CULCREUCH CASTLE'S GHOSTLY CAT

Betcha' can't say that three times fast!  Culcreuch Castle is located in Fintry, Scotland, and according to their hotel concierge is the oldest continually occupied castle in Scotland, the main hotel building dating back to somewhere between 1290 and 1320.  Also according to the concierge, 'off the record' it houses the biggest bat community in all of Scotland.  Apparently scores of them live in a recently discovered hidden room right above the kitchen (this brought up visions of bat guano seasoning dropping in our soup!)  Castle Culcreuch is a very stark and impressive structure as you approach along their driveway, and I will confess; a little eerie.  There is little physical adornment to the outside of the castle; solid gray stone jutting straight up five stories with the ancient narrow windows affording the only visual break.  This castle has been the seat of Clan Galbraith since 1390 and has recorded some colorful history.  

By this point on our trip when we turned into their driveway, I had one daughter barely recovering from a British 'super virus' and the other smack in the throes of it.  Due to fly out of Edinburgh to Ireland the next day, I was sure my youngest would need a doctor when we got there.  Needless to say, all three of us were a tad edgy that day, and the exterior look of the place didn't assuage our jitters any.  We walked into the beautiful lobby and had to wait because of customers in front of us, so the girls went outside to mull around and take pictures of the castle and surrounding lake.  I drifted to a corner of the lobby where a massive guestbook/historic journal of Culcreuch lay spread open on a pedestal stand.  Signing the guestbook I skimmed through a few of the pages and read at the bottom of one that, in addition to all the two-legged spirits supposedly calling Culcreuch home, there have been many documented encounters with the Culcreuch Castle cat.  Flipping further through the book were hundreds of entries from visitors who'd had an experience of the paranormal while there and written it down for posterity. 

I registered for our overnight stay and when ready to be escorted to our room I called the girls back in.  Culcreuch, did I happen to mention is five stories?  And no elevator.  We were given a room on the fourth floor, the top floor for customers, I believe, because above that is mostly attic.  When we walked into the cramped room the three of us got a bad feeling as we checked out every corner.  My bed was wedged in a separate area off the tiny bathroom that used to be a closet.  Our steward bid her leave of us, but we informed her that we might not be staying . . . I needed to speak with my daughters about it privately. 

Once alone, all three of us jumped to the same page immediately; we all felt uncomfortable.  The first time that had happened in all of our Scotland accommodations.  Better to get back to Edinburgh that night so we wouldn't get caught up in any delay the next morning and miss our flight.  There was a lot of road construction going on at the time.  My eldest sat on the side of the bed as we discussed getting back on the road, but suddenly she went still and her eyes flew open wide.  She stood and looked around her ankles, then under the bed. 

                "What are you doing?" I asked.
 

                "Mom, I swear something just wrapped itself around
                 my ankles!  Like a cat or something purring up
                 against me, but there's nothing  there!  Nothing's
                 under the bed.  It felt . . . almost like something
                 jumped off the bed beside me and onto the floor;
                 next thing I know it's rubbing up against me!" 

The girls hadn't gone near the guest book to have read up on that little piece of information.  All three of us jumped into action and did a thorough search of the room, turning up nothing.  That was it; our decision was final.  We were leaving.  If this level of paranormal hubbub was manifesting in broad daylight, we did NOT want to stick around for the nighttime shadows to show us just how crazy things might get.   We left the bats in the belfry and pointed our rental car toward Edinburgh.  If creepy/beautiful is your thing, you won't miss the mark if you check in to Culcreuch Castle!  Log our experience in the guestbook, if you would be so kind.  We hightailed it out of there so fast, we forgot!  Later, friends. 

    

PARANORMAL JOURNEYS IN SCOTLAND-1

Hello friends, I got started on the paranormal the other day blogging on the subject of reincarnation, which set me to thinking about how many paranormal experiences I've encountered in my lifetime.  Some on my journey through Scotland.  So I thought I'd share one encounter here.  I didn't go to Great Britain seeking out ghosts and such, I went to visit my daughters who were living there for the summer, and the three of us took in the sights of Scotland, England and Ireland for several weeks.  The ghosts and such just sort of found us. 

THE VAULTS BELOW EDINBURGH

The walking ghost tour of the vaults below Edinburgh streets is creepy, indeed. Dank, oppressive and intimidating, 'Mr. Boots' is the phantom of choice down there for a malevolent encounter, if you're going to have one.  According to the tour guides he is very territorial, evil, and has a particular problem with women, especially in one of the larger vault rooms.  These rooms are solid stone and arched, some with water (or something I don't want to know about) seeping from the walls and dripping from the ceiling.

When the tour-guide brought our good-sized group into this vault room he separated the gents from the ladies; one group on one side of the vault, the other opposite.  He spoke of attacks within the room which started mini-stampedes in the past when someone screamed from a slap or a jab.  I thought myself lucky because I'd wedged my way back into the very corner of the room, with one daughter to my immediate left, touching shoulders, the other glued to my right.  There wasn't an inch behind me to the corner of the wall and I felt safe there.  No spooks creeping up on me from behind . . . except as we all stood eerily still and listened to the tour guide continue his informative speech, I received a HARD yank on the back of my hair.  It hurt like hell and I jumped.  I sucked in a gasp as both daughters turned and gaped at me, confused and suddenly looking frightened.  Not about to start any stampede, I struggled to adjust my bulging eyes down to normal size and shrugged my shoulders.  When they refocused their attention on the speaker, I twisted my head around nonchalantly and looked for any loose stone and the possibility of a prank.  Nothing out of place.  Nothing sticking out to snag me with a painful yank, which couldn't have happened anyway because I wasn't moving.

I made it through the rest of the tour without incident, but I was looking over my shoulder the whole way with every hair follicle on my body standing at attention.  Only when we were above ground did I recount my experience to my daughters, who gasped something to the effect of; "I knew it!  I was sure something was going on down there!"  

On that same tour they took us to the Greyfriar's Cemetery/Covenantor's Prison.  I won't spoil it by narking on what they did to us there, let me just say don't go there if you have a weak heart.  The MacKenzie poltergeist was supposedly attacking so many there that they closed the Covenantor's Prison to tours for a few years, or so I heard. Soon after our tour, actually.  Researching the place on the internet recently it looks as though they've opened the tours again, so if you decide to go, good luck . . . and don't say I didn't warn 'ye!  Later, friends.

WHAT SAY YOU ABOUT . . . REINCARNATION?

On TV tonight there's a show being aired called 'Unexplained,' about a 5-year-old boy from Oklahoma who begins telling his mother extensive details about his past life.  Reincarnation.  Delving into the paranormal as I do, both through my writing and with our ongoing ghostly experiences with 'Cowboy Bob,' (another story,) I thought it would be interesting to pose the question to my friends and family out there who are reading my posts; 'How do you feel about the feasibility of reincarnation?"  How sold are you on the idea that our souls continue on after death, and return to this plane of existence over and over, until . . . what, exactly?

My parents used to tell me they thought I was the reincarnation of my paternal grandmother, who was a concert pianist.  How convenient. Gee, that would be an easy correlation to draw:  I picked up piano easily as a child therefore I HAD to be a pianist in some past life.  Funny thing, though, music has always come natural to me.  My memory for everything else may be sad, indeed, but I can still sit down and call up the classical music I learned before I was ten. Pieces like 'Claire De Lune.' It's like its stored on a different hard drive than everything else.

My parents also used to tell me that when I was still a baby I used to do this weird movement with my fingers and hands all the time (no, besides picking my nose.) They were stopped one day by a concert pianist while out with their strange daughter who was making the twisty-wrists;  the musician remarking that he'd been watching what I was doing with my hands ( mom and dad thought he was about to recommend early psychiatric evaluation.)  Instead, he told them those movements I made were the classic warm-up exercises before a performance on the ivory's.  Hmmm.  I always thought that sounded like a load of crap, probably what I had in my diaper at the time which was making me act that way.  I wasn't convinced by this story in the least.  Then a few years later mom told me another one . . .

Mom was nineteen and riding in a horse-drawn carriage (she had me late in life, so no cracks about my age here, thank you very much!) The horse spooked, took a corner too fast and threw mom out onto the corner of the sidewalk where she fractured her skull.  She was in critical condition in a coma for three weeks.  Almost immediately after being triaged in emergency and settling into intensive care, mom began to speak while unconscious.  In perfect French.  She told me she carried on such conversations in French that the hospital staff brought in a translator, and he visited her every day for those three weeks while they regaled each other with  hours of chatter back and forth.  He was there when she blinked open her eyes for the first time.

She remembered nothing.  She didn't speak a word of French, beyond "Oui."  Knowing how zipper-lipped mom always was, never prone to fantastical tales or exaggeration, I have no doubt she was telling the absolute truth.  Kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it?  What is out there that we just don't know?


Ever had a bout of deja'vu?  They say those creepy tingling sensations you get are just your subconscious recollecting a similar past life event.  Which is why you have more experiences of deja'vu when you're young; while your memories are still fresh in your subconscious mind.  I have no official position on all this, except to say later, all, and happy recollections . . .

BIG SHOES TO FILL

We lost three . . . gained one.  Let me introduce to my extended friends our newest family member, Munchkin.  She's now nine months old and a complete spoiled brat.  She runs with our Labrador Retriever, Buddy.  Buddy thinks he's a Pomeranian, she thinks she's a Labrador.  Buddy wedges his butt in a doggie bed made for a ten-pounder, Munchkin lays in the middle of a huge crate.  When Taz died the day after Christmas, after already losing our beloved Gidgie back in June, we were so overwhelmed with grief we went on an immediate search for something to mend our tattered hearts.  We drove clear to the border of New Mexico and Texas to rendezvouz with Munchkin's owners, and she handled the hours from Missouri all the way to Arizona like a trooper. Munchkin is still going through puppy shenanigans, but those tiny toes are already starting to fill some mighty big shoes.

ARIZONA IS WILD ABOUT WILDLIFE!

I've had a reader ask me about the bear attack scene in my book, saying; "Bears in Arizona?  Really?"  Yes, really.  But not just bears.  Along with the wildlife you'd expect to see around here, such as scores of elk and deer, antelope, raccoons, coyotes, fox, skunks, squirrels, chipmunks and rabbits, I feel privileged to have seen so much more in the way of unusual wildlife, sometimes very up close and personal.  The occasional porcupine, bobcat, lynx, and tarantulas! 

One time while waiting on extended family to meet us at Lake Pleasant around dusk, suddenly the road was covered with thousands upon thousands of migrating tarantulas . . . it took almost a half hour for the army to pass beyond our car, all the while my youngest who has a healthy case of arachnophobia wigging out that some of them might get into the car.

Our family has seen mountain lions on four different occasions, twice VERY close, flocks of wild turkeys, prompting my daughter while driving one morning to blurt out; "Look at that!  That's one BIG 'f---ing bird!"  Friends have lamented about this, exclaiming, 'Where?  I've never seen one!"  Well, a flock of nineteen marched up our driveway early one morning, but just look along the highway, people.  At the right time of year you can find them standing there with a talon out attempting to hitchhike, they can act so brazen. 

And wolves . . . our family has seen a wolf up close in the wild on eight separate occasions; either by our home or somewhere in Northern Arizona.  One loped along our driveway just as that same daughter walked out to her car.  They acknowledged each other but he just kept traveling.  The same wolf also came down to drink at our pond while my sister-in-law watched him from the dock.

And the most unusual wildlife we've seen:  a black jaguar/panther within twenty feet of my husband and myself.  Again in Northern Arizona, over by Pinetop/Lakeside.  Up close the black coat is actually dotted with subtle golden-colored spots, just as a regular jaguar is golden with black spots.  It was too dark to see the spots well, only the amazing size, stature, black coat and glowing eyes.  What a rush. 

Most recently I drove out of the subdivision, and before I made it to the highway the strangest creature kind of hopped/loped right across the road in front of me.  It looked like a raccoon but it had huge hind legs like those of a kangaroo, and it was much bigger; probably forty pounds.  The snout was more elongated, and when it looked at my car I got the definite impression it could be quite aggressive.  It had that, 'don't you dare screw with me' look in its eyes.  I called my husband and described the morphodite.  He said it had to be a coatimundi.  A what?  I had to look that up, and when I saw the pictures I went, 'That's it!  That's what I saw!"  Surprisingly, the coatimundi only inhabits Arizona and somewhere around Argentina in South America.

And as for bears?  My family and I were driving along a back road on the Mogollon Rim in our SUV when a bear cub burst up from the drop-off to the right of the road, ran along our vehicle which was going almost 30 mph at the time, sprinted way out in front of it, then crossed in front and sprinted up the mountain to our left.  All I have to say about that is:  Don't ever try to outrun one!  You will lose, unless you're going downhill fast.  Bears have trouble with speed when going downhill for some reason.  

Wildlife in Arizona is as richly diverse as the humans who inhabit the state alongside them.  Abide in the wilderness a little while and you're guaranteed to run across something camera-worthy!

JAMIE & CLAIRE COMING TO TV?

I am SOOO excited, fellow 'Outlander' nerds (and you know who you are!) for the anouncement that Sony has picked up Diana Gabaldon's series for a new cable mini-series in the fashion of 'Game of Thrones.'  It's being shopped around to HBO and such, and word is it will more than likely make its way to television in the not too distant future!  Now only one important question remains:  Chris Hemsworth for Jamie, anyone?

WHISKEY ROW FIRE

I'd like to send my condolences to the owners of the infamous tavern, 'The Birdcage,' as well as the other fine establishments caught up in the fire on Whiskey Row in Prescott, Az. recently.  I would call 'The Birdcage' to mind as I wrote about 'Left-Handed McGees,' in my book, and I've enjoyed being a patron of the historic bar on many occasions.  I can only hope it is rebuilt soon, because for right now Prescott is having to make do without one of its premier landmarks.

MY LITTLE LOST ONES

I ran across this photo today and it stopped me in my tracks.  My fallen furry family.  For those who don't know these precious pups, they were our band of four traveling comrades for almost eight years.  In fact this pic was taken in our motorhome while on one of our trips.  Starting from the bottom is Maximus, next is Taz, above her is Gidget, and finally Whiskey with her nose buried in the blanket.  In the past calendar year we lost all but Whiskey.  Different months, different diseases, but devastating each and every one.  I look at them and I can cry so easily, but what I really see in those content, sleeping faces is the reality that I wouldn't have changed one minute with any of them, for each moment of heartbreak I've experienced is counter-balanced by years and years of joy, fun and unconditional love. Funny the things they do to your heart.  Rest In Peace, my babies.

AND FINALLY . . .

·          'Oldsterism' #22: I know I'm getting older when I walk into a Rue 21 clothing store and get the same treatment Julia Roberts received in 'Pretty Woman' shopping on Rodeo Drive- "There's nothing for

you here . . . you're obviously in the wrong place . . . please leave!"

'Oldsterism’ #28:  Now that I’m older I’ve thought of a new way to entertain myself during those evening lulls:   Erasable markers and a game of ‘Connect the age spots.’

'Oldsterism' #35:  As I've gotten older I measure over an inch taller!  Orthopedic inserts are the ticket, baby!

'Oldsterism' #37:  As I’ve gotten older I’ve noticed something about my apparel:  The baggier it is the more it’s dotted with slogans like;  “So far this is the oldest I’ve ever been,” and “This IS my sexy lingerie!”  Last night I looked down at my sleepwear to see bears, clouds and ‘Nite-Nite’ splashed across the front.

I hope you've enjoyed my observations on the joys of getting older.  My feelings on the subject are kind of like looking at myself in the mirror:  it gives me a good laugh every morning!  And what the heck's up with the color background on this blog today?  Love to all!

CLOSE TO WRAPPING 'EM UP, BUT . . .

A FEW MORE . . .

'Oldsterism' #11:  I know I'm getting older when I'm driving along, spot a discarded item dropped by the side of the road and realize I'm asking myself; "Is this something I can use?" 

'Oldsterism' #26:  As I get older I need to stop making so many authoritative remarks.  Half the time my mouth is writing checks my memory can't cash.  So it goes without saying I'll probably forget to do this.

 'Oldsterism' #30:  I know I'm getting older when my deep knee/thrust exercises have turned into deep knee/hit the floor and stay there exercises.

'Oldsterism' #38:  Some days, getting older reminds me of a chocolate-covered dog turd.  It looks pretty good at first glance, but now I'm in the middle of it.

AND NOW . . . MORE!

'Oldsterism' #8:  Getting older has prompted me to apologize to my daughters more often as I see them staring into the face of their future.

'Oldsterism' #36:  I know I'm getting older when Kegel exercises wear me out.

'Oldsterism' #7:  Getting older is ironic . . . I now need a pair of glasses to find my glasses.

'Oldsterism' #19:  I may be getting older but I can still always find what I'm looking for . . . exactly five minutes after I give up and start looking for something else.

A FEW MORE . . .

'Oldsterism' #16:  They say age is a state of mind . . . you're only as old as you feel.  I can totally get into that once I've had my morning coffee, two Aleve and my Metamucil.

'Oldsterism' #20:  I know I'm getting older when I send a suggestion in to Garmin to add a new app to their GPS that plots the distance between public restrooms across the U.S.

'Oldsterism' #24:  I know I'm getting older when my doctor starts treating me for one ailment and in the process discovers three more.

'Oldsterism' #32:  I know I'm getting older when instead of chuckling at the bad acting of that woman yelling, "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up!" in those Life Alert commercials, I now catch myself mumbling; "Been there, done that."

STILL MORE . . .

'Oldsterism' #2:  Getting older has enhanced my creativity.  When I can't remember the name of something, I just give it a new one.

'Oldsterism' #6:   Getting older has done wonders for my wardrobe.  I’ve discovered that flashy clothes draw attention away from the figure underneath!

'Oldsterism' #9:  I know I'm getting older when all my new best friend's names have the letters M.D. behind them.

'Oldsterism' #23:  I know I'm getting older when I catch myself watching exercise programs on television so I can reminisce about what being limber felt like.

More later, all.

AND MORE . . .

'Oldsterism' #4:   Getting older has enhanced my memory.  I can remember where the ladies room is in every establishment I've ever visited.

'Oldsterism' #5:  Getting older has given me a well stocked pantry.  I keep buying the same things over and over whether I need them or not.

'Oldsterism' #14:  I know I'm getting older when I catch myself saying things to my kids I vowed I would never say, starting with; "When I was your age . . ."

Anderson 'Oldsterism' panic attack #3:  Making a mad dash for the public restroom and discovering it's coin operated.

AND MORE . . .

They keep coming . . .

Anderson 'Oldsterism' #10:  I know I’m getting older when I can't name too many parts of my body without adding the word 'ache' behind it.

Anderson 'Oldsterism' #12:   As I’ve gotten older my hair, nails, skin and lips have all gotten thinner.  Unfortunately nothing to do with my BMI has followed their example. 

Anderson 'Oldsterism' Panic Attack #2:  Someone waves hello to you from a distance and you try to ignore them because you have no idea who they are.  Then they call you by name.

Can you relate?  Let me know.  More to come friends.

More 'Oldsterisms'

Hi all: 

Here are a few more to digest -

Anderson 'Oldsterism' #15:   As I've gotten older my dress size has actually gotten smaller.  Amazingly, I’ve gone from 14, 16, etc. down to size 1 or 2!  The only difference is now there’s an X after the number.

Anderson 'Oldsterism' #17:   I know I’m getting older when I call my daughter by name and she looks at me strangely and says; “No, mom; I’m the other one.”

Anderson 'Oldsterism' #18:  As I’ve gotten older I’ve noticed that I’ve gone through four stages of apparel selection throughout my life . . .

    Stage 1:  Sexy, no matter what.

    Stage 2:  Looks good but not quite so painful.

    Stage 3:  Bye-bye looks; I need comfort.

    Stage 4:  Bye-bye comfort; I need support!

Lots more 'Oldsterisms' to come.  Thanks for reading!

Anderson 'Oldsterisms'

Hi all:  For several weeks last year I wrote Anderson 'Oldsterisms' and posted them on my personal Facebook page, one verse per day.  I've been asked to post them again, so I thought my blog would be a good place.  I'll start with a few of my favorites:

Anderson 'Oldsterism' #1:  I know I'm getting older when I can carry my suitcase on a plane but my medicine bag has to be checked.

Anderson 'Oldsterism' #3:  As I get older my body is more balanced.  For every hair I lose on my head one will grow back on my chin.

Anderson 'Oldersterism' #13:  I know I'm getting older when I can ignite a serious case of road rage just by driving to the mailbox and back.

I'll be keeping 'em coming.  Check back with me!  Bye, all!

'VOODOO PRIESTESS' - Part Two

So, its almost a year later and, "I'm bbaaacccckkk!"  And what a year; lost three of our four Pomeranians, and had our home broken into with thousands of dollars worth of belongings stolen. We just had a wildfire go ballistic five miles from our home in the forest, but the winds blew it the other way.  So I choose to look at it like we had some major good luck blow our direction, for once, and we Andersons are still truckin' along!  The second half of Voodoo Priestess won't be as detailed (or hopefully as long) because, though the account is quite bizarre it's also quite past history for me now, something I've worked hard to get beyond. 

Leaving off with John recovering from his re-attachment surgery, four days after the surgery was the weekend, when John's regular surgeon was off-duty.  The staff doctor heard some 'gurgling' sounds in John's intestines and decided to take out his stomach drain tube, but too soon.  His intestines apparently went 'back to sleep,' which they can sometimes do.  Within hours he had violent hiccups and began throwing up repeatedly.  And his incision started draining out blood and fluid in increasing amounts as time went on.  Monday morning at 3:30 am he called me frantically, asking me to come to the hospital and get him a doctor . . . he was dying and no one was helping him.  He had been throwing up all night and the nurse would only give him a couple of Tums and refused to call a doctor.  His sheets had needed to be changed twice that night because of the blood and fluid pouring out of his incision and onto the floor.  In I ran, and once I got there the nurse assigned to John immediately called John's surgeon, who directed the drain tube to go back in.  John balked over having this nurse do it, though.  I turned to the nurse and apologized for his actions, telling her he was just so stressed over had had happened.  She said it was okay.  I calmed John down and with me beside him this nurse re-inserted the tube.  Instantly John's hiccups and throwing up ceased, but he filled up three large containers with stomach acid from the tube in just a few minutes.  I spoke with nurse "Marie" for a brief period before she got on with her duties, and found out she was from Haiti.  She'd been in the U.S. for about twenty years and 'moved around a lot' when I asked her where all she'd lived.  After she left the room John's eyes went round as saucers and he cursed, saying she was never to touch him again.  I was dumbfounded at his reaction and asked him why?

He relayed to me the following:   Before he called me he had been in more than one altercation with her that night, begging her to call a doctor for him; any doctor on call that night would be fine.  He needed help.  Her last answer was:  'No, I won't.  But you need to call everyone you know, friends and family, and get them to pray for you!  For you have an evil spirit visiting upon you that means to do you harm, maybe kill you!"  

Needless to say I was in shock when John told me that.  This is the 21st century and we live in a modern civilized country with civilized doctors and nurses, so I'd thought.  I reported her actions to hospital management, who were equally as shocked.  Neither John nor I ever saw her again after that.

When John's surgeon appeared days later to inspect his incision, I voiced my concerns over the large amount of fluids still draining from it, which seemed to irritate him.  He took staple cutters and opened up John's wound to the size of a salad plate, mumbling he wanted to make sure there was no infection going on.  There wasn't, but what there was, come to find out a couple of months later, was a complete hernia of his abdominal wall, from all the vomiting he did.  The inner incision of his abdominal muscles had ripped totally apart.  We found this out on February 20th when John sneezed after eating his breakfast and his intestines blew out the front of his healed-up incision because there was no abdominal muscle to hold them in.  Three big holes in his intestines.  His entire breakfast dumped out on a towel.  Just like that he had to be put on a TPN line for four months; no eating until his intestines had time to really heal this go-around. 

The TPN line failed twice in that time, causing severe blood infections that landed him in ICU for days, the sugar in the fluids gave him temporary diabetes as well as gall-bladder attacks.  John's final re-attachment surgery (at a different hospital and under a different surgeon) happened on Monday, June 6th, 2011, and it worked!  Heart-breakingly I had to put my favorite Pom to sleep the Friday before that, but in all, now that we've known two people since then who had intestinal complications and died from their surgeries, I can look back on the experience and say that, despite the 'Voodoo Priestess' and all else that happened, John was lucky.  Our family was lucky.  It's all in how you look at it!   Bye for now, all.