Forging a Path to the Future

Living history.  It's actually one of the most important aspects of history we have.  Plus, it makes history come alive.  No longer a dull, boring subject based on dates which mean nothing.  Instead, it is vibrant, pulsating with life.  The one dimensional figures of the past become three dimensional and stand before us as individuals who are stripped of idolization or stigmas which liken them to gods or demons.  Living history is more than just historical figures, wars, economics. or religion.  It is the recollections, memories, stories, actions, and lives of the people who left these to us; to learn and grow from, and most importantly, to remember.

So, why am I talking about this?  Well, you see on October 10, 2013, Scott Carpenter died.  Who?  Scott Carpenter, one of the Mercury 7.  The Mercury 7?  Yes, the Mercury 7, the first seven men to be picked bu the United States as astronauts.  These seven men were the first in the United States to ride out of the Earth's atmosphere on top of a, well let's face it, a firecracker.  Yeah, a rocket called Mercury.  Okay, Scott Carpenter was a member of the Mercury 7.  He was an astronaut, an American hero. Even more important, he is the second American astronaut to circle the Earth, after John Glenn.  There's more though.  You see, Scott didn't have a good time.  Nope, he almost became our first casualty.  Yeah, important.  He was to be in space for five hours doing scientific experiments including eating solid food in space.  Scott is the first astronaut to do that!  However, there was a little problem.  In performing the experiments there was a bit of fuel overexpenditure of fuel.  Right, not to good.  Well, he was able to save an amount of fuel to help him get home, but then when he was moving into position for re-entry the pitch horizon scanner decided to malfunction.  Scott took control manually and found himself overshooting the landing zone by 250 miles.  Now comes NASA trying to find him.  They didn't even know if he had survived.  After searching for 40 minutes, they found him, in his life raft, safe and healthy.  Three hours later, the USS Intrepid arrived to recover him.

It's right here that living history takes over for me.  I knew the man who was first to reach Scott.  Yep, his name was John, and he jumped into the Atlantic in full scuba gear to bring Scott Carpenter on board.  You should have heard John and his wife, Carla tell their stories about this event.  John was a fantastic story teller.  He made you feel and see what he did.  I loved it when he told Rick and I his tales of his life in the military.  When he died, Rick was devastated for John had made Rick feel like family.  You see that is what is wonderful about living history; you become a part of their family and they become a part of you.  Your interest in their lives is more than just curiosity.  You now can share their stories and memories as well.  There is a continuance which does not falter for it is now a part of history and lives on.

This is just one example of living history.  Not all have to do with something this significant, but they still impact us and the future with their stories.  I met a woman who was 88 years old and was attending Eckerd College to receive her Bachelor's Degree.  We were in the same class, and I sat down next to her.  We were taking Russian Cinema together and she was great.  One night we were discussing the events of World War II in Russia and our professor asked her what memories she had.  She went on to tell us all about December 7th, 1941.  Pearl Harbor.  It was a day burnt in her mind.  She remembered what she was doing, wearing, what her family members were doing, and hearing the radio announcer tell them all that Pearl Harbor had been bombed by the Japanese.  Since I was sitting next to her, I saw her eyes water up, the quiver in her voice, and impact that event had on her life was transported to me and to everyone else in that room.  My professor, Sergei, listened and nodded as she poured this all out onto the rest of us, who had not even been born or would not be born until 20 years or more later.  Yes, we all learned that day just what Pearl Harbor had been like for those who were thrust into a war which would change all our lives forever.  A day, a morning, a moment which was burnt into the memories of those living in the United States forever.

By the way, she graduated and walked to get her degree with her two daughters and grandchildren looking on.  I really looked up to her and realized right then and now the only thing that can stop you from achieving your dreams is yourself.  Living history.  Living today to live tomorrow and history prepares us for these steps.  Seize the day.  Seize the moment.  Seize the living history and forge a path to reach your future.

Haunted Houses

How many of us have stumbled upon houses which send shivers up and down our spines?  Have you ever looked upon an abandoned house and wondered why no one lives in it? What is it about such houses that fill us with dread?  Why do we even have such eerie thoughts?  Is it that we have been surrounded by stories of such places?  Have we encountered something ourselves? Is it a genetic memory of something from the ancient past?  Does our subconscious hold the key to our discomfort?  Maybe, it's just the time of the year and a poem by Longfellow which makes us this way!  Enjoy!  Hahahahahahahahahaahaha

Haunted Houses

  by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.

We meet them at the door-way, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.

There are more guests at table than the hosts
Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As silent as the pictures on the wall.

The stranger at my fireside cannot see
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
All that has been is visible and clear.

We have no title-deeds to house or lands;
Owners and occupants of earlier dates
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,
And hold in mortmain still their old estates.

The spirit-world around this world of sense
Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere
Wafts through these earthly mists and vapours dense
A vital breath of more ethereal air.

Our little lives are kept in equipoise
By opposite attractions and desires;
The struggle of the instinct that enjoys,
And the more noble instinct that aspires.

These perturbations, this perpetual jar
Of earthly wants and aspirations high,
Come from the influence of an unseen star
An undiscovered planet in our sky.

And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud
Throws o'er the sea a floating bridge of light,
Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd
Into the realm of mystery and night,—

So from the world of spirits there descends
A bridge of light, connecting it with this,
O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,
Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19993#sthash.ocM9RrBZ.dpuf

Image from:  http://www.fanpop.com/clubs/halloween/images/16050708/title/haunted-house-wallpaper

Country Girl and the Big Apple

About thirty years ago I lived with my mother and stepfather in Queens, New York.  It was a great place, three stories high.  The bottom floor was a walk-in.  It was where my stepfather's office was.  He was a general practitioner and loved his work.  He practiced medicine for over sixty years and this little office was his last place to be the neighborhood doctor.  Anyway, the bottom was his office.  You would walk in and see where the kitchen would have been, my mom's desk, for she was his receptionist, was right where you would put the table.  A door next to it connected to a room which was pretty good size.  Off to the right was a bathroom. straight ahead on the door to the left was Oscar's office.  The doorway to it's right was his examination room. Beyond the examining table was a sliding glass door which lead out to the small lawn and patio.  It was the perfect office for him and mom to care for and the neighbors kept him busy with all sorts of ailments.

The second floor was where mom and Oscar lived.  A cute walk-up with kitchen, dining area, living area, bathroom, and two bedrooms. Really nice and cozy and, of course, the living room held many tall bookcases filled with all of Oscar's books; of which I took advantage of.  From Charles Dickens to Mein Kompf, Oscar had all sorts of books.  He loved to read as much as I did and he would peer into his wondrous cases until he found one he thought I would enjoy and I did!  Mom always made sure this little home was comfortable and cozy and it definitely was a delight for me.  But, I didn't live in this area with them. Nope, I lived on the third floor and had the dream which many young people wished for.  An apartment in New York City.  Yeah, it was awesome!

Now, my place was laid out like the two previous floors, but believe it or not, I had more space than the folks did.  Good size kitchen with a gas stove and oven, a breakfast nook, dining room, huge living room, two bedrooms, and a bathroom!  Talk about a great place to live!  Manhattan was only a train ride away.  Or if I wanted to go to Fifth Ave, it was a bus and train ride away.  Yeah!  The good old 7 line would take me straight in to Fifth Ave.  I loved it!  Being in the "City that never sleeps" was culture shock to a country girl, but I learned my way around fast.  I worked at Chase Manhattan Bank, and for six or eight weeks I had to go to training right next to the Empire State Building.  When I looked out of the office windows to the left, I watched the ebb and flow of traffic as it passed Macy's Department Store.  I spent a lot of time at Macy's and since I was there going through training during the holiday season, I was able to see and enjoy the preparations for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and to see the city deck itself out for Christmas.

To put it bluntly, I was as excited as a kid!  The big city, all the diverse people, Santa Claus' ringing bells on every corner, the scent of roasting chestnuts, Macy's, Lord and Taylor's on 5th Ave and all the other stores there who decorated their windows, the NYC Public Library with its lions.  I could go on and on and this is just around where I was training.  I was fascinated watching CBS and NBC set up for the parade and then removing it.  When I was getting close to finishing training, I did what every good child does....I saw Santa Claus.  After all, the real one is at Macy's, right Virginia?  He sure did look like the real one.  I should know, I saw the real Santa at the North Pole in New York, when I was there as a kid.  Even have a photo with him.  And no, do not tell me there isn't a Santa, I will just tell you there is, so get over it.  Anyway, I stood in this incredibly long line which wove all through one entire floor of the store, Finally, I saw him.  It was a dream come true.  Me and the Macy's Santa Claus.  The one and only.  YES!  Jackpot!  I fulfilled a child's dream.  It was heaven.  Then it was over with and the moment was gone; but it still lingers on in my mind's eye and it is a memory of joy for me.

Yes, living with mom and Oscar in New York City was a dream come true.  The country girl went to the big city and in doing so, left the country behind. I still love the countryside, but I adore the city.  So much to do and see.  To be a part of something so large and so diverse.  I loved my place.  I loved being with Mom and Oscar, seeing a whole new world with eyes that had been dimmed by illness.  It was the beginning of the new me.  The one who longed for so much more and who received it.  My blessings have been numerous and New York City is a huge part of me.  So go!  Explore!  Live!  And in between I'll tell you about my times there and well, the time I was a Gothic heroine....You just have to wait...for the journey is just beginning!

The Fun of Horror and Death Coach

I admitted yesterday that I love folklore, especially ghost stories.  Right now I am reading a compilation of ghost stories written by Algernon Blackwood.  This particular book was first published in 1906 in London.  Now Blackwood became one of the most well-known horror writers of his time.  More interestingly, is the attitude to psychics and the supernatural during the latter Victorian and Edwardian periods which he writes about.  That's right the Victorian period.  Usually when somebody mentions this particular era images of three-story houses with gables and prim and proper women come into mind. The truth is far from this Hollywood/ Christian reflection of the historical period.

In reality, people of all classes, races, and education levels were dabbling in the occult in some way or other.  Queen Victoria believed wholeheartedly in the occult, psychics, paranormal, magnetism, and conducted seances.  Yes, this was a monarch who devoted a great deal of time to the supernatural/paranormal and the people responded to it.  Ever played the Ouija board?  Guess what?  It came out in 1890, supposedly as a parlor game, but it was used immensely by those trying to contact spirits.  After all, it's other name way "the spirit board".   So yes, the Victorian and Edwardian Eras were filled with spiritualists and mediums.  So when Algernon Blackwood began writing his ghost stories, he found a huge audience waiting to devour them.
It's kinda of in the same vain as some of the earlier Stephen King books. People love to read King and get scared.  In the same manner we haven't changed much from our ancestors, for they loved a good ghost story as well.  Think about all the authors who ventured into that particular genre:  Edgar Allen Poe, the founder of the genre, Blackwood, H. P. Lovecraft, and Stephen King just to name a few.  Yes, we love our horror. Yet, we are repelled and attracted when we face real horror.  Rather strange don't you think?  We love to be scared, but within conditions which we deem relevant and safe.  Facing horror in reality we are disgusted, but we are unable to turn our eyes from what we are seeing.  Perhaps its the genetic memory of our ancestors' which turn us into mindless primals seeking the scent of fear or horror.  It's an interesting thought which I might look into further considering my own search to understand fear better.  Or maybe you will think about it too....

Back to the beginning though, I am reading a collection of ghost stories by Algernon Blackwood and they are pretty good.  Very relevant to the time period that's for sure.  By the way, the one I'm reading is free on Amazon, you might want to check it out.  And if you liked the short ghost tale yesterday, here's my favorite one:  Enjoy

Death Coach

A New York Ghost Story 

retold by

S. E. Schlosser

It is midnight. The streets of Cohoes grow silent as the citizens turn off their lights one by one and go to their well-earned rest. The night is dark, and the wind whispers softly, touching the trees and houses, rattling a window pane here and there.

In one house, a woman sits beside her window, waiting silently for the doctor to arrive. Her beloved husband lies on the bed next to her. In the light of a single candle, she can see his emaciated face. He is in terrible pain, which even the drugs prescribed by the doctor cannot abate. She clutches his hand tightly, feeling the cold creeping through it. He is barely breathing now. She knows he is slipping away. One part of her is thankful, for she cannot bear to see him in so much pain. Most of her wants to scream out in desperation, begging him not to leave her alone.

Outside the house, the soft rumble of wheels and the clip-clop of hooves echo through the still night. The woman tears her eyes from her husband's face and looks out of the window, expecting to see the doctor's curricle pulling into the street. Instead, she sees a dark, closed coach with black gaping holes where the windows should be. The shafts at the front of the coach are empty, yet she can hear the sound of invisible horses' hooves, as the coach moves slowly down the street.

She draws in a deep breath and exhales slowly. It is the Death Coach. Her husband had told her it would come for him that night, but she hadn't believed him. Hadn't wanted to believe him. Yet there it is, rolling slowly up to the front of the house to stop by the front gate. The sight terrifies her, and she clutches her husband's hand tightly. He opens his eyes and smiles feebly at her, trying to squeeze her hand.

"Is it here?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. She nods.

"I love you," he says to his wife. She leans down and kisses him, feels his last breath on her lips. The grip on her hand loosens, and she knows he is dead. She straightens up, looking tenderly at his dead face through her tears.

A movement by the door causes her to look up. She sees her husband's spirit standing at the door. He gazes first at his dead body, and then smiles at her. Then he turns and walks down the stairs. She moves at once to the window, flinging it open and leaning out, hoping to see him again. The front door opens, and her husband steps out the front porch and walks slowly to the Death Coach. The door opens, and he pauses for a moment to look towards the window, knowing she is watching. He waves and she waves back, tears streaming down her face. Then her husband steps into the coach and the door closes behind him. Slowly, the Death Coach rumbles down the street, turns a corner, and is gone.

"Goodbye, my love," she calls softly, as the Death Coach disappears. Her husband's pain is over, but hers has just begun. With a heavy heart, she closes the window, and goes down the stairs to telephone the doctor and tell him her husband is dead.

Thanks again to S.E. Schlosser for retelling this tale and all the other great folklore tales. 

http://americanfolklore.net/folklore/2010/0

The Fifty Cent Piece

I love folklore and I especially love ghost stories.  So instead of writing something myself, I want to share one of my favorite folklore ghost stories.  It's called "The Fifty Cent Piece", it's short and fun.  Enjoy!

Fifty-Cent Piece

A New York Ghost Story 

retold by

S. E. Schlosser

Listen to the story 

There is a story told in Troy and Albany about a couple returning home from a trip to New England. They were driving home in a carriage, and were somewhere near Spiegletown when the light failed and they knew they would have to seek shelter for the night.

The husband spied a light through the trees and turned their horse into a small lane leading up a hill. A pleasant little house stood at the crest, and an old man and his wife met the couple at the door. They were in nightclothes and were obviously about to turn in, but they welcomed the travelers and offered them a room. The old woman bustled about making tea and offering freshly-baked cakes. Then the travelers were shown to their room. The husband wanted to pay the old couple for their lodgings, but the old lady shook her head and the old man refused any payment for such a small service to their fellow New Yorkers.

The travelers awoke early and tiptoed out of the house, leaving a shiny fifty-cent coin in the center of the kitchen table where the old couple could not miss it. The husband hitched up the horse and they went a few miles before they broke their fast at a little restaurant in Spiegletown.

The husband mention the nice old couple to the owner of the restaurant and the man turned pale.

"Where did you say that house was?" he asked. The husband described the location in detail.

"You must be mistaken," said the restaurant owner. "That house was destroyed three years ago by a fire that killed the Brown family."

"I don't believe it," the husband said flatly. "Mr. and Mrs. Brown were alive and well last night."

After debating for a few more minutes, the couple and the restaurant owner drove the carriage back out of town towards the old Brown place. They turned into the lane, which was overgrown with weeds, and climbed the hill to the crest. There they found a burned out shell of a house that had obviously not sheltered anyone for a long time.

"I must have missed the track," said the husband. And then his wife gave a terrified scream and fainted into his arms. As he caught her, the husband looked into the ruin and saw a burnt table with a shiny fifty-cent piece lying in the center.

You can find more of these wonderful tales at http://americanfolklore.net/folklore/2010/07/.  Folklore is a fantastic way to learn about the culture and history of the past.  It tells us so much about the people, their superstitions, and what they did for entertainment.  Enjoy and thanks to S. E. Schlosser for finding all these great tales and bringing them to us on the internet.  

The Red Rose Entwined With the White Rose

You know, a long time ago, in a country far away, a king fell asleep for a year.  The physicians did everything they could to wake him up, but alas, the king slept on.  Although he slept, his wife and servants fed him, bathed him, and cared for him praying he would awaken.  Finally after a year had passed, the king woke!  The people of the land rejoiced, as did his wife and son for they had missed him.  However, their joy became filled with woe, for the king had lost himself and was reduced to a scared animal who did not know anyone or anything.  The queen rose to this and led the people as she had done in the past year, all the while making sure her son was taught to be a king and warrior.  The soldiers true to king followed their queen and obeyed her orders and the land prospered.  The king was still loved by the people as was his queen.

Then as years began to pass by, whispers began among the king's family. Talk of his insanity grew and some became embolden to forge a path to the throne.  The queen heard this discontent and began to protect her husband and son, but the talk had become more then words and the threat to the throne was underway.  The York family stood forth and brought war to a country who yearned for the peace they had hold for this short time after the 100 Year's War had been decided.  These new battles brought forth victory to the York's and young Edward, Earl of March, became King Edward IV and the old insane king was placed in the tower for he was of no significance anymore.  No, the old king was gone, but the queen and their son still roamed the countryside finding more support and followers.

Another battle was fought forcing the queen and her son to leave and sail to her homeland.  There they plotted revenge and prayed for the safety of the old king.  Back in the majestic land, Edward has found the woman of his heart and married her secretly.  At last, he announced his marriage to this woman.  Instead of joy and happiness, treason and bitterness came forth and Edward found himself at war with his cousin and his brother, George.  The two men whom Edward trusted turned against him and joined forces with the old queen.  George married his cousin's daughter creating a trust and contract between the two men.  The tide was cast and the traitors with the queen sailed back to Albion.

Edward's spies were everywhere and he met them at battle again.  But before the battle had begun, George betrayed his cousin and rejoined Edward.  The battle was won before it was fought and the queen was captured, her son killed.  The last hope of the Lancaster's was finished.  The old king was smothered in his bed by the three brothers of York; Edward the king, George the traitor, and young Richard who longed for chivalry.  The cousin's war was ended or was it?  For in Wales a young boy was living and being raised to regain the throne for the Red Rose as his mother had foreseen in a vision from God.  This pious woman sent word to son's guardian warning him to go to the land of the old queen which they did as quickly as the wind could sail them there.

In Londontown the battle of tongues began.  Alliances were made among the most divergent members of court and betrayal lay quietly and calmly within the mind of brother, George who desired the crown and throne for himself.  He spread the gossip of Edward's wife being a witch who had cursed himself and his wife and had bewitched Edward.  He told of how Edward had smothered the old king, making sure not to mention he helped.  He worked at destroying the love of the people toward Edward; striving only for his own gain and power.  George's wife died of childbrith fever, he claimed it was Edward's wife who had poisoned her.

Finally, Buckingham and Stanley found a way to end George's devises and Edward who loved his brother was forced to try George for treason and then have him drowned in an execution style George wished for.  A tub filled with malmsy wine was made ready and George found himself immersed in it and held under until he had more than his fill.  Dead he was, dead from the wine his brother, Edward had brought his wife, the supposed witch of Rivers.  George was gone and peace reined for a short time, but like all manners of power the peace ended too soon.

Edward went fishing one cold day and fell into a stream, pneumonia soon followed and death raised it's sickle and struck him down, leaving his wife and children, including the two young princes at the hands of his youngest brother, Richard, and the members of court who despised her.  Elizabeth raced from the castle to Sanctuary with the one son and her daughters.  Edward's and her's eldest son was with his uncle, but Richard moved quickly to bring the boy to London for protection from those who wished evil to the lad.  The other boy was sought after, but Elizabeth using her wits sent the boy to another land for protection and a young street boy was given to the keepers and brought to the other son.

Richard was claimed Lord Protector by Edward before he died, alas, Elizabeth did not trust him for if she had the young lads in the Tower could still have been alive.  But when Richard was in the north of Albion a rumor reached him, and he rushed back to Londontown only to find the boys gone.  They had been whisked away to who knows where, but it is believed death reached out it's sickle again and they were gone.

Now Elizabeth and the pious woman, Margaret made a pact.  Elizabeth's eldest daughter would marry Margaret's son, Henry and Richard was made wary for those around him had had Edward's marriage to be declared illegal and their children illegitimate.  Richard III  and his wife, Anne were crowned, but the gossip and insinuations  surrounded him casting  a shadow over his reign.  The pious Margaret sent for her son, Henry Tudor and the battle for Albion was decided at Bosworth.  For Richard III had the men, so he thought, and charged onto the battlefield.  Young Henry Tudor thought all was lost, but Stanley, always on the side of the winner, plunged into the fray with the shouts of "For Tudor"!  filling the air.  Richard knew he was lost, his son had died, his beloved wife had too.  The curse of the Rivers witch had been fulfilled and Richard fell, the last king of Albion to die in battle.  He fought bravely as did his men, but the Stanley's changing sides ended the York's dream.

The three York brothers all dead in their graves as their cousin, Henry Tudor of  took the crown and the daughter of Edward as his queen.  The Red Rose of Lancaster entwined with the White Rose of York and the Tudor dynasty was born from the Cousin's War.  Peace fell upon Albion and Londontown cheered.  Alas, poor Richard the good man he was, was stigmatized as the killer of the young princes and Elizabeth, the wife of Edward found herself the mother of the queen.  The Rivers witch and the pious woman were filled with hope as their children wed, but both were always aware of the cost....

 

The Morning That Was

This morning was a morning where you just want to know what in the world happened?  Really, I'm not complaining, but I hope I don't have another one soon.  Just so you know what I am telling you about here it is my morning.

Sniff.  Sniff.  Lap, lap.  Nuzzle. Nuzzle.  One eye opens.  Long pink tongue swipes across face.  Yuck. Close eye.  "Go away, Bella".  Whine.  Whine. Nuzzle. Nuzzle.  Shaking head with tags jingling.  Pant. Pant.  Whine. Whine.  Plop.  "Get off me, Bella"!  Whine.  "Groan.  Alright, alright.  Just a minute.  Where's Reggie"?  No sign of her.  Whispered, "Reggie!  Reggie!" Nothing.  Whine. "Fine.  Forget Reggie.  Let's go Bella'.

Out to back yard.  "Nice out.  It's actually cool, Bella."  Bella is busy doing her duty.  Chirping birds.  Cars leaving.  The lawn chair beckons.  Settle down, relax, close eyes....Woof! Woof! Woof!  Whine. Whine.  "Bella what's wrong?"  Open eyes to see Bella running up and down the length of the side fence.  Get up.  Walk over.  Get slightly run over when trying to see what she is so excited about.  Nothing there.

"Be quiet, Bella"!  Go back to chair, try to relax.  Jack and Peanut come racing out of their house.  Woof! Woof! Woof!  Jack and Peanut are barking their heads off.  Their mom comes out and starts yelling at them.  Bella races to their corner and watches.  Jack and Peanut are getting screamed at.  "Bella, come here girl!"  Ignored.  "Bella!  Come here!"  Ignored.  "Bella!"  She trots over, smiles at me.  I get her leash ready, reach for her harness--She takes off on a dead run. "Bella!"  She comes back over.  I reach, she leaps and runs away.  "Great.  It's play time with Bella."  Unfortunately, I can play the way she wants.  The knees, especially the right one are in pain and won't work.  Fun.

Richard comes out with Reggie, then leaves to take Mom to the bank.  Mandi wanders out and settles down in a chair.  Bella runs amok and Reggie keeps a wary eye on her.  Bella has run her over too many times.  Reggie is ready to go in.  Bella is not.  Mandi stays out with her, while I go in with Reggie.  Soon, "Bella! Bella!"  The door is opened.  "MOM!  Bella got out and I don't know where she went". One thought drifts through my mind....."Great!  Just Great!"

"Mandi, where did she go?"

"I don't know".

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I don't know!  She was gone by the time I got to the gate".

Mutter..."You go that way and I'll go this way".  Mutter.  "Stupid dog".  Mutter.  "Damn knee".  Mutter.  "Bella!  Bella!"  Both of us are shouting.  Mandi talks to the new neighbors at the end of the street.  'Nope, we haven't seen here".

"MOM! She didn't come this way!"  I hear a dog barking.  I recognize that bark anywhere.  "Bella!"  Where the heck is she?"  She didn't come as far as I limped.  "Oh crap!  She didn't go in that backyard did she"?
I walk back up our driveway and peer between the branches of the 7 foot hedge between our's and Donika's house.  "Blast it all"!

"Mom, where is she?"

"Right there"!  I yell back.  Yep, there's Bella. On the other side of the bushes in my neighbor's back yard.
We call,  We cajole.  We threaten.  We bribe with treats.  Bella won't come.  "Fine!  I'm going through it somehow." I say.

"Mom you're hurt and in pain.  I'll go get her".  Mandi begins the pushing and probing to get through the thick tangled bushes.  Finally, after a lot of scratches and stabs, Mandi gets through.  "Bella"!  She shouts.  I try to watch as Mandi tries to get the runaway dog back.  Bella, on the other hand, does not want to come back yet.  She is having fun.  Mandi calls, cajoles, threatens, and tries to grab her. I hear a thud.  "Are you okay?" I yell.

"NO!  I just twisted my ankle and pulled to muscles".  Mandi is now ticked off and fed up.  She limps back to where she went through and begins the squirming and twisting motions needed to get back through.  "Dumb dog"!

"I'll go get her".  Mandi doesn't want me to, but I get through that tangled mess and don't do to much to my knee, just twist it the wrong way.  "Ouch! Bella come here.  Come here, girl.  Come on sweetheart.  Be a good girl.  Come on".  Bella in her wonderful mood of being disobedient takes off running around the backyard.

To make a long story short, (I know, too late).  I finally get Bella, put her leash on, and crawl back through the bushes.  It took us 45 minutes to get her out of my neighbor's backyard and while this is going on, Reggie is in our house barking her little head off.  No treat for Bella.  She didn't even offer to take one.  In the door, unleashed, and lies down by my chair tucked in by the bookcase.  Reggie, runs around, takes the treat, and heads for the bedroom to go under the bed and eat it.  Mandi growls at Bella and limps toward the couch and plops onto it.  Me?  I limp in, look at them all, turn and limp into the bathroom to get the bugs and twigs off of me from the hedge.  I come back out, sit on the other couch and put my knee up.  Richard walks in the door and says:  "Come on and help me unload the car"!  Mandi and I look at each other and just get up and go....what else could we do on the morning that was......