Sixth Sense

Flat top of the Maverick from the rolling

I found the photo of my brother's car that he had his accident in when he was a teenager in 1970.  It is a miracle that he is alive.  It was a brand new Ford Maverick, red exterior and black interior.  Quite a snazzy car for a young driver.

My story of this event was my first encounter with a Sixth Sense.  When I hit the age of 13 up until I was 17, I went through a phase of frightening, wake up in the night, dreams on a regular basis.  I dreamt of my Grandmother dying often.  Whether it coincided with my Step-Grandmother telling me that she believed in Reincarnation or that she believed in Channeling and in fact had lived other lives in other times, it certainly laid some mental groundwork in my thoughts.  Once when I was in 4th or 5th grade she visited us and played a tape of her talking about her Channeling experience.  It was creepy and odd to hear her speak this way my having been raised in the Presbyterian Church Sunday School with a strict version of Bible Stories.  We didn't discuss Reincarnation or Channeling or what that was.   I became curious but laid it to rest. 

On the night of the accident I had dreams of my brother being hurt though I couldn't interpret if he had died or not.  It was a troubling sleep where I tried to change my dreams but I kept going back to him.  Somewhere in an awaken moment I heard voices in the house though I knew the hour was late into the night.  I couldn't understand what was being said and fell to sleep hearing their muffled voices.

What happened was that my brother had been in a serious car accident on the Monterey Salinas Highway just at the Laureles Grade.  He had gone out with his girlfriend that night and was returning home to Salinas after he had dropped her off at her home in Pacific Grove when he fell asleep at the wheel.  Amazingly he suffered only minor injuries of a broken rib, scrapes and bruising.  He wasn't wearing a seatbelt and that may have been what saved him.

Falling asleep, in that relaxed state, he slid down and avoided being potential decapitated or certainly seriously injured.  His car rolled and hit a tree in the end.  At the time even though it is a Highway, it was a quiet road at night, mostly just a country road with very few residences.  I don't know how long it was before someone discovered the accident but in the 70's there were no cell phones so someone would have to find a house somewhere to call for help.

In the morning when I came out of my room, I was told that he had been in an accident and in the hospital.  

I was relieved that he was okay but to digest the fact that I had dreamed he had been hurt only to find out that indeed he had been hurt did scare me. How was I to understand that I could have dreamed something and that it happened?  What if more of my dreams became real?  

I like to think that my being a teen helped me to pass through without any residual effect.  I did have good dreams too.  This did have the effect of my interest in spirits, ghosts stories and hauntings outside my church upbringing and what I wanted to believe or question. 

The Fur Coat

For Allegra....because she stirred the visions and meandering thoughts several days ago....

                                                                         *******

We walked into I. Magnin's San Francisco past the perfume department to the rear where the elevators were.  A door opened, a gentlemen held the door saying "Going up" and we walked inside.  

"What floor ladies?" as he turned to those of us in the elevator.  Up the elevator went and at every floor as the elevator stopped he would say what was on that floor.  

We disembarked on the floor we wanted and I followed close on my mom's heels to where she led me.  We were greeted warmly by a nicely dressed woman.  My mother explained that she had been to a charity event and had bid on and won a fur jacket.  Yes, we were in the fur salon.  This was long before PETA began it's vocal anger towards those who bought furs and those who flaunted them when they wore them.  This was when a mink coat meant something, especially a full length one.

We waited in the large open area that was the fur salon.  There were white chairs and settee's to sit upon and an oval white coffee table with high end magazines on display.  Oversize windows looked out to Union Square.  There were short racks for items to be hung on but they were empty.

Another lady came out a side door greeting my mother.  The lady asked a few questions and made some small talk with us and then went back through the door.

The intent was that I was to be given the won fur jacket.  My mom did not know what it looked like but she thought it was youthful looking and would not be her style, hence the reason I was with her.  The last place I imagined myself was in a fur salon.  I always felt furs were for old women, wealthy older women like my mom, not someone barely in her 20's.  Still I found it intriguing enough to go along.


When the lady came out she held out towards us on a padded hanger a shaggy sheep jacket.  It was hideous.  My mom took one look at it and was quick to ask if it was possible to choose a different jacket.  The lady was restrained enough to not even give us a look that might have shown offense.  She was cool and polite.  She left us once again to speak to someone.  My mom and I talked amongst ourselves about the jacket that she left out on the rack for us to look at.  I would never wear this and felt like we should just give it to someone else.  No, my mom was not leaving till I had a respectable fur jacket.  


This time the lady came out and said that we could put this jacket towards another one.  Fine.  With that we were asked to sit down and she would bring out some items for us to view.  

I had no idea what I was in for.


The variety of fur coats came out and put on the rack.  I was asked to stand up and try them on.  I should say that I was asked to stand and they were put on me.  I have never had such a sensation as trying on fur.  At once it feels decadent but the lightness of them surprised me.  I had assumed they would be heavy.  The silky satin lining slipped on my arms and shoulders easily followed by the brushing of fur near my checks and on my neck.  Within seconds the warmth and unbelievable comfort of this upon my body made me reluctant to want to take it off.   I can't remember how many I tried on, maybe four but the one I choose in the end was a white fox dyed to look like a lynx jacket.  It was short, fun and I felt incredible in it.  I felt like a different person in it, not the girl I was before I came to this salon.


They said we could pick it up in less than a week after my initials were sewn inside.  Once I had this jacket I tried to wear it but where do I wear it?  I lived in a modest town with lower to middle class blue collar folks.  If any of the women in this town had a fur coat it was old and buried in the depths of their closet with moth balls.  When my Love and I went out I tried to wear it but even then I felt extremely out of place.  I wore it when we went to visit the parents until finally I just didn't wear it.  It was clearly not me.  

We have moved countless times and it is pushed to the back of the hall closet in it's protective cover.  What can I do with it?  I wouldn't get caught dead in it after I learned more about and understood the murder of poor little animals to make a fur coat.  No I couldn't wear it.  I thought of giving it to the Salvation army or to a homeless person in need of warmth but how would they be treated wearing fur?  Would a PETA representative harass them for possessing such a coat?  No, I couldn't do that to someone else.  And so it hangs in the dark with other wool coats I no longer wear that came from I. Magnin's before they went out of business.  


I am not a fur coat woman.