Dis/Connect

A Kitty, A Ghost, and A Banshee

 We have new foster kittens . . . and maybe also a ghost.

The little girls have, ummm, upset stomachs; so I've spent the last few days having to fully clean their bathroom floor, their kennel, and their derrieres at least six times a day.  (To add insult to injury, they generally immediately need some spot-cleaning as soon as I turn around from doing the deep-cleaning.)  All this means perpetual exhaustion and raw skin from all the hand-washing .

The odd thing is, there have been several times when I'm at the bathroom sink, scrubbing my hands, and I hear someone call out to me.  I don't know what they're saying -- whatever it is, it's just one short syllable -- but it's almost questioning, as if they're calling my name.  I wait for Bee or Mr. C or S.B. to appear in the doorway, but no one ever comes.

It's probably just a trick with the faucet, or my feet shifting on the floorboards, or something else I'm unconsciously doing.  But I'd rather think it's a ghost.

I've often wondered how I'd react if I encountered something paranormal.  I like to tell myself I believe in the possibility of the unknown . . . but I also know I'm entirely too pragmatic and very much too cynical to truly be open to it.

I wrote before about a lecture I attended by Professor Paranormal, where he talked about encounters we might think of as "ghosts", but that are actually just "energy pictures" left behind. They may be of completely mundane things, and -- in fact -- the person who left them might even still be alive.  And I'm not sure why but -- when I heard the call in the bathroom an hour ago . . . and when I realized Mr. C wasn't going to appear -- my mind jumped to "It's a ghost!", and then down to "No, it's a sound-print left behind", and then settled on "In fact, it's a sound-print from the woman who owned this home before me."  

I have no clue why I came to this conclusion.  I never met that woman: she and her husband sold the house to Bee 26 years ago, which was 10 years before I even moved in.  I don't think I've given her or her family more than a fleeting thought or two in the 16 years I've lived here.  But suddenly I've decided she's in my bathroom sink.

We're going to roll with this, people: the muffled sound I keep hearing could not possibly be a shifting floorboard.  It can, in fact, only be a sound-print left behind by a then-middle-aged suburban wife and mother.   This is the only logical explanation. We must simply deal with this truth.

 I always wondered if I'd be terrified if I came across an energy print.  Now, having done so several times in the last two days (because, remember, this is the truth we're going with), I can tell you that my reaction was to nearly start crying.  It wasn't tears of fright or pain, though.  What I felt was something I never would have considered: I felt joy. 

I suddenly sensed a connection to this person I'd never met.  I just knew I am in the same place now that she was in when she left that print 26 years ago: middle-aged, the mother of a teen, in the midst of a long-term marriage with no plans or desire for that to change.  She, too, had just finished a chore that was just going to have to be repeated again.  She, too, struggled to balance work and home and personal time.  

A completely unremarkable life, and yet so precious and important.

I'm not the type of person to allow feelings to wash over me: but I certainly felt a bond of sisterhood when I heard her call, and I was suddenly really happy and at peace.

It's silly.  I know it.  I know it's probably just a vibration from the water running through the pipes.  But I've decided to not accept the rational explanation, because the rational explanation doesn't fill me with contentment the way the irrational one does.

I didn't realize until today just how starved I am for connection.  By nature, I am a hermit and a grump and it really takes too much effort to get to know people.  But I'm coming to realize just how hard the side-effects of the pandemic (and the political climate) have hit me: while it's been easy for me to stay home and avoid people (like the literal plague they are), 3 years of doing so has made me so distrustful of others.  I judge people long before I know them, and immediately conclude that they're uncaring and selfish just because one value that's important to me may not be as important to them.

Fun exercise: pick your top 3 values.  See how they change in a few months.

 

Since this summer, I've been trying to claw my way back to being open to people again.  I deleted a neighborhood social app that was just making me hate my neighbors.  I started seeing a therapist.  I took more walks with a friend.  

I found a podcast that was about the run-up to the mid-term elections.   I thought it would trigger my anxiety, but it was actually very helpful: it eased me into understanding the reasoning of folks on the other side of the political spectrum from me.

Then, of course, the mid-terms occurred, and it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.  I realized the majority of Americans are saner than I'd been thinking they were.  I reminded myself that their morals may be the same as mine, even if their values are different.

I started talking more with a fellow business owner that I'd avoided the last 3 years because I didn't agree with how he'd presented himself back when masking was mandatory.  But, ever since Savasana's extraction, he has checked on me every week and we've swapped hospital-survivor stories.  He has reminded me that my neighbors can be good and caring people, even if they don't meet my frigidly-high ideals.

COVID came for our house, and Mr. C was the only one who avoided it.  S.B. quarantined himself down in his basement, so Bee and I were stuck up in our 20' x 20' room for a week.  This was a situation that was either going to bring us together or drive us FRICKIN' CRAZY: I'm happy to report that we played cards and ordered things online and took a long walk every morning when the rest of the neighborhood was at work.

kind of a good time to quarantine, since we were rarely out in this weather . . . but neither was anyone else

Yes, we tired of it pretty quickly (see photo below), but we made it through and still love each other.

Sad Gnome

So I've had plenty of opportunities for "connection" lately, and I've tried really hard to grab onto them.  I'm still a work in progress, of course: it remains infinitely more fun to just judge other people harshly instead of putting in the work to get to know them or see their point of view.  But I'm focusing on being open.

Maybe that's why I decided to feel the woman who lived here before me.  Maybe I just wanted one more person/psychic vibration (/squeeky floorboard) to remind me that I don't have to know someone intimately to accept them.  Our differences make us human, as do our imperfections.

How lucky we are to try and fail and try again and maybe finally succeed; to have different people to learn from, but to still be able to find the ways in which we're the same.  

What a gift it is to work to be better.

We're despicable and utterly loveable; so fragile and so strong.  Those things I may have thought of as "weaknesses" are really strengths: I hope I always work to be vulnerable and forgiving, to be soft and malleable.  

I'm sure I'll lose my way, but -- hopefully -- my bathroom ghost will occasionally call out to remind me.