In 1992 I drove school-bus in Boulder, Colorado. When I applied for the job I didn’t own a wristwatch, which was required, so I bought one. After a few weeks I somehow lost the watch and so bought another one. A few weeks after that, I lost that one, too, so I bought a third watch.  Soon after, I found the two watches I lost – I had just misplaced them in my bedroom. So I wore my newest watch and the other two, each less than three months old, sat on top of my dresser. One afternoon while driving the bus, after I had dropped off all the students, I was alone, driving the bus back to the bus yard. Unexpectedly, there was a male voice behind me, over my right shoulder, that said “Go to Dream-time!” I was startled and immediately annoyed that one of the students would have purposely missed his stop by hiding, making it necessary for me to turn around and take him home. “Who’s there?” I asked, scanning the rear-view mirror and seeing no-one in the bus. “Come on,” I said, “Stop hiding. I have to take you home!” There was no answer. So I pulled the bus to the side of the road and parked, got up and walked down the center aisle of the bus, looking in each seat for the student. There was no-one there. Brushing it off as some odd, random thing, I started the bus and resumed driving back to the bus yard. Within a minute or so, the same male voice said “Go to Dream-time!” again. “Who’s there? This is serious. You have to stop hiding and I have to get you home. Where are you?” No answer. I figured this kid must be hiding under one of the seats, so I pulled the bus to the side of the road again, got up and looked above and below every single seat in the bus. No-one was there. I didn’t know what to think. I started driving again and it happened a third time – “Go to Dream-time!” This time, I didn’t say anything and just kept driving. When I got to the bus yard, one of the post-trip requirements is to record the time you arrived. I checked my watch but it had stopped working. When I got home, I picked up another of my watches and it, too, had stopped working. To my relief, my third watch was working. The next morning at 6:00 a.m., when I got up for work, the 3rd watch had stopped working, too. After that, I did two things. Whatever “Dream-time” meant, I felt that I had received a clear message to stop using “regular” time, so I didn’t wear a watch for the following eleven years. Second, I asked around for what “Dream-time” might mean and the only reference I found was that it is a term used by Australian aboriginals. I started reading every book about aboriginals I could get my hands on. I learned some things but not what I was looking for. I feel now that my destiny is in Australia and the answer to the puzzle lies in my seeking out and speaking with some aboriginals. I feel that somehow, even after all these years, if I can make it to Australia, I will be lead to the answer to this puzzle.

Scroll down to see the next story. When you get to the bottom of the page, click on "Previous" to see the previous set of stories.

I come from a family, a very traditional family. We’re German. My parents were born here but their parents were born in Germany. My father died a few years ago. He was very myopic in his views about life. He wasn’t emotional. We lost touch with each other for various reasons. One day, one of my brothers got in touch with me and said “It looks like Dad isn’t going to make it much longer.” So I jumped in an airplane and flew to New England, where they were, and when I got there, my Dad was dead. Of course I started having all these thoughts like “I should have given him another shot.” “He was doing the best he could.” All that kind of stuff. At the funeral, I walked down the aisle, I went up to the casket and I just said “Dad, I hope you have a good trip. I hope it’s positive.” Then I went back and sat in a pew. My aunt, my brother and everyone else was sitting in the rows in front of me. There was no-one on either side of me and no one behind me. All of a sudden, I get this sharp nudge on my back. Boom! It was a strong little shove. I looked around in disbelief. At first I thought someone was hiding in the pew behind me, but I looked and no-one was there. I concluded that it was my Dad saying good-bye to me. 

Scroll down to see the next story. When you get to the bottom of the page, click on "Previous" to see the previous set of stories.

My husband committed suicide ten years ago by jumping off the Fremont Bridge. He was like a Martin Luther King, Jr. or a Ghandi. He was such a good man. Every summer, near his birthday and Father’s Day, I feel his presence and so I hold a day that is just for him. I call it “Joeday” because his name was Joe. So this year for ‘Joeday’ I played music in my house, records. All day I played songs that we both loved and I sang along with every song. I was singing, dancing, shaking asprin bottles as shakers; I was having a good time remembering him and focusing on all our best memories. It was getting into the evening and I wanted to make sure that my music wasn’t bothering my neighbors so I played one last song, our most favorite song, to finish up the day. When the song was over, I looked up and under the apple tree in my front yard was a Native American warrior in full regalia. I thought “I’m having visions.” I looked across the street and there was a parked car full of people, but they were ghostly. I guess in celebrating Joe’s spirit, I attracted a few other spirits as well. 

Scroll down to see the next story. When you get to the bottom of the page, click on "Previous" to see the previous set of stories.

When I went to college in the 1980's, the tuition was a burden. Aside from the scholarships and loans, there was a portion I was supposed to pay and a part that was my mother's responsibility.  Because she worked at such a low-paying job and had no savings to speak of, I paid "her" portion too.  I always worked during the summers, during school vacations and had an on-campus job every year.  One year when tuition was due I was $700 short.  I had been frugal, but there just wasn't enough.  My mother suggested that I play the lottery.  It seemed ridiculous but I bought a ticket.  I matched five out of six numbers.  Typically matching five numbers brought the winner about $1200.  This time though the pot was smaller and I won $699.  My mother felt like I had been ripped off. But who can complain about getting exactly what one needs?

Scroll down to see the next story. When you get to the bottom of the page, click on "Previous" to see the previous set of stories.