Archives
Update
It's been an insane week. First off, Fred is gone. I think. Like Becky said, he went to Pennsylvania with us, maybe he'd decide to stay with us.
Let me explain. Fred is the ghost that lives in our car. We bought this from my brother, and drove it for eight years. This is one of those stories about the little old lady who only drove it to church on Sunday type of story. In fact it was an old man. His wife sold it to my brother after the old man's passing. The car was five years old at the time and had 44,000 miles on it. It was gorgeous, a Chrysler Ninety Eight. Had red velvet seats and red carpeting, and was a burgundy exterior. My husband fell in love with it.
Anyway, when my car began having problems, I drove Bill's. Almost immediately I began seeing an old man sitting in the driver's seat. I thought I was losing it at first. Then Jon asked. "So, Mom. Who's the old man sitting in Dad's car?" Good question. Becky saw him as well. We began to notice a dark shadow in the evening looking in the front window. The driveway is right there, and that is where we parked the Chrysler. We named him Fred. Every year Bill's family holds a reunion in Washington, Pennsylvania. One year we decided to attend and then go on to Gettysburg and then Hershey. Bill loves taking the 'scenic' route. Leaving Washington, he chose one that took us through mountains, through tiny towns and along curvy one lane highways. Becky fell asleep in the back. When she woke up, she said this old man was seated next to her. I didn't quite believe her at the time. She's caught me so many times since then, I don't not believe anymore. The next year came along and we decided to do the reunion again, and this time take in Philadelphia. The Chrysler was getting old, so just to be sure, I rented a brand, spanking new Toyota. On the way, we stopped in Ohio at a rest stop to have lunch. "Ah, Mom," Becky said as we ate. "Fred is here." Shocked the hell out of me. Not only did she see him, I got photos. We took off from the rest stop and suddenly all our electronic toys quit. No phone, no Ipod, no camera. Just for the heck of it I said out loud, "Come on, Fred, I want to take a photo." Everything went back on again. We're still teasing about that.
So we junked the Chrysler this week. I wanted to invite Fred to move to the van, but never got to it. Hopefully Becky is right. I hate like heck to see a part of the family sitting in a junk yard for eternity.
With the Chrysler, we sold Jon's '94 Sunbird, too. This has been in the garage since he burned the engine out two or three years ago. He was going to replace the engine eventually. He was quoted $900 new and $300 old. It proved not as easy to find as you would think. Anyway, once the car was out of the garage, Jon realized his air compressor was missing. The only thing we can figure is that someone stole it out of the garage. Now that pisses me off.
Back a week or two ago, a woman called me to say she wanted to donate to our Angel's group. She said she collected dolls and she had dozens of them. She was moving, and wanted to pass some along to deserving little girls. Okay, how wonderful. I can either pick them up when she was ready, or she could take them to City Hall. She worked it out so that she could leave work in another town at lunch and drop them off. When the clerks at City Hall saw these dolls, they open the boxes and sat them around a small Christmas tree. Once displayed, people visiting City Hall begged to bid on them. Even the City Clerk offered to buy some to add to the Christmas decorations. I haven't got a photo yet, but I will before the season is over. They are really pretty. The donor returned with two more dolls a day or two later. One of the clerks asked her if they could sell the dolls and donate the money to us. The woman said, no. She wanted them to go to little girls who would enjoy them. So that's the final word on that. I figured I'd leave them right where they were so more people could enjoy them.
My last story here. Last night I got Becky to organize a small group of her friends to help sort canned goods. I had food in the back of my van and some more upstairs in the warehouse. It wasn't much. Still I just figured that we'd get it out of the way. And we were nearly done. Because we had left a box that was too heavy to lift in the back of my van, I'd send down two kids in the freight elevator, with a cart and a couple of boxes. If they could break down the one big box into several small boxes, it would be easier to transport. At least it could be lifted.
Something told me deep down, don't do this. Not a good idea. I did it anyway. I told Matthew and Shelly to go. Becky and Mel were in the washroom at the time. When they returned along the same hallway, I heard, "Ah, Mom, we've got a problem." Damnit if Matthew and Shelly didn't get stuck in the elevator. And damnit if I didn't pick the two people most likely to panic if stuck in an elevator. I felt mean when I thought about it afterwards. Here they are crying, and I'm yelling, "Damnit, both of you. No panicking!"
All I can picture in my mind is I put two teenagers in a freight elevator, in an ancient building, and .... and .... and.... I was as panicky as they were. I wasn't going to show it though. I called George and told her what happened. Not good. I can panic and she could stand next to me and match me wave per wave. We tried everything. We pushed buttons and slammed the inner cage and tried to open the outer doors, and checked for junk trapped in the doors.
Finally Shelly called her mother. Well Mom has a friend who knew something about these elevators. Go figure. He's a tow truck driver. They rushed up.
In the mean time Becky traveled throughout this huge (I mean this building is huge, bigger than big) building looking for someone, anyone, who could help. She found one guy in the basement. "Not me. I got stuck in there last week. I won't go anywhere near there."
Shelly's Mom and her friend admitted they didn't know what to do, and maybe it would be a good idea to call the fire department. No, I couldn't do that until I knew we exhausted everything. I started pushing down on the doors, they closed like a clam shell. The man started pushing, too, and then so did Shelly's mother. All of a sudden they popped open. The elevator was perched about 8 inches above the level of the floor.
I called George back. "They're out," I told her. "We're not quite done, but I don't care. I'm leaving now."
"Good idea," she said. "Go home and relax." Yeah if I didn't punch something on the way out. More than anything I'm pissed off at myself for allowing this to happen. What a way to F-up a wonderful program.
George mentioned last week that someone told her about a couple of homeless guys living in the basement of this building. She asked the owner about it, and he denied it. I wonder if Becky didn't find them last night when she went for help.
jmorancoyle at 4:40:00 PM CST Blog about this entry |
Add to del.icio.us | 
digg this
-
I would've loved to meet Fred! He sounds familiar somehow. Woa you sure have a busy, full life. Always active, sounds very cheery. I've been trying to pretend I haven't noticed what holiday is upon us, maybe it'll go away lol? xoxo CATHY
http://journals.aol.com/luddie343/DARETOTHINK/
12/7/07 9:20 PM