I grew up in a big old Victorian house with a basement, attic, a back stairs left over from the days when people had maids, and lots of closets and hidey holes. Perfect for playing Hide and Seek. Whenever we had a mess of cousins over we would play. Sometimes my Dad would join in, popping out of a closet like Frankenstein, scaring the bejesus out of all us shrieking kids. Those were the days when catching a glimpse of “Frankenstein” was the most frightening thing we kids could imagine. I, myself, used to play dead to scare one of my sisters, and I recently found out my other sister used to jump out of closets and around corners to startle her son when he was little. She was only 3 when Dad died. That says something about the whole nature/nurture thing, huh?
It may not come as a surprise to learn I was somewhat nervous as a child. Being Catholic exacerbated the whole thing. I was a “good” kid, but not too good. I knew what happened to good kids – the Blessed Virgin appeared to them and tasked them with some impossible chore. Catholic school taught us about Lourdes, Guadeloupe, and Fatima. And there were saints and angels who appeared to other people – the whole thing just creeped me out. I didn’t want to see any apparitions. It was something to brood about at night, when the house made those crackling and settling noises, or I had to make a late night trip down the dark hall to the bathroom. I suppose logic would indicate that the Blessed Virgin was unlikely to appear in my bathroom, but I was a kid, what did I know?
I made it through childhood in a calculated balance of naughty/nice – good enough to get by, and not bad enough to warrant Divine Intervention. No apparitions. No visions. No stigmata, no talking in tongues. Whew.
Still, I have always been on edge, trying to avoid any contact with the supernatural or paranormal. I love to read about that stuff, if it is fiction. But I won’t watch the Ghost Whisperer or Ghost Hunters on TV. No sense in flirting with trouble.
Which makes it uncomfortable that Mr. GG likes to listen to talk radio as he falls asleep. He used to listen to the BBC, but it is hard to get sometimes, and I put the kibosh on Rush Limbaugh, no way am I listening to that stuff as I drift off. So Mr. GG started listening to “Coast to Coast A.M.”. This is a show that explores all things paranormal and weird. UFO’s, ghosts, ley lines, psychics, demons, time travel, alien abduction, etc. People call in with their own stories of all the weird, bizarre and frightening REAL LIFE creepy stuff that happened to them. Just what I want to hear as I enter that realm of REMs. NOT.
Mr. GG travels a fair bit, so there are many times when I am home alone, listening to the roof creak, or strange animal noises outside the glass sliding door. Or the thump of cats jumping off some piece of furniture in the dark. The sound of the furnace as it kicks on or off. The wind whistling through the scrub oak in the yard. These are times when I do not need to know that voices of the dead came through on someones’ TV, or radio, or iPod. I do not need to know about the dog-headed shadow people seen standing in the corners of their bedrooms. I do not need to know about their paralysis as aliens scoped them out before transporting them to the Mother Ship.
I am okay with the numerology, clairvoyance, and area 51 stuff. I can deal with that. But I had to make a rule. If they start in on talking appliances, Mr. GG has to turn the radio off. It is the “NO TALKING APPLIANCES RULE”. If he wants to be able to travel with a good conscience, he must abide by this. Sometimes I have to elbow him awake, to tell him to turn off the radio.
Man, I will be so glad when he finds the BBC station again.