I've recently gotten a couple of e-mails from friends wanting to know why this blog is called the "ghost of communication". It's quite simple, really. This is a computer screen you're looking at right now, not a person. It is only a pale shadow of what a real conversation would be. There is no possibility of picking up the subtle nuances of facial expression and body language. There is no immediate reply. Physical contact is impossible. Our hands brush through the ether, grasping for the touch of skin, but all that we really feel are the cold, hard, plastic, letter-imprinted cubes on our keyboards. This is where communication goes when it dies. It is still felt by the living, but it is no longer alive.
I know that all sounds a bit negative, but if we only dwell on the positive, then the problems will never be fixed.
I've also gotten an interesting hit off of a google search: should you be afraid if you see a dead relative? I'd say that it depends on whether or not this dead relative is moving around or not. Even if they are, for some unknown reason, up and about, you may not have much to fear from them if your previous relationship was friendly. I hope this helps.

I'm still cleaning up around here. I've only got a couple of more days before Isabel and the boys arrive. I've let things get really dusty again. The garden is a riot of tangled green, but smells so fresh and earthy that I don't have the heart to weed it. I've always liked that slightly abandoned look anyway.
I've even e-mailed the head of the Sociology department at the university, with a rough outline of my new research idea. It needs a little tweaking, but I think I can pull it off. The trick is to make it seem like I'm hunting for something other than my real objective. On the surface, the project is going to be about self-fulfilling prophecy. We'll see how it goes.

It has been more than a month since the day that screams were heard in the woods. I mention this now because I omitted a detail of that day's events. I was interviewed by a TV reporter. It was little more than a soundbyte, really. It didn't seem important at the time.
I am reminded of this because I got a phone call from Isabel today. She had seen me on television - a brief clip of me voicing mild discomfort over woodland screams. She said it had taken her weeks to finally track me down - more due to business on her part than in any real snags in the process itself.
We spent several hours catching up. She's been doing some writing too. I elected to omit details of my experiences over the last month, especially the part about how I suspected that cannibals had stolen some of the notes for my latest project.
I did tell her about my wish. I had wished (just three days ago - it seems like much more time has passed) that she would come back into my life.
She told me that she had recently gotten divorced. She had come to the conclusion that an unhappy relationship would make for unhappy children, and do no good for anybody involved.
I asked her if she'd like to bring the kids up for the weekend. She immediately agreed. By the time we finally hung up our phones my head was spinning with the wonder of it all.
Full of anticipatory energy, I stopped by the school to see what the official word on Andy was. I was told that he was missing and that people were combing the woods for him. I offered to help, just because it seemed to be the proper thing to say, and was told that I was welcome to join in. I spent some time pretending to look, beating back bushes and calling Andy's name. I'm not sure why I didn't tell anybody I'd seen him. I think it's because I'd said I wouldn't. I always keep my promises, even when made in haste. On the surface, Andy is a boy in much need of help, but it seems to me that he's found his own sort of help. I feel sorry for anybody else who has wronged him. I suppose that deep down inside I'm scared of making him angry. If I told on him, would I wake up one night to find my house full of unwanted guests?
After what seemed like a reasonable amount of time "searching", I said my goodbyes and left, feeling half guilty and half satisfied about my exclusive information concerning the strange goings-on.
Then I got to thinking that maybe my information isn't so exclusive. Maybe more people know. Certainly there is plenty of incentive to keep quiet. Pick a reason. I wonder how many of the people who live in this neck of the woods know how to make wishes come true? It gives me an idea for another research project. I'll have to think how to set it up without making people suspicious.
I'll worry about all of that later though. Isabel and her boys will be here at the end of the week. I've got to clean the house for my long anticipated and hoped for company.