My First Psychic Experience
Christmas, A Music Box, A Death in the Family
and an Unexplained Phenomenon
From the Paranormal World Beyond the Five SensesOctober, 2006 by Surfer Sam
Brenda was my mother-in-law. She was an old-fashioned mothering, nurturing, woman, a stay-at-home mom at a time when almost every mom stayed at home. And along the way she raised five healthy, reasonably happy children, who gave her a passel of grandchildren and, in due time, several great-grandchildren. She was the sort of women who wore an apron in the kitchen, read the Reader’s Digest and made Sunday dinners. She remembered everyone, family and friends, on their birthdays with a five-dollar bill tucked into a card. At Christmas time she gave each of her grown-up children a package of dried figs and a package of underwear.
Her hobbies are what I remember most about her. When you live ninety-three years, you have plenty of time for hobbies if you’re so inclined. Brenda played the piano, a vintage upright in the living room that could have used a bit of tuning. Old time songs like “Good Night, Irene” and “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree” were her favorites. Every spring, she planted a garden in the backyard for tomatoes and green beans. She had a peach tree, an apple tree and a fence line of raspberry and blackberry bushes. When the tomatoes ripened, she gave them away as gifts. In the fall, she made green tomato preserves with what was left in the garden, and gave those away, too. For several years she coached girls’ basketball at the high school. She was always happy to shoot hoops when the grandchildren came around. She regularly played gin rummy with a group of friends who called themselves “the girls”. These card players met in the back room of a little family saloon across the street from her church.
She also went bowling every week with another group of close, kindred women. When Brenda had to give up bowling in her eighties, she started making rosaries for her church. Many were the hours she sat in the light of the picture window, turning the pliers back and forth, twisting the silver wire and beads into a chain.
But her most curious activity was the “mourning society.” At least I think that’s what it was called. The women of the mourning society went to church funerals, where they prayed for the soul of the deceased, especially for those who had no one to attend their funerals. Brenda was practically a life-long member of the society.
Brenda was a woman who never gossiped and kept her opinions to herself. One afternoon, she told me how much she admired her own mother, who had never said an unkind word about anyone. Well, Brenda followed in her mother’s footsteps in this respect. She, too, never said an unkind word about anyone.
For her eighty-ninth birthday, the family surprised her with a square dance party in the church hall. Hundreds of friends and relatives came for the festivities. Brenda kept up with everyone on the dance floor, doing “do-si-do” and “allemande left” for hours. She had her health and her energy when younger women were giving up.
The hobby we most remember was her pottery. Her group of ceramic pottery painters met at a store where they could select ceramic figures, paint and decorate them and have them fired in the kiln. You’ve seen samples of this work, cake knives and pin trays, kitchen canisters, a tableau of miniature animals, angels, vases, ceramic flowers, frogs and deer to put in the garden, religious figures and wall clocks. Brenda was a prolific painter of ceramics. Her knick-knacks were on display all around her house. The ceramic creations had no particular artistic merit. Some people might be inclined to call them kitsch. But she enjoyed ceramics and set up a basement studio for herself.
Naturally, her painted figures made great gifts. Over the years, she gave me many of her ceramic creations. The first gift was a pair of long-necked swans in opalescent paint, which I have grown fond of. There were other gifts: a gingerbread boy as a spoon holder for the stove; a Christmas bell with the family names painted on it; a relish dish in the shape of a holly leaf, a pair of ceramic bluebirds, bride and groom figures, Cinderella, and a complete nativity set.
The gift I most appreciated was a ceramic Christmas tree, about two feet high, which stood on a music box. I know you’ve seen these glazed trees, because they were very popular with ceramic decorators. The tree was made with a single light bulb inside, so that the light would shine through multi-colored bulbs around the tree. The music box played Laura’s Theme from the movie Dr. Zhivago,
Somewhere, my love,
There will be songs to sing
Although the snow
Covers the hope of spring.
Somewhere a hill
Blossoms in green and gold
And there are dreams
All that your heart can hold.
Someday we'll meet again, my love.
Someday whenever the spring breaks through.
You'll come to me
Out of the long ago,
Warm as the wind,
Soft as the kiss of snow.
Yes, be patient. I’m coming to the psychic experience.
Brenda passed away at her home, at age ninety-three, after a brief illness. During her last weeks, all her children and grandchildren visited her, even the daughter from Florida. At her funeral, the church was full of prayerful people.
My psychic experience happened a year later, on the anniversary of her death. I didn’t put up a Christmas tree that year, but, as I did every year, I brought out Brenda’s ceramic tree with the music box.
Christmas was long passed, and the music box had not been played for a month or more. On that memorable night, I plugged in Brenda’s tree and sat alone on the sofa watching the tree lights. My mood was nostalgic and thoughtful. I remembered the pieces of her life, how she looked in her last days, how loved she was. And in that moment when I felt her presence most strongly, her music box began playing. It played Laura’s Theme from beginning to end. Somehow it had been wound up for me. I listened to that song transfixed, as if I had never heard the music before. I could feel her presence standing beside me, comforting me. Afterward I remained quiet for a long time.
That was my psychic experience. I did not see a ghostly vision. I did not feel a blast of cold air. I was not chased through a spooky house. But the visit was real. It was not a figment of my imagination. A music box was played for me in the quiet of the evening, after it had been still for a long time.
It is my heartfelt wish that you have a very happy day.
-----Tanya
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