofino, then Mike and I re-hung it here in the hallway at the top of the stairs.






And here's the dining room today -- same table as in the old photo. In the renovation, a wall was removed to open the kitchen to the dining room.






Sunday morning Hallie and Nellie bid each other another fond farewell. Nellie totally understands that Hallie is leaving.

IS SOMEONE HERE?

I am not really a student of the paranormal, but both my parents had a respect for the power of mind and I was exposed to such ideas from an early age.

At Hallie's suggestion, we opened gifts once we had settled in at the farmhouse on Christmas Eve. Her gift to Nick was a Wii and she looked forward to his surprise and the fun of playing it, as well as the sharing of other gifts. After dinner, the evening became mellow as Mike watched football and Hallie and Nick fell asleep on the sofa, so I decided to take a trip down memory lane with the photos of Christmas 1952, the previous post. I thought deeply and quietly about that occasion, letting the photos speak to me. After importing and labeling the scanned photos for the blog post, I arose from my chair at the dining room table and took this present-day photo of the living room toward the corner where our 1952 celebration had taken place. Notice the light spot on the chair. I was disturbed that my photo was ruined and would have discarded it without saying anything to anyone had it not been that I just didn't want to take it again.

When Hallie reviewed the blog, she immediately picked up on the "orb." She and Nick watch some "Ghosthunters" programs and she recognized the spot as a possible spirit. She researched "orbs" online, which presented comparisons of genuine orbs with dust spots. Ours appeared genuine. She also tried to duplicate the same physical setting and re-take the photo, but the orb didn't happen again. Of course, what she couldn't re-create was my state of mind when the photo was taken.

"If one of them came, it was because of me," I told Hallie. In other words, I believe the ghosts are with me and not in the house. Our move to the farm enlivened my nostalgic interests. My study of the old pictures and letters plus my attempts to remember whatever I can have brought the old players to life in my consciousness. My profound remembrance of this Christmas occasion from early childhood may -- or may not -- have brought some "psychic energy" into play. If so, it was only motivated by love.

Hallie wanted to know who I thought it would have been. I replied it was my mother, my dad, or Grandma Ina, though she related the position of the orb to my dad's sister, Myrtle. Personally, I don't believe I called up Myrtle. I lean strongly to my dad or Ina, but I never know where my mother will turn up.

At any rate, I can let it go. I know those thumps in the night were just Nellie adjusting her pillow or possibly the wall furnace announcing the heating process. And by mutual agreement the ghosts just don't follow me to the bathroom. KW