House of A Writer

Welcome to my blog where I share my special needs parenting journey with my heart, truth, and love, one story at a time. ❤️

Aware

I don’t know when the day was or how the feeling came to be, but I’ve always been aware that I was different. I wasn’t a shy child, I had an insatiable curiosity about life. I wanted to know about people, what made them tick, their likes and dislikes. Before I was born my Gram told my Mom I would be special. So on the day I made my arrival my Mom, Dad, and Gram were tossing around names for me. My Mom suggested Lisa, my Dad liked it but my Gram said no I will name her after a movie star I just seen in a magazine. So my fate was decided then and there. I always wanted to be an actress I knew enough about old Hollywood and the silver screen then any other five year old did. 

My friends at school didn’t know who any of my favourites were and thought I was weird since their minds were on Star Wars, Mork and Mindy, and Disney. I enjoyed these movies and tv shows too but there was a whole other wonderful world that awaited me in the movie pictures. My Mom encouraged my love of the classics in cinema and literature and  relished  each with joy. Not to many eight year olds could quote Shakespeare and discuss Charles Dickens and know what they were prattling on about.  I could though, and my Mom and Gram called me their old soul. It was a wonderful way to grow up, it was like I had a secret life that I could share with the adults I loved. 

I also seen auras around people, and at a young age I called them rainbows. I thought everyone could see them. I also had visitations from some people I knew and many I didn’t. I still remember the day I saw my friend crying over her dog that had died. I said it’s ok he’s not really gone, he’s sitting on your lap. My Mom got a phone call about that exchange and I had to pretend that my imagination got the best of me. Some friends just accepted that’s how I was without questions. My Mom protected me the best she could in my reality but in my dreams no one could. I seen things I never wanted to see, visions of things that scared me and some things that gave me happiness. 

When did I become aware of the fact I am empathic you may ask? I think it was when I was seven years old. I realized not everyone could see the “rainbows” around them or others. And a lot of people got uncomfortable around me when I discussed them. So I just learned to be quiet and not tell anyone I had a gift. It was something special I shared with my Mom, Gram, and her family. I still remember the stories my sweet Gram would tell me of her Mother’s visions. 

There was a time when my Gram was quite young and working as a housekeeper at a hotel. Her bosses loved her and doted on her. Then one night she went out of town for a dance. She had gone out on a group date as was the style back then, and her sister accompanied her. They had a fabulous time and were coming back into town since both of them had to work the next day. There was a car accident and down went the car over the side of the cliff. My Gram told me all she remembered seeing was a white light and floating. She woke up in a bed in the hotel she worked at being cared for by her bosses wife. 

My Gram came from a family of nine and all the children lived at home and worked to support the family. So her boss and his family decided they would look after her, and wouldn’t let my Great Grandma know what had happened to her. They had to avoid this because she had a very bad heart, and they were afraid that the shock would kill her. After several weeks while my Gram was being nursed back to health from a broken neck, my Great Grandma was tired of the excuses of not seeing her daughter. So she marched up to the hotel and demanded to see her. Luckily my Gram was on the mend but little did she know that her Mom knew something was wrong as she dreamt about the accident happening! 

I’ve always had the sight, the Irish eye is what my Gram called it. It was passed down from my ancestors to my Gram, to my Mom, and to me. I have relatives that have a strong psychic nature. It’s something I’ve passed down to my own children as well. And the older I get the stronger it becomes. The same thing happened to my Mom as she went from being clairvoyant to clairaudient and clairsensient. A transition that gradually happened as she had spent her whole life being connected to the spirit world. I’ve paid attention to this sixth sense, this inner knowing all my life. It’s much a part of me as my blonde hair and blue eyes. 

I’m aware that not everyone will understand it and fear me or my gift. It is human nature to fear the things we don’t know, or understand. The spirit of God always guides me to like minded people who share the gift or want to learn more about it. I always know when there’s good people and not so good people. I can feel vibrations in speech, energy patterns, and in conversation. I don’t hang out my shingle and set up shop for readings like some people do. I know when I’m guided to help someone as the energy vibration will lead me to them. 

I’m very grateful that God blessed me and my family with a psychic sense. My Mom always told me to never fear it, but not to abuse it either. She said a great responsibility comes from using the sense properly. And that’s what I teach my children as well. A gift from God is to be used to help, heal, and never to harm or hinder. So I keep my thoughts to myself even when I see or I’m aware of the outcome. It’s like a present that gets unwrapped when I need it. But I’m always watchful, careful, and aware of my surroundings as to who’s watching me. 

This has been my submission to Sunday confessions of www.morethancheeseandbeer.com. Please check out her confession, the anonymous ones on her Facebook, and all the other talent who link up. Thank you for stopping by. ?

 

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Guest blog with Imperfect Mom-Sunday dinners

I’m excited to have today’s guest blogger here in my corner of the WordPress world. Imperfect Mom and I first met up on the linkups for Sunday confessions. I was struck by her honesty, wit, and talent. She’s so far from imperfect, and so kind and genuine. That to me is a perfect quality in a friend. I’m happy that last year we bonded through our blogs and have become wonderful friends. She’s a wonderful woman with a beautiful love story that gives me goosebumps. As well as being an amazing Mom, sister, and Grandma. You can read about her journey here
http://welcometomyimperfectworld.com.

And follow her here http://www.facebook.com/imperfectmomchronicles

I was asked to do a guest blog post for a wonderful blogger and very special friend, JSacksmom. She is on Facebook too so check her out there too!!
https://www.facebook.com/jsackmomblog

As a young girl I remember Sunday dinners at my grandparents house vividly. We arrived early so my mom could help my grandmother (my Nana), to cook the meal. Sometimes cousins were there to play with, and sometimes it was just my sister and I. Until my brother came along then we had to occupy him so mom could help. We would play outside if it was nice enough to do so, exploring the back yard which butted up against a hillside that was overgrown with trees. We had friends who lived in the neighborhood near my Nana, so often we were next door in their back yard playing hopscotch, Chinese jump rope or jacks. Sometimes we even climbed up in the trees and just sat on a limb talking. When the weather wasn’t nice we mostly just sat in the living room with our Papa and watch television. Papa had a couple of strokes so he didn’t really interact with us too much. He often just sat in his rocking chair watching whatever happened to be on the TV. Sometimes during a moment of lucidity he would play practical jokes on us kids, and if we were running in the house he thought it was funny to stick out his cane to try to trip us. Sometimes we were caught off guard and we would trip, but often times we knew somehow that he was in a ornery mood so we avoided his prankster ways. He wasn’t being mean to us, we knew that he loved us but the strokes had done damage to his once agile body and he had a hard time walking or doing much of anything.

Mom would call us in when it was almost time to eat so that we could wash our hands and help set the table. Carrying dishes of hot food, salt and pepper, and dishes with sliced meat and potatoes which were usually the Sunday fare. We would fill the glasses with milk or water while Nana made her gravy for whatever meat she was serving that day. It always tasted great too, my Nana was an excellent cook. She made pretty much everything from scratch and it was always fresh, whereas my mom used more pre-packaged and convenience foods. I remember dishes of food being passed around and nobody ate until everybody’s plates were filled with steaming hot food. We said grace and would eat our meal with not a lot of talking. I don’t recall hearing lots of talking during dinner, but it could be just because we were so young and it didn’t really concern us. Or it could have been because we were all just quiet. After dinner everyone pitches in and helps to clear the table and clean up dishes before sitting down to spend some family time doing whatever. Talking, playing a game, or just hanging out listening to music, until dessert is served.

My Nana passed away not long after I graduated high school, she was very special to me and I miss her quite a bit. She is why I wanted my granddaughter to call me Nana, because I remember only great things about her and I hope my granddaughter recalls great things about me as well.

In the past year or so I have managed to reinvigorate the Sunday dinner tradition for my family. Even though each week it is just us for dinner, I still think it is important in this busy a go-go world to sit down and share a relaxing meal. We talk about what each person has coming up that week and catch up on what we may have missed the week before. But mostly we just enjoy being together. I plan the meal and do my best to make everything from scratch and make it something that we don’t always have. Sometimes it is a new recipe I saw on TV or something that popped into my head late at night or in a dream. I have since learned to make some of the things my Nana made and to this day I am still amazed that I am able to recreate the tastes I remember as a kid, considering my mom didn’t really allow us in the kitchen when she was fixing dinner. I got to learn many of the things I know just by accident, as well as things I have learned on TV later in life. I hope to build precious memories with the hope that one day my children will carry on the tradition of sitting down to a relaxing meal together as a family unit. Even if it just once a week.

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