THE HAIR DRYER AFFAIR

Mandy’s Journal Entry
Tuesday 07/20/2004
Around 6:45 a.m.


Standing in the bathroom, I’m talking to Max as I sometimes do while getting ready for work. After all, who is there to listen to me besides my two little ladies? Perched in the hall are my cats, gawking at me now. Their little ears flick with each inflection. Nattering on, I pat on some blush and dry my hair. Then, I turn off the dryer and set it down on the counter. But as I brush back my hair, at once, I hear the word “Beautiful!” full-bodied as it can be, causing me to turn around and really look.

You see, when Max was here, “Beautiful” had become a standing joke between us. Sometimes when we got ready to go out for the evening, he would lean up against the bathroom door and watch me fix my hair. Then, as I’d finish getting ready, he’d peek in and say, “Beautiful!”

“Max,” I’d smile, and we’d smooch or something.

At other times when I was getting ready, Max would walk by and say, “Beautiful!” in passing. When this happened, I’d peer into the hall, and say, “Oh, you’re just saying that to get me to move faster” ~ as in, hey you look fine, but let’s get going!

Still, he seemed sincere. Sweet moments held forever in memory, forever in time….

So I’m standing in the bathroom looking in the mirror, brushing the same spot over and over again. And, from nowhere, again comes that high-spirited sound, “Beautiful!” like an echo through time immemorial.

I brood at the mirror, staring at the woman who is scratching her forehead, staring back at me. Is this just another one of those memories, a fond recollection of a time gone by?

Or am I “hearing” his thoughts?

So I set my brush down and stand very still, close my eyes and breathe like I do when I go into a meditative state.

“Max, are you here?” I ask aloud.

Then, focusing more, I say, “Hey, if you’re here Darling, would you give me a sign?”

I put on my lipstick and start to laugh, “You know, I remember the time….”

In an instant, whoosh, the hair dryer begins to blow, like all by itself! It’s moving all over the counter. I’m amazed it doesn’t fall on the floor. Aghast, I let out a blood-curdling scream and jump back as if it’s a Gila monster about to devour me! (By this time, the cats have vacated the premises.)

The Lizard rages on and on.

Then, just as astoundingly, it stops.

Yep, the hair dryer turned itself OFF, or so it appeared. I never touched the thing, I promise.

Stunned, I sat down on the toilet seat and tried to comprehend what had just happened. Needless to say, I had a bit of trouble getting to work on time. I was just a little freaked out.


Post Script 1

Since Max died, my hair dryer had turned itself ON a number of times (four, I think) without my intervention. This is strange in itself because it never happened before he died. What is more, the hair dryer had never turned OFF without my first switching it off ~ not until today, that is.

Of course, I had to be sure my hair dryer was still working. So, as I continued getting ready for my proverbial job (if, indeed, I still had one) I decided to test the contraption:

I turn the switch ON. No hesitation there; the dryer starts as usual and blows with as much force as ever. Then I flip the switch to the OFF position; no problems there either. The dryer stops as it should. Then, to be sure, I flip the switch several times in succession to find that my hair dryer is still working quite well. No problems at all.

Yes, my hair dryer had turned ON by itself several times in the past. And yes, this time it stopped (clicked to the OFF position) without my ever touching it ~ certainly something new and out-of-the-ordinary there. But I’m still overlooking something. What is the missing link? Hmmm…. I need another cup of coffee, but I don’t go get it. Instead, I go back to the toilet seat to collect my thoughts and pull at caked-on mascara.

Then, as I breathe and pull, the answer comes: Bingo! Oh wow, I can’t believe it. The dryer turned itself ON right after I asked for a response.

“Darling, would you give me a sign?” No more than seconds later, The Lizard goes Whoosh…. The hair dryer comes ON!

Pattern: Stimulus ~ Response ~ Contiguous in time


Post Script 2

Was this hair dryer affair just another fluke ~ another coincidence within an inordinately large series of coincidences and bizarre happenstances? I don’t think so.

In light of the fact that I have determined I have a fully functioning hair dryer:

The ON signal which arrived within seconds of my verbal request as well as the hair dryer turning OFF without any human intervention whatsoever ~ both phenomena, which occurred contiguous in time ~ suggest the involvement of a higher intelligence.

There comes a time when one must concede there is more going on than meets the eye.

MAX AND "THE EYE"

Journal Entry
Thursday 06/03/2004
Around 7:30 p.m.
Full Moon

After an inane day at the office, I tossed my purse on the living room floor and collapsed on the couch.

Though I hadn’t planned to meditate, I soon find myself slipping into a meditative state of mind. And from nowhere, a figure begins to form to my right. Out of the blue, I feel a gentle pressure on my hand, as if Max would have a corporeal hand to offer me.

“Max,” I smile and say, “you seem to be doing well.” On a subliminal level, I know he is in good hands… now that he’s beyond mine.

Closing my eyes, I catch “the eye” now starting to form in my field of view, just as it had before (see journal entry 2/27). It is vivid, large and pixel-like. I do not know where this eye comes from or what is causing it to appear, but I call it my “ethereal eye,” my window into uncharted territory.

The eye blinks ceaselessly. I look on in awe. Then, without warning, “poof” it evaporates! Light trails of “pixel powder” shimmer and scatter like particles of dust into a burgundy night.

****

Post Script

I have been wondering what is causing the eye to show up. Sometimes I think maybe it’s Max winking at me. After all, tonight he made his appearance just before the eye materialized. I don’t mean to sound facetious. Of course, it is possible that something in my mind or brain may be triggering this visualization. Nevertheless, I need to find out more about the eye and what is causing it to “appear” when my eyes are closed. Is this a mental image or is it a physical phenomenon, set off somehow by the neurons of the brain? Or is it something else entirely? If it is mental, am I receiving the image through some kind of telepathic signal (by means of electrical input frequencies) or is my mind manifesting the whole scenario? Also, what causes the perceived movement of the eye?

I haven’t even mentioned the full moon. It is common knowledge that the moon and various planetary conditions affect the tides in measured ways. Some studies have even found a correlation between lunar phasing and the number of visits to emergency rooms, for example. However, this research tends to be inconclusive. In the general sense, then, the moon may affect behavior, wellness or illness in some way that has not been fully examined.

In light of the fact that today’s event happened on the night of the full moon, what can of worms would this open up?

It’s obvious I have more questions than answers about the ethereal eye. The possibilities appear to be endless. I plan to do some research on this matter as soon as I figure out where to begin.

IN MEMORIAM

My dear step-father, Joseph, passed away on June 3rd of a long-term illness. You will find his picture in the photo section at the bottom of my blog. In memory of Joe, I am posting “The Garden,” a poem I had written under my married name. This poem was first published in our family memoir, For the Time Being (Authorhouse, 2007).

Faithfully yours,
Mandy Berlin

*****

THE GARDEN


You found me crying in the garden for my sweet one who went away

His spirit's rising on the wind now, to greet the newness of the Day.

His sadness drops away like petals falling on a sparrow's nest

His joy is in the little creatures I hold so dearly to my breast.


His laughter's in the morning sunshine that lights my path along the way

His heart is hiding in the wildflowers I gather tenderly today.

His soul is searching for the New World, a world I have as yet to see

May his spirit find refreshment in some sweet river flowing free.


May the dove of peace alight now, on his shoulder on the way

May he pick the fruit of New Life to give him nourishment each day.

May he find his truest freedom in the World that lies beyond

And may his spirit lie in peace now until we meet again, at Dawn.

BOOK "FLIES" OFF SHELF!

A Note from the Author: long after the bizarre "book-flying" phenomenon occurred, I performed a proper statistical analysis of this real event with amazing results, i.e., way beyond statistical significance! Although the numbers have not been included here in my blog, the statistical analysis, results, interpretation, and review of this 5/8 phenomenon will be included in my upcoming book, The Hope and the Knowing. I promise!

Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy the story, below, upon which the analysis was based.

Yours very truly,
Mandy Berlin
Writer and Statistical Consultant of 24 years


Journal Entry
Saturday 05/08/2004
Around 4:00 p.m.

I had such success with my last meditation that I decided to do it again. Better not wait too long, I thought, or I might lose some je ne c’est qua – whatever I’d already learned how to do. So I returned to Sylvia’s CD as discussed in my May 1st entry. Based on Ms. Browne’s guidelines, I decided to use my meditation time to find out what I could, or perhaps should be doing with my life right now.

But first, to underscore the upshot of today’s incredible event so it makes sense to the least and most circumspect alike, I must first backtrack and tell you a bit about my lifelong situation.

As a youngster, my IQ tests revealed above average ability in the Mechanical Domain. In spite of that, I must say that I have no experience with anything of a mechanical nature. In fact, it is probably closer to the truth to say that I have no desire to work on anything mechanical like changing an oil filter or even installing kitchen drawer handles. That is, I could do it, but would I? Probably not.

Zero patience, you see.

I admit one of the few mechanical things I’ve taken any time to do is to pummel nails into walls. I enjoy hanging pictures so, out of necessity, had to learn how to wield a hammer. Such as it goes…. I won’t tell you what Max had to say about my veteran hammering skills.

Taking into account this factor alone, I knew I had married the complementary man for me – the one and only Max Blau – a guy who liked puttering around the house, repairing cars, troubleshooting computer systems, fixing electronic equipment… you get the picture. To beat all, Max whistled while he worked. Maybe I liked that most of all. And when you consider his intellect and a bunch of the other traits he possessed, well it didn’t take long for this girl to fall in love.

Perhaps you can see that there were other losses that accompanied the greatest loss of all – the loss of my dear friend and husband.

Now, to add insult to inconceivable injury, this woman who is admittedly all thumbs, owns a home she is unprepared to maintain. Common widow’s lament? I do believe, though it was probably a more frequent cry in my mother’s day. As a group, the women of today are probably more proficient at repairing almost any broken contraption they encounter… cars, computers, perhaps even cranes. (Admittedly though, that would scare me to death!)

Now I find myself just “getting by” when it comes to doing anything mechanical. Sure, I change light bulbs and last month I broke down and installed a new air filter. I even did some patch painting. Hey, really something there. But when the toilet broke, well, that’s when I said, “Okay, time to find that handyman coupon in the kitchen drawer...”

Of course I used it, with no compunction at all.

Well, after hearing this pitiful bit of history, you might think today’s event is not that big a deal. But I will tell you this, it freaked me out. Even as I go back and edit my entry, I tell you:
I am still freaked!

Consider:

I’m able to offer no natural nor scientific explanation for what happened at about four in the afternoon. I was sitting on the sofa, going into my meditation, breathing in and out, and following Ms. Browne’s instructions. Before long, I drifted into a kind of meditative stupor – that wonderful, harmonious state of relaxation and bliss. Then, several minutes later, with Sylvia’s promptings, I popped my intended question: I’d like to know what I ought to be doing with my life right now – what should I focus on?

Thoughts and images swirled around in my head – perhaps I’ll go to a day spa, or even get a new job, or write another book, or travel to England or Egypt… Eyes closed, feeling relaxed and free, I continued with the deep-breathing process.

Yet, never in my life did I expect to get a response so quickly… so outrageously.

*****

No more than about ten seconds after I pose my question, I begin to hear just audible noises rising up in the background. At first, I think the sounds are coming from Sylvia’s recording. I feel composed, in control, breathing in and out as images of the pyramids float around in my head….

Then, without warning, comes a long, low series of rumbles that build into a crescendo, like a fine drum roll gone wild. Out of the blue, I hear it TRIP, THUD and POP into a thunderous BOOM!!!! Chills whisk at the back of my neck like icy fingers. “It’s in the dining room!” I scream. Jumping up, I run like a fool… no place to go… nowhere to hide. “What am I doing? I have no clue!”

Still, curiosity soon gains momentum like a colossal cat sitting on a fencepost on a moonlit night… overshadowing all my fears. Nose pressed up against the front door, I whip around and storm like a half-crazed sprinter into the dining room.

Skidding on slick ceramic, I stop short at last.

“Whut the heck?” For there, in the middle of my dining room floor “sits” a book long since abandoned. No, the tome is not “setting” on the floor, it’s “sitting” there as if it owns the property, as if it’s saying: Now that I have your undivided attention, Madam ~~ TAKE A GOOD LOOK AT ME !

I stand speechless, rapt in disbelief as an awesome reality becomes apparent. For, in less time than you can say whiz-bang, I know that this book did not just “fall off” the shelf.

Humor me. Allow me to explain how I know this and to reveal what it implies.

I had never read the book that is “staring up” at me from its Machiavellian place on the floor. But I do remember that about seven or eight years ago, Max read quite a bit of it. He said he found it very practical for his work and hobbies as well. Regardless, I never even looked at the book, except to check out the Table of Contents. And after reviewing that, well, I had no desire to read it at all. So I dusted it off and put it on the bottom shelf. “For future reference,” I said.

And I forgot all about it.

Now I see that the books on the bottom shelf are, of course, tilting into the slot where I’d placed the forgotten volume so long ago. And, as I move and breathe, I realize the book was ejected by force – by some energy that caused the popping and booming sounds as the book “flew” off the shelf. You see, I found it in the middle of the dining room floor, over three and a half ceramic tiles away from the bookcase!

I surmised that if the book had simply “fallen” off the bottom shelf, which is three inches from the floor, it would have landed near the bookcase, i.e., closer to the empty slot. But the book did not land anywhere near the shelf. In fact, this tome appears to have ”flown” across the room, after having been expelled from the bookcase by some inexorable force – a force powerful enough to generate all the weird and wacky noises I heard from the time of the rumble until the book hit the tile floor!

One thing I can say for sure: no earthquake, tremor, thunderstorm, tidal wave, monsoon, or automobile accident occurred anywhere near my home today, and my cats were sunning themselves in the back bedroom at the time. That is, no creature nor human (not even me) had been anywhere near my dining room when the book flew off the shelf. I should qualify that by saying: “… no ‘one’ or ‘thing’ that I was able to detect in a visible way.”

So, what is the name of this dilapidated old book?

How to Fix Damn Near Everything *

I just stood there, stunned, afraid to pick it up. Nevertheless, I soon heard a voice, the one in my head: makes sense… of course… my God. And, as the title of the book registered in my brain, I did the only thing any rational human being could do. I got down on the floor and doubled up, tears of laughter streaming down my cheeks.

Never did I believe what Max used to say when something mystifyingly funny would happen. “Mandy, God is a joker,” he’d cry, sometimes with a little tear of joy in his eye. Though I’d often laugh with him because of his delight and passion for the weird and wonderful, I held no conceivable archetype of my own.

I just didn’t believe it.

Until now.

*****

* Franklin Peterson, How to Fix Damn Near Everything (New York: Wings Books, 1977).

CHARLEMAGNE, SPIRIT GUIDE

Journal Entry
Saturday, 05/01/04
Around 4 p.m.

I can’t seem to recall the date this wonderful event occurred, but I believe it was on or around May 1st. I know it happened at about four o’clock because I usually meditate around that time of day, at least when I’m home. I’d been meditating a lot the past month and plan to continue with this practice. The deep breathing clears my mind, tends to alleviate grief, and in consequence, helps me sleep. Because of a health issue, I did some research and learned that meditation is a great way to retain the health we have or to return an ailing body, mind and spirit to healing mode.

Mandy’s motto: an ounce of prevention is worth a shot. So I ordered more meditation CDs; so happy to find they arrived on time for the weekend.

Well, after doing the Saturday chores, I glanced down at the mystifying stack of disks I’d arranged on the end table. Hmmm, I thought, let’s try this one, “Spirit Guide Meditation” by Sylvia Browne. I’ve never attempted to contact a spirit guide,” I said to Tiggi, my tiger-striped confidante. “So what have I got to lose?”

“Maybe I’ll learn something!” Swiftly, Tiggi’s tail shot up and curled in approval.

*****

So I sit up straight on the sofa and attempt to keep my feet flat on the floor. Soon, with Ms. Browne’s recorded guidance, I slip into the deep-breathing process of meditation and begin to feel pretty relaxed. Sylvia then calls to mind several pathways that I’m now visualizing in my mind’s eye: a lovely field, a gazebo, and so on.

Before long, I’m slipping away and I hear her say that it is time to make my request.

So I clear my throat. “Okay, here goes….”

I say it aloud with confidence. “What is the name of my spirit guide?” For some reason, I believe I will have to wait awhile. Not so….

For truly, no more than a few seconds elapse when I am thunderstruck to find the colors shifting in my field of view. Waves of violet, green and gold surge before my closed eyes. Then, at once, I hear a gentle voice as clear as the crystal chimes ringing on my patio! There is no mistaking his name:

“Charlemagne!” he says.

*****

Please note: During my meditation, I learned that Charlemagne is my spirit guide. In addition, I received some more interesting information: Charlemagne is a spirit entity not to be confused with Charles the Great, the Frankish king of old. At the end of this session, I became infused with the knowledge that my spirit guide and King Charles are not related in any way.

MANDY BERLIN'S STORY

SUPERMOON AND THE UNLIKELY TRIAD

Taking a break from my 2004 journal entries, I stop to pay homage to the Supermoon, at its peak (in terms of perigee and syzygy) on March 19th. Then, the unexpected….

Saturday 3/19/11
10:17 p.m.

I’m gazing at the aptly named “Supermoon” from my dining room window on the east end of the house. Its wide, hazy ring holds such a mystical quality my breath catches in my throat.

Captured, at last I shout, “The moon is so close to me, Max!”

And, in less than a twinkling, I “hear” the words, As am I….
I turn as if I might actually find the face of the one I knew so well, all lit up in “moonglow.” But all I find is Tiggi, curled up in the wicker chair behind me. Now she’s bleating like a newborn goat.

“Oh sweetie, of course you are important to me, don’t you know?” I pick her up as wisps of fur tickle my mouth and nose. Blowing it away, I stroke her behind the ears and a familiar verse begins to echo through the nooks and crannies of my brain.

What was it?

Oh yes…

… a poem I’d written not long after Max had left our earthly plane.


Unlikely Triad

The moon is my connection
as fading summer's eve mystifies

The moon holds my reflection --
in shallow pools of silt, I see the eye

While autumnal gatherings ensue,
I drift by scattered leaves to find the muse.


The moon is my redemption,
though drear the winter days without your sigh

The moon holds my attention
as vagrant thoughts and melodies arise

Until the spring's renewal sets them free,
the moon is my connection with Thee.