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  • Writer's picturedonnafrasca

The Right Side of My Brain Gets Activated


Growing up, I did the usual things kids did, like go to school, play with dolls, fight with my brother, and, yes, I also was able to complete my baton lessons after my nasty bout of measles. For the most part, my childhood was somewhat normal, but there were things that now, as an adult, I noticed not every kid my age was doing.


After recouping from the measles, I told my parents that I wanted to paint and draw. Somehow, the creative sector of my brain, that mighty righty, was activated beyond what standard skills entailed, especially for a ten-year-old kid.


I always liked drawing, and to this day, I drool when I see a box of 64 Crayola crayons. I colored and colored and colored. I went through coloring book after coloring book like they were you-know-what through a goose. My mom finally wound up buying me a JUMBO coloring book that, if my memory serves me, looked to be about two inches thick. I know everything looks bigger when we are kids but, needless to say, it was a biggie. That book kept me busy for a while.


We went to Grandma’s house every Sunday. It was about an hour’s drive from Port Jefferson Station, Long Island to Great Neck, New York. My mom would buy me a new coloring book for the day, and with luck, I had enough crayons and the colors I needed to fill the pages. I’d color in my book all day until it was time to go home. I’ll tell you this, as I sat at Grandma’s table, my subconscious was soaking up every detail of that room, small details such as the fantastic semi-gloss yellow on the walls and a crocheted dog’s head covering the Manischewitz wine bottle. I took in all the colors in her tablecloths. Remember the ones with the maps on them like our grandma’s had? I often wondered if my grandparents traveled to those places on the tablecloth or if it just represented places that were on their Bucket List that they knew they’d never complete. I guess I’ll never know that answer.


One of my fondest memories was the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and I knew someday when I was old enough to drink it, I’d complete that unique sensory experience of its smell and taste in my own home. But, unbeknownst to me at the time, that smell of coffee was the key to connecting to my passed Grandmother. It was our special connection.


The red vinyl of the chairs felt cold as I sat at the small kitchen table. They became sticky and stuck to the back of my legs on hot summer days since there was no such thing as air conditioning. The air conditioning in my grandparents’ house was how high or low you could adjust the windows so the breeze could come in. The table was positioned by a wall that had a small window that looked outside to the backyard. There was a huge, and I mean huge, tree that dominated that view. It was a Linden tree known for a sweet-smelling flower and leaves used to make tea. That would be the tea everyone drank when they got sick. As I sat with my family at the table, eating, listening, and observing, my senses came alive. My nose picked up everything from the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee, pot roast on the stove, and even the smell of a pewter cow that held the milk for their coffee. Who smells pewter? I was drawn to this hand-sized milk holding apparatus, and for some odd reason, I had to smell it. I loved its cold gray color and how the pewter felt solid and soft at the same time. I felt everything and smelled everything that caught my eye. Why did I have to smell everything? Why did I do this? I don’t know, but it was weird! Was this the start of my clairalience (translates to clear smelling) in training? I’m sure it was, but I didn’t know it at the time. For some forty-odd years later, this would stay very fresh in my mind.


Looking back at the impressionable days, I now realize that this was more than just visiting my grandparents on Sundays. I was getting lessons in sharpening my senses, what today has become my very proficient senses, and what I call “The Clairs.”


From the day we are born, everything we do and everything we experience is for a reason and will someday reveal its purpose. Some of us will find that purpose later in life if we’re lucky. As I write this book and review my life events, I realize that I’ve been going to what I call a spirituality school my entire life.


 

I'll be sharing snip-it's from the book I wrote, From Color To The Cosmos: Inside The Mind Of A Medium, available in my shop if you'd like a signed copy or in Amazon.

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