Planets in Retrograde -- The Basics
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	My Mother's Attic by Fran Hafey / Mysti Mystickblue
Astrology, Tarot, and Self Improvement for the New Age.

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My Mother's Attic
by Fran Hafey / Mysti

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Today I went to visit my Mother, for Mother's Day. There were other family members there too. We congregated at her, and my Father's home, in the country, in the same house I grew up in. We moved there when I was about a year old. The one thing about this house I remember really well, was the attic. It had large, wide stairs, that went up into it, and there was a couple of windows. This was not an old country home, it was a block house, that was about tento twenty years old, roughly, in the Sixties, when they bought it, but it was small and my Dad added three big rooms onto it for his growing family.

So, the attic covered the older part of the house. For some reason, I loved the attic. I loved going up into it, and seemed to even be drawn to it as a very young child. I was very young, but somehow found my way up to the attic. I even fell down the stairs a few times, after adventuring up there, but it never stopped me and my curiosity. It had a big door, but I always seemed to know how to open it, even though the knob was a tricky one. My Mother was scared of the stairs, and my Father would get angry when I would go up there sometimes. But I loved going up and looking through all the wonderful things my Mother had placed there.

There was a big trunk that belonged to her parents, that held many treasures and memories about the Grandparents I didn't remember, that passed away before I was two years of age. She kept material to sew with, and there were old records, magazines, books, toys, pictures and clothes too. There were so many memories in that attic, and sometimes even hiding places for Christmas or Birthday presents. I was never afraid of going up to the attic, even when there were bees or spiders, and even an occasional snake that would climb the ivy up the big stone chimney and find his way in, to shed his skin.

I never saw them and they never bothered me. When it was cold outside, it was usually cold in the attic too, and if it was hot outside, it was sweltering. I still loved going up there, just lying on an old blanket or quilt and talking to the friends I could not see, or reading a book. There is still, white crayon or chalk on a low rafter, that bears my name, that I wrote, when I was just learning to write. I was not afraid of much, well, yes, I was. I was always afraid of the basement.

It was dark and dank, and I didn't like the feeling I got from it, all cold and uninviting. I always felt that something or someone was following me up the stairs, when I would come up alone. So, the attic was my choice, with the old dolls, toys and things we had outgrown. Each, I am sure, had a story to tell. I still like attics, and lofts. I love houses with them, and crows nests. But today, amongst the noise and people coming and going, I remember feeling a pulling to just go up to the attic and find some solitude and quiet time.

The muffled sounds of people talking below, but me, up in the attic, just remembering some good times, bad times, important times, and those times, when I would hear my Mother calling me, and I was quietly hiding up in the attic, away from the world. We all need a place to retreat to now and then. Mine was always the attic and out in the woods amongst the trees. But I know the attic would not have as many memories as it once did, but still I felt a tug on my Inner Child's heart, to go up those stairs and just sit for a while. Maybe one day I will figure it out, but for now, I have many fond memories of my Mother's attic.

(c) 2007 Fran Hafey, All rights reserved.

Fran Hafey is a Spiritual Counselor, Writer, Healer, Earth Activist and Lightworker. She provides guidance and inspiration via her Website, groups and newsletter through the Internet and other Resources. To read more of her articles visit the Author's Website: MystickBlue or Spiritual Pathways

She's currently working on publishing her own books about Love, peace Inspiration, magic, Soul connections and nature stories for Children of all ages.

A tragic irony of life is that we so often achieve success or financial independence
after the chief reason for which we sought it has passed away.
~ Ellen Glasgow ~
Pulitzer Prize winner, 1942
The Barren Ground
The Sheltered Life
Born April 22, 1874

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Last updated March 4th, 2007

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