Basement? Cellar might be a more appropriate word--especailly since that is how we referred to it...the cellar. It was unfinished, with a concrete floor and cinder block walls. It flooded on occasion, so the washer, dryer, my dad's work bench, and the hot water heater were up off the floor. The cellar was lit by four single, bare light bulb fixtures--one in each quadrant. One we could turn on from upstairs and the other 3 had pull chains. At night it was a creepy place.
I made frequent trips to the cellar to move clothes from the washer to the dryer and to bring clothes up from the dryer. That was a regular chore. During one night time trip to the cellar to get clothes from the dryer, it felt more creepy than usual. This was many months after I spotted a ghost in the attic. Nothing strange had happened in the meantime, so I had no reason to feel weird about being in the cellar. But I did. Dread would be too strong a word, but it was something along those lines.
I hurried a little and tried to show no fear. Did I mention I was 8? Anyway, I filled the clothes basket--which was as big as I was--turned off the light and headed for the stairs. In my haste, I slipped when I was halfway up the stairs. I started falling backwards with the laundry basket on my chest. I gasped, holding my breath in anticipation of the impact--the impact of my skull on the concrete floor. But instead of falling, I felt something touch both of my shoulder blades...like two hands catching me. Suddenly I was standing straight up again, just a few steps down from where I had fallen. As before, it all happened so quickly I wasn't sure what HAD happened.
Did my grandmother just save my life? Or at age 8 did I have the reflexes of a cat and catch myself? Since my hands were clutching the laundry basket and the basket itself was laying across my chest, I don't see how I possibly could have caught myself. Someone...something saved me that night. I like to think it was my grandmother. This was my only odd experience in the cellar...but as I reached my teen years, odd things started happenning in the attic. I'll cover that next time.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Ghost Stories - My First Sighting
According to family history (my mother!), my parent's house was haunted by my father's mother. She didn't get to see their house while she was alive, so she took up residence "later".
During summers, we placed a large fan in the window at the top of the stairs leading up to my sisters' bedroom. We put the fan on "exhaust" and it pulled air through the house from the open windows downstairs. I enjoyed standing in front of the fan and talking "through" it...the fan chopped up my words and I thought it sounded cool.
So one evening I'm standing there on the landing, shouting out through the fan to one of my brothers in the yard. I was having fun. I know, I was a simple kid. I think I was 6. After standing there a few minutes, something caught my eye from the right side. I turned to see a woman floating towards me along the bannister. She had dark hair and a white dress (the official uniform of female ghosts). I'm not 100% sure what happened next. One second I was looking at her, scared to death, and the next I was at the bottom of the stairs on my butt. It happened so fast, I think I might have jumped. Anyway, I got out of the house as quickly as I could. I told my brother what I saw and he just laughed at me. All of my siblings did. But not my mom. When I told her, her eyes got big and she told me it was my father's mother. She also told me I wasn't allowed to tell my dad about it. Apparently the story of his mom haunting us made him mad. I never mentioned it to him.
For years I thought I was the only one who had seen the ghost. But 20 years later one of my sisters finally admitted she had seen exactly the same thing in exactly the same spot. She didn't say anything earlier because she was afraid people would think she was crazy.
After my sisters had all moved out, my brothers and I moved into their old bedroom upstairs. I had two other experiences up there--and one case of actual physical contact. I will share those stories about my parent's attic after I share one story about their basement!
During summers, we placed a large fan in the window at the top of the stairs leading up to my sisters' bedroom. We put the fan on "exhaust" and it pulled air through the house from the open windows downstairs. I enjoyed standing in front of the fan and talking "through" it...the fan chopped up my words and I thought it sounded cool.
So one evening I'm standing there on the landing, shouting out through the fan to one of my brothers in the yard. I was having fun. I know, I was a simple kid. I think I was 6. After standing there a few minutes, something caught my eye from the right side. I turned to see a woman floating towards me along the bannister. She had dark hair and a white dress (the official uniform of female ghosts). I'm not 100% sure what happened next. One second I was looking at her, scared to death, and the next I was at the bottom of the stairs on my butt. It happened so fast, I think I might have jumped. Anyway, I got out of the house as quickly as I could. I told my brother what I saw and he just laughed at me. All of my siblings did. But not my mom. When I told her, her eyes got big and she told me it was my father's mother. She also told me I wasn't allowed to tell my dad about it. Apparently the story of his mom haunting us made him mad. I never mentioned it to him.
For years I thought I was the only one who had seen the ghost. But 20 years later one of my sisters finally admitted she had seen exactly the same thing in exactly the same spot. She didn't say anything earlier because she was afraid people would think she was crazy.
After my sisters had all moved out, my brothers and I moved into their old bedroom upstairs. I had two other experiences up there--and one case of actual physical contact. I will share those stories about my parent's attic after I share one story about their basement!
Monday, August 17, 2009
Ghost Stories - The Invitation
My parent's house was haunted...according to my mother. I had a few unusual experiences in the house myself while growing up, but the first incident happened before I was born. This story is my mother's.
My parent's finished building a house just after their 4th child was born. He was a baby when they moved in (I was #6). Unfortunately, my dad's mother passed away before the house was finished. She had really wanted to see it, but didn't get the chance. At least not while she was alive.
About two weeks after they moved in, my mother had one very annoying afternoon. As she was trying to get her work done, someone kept knocking on the front door. She answered the door the first time to find no one standing there. It happened a second time. The third time it happened she was getting annoyed. She thought her niece or nephew from next door was playing a game with her. So the third time she answered the door she also opened the storm door and said, "Look, if you want to come in, come in. But stop knocking on this door!!!" The knocking stopped.
A half-hour later she was cleaning the tub in the bathroom. Someone turned out the bathroom light. She looked, but saw no one there. She assumed one of her kids had played a little joke on her. She turned the light back on. After she started cleaning again, the light went off again. Once again annoyed, she went in search of the prankster. But the only child tall enough to reach the light switch was not yet home from school. Weird!
Soon she needed to go into the cellar to start a load of laundry. Each of the four quadrants of the cellar had a single, bare light bulb. One could be turned on by a switch in the kitchen and the other three had pull chains to turn them on and off--including the one over the washing machine. My mother started the washing machine, turned off the light and headed back upstairs. As she approached the top of the stairs, the washer stopped. So back down she went to re-start it. Do I even need to say what happened next? That's right, she got to the top of the stairs and the washer stopped again...except this time the light was back on too!
How frustrated was my mom at that point? Haha! For some reason, she felt it was her deceased mother-in-law, come to explore the house. So she shouted, "You're welcome to visit, but STOP playing with everything. I have too much to do!!!"
The mysterious aggravations all stopped after that. At least for a little while. My mom never had any more experiences, but I had 3 or 4 (or 5) experiences that I cannot explain. Some were scary and some were helpful. If anyone's interested, I'll share those in future postings.
My parent's finished building a house just after their 4th child was born. He was a baby when they moved in (I was #6). Unfortunately, my dad's mother passed away before the house was finished. She had really wanted to see it, but didn't get the chance. At least not while she was alive.
About two weeks after they moved in, my mother had one very annoying afternoon. As she was trying to get her work done, someone kept knocking on the front door. She answered the door the first time to find no one standing there. It happened a second time. The third time it happened she was getting annoyed. She thought her niece or nephew from next door was playing a game with her. So the third time she answered the door she also opened the storm door and said, "Look, if you want to come in, come in. But stop knocking on this door!!!" The knocking stopped.
A half-hour later she was cleaning the tub in the bathroom. Someone turned out the bathroom light. She looked, but saw no one there. She assumed one of her kids had played a little joke on her. She turned the light back on. After she started cleaning again, the light went off again. Once again annoyed, she went in search of the prankster. But the only child tall enough to reach the light switch was not yet home from school. Weird!
Soon she needed to go into the cellar to start a load of laundry. Each of the four quadrants of the cellar had a single, bare light bulb. One could be turned on by a switch in the kitchen and the other three had pull chains to turn them on and off--including the one over the washing machine. My mother started the washing machine, turned off the light and headed back upstairs. As she approached the top of the stairs, the washer stopped. So back down she went to re-start it. Do I even need to say what happened next? That's right, she got to the top of the stairs and the washer stopped again...except this time the light was back on too!
How frustrated was my mom at that point? Haha! For some reason, she felt it was her deceased mother-in-law, come to explore the house. So she shouted, "You're welcome to visit, but STOP playing with everything. I have too much to do!!!"
The mysterious aggravations all stopped after that. At least for a little while. My mom never had any more experiences, but I had 3 or 4 (or 5) experiences that I cannot explain. Some were scary and some were helpful. If anyone's interested, I'll share those in future postings.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
My Grandma
I hope you have memories of a grandmother. One of mine died before I was born, but I’ve been thinking about the one I remember...my mother’s mother. We called her Nanny. She was one of 11 children. Her dad died when she was very young and her family was dirt poor. They lived in a tiny shack and some of the older kids helped keep the family going...some of them just took off. One of her jobs when she was growing up was to walk along the train tracks near her house and pick up pieces of coal that had fallen out of the coal cars as the trains went past. Her family used the coal to cook and heat their house in the winter. (Note: She told me that story when I was very young. Worried our house would get too cold, I got a bucket and did the same thing--picked up coal along the train tracks. I didn’t know we had an oil furnace and no way to use coal. Haha!)
As a teenager, my grandma worked as a maid in the local mansion. Her older brother worked in the stables and helped her get the job. She had lots of stories about the family she worked for and the house. She swore it was haunted. The biggest story involved the couple's son--it happened in New York, not in the mansion where my grandma worked. One night he came home late and his wife shot him, thinking he was a burglar. I think Ann-Margret played the shooter in the movie.
My grandma married the son of a farmer. She loved the land...and she loved grandpa (Pop)! The farm was successful. My grandfather and his brother were in business with their father--Pop Steve. Pop Steve was a widower and a heavy drinker. One Friday he took the train to Baltimore to tie one on. He came home on Sunday married to the lady who owned his favorite bar. The family didn’t like her, but they made the best of it. Six months into the marriage, “that woman” (as Nanny called her) said she needed go into Baltimore one afternoon. She fixed Pop Steve’s dinner and then got on the train. My grandma warmed up the dinner for him and then she went home to get dinner for her family. The next day Pop Steve was dead and “that woman” owned the family farm and the business’ bank account. She cleaned out the account, sold the farm and moved back to Baltimore. My grandparents (and my grandfather’s brother and sister) were left with about 8 acres each and not much money.
My grandmother took it harder than my grandfather did. He wanted to be a carpenter, not a farmer. But Nanny was so mad she never allowed “that woman’s” name to cross her lips for the rest of her life. I don’t even know the woman’s name. My grandparent’s built a small house at the corner of their property where the train tracks crossed the county road. Next they built a tiny store right next door. They did well enough to survive, but never made any real money with the store. As each of their children got married, my grandparents offered them an acre of land behind their store and my grandfather helped them build a house. We had a homemade subdivision. My great-uncle built a house on his land next to the store and his sister built a house next to his. Later my uncle sold the rest of his land to a nice family--the family I helped rake leaves until the mom took away my rake.
Before I was born, Nanny made Pop build a small apartment on the back of their store for them to live in. She gave their house to her baby boy--the man couldn’t hold a job. He rewarded his parent’s by selling the house and blowing the money on booze. Starting after Pop died (I was 7 or 8), on Sunday evenings that uncle would come to the store to get his groceries for the week. My grandma had a “credit board.” Some of the regulars had their own nail (yes, a nail ) sticking out of the board where we would stick the adding machine tape for their purchases. They could pick up stuff during the week and pay on Saturday. My folks had the nail in the upper right-hand corner. My uncle had a nail too. I guess I could be a bit of a punk, because I used to follow my uncle out into the closed store to watch what he took and make sure he rang it up and put the tape on the nail. I knew he wasn’t going to pay, but I wanted him to know how much he was taking and that I knew how much he was taking.
But I’m getting off track, this is about Nanny. She cared about people, but she wasn’t soft about it--except with that one son of hers. She expected people to do the best they could for themselves and for others. She saw right and wrong clearly and didn’t have much patience for people who tried to take advantage of other people. She could be a character too. She had many ghost stories, but refused to discuss whether aliens had visited earth--she even got nervous if other people talked about it. I asked her what happened to make her feel that way, but of course she wouldn’t talk about it--and told me I shouldn’t. That weirdness aside, she was also a good actress. She and I would be talking and laughing--she felt great. But if the phone rang it was someone she had not heard from in a while, she would go into her “old lady” routine. “Oh, I don’t know how much longer I’ll make it. I thought the Lord was going to take me last night, but I prayed he would let me stay a little longer so I could have a chance to see {insert name of person on the phone} one more time.” I would have to go out into the store to keep from laughing in the background and ruining her performance. She was really something. She ran the store until she was 85 and then “retired” to a small apartment next door to one of her daughters. She lived there, pretty much independent and taking care of herself, until she was 95. The fellow who bought the store from her failed miserably. By that time there were too many grocery stores and 7-11’s near by. Her customers were just coming in to the store to see her the last 5 or 10 years she was there.
I only remember her getting mad at me one time. I was in the second grade and living with her. I had a dime and decided to buy 10 fireballs from her to sell in school. I started selling them at 2 cents, but the last one went for a nickel. I rolled the profits back into the business and started buying more fireballs and selling them to my classmates. One morning Nanny noticed the 2nd bag in my hand as I left for school (the other was lunch) and wanted to know what was in it. I told her what I was doing and she put a stop to it. She felt if I was selling fireballs at school, the kids wouldn’t come to her store. I explained I was helping her sell more fireballs by taking them to school. Guess who lost that discussion? Haha! She made me empty the bag back into her box of fireballs…I don’t think I got my money back either. She was mad. But that was a small thing. I don’t think I can explain how great it was living with her. In addition to spending time with her, there were some pretty cool perks. How many elementary school kids get to select and slice whatever lunch meat they want to have for lunch at school the next day? Or learn about rotating stock? Or get to keep whatever money they find on the floor while sweeping up after closing? For some reason there was always more money under the potato chip rack than the bread rack. There was an old buffalo nickel stuck under the ice cream box that I worked on getting for years. One day I was finally strong enough to lift the box and get the nickel. That was the start of my very lame coin collection. But the coins have meaning to me--especially that one.
I learned a lot from Nanny. She had me help older customers and stressed moms get their bags to the car. She sent me to shovel snow off widows sidewalks and driveways. She had me look after clumsy cousins who were targets of bullies in school. I wouldn’t have learned that as well at home. My dad helped people out of a sense of obligation and complained about it every time. I was so lucky to have had the chance to live with Nanny and have her live nearby so that I could spend time with her and help her in the store even when I was living at home. I feel like I had two mothers.
My wife has always said that when we met I was 15-going-on-40. I think my grandmother was responsible for that.
As a teenager, my grandma worked as a maid in the local mansion. Her older brother worked in the stables and helped her get the job. She had lots of stories about the family she worked for and the house. She swore it was haunted. The biggest story involved the couple's son--it happened in New York, not in the mansion where my grandma worked. One night he came home late and his wife shot him, thinking he was a burglar. I think Ann-Margret played the shooter in the movie.
My grandma married the son of a farmer. She loved the land...and she loved grandpa (Pop)! The farm was successful. My grandfather and his brother were in business with their father--Pop Steve. Pop Steve was a widower and a heavy drinker. One Friday he took the train to Baltimore to tie one on. He came home on Sunday married to the lady who owned his favorite bar. The family didn’t like her, but they made the best of it. Six months into the marriage, “that woman” (as Nanny called her) said she needed go into Baltimore one afternoon. She fixed Pop Steve’s dinner and then got on the train. My grandma warmed up the dinner for him and then she went home to get dinner for her family. The next day Pop Steve was dead and “that woman” owned the family farm and the business’ bank account. She cleaned out the account, sold the farm and moved back to Baltimore. My grandparents (and my grandfather’s brother and sister) were left with about 8 acres each and not much money.
My grandmother took it harder than my grandfather did. He wanted to be a carpenter, not a farmer. But Nanny was so mad she never allowed “that woman’s” name to cross her lips for the rest of her life. I don’t even know the woman’s name. My grandparent’s built a small house at the corner of their property where the train tracks crossed the county road. Next they built a tiny store right next door. They did well enough to survive, but never made any real money with the store. As each of their children got married, my grandparents offered them an acre of land behind their store and my grandfather helped them build a house. We had a homemade subdivision. My great-uncle built a house on his land next to the store and his sister built a house next to his. Later my uncle sold the rest of his land to a nice family--the family I helped rake leaves until the mom took away my rake.
Before I was born, Nanny made Pop build a small apartment on the back of their store for them to live in. She gave their house to her baby boy--the man couldn’t hold a job. He rewarded his parent’s by selling the house and blowing the money on booze. Starting after Pop died (I was 7 or 8), on Sunday evenings that uncle would come to the store to get his groceries for the week. My grandma had a “credit board.” Some of the regulars had their own nail (yes, a nail ) sticking out of the board where we would stick the adding machine tape for their purchases. They could pick up stuff during the week and pay on Saturday. My folks had the nail in the upper right-hand corner. My uncle had a nail too. I guess I could be a bit of a punk, because I used to follow my uncle out into the closed store to watch what he took and make sure he rang it up and put the tape on the nail. I knew he wasn’t going to pay, but I wanted him to know how much he was taking and that I knew how much he was taking.
But I’m getting off track, this is about Nanny. She cared about people, but she wasn’t soft about it--except with that one son of hers. She expected people to do the best they could for themselves and for others. She saw right and wrong clearly and didn’t have much patience for people who tried to take advantage of other people. She could be a character too. She had many ghost stories, but refused to discuss whether aliens had visited earth--she even got nervous if other people talked about it. I asked her what happened to make her feel that way, but of course she wouldn’t talk about it--and told me I shouldn’t. That weirdness aside, she was also a good actress. She and I would be talking and laughing--she felt great. But if the phone rang it was someone she had not heard from in a while, she would go into her “old lady” routine. “Oh, I don’t know how much longer I’ll make it. I thought the Lord was going to take me last night, but I prayed he would let me stay a little longer so I could have a chance to see {insert name of person on the phone} one more time.” I would have to go out into the store to keep from laughing in the background and ruining her performance. She was really something. She ran the store until she was 85 and then “retired” to a small apartment next door to one of her daughters. She lived there, pretty much independent and taking care of herself, until she was 95. The fellow who bought the store from her failed miserably. By that time there were too many grocery stores and 7-11’s near by. Her customers were just coming in to the store to see her the last 5 or 10 years she was there.
I only remember her getting mad at me one time. I was in the second grade and living with her. I had a dime and decided to buy 10 fireballs from her to sell in school. I started selling them at 2 cents, but the last one went for a nickel. I rolled the profits back into the business and started buying more fireballs and selling them to my classmates. One morning Nanny noticed the 2nd bag in my hand as I left for school (the other was lunch) and wanted to know what was in it. I told her what I was doing and she put a stop to it. She felt if I was selling fireballs at school, the kids wouldn’t come to her store. I explained I was helping her sell more fireballs by taking them to school. Guess who lost that discussion? Haha! She made me empty the bag back into her box of fireballs…I don’t think I got my money back either. She was mad. But that was a small thing. I don’t think I can explain how great it was living with her. In addition to spending time with her, there were some pretty cool perks. How many elementary school kids get to select and slice whatever lunch meat they want to have for lunch at school the next day? Or learn about rotating stock? Or get to keep whatever money they find on the floor while sweeping up after closing? For some reason there was always more money under the potato chip rack than the bread rack. There was an old buffalo nickel stuck under the ice cream box that I worked on getting for years. One day I was finally strong enough to lift the box and get the nickel. That was the start of my very lame coin collection. But the coins have meaning to me--especially that one.
I learned a lot from Nanny. She had me help older customers and stressed moms get their bags to the car. She sent me to shovel snow off widows sidewalks and driveways. She had me look after clumsy cousins who were targets of bullies in school. I wouldn’t have learned that as well at home. My dad helped people out of a sense of obligation and complained about it every time. I was so lucky to have had the chance to live with Nanny and have her live nearby so that I could spend time with her and help her in the store even when I was living at home. I feel like I had two mothers.
My wife has always said that when we met I was 15-going-on-40. I think my grandmother was responsible for that.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
You SAID you were going to...
Life is hectic. Once in a while we all forget to do something we said we would do. It’s unfortunate, but it happens. Generally it’s not a big deal. Annoying, but we need to be understanding towards each other. Right? But for some people, not doing what you say you will is a way of life.
I have one brother who is like that. When I was a teenager and he was out on his own, I used to laugh to myself when our dad would ask him to do something...like play tennis. My brother always said sure, but he needed to go home to get his racket. Dad wouldn’t see him again for a week. (My other brother would always tell dad "no", but then end up doing it anyway--that's another story.) Since he’s older, I helped him move many times before I ever asked him to help me move. The first time he said yes, but then I couldn’t find him. During my second move I called to ask where he was and he said he was running late, but would be right over after breakfast. He never showed. Later he said his wife suddenly got sick and he didn’t want to leave her home alone. I could go on and on, but you get the picture. I told my brother I can’t believe him when he says he’s going to do something. He got mad.
I have a co-worker who ends calls by saying she has to go (for a variety of reasons) and will call back you back. She never does. I teased her by asking “What do the words ‘I’ll call you back’ mean to you?” She got mad.
I have another co-worker who always volunteers to handle questions that come up in meetings. But then he doesn't follow through and do the work. The office ends up having to scramble at the last minute to complete the assignment he didn’t do. The guy got a bad evaluation for being unreliable and causing problems completing projects. My co-worker got mad. He thought he should get points for volunteering!
Why do some people think they should not be expected to do the things they say they will do??? It’s such a bad habit. Don’t SAY it if you aren’t going to DO it!!!
Can you tell this is a pet peeve? LOL. I have forgotten about things once in a while, but it’s rare. I’ve always felt it’s important to honor your commitments. One Sunday morning when I was 10, my other brother and I went to ask if the four boys next door could play football. They couldn’t because they had not finished raking the leaves in their yard. We lived near the woods and our houses were surrounded by huge oak trees…so there were LOTS of leaves. My brother and I said we would help them rake and haul the leaves into the woods. Soon we stopped for a light lunch. Two of the brothers didn’t come back out after lunch. A little later my brother and one of the other boys went into the house to get a drink. They didn’t come back. Before long, the last of the neighbor boys had to use the bathroom and didn’t return--I could hear them playing down the street. The boys’ father and I were the only two still working. He told me I could quit, but I told him I said I would help with the leaves and we were not done yet. Shortly after that his wife took the rake away from me and told me to go home. I sat on a tree stump waiting for her to go inside so I could get back to work, but she outlasted me and I finally did go home.
Yes, I was a weird kid. I’m not that stubborn (or dependable) today. But I do try to remember two things:
If you have a job to do…do it!
If you say you are going to do something…DO it!!!
If I tell you I am going to do something, you can bet on it--but only your lunch money, because you never know when fate is going to intervene to stop you! =)
I have one brother who is like that. When I was a teenager and he was out on his own, I used to laugh to myself when our dad would ask him to do something...like play tennis. My brother always said sure, but he needed to go home to get his racket. Dad wouldn’t see him again for a week. (My other brother would always tell dad "no", but then end up doing it anyway--that's another story.) Since he’s older, I helped him move many times before I ever asked him to help me move. The first time he said yes, but then I couldn’t find him. During my second move I called to ask where he was and he said he was running late, but would be right over after breakfast. He never showed. Later he said his wife suddenly got sick and he didn’t want to leave her home alone. I could go on and on, but you get the picture. I told my brother I can’t believe him when he says he’s going to do something. He got mad.
I have a co-worker who ends calls by saying she has to go (for a variety of reasons) and will call back you back. She never does. I teased her by asking “What do the words ‘I’ll call you back’ mean to you?” She got mad.
I have another co-worker who always volunteers to handle questions that come up in meetings. But then he doesn't follow through and do the work. The office ends up having to scramble at the last minute to complete the assignment he didn’t do. The guy got a bad evaluation for being unreliable and causing problems completing projects. My co-worker got mad. He thought he should get points for volunteering!
Why do some people think they should not be expected to do the things they say they will do??? It’s such a bad habit. Don’t SAY it if you aren’t going to DO it!!!
Can you tell this is a pet peeve? LOL. I have forgotten about things once in a while, but it’s rare. I’ve always felt it’s important to honor your commitments. One Sunday morning when I was 10, my other brother and I went to ask if the four boys next door could play football. They couldn’t because they had not finished raking the leaves in their yard. We lived near the woods and our houses were surrounded by huge oak trees…so there were LOTS of leaves. My brother and I said we would help them rake and haul the leaves into the woods. Soon we stopped for a light lunch. Two of the brothers didn’t come back out after lunch. A little later my brother and one of the other boys went into the house to get a drink. They didn’t come back. Before long, the last of the neighbor boys had to use the bathroom and didn’t return--I could hear them playing down the street. The boys’ father and I were the only two still working. He told me I could quit, but I told him I said I would help with the leaves and we were not done yet. Shortly after that his wife took the rake away from me and told me to go home. I sat on a tree stump waiting for her to go inside so I could get back to work, but she outlasted me and I finally did go home.
Yes, I was a weird kid. I’m not that stubborn (or dependable) today. But I do try to remember two things:
If you have a job to do…do it!
If you say you are going to do something…DO it!!!
If I tell you I am going to do something, you can bet on it--but only your lunch money, because you never know when fate is going to intervene to stop you! =)
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Learning Your Limits
As a teenager I had two really unfortunate experiences with alcohol. I’m still waiting for the 3rd. I'm not a teetotaler, but I rarely drink. Between school, working, getting married young, and starting a family I rarely had time. But I do have two good drinking stories and I’d like to share my favorite.
When I was 19, a friend of a friend rented out the 2nd floor of a bar for a private party. At that time I'd only had beer. Since we were going to a bar I wanted to order a real drink--without embarrassing myself. I consulted my older brothers and they suggested I order Black Russians. Vodka and Kahlua. The first one was great and so was the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, etc. I don’t know how many I had. But I remember I thought the waitress was moving slowly so I went to the bar and bought 2. I walked back to our table, started to sit down, and that’s the LAST thing I remember until waking up in my bed the next day.
I couldn’t remember how I got home. My ribs hurt and I’d had this weird dream that I was trapped inside somewhere, banging to get out, and that something was poking me in the back. I looked outside and thankfully my car was NOT in the driveway. That was a relief. It was probably still parked where I met my friends the night before. I showered and then made the 4 mile walk to the car. After getting my car I drove to my buddy Pete’s house. He greeted me with “you’re alive???” and he kept his distance. He kept backing away and circling like we were going to start boxing. I asked what he was doing. He said he thought I might be mad about last night. When I told him I didn't remember anything he started to laugh. At that point our friend Steve drove up. Pete said he would explain, but first he wanted me to pretend I was mad at Steve. I agreed.
As Steve walked towards us I glared at him. He stopped out of reach. He looked very nervous and finally said, “I don't want any trouble. I’m sorry, but someone had to do it and I'd do it again!” I tried to continue looking angry, but I started laughing and admitted I had no idea WHAT he was talking about. Steve was shocked. Then they told me what happened. I don’t know if they told me the truth, but it’s what they told me.
Apparently I did not pass out. My friends managed to get me into the car at the end of the night, but I was not very cooperative. I kept trying to open the car door to get out--I wanted to be alone and walk home. Finally they stopped the car and I hopped out, starting the walk home. They drove ahead of me and pulled over. All four got out to try to get me back in the car. I was feeling anti-social and kept knocking them away. Steve got the idea to open the trunk. At one point the four of them had a hold of me in front of the trunk, but I threw them off. The next time they managed to corral me, Steve punched me in the face. I started laughing and they were able to stuff me in the trunk--it was huge. As they started the drive home I began hitting the trunk lid (the lousy tire jack was poking me in the back--that wasn’t a dream after all).
Halfway home I stopped making noise. My friends were worried something was wrong and they pulled over to check on me. That was nice, but a big mistake! As Steve unlocked the trunk I popped out like a Jack-in-the-Box and ran into the woods. They followed and cursed when I jumped head-first into a pond. As I was swimming to the other side, they decided to circle around on the bank. I got to the other side first and continued my run. They lost sight of me, but then heard me yell a long “aaaaahhh” followed by a loud crash. In the dark I had run straight off a small cliff and I landed on the roof of a shed (hurting my ribs). My friends scampered down and retrieved me--supposedly just as the property owner had come out onto his back porch with a shotgun, yelling “who’s out there???”. I was easier to handle after the fall and they took me home.
Did they tell me the truth or were they teasing me? All I can say in response to that question is that my clothes from that night were still soaking wet (and ruined) the next day. I developed a terrible case of poison ivy and my ribs hurt. And there was the “dream”. I’m sorry to say that all of the evidence backs up their story. I didn’t drink vodka again for YEARS after that experience!!! Did I learn my lesson? I wouldn’t say that exactly. I was young and trying something different. Let’s say I learned my limit--and that too much vodka is dangerous!
When I was 19, a friend of a friend rented out the 2nd floor of a bar for a private party. At that time I'd only had beer. Since we were going to a bar I wanted to order a real drink--without embarrassing myself. I consulted my older brothers and they suggested I order Black Russians. Vodka and Kahlua. The first one was great and so was the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, etc. I don’t know how many I had. But I remember I thought the waitress was moving slowly so I went to the bar and bought 2. I walked back to our table, started to sit down, and that’s the LAST thing I remember until waking up in my bed the next day.
I couldn’t remember how I got home. My ribs hurt and I’d had this weird dream that I was trapped inside somewhere, banging to get out, and that something was poking me in the back. I looked outside and thankfully my car was NOT in the driveway. That was a relief. It was probably still parked where I met my friends the night before. I showered and then made the 4 mile walk to the car. After getting my car I drove to my buddy Pete’s house. He greeted me with “you’re alive???” and he kept his distance. He kept backing away and circling like we were going to start boxing. I asked what he was doing. He said he thought I might be mad about last night. When I told him I didn't remember anything he started to laugh. At that point our friend Steve drove up. Pete said he would explain, but first he wanted me to pretend I was mad at Steve. I agreed.
As Steve walked towards us I glared at him. He stopped out of reach. He looked very nervous and finally said, “I don't want any trouble. I’m sorry, but someone had to do it and I'd do it again!” I tried to continue looking angry, but I started laughing and admitted I had no idea WHAT he was talking about. Steve was shocked. Then they told me what happened. I don’t know if they told me the truth, but it’s what they told me.
Apparently I did not pass out. My friends managed to get me into the car at the end of the night, but I was not very cooperative. I kept trying to open the car door to get out--I wanted to be alone and walk home. Finally they stopped the car and I hopped out, starting the walk home. They drove ahead of me and pulled over. All four got out to try to get me back in the car. I was feeling anti-social and kept knocking them away. Steve got the idea to open the trunk. At one point the four of them had a hold of me in front of the trunk, but I threw them off. The next time they managed to corral me, Steve punched me in the face. I started laughing and they were able to stuff me in the trunk--it was huge. As they started the drive home I began hitting the trunk lid (the lousy tire jack was poking me in the back--that wasn’t a dream after all).
Halfway home I stopped making noise. My friends were worried something was wrong and they pulled over to check on me. That was nice, but a big mistake! As Steve unlocked the trunk I popped out like a Jack-in-the-Box and ran into the woods. They followed and cursed when I jumped head-first into a pond. As I was swimming to the other side, they decided to circle around on the bank. I got to the other side first and continued my run. They lost sight of me, but then heard me yell a long “aaaaahhh” followed by a loud crash. In the dark I had run straight off a small cliff and I landed on the roof of a shed (hurting my ribs). My friends scampered down and retrieved me--supposedly just as the property owner had come out onto his back porch with a shotgun, yelling “who’s out there???”. I was easier to handle after the fall and they took me home.
Did they tell me the truth or were they teasing me? All I can say in response to that question is that my clothes from that night were still soaking wet (and ruined) the next day. I developed a terrible case of poison ivy and my ribs hurt. And there was the “dream”. I’m sorry to say that all of the evidence backs up their story. I didn’t drink vodka again for YEARS after that experience!!! Did I learn my lesson? I wouldn’t say that exactly. I was young and trying something different. Let’s say I learned my limit--and that too much vodka is dangerous!
The two times I had too much to drink (vodka was involved both times) I was very lucky...the worst thing that happened was that I didn't know how I got home and I couldn't confirm or deny any stories about those nights. May all of you be as lucky!!! I selected the picture above because I was a dancing fool that night!
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