Welcome to My World

Do you ever think you see something in your peripheral vision, but when you turn to look straight at it, there’s nothing to see?  Or have you ever walked into or out of a room and had the distinct impression someone was behind you, but when you turned to look, no one was there?  Or maybe you’ve experienced sitting alone in a comfy chair or nestled on a cushy sofa, reading a book or playing solitaire on your tablet, and suddenly you think you hear someone walking across the floor in the next room, but when you call out or get up to look, the room is empty?

Welcome to my world.  Here’s an example. 

Hanging along one side of the long expanse of wall in the hallway is a grouping of eight family photographs that I had reproduced on light weight 8 x 10 canvas.  I originally put them up with removable Velcroed stick ups, but one after another, they would randomly fall down.  I assumed the arid Phoenix climate was drying up the adhesive.  So I decided to switch to small nails and rehang each picture from the sawtooth hangers that were already in place along the upper back of each frame. 

One afternoon last January, while Bill was away at the carwash, I carefully peeled the removable tabs from the wall and the back of each picture frame, measured and hammered a nail in the wall for each picture and rehung all eight.  It seemed to do the job… for a little while. 

But roughly a month or so later, one by one, a different photo would find its way to the floor.  Sometimes in the middle of the day; sometimes in the middle of the night.  Sometimes once a week, sometimes two or three times.

This went on throughout February and March.  I would go into the hallway and there would be a picture on the floor.  It wasn’t until the middle of April that I realized that it wasn’t the house settling or undetectable earthquakes that caused the photos to leap from the wall.  It was Mom.

Bill was outside filling the birdbath and I was doing the Saturday laundry.  I was carrying a laundry basket full of dirty clothes down the hall and, as I started to make the left turn in the kitchen toward my ultimate destination, the washer and dryer in the garage, I heard the crack of another picture hitting the hallway floor.  I turned to take a look and out of my peripheral vision I swore I detected a misty shadow hovering in front of the series of photos.  When I looked straight down the hall there was nothing to see except one of the prints lying face down on the floor.

I placed the laundry basket on the kitchen counter, walked back down the hall and put the picture of my son and daughter back in place on the nail.

“Mom,” I hissed.  “Stop doing this.  One of these days you’re going to tear a picture.”

This was answered with a loud response as my laundry basket tipped off of the quartz counter, spilling clothes all over the kitchen floor.

“That’s it!” I shouted.  “If you don’t quit this, we’re selling the house and not leaving a forwarding address!”

She’s been behaving herself for about a month now.  But I’m sure she’ll be back eventually to let me know she’s still looking after me.

Miss you, Mom.

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