My sister Janet was the baby of the family for many years. She is a unique individual that was first noted in her first years and continues to this day. She is beyond fear, has a great capacity for love, has a caring nature of all living things, and can take whatever life can dishes out and she has the scars to prove it. She is difficult to understand at times, yet she is very easy to love. She is the shortest in height of all my sisters but the tallest of us all in character. She is the “salt of the earth” but is soft and gentle as a soft summer wind. She is the one that I have given the greatest psychological harm to, (i.e.: previous story), but the one I have and will forever give my greatest respect. To this day I don’t know how she does what she does. This story in one of the best stories I remember of my little sister.
My father gave nicknames to all of us girls with the exception of me. Janet’s nickname was Jinxy Falkenberger. It was later reduced to Jinxy, then Jinx. What is unusual was that she earned her nickname. When she was very young she would try to help everyone; Mom, Dad, and her sisters. The problem was that no matter what she did, it always came out wrong. Her heart was in the right place, and therefore it was impossible to scold, punish or ever yell at her. This story is a case in point.
Mom and Dad have replaced the kitchen floor with linoleum tiles. The tiles were the color of green grass with streaks of white. The setting of this story occurred a few weeks after the new floor was installed. I woke up and came down to the kitchen. The house was very quiet so I thought I was the first one up. Wrong. There was 3 year old Janet in the kitchen dressed only in her underwear. She was standing next to a bucket and trying to use a mop in the manner it is intended for. The sight was comical since the mop towered over her by many feet. The mop was very wet and you could tell that she was in the process of mopping the floor. The problem was that there was a distinctive odor coming from the bucket and the floor.
When asked, she stated that she wanted to mop the floor for mother. Apparently she had trouble getting the bucket to the sink, filling it with water, and then placing the bucket on the floor. She was just too little. So she came up with a better idea. She used the only source of liquid that she could handle and reach. Under the sink and next to the bucket was a container of Clorox bleach. She had completed half of the floor. The beautiful green tile was never as green again.
Lesson: Love your little sister, but watch up for them. They can be your biggest source of frustration.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
The Story of My First Heartbreak
In several of my previous stories, I had mentioned that many times, my sister and I were on the opposite sides. In fact, the majority of the stories are ones with me at odds with my sister. If you read too closely, the reader might think we hated each other when in fact that is not true. In this story my sister fought for me and tried to protect me. The events are one that I look back on with great love and respect for my sister.
It is the time of high school and junior hops. Every weekend, the school would hold a dance in the gym and there young teenagers would go to socialize, hope to meet new boys, and dance. Usually the scene was the boys would be standing on one side of the gym and the girls on the other side. Shoes would be along a wall because it was much easier to dance in your socks. Some would be dancing boy-girl, but most times the girls would be dancing with each other. The boys seemed afraid to ask the girls to dance.
My sister and I were at the gym for the dance, and it was arranged that Mom would pick both of us up at 10 p.m. when the dance was over. I didn’t feel like being a wall flower. The area behind the belchers was a caged area where the records were being played over the sound system. I happened to know the boy who was playing the records. In the cage the teen DJ would lock himself inside, so the many students would not be able to handle the records. Some records were school property but most were owned by fellow students. This was considered, by the school officials, as the only way to protect school equipment and property. One this night I had asked the teen DJ, who was a friend, if I could help and he agreed. All during the dance we picked out all the songs the students would dance to.
The hop had been going on for awhile, when girls started coming into the cage area requesting Bobby Vinton’s “Blue Velvet”. This was not abnormal, because this gave the girls to dance real close to the boy of their choice. The problem was the song was being requested so often, that if the girl’s had their way, no other song would be played. I got curious. I asked one of the girls why she wanted the song “Blue Velvet” to be played. I was informed that a boy from another school was at the dance and all the girls wanted to dance with him, slow. They told me he was dreamy and cute and every positive adjective that girls used at that age. I had to see this boy, this young god. I left the cage and took a seek peak. The girls were right. Now all I wanted to do was to dance with this guy. Somehow I managed my turn to dance with him as the “last dance.” I found out his name was Bob and he would be there next week. I went home on a cloud. I couldn’t wait till the next dance.
The next week came. I waited and watch for this young man. He finally arrived, with only 30 minutes left in the dance. I tried to talk with him, but he was surrounded by other girls. I had somehow decided that I was his girl. I had to find a way to get him alone, hopefully to dance, but I had to have him for myself. Time was running out and I was desperate. When I finally manage to get him alone, he told me he didn’t want to dance. He made it very clear that I was not his girl, nor was any girl at this school. He also informed me ‘to get lost’ and not to bother him. I was crushed, my heart was breaking. The dance was over, my face was wet, my eyes were red, and Bob had made me the school fool. I ran to mother’s waiting car, crying uncontrollably. Mom asked where my sister was, and of course I had no idea, and I really did not care where she was. I had been crushed.
My sister finally arrived and home we went. I ran to my bed and continued to cry. I was sure that I would die, or hoped I would die. Mom came in and started talking to me. Her words were those of understanding, love, and other wonderful ideas parents tell their children when they realize their little girl/boy is growing up. Then she added something wonderful, something I would never forget. The reason that my sister was delayed in reaching the car was that she had seen Bob giving me the brush off and my reaction. She had gotten so angry that she started searching for him. Apparently she found him among other boys. She went up to him and gave him a lecture on hurting her sister, and during the lecture, adding a few punches or slaps. My sister stood up for me!!
I am sure that my sister’s side of the story is quite different, but this is how I remember it. This was no morale, but one of life’s lesson. Every young individual must go though the sadness of a broken heart. How else will we recognized true love when it comes.
It is the time of high school and junior hops. Every weekend, the school would hold a dance in the gym and there young teenagers would go to socialize, hope to meet new boys, and dance. Usually the scene was the boys would be standing on one side of the gym and the girls on the other side. Shoes would be along a wall because it was much easier to dance in your socks. Some would be dancing boy-girl, but most times the girls would be dancing with each other. The boys seemed afraid to ask the girls to dance.
My sister and I were at the gym for the dance, and it was arranged that Mom would pick both of us up at 10 p.m. when the dance was over. I didn’t feel like being a wall flower. The area behind the belchers was a caged area where the records were being played over the sound system. I happened to know the boy who was playing the records. In the cage the teen DJ would lock himself inside, so the many students would not be able to handle the records. Some records were school property but most were owned by fellow students. This was considered, by the school officials, as the only way to protect school equipment and property. One this night I had asked the teen DJ, who was a friend, if I could help and he agreed. All during the dance we picked out all the songs the students would dance to.
The hop had been going on for awhile, when girls started coming into the cage area requesting Bobby Vinton’s “Blue Velvet”. This was not abnormal, because this gave the girls to dance real close to the boy of their choice. The problem was the song was being requested so often, that if the girl’s had their way, no other song would be played. I got curious. I asked one of the girls why she wanted the song “Blue Velvet” to be played. I was informed that a boy from another school was at the dance and all the girls wanted to dance with him, slow. They told me he was dreamy and cute and every positive adjective that girls used at that age. I had to see this boy, this young god. I left the cage and took a seek peak. The girls were right. Now all I wanted to do was to dance with this guy. Somehow I managed my turn to dance with him as the “last dance.” I found out his name was Bob and he would be there next week. I went home on a cloud. I couldn’t wait till the next dance.
The next week came. I waited and watch for this young man. He finally arrived, with only 30 minutes left in the dance. I tried to talk with him, but he was surrounded by other girls. I had somehow decided that I was his girl. I had to find a way to get him alone, hopefully to dance, but I had to have him for myself. Time was running out and I was desperate. When I finally manage to get him alone, he told me he didn’t want to dance. He made it very clear that I was not his girl, nor was any girl at this school. He also informed me ‘to get lost’ and not to bother him. I was crushed, my heart was breaking. The dance was over, my face was wet, my eyes were red, and Bob had made me the school fool. I ran to mother’s waiting car, crying uncontrollably. Mom asked where my sister was, and of course I had no idea, and I really did not care where she was. I had been crushed.
My sister finally arrived and home we went. I ran to my bed and continued to cry. I was sure that I would die, or hoped I would die. Mom came in and started talking to me. Her words were those of understanding, love, and other wonderful ideas parents tell their children when they realize their little girl/boy is growing up. Then she added something wonderful, something I would never forget. The reason that my sister was delayed in reaching the car was that she had seen Bob giving me the brush off and my reaction. She had gotten so angry that she started searching for him. Apparently she found him among other boys. She went up to him and gave him a lecture on hurting her sister, and during the lecture, adding a few punches or slaps. My sister stood up for me!!
I am sure that my sister’s side of the story is quite different, but this is how I remember it. This was no morale, but one of life’s lesson. Every young individual must go though the sadness of a broken heart. How else will we recognized true love when it comes.
The Story of Cindy’s Dream
Many years ago, one night my sisters and my mother were sitting at the dining room table telling stories and relating memories. Somehow we got on recurrent dreams. Each of us had a recurrent dream that we could still remember from our childhood. Each dream had an impact of that sister’s life and we concluded that these dreams would remain for us for the rest of our lives. Some were good dreams, but most were nightmares. These nightmares would cast fear into our hearts. Mine was about snakes, while Cindy’s nightmare was about screaming. I can’t remember now what she said her dream was about, but what had continued into her adult life was the scream. As she related her story, Mom and I suddenly knew where her nightmare had originated.
One night Mom and I was home alone. Cindy was asleep in the next room. We watch television or talked about the events of the day. The hour was late and I had decided to go to bed. Suddenly we heard a squeaking noise. It sounded like a baby’s squeak toy, but there were no babies in the house and therefore no baby toys. We listened intently, and then we heard it again. We both got up and started to search for the cause of the noise. We realized that the noise was coming from the basement.
We descended the stairs and looked around. There were always cats around, so to see one of the cats in the basement was not unusual. We listened patiently for the squeak again. The sound was coming from the corner of the basement where coal had been stored for the winter months. As we got to the corner, we saw a bunny, no more than a few weeks old. The bunny was making the squeak. Looking closer, we saw that the hind leg was severely injured and bleeding. As we bent down to pick up the bunny, the cat attacked.
The cat, while hunting for mice, had found the bunny. Since the young rabbit was about the size of a large mouse, it had become the cat’s prey. The cat was not about to give up his prey, especially to my mother or me. The cat became ferocious, like a tiger or lion, both in manner and in sound. This unnerved me and I am sure it did mother. Finally we rescued the bunny and tended to its wounds. The wounds were too severe and the bunny died a few hours later.
The sound of the bunny’s terror was the source of Cindy’s dream screams. As soon as Mom and I related the story and therefore the cause of her nightmare, Cindy would no longer have this recurrent dream.
The lesson is that children will have nightmares, and some of those nightmares will remain with them for the rest of their lives. As adults, we must realize that a child’s nightmare probably has its origins in the real world. If the situation is not one that the child can understand, the child will change the facts of the situation in terms that the child can understand. If the situation is too difficult or painful from the child’s point of view, a nightmare could result. As the child grows, the ability to understand the “real” situation surrounding the nightmare will result in destroying that same nightmare and therefore will cease to exist.
One night Mom and I was home alone. Cindy was asleep in the next room. We watch television or talked about the events of the day. The hour was late and I had decided to go to bed. Suddenly we heard a squeaking noise. It sounded like a baby’s squeak toy, but there were no babies in the house and therefore no baby toys. We listened intently, and then we heard it again. We both got up and started to search for the cause of the noise. We realized that the noise was coming from the basement.
We descended the stairs and looked around. There were always cats around, so to see one of the cats in the basement was not unusual. We listened patiently for the squeak again. The sound was coming from the corner of the basement where coal had been stored for the winter months. As we got to the corner, we saw a bunny, no more than a few weeks old. The bunny was making the squeak. Looking closer, we saw that the hind leg was severely injured and bleeding. As we bent down to pick up the bunny, the cat attacked.
The cat, while hunting for mice, had found the bunny. Since the young rabbit was about the size of a large mouse, it had become the cat’s prey. The cat was not about to give up his prey, especially to my mother or me. The cat became ferocious, like a tiger or lion, both in manner and in sound. This unnerved me and I am sure it did mother. Finally we rescued the bunny and tended to its wounds. The wounds were too severe and the bunny died a few hours later.
The sound of the bunny’s terror was the source of Cindy’s dream screams. As soon as Mom and I related the story and therefore the cause of her nightmare, Cindy would no longer have this recurrent dream.
The lesson is that children will have nightmares, and some of those nightmares will remain with them for the rest of their lives. As adults, we must realize that a child’s nightmare probably has its origins in the real world. If the situation is not one that the child can understand, the child will change the facts of the situation in terms that the child can understand. If the situation is too difficult or painful from the child’s point of view, a nightmare could result. As the child grows, the ability to understand the “real” situation surrounding the nightmare will result in destroying that same nightmare and therefore will cease to exist.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
The Story of the Fight
This is not a funny story but one that has lasted my entire life and has colored my perceptions of my family. As mention before, I grew up with 5 of my 6 sisters. At the time of this story, most of my siblings had started families of their own. It was Christmas time, and the one time each year that all of the sisters would be in one place, my parents home. Earlier in the year my father has suffered a gun shot injury while hunting. After being hospitalize for several months, he had returned home. He was in a full body cast and his bed was located in the living room alcove. Strange when I think about it now, but that is where he was when he died many years later.
My mother has always contended that when ever all the sisters were gathered together, there would be an argument. But if one of the sisters was removed from the equation, no matter which sister, there would be harmony. This also applied to decisions. To this day, there has been only one time that we all agreed to one thing. That one time was when our father died, but that is another story. The main point is that these premises still apply to this day. Thus, on that particular Christmas the ground was fertile for a great argument.
Now I would like to reveal the players. Me, I am the Bossy one and the one who always has to have the last word. The next sister is the one who usually is the Contender. She is often in contention with me. You know the type: I will say “day”, she will say “night”. Only seldom have we both ever agreed to the same thing, idea, or situation. The next sister is the Instigator. She likes to get the ‘juices’ flowing. The next sister is the Fighter. She is the one you never want to knock down because she will get back up fighting harder than before and you will lose. She might have the worse injuries but you will not be unscathed. The youngest sister is the Badger. Once she gets hold of an idea, she will never let go. If you are in a jam, you want her on your side, for better or worse.
From the time of my parent’s first grandchild, they had been blessed with a new grandchild every year for 10 years. Since our young families was rapidly growing and my youngest sister was still young in years and therefore still living at the family homestead, the problem of purchasing gifts for all the children was getting more expensive for each of the sisters. It was suggested that the idea of drawing of names should be started. This meant that all the minor children’s names would be collected and each sister would draw names according to the number of children in each family. The problem was the decision at which point in time would the withdrawal of a child's name from the Christmas drawing occur. Believe it or not, this started one of the worst arguments in our family history.
Being that Dad was confirmed to a bed in the living room, we were all trying very hard not to have any disagreements. Any disagreement or loud voices would upset Dad and this was to be avoided at all costs. That was our mistake; we would be acting out of character and a pressure cooker situation as bound to occur. The stage was set for round 1 of this 3 round event.
Round 1: The Instigator posed a question or comment. What was said has long been forgotten, but not the fallout caused by this comment. Almost immediately I, the Bossy one and the Contender started talking, escalating to louder and louder voices. Round 2: The volume of our voices was so high that neither one of us was listening to the other person's words. The sad part of this situation was that neither one of us realized that we were both saying the same thing, just from different ends of the stick. An example of this idea: Is the cup half full or half empty? Meanwhile the Instigator has stepped back, watching the battle. She will go to the side that is victorious. The Fighter had joined the battle. She picks the stronger side, the Contender, and the Bossy one is going down for the count. The Bossy one is in the corner and she is getting verbally beaten to the pulp. She looked to the Instigator for assistance but found that this was not going to happen. Only in hindsight did the Bossy one realize that the Instigator was just there to watch the scenario unfold. The Badger was too young to join this battle. Her time would come later in the family life. But she, the Bossy one had to have the last word. It didn’t matter what that last word was, but she had to have it. The battle is lost, and the Bossy one must retreat, but she is in the corner. It is well known in the world of hunting, that the hunter must be very careful of the wounded animal especially if the animal has been cornered. That animal will attract even if it is suicide. Thus, the Bossy one attacked. She started to scream and throwing her arms around. She had to escape. The screams and the frantic flinging of the arms did the trick. The Contender and the Fighter backed away, while the Instigator would remain background. The Bossy one started to make her retreat and headed for the door.
Round 3: As the Bossy one was headed for the door, the husbands of the two main characters was now heading to the site of the greatest commotion. Both forces, the injured and the innocent were trying to get though the same door at the same time. This was leading to an impossible situation. In the speed of the Bossy one’s retreat, her footing was lost. Down the three steps to the landing below she fell, but she was not alone. Her young niece was coming up the stairs as the Bossy one started rushing down the stairs. The young niece was falling with her aunt. In a split millisecond, the aunt surrounded her niece with her body and took the full force of each step, protecting the young girl. The child was scared but had suffered no injury. The aunt or the Bossy one would suffer the events of that night for the rest of her life. Not because of any injuries, but on the realization that even though they were siblings with the same mother and father, they were all different. Sometime they would agree, but there would be a higher probability that they would not.
The lesson is two fold. The first is that it is not important who has the last word, but if the words are being understood. If the message is not being understood, it is better to walk away and face it at a later time. The second is this: never rush away from an argument in desperation. It is better to walk away a loser of the battle and return later in hopes to winning the war.
My mother has always contended that when ever all the sisters were gathered together, there would be an argument. But if one of the sisters was removed from the equation, no matter which sister, there would be harmony. This also applied to decisions. To this day, there has been only one time that we all agreed to one thing. That one time was when our father died, but that is another story. The main point is that these premises still apply to this day. Thus, on that particular Christmas the ground was fertile for a great argument.
Now I would like to reveal the players. Me, I am the Bossy one and the one who always has to have the last word. The next sister is the one who usually is the Contender. She is often in contention with me. You know the type: I will say “day”, she will say “night”. Only seldom have we both ever agreed to the same thing, idea, or situation. The next sister is the Instigator. She likes to get the ‘juices’ flowing. The next sister is the Fighter. She is the one you never want to knock down because she will get back up fighting harder than before and you will lose. She might have the worse injuries but you will not be unscathed. The youngest sister is the Badger. Once she gets hold of an idea, she will never let go. If you are in a jam, you want her on your side, for better or worse.
From the time of my parent’s first grandchild, they had been blessed with a new grandchild every year for 10 years. Since our young families was rapidly growing and my youngest sister was still young in years and therefore still living at the family homestead, the problem of purchasing gifts for all the children was getting more expensive for each of the sisters. It was suggested that the idea of drawing of names should be started. This meant that all the minor children’s names would be collected and each sister would draw names according to the number of children in each family. The problem was the decision at which point in time would the withdrawal of a child's name from the Christmas drawing occur. Believe it or not, this started one of the worst arguments in our family history.
Being that Dad was confirmed to a bed in the living room, we were all trying very hard not to have any disagreements. Any disagreement or loud voices would upset Dad and this was to be avoided at all costs. That was our mistake; we would be acting out of character and a pressure cooker situation as bound to occur. The stage was set for round 1 of this 3 round event.
Round 1: The Instigator posed a question or comment. What was said has long been forgotten, but not the fallout caused by this comment. Almost immediately I, the Bossy one and the Contender started talking, escalating to louder and louder voices. Round 2: The volume of our voices was so high that neither one of us was listening to the other person's words. The sad part of this situation was that neither one of us realized that we were both saying the same thing, just from different ends of the stick. An example of this idea: Is the cup half full or half empty? Meanwhile the Instigator has stepped back, watching the battle. She will go to the side that is victorious. The Fighter had joined the battle. She picks the stronger side, the Contender, and the Bossy one is going down for the count. The Bossy one is in the corner and she is getting verbally beaten to the pulp. She looked to the Instigator for assistance but found that this was not going to happen. Only in hindsight did the Bossy one realize that the Instigator was just there to watch the scenario unfold. The Badger was too young to join this battle. Her time would come later in the family life. But she, the Bossy one had to have the last word. It didn’t matter what that last word was, but she had to have it. The battle is lost, and the Bossy one must retreat, but she is in the corner. It is well known in the world of hunting, that the hunter must be very careful of the wounded animal especially if the animal has been cornered. That animal will attract even if it is suicide. Thus, the Bossy one attacked. She started to scream and throwing her arms around. She had to escape. The screams and the frantic flinging of the arms did the trick. The Contender and the Fighter backed away, while the Instigator would remain background. The Bossy one started to make her retreat and headed for the door.
Round 3: As the Bossy one was headed for the door, the husbands of the two main characters was now heading to the site of the greatest commotion. Both forces, the injured and the innocent were trying to get though the same door at the same time. This was leading to an impossible situation. In the speed of the Bossy one’s retreat, her footing was lost. Down the three steps to the landing below she fell, but she was not alone. Her young niece was coming up the stairs as the Bossy one started rushing down the stairs. The young niece was falling with her aunt. In a split millisecond, the aunt surrounded her niece with her body and took the full force of each step, protecting the young girl. The child was scared but had suffered no injury. The aunt or the Bossy one would suffer the events of that night for the rest of her life. Not because of any injuries, but on the realization that even though they were siblings with the same mother and father, they were all different. Sometime they would agree, but there would be a higher probability that they would not.
The lesson is two fold. The first is that it is not important who has the last word, but if the words are being understood. If the message is not being understood, it is better to walk away and face it at a later time. The second is this: never rush away from an argument in desperation. It is better to walk away a loser of the battle and return later in hopes to winning the war.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The Story of the Shack
This is not a story of my childhood but an experience while in my late 20’s. My husband and I lived on a little dead end street just 1 mile from the town’s main street. Even through we were just 1 mile away, this was a country setting. There were only 3 houses on the street with room for many more houses to be built. The street ended at the bottom of a large hill. Since there were only 3 houses on the street, it was a very safe place for my daughter and son to ride their bicycles and just play. The only cars that came down the road were usually those of the 3 families or their guests. Since this dead-end road was almost a mile in length, it became a great place for the local teenagers to park, watch the submarine races or “make out”. During the weekends of the summer months, many cars would drive down, stay an hour or two then leave. Usually by 10:30 or 11 pm all the cars would be gone. We could actually count the cars going down and coming back from the sound of the motors and the headlights.
One summer the action was very different. Around 10 p.m. or just after dark, numerous cars could be heard driving past the house but there were no headlights. These cars would not leave until the early morning hours. This activity continued daily for many weeks. I started to get curious because of several reasons: 1) the activity was daily not on the weekends and 2) the headlights were never on. It was like clockwork. The cars, at least two, would start down as soon as it was dark. After about 60 – 90 minutes, they would leave together and return about 45 minutes later. This cycle continued through out the evening until 2am or 3am. Then on one summer night, there could be heard noises of a party. This was a place for kids to “neck” but party. I just couldn’t take it any more, I had to find out about this area and why the kids were so secretive.
I got my jacket and turned it inside out so I could not be seen and grabbed a flashlight. My husband was concerned for my welfare, but since the cars had just left, I knew I had at least 45 minutes to explore, and I was taking the dog for protection. My husband could not go since someone had to stay with the children. So down the road I started.
I got to the natural line of trees. This was where the developer had stopped regarding the land for development. Just as I got to the trees, a car turned onto the road. Since our house was the last on the street, and we were not expecting company, I knew I was in trouble. Sure enough it was one the cars were came nightly, but the driver saw my husband sitting on the front porch. That meant that someone would have seen him coming down the road and he couldn’t have that. He would have to leave, which meant he had to turn around but he had already passed the last driveway. What could he do? What did I do?
When I saw the car turn onto the road, I knew I was in trouble. The whole idea was to explore the activities at the end of the road, and I couldn’t be seen. I did what any normal sneak would do, I hid. I did not have time to get to the trees, but there was a ditch. I drove into the ditch. James Bond or any spy would have been proud of the skill I had in this desperate moment. While I was laying flat in the ditch, would you believe the car turn around right next to me? I had to be careful not to get run over. Of course my husband saw where I drove and of course, thought the car had run over me. He was frantic. The car left and I got up and waved to my husband, letting him know I was okay. Then I continued down to the hill.
I got to the bottom of the hill and I saw a worn path along the foot of the hill. I followed the path and after only 25 yards, I made a discovery. There was a little shack, completed with a well title roof, a new door and windows. I looked into the windows and I saw an over-stuff chair, a make shift bed and a pot-belly stove. All the building materials looked new and some of the materials were lying outside with construction site information still on them. The flooring was study and was raised above the ground. I looked under the house and found several cases of beer. This was more than a place for the teenagers to make out; this was a place to do some serious parting.
I had many concerns about what I had found and I did not like what it was adding up do. I went home and of course my husband was upset that I had not returned after the car had left the area. I told him that I knew I had some time, at least 45 minutes, until the car returned again. I told him what I had found. He then walked down to the hill and confirmed everything that I had reported. We watch the activity to the shack for several days until my husband even got concerned. We called the local police and reported what we had found. The police investigated our claims, return with a case of beer. He said that the police was wondering where these parties were being held. It seemed that at one of these parties, a young girl had gotten so drunk that she passed out and then aspirated. She had almost died and her parents wanted to find who was responsible. Also, local building contractors were reporting robberies from their building sites. All the items that had been stolen were part of the shack or lying on the ground next to the shack. The officer confiscated the beer and gave it to my husband. He said he couldn’t take it with him and he could not leave it at the shack.
The police got a hold of the owner of the land, who lived in Florida, and informed him of the activity that was occurring on his land. He did not approve of the activity and wanted the shack destroyed. The policy contacted the fire department and set up a controlled burn to destroy this “party house”. The cars who traveled down our road in secret never return. There were no arrests since it could not be proved who actually stole the building material to build the shack.
The lesson is: 1) it is amazing what you can do when it is required of you, 2) it is good to be curious, 3) be aware of the activity in your neighborhood. Then a normal routine is changed, it is a good idea to find the reason.
One summer the action was very different. Around 10 p.m. or just after dark, numerous cars could be heard driving past the house but there were no headlights. These cars would not leave until the early morning hours. This activity continued daily for many weeks. I started to get curious because of several reasons: 1) the activity was daily not on the weekends and 2) the headlights were never on. It was like clockwork. The cars, at least two, would start down as soon as it was dark. After about 60 – 90 minutes, they would leave together and return about 45 minutes later. This cycle continued through out the evening until 2am or 3am. Then on one summer night, there could be heard noises of a party. This was a place for kids to “neck” but party. I just couldn’t take it any more, I had to find out about this area and why the kids were so secretive.
I got my jacket and turned it inside out so I could not be seen and grabbed a flashlight. My husband was concerned for my welfare, but since the cars had just left, I knew I had at least 45 minutes to explore, and I was taking the dog for protection. My husband could not go since someone had to stay with the children. So down the road I started.
I got to the natural line of trees. This was where the developer had stopped regarding the land for development. Just as I got to the trees, a car turned onto the road. Since our house was the last on the street, and we were not expecting company, I knew I was in trouble. Sure enough it was one the cars were came nightly, but the driver saw my husband sitting on the front porch. That meant that someone would have seen him coming down the road and he couldn’t have that. He would have to leave, which meant he had to turn around but he had already passed the last driveway. What could he do? What did I do?
When I saw the car turn onto the road, I knew I was in trouble. The whole idea was to explore the activities at the end of the road, and I couldn’t be seen. I did what any normal sneak would do, I hid. I did not have time to get to the trees, but there was a ditch. I drove into the ditch. James Bond or any spy would have been proud of the skill I had in this desperate moment. While I was laying flat in the ditch, would you believe the car turn around right next to me? I had to be careful not to get run over. Of course my husband saw where I drove and of course, thought the car had run over me. He was frantic. The car left and I got up and waved to my husband, letting him know I was okay. Then I continued down to the hill.
I got to the bottom of the hill and I saw a worn path along the foot of the hill. I followed the path and after only 25 yards, I made a discovery. There was a little shack, completed with a well title roof, a new door and windows. I looked into the windows and I saw an over-stuff chair, a make shift bed and a pot-belly stove. All the building materials looked new and some of the materials were lying outside with construction site information still on them. The flooring was study and was raised above the ground. I looked under the house and found several cases of beer. This was more than a place for the teenagers to make out; this was a place to do some serious parting.
I had many concerns about what I had found and I did not like what it was adding up do. I went home and of course my husband was upset that I had not returned after the car had left the area. I told him that I knew I had some time, at least 45 minutes, until the car returned again. I told him what I had found. He then walked down to the hill and confirmed everything that I had reported. We watch the activity to the shack for several days until my husband even got concerned. We called the local police and reported what we had found. The police investigated our claims, return with a case of beer. He said that the police was wondering where these parties were being held. It seemed that at one of these parties, a young girl had gotten so drunk that she passed out and then aspirated. She had almost died and her parents wanted to find who was responsible. Also, local building contractors were reporting robberies from their building sites. All the items that had been stolen were part of the shack or lying on the ground next to the shack. The officer confiscated the beer and gave it to my husband. He said he couldn’t take it with him and he could not leave it at the shack.
The police got a hold of the owner of the land, who lived in Florida, and informed him of the activity that was occurring on his land. He did not approve of the activity and wanted the shack destroyed. The policy contacted the fire department and set up a controlled burn to destroy this “party house”. The cars who traveled down our road in secret never return. There were no arrests since it could not be proved who actually stole the building material to build the shack.
The lesson is: 1) it is amazing what you can do when it is required of you, 2) it is good to be curious, 3) be aware of the activity in your neighborhood. Then a normal routine is changed, it is a good idea to find the reason.
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