I would leave "Haunted Happenings" to those most in need of it. Many of us pray for the dead instead of party-on with them. We will all be gone soon enough when looked at from our later years, and those who cared about us. Let's face it. If you're spooking with the dead, your communication is as dead as the dead. But think and gab what you will. Many of us remember those we loved and some we didn't. The same may be sprinkled on us, as well, one day.
I have a gravestone rubbing on my wall by my desk. It makes me think how soon and/or strangely we can be gone. The stone was rubbed some years ago, and rshows the death of a Massachusetts male who died in his 50's. What I had never seen included on the stone before was a very, very short tale of the son of the father who was conscripted by the Brits on their ship, but later was able to jump-ship and find another ship who took him home to a harbor in Massachusetts. His father was waiting for him debark and in terror saw his son slip from the damp plank and drowned in the harbor. The iron, of course, was years of servitude and then escape and then see freedom at the end of the disembarking plank. It was not meant to be, and he was buried first under his father's stone. Some later years, his father joined him.
Irony abounded, but no one saw and heard other than a one-way conversation, and that, if you look at the inscriptions for a short period of time. I do have the rubbing and it reminds me, "Carpe Diem," and Enjoy my Days....so far!,
The recently discussed Dutch microscopist, Antonie van Leeuwenhoek, was the executor of Vermeer’s estate!
I would leave "Haunted Happenings" to those most in need of it. Many of us pray for the dead instead of party-on with them. We will all be gone soon enough when looked at from our later years, and those who cared about us. Let's face it. If you're spooking with the dead, your communication is as dead as the dead. But think and gab what you will. Many of us remember those we loved and some we didn't. The same may be sprinkled on us, as well, one day.
I have a gravestone rubbing on my wall by my desk. It makes me think how soon and/or strangely we can be gone. The stone was rubbed some years ago, and rshows the death of a Massachusetts male who died in his 50's. What I had never seen included on the stone before was a very, very short tale of the son of the father who was conscripted by the Brits on their ship, but later was able to jump-ship and find another ship who took him home to a harbor in Massachusetts. His father was waiting for him debark and in terror saw his son slip from the damp plank and drowned in the harbor. The iron, of course, was years of servitude and then escape and then see freedom at the end of the disembarking plank. It was not meant to be, and he was buried first under his father's stone. Some later years, his father joined him.
Irony abounded, but no one saw and heard other than a one-way conversation, and that, if you look at the inscriptions for a short period of time. I do have the rubbing and it reminds me, "Carpe Diem," and Enjoy my Days....so far!,
My fingers grow big but the keyboard stays the same, and I have no editor.
Please note: "rshows" is "shows." ; "Ship home: should be "ship which;" the worst was "iron" instead of "irony." More careful I shall be next time!