I received an email from an old friend yesterday. The Dazzling Urbanite is doing well, having left Manhattan for Florida and thence to Atlanta with his hubby. But something strange lurks in their new house, which is a 70-year-old cottage on a wooded lot.
The Urbanite and significant other were shopping an antique store, when mysteriously into his head popped the statement: "If there is a God, something here will fall over." Immediately a large oil painting shifted, detached itself from the wall, and fell at the Urbanite's feet.
Let's just say that this confounded the Urbanite, who regards religion with utmost suspicion. His significant other was similarly awestruck, and mentioned how the painting moved on its own before "being pulled" from the wall.
The Urbanite waited until much later to tell his hubby what he'd thought before the painting leapt to its doom, worried that he'd appear just a teensy bit looney. But when he confessed his sudden unintentional telekinetic demonstration, hubby immediately mentioned a mysterious wraith that emerged from their linen closet and brushed against his face.
"I didn't want you to make fun of me," hubby said. "So I kept it secret."
The Dazzling Urbanite struggles with his own personal quo vadis moment.
Been there, done that. What, I wonder, is beneath their basement? Indian burial ground? Ley lines? A victim of foul play hastily concealed decades ago and long forgotten?