I admit I’ve experienced things that others call ESP (Extra Sensory Perception). For me they’ve just been a part of me I never thought about until they caught the attention of other people. I’ll tell about them. You decide.
Red And Shiny
When I was about ten or twelve, I’d ride my bike half way around Bald Eagle Lake and back. The reason for half and back was the road. The road around the west side was nice and ran beside the lake. Houses were across the street. On the west side, the road moved to behind the houses which rimmed the lake. My bike was old and sturdy. My dad brought it home from the junk yard whe I first could ride one. We sanded all the rust off and painted it black. It didn’t look that great or ride extra nice, but it was free, and it gave me some freedom. It was a Friday. I had ridden to the north end of Bald Eagle Lake and stopped halfway back. It was a great day and I enjoyed just looking. Without warning, or daydreaming, a thought leapt into my head. The thought was, I’m going to win a bike! Clear as a bell the thought was there. Saturday was the Bald Eagle Sportsman fishing contest for kids. The thought didn’t include where or when. I shook it off as wishful thinking that somehow jumped into my brain.
The next day my sisters and I all biked down to the lake. The club had a stage set up with a microphone, tables, weighing scale and a pile of prizes. One of them was a bicycle.
My sisters and I put on life vests and piled onto a pontoon boat. There were lots of pontoons and smaller boats. There were maybe one hundred kids there. We fished for about an hour. Everyone was catching bullheads and a rare sunfish, but that was all. I haddn’t caught a ting.
From shore a guy with a bullhorn called out, 5 more minutes. The club member piloting our pontoon told us to start pulling our lines in. He started the outboard motor. As I reeled in my line, I felt a jerk and knew I’d hooked something, probably another bullhead. When I lifted it from the water I was excited and thrilled. It was a crappie. It wasn’t very big but was a keeper.
Back on shore, I registered my fish with the judges, even though I was pretty sure it was too small for a prize. Maybe a consolation gift certificate to the bait store, I thought.
It was about a half hour wait for all the boats to come in, unload their anglers, and get fish registered. I was a fun wait. They had hot dogs and chips, free pop and other snacks. At the start of the contest, we could register for a drawing. A guy up on the stage pulled names from a small barrell. Most of the prizes were fishing related, T-shirts, caps and candy bars.
Finally, the main judge took the microphone and announced it was prize time. The judge handed out some consolation prizes, the third place and second place. I was a little disappointed because my crappie didn’t place for any of those. The judge called my name over the loudspeaker. I could hardly believe it. I had to go up on the stage and hold up my fish. Then another official wheeled out a shiny red bike. It was my prize.
No More Gifts
Jump ahead some years. I’m in my twenties and married for about a year. It was nearly Christmas and my wife, Phyllis, couldn’t resist not teasing me with a present. She approached me, holding a big, wrapped gift with a white bow. The paper was red with a white snowflake pattern. Phyllis held it out to me.
“I’d like to open it but let’s wait for Christmas. I want something left to open then,” I said.
“Oh, you can’t open it now. You just get to hold it once. You’ll never guess what it is,” Phyllis said and handed me the very heavy gift.
“Those words, ‘you’ll never guess' have become a dreaded phrase for me. I associate it with disappointment. The second that package touched my fingers, and those words hit my ears, a thought jumped into my mind. It was just like the thought about winning a bike.
“It’s a big model sailboat,” I blurted out without thinking.
“Fine! Then go ahead and open it. I was trying to surprise you. You’ve ruined it. See if I ever buy you a present again.”
I waited for Christmas and told Phyllis I hadn’t peeked. When I did open it, it was a radio-controlled sailboat with a heavy lead keel and three-foot sail. It was the last gift Phyllis gave me for many years.
Who Doesn’t Love Chocolate?
More years pass. I’m divorced and dating a wonderful lady who had two boys. It’s my birthday and I’d meeting them. They’re treating me to lunch. I arrive at the Italian restaurant an enter the loby. There they are. Jane has her hands behind her back. The boys are grinning. From behind her, Jane holds out a wrapped package, about 18 inches long, 6 inches wide and half in thick. She hands it to me and says, “Happy birthday. You’ll never guess what this is.”
Pop, pop, in my brain. “It’s a giant Hershey bar.”
Three jaws drop. Three smiles fade. Jane tilts her head a bit sideways. “How’d you know?
I just shrug. “Wow this is so nice. Let’s go in an eat so we can have some of this for dessert.” Yes, they still gave me presents at future occasions.
I worked as a sales manager and had sales reps reporting to me. Our main office was on the sixth floor in a building, downtown Minneapolis. A nice thing about the city was the skyways, like covered walkways, between buildings. You could travel for blocks and never need to go outside. When you did, there was usually an escalator or elevator you’d ride to the main floor. I always seemed to be late for meetings, so along with a couple of my reps, we’d have a brisk walk through the skyways.
After a hectic walk and meeting we were headed back to our office. We had to take an elevator. At a row of three doors. I stood in front of the one on the left. We waited. A tone dinged. The left door opened. On the ride up, one of the reps said, “Blumer, how do you always know which elevator door is going to open?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t realize I did that.”
The others nodded. One of them said, “We’ve all noticed that. We talked about it. Do you hear something, maybe?”
I shrugged again. “Nope. I just stand where I stand.”
We didn’t talk about that anymore until one day three of us were on an airplane, flying to a conference in Atlanta. The elevator topic cam up. “Okay, one of them said, “We’ve never been to Atlanta. We’ve never been to the hotel we’re staying. So, Mr. Blumer, which elevator door?”
If I try and figure out what or where or whatever, it doesn’t work. I have to jus open my mind up, clear my thoughts and wait for a ‘Pop.’ “I cleared my mind. Pop, second on the right.”
An hour later, we checked in. One of my group asked the desk person where the elevators were. She said just down the hall on our right. Down the hall we turned the corner. There were five doors. We stood in front of the second door. We waited. Ding, the third door opened.
“Ha, wrong!” a couple of them said at once.
“Oh, crap,” another said. The first door is a closet door. So technically, it is the second ELEVATOR door.”
“No. He said second DOOR on the right.
It didn’t matter to me. They argued all the way up to our floor.
Woof Woof
By the shining Big-Seawater
More current, for the past ten years my wife and I would meet for dinner after work at a wonderful restaurant half way home for both of us. The manager and part owner often served us and became a close friend. She was a dog person and had a new puppy. I asked her what she had named the dog. Now I should mention, our friend has a bit of native American ancestry. She loves spending summer days in Duluth, MN. She named on of her dogs Gitchee, inspired by the poem, By the shores of Gitche Gumee by Longfellow. She acquired another bulldog. I asked her what he inspiration and name would be for this one?
She said those words to me. “You’ll never guess.”
‘Pop.’ The Edmond Fitzgerald, ship that sunk in the Great Lakes. "Wasn’t it Gordon Lightfoot who sang that song?”
“Shit,” was her response. “How’d you know. It’s Fitz, for Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald!”
Red, Blue, Green, Yellow
Pick one
Another good friend, James, whom we also met the restaurant showed me the coolest app. It’s designed to test precognition. The app had a block of 4 colored squares, red, blue, green and yellow. A picture is hidden behind one of the colors. Each time, the picture’s location is random. You press the right color, and you hear a nice ‘ding.’ Press the wrong one and you hear a dull ‘clunk.’ Iv’e watched a person make ten wrong picks until they got a ding, by chance.
If I try to think or guess where the picture is, I’m usually wrong. If I clear my mind, about 95% of the time I get a ding.
One evening we met James for dinner. When we sat down pop, a color popped into my head. I said, “Blue! Not right now though. James, sometime tonight, a time you pick, we’ll open the app on my pone. We’ll just set the phone on the table. Then whenever you want, tell me to push blue.
We ate and talked. Finally out came my phone. Soon, James told me to pick. I touched blue. “DING.”
