Two houses and a haunting

Last weekend I drove past my old house. I was going to visit a friend nearby and thought I'd swing by. We have tenants in the place and their teenage son deals drugs and has friends who have sprayed graffiti liberally in the lane outside our house. They are moving out this week. The son has caused such trouble with my neighbours I have decided not to renew the lease.

But I digress.

This post is not about delinquent teenagers but about houses and districts - two of them: where I live now and have lived most of my life, and where G and I spent the first 7 years together.

So, I saw my old place. Jonquils I had planted years before were blooming in the courtyard garden at the front, so I nipped in and helped myself. There was nobody about to challenge me and as an owner I have every right to do it.

I was able to view my little house dispassionately. When we moved out I felt a little bit sad as it had been such a happy home for us. Six months later I've managed to disassociate myself and think of it as an investment property, with the occasional hope that the tenants appreciate the colour scheme and the garden beds (well, Sonny Jim certainly did with his marijuana plants) and are keeping the garden alive and tidy.

To be frank, I was able to look at the place with a sense of disbelief that I had ever lived there. It no longer felt like home. I have moved on.

I had a companion with me and was chatting to her on the drive. I kept my eyes on the road but it did feel weird driving back to my old house. I drove the route almost mechanically, not thinking twice about each twist and turn as we left the main road. I noticed subtle changes on the way; houses that had been knocked down for apartment buildings, houses which had been knocked down and were being rebuilt as a single dwelling. It was familiar but it wasn't my district any more.

Even the local shopping mall had changed hands and had a new name; if I'd had time I would have dropped in as their prices are pretty good and it's much bigger than my own shopping centre.

Back here, I'm still reconnecting. I didn't have many friends here when I moved out - being an insular bugger I didn't belong to sporting clubs, bridge clubs or have the school mums network to draw friends from. My friends are scattered.

My small local shopping centre, with its woefully small Coles supermarket, feels like my territory again now. I'm on nodding terms with the local dog walkers. I know all the dogs in my street - they all arrived before we moved back. I have a developed a new mental map of shops and businesses and services in my area and the surrounding suburbs.

It's taken me a few months to settle back into an altered reality of my old life. I lived in my current house since childhood until I met G. It seems odd sometimes knowing the master bedroom is ours and I'm living with G and not Mum in this house. I almost feel guilty, as if I've snuck a boyfriend home! I still miss Mum and expect her to be around; still save up things to tell her which I've learned from my friends.

Last week I know she was in the house with me. I smelt her scent, a faint hint of Johnson's baby powder, just inside the front door. I said hello. I believe she's here a lot, and helps me when I can't find things. God only knows what she thinks of the new furniture I've brought in.

My companion on Saturday was a psychic. I've mentioned her before. I was taking her to my friend's house as she was doing a reading for a party there and I was having one of the readings.

My house - my current house - came up in her reading. She said Mum was telling me to fix the window downstairs, and was being very insistent about it. I explained we had to wait for a tree root to wither and the house to settle down before we put a new sill in the window (I explained in case Mum was hovering around and listening).

The psychic told me that Mum strokes the cats and the dog, and that wouldn't surprise me. It's probably why Pwinceth Girl Kitten lies on the bed after breakfast, as Mum used to sit there in the mornings and talk to whatever cat we had at the time.

She told me that Mum and Nan watch over me, and I believe they do. My house is pleasantly haunted. You know, that actually makes me happy.

A visit from Dad

I mentioned in my last post that I had an angel card reader come to the house recently for a morning tea reading party.

This was the second time I'd had a reading from her, and she is uncannily on the ball. 

During the reading she mentioned my Dad and asked if he had died after a long illness (he had: cancer).  She picked up a lot about my Mum, and said that Mum watches over me. I feel she does, too. I talk to Mum and ask her things - particularly if I find something in the house and don't know what it's for. The answer will pop into my head in a minute or two, and I think Mum puts it there.

But I digress… this post is about Dad.

During my reading I had three friends in the other room - V, C, and V's daughter-in-law P. P is rather psychic. As a teenager she knew when her best friend was having a sleepless night as it would wake her up. She's seen relatives by her bed at the time of their passing. 

When I came out from my reading, P said, "There was a man at the front door." I had an inkling the man wasn't real… otherwise the others would have spoken to him and asked what he wanted.

"What did he look like?" I asked. "What colour hair, how tall?"

"He had dark hair and was less than 6 foot. Medium height."

"Slim build?"

"Yes."

"That sounds a bit like my Dad. Hang on, I'll get a photo."  

I have a photo of Dad in his late 30s-ish in my office and I whipped it out and showed it to her. P's face contorted horribly; for a moment it seemed as if her face had turned molten. I thought she was going to faint. She looked like she'd seen a ghost, in other words, and I do believe she had. (Now I know what people look like when they say they see a ghost!)  "Oh my God," she said faintly, and then we were plying her with tea and I was apologising for giving her such a fright and thanking her for seeing my Dad. I felt so awful for giving her such a shock, and was at the same time stunned and rather elated that my father had been standing at the door.

P said Dad stood at the front door, and when I appeared with the angel card reader, he turned away, walked down the two steps and down the path out of sight. P said he wouldn't come in. 

So… I am pondering. Did he appear because there was such a strong psychic pull that day, with both P and the angel card reader in the house? Or because the angel card reader had somehow called him during my reading? And does he visit often? Does he watch, and has he watched this house since he died in 1991? He and Mum designed this place when they were still in love… 

I think Dad is one of my guardian angels, even though we weren't close. I think he's the one who looks after me when I'm flying either as a passenger or a trial flight pilot. 

Mum is another, as is my Nan.  And the card reader told me the little girl on the swing, who two reiki practitioners have both seen when they have worked on me, is my guardian angel, looking after the child inside me who so often wants to come out and play. 

So now I guess I have a few 'people' to talk to who may or may not just be hanging around, looking out for me. 

Some things don't change though - Dad would never come in the house after he left; he would leave Christmas and birthday gifts on the front step. Only once did he come in, when I was 14 and he was handing over the deeds of the house to Mum. I had to grin at the thought of him looking through the front door - and have told him since that he is welcome… inside the house.