Friday, September 25, 2009

Good News

Father called me yesterday. I didn't give him enough faith or credit. He hasn't been ignoring me, although I wouldn't blame him. Like I said I must have looked like a whack job when I rushed him demanding his help. He's simply overwhelmed. He'll be here on Tuesday. Thank God.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Wednesday Evening Catch Up, and I Don't Mean Condiments!

As I said in the last post, we had a very big weekend. Friday, after the filming, I attended my 40th grammar school reunion. Damn those people got old. Only kidding. It was a wonderful affair.
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There were 54 kids in my class. After graduating in 1969, I went on to our local high school. My parents had split up at the time, and we were trying to sell our house. We finally moved in December to the town I live in now. I transferred into the same high school where Bill graduated from, and eventually our children. Where I have wonderful memories of my grammar school class, I figured I had lost our connectivity because of the move. I learned the night of the reunion that only about half of the kids I graduated grammar school with went on to graduate from the same high school I first attended. A lot transferred to religous high schools, or moved away as I had. Once we had our reunion, I learned that about half the class had left the State. People came in from Texas, California, Massechusetts, Iowa, etc. Out of 54, about thirty had made it. I also learned that we lost four. One died in a motorcycle accident shortly after high school graduation. Another died of a suspected drug overdose. Yet another had a genetic disease and the last suffered a brain annurism. That was very hard to hear.
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Anyway, we hired a trolley to take us through the old neighborhood, and to pass the homes we lived in in 1969. We stopped at our grammar school and even took a tour. The new principal explained the changes. Where we stopped in what used to be the 7th and 8th grade classrooms, she explained that now the primary grades use the first floor. When we graduated, we moved up to the third floor. It was then what we called 'the branch.' Part of the freshman class then took classes there before moving to the main campus. Now it is 7th and 8th grade. We enjoyed the changes. Mainly the track desks were replaced with modern desks, although the wood floor, complete with nail holes from the tracks, were still bright and shiny. There were WPA murals in the auditoriums. I barely remember them, although knowing they were WPA, I had to take time to examine them. The Principal said that they were just cleaned and restored. They depicted 4 scenes from Illinois history.
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Once we had our fill, we checked out the playground. When we were young, it was black top. Now it is a garden complete with walking path. There is new playground equipment in the back. We wondered aloud about how we played on that blacktop without fracturing our skulls. We each suffered from scraped knees and elbows, but no worse than that.
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We got back on the trolley. Our next stop was the restaurant where we held our graduation dinner. No one could remember what room it was held in, and in fact a lot of us couldn't remember the dinner. I was surprised to be in the half that forgot. It occurred to me later that one of my most precious memories of the wickiest teacher God ever created happened there. This teacher was absolutely hateful. Still, she was possibly the best teacher I ever had. She taught me more about writing than any teacher I ever had. It wasn't until our graduation dinner that I had a moment to talk to her one on one. She was enormously proud of us that night. It surprised me then how much she cared.
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We finally made our way to a country club just inside the Chicago city limits, only blocks from our old school. We took time then to catch up. It was almost funny to see each of us running up to one another, saying, 'How are you? What do you do for a living and how many kids do you have?' We were going to learn as much as we could about each other in the first few minutes. What I enjoyed a lot was that a lot of those who were closest in school sought each other out and stuck together throughout the night. I truly enjoyed myself.
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Saturday night I was invited to an old time sleep over, like what we used to have in 7th and 8th grade. I passed on it because it was Bill's birthday. We threw him a surprise party at a local bar-b-que restaurant. The food was great and he enjoyed himself. He said it was possibly the best birthday he ever had. I'm glad. He deserved as much. Jon paid for it and Becki organized it. I was suppose to do the invites and make the reservation. I couldn't. Bill has control of the phone. Please understand that he isn't a controlling person, just lonely since leaving work. If I were to take the phone in the other room to make calls, he'd be right there, checking on who I was calling and adding his own two cents to our conversation. Needless to say, he'd make it difficult. I'm just glad he enjoyed himself.
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As I said in my last post, I contacted a priest about clearing our yard. He promised to call me Monday. I finally called him. He made an excuse and had his secretary say he'd call back. He never did. I want to be angry with him except for two things. First off, I asked him to do something that is both frightening and odd. I must have sounded like a whack job on Saturday when I charged the Confessional, demanding that he help me. Secondly I don't want to feed my anger into the thing in the yard. If Father has decided that he doesn't want to do this, I will have to accept it. I was told by the 'sensitive' to bless the yard myself. Once I can get some holy water, I will. In the mean time, Sheeba has decided that she is no longer comfortable going back there again.
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I had to work last night. It was an unusual night which I truly enjoyed. You see I have this friend. She's fiesty to say the least. She invited everyone in town to attend a block party on Saturday, which most of us did. I dropped in in spite of all I had to do that day. Her aldermen didn't bother. Last night she got up in front of City Council and demanded their resignations because they didn't represent the people. They never walk her part of the neighborhood except when looking for votes. Why weren't they there? Both alderman took offense. One was out of town that weekend and had told her that he would be. The other claimed he donated money for the party and that she should be thankful for that. My friend got angry and said she would like to talk to him outside. After five minutes of 'bring it, bring it,' from either side, my friend declared, 'don't you dare threaten me! I'm a brown belt in karate! You'll see what happens if you take me outside!'

Sunday, September 20, 2009

I Told You So!

Before I start this, I should point out that Sheeba has decided that she wants nothing to do with the yard. We have to beg her to go out anymore, and literally push her out the door. More often than not, someone will walk her when she has to relieve herself, rather than fight with her. I thought for sure I had spoiled her rotten. Becki though told me how she and Chris pulled up one day and Sheeba was sitting in a lawn chair, and refused to move. Becki said she was terrified, and it wasn't until Becki went in the yard for her, that she came out.
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So as Paul Harvey would say, "And now for the rest of the story."
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We had a big weekend. I posted that other photo because I couldn't figure out how to email it to someone, and I couldn't find it in Kodak. Which relates to what I did on Friday morning.
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Our library and City, working in conjunction with each other (It's a joke if you are familiar with our town), are putting together a Halloween program with one of Chicago's big ghost hunters.
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A few weeks back the paper advertised for volunteers who live in haunted homes to allow a camera crew to film there. Well I volunteered to let them sit outside my home and talk. Most of my ghost stories have to do with what happens outside my home. Along with the ghost hunter, we had two 'sensitives'. I guess that's the new word for 'medium.'
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On the subject of mediums, let me say this. Becki has told me a lot over the years, all of which I've taken with a grain of salt. This stuff is hard to believe, especially when it's your little girl who is blowing your mind away. I love to tell a good ghost story, and I include a lot of what Becki tells me, but it's hard not to be skeptic.
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Anyway, we went to two other houses before coming to ours. At the first, the lady told of how her husband played the piano shortly after his death so her daughter would know he was okay. She told of seeing people on the stairwell, and movement in other places. The sensitives explained what they saw, which pretty well matched up with what the lady saw.
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Anyway, we moved on to the second house. This one was on the same street I live on, but a block down. Jen joined me just as we pulled up at the other house. She wanted to tell her stories, but her mother didn't want to let a camera crew in. So Jen walked Superbaby over in his stroller. As we're coming up to the house, she tells me, "Mom, this street isn't right." I kind of blew her off, thinking she's playing games with me. A few minutes later we came across one of the sensitives. She was leaning against a tree. She starts telling us that when she got out of the car, her feet began to come out from under her. She says, "You see there's no birds or squirrels on this street? There's something wrong with this whole block." I almost lost it. First because of what Jen said, and then because my stories have more to do with what happens outside than what happens inside. (There's enough going on inside my house that I would have called anyway. Outside is worse.) I never quite got the story about what's happening inside the second house before we moved on. I had a lot to concentrate on.
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Anyway, we start moving down the street towards our house when Becki and Chris caught up. Becki said she ran to the train from school because she was afraid of missing the interview. Chris picked her up from the train station and hurried her home. I introduced the newcomers around as we moved.
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Anyway, on to our house. Sensitive # 1 asked if she could see the dog. Well, Sheeba is in the house, barking her fool head off. I went in and put her leach on her and brought her out. The Sensitive #1 took her for a walk. Now at the other two houses Sensitive #2 wandered around, in and out of the houses and around the property, as did Sensitive #1, although #1 spent time with any dogs living in the homes. The pair operated separately, and away from the home owner and others. I mean they didn't just disappear, but as we're talking in the living room, or on the porch, we could see either of these ladies, wandering the yard, or taking the stairs inside. At my house, Sensitive #2 steps out of the car and a few steps away from it. Then she turns around and got back in the car. Okay, she must be tired.
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So we sit down in chair in front of house. As the camera man is setting up for this interview, J.J. walks out of the bushes and rubbed against his leg. Now just imagine. After all of these ghost stories, these sensitives (two very nice ladies, by the way) telling us what they feel and see, and suddenly this guy is greeted by a black cat. He freaked! Sorry it happened, but it was funny.
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We sat down for the interview. I don't remember who decided that Jen and Becki should participate, but I'm glad they did. We told our stories, each one adding our own prospective. About the lady in the hallway, about Fred in the car and the guy peeking in our window at night. Even about Elbows, and the shadow that walks between Lawrence and Mel's sidewalk. And how many times Becki has done it to me where we're walking or driving, and she tells me, "Quick, Mom, take a picture." Sure enough, there's a huge orb somewhere. As I said, I never want to believe her, but just as I think she can't prove it to me again, she does. Anyway, she's telling about her the photos she took, like the one below, or the one on the right side panel of this blog. Someone asks her what she sees and how often. She tells him, once or twice a week she comes across something unusual. Then she says, "There's something wrong with the yard. I hate it. And the garage is worse. The dog hates it, too."
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We finish up with another story, when the director waves Sensitive #1 forward. She's still has my dog in tow. Now my dog is kind of calm. Kind of. Of all the years I've had her, she's never calm around new people. Anyway, Sensitive #1 tells the narrator that the dog hates the yard, and worse yet the garage. That I need to comfort the dog and let her know that it will be all right. And it will, too. Then she tells me that I need to lay salt around the perimeter of the yard and to bless the yard with holy water. Asked why, she said, "I see hooded figures in the yard."
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HUH?
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The narrator asked her, "You mean KKK or something else?"
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She said, "Oh, definitely ceremonial. The yard is bad. The garage is worse."
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I'm having difficulty catching my breath, and my daughter is standing there with her arms crossed. "I told you so." I don't know which is worse knowing. That my yard is haunted with something evil, or that my daughter has been watching this for the past 18 years. Damn! My poor heart!
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So, yard is salted, priest is coming, dog is regularly doing her business in the yard and not afraid to be there. But daughter is still saying, "I told you so!"

Thursday, September 17, 2009