April 26, 2015
Since it’s my day to blog, and I usually talk about what’s going on in my world, thought I would tell you about an interesting conversation I had with one of my dearest friends a few days ago. Now I can’t name this friend in this blog—she asked me not to. So as a show of solidarity, I think I’ll change my name, too.
Actually, I don’t have to change my name—it has nothing to do with me.
But, just to be on the safe side any names besides mine for purposes of this blog will be aliases. Apparently, it’s THAT controversial.
My friend, let’s call her Cait, is the proud grandmother of two- year- old “Isabella.” Cait often babysits for her daughter “Monique” who is married to “Larry.” To say taking care of Isabella is the highlight of Cait’s week is the proverbial understatement.
Monique and Larry live in a gorgeous rambling home built in the 1920s. The couple has truly enjoyed the ambiance as well as raising little Isabella in such a stately old residence.
Now I should mention here that Isabella is very bright. She’s already counting and knows her colors. When Cait takes care of her they watch educational programs, and the child’s mother, a teacher, also states they are protective of what Isabella watches as well.
One day not too long ago, when Cait was changing Isabella’s diapers, she pointed up at the ceiling and said, “Look, Nana, bug.”
Cait looked up, saw the bug and said, “I see it, too. We’ll get your daddy to take care of it when he gets home.” At that the toddler seemed satisfied until a few minutes later she pointed again and said, “Look, Nana, girl.”
“Girl?” Cait looked up and of course she saw a black bug but no girl.
“Girl.” Isabella insisted and kept right on pointing.
When Cait mentioned the episode to Monique and Larry, they simply laughed it off as crazy.
Still, while Cait “mostly” agreed, the seed had been planted. The next week when she babysat again, it was after a birthday celebration. Several helium balloons were in the kitchen, and as they tend to after the helium escapes, had gravitated toward the floor.
Isabella obviously noticed and cried, “Up balloon, up!”
Cait chimed in, too, enjoying the game with her pride and joy, and it became a game where the two sang, “Up balloon, up!
Naturally Cait thought no more about it. After lunch, she laid Isabella down for a nap and closed the door. But later when Cait checked on her, she found the balloons had made their way out of the kitchen, drifted down the hallway and settled just beyond Isabella’s door—what’s more, the only thing keeping them from rising more was the ceiling! They had in fact gone up!
Needless to say Cait found the experience worth noting. But Isabella’s parents insist they have never experienced any kind of supernatural phenomenon in the old house– and are basically pooh-poohing Cait’s accounts.
Well, as many of you know Cait has a writer friend who IS totally nuts, and loves these kinds of things. So I told “Cait” I would bring it to readers. Is a child’s imagination so well developed at two they can pretend at such a level? And what about those balloons? What do you think?
Is it all in her mind? Or . . . boo?!!