Wednesday, 21 May 2014

Fat Days, Thin Days and Messages from Beyond the Grave...

I know some might describe me as miraculously thin, considering the four babies in four years, yada yada yada... and I suppose I am.  Sometimes, I feel slim.  Sometimes I feel fat. And I just began to wonder "what's that all about?"  Is it different cuts of jeans or trouser?  Is it the secret knowledge that I've snarfled some of the children's biccies?  Or is it the fact the scales inform me that I'm up or down a pound?  Is it in the mind?  Or is it lurking on my behind?

Because today, I'm FAT.  And yesterday?  Slim.  And honestly, there can't be THAT much difference, can there?!  I know the fat/thin day is a phenomenon that has plagued women since the dawn of... well probably trousers (think of the copious folds you could have tucked into some of the dresses in days gone by!), but it's the first time I've been properly interested in it.  Why FAT in a photo?  Why THIN in the mirror?  Why looking HOT in the reflective oven door, but HORRIFIC in a shop-window?  And don't get me started on OLD and YOUNG...

Sigh.

Talking of old, I've been reading a little bit about ghostly goings on recently, and it's got me thinking.  I've had a few weird experiences in my life, but dismissed them as nonsense or odd coincidences.


For example, six years after my grandmother's death, when in my first teaching job, I was clearing out my classroom in the summer holidays when a colleague, Colin, popped in to say hello.  He told me he was off to visit his mother.  A strange feeling rushed through my veins and I ‘knew’ that his mother lived in my grandmother’s old house!  I asked him where his mother lived, and sure enough, the feeling was correct! 

                   Stranger still, a few weeks later Colin told me that his mother had found a drawing tucked inside a book that had been left in the house when his mother moved in. It was a picture of a young girl.  It turned out to be a drawing my grandmother had done of my younger sister, Jenny.

                   The picture now hangs on my sister’s wall.  I am often struck by the fact that this sketch, lovingly drawn by my grandmother, made it to my sister six years after her death. 
 
There have been other things, too, but I won't bore you.
 
But being morbidly preoccupied with death (as well as morbidly preoccupied with the wobble to wibble ratio of my behind) it makes me wonder why we are so convinced that we know what is 'real' and what is not, what is 'likely' and what is not.  Because going back to my last post, we have really NO IDEA about anything.  Dimensions, life, death, consciousness, spiritual happenings, etc. 
 
When I was a child, I was 100% sure about God and Heaven (and Santa and Tooth Fairy), in a way only a child can really be...  But I used to wonder - what does one "do" for eternity?  Isn't it... well... BORING?  I mean, better than being DEAD, but yawwwnnnn... Floating around, singing hymns?
 
Like most of us, I do hope that there is some sort of life after death.
 
But I also hope Heaven has Wifi ...

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