My grandfather worked for the power company and would be called away many a winter night due to weather induced power outages, leaving my grandmother home alone. She would go to sleep at night and in the morning, she would go downstairs to the kitchen only to find all the cupboards and drawers wide open and all the coffee cups, saucers, silverware, etc. strewn all over the room.
As the story goes, my grandmother would spend all day cleaning up after her otherworldly friends, flop into bed exhausted, only to wake up and do it all over again.
Now, I don't know why my grandfather never came home to help her clean and I don't know why it took all day (it's not like the dishes were dirtied), but in my family you learn at an early age not to question the details.
When I saw the movie “The Sixth Sense”, I really had a mini freak out when the little boy's mom entered her kitchen to find it in complete disarray! It made me a believer after all the years of silently questioning the holes in the story! I was frightened and pleased.
Coming home after the earthquake last Tuesday night was very much the same. The artwork on the walls was hanging lopsided, framed photos had fallen off the bookshelves, lamps tipped over. It was like a pack of drunken Wisconsin ghosts had hosted a party at my house! If ghosts wore clothing, I would have expected to see a bra hanging from the ceiling fan. (I think only the old school ghosts wear clothes and their underwear is completely different.)
So, while I was at work assessing a situation utterly foreign to me, and while three little dogs (I'm assuming) watched in sheer amazement, apparently there was an earth-shaking supernatural shindig going on at my house!
And that's my story.
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