Not many are privileged to know their great grans while they’re living, while even fewer get to know them after they’ve departed. My daughter’s great grannie, Miriam Schwartz, hung on to 102, with all her marbles still intact, and still my daughter doesn’t remember her. So, what’s an interfering old grannie to do? Meddle from the great beyond, of course—in a well meaning, chicken soup sort of way.
A friend graciously agreed to share his personal story with us, today. He, who shall be nameless–not because he’s Voldemort, but out of fear he may be branded a nutter–will now be known as George.
So, George, if sharing with us an entry from your paranormal journal makes you crazy, then what am I? I cunningly posed. Strangely, there was no reply, which I logically assumed meant that the Uranus conjunction with Mercury yesterday, had effectively knocked out his power to communicate with me. After all, who is saner than I?
If, in fact, my mental faculties are not in question, regardless of whether or not I’m smarter than a fifth grader, then let’s assume that what I am about to present to you are, indeed, two truthful accounts of Great Grannie visitations from the beyond.
For as long as George can recall, he’s known that his Irish great grandmother has been watching over him. And thank heavens—pun intended—for her active vigilance. Don’t tell George’s mom, but he has been known to fall asleep at the wheel, not of his tricycle, but his car—which was moving at the time. Just as George was about to veer off the road, he was sharply awakened by Great Grannie. Other times, he was kept from crossing into other lanes to avoid an oncoming accident.
So, what have we learned here, other than Miss Daisy might want to look into a driver, is not to take our great grandmas for granted, even after they’ve kicked the proverbial bucket. George remembers many other close-call incidents, but I believe we’ve milked this cow enough, and it’s time to move on—nothing personal, George. I’m just not getting paid by the word.
Now, on to a more important story, made so, because it involves a celebrity, and we all know that Hollywood stars are way more interesting than those who shall be nameless. This account centers on twinkle toe hottie, Maxim Cher….something. Hmmm…while the research team looks that up, I’ll distract you with a block quote:
Doctors informed him that in time he’d be lucky to walk with a cane.”
Okay, it’s Chmerkovskly. And don’t ask me to pronounce it. Those of you who will admit to watching Dancing with the Stars have seen Maxim in, and often out of, every conceivable type of dance wear, and still he manages to maintain his Puck, bad-boy swagger. Maxim juggles beautiful ladies and Mirror Ball trophies with such dexterity, you’d think he had it so easy all his life. That’s where you’d be wrong.
According to an epi of Celebrity Ghosts on the Bio Channel, when Maxim was twelve, he was in a sledding accident that ruptured his femur. Doctors informed him that in time he’d be lucky to walk with a cane. His dancing career and dreams of success had ended with puberty—though let’s not blame puberty for this; it suffers enough bad press.
Enter Great Grannie.
Maxim’s dance partner had an influential grandfather who sent him to a special rehab for superstar athletes. Three times a week, for two months, he reported to the room where he was assigned. Maxim recalls entering a dim-lit office while waiting on his personal trainer. To his disappointment, in walked Maria, a geriatric lady, half his height, who did nothing but bend his injured leg up to his butt, while he lay on his back.
In two months, Maxim was walking…and dancing. Soon, he reached the finals of his very first competition, since the accident.
Maxim returned to rehab to thank Maria and was informed there was no trainer by that name; there never had been. The young female specialist who’d been assigned to Maxim, confirmed that she’d never once worked on him. For months, Maxim tried to find Maria, to prove her existence, but he never could.
Till one day…
His mom showed him an old photo of his great grandmother, Maria. Bingo…this was the lady!
What makes the story even more interesting, is Maxim’s admission that he was raised not to believe in the paranormal. Still, he can’t deny the truth that it was his great grandmother, Maria, who healed him.
You can catch Maxim dancing with Kirstie Alley in two weeks on Dancing with the Stars. The show is not paying me to promote him, though it could be that Maria is spoon feeding me her chicken soup, compelling me to do so.
Or…maybe I’m nutters.