HARRY TRUMAN woke up alone in his bedroom in the White House, startled awake by three strong knocks on his door. In response, the president hurried into his bathrobe and across the wide carpet, calling, “Who’s there?” But upon flinging open the door to find out what emergency of national security was critical enough to roust him at 4 o’clock in the morning, he found: no one.
Harry wrote about that incident in a letter to Bess who was back home in Independence. He told her this verified what he had long suspected, that there were ghosts in the White House. Mary Todd Lincoln had called it the Whited Sepulcher for good reason. This 33rd president and his first and only lady usually called it the white jail, but on that night it felt like a living grave to him.
Shivering yet?
Harry Truman, common sensical, plain talking, bomb-dropping HST, believed in ghosts. Do you? Or, more to the point, have you seen one? Thought you saw one? Wondered if you saw one? Have a third cousin twice removed who knew a man who knew a man who claimed he saw the ghost of Richard Nixon? (Now that’s scary.)
I looove ghost stories, and it’s hot in the Midwest and my fellow Kansans, katiebird and ghostdancer (a coincidence??), and I could use some chills. So do us a favor. Tell the spooky stories that you’ve never told another living soul before! Send those chills down our spines.
Unless you want to wait until the sun goes down. . .heh heh heh.
Welcome newcomers! Don’t be scared off by the ghosts. Tell us about yourselves. There’s coffee, newspapers, pastries, and great company–as soon as the regulars get here.
As for me, I have never seen a ghost but I have had a strange experience that apparently many pet owners have after the death of their beloved animal. One night not long after my dog’s death I felt the far left corner of my mattress go down, as if she had jumped up on it and settled down there, just as she used to do. The odd (okay, the other odd) thing is that I didn’t look! I think I was half scared she wouldn’t be there and half scared she would be.
Spooooky.
Coffee? Did somebody say coffee?
Haven’t you heard this:
One night, George W. Bush is awakened by George Washington’s ghost in the White House. Bush asks: “George, what is the best thing I could do to help the country?”
“Set an honest and honorable example, just as I did,” Washington advises.
The next night, the ghost of Thomas Jefferson moves through the dark bedroom. “Tom,” W asks, “what is the best thing I could do to help the country?”
“Trust and educate the people,” Jefferson advises.
Bush isn’t sleeping well the next night, and sees another figure moving in the shadows. It’s Abraham Lincoln’s ghost. “Abe, what is the best thing I could do to help the country?” Bush asks. Abe answers: “Go see a play.”
Wonderful! Good morning DinK. Love your sig line, too.
Good morning back at you! Actually, it’s early afternoon now; I was finishing posting a diary on chemical plant insecurity…
BTW, where in Kansas are you? I lived in Kansas City (actually Gladstone, on the MO side) for 13 years. My wife’s family is from Liberty, MO; through her maternal grandmother she’s related to Frank & Jesse James, so there’s a tradition of strong-willed women in her family! LOL
Gladstone! I tried living north of the river when I got out of college but none of my friends would cross the great divide to visit me there. I had to move back south. Jeez. I now live in Prairie Village and I’m two blocks from the state line. Which means, if anybody else reading this wonders, that I’m in Kansas, but Missouri is two blocks away.
That’s weird, I used to live about 2 blocks from the State Line, also in Prairie Village. But, I’m much farther away than that now — I’m in Overland Park. It’s at least 3 miles from Missouri!
That’s a really good diary, D. I hope everybody hops on over to read it.
Were you in the area for the big flood in ’93?
I was working as a contractor in the EPA lab (down in the Fairfax Bottoms) at the time, and the last day before the area flooded out, when they evacuated us, I arrived at work with the water on the river side of the levees about 10 feet higher than the water on the land side of the levees. That was pretty disconcerting! The pumps keeping the water out were failing from the pressure difference, and the water was squirting up about 12″, like little fountains, from the holes in the manhole covers.
Needless to say, we were happy to put our computers on top of the highest available shelves and get the heck out of there!
I loved Kansas City and would move back in a minute, but my wife doesn’t want to (family baggage).
(me! me! me! – waving wildly!) I was!
Not only did my poorly constructed rental house almost sink into the ground breaking nearly every gas line in the house.
But, they closed the highway coming home from the airport almost right behind me after I took my brother to catch a plane. On the curve heading to Parkville, water was lapping on the shoulder of the interstate.
It’s the kind of memory that is so weird, you think you dreamt it.
Okay now this is getting really weird. We were both driving home from KCI that night?
P.S. I’m leaving for a moment to open a new cafe, though I hate to.
Whoa. A little scary. I was there and couldn’t get home that night. I had driven my (then) husband to KCI and by the time I got back to KC all the streets between me and home were flooded and impassable. I had to beg a bed off his godmother that night.
I’m familiar with Fairfax. I took flying lessons at the old airport down there.
Sorry your wife doesn’t want to move back here. I agree, it’s a nice town.
Believe in ghosts – felt them but haven’t seen them yet
Believe in ghosts and really want to party with them!
The ones that I know are loving and protective…..
Good morning all!
“Want to party with them.” Lol!
SallyCat, I’d happily change the poll to include that but the damned thing won’t even let me correct a missing “a” in one of my choices. Grr grr. There’s a ghost in the machine.
I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go
Walkin’ with a dead man over my shoulder
Waiting for an invitation to arrive
Goin’ to a party where no one’s still alive
I was struck by lighting
Walkin’ down the street
I was hit by something last night in my sleep
It’s a dead man’s party
Who could ask for more
Everybody’s comin’, leave your body at the door
Leave your body and soul at the door . . .
(Don’t run away it’s only me)
All dressed up with nowhere to go
Walkin’ with a dead man
Waitin’ for an invitation to arrive
With a dead man . . . Dead Man . . .
Got my best suit and my tie
Shiny silver dollar on either eye
I hear the chauffeur comin’ to the door
Says there’s room for maybe just one more . . .
Don’t run away it’s only me
Don’t be afraid of what you can’t see
Don’t run away it’s only me . . .
Lyrics from “Dead Man’s Party” by Oingo Boingo
I love that song.
lol! Our theme song for today. (Along with “La Marseillaise,” of course.)
I tried to find a free MP3 of it as well, but alas…
if you go down to the write up about Kate Bosworth,3rd story down, at the end there is a link to Dead Man’s Party.
http://www.script-o-rama.com/blog/2004_11_01_scriptorama_archive.html
I am slow this morning, and perpetually proving the truth of my sigline, 🙂 but here is the important stuff, at last.
Thank you, Kansas, this hits the spot.
Now it’s time to hit the desk…
Good morning to everyone!
There is a graveyard in Southern Michigan, that many HS kids in the greater Jackson, Michigan area knows as Little Mary’s Graveyard. The story told is that in the 30’s, this 12 or 13 yr old child was in a coma and her Dr. declared her dead and she was buried. Someone decided that there was something wrong with that declaration and decided to exhume her and when they did, they discovered claw marks on the inside of the Casket.
Now for the Scary part.
Her grave is marked with a cast iron baby cradle that weighs in at over 500 lbs, so it is not something that is easily moved. It is said if the cradle is gone, Little Mary is in a haunting mood and will be out and about. This happened to me and my friends one late March night back in 1970, we went to the graveyard and the Cradle was missing. One of my friends decided to be stupid and started dancing on her grave. All of the sudden there was this hideous scream from my friend and he starts trying to move off the grave and yells that he can’t get off.
We all started yanking on him and finally we pull him off and he is crying that his feet feel like they are on fire. We pulled his shoes off and the bottoms of his feet looked like they were scratched by a cat.
We all hauled ass out of there as fast as we could, scared out of our minds that Little Mary was coming to get us.
Some of us went back to the graveyard the next day and the Cradle was in place, we tried to move it and it looked to be solidly frozen in place.
It was a night I have never forgotten.
Gave me chills, for which I thank you exceedingly on this heating-up day.
Much better rested today; think I’ll go out and do something fun today.
Re: ghosts — my mom used to tell a story about getting up in the middle of the night to check on me, and seeing the image of a white glowing little girl standing next to my crib; the image vanished as she moved into the room. Very odd…
And a few months after my best friend Sharon died, the spouse and I were on BART coming into the Fremont station…and I did a double take because I thought I saw her on the platform.
The only other ghosts are just the constructs of my writer’s mind…
Back in 1970, I was coming home from work and noticed someone moving into the apartment across the way. The door was open and I could see stacked boxes and a huge, ornate mirror hanging over the faux fireplace. Just as I was turning my key, there was a loud crash and a scream and I rushed over to the open door to look in. The occupant, a wild-eyed fellow, was staring in horror at the smashed mirror in the middle of the floor and screaming, “Go away! Leave me alone!”
When he saw me, he babbled, “It’s George! He followed me! He won’t leave me alone!”
I leaned in, figuring George was just out of my view but there was no one else in the room. Wild-eyed Fellow (WEF) blithered on, “He’s a ghost! He’s gone into the kitchen now! He smashed my mirror for spite, pure spite!”
Curiosity overcame caution and I stepped into the apt. carefully leaving the door open behind me. I had seen the mirror over the mantle and now it was five feet away from the wall, its frame face down surrounded by shards of glass. I inspected the nails in the wall on which the mirror had been hung and they were not bent.
Anticipating my logical explanation, WEF suggested that I try to lift the mirror’s frame. I couldn’t; it weighed a hundred pounds, at least. “How did you get it up on the wall?” I asked. “My brother helped me do it before he went to work this morning. There’s no way I could have lifted it by myself and tossed it across the room, no way! George just sailed it thru the air and smashed it!”
WEF was now weeping hysterically and sputtering out his story: “We lived in an old house down in Inman Park and that’s where George is from. He tormented us, smashing and breaking things, slamming doors. We couldn’t take it anymore so we moved. And he’s moved with us! Oh God, I can’t take this anymore!”
WEF collapsed on the floor and sobbed into his knees. Now, he had said that George went into the kitchen so I took a step into the hall that led that way… And a wall of icy cold air enveloped me and I felt paralyzed with panic. I should mention that it was 95 degrees and the apartments were NOT air conditioned. The cold passed thru me, followed by a loud pop. I spun around to see a book that had not previously been there on the floor behind me. WEF was right where he had been, yards away from the nearest open box. While I was staring, slack-jawed, at the box, another book flew out like a startled bird and dropped with a pop onto the floor.
I backed quickly toward the open door while keeping my eyes on the box of books. Another book flew out and this time landed on WEF’s head with such force that it knocked him back on the floor. Being a protective-mother-type, I rushed over and sat down on the box to cut off the supply of ammunition. Again, I was encased in ice and seized by panic. I fought the panic by thinking, “This guy and his brother have some serious sexual repression issues and have created their very own poltergeist. Wow! That’s impressive.”
The cold let go of me and in my peripheral vision I saw a shadow slip down the hallway to the back of the apartment. WEF sat up, rubbing his bruised forehead and asked, “How did you do that? How did you make him run away?”
“Well, he’s not my ghost, is he?” I replied, “Why do you call him George?”
“That’s his name. He died in the house we rented. We found his journals in the back of a closet when we moved in. He was one crazy old dude. My brother was reading one of the entries out loud the first time he manifested and threw something at us.”
I pondered this a moment and said, “Well, you know, ghosts are usually attached to a place. So, it’s very interesting this manifestation would pack itself up and come with you. It must be drawing energy from you and your brother.”
WEF gaped at me, speechless, so I added, “Maybe you should stop being afraid and start laughing at it. I’d stop giving it a name, too.” That said, I got up and went to my apt., leaving WEF to consider my advice.
Later that evening, I told my husband what had happened and he, frankly, didn’t believe me — until a few books on the shelf across the room cascaded down on the floor. Hubby jumped up, shouting, “WTF!” And, the bedroom door slammed shut.
As calmly as I could, I opened the bedroom door and said, “We’ll have none of that here. Go back where people are afraid of you.” The cold passed thru me and across the hallway we faintly heard a thumping sound.
Hubby was incensed and rushed across the hallway to the brother’s apt. He pounded on the door until they opened it and shouted at them, “Get the fuck out of this building and take your weirdness with you! I mean it! If I find you here in the morning, I’m gonna beat the shit out of you!” WEF and his equally wild-eyed brother cowered before Hubby’s rage. And damn, if they — and all their belongings — weren’t gone in the morning.
I am rubbing my hands together with glee. That is one HELL of a story. By the time we get through with this cafe today we may have enough stories for a book. Wouldn’t Boo love that, lol. That’s what he gets for having “boo” in his name.
This is another one of my “Weird Anecdotes.” If the story seems polished, it is; I’ve been telling it for 35 years so it’s gotten quite refined and condensed. WEF actually did a lot more babbling before the gist of his story came out. And, you may wonder, why was I so damned calm? I really don’t know but, for whatever reason, I’m just great in emergencies. The higher the level of chaos, the more clearly I think. The more people around me are afraid, the braver I feel. Must be some kind of mutant genetic thing…
I want you in charge when the sh*t hits the fan.
That is one hell of a good story. It was a masterstroke to disarm the poltergeist that way! A college prof of mine (whom I mention in my ghost story below) always said that one can get along easily enough with ghosts by being friendly & respectful. You laid down the law with that one, and it obeyed!
Good thread, kansas: this should be a fun afternoon & evening.
In anticipation of going on vacation in a week and in celebration of everyone else’s (and it doesn’t matter if you are heading off to an exotic location or painting the shutters, a vacation is always worth celebrating), I offer up “The hike of the day.”
This hike is in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It starts at the Rainbow Falls Parking Lot, follows a lovely unnamed connector trail (pictured) over to Trillium Gap Trail, up to the summit of Mt. Leconte and down the Rainbow Falls trail. It’s sixteen miles of lush, deep forest whose quiet is underlain by the appearing and disappearing sounds of running water.
Beautiful and. . .thank you very much. . ghostly.
The forests in the smokies always seem to have a ghostly tinge. I hope that helps make up for the fact that I am a ghost-free zone.
And in case it doesn’t, here’s an even spookier shot:
For another awesome photo. I’ve been on that trail and this photo perfectly captures the atmosphere there.
Thanks Andi. Ive never been to that part of the country. Now I hope to make it there some day. I wish I was hiking today! sigh. Well I do have 10 days of vacation coming in August.
Have you ever been to Alaska? I haven’t but I think I’m going to fulfill a dream and visit my friend in Anchorage. She has camping gear I can borrow. Trying to plan the trip is overwhelming since Alaska is so vast and new to me. Hard to know where a gal can safely go, on the cheap, in a short time. I’ll be with my daughter who loves to hike too.
We’ve talked about it but I don’t know that we’ll ever try it. My husband have a severe case of what we call bear-anoia and though we go to parks with bears (Glacier, Yellowstone, Banff and so on), we kind of think Alaska might be too much. And then there are the issues you mentioned. I think if we ever undertake a really far away, expensive hiking trip, it will probably be the Swiss Alps — no grizzlies, hut-to-hut hiking, great food and art museum side trips.
Harry was a high-ranking Mason and so those three knocks may have had a significance to him that they wouldn’t to a non-Mason. Deep in Masonic lore there is a story about a murder that involved three knocks on the victim’s head. “Three knocks” have come to suggest the presence of evil, so maybe it’s no wonder Harry was spooked. (This is based on research I did when I was studying Harry a few years back.)
IIRC, three distinct knocks on the door are required for entry into the Temple for various levels of Masonic initiation. (Not a Mason, but I was a Rainbow Girl for a couple of years. I was Flag Bearer for one term, and remember the three knocks when people were initiated…)
I’d forgotten that! So, yeah, Harry must have really been wondering, WTF? Only, it being Harry, that would be spelled out.
Well hello there from a former Rainbow girl as well! Yeah that’s what I thought as well with the 3 knocks.
Or is it just automatic writing?
Hi Kansas and everyone, how are you doing today…Nice diary Kansas.
Thanks, Diane. I thought it might be fun. Can’t wait to see what shirlstars has to say. 🙂 And how are you this morning?
Boooooooooooooooooooooo. . . .
When we were kids, my brother and I and the neighborhood kids or the cousins would sit outside in the back yard on a dark summer night sleep out (do kids still sleep outside in the summer?) And my older brother told the best ghost stories. . .most of them the urban legend types. . . which, by the way are the same urban legends today as they were in the late 1940’s. It was a lot of fun, and we young ones would get all scared and scream and carry on.
Real ghosts? Well, let me tell you, I come from a long family line of “beyond the veil” experiences, but I would never describe them as ghosts. More encounters with those not in physical body at the moment and always wonderful, beautiful and very lovely experiences. One might even call them “angelic” experiences.
One of the experiences I personally had that was very meaningful to me, was 4 years ago hiking in Teton National Park at Jenny Lake on a trail to Hidden Falls.
As I walked that trail with my group of friends, the “voice of the Ancestors”, native American ancestors, talked to me of the legacy of love and caring for the earth and her creatures that is available to all of us.
A very lovely and humbling experience.
So “weird” as I am, and have always been, ghosts have never been anything I paid attention to. I understand others ghost-like experiences, I just have chosen to experience “disembodied” energies in a different way (apparently).
Maybe it is time to write that diary about “other worldly experiences?”
Have a chilly booooooooooooo morning. ;o)
By the way, I meant to tell you what a really good writing job you did on your intro. Very well done. And you run a really spooky cafe, girl.
Thanks, shirl! And, yeah, isn’t it about time for that diary of yours??
After friends have died, I tend to see them for a while. Usually it’s on the street, going about usual business (mine and the ghost’s.) Sometimes I see them in dreams. I have always thought of these sitings as ghosts, whether they are actual beings that others can see, as in some of the amazing stories here, or whether they are aspects of the people I loved who are still with me.
I have spent way too much time on this library ghost web cam looking for the spectres that haunt the Willard Library in Evansville, Indiana. It’s very cool and fun!
That site is worth visiting for the introductory sound effects alone!
I went to school in Evansville and between my master’s and my husband’s, we ended up spending 8 years there. The Willard library is a lovely buildling but I don’t recall any spectral appearances any time I was there.
There are some lovely but quite spooky old river houses, too.
Definitely would never mess with them. I’m quite sure there are malicious spirits just as there are such people.
Sjct – I’ll be looking for you every day, so please don’t go anywhere. Well, the Smokies would be okay – just don’t be long.
Okay, what’s the cafe special for lunch?
Lunch??? I barely got breakfast served! Let me know what sounds good to you and I’ll see if the cook can whip it up for your time zone. 🙂
When prompted, I’ve got lots of stories to share. I’ve been blessed with very interesting experiences and enough literacy to communicate them for the pleasure of others. Just knowing people are reading and enjoying them is all the reward I need.
Has everyone sent Karl Rove a pink slip? It’s quite satisfying and fun. There’s an ad on the left in case you missed it.
um… or on the right.
Nothing scares me more than the idea of putting my name on a list and sending it to Karl! I have never encountered such a one in this world, or in the other, so I’m keeping my distance – gonna watch the show from far away in a froggy pond that I know.
Great diary-it’s sweltering here too and a few shivers help!
Ghosts, I have seen a few, mostly companion animals that have died. Human ghosts, I’ve never seen but seen effects of? A previous owner of our house died here. The people we bought it from fairly raced away, and dropped the price a lot to enable us to buy it. I wondered why but once we moved in there were a lot of strange incidents. Lights would turn on and off, doors would lock-most annoying-one day I stood on our deck and watched the latch turn on the sliding glass door! It is round and a tough turn at best so there is no way I can figure out that it could slip or move on it’s own.
Several times when I decided to take a bath the water would come on by itself-with no one else in the house.
And only once I smelled a very nice floral scent enveloping me, it was a comforting rather than a scary feeling. The incidents tapered off and I assume the lady responsible has moved on.
A helpful ghost? Turning on the water for you? Maybe you could have put it to work doing the house cleaning. I wouldn’t mind have a ghostly vacuumer.
BrotherFeldspar’s story below has an olfactory element, too.
If only!
I marked “I Saw a Ghost,” though I didn’t see it so much as smelled it. It was an “olfactory manifestation” I guess you could say. Back in college I worked for a professor who also had a knack for getting a couple of us to help out with “extracurricular” things, like helping him move. I don’t suppose there wasn’t anything too wrong with that, since we volunteered & were well compensated with both food & drink. Anyhoo, 4 of us had helped him move into a 150-year-old house in one of the nearby state parks. One or two previous owners had died in it, but since the prof & his wife (as they said) had lived with ghosts before, they weren’t too nervous about it.
So we’re sitting there in the living room after a long day of labor, enjoying some well-earned microbrews (yes, we were all of drinking age). Quite suddenly I noticed the very strong smell of a match having been struck, that pungent charcoal odor. It was much keener than “normal,” too. A moment later, I again smelled something, this time a candle burning; again, the odor of burning wax was much stronger than one would normally encouter. So I asked, “Do you guys smell a candle burning?” Buddy 1 replied, “Yeah, did you smell a match a minute ago?” Everyone had noticed it but no one had said anything. We got up and searched the entire lower floor, and found nothing. The prof’s wife was upstairs unpacking and didn’t know what was going on. So eventually we had to conclude that we all had experienced something we couldn’t explain. Buddy 2 says “That’s pretty weird, dude,” and Buddy 3 puts down his beer and blurts out, “Well, it’s been fun, guys, I gotta go!” His tires squealed as he pulled out of the driveway.
And that’s my one and only ghost story, pretty weak I know. I’m entirely open to the notion that it was all a put-up job or prank by the prof (who a few years later had allegations of academic fraud against him), but unless & until that’s proven the case I’ll stick with my belief that I smelled a ghost. I’d like to believe in ghosts anyway, since it indicates something beyond death. I’m normally a very rational person, but it’s one of those things I’ll stick with in the face of all the rational debunkings and exposed frauds.
sorry for babbling but I hope you will forgive one more story?
When I was a young kid odd things happened in our home-poltergeist incidents-but the only one I remember my father speaking of in detail is this one.
My parents had gone out for the evening, leaving me with a baby sitter from up the street. She put me to bed and while watching tv started hearing an odd noise from down the hall. She described it as a “rumbling”. She checked on me, saw I was sound asleep and went back to the living room. The noise started up again and she came back to re-check, and found me sleeping peacefully, covered in shredded newspaper. She had enough for one night and huddled on the front steps until my parents came home. She never baby sat me again, that much I do remember. The odd thing was that the garbage had gone out the day before and there was no newspaper in the house. My father picked it up and got rid of it and I slept through the whole thing.
All right, now I’m a little freaked. Poltergeists hurling books & mirrors is one thing, but totally unexplained things like that really creep me out. Not that that’s a bad thing! Thanks for the cool story.
I’m a little freaked, too. Whoa. Shredded newspaper?
Do NOT hesitate to tell us more stories if you’ve got ’em!
I clicked the first option because my entire family experienced an encounter with an angelic-like figure in 1999 when my grandfather passed away.
My tata died because he had lost the will to live. He was lonely without my nana who had died over 15 years prior and just stopped eating. The last two weeks he got very weak and was in and out of consciousness. He was in the hospital most of those days but towards the end insisted on being taken home so he could die in peace.
We knew the night he passed that it would be very soon because he was figgety and talkative–very uncharacteristic even during his healthy days. He was speaking excitably in a mixture of English, Spanish and Korean. I had never heard the Korean before but apparently his mind had returned to years past from his military days.
In his last hour, he started conversing with an unseen gentleman in the corner of the room. My grandfather described him as a “gringo” that he had met during his years of the Korean War. He kept telling him, “orita, orita” which loosely translated to “soon, soon”. Every one of us could feel the gentleman’s presence and at my grandfather’s last moment of life the room filled with warmth and a smell that is a mixture of desert rain and roses.
We knew then, and still believe, that an old friend of my tata’s had returned to take him on a new journey. It changed our lives to experience it. Thanks kansas for the diary, mine wasn’t a scary story but it brought a smile to me to remember our encounter.
What a lovely story. Thanks so much for telling it, Man Eegee.
A sloop motors into early morning mist towards home port, passing Burrows Island, seen from the top of Washington Park near Anacortes WA.
Speaking of sailing, I saw a ghost on a college sailing trip back in the early 70’s.
It was a spring race series held at Purdue. In the custom of the time, the coed teams were all bedded down on the floor of an off campus apartment. I was awake for a couple of hours after 1 or 2 when everyone else was sleeping. I could hear them all going through sleep cycles: quiet, then light snoring, then the tossing/turning of dream sleep, and over again.
I caught something out of my eye and saw a young woman sitting on the bottom of my sleeping bag, combing long hair, but there was no weight. This startled me and I sat upright. She turned to look directly at me and dissolved away, revealing the back of the room.
Visually she looked like a nice person, but the experience was creepy, not at all pleasant.
Mrs. Gooserock acquired an invisible spirit in her Previous Life (she was married pre-Gooserock), a spirit who somehow seems to be named “Simon,” while she was working in Ohio as a veterinary technician. He is mischievious, mainly liking to hide things, and he seems to have moved in with us when we met. Early on he had monkeyed with the gas during an operation, and she had to scold him against endangering the life of the dog they were working on. With boundaries established regarding safety of people and animals, he now confines himself to cute and sometimes annoying pranks.
Missing objects regularly turn up in places like the center of an empty table where we could not possibly have overlooked them. In such cases we thank Simon for his cleverness.
kansas, congratulations for authoring the two most highly recommended diaries at the Booman Tribune!
I always look forward to Thursday for your cafe. But today you’ve really outdone yourself. This is going to be a great day at the FBC.
Your essay on the Military Bases is outstanding, I highly recommend it to everyone who hasn’t read it.
An indepth essay on American Military Bases in Iraq to Ghosts all in the same day? What’s going on at your house? What other procrastination projects are you working on?
Why thank you (she blushed). I so laugh, katiebird. Procrastination, in-effing-deed. You mean to tell me that doing two diaries doesn’t actually count as doing my work? We don’t get paid for this??
Thanks for your participation in the other one, kb.
I’ll have a cup of French roast, naturally, and a croissant. In a bit I plan to annoy the neighborhood with my top-of-the-lungs rendition of “La Marseillaise.”
Wish we could hear that!
Aux armes, citoyens!
Formez vos bataillons!
Marchons, marchons,
Qu’un sang impur
Abreuve nos sillons!
Roughly:
To arms, citizens!
Form up your battalions!
March on, march on (literally, “let’s march,” 1st. person plural imperative)
Let an impure blood
Water our furrows!
I hope I’m not impugning my own patriotism by voicing my opinion that “La Marseillaise” is the best national anthem in the world. Whenever I hear it I have to fight this irresistible urge to build a barricade and raise the red flag of revolution.
Here’s a little story about a thank you.
Every workday, I commute into work via the Boston area subway system. For those of you who’ve never commuted via public transit, let me just say that on some level, it’s pretty weird. Twice a day I willingly climb into a compartment that’s almost always sealed, spends much of its time moving through a narrow tunnel at a fairly high rate of speed (when things are going smoothly), and I share that compartment with many people I don’t know, sometimes in very close proximity. If people know each other, they may chat, but other than that most folks generally keep to themselves. When they don’t … well, the general reaction is complicated and highly context-dependant. Especially these days.
It’s weird, like I said. But I’m used to it after all these years, it usually works pretty well, and it beats the hell out of driving to work.
So this morning I’m riding along, nose in a book as usual, when one of the other passengers starts singing pieces of a song out loud, presumably along with the music he’s listening to on his headphones. It’s a little irritating, though I’m sort of torn between wishing he’d shut up and wishing he’d sing all of the song, because it sounded like a nice song and the man has a beautiful voice. But mostly I just tune him out, and continue reading. Near as I can tell, everyone else is just ignoring him, too.
Except one guy, who eventually goes over to the man and starts trying to get him to be quiet. There’s some back and forth, fairly polite, but the singer doesn’t want to quiet down and the guy who wants him to be quiet is pretty insistant … and finally threatens to call the police.
At which point I stop trying to ignore the whole thing. Call the police? Because this guy is singing on the subway? So I tap the guy on the shoulder and when he looks at me I put on my best calm-and-reasonable face, suggest that he relax, and motion him back to where he was sitting. Somewhat predictably, I suppose, he doesn’t relax, doesn’t sit down. He asks me if I’m kidding. I shrug and say that I prefer the singing to listening to someone chatting on their cellphone. I musta hit a nerve; the guy goes speechless. Then the doors open, he says he’s getting off at that stop, in a tone that suggets that he’s escaping from dangerous lunatics. He stops outside the door, shoots me a look, and tells me I “should think about this”. I smile and wave, and the doors close.
Thing is, I did think about it. Until my stop, I wondered if I should’ve kept quiet, whether I’d done any good. Plus, I really dislike direct confrontations like that; as calm as I try to be on the outside, they always leave me shaking a little bit.
Then, as I was getting off at my stop, one of the remaining passengers caught my attention and thanked me. I smiled at her and gave a little shrug, and continued out the door.
That “thank you” is what this story is about. Sure, I spoke up, intervened in a small incident that I thought was going too far. I’ve already patted myself on the back, so consider that covered. This story is a pat on the back for the person who thanked me. I don’t know her, and if I see her again on the subway I probably won’t recognize her, so I can’t pat her on the back in person. I needed that thank you. I needed someone saying, publicly, that they appreciated what I did. It made a hell of a difference in how I feel about that incident.
If you notice someone doing something nice for someone else today, being humane or considerate to a fellow human being, please thank them. The gods know that we really need to encourage that behavior in each other.
Thank you.
That is a really nice story, Bearpaw. Thank you for telling it. 🙂 I would have gotten shaky, too, btw. People need thank you and you’re welcome and I’m sorry and please. And even at those times when we don’t actually need them, they sure are nice.
For all you know, everybody else on the train was praying for an end to the confrontation. Your action was an answer to that prayer. The lady knew you were one of her angels. You see it as her being your angel. We are all connected.
Wow, good point, Alice. If I’d been on that train I’d have been praying for an end to it, too!
Well, see, that’s the thing I’m not so sure about. I didn’t end the confrontation so much as … I dunno … deflect it. Instead of the singer and the tense guy, it became the tense guy and me. And then he ended it by walking away. I think that if he hadn’t walked away I could’ve kept things cool, but I’m not sure. I hope so.
Aside from the thank you that I got, the other thing that makes me think that I did the right thing was a factor that I didn’t go into in the story. The singer was black, the tense guy was white, and I’m white. I don’t know that the tense guy reacted the way he did partly because the singer was black. I don’t know that the singer reacted the way he did because the tense guy was white. I don’t know that my deflection worked — to whatever extent that it did — because I’m white. None of us mentioned race, none of us even alluded to it.
But I’d bet my next year of subway passes that all three of us — and everyone around us — were at least aware of the race factor.
The woman who thanked me? She was black. [shrug] I’d bet my subway passes for the rest of my friggin’ life that she was aware of the race factor …
I used to cook on sailboats that shipped out from Bermuda and a few from Mexico, so I have sailed around the Caribbean and Central North Atlantic a lot.
My first cruise, we were sailing southwest from Bermuda to Jamaica, as the Honeymoon couple wanted to spend a few days in Jamaica. Our skipper decided that we were going to go straight through the middle of the Sargasso Sea. Now I had heard that the Sargasso Sea is in the heart of the Bermuda Triangle and I asked the Skipper if it was a wise thing to tempt the fates. He just laughed and said he has crossed the Sea hundreds of times and there was never any problems.
Now for those of you who are not familiar with the Sea Area it is in what is called the Horse latitudes, that means there is little or no wind movement and for a sailing ship that is not a good thing. Now this 125 ft 3 masted ship, did have an auxiliary diesel, so I was not to concerned. Note, not too. The second night out from Bermuda, I was sitting near the Bow and I looked in the water and it looked like a million golden stars were twinkling in the water. Damn scary and I asked the first mate what the hell is that. He said is was some form of plankton that is part of the life stream in the Sea.
Then of course the First mate decided to tell me that he had seen a ghost ship on one of his cruises through the Sea and if I looked real hard in the water, I could probably see the faces of all the people who had disappeared in the Sea. Very freaky for my first cruise.
I have to admit though that the sky is a swirling cacophony of blinking blues, yellows, reds, whites and pinks, when viewed from the deck of a ship with no light pollution to disrupt your view of the heavens.
Anyone else ever been through the Sargasso Sea, I had been through it more than 2 dozen times in the five years I was working as a cook.
Ah, reminds me of the Super Sargasso Sea, much loved by Charles Fort, as an explanation for various strange phenomena.
Cool, ghost stories. I have some!
Before I get to the blue room though, I should mention that when I was very young we lived in a two story home and had a resident ghost that no one was afraid of. We kids had grown up with it (we moved from there when I was 7, and I was the youngest) so it was just a natural part of things.
The way the house was laid out (I won’t explain all the rooms or anything) a door to the library was situated under the space left by the staircase that led to the second level. Also, in the back of the staircase um.. structure, was a small coat closet. So you’d leave the library and pass by the coat closet, under the stairs, to get to the living room. For some reason, the ghost mostly lived in that space (in fact, our name for him was “the sailor under the stairs”).
Not much more to say about him besides the fact that he was there, and I do have memories of actually seeing him (I guess he must have looked like a sailor of some sort, but not like the navy or anything). We’d (my brothers and I) sit on the stairs sometimes and sing that song “What shall we do with a drunken sailor?”, until my mom would tell us it was rude to our ‘guest’.
Anyway, the blue room. When I was 11 or 12 or so, we moved into a rented house. All the rooms were painted white, except for one room that was painted a bright, electric blue. Although there may have been discussion about painting it a different color, that was going to be my room and I wanted it to stay the blue (what can I say? Kids have weird tastes). It had a small walk-in closet… sort of oddly shaped because when you opened the door, all you encountered was the back wall (which you could touch by leaning forward a bit). All the clothes poles and things were off to the left hand side. Anyway, there was a peaceful aura to the room (even with the horrid color) and I quite liked it.
However, my brother was a “hippie” at the time, and would bring home friends and others who had no place to stay for the night and offer to let them stay with us. For some reason (being the youngest is no fun) I would have to give up my room to accomodate these people sometimes.
Okay, long story… making it much shorter… everyone (but me) who stayed in that room had weird experiences. There was a mirror on the wall that would jump off and on to the floor (but not break, ever). Some would wake up and notice a light coming from the back of the closet, on the blank wall. One woman said that when she got up to see what it was, and attempted to put her hand on the wall… it just kept going… there was no wall there.
All sorts of other stories, from just too many varied and unconnected people (who never wanted to sleep there again) for it to just be coincidence.
In all my time spent in the room, though, not one of those things happened to me. Odd ;).
In 1985 (I think), my friend Henry and I were walking around a very large temple complex in Nara, the ancient capital of Japan (way older than even Kyoto). We had been wandering in and out of various temples, museums and shrines that afternoon when we came to a very ancient Shinto shrine. As you may know, Shinto is the original animistic religion of Japan and the small shrines don’t have attendants, well, that you can see anyway. We turned to walk through the entrance and I said,”Henry, I can’t move any farther!” He said,”I can’t either!” Although we didn’t feel any creepy sensations, neither of us could advance another step into the shrine grounds. So we backed up slowly and left the area. It was as if there had been an invisible wall in front of us that we couldn’t pass through. Years later, I worked with a guy who had been with the occupation forces after WWII who said he’d been to the same shrine and felt like he was chased out by some very angry beings.
I had some other creepy experiences in a samurai graveyard more than ten years later but that story will have to wait.
Just watched Wilson’s interview on CNN and he stole your phrase about “frog marching Rove out of the White House, in handcuffs,” he apparently made the comment in a speech last year…
Darwin is a direct reference to Wilson’s quote. 🙂
Oh thanks maneee, I thought he said that his wife had said those words, meaning Booman’s wife. Anyway it was so fun to hear those words on TV. I had great flashes of the boo Frog…..all blue and green and gold…
Very interesting. So far eight people have said they’ve seen ghosts. That’s more than 50% of the poll.
Seen or smelled. 🙂
Or otherwise sensed.
You guys really need a better pollster who asks better questions!
kansas, here’s a triple espresso for you. You’ve got to snap out of it, girl, you’re talking to yourself!
hahaha! That was great.
LOL! Yeah, and a triple espresso is going to make me sane??
catnip is serving cookies over in her diary. Can you smell them? This is a very delicious neighborhood.
I’d like an Irish Mist please, in an old fashioned glass. Thanks. I have the required ghost story… but I’m just a little parched. I also want to report that the Loved One and I are reunited.
If anyone knows how much strife there’s been on the home turf… well, this is very good news. No more sleeping in the car….
Well, there was a ghost in my grandmother’s house, and many people experienced it. I’m too thirsty to tell it as yet, but in a few moments I expect to be sufficiently lubricated…
Thank you, kansas.
Oh, wait, wait! That’s not the kind of Irish mist you meant! Let me check behind the bar again. . .
And may I say, What happy news!!!
Damn, couldn’t find an Old Fashioned glass. Bayprairie is just not keeping up with the washing. Hope this will be do for a thirsty man with a lot to celebrate!
How did you know I wanted a Tall One !!!
I’ll make this story short and sweet….
The room where my great grandmother died at age 98 was haunted. She was a great romantic, and she and her husband used to write letters to each other when they courted, and called them “The Casanova Files.” She was born before the Civil War (had a letter to her from Lincoln)
Anyways, when I was six I slept in the bed where she died. I had a vivid detailed dream about my Dad in WWII. The thing was there were architectural details of a cathedral I COULD NOT HAVE KNOWN ABOUT In fact, I didn’t learn about where the place was until I was 18…. It was St. Peter’s in Rome.
But my father in law had similar experiences, and so did everyone (25 members) of the family. So much so, that there were room people, and not for me thanks people. I did not SEE her ghost in that room, but the room WAS SPOOKED !!
Thanks for the tall one, I toast your generosity, Kansas. And I wish everyone good health, lots of friends, and A Loved One worth Struggling for.
Just have to say before I go to dinner, that’s such a great story. The Casanova Files. That will be a perfect title for the book you write about them 🙂
They enjoyed romantic and physical love for as long as they both lived… she went into a clinical depression when he died, but a friend brought her out of it. She told my great grandmother to resume her painting career that she had left off at age 19 when she went to become a wife, hostess and mother. So at age 70 something, my great grandmother did. She painted until the day she died, aged 98, had loads of exhibits and reviews, and she was called “The Grandma Moses of the South Shore” wow! what a gal!!
go get your dinner. I’ll just help myself, or ask someone… maybe you have pastrami???
How you doing in the cafe today, it was pretty busy this morning but kinda slow now.
Maybe because Zander is now on her trip….no one to wait on the tables…
Ha! You should have been here this morning! If it’s quite now, it’s only because everyone put their life on the line this morning by completely ignoring Real Life and hanging out here. This joint was hopping!
Have you seen how many comments kansas drew to her (2) diaries today? At one point she was running the top 2 recommended diaries.
She’s a powerhouse, I’m telling you, a powerhouse!
I can’t wait to see what she has planned for the lounge tonight!
Ha! Man, I am running on empty right now. Must go eat. Somebody light the campfire when it gets dark and maybe people will tell more ghost stories. I probably should open a new diary but I really hate to leave all these great stories behind. We have some damned interesting people and fine writers on this blog, eh?
That sounds fun. I’ll hang out and serve the drinks. You get some food and rest (maybe you shouldn’t drink that espresso after all).
can I get a hot pastrami on seeded rye with mustard, a sour pickle, and a green salad on the side? And a glass of milk, if you wouldn’t mind. Peckish, and have to go back to work. It’s 1:36AM July 15th for me, and I have another hour to go.
Then the Loved One gets off work at 6:30AM and it would be nice to be nice… overwork and undereating makes one irritable and snappish….. and run down…
The Loved One is beyond the beyond. The Loved One’s car broke down…. that’s why I was locked out and no phone contact. I had screamed at the Loved One and thought it was over. When I apologized, the L.O. didn’t even know what I was talking about…. no offense had been taken !!!! Of course the Loved One is getting very fit walking 1/2 mile to and from work… but thank God fat is not a fighting issue in our love nest…..
So, choleterol and saturated fat on carbohydrates please!!! And leave room for ice cream!
Coming right up!
Oops! I couldn’t resist! I’ll have to get you a fresh glass….
Here, I want you to have this. It’s my signed copy.
(one of my favorite books — but I
take it from you! (ha! I just figured out how to change font styles in the same line!!!)
I’m sending someone over with your milk — I can’t be trusted:
I’ll just sit over here and finish your other glass
I’ve got loads of them !!! I only gave you one of the ones Bob Woodward signed…. I’m keeping the one Nixon signed for myself…..
Gee, I think thats enough milk.
Can I have an Irish Mist, please? A tall one, and get Brother whatever he’s having.
Whatever you’re serving, make mine a double. “World-weary” is the term that springs to mind right now.
get him a Jamieson Whiskey.
Whiskey, or milk? And does he want pastrami, or not?
(taps foot)
he’s weary… milk will put him to sleep.
or get him an Irish Coffee… this weekend is the Irish Coffee festival in Foynes, Co. Limerick.
Oh, whatever it is, it’d better have alcohol in it. And no pastrami for me, thanks.
I’m sorry it took so long. I had to finish my milk before it got warm.
That looks exactly like what the Doctor ordered!!!
A toast to the Good Doctor!!!
is it katie or kansas, or both?
could I have an Irish Mist please… whatever size glass you have is fine… just not too much ice please.
we’re in the home stretch… work just about through and a mere 2 hours before the L.O. gets off work. hmm. maybe a washup and a new set of clothes might be good…. all this rough living has not improved my presentation… and the L.O. will be smelling like fresh country air from all that walking home from work….. there’s not a wee little shower room in the back of this cafe, is there?
sorry i haven’t had much to add about the ghost stories… just too involved with work and the home life, and the news…. and the BBC is on constantly, so I’m just kind of preoccupied….. hmmm………
yes, I think a drink would go down nicely.
and quite should have been quiet. I’ve been typing like an idiot all day. Spellcheck, bah! Mindreading check — that’s what I need.
Beyond Superwoman
So funny! You guys are the greatest. Ron, if you finish that tall one and need another one, let katiebird know. Of course, if you finish that tall one and then drink another one you may be out in the car again and we don’t want that!
I don’t have any experience with ghosts, but after my great grandmother didn’t decompose in 40 years, she was declared a local saint.
I don’t think she ever haunted anyone, however. So maybe I should save the story for another time?
She what??
You don’t think you can just drop that into the conversation and leave, do you? You got some splainin to do!
(settling in) Well, my mother’s family comes from a smallish Atlantic island. And the graveyard in my grandfather’s village has a blow-hole. It’s a bit inland, but the ocean comes right up under the graveyard.
These villagers have this tradition that 10 years after a persons death, they are dug up. And the casket is opened for a final ceremony. Then the contents are poured down the blow-hole and swept out to sea.
My great grandmother died many years before I was born, so I didn’t know her, but by all accounts she was a very good woman (I know that my grandfather, her son, was a wonderful man). Anyway, after she had been gone for 10 years, they dug up her grave and opened the casket.
And she looked just as she did the day she died. Beautiful and at peace and not at all decomposed.
So they closed the casket and reburied her. And waited another 10 years. They dug up her casket again. Still, she looks fresh and rested. She barely looks dead. Not a sign of decay.
Again, the casket is closed and she was reburied.
Another 10 years, another reburial. Now, it’s been 40 years. Her grave has been disturbed 4 times. And still she looks as peaceful and calm and whole as the day she died.
They never disturbed her again.
My mother was invited to one of the disinterments, but backed out of going at the last minute. Several of her cousins have gone at different times. And hers is the only grave that goes back more than 10 years in that village.
That is absolutely the coolest thing I’ve heard all day. Well, bearpaw’s story above was pretty cool too. We have a tie.
I think it’s a great story too. Of course this particular story is unique. Or it seems unique; we don’t hear much about Atlantic islanders in popular culture. So the stories my grandparents and 2nd cousins told always seemed exotic to me.
Can I ask what Atlantic island?
Pico in the Azores:
Here’s a photograph of the island:
It’s a volcanic island.
Gorgeous! I’d be considering retro-emigration.
Yes, I think about it when I think about retirement options. But getting Mister Katiebird to think about it is difficult.
One more likely possibility is to go there for an August vacation. I recently learned that our cousin, the Archbishop left instructions in his will that anyone in the family can stay in his house there on Pico during the month of August. We just have to reserve it in advance.
I think that’s pretty cool. But it costs a fortune to get there.
Full of the best Mexican food and just in time for that incredible story. My word! So was she actually declared a saint? That is one of the signs, isn’t it, when a body doesn’t decompose? And is she the saint of anything in particular?
(Your “settling in” made me laugh.)
And p.s. Thanks for womanning the cafe!
No, nothing official — just a local and family tradition. Although one of my mom’s cousins is an Archbishop and he oversaw most of the ceremonies, I don’t think any paperwork was filed. I could be wrong, we’ve got a far-flung family and not everyone knows all the stories.
I hate to pull the curtain on this one, but I think we must. See you at the new cafe. We’re meeting outside by the campfire. (This is assuming a cafe in the Rockies, apparently.)