Auntie Poltergeist and the Enchanted Stenographer

My birthday is Thursday and 33 happens to be my favorite number. I dont know where I go sometimes at night, but sometimes I wake up wondering whose life is this any way. It could be some mad-cow triggered early onset Alzheimers Fukushima radiative waste release related senior moment, but I would like to think it is a side effect of my line of work.

Readings have been going exceptionally well this week. The beloved departed seem to be getting feisty and riled up in celebration of the season. Mother Mary is leaping off of my altar, walls are shaking, people are using morse code tapping at my windows, birds are wildly cawing, little old ladies are making wise cracks from beyond the grave at my expense and my clients' relatives are stealing candles. I have so few remaining family members, and this orphanhood adds to the pleasure of meeting my clients aunts, friends of the family, grandparents, moms, dads, sisters and brothers.

Channeling messages for a new client is like getting adopted, doing a wellness check up and being hired to translate for a mediation to avoid going to trial all at the same time. It produces all of the joy of attending a wedding or a family reunion with out any of the drama. In no small part due to the influences of the season, I am feeling honored and overjoyed that this work continues to amaze me, blow me away really. If your heart hasnt wept with another, if you haven't put yourself in someone else's shoes, or allowed your departed loved ones in, you really havent delved into the season's true emotional center. It fascinates me that that the more open my clients the more crystal clear the material comes through for the readings. A person neednt be aware of their angels, only willing to face the deep underlying truths communicated by their guides and eager to explore the wisdom imparted and then boom...names, places, dates, and more importantly, revelations spring forth. Artsy people tend to have the most entertaining souls around them.

For my birthday my son got the weighted 88 key keyboard he has been waiting for. After his Christmas recital we made a duet of Lila Fletcher's The Birch Canoe, which I suspect is the basis of the song Mad World origionally by Tears for Fears. I have yet to learn any Chanukah song, but the Birch Canoe is sufficiently melancholy.

I try to avoid having my life flash before my eyes around my birthday, but resistence is futile and I need only surrender. Like an orgasm, every birthday is a little death. And rebirth.