Journal Entries
A Thanksgiving in Fort Lauderdale
Posted Nov 25, 2006
Fort Lauderdale, Florida – November 23, 2006
This is the first Thanksgiving with Mrs. Phred’s side of the family in about 30 years. Her sister and my brother-in-law are here to eat at her cousin’s house with Aunt Eleanor, who is 90 this year. In the 1970’s we would eat with Mrs. Phred’s mother. Her mother’s Thanksgiving toast was always, “Next year in Jerusalem!”
As Mrs. Phred and her sister and cousin discuss and dissect common relatives over turkey and dressing, it becomes obvious that Eddie, the father of Mrs. Phred and her sister keeps coming back as communality.
Eventually, the conversation turns to my meeting with Eddie in 1966. Mrs. Phred and I had flown in to Miami from Seattle for our marriage on Christmas Eve. It was the only day that Rabbi Narrot had open.
Eddie invited us to dinner at a swank Miami restaurant. As Mrs. Phred began to eat, he began to berate her loudly for turning her knife to face outward on the plate. “I taught you better manners,” he bellows.
I was from a blue-collar background, an Air Force officer, and I deeply resented the way he spoke to my woman. I picked up my white linen napkin and loudly blew my nose into it to demonstrate what I thought of his own manners and demeanor.
Eddie never spoke to me again and I never spoke to him , although I brought our son to his house numerous times so he could enjoy his grandson to the best of his ability. We ignored each other during these visits.
Our cousin has just moved back into a renovated condo. We manage to cook the turkey and move enough furniture to find a place to eat and sit. I was assigned to cook the pumpkin pie so I make two.
The cousin wants all her light switches and receptacles replaced with more modern fixtures so I gather my tools from the RV and replace dozens of rheostats, receptacles, switches, doorbells and fire alarm systems. Her closet storage systems have collapsed so I’ll take care of that before I leave and hang some new ceiling fans.
Aunt Eleanor is a sweet old lady. She asks my name at least 15 times during dinner.
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Latest reply: Nov 25, 2006
Pulling the Plug
Posted Nov 19, 2006
Tampa, Florida – 20 November, 2006
We’ve spent almost three weeks in the same place, taking care of routine maintenance issues.
We pulled some files and clothing from the storage vault and rented a safe deposit box for our wills. We spoke to a young attorney friend and made him our personal representative. He promised to “pull the plug” on Mrs. Phred when the time comes and to strap 50 pounds of weight on me and drop me into the Marianas Trench when the time seems right. Mrs. Phred and I spent a week on Grand Cayman diving with him a few years ago when he taught SCUBA to local juvenile delinquents.
We got Mom in for an MRI and some steroid shots for her arthritic knee. She’s much better. I also traded the motorcycle to our lawn guy in exchange for two years of lawn maintenance on Mom’s lawn.
The Toyota tow vehicle has been turning on its own headlights at 4 AM and draining the battery. We took it back to Toyota for the 3rd time and they required us to disconnect the tow light wiring to prove that the add-on wiring was not the cause of the anomaly. We did that and the headlights came on again the next night by themselves. We returned the Toyota for the 4th time and again they declined to replace any components and claimed that they had filed and “incident” report with Toyota. Now I need to write Toyota a certified letter.
We drove down to Jupiter, Florida, and had a needle aponeurotomy done on my Dupuytren’s contracture. That was a resounding success. I only have a 30 degree contracture in my right ring finger rather that a 160 degree contracture. The disease only effect people with Viking genes. Only four doctors in the US do this procedure, which was developed in Paris. It's a pleasure again to shake hands and hold a tennis racquet.
I had some squamous and basal cell cancers removed. I get two or three of those every four months due to a childhood spent in Florida sunshine.
None of the problems with the RV were covered by the expensive extended warranty, but at least they were all fixed:
- Dash radio inoperative….power reset
- Tow light signals inoperative….wiring replaced
- Touch up paint requested….delivered
- Air Conditioning week…maintenance performed
- Van engine does not charge house battery…relay replaced
I changed the RV and generator oil and filters myself and removed the accumulated “gray streaks” that build up on RV paint finishes. We also did the Income Tax paperwork for the sale of our house last June
In 2006, with a laptop and broadband card, we can see any credit card or checking account transactions from virtually any location the day the transactions occur. The GPS and Maps and Streets program pinpoints our location within 15 feet, provides verbal driving directions and locates nearby campgrounds, museums, libraries and other points of interest. This is a far cry from our early days of camping when you were lucky to find a payphone.
We should be good to go now for another year of travel. We will be exploring the possibility of some volunteer work in New Orleans.
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Latest reply: Nov 19, 2006
Where’s your Blog, Dude?
Posted Nov 15, 2006
I attend a wedding on the Potomac and was informed that the young groom has a wine blog. Wine blog, I think, am I stuck in the 60s or not? This is a young American who has served honorably in the Peace Corps in Tonga, a generation removed from my own experiences in SE Asia.
http://feeds.feedburner.com/Winesmith
Then I see that my H2G2 mentor, WoodPigeon, has his own excellent blog and that he is linking it to other H2G2 luminaries such as the infamous “Edward the Bonobo”.
Woodpigeon Blog http://woodpigeon01.wordpress.com/
The Bonobo Blog http://bonoboworld.blogspot.com/\
So what’s a man to do?
Here’s my blog….I’m populating it as fast as I can, refusing to be obsoleted.
http://thefirecloudreport.blogspot.com/
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Latest reply: Nov 15, 2006
In the Graveyard at Midnight
Posted Nov 2, 2006
Bonne Venture Cemetery – Savannah, Georgia
October 31, 2006
I’m afraid of the dark. I always have been.
I’m afraid of other things, too: Flying, driving over tall bridges, walking on the rim of canyons, climbing tall ladders, scuba diving, graveyards at night.
My parents let me go to Cub Scout functions at school ten blocks away when I was six. I ran like the wind coming home in the dark because I was sure there were things out ready to hurt me.
Mrs. Phred works with me to overcome my fears. Downtown Tampa was a little like East St. Louis at night. It’s deserted, decrepit and dark. We walked though it at 2 AM many times for exercise and thrills. Once, as we were walking in the early morning, a huge menacing figure stepped out of the darkness down by the docks. I checked to be sure my dive knife would clear the scabbard, but the man kept walking past us. The rush was like being brushed by a 12 foot hammerhead.
She has accompanied me on midnight dives in the Caribbean fifty miles from the nearest inhabited island to help me overcome my fears of darkness and things with big teeth that lurk just outside flashlight range.
Today we explore the St. Bonne Venture Cemetery in Savannah at midnight. I hope that spending time along the banks of the Savannah among the gravestones, magnolias and Spanish moss draped oaks under the light of the gibbous moon will desensitize me once and for all to my irrational fears. If all goes well, her birthday is 12:01 on November 1st. To the best of my knowledge she has never spent it in an ancient Southern graveyard.
We realize the cemetery gates will probably close at dusk so we prepare to stash the car and climb over the fences. We will take the digital camera and tripod.
At six O'clock the scattered thin pink clouds are fading fast. We have spotted a place on the river to park the car after they close and lock the ornate iron gates.
We check our equipment again.
We have two black steel "mag" flashlights. The electrical tape over the lens allows only a slit of light. I've fashioned a grappling hook from metal we picked up at Home Depot and attached knotted rope to help scale the eight foot wall.
The police should be tied up with trick-or-treaters. I doubt that they will be patrolling the graveyard perimeter.
We are wearing long-sleeve black T-shirts, black denim jeans, thin black leather gloves and black sneakers. We have two burnt wine bottle corks to apply to our faces just before we go over the wall.
I'm taking only the digital camera and tripod to record tonight's events. Mrs. Phred wanted to take the Glocks, but I figure what we come up against, if anything, will not be impressed with our nine millimeter lead projectiles.
We go over the wall about 11:30 PM. I want a picture of the Birdgirl statue in the moonlight at midnight so we do that first.
The City of Savannah defines cemetery structures to include, but not be limited to, monuments, markers, headstones, corner markers, gates, fences, walls, coping, cradles, slabs, ledgers, statues, benches, vases fountains, bird baths, flagpoles, signs, fountains, trash receptacles, crypts, mausolea, columbaria, buildings, and any hardscape constructed or placed within a cemetery. .Mausolea are large stately tombs or a buildings housing such a tomb or several tombs. Columbaria are vaults with niches for urns containing ashes of the dead.
We decide to wait at the old Mercer family section so we make our way past the orderly columns of Spanish-American war veterans. The Mercer mausoleum is is an imposing structure. We set up the tripod and camera on the east of the building to be in its moonshadow in the darkest spot we can find. We get a few good shots of the graveyard and moss covered oaks in the moonlight.
We wait for minutes and midnight arrives uneventfully. Then we see three dark figures quietly move across the grounds. We hear a door open, and then silence.
I signal to Mrs. Phred. We have dive signals that come in handy. I hold my fingers to my lips for silence. I point at her and to my eyes as a signal to be watchful and make walking motions with two fingers.
We move around to the front of the Mercer mausoleum and find the open door. I click on my flashlight and allow a sliver of light into the interior. A section of wall stands open. We move to the interior and look into an opening leading to dark stairs. There is a dim light reflecting from deep underground.
We look at each other and I point to the stairs and make the walking signal. She shakes her head "NO" and makes a pulls on my sleeve as a signal to leave. She has big eyes. I point at her and then the ground to signal “wait here” and begin to descend the stairway.
A small electric camping light is at the bottom of the stairs. Tunnels lead in three directions. What appears to be coffin material has been used to shore up the walls and ceilings.
I bend over and begin to walk down the northern tunnel. Bodies in various states of decay litter the tunnel floor. Pieces of some are missing. I pick up a human femur that appears to have gnawed teeth marks.
The tunnel branches several times. Suddenly everything went black.
When I cam to I found myself tied securely. Three men stood over me.
“It’s awake”, said the toothless one. He reaches in his pocket for dentures. I notice the teeth are filed to points.
“What you doin’ down here, boy asked the bearded one.
“Been a long time since we had a fresh-un.” The third man cackles.
“That ‘balming fluid sure ruins the taste”. The toothless man now grins with pointed teeth.
I’m beginning to get a bad feeling about this as they all draw knives and start to bend toward me.
Six shots ring out rapid-fire and the men yelp and disappear into the tunnels. Mrs. Phred has smuggled her Glock on the trip after all. She’s never been much of a shot. After she unties me we run down the tunnel and up the stairs.
We close the wall behind us and I ask for the Glock but she’s dropped it.
“You never listen to me!” she says.
I pile about a thousand pounds of tombstones against the door and we grab the camera and head for the wall.
As we drop to the ground, the flashlights come on and I hear, “On the ground, a**hole.” We explain we are doing research for H2G2…I show them my "official post reporter" press card. They tell me I can explain it to the judge.
All I know is those three ghouls have probably dug themselves out by now...I just left a Post Office box on the arrest records, and we're not going back for the trial.
Here are the pictures from the Savannah graveyard h2g2 research.
http://community.webshots.com/slideshow?ID=555293035
One thing is really odd...the lady in the long dress in the moonlight was not there when I took the pictures...?????
Discuss this Journal entry [47]
Latest reply: Nov 2, 2006
Life's U-turns
Posted Oct 26, 2006
Somewhere in the Carolinas - 26 October, 2006
We travel 100 miles to attend a mediation in a Carolina courthouse. We drive in on Highway 220.
We arrive 30 minutes early and go to a convenience store for two coffees and two
s. The clerk says we can save 89 cents by buying six s instead of two, so we throw away four extra s and pocket the savings. My son suggest leaving the extra s on the sidewalk in case a hungry policeman comes by...
Outside the store, a car has a large neatly lettered sign in the rear window. It says:
If you are going the wrong way
on Highway 220
It is legal to do a U-turn
I try to puzzle out the hidden meaning behind this sign and immediately think about catching large black flys abd tying them to my lapel on thin nylon threads.
We enter the courthouse for the mediation. The parties are groups of geezers who are fighting for control of the Board of a Homeowner's association. A homeowner's association is a form of corporation that collects dues to expend for purposes that benefit all the owners. The homeowners elect a board to manage the association affairs, usually as unpaid volunteers. The old board apparently gained power by staging a bloody coup-d-etat which was overturned in an expensive legal battle...now the new board wants to humilate the old board and extract a pound of flesh by suing the old board for the personal recovery of some expenses they claim were inappropriate ...two things are sure...there is much bad blood here among the "cooperative" homeowners and all the homeowners will lose when this mess comes to trial...neither set of geezers will budge in the mediation....we leave after four hours and order Stromboli for lunch...I look for flys but it's too colfor flys this time of year.
I make a note not to buy a condo or run for a office on a Homeowner's board of directors. Life is too short to deal with geezers squabbling about when to drain the pool and whethor someone's grandchildren have been visiting for too long.
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Latest reply: Oct 26, 2006
Phred Firecloud
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