Ghostly Doings

Happy Halloween, Everybody! Chuy is all dressed up for Trick or Treating but would prefer the "treats" rather than the "trick" of donning one of Mom's five costumes she's carting around.

I haven't seen my Requisite Ghost yet for the season but I got a dandy story the other night. The town council has moved into the old CAAG building downtown. In its heyday, the two story building was used as a barrroom/bordello/hotel (I guess you take your pick) and numerous ghost stories abound. We attended a night meeting there this week and when we left, I asked one of the people who work there if they'd had anything to report in the ghostly realm.

They had. They said doors that supposedly were left unlocked would mysteriously lock, day or night. Or vice versa, doors that were locked were found to be unlocked. One person said that she'd heard somebody using the bathroom one night when she was there alone. It bothered her and she stood in the hall for several moments watching a shadow move under the door from the lit up bathroom. She even heard the toilet fixture creak as when somebody sat down on it. Finally, she screwed up her courage and opened the unlocked door, only to find an empty room. (I think I'd be fleeing into the night, vowing, "Never again!" if I'd had that experience!)

The most amazing story I got so far was that a team of Ghosthunters had come up from the Valley to study the building. They'd been hearing the stories and wanted to see for themselves what was going on. It was daytime and they talked to the current staff of the building and went over it with their digital equipment trying to find EVP's or energy spots. When they finished for the day, they stood across the street and took some pictures of the building. When they got back and studied what they got, they were in for a suprise!

Standing in the doorway of the building, looking directly at them across the street, as though asking them what their business was, was a small statured Hispanic woman, dressed in a long black dress, a high black lace collar framing her neck, much as would be worn at the turn of the century. Is this the woman who walks the floors of the CAAG building and inhabits the toilet and messes with the locks? For it must be her building after all, if she has been here for a hundred years or more.

Tonight, the town has a big Halloween parade. Folks will park on Main Street and decorate their trunks and dispense candy treats to the little folks who dress up and Trick or Treat on the street. We're going and I'm donning a Mardi Gras mask of feathers and hand out goodies. But I'm also going to make it a special point at some time in the evening to go across the street from City Hall and snap a picture of this old building. Then when I get home, I'm hoping for a really ghostly 'treat'!

Life in a Small Town

The Circle K store down on Hwy. 60 was robbed at gun point last week. It was at midnight and done by two local residents of the town. The idea of this is leaving the brunt of this town's residents cold!

During the past three years, the town has beefed up its little police force and enacted a co-operation with the Pinal County's Sheriff office when they needed help. But we haven't had any armed robberies during that time.

Fortunately for the town, our police arrested the two men in their twenties who 'did the deed'. Their names were posted in the paper for everybody and their brother to see. According to some of the older residents, that's a First too. Normally, when somebody did something wrong, especially if it was a Somebody of Note who was related to other Notable Somebodies, the name(s) of the accused would never make the paper. So it appears we're headed in the right direction, but...

On the other hand, an armed robbery was committed in our town last week! Us townspeople had better do something to help stop this if we don't want to see things change drastically for the worse. We have let our Crime Free Superior meetings lapse while we pursued other interests: the elections, the Trash Committee, recycling, the Christmas program for all the children, toy runs for underpriveledged families. There's a whole host of THINGS the lot of us are working on to make this town a better place for ALL the citizens. But... an armed robbery was committed here last week and it looks to me like we should and could be doing something better to assure it's not going to happen again.

Life in a Mining Town

Sometimes, it is easy to forget that Superior is a Mining Town. Though the true copper mine closed up close to forty years ago, the people that live here still regard themselves as miners. It's like fishing, once a fisherman always a fisherman. So are the miners. Once a miner... etc. Currently, Resolution Copper which bought the old Magma Copper Mine is doing reclamation on the old site just west of town, in preparation for getting the land exchange through Congress for the new site east of town up near Apache Leap. So mining activities go on in this town, even though for the most part, townspeople like me aren't that aware of all the mining activity that is occurring. Until last week, that is...

On Monday, we heard and felt a big boom of blasting in the morning. It reminded us that yes, we do live in a mining town. On Tuesday, Bill and I were sitting in the office working at the computers when another blast boomed out. It sounded like one of our earthquakes in California.

Chuy was laying in the hallway and looked up, tense and worried. "It's okay, Chu!" I reassured him. "You livin' in a mining town now, Dog."

He remained halfway up on his haunches, not ready to resume his nap. What was wrong with his people that they hadn't bolted out of the house? Wasn't that what Sane Folks would do?

"Go back to sleep, Chuy," Bill ordered. "You're okay."

Down in the basement, I heard the macaws flutter around and squawk. They were thinking earthquake too. They're really good earthquake predictors, and usually give me about a thirty seconds heads up. But this had thrown them for a loop too. No early warning sound waves for them this time.

We went back to work and didn't think anything about it, until a few days later. We were walking down Main Street and stopped in front of City Hall to read the notices on the bulliten board. I was curious to see a letter with Resolution Copper's letterhead. Seems on that Tuesday that Chuy was so concerned with the noisy blasting, a forty pound chunk of rock became airborne and traveled twelve hundred feet before crashing through a roof of a house on the north side of town. Though the house was occupied, fortunately the person escaped injury. Resolution was investigating the accident as were folks from the Federal Mining Safety office so they were letting Chuy and the other townspeople know that until the investigation was complete, blasting would be discontinued for the time being.

Crap! Never in my wildest dreams would I have worried about an errant rock blown across town from the mine to come crashing through my roof! What a wake up call that would be. No wonder Chuy and the birds were worried! They had already assumed the Worst Possible Situation. Bill said the rock would be bad enough, but what if you had your attic stuffed with junk and odds and ends of furniture? Then it would become a possible instrument of doom too. I think our attic is relatively empty. Bill goes up there occasionally to crawl around and fix stuff. But it gives me something else to think about.

On the bright side, however, we do live south of Main Street. The mine is located north of it. There'd be a few more rows of homes before rocks would rain down. But wait until they start blasting out the new underground mine near Apache Leap. We live right under the shadow of the Leap, so I've got something else to keep me awake at night. HA!

A Room With Color

Since we lived in a mobile home for thirty-five years with wood paneling, when we moved into this house in Superior with its totally white painted walls, I thought I was in heaven. I loved the isolation it brought to my furnishings, colors would stand out, everything always looked 'clean'. Of course, the decorating magazines and books I've been picking up this year to help me 'finish' the decorating were touting color on the walls, banishing the white painted walls, that 'sterile' look.

I even had a discussion (argument) with a younger friend, Jean-Marie, this summer about my white painted walls. She not only espouses color on the walls, she even touts two color walls, the more the merrier, in her book. White walls, she stated, were passe and it was time for me to break out some paint. Not so!, I argued. I'd lived for thirty-five years with brown wood paneling and I was enjoying the sterile white look. But it was so Yesterday!, she exclaimed, get with it.

Well, Jean-Marie, you should see the house now, or even better in a few weeks, when we finish,for Bill and I have discovered Color. We ran up to Ace last Sunday and picked up four gallons of color. We put a new acrylic painting in the living room with a Southwestern theme and the wall was begging for a tan background. So we spent forty minutes painting a white wall in the living room a creamy tan color and it looked good. And it was Easy. Bill did the cutting in with a tapered brush and let me roll on big swatches of paint with a roller. It was water clean-up and we finished in under an hour. Yeah... Easy! And boy, did it look good! And now our other walls looked.... plain.

So the next day, we broke open a can of mint green and started on the opposing wall, the fireplace sits between these two walls. We thought it was a nice light mint green, but the color must have changed a bit when they mixed it, for it turned out to a medium turquoise. Suddenly, that wall now demanded all the attention in the living room. Astounding how the walls were competing for whose attention would be drawn to it! Immediately, Bill broke open a gallon of dark persimmon we'd bought for some work outside and applied it over the fireplace. It picked up the orangey-brown tones of a new Australian print we just hung. Zowie! Now the fireplace wall was screaming for notice!

Suddenly, our living room was a riot of color and we still had another wall to do which would connect with the dining room which flowed into the kitchen... Man, this was fun! But what colors now and where would it end?

Wednesday, we headed down to Mesa and a big Lowe's store. We spent an hour and a half in deliberations (Hey, folks! This stuff takes time!!!) and bought four more gallons of paint, a lemon yellow, lime green, a grape lilac and an iridescent teal green. Now we were cooking!

We came home and entered the sun room. The sun room has big windows looking out onto Apache Leap but the back wall is a solid white. Bill drew out four big ray over the doorway into the sunroom, running big blocks of diagonal color into that wall. The first ray is a brilliant sunny yellow. It just begs you to wake up and get going! The second ray was the lime green. Once on the wall, it almost screamed chartreuse, it was so greeny-yellow. What next? A beautiful tangerine that could hold its own against the other colors. The fourth ray? Well, it's basically under the table that sets there and I'm opting for my pretty grape lilac but Bill is favoring a chocolate brown, so that hasn't been painted yet.

But get this: yesterday, we moved outside. Before I came home, Bill painted the upper and lower driveways a light green. The retaining wall on one side, next to the house, he painted a pale yellow. We thought a lime green on the opposing retaining wall would be interesting. So that was my job. And it's bright all right, but maybe throws the deserty pastels for a loop. (Meaning: It may get repainted.) While I was on that, Bill painted the front step that dark persimmon color and the front walk the pretty lighter tangerine color. Today, he painted the area around the front step the bright lemon yellow. We are lookin' Good, I tellya!

So okay, Jean-Marie! I stand corrected! Color is the way to go. I don't know how far we're going with this, but right now, we're having a really good time with it. And like Bill says, if we don't like it... we can always re-paint!

Vignette

Once in a while, the Universe allows us to witness a slice of life without letting us know the full story. Just a fragment of a sentence, so to speak. There is no beginning and we certainly are not allowed to know the ending. Bill and I witnessed such a piece on our trip back to Superior last week. It's been hard to get it out of my head. What did happen? And how did it end - happily or sadly?

We pulled into a truck stop in Buttonwillow near Bakersfield. Bill was driving his Chevy and had to go into the adjoining bay for diesel. I pulled into one of about sixteen spaces for gas and went inside to pay. When I returned, the pump on the other side of mine was occupied by a hatchback SUV with a young black woman pumping gas. I set about getting my gas pumped and started wiping down my windows.

At that point, the alarm on what I thought was my Explorer began blaring. I madly scrambled for my keys, but even though I pushed the button the alarm still blared.

"Stop it, Rodney!" the black woman pumping gas into her white Explorer next to me yelled at a boy about nine years old.

Rodney was returning from the convenience store with his dad and a younger boy and guffawing. He clutched his dad's car keys, which he tossed over to his dad. Daddy tried to tried to wipe the smirk off his face when he saw how pissed off his wife was with their actions and the younger boy whooped with laughter and ran to open the back door of the car.

"That's not funny!" Mommy promised, her face looking stern and unhappy with the trio of giggling, idiotic men. She made a road trip look like it was no picnic with that happy go lucky trio.

I gave her a sympathetic smile and finished pumping my gas. When I got into my car to move it across the parking lot to join up with Bill, they were just pulling out ahead of me. I was surprised to see that their hatchback trunk was completely open. Their trunk was filled with luggage and blankets and stuff. I started to beep my horn to warn them, but they were driving very slowly and I assumed they were just going over to park and hadn't wanted to bother with closing the trunk before they opened it again to get something out. Sometimes, I think I mind other people's business too much, so I stopped myself from beeping and crept over to the parking spaces to join Bill.

The white Explorer slowed but headed for the driveway and then a green backpack fell out. I rolled my window down and shouted and the Explorer slowed at the curb. I assumed they knew their hatchback was open and they'd just dropped something out. Nope! They were only checking for traffic and pulled out to the left, preparing to get back onto the freeway. Bill started yelling at that point, but they couldn't hear a thing. Music was on and the kids were tussling in the back seat and I guess neither Mom nor Dad could hear the wind rushing by the open hatchback where their possessions were now going to fall where they may.

I ran over and picked up the backpack. A cell phone plopped out and looking inside, it was plain that this was Mommy's purse! Oh dear, oh dear! What had only seemed like a bad day for Mama was now assuming Excedrin proportions! Bill ran the phone and backpack into the convenience store. We looked up the road anxiously, expecting to see the white Explorer return any minute to find their items.

No such luck. As we made our way back onto the Highway 5 South, we didn't see anymore luggage laying out, but I never saw a white Explorer making its way north either. I can't help wondering how far they must have traveled before they discovered the 'boot' was open. Evidently, when the panic button was pushed by Rodney, the trunk was opened too. Daddy was having too good a time to see his message light that "Tailgate is ajar" was lit, and there was too much noise and confusion to be witness to it. But I bet when it was discovered what happened, that Mama doesn't let him forget this one in a hurry!

Wedding Finery

Tad's and Erin's wedding was a fine occasion. It allowed every single Vogler male from Grandpa Bill to the newest member, three year old Ronnie. a chance to don a tux and and brocade vest and necktie and the shiniest black shoes that ever could be found.



Tad asked me at the Rehearsal Dinner if I would get Ronnie dressed in his tux the next day. Ronnie had been telling folks that he wasn't going to be wearing that thing! So at noon the next day, Willy met us with a very dignified Charlie and Sage who were only too thrilled to be wearing their tuxes and we drove to the hotel in Santa Rosa. (Charlie would strike a stance and say, "Bond. James Bond!" he thought he looked so hot.) Sage was striking kung foo poses in his tux, not to be outdone.

It didn't take Ronnie long to want to dress like the Big Boys and we soon had him stripped down in one of the best men's rooms and tugging on his tux trousers and buttoning up the ivory dress shirt with (get this!) pearlized cuff links. As we had him step into the first patent leather shoe, he whimpered, "That hurts!"

Charlie peered over the bed at him. "'at's okay, Ronnie! It's s'posed to hurt!"

"Yeah!" Sage agreed, "Mine hurt too!"

We jammed his foot in the second shoe and I tied it up. "Dat hurts too!" he murmured.

"Well, ours do too!" Charlie and Sage chorused.

I escorted the trio of tux clad men from the room so the groom and best men could get on with their tuxes. It was now an hour and a half before the wedding would begin. The bride and her maids were on their way back from a nearby salon for hair and nails and the bride's mother was arranging placenames and flowers in the dining room. We stopped in so she could see that indeed the three year old had gotten the tux on.

"Why, don't you look grand, Ronnie!" she cooed in pleasure seeing her baby grandson appearing so grown up.

"My feet hurt!" Ronnie said.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she started to fuss over him.

"Dat okay," Ronnie stopped her. "Dey s'pose to hurt!"

But now the boys needed a nibble. In our haste to get to the hotel by one, and get the boys dressed beforehand, no one had thought of lunch. It was nearing two and I had three hungry boys. We walked through several floors of the hotel looking for an aunt's room that held the promise of Sun Chips and Seven Up but were unable to find it. The men were getting cranky and disgruntled being traipsed through miles of hotel corridors, plus my own feet were getting cranky with all the walking. We headed back to the lobby where I asked the whereabouts of the restaurant. While the desk clerk gave me the information, I had to steer Ronnie away from an assortment of Twix bars and M+M's. I didn't think chocolate would set too well with ivory colored shirts and white brocaded vests!

In the dining room, which was almost vacant, the waitress led us to a banquette with high walls. Sage and Ronnie sat across from Charlie and me. She presented them with the children's menu. There were four items on it, hot dogs, hamburgers, chicken fingers and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

"Look at these prices for a hamburger, Grandma!" Charlie roared, oblivious of the waitress standing by the table. "They want $8.95 for a hamburger!"

"Don't mind the prices," I told him, secretly glad I'd brought along extra twenties for this special day. "What do you want to eat?"

"I'll have a hot dog," Sage decided at once.

"Peanut butter and jelly," Ronnie said. "And French Fries."

The waitress nodded. "They come with French Fries."

"Charlie," I prompted.

"Ohhhhh, I can't decide!" he mulled the few selections over in his head. "They both sound so good: hot dog or hamburger. Hamburger or hot dog!"

"Charlie!" my tone had gotten surlier. He sounded not unlike my old granny when I'd take her out to lunch and it was torture for her to decide on an entree. But Grandma's been dead for twelve years and here sits her great-great grandson doing the same thing!

"Oh, okay! A hot dog," he flopped back in his seat, exhausted with his decision. He still looked darned good in his ivory brocade vest with the cuff links dangling precipitiously from the buttonholes. My little James Bondsians had just ordered hot dogs. What was wrong with this picture?

The waitress returned in a few minutes with three Seven-Ups and straws were unwrapped and plunged in. Ronnie commenced to slurp his down with passion. He could just barely reach the top of the cup on the table by sitting down and I encouraged him to sit on his knees, but the boy was being proper and refused with a sullen shake of his head. Nevertheless, I jerked my hand across the table a number of times to keep the Seven-Up from upending in his lap.

Every time the kitchen door opened, the boys would perk up. Their lunches had arrived! But no, they were being delivered to somebody else. At two fifteen, the waitress came back, empty handed. "I'm sorry," she cooed. "But the chef says he's out of hot dog buns."

"Oh, bring them hamburgers then," I snapped. "But hurry! The wedding starts in forty-five minutes and we don't want to be late!"

She left again. Sage sprawled forward on the table, hungry, tired and ready for something to happen. Ronnie squished his straw so hard with his teeth that he now couldn't draw anything to drink when he slurped on it. Charlie looked about him.

"You know what, Sage?" he told his brother. "This is such a fancy place that you can't see the other people who are eating their lunch! You've never taken us to such a fancy restaurant before, Grandma!"

He was quite right. Burger King and In 'n Out's do not compare with a Hilton dining room.

"You know, Sage, THIS IS WHERE THE RICH PEOPLE GO!" he roared.

I wanted to slink under the table. "Keep your voice down, Charlie," I hissed. "If you're not careful, it will be thirty years before I'll bring you to a place like this again!"

At two-thirty, only thirty minutes until the wedding was to start, the waitress brought in their luncheons. Each one, even the peanut butter and jelly, were served on the biggest platters I've seen. My Thanksgiving turkey platter isn't that big! And next to these, for each boy, was a four inch square dish, brimming with a cup of thick red ketchup!

Little boys .... white dress shirts.... vests and ties... and gobs of red ketchup!

"Be careful," I warned Charlie through my still gritted teeth. "If you get ketchup on your shirt, your mother will kill me!"

"Yeah, then she'll stick a knife in you too!" He took the top of his hamburger bun and liberally doused it in the dish of ketchup. Not to be outdone, Sage took the top off his hamburger and laid it into the ketchup dish too. Sage was sitting catty corner from me and I couldn't lean that far across the table to stop him.

"What in the world are you boys doing?" I asked aghast. Never, in the nine year history of being Grandma to these two boys has there every been a time when ketchup, relish, mustard or any other spread touched the sacred hamburger these boys would eat. If, God forbid, I ordered them one 'with everything' there were either tears or a thorough cleansing of said relishes before a little mouth would touch it. And there they were, dressed to the Nines and Tens in the fanciest duds they've ever worn in their lives, liberally drenching their hamburgers in red ketchup!!! I felt my heart palpate.

I looked wildly around the room, hoping that Daddy or Grandpa or Uncle or SOMEBODY would rescue me! Ronnie's sleeve dropped a quarter inch from his dish of ketchup as he blissfully ate French Fries. Forget the peanut butter and jelly, he was happy with his French Fries. (The night before at the Rehearsal Dinner, the waitress asked him what he wanted to drink. "French Fries," he told her. I told him he could have a Seven-Up. "What?" he asked, as she left the table. "She don't have French Fries?")

Now, Charlie's and Sage's Daddy entered the room and looked around. I waved him over and hurriedly admitted what I had done. "Hi, Daddy!" Sage greeted effusively. "Want a French Fry?"

"I don't mind if I do," Willy said, scooping one up. He was wise enough not to use any ketchup however!

Charlie pushed the remains of his hamburger into his mouth and regarded his dad. "It was okay," he told him, "but not worth eight ninety-five!"

More folks were arriving for the wedding and I got the boys out of the dinette, one by one to square them away. Charlie had a sizable glob of ketchup on his vest. I dipped one of the cloth napkins into a glass of Seven-Up and scrubbed away. Ronnie managed to get a few drops of ketchup on the suit coat after I'd buttoned it up. Seven-up took care of that too. Sage was unscathed, but most of his hamburger lay uneaten. Grandma had fussed at him too much to make it worthwhile eating.

I hustled the Little Men out of the restaurant, leaving a tip too, mind you, and we got out in front to greet our friends and relatives. But it was still some time before my nerves settled down and I could forget white shirts and brocaded vests and sublimely dressed little boys and start to enjoy the festivities!

Exodus

We traveled back to Superior this week, after I had spent four months in the cool Dillon Beach air. The warm (hot) Sonoran desert days feel good after all that frigid cold of the Pacific. So this week I've found my legs again. Yeah, they paled up quite a bit since last May when I last wore shorts. Bill's look incredibly tanned from his summer spent mostly working outside on the house, even in 115 degree weather! (The grandsons have a little action doll in the toy box, dressed in khaki shorts and a canvas vest. Bill and I found it on the beach years ago when Charlie was a baby for him to play with. Charlie immediately named it "Jeff". When Bill returned from Arizona looking so brown this summer, little Ronnie picked it up and asked, "Is this Grandpa Bill?" So it's amazing how good a tan can make you feel (You Action Figure-You!)

The house looks luscious, much better than I remembered. It welcomed me back every square inch of it. In my absence, Bill had the upper and lower driveways poured with new cement and a back yard, under the deck poured as well. He has painted it a light grassy green, so even if grass won't grow in the hot Arizona summers, it still looks like we've got one. He covered over the major part of our upper deck so there's more shade and added misters to cool the air. Already, the parrots are overjoyed about their 'rainforest' in the Sonoran desert and have spent five hours a day enjoying their new climate. He took extra special care of the garden I had recently planted before leaving and now the tiny shoots of fountain grass are four feet high or better and brimming with blooms; the Mexican sunflowers just about took out all the other flowers they grew so hard; and the Mexican primroses are still showing no end in blooming their little pink hearts out. Who knew stuff could grow so well in this heat if they had enough water? I was overwhelmed.

The house, if anything, seems more settled, more content, and yes, more powerful than it did before I left. I guess it's happier with us and knows we mean it no harm. Last year, we had several people walk in and say it felt like the house had wrapped its arms around them like 'a big ol' hug', and this year the feeling is just bigger and more fulfilling and THERE. As if, the house itself has assumed an entity. But... a good entity all the same. It's still welcoming and warm and "glad to meetcha!" And, yes, the house likes the changes that Bill has worked on all summer long. We've plans for more rock work in the front yard and some more garden beds for planting, so we won't be idle this winter. Plus, it will give us reasons for more Boonie trips to collect more rocks.

Okay, so now, I promise in the next few days I will write about the Wonderful Wedding of Tad and Erin last week. I promise I won't be so slow to blog. And even though I'm going to be missing my Little Men (the grandsons) I will include some stories about them from this past summer. Promise!