I think that I've maybe mentioned it here before that I think that our house is haunted.  Many times I've heard footsteps in the house when I know that everyone else is sleeping.  A few weeks ago Marty heard footsteps upstairs, went to investigate, then heard sounds in the basement where he'd just been sitting.  One time, I told Martin that he couldn't watch TV and it turned itself on, cable box included.  Another time, I was feeling stressed about Christmas and kind of lost in my own thoughts, running down a list of things to do, when a musical dancing Santa powered up and started to sing and boogie.  From across the room.

If I lived anywhere but the house we're in now, this would terrify me.  But the thing is, I'm pretty sure that it's Marty's Grandma Harriette telling me to lighten up.  She lived in our house before us, and loved to joke around with people.  And now that we're in her space, I like to think that she keeps an eye on us a little bit, likes to let us know when we could use a bit more joking around.

Whether it is Harriette's spectral influence or maybe more about genetics, Martin has definitely caught a bit of his great-grandma's flair for lightening things up.  The other day as I was walking through the house, trying futilely to straighten things up, something appeared in front of me.  A ghost, held aloft by a mysterious hand.


Moaning and wailing sounds followed me throughout the house, the same ghost appearing at every turn.  "Oh my!  A ghost!" I'd yell, and the ghost would disappear momentarily, giggles rolling out from behind the paper.  Now this is the kind of haunting I can really get behind.  The kind that follows me around the house but can be distracted by the promise of a snack.