This is me trying to capture a ghost in the bathroom mirror of my Victorian home. I was going to make the picture with the shower curtain closed, but then thought about all those movies where there's something BEHIND the curtain and the audience is practically shouting, "OPEN the curtain!" or "Get OUT of the bathroom!" So I opened the curtain. Nothing there. At least not that I could see. My cat, Ernie, thought there was something to see. He jumped up on the toilet seat and peered into the tub at SOMETHING. I got out of the bathroom pronto.
Why am I looking for ghosts in all the wrong places?
A friend of mine from high school has been posting some fascinating real-life stories about the ghosts in her Kansas home. One is a creepy shadow man. Her daughter made a selfie into the bathroom mirror and in the photograph there's the shadow of a man wearing a coat behind her. The shadow does NOT match the daughter's body shape. Whether you believe in ghosts or not, her posts about her ghosts are captivating.
And it got me to thinking, if I knew I had ghosts in my house (and I used to and still might, but that's another story for another day), I'd be terribly self conscious. Is the ghost watching me apply hemorrhoid cream? Pop my zits? Wipe my ass? Or any other number of embarrassingly intimate actions? Would I care if it did?
When we used to have a ghost, this potential for spiritual voyeurism didn't even occur to me. But after seeing my friend's Shadow Man, I'd feel hinky about getting naked in my own house if I thought something like that was sharing my living space. "Excuse me, Mr. Ghost, but could you please go haunt something else while the hubs and I do the wild thing?"
Note to self: Do not have sex in a haunted hotel room.
Now to add to the creepiness, I didn't capture any ghost or shadowman/woman images in the mirrors tonight, but the ceiling fan in my office did start running---all by itself--after three months of not working. I didn't even realize it had started up until a huge dust bunny floated down on my face and I went, "What the frell?" and I look up and there's the ceiling fan just spinning merrily overhead. Eeeee!
On a semi-related note, Moxie's birthday was on Halloween and I more or less forgot about it. I feel like a bad dog mommy, but then, Moxie doesn't really care. You can see her reaction below. Just give her a tennis ball and a soft place to snooze and she's happy. Happy birthday, old girl!
PS: Sorry Ernie's photo is blurry. I was trying to take it quickly so that I could then get the hell out of the bathroom. You know how it goes...
Why am I looking for ghosts in all the wrong places?
A friend of mine from high school has been posting some fascinating real-life stories about the ghosts in her Kansas home. One is a creepy shadow man. Her daughter made a selfie into the bathroom mirror and in the photograph there's the shadow of a man wearing a coat behind her. The shadow does NOT match the daughter's body shape. Whether you believe in ghosts or not, her posts about her ghosts are captivating.
And it got me to thinking, if I knew I had ghosts in my house (and I used to and still might, but that's another story for another day), I'd be terribly self conscious. Is the ghost watching me apply hemorrhoid cream? Pop my zits? Wipe my ass? Or any other number of embarrassingly intimate actions? Would I care if it did?
When we used to have a ghost, this potential for spiritual voyeurism didn't even occur to me. But after seeing my friend's Shadow Man, I'd feel hinky about getting naked in my own house if I thought something like that was sharing my living space. "Excuse me, Mr. Ghost, but could you please go haunt something else while the hubs and I do the wild thing?"
Note to self: Do not have sex in a haunted hotel room.
Now to add to the creepiness, I didn't capture any ghost or shadowman/woman images in the mirrors tonight, but the ceiling fan in my office did start running---all by itself--after three months of not working. I didn't even realize it had started up until a huge dust bunny floated down on my face and I went, "What the frell?" and I look up and there's the ceiling fan just spinning merrily overhead. Eeeee!
On a semi-related note, Moxie's birthday was on Halloween and I more or less forgot about it. I feel like a bad dog mommy, but then, Moxie doesn't really care. You can see her reaction below. Just give her a tennis ball and a soft place to snooze and she's happy. Happy birthday, old girl!
PS: Sorry Ernie's photo is blurry. I was trying to take it quickly so that I could then get the hell out of the bathroom. You know how it goes...
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