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Mary and James Hanna are writers who live in the San Francisco Bay Area.
Mary C. Hanna
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James E. Hanna
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My mother's aura goes snap, crackle and pop
If you're one of those people who can see auras around people, don't approach
my Mom without sunglasses and a can of Static Guard.
What's an aura, you ask? (And you call yourself a Californian!) Here's what I'm talking about: There are those among us who see waves of color around our earthly bodies, supposedly indicating the state of our well-being. There are also people who can tell your fortune by feeling the bumps on your head, but that's another column.
According to believers in such things, a blue aura indicates a spiritual bent, an orange aura means an emotional nature, and so on through all the colors of the rainbow Some advanced aura-readers have broken down the spectrum into more colors than Sherwin-Williams.
One particularly artistic psychic I found claims to have seen a lavender aura around people who have had a near-death experience (not purple, not lilac, lavender). He also sees ultramarine around sailors, surfers, and people who are around the sea. A copper aura is common "around people in the mining industry." Call me cynical, but isn't this guy just a tad LITERAL for a psychic?
Not even Sherwin-Williams has a name for the shimmering hues surrounding my mother's body. Her aura, while not visible to the likes of me, must surely be crackling like a live wire. How do I know this? Mom can break a toaster, fry a computer, or stop a clock just by walking into the room.
I've personally witnessed this phenomenon. I was with her once when she spent hours shopping for just the right shoes, only to have the cash register break down just as she stepped up to the counter. "This has never happened before!" the cashier cried, as the display flashed random numbers and the tape spewed out of its own accord.
Cash registers are not the only casualties of Mom's electrical force field. She has crippled computers (mine), zapped televisions (her own), and fouled up phones (numerous). She's a walking remote control. She can turn off a CD player from the next room. She can open garage doors with her thoughts.
Needless to say, she's extremely careful around anything with a plug. Mr. Coffee is in mortal danger from her mere touch, so Dad brews the java in their house. They can't have an electric blanket -- the last one caught fire and burned a hole in the mattress. They refuse to get a cordless phone or a DVD player for fear Mom would mess up their mechanisms. You know those anti-static pouches they pack circuit boards in? Mom has a suit made out of that same material. She wears when she goes to Best Buy. She isn't crazy about it, but they have a restraining order.
My mother has learned to live her electro-magnetic field, but it's been difficult. She got so tired of being strip-searched at airports that she started telling the security guys it was the metal plate in her head that was setting off the sensors. When we were kids my sister and I used to beg her to turn the radio on and off without using her hands, just for our own amusement. We were not entrepreneurial children, or we would have charged our friends a quarter to see it.
If she were able to control her powers, Mom could be on Letterman, but occasionally, without warning, her powers go dormant. During these periods, she always thinks they have gone away and she can live a normal life. During one quiescent period, she tried to program their VCR. She followed the instructions to the letter, confident that she would have Masterpiece Theatre on tape for future enjoyment.
A week later, she plugged in the tape, re-wound
it, and settled in for a little culture. She got porn instead. She had
somehow taped the Playboy channel. And she doesn't even have cable.
We're hoping she will learn to harness her power to make machines go haywire.
For her 80th birthday, we're taking Mom to Vegas. If one touch of her
finger means instant death to a microwave, I'll bet she can pop open those
nickel slots without even trying.
This column appeared in the San Mateo
County TImes on February 16, 2004
©
2004 Mary C. Hanna