Directionally Challenged

My husband and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary this week.  It does feels like quite an accomplishment that we are still together after so many years.  It's not that we aren't compatible or don't get along, in fact, we make a pretty good team.  We complement each other's idiosyncrasies quite well.

"Misty Way" photo courtesy of Hornpipe

One of us likes to spend money, the other is a saver.  One of us has what some people would classify as a fiery temper (ahem, I think that may be a bit of an exaggeration on their part), the other stays calm, cool, and collected.

He doesn't like cake icing and I do, so he gives me all of his.   He doesn't like chocolate either, and gives me all of that as well.  That last act alone qualifies him for sainthood.  

I like to shop around for the best price on things we need.  He likes for me to shop around for the best bargain.  Once I find the bargain, he goes and purchases said item.  It's like having Amazon Prime living in my own house.

Even with all of the many wonderful ways we work together, there is still one area we struggle with:  navigation.  My husband seems to have been born without an internal compass, and he can't follow a mechanical one either.

When I tell him to head east, he'll head west, or south, or any direction except east.  If I tell him to take the 3rd street on the right, he'll turn at the 5th street on the left.

Even when he uses the map feature on his phone, he gets north/south/east/west all mixed up.  He argues with the turn-by-turn navigation on our GPS as it calls out which way to go or what lane to be in.

If he goes the wrong way from what the GPS is coordinated for, he'll yell at the GPS to hush up.  The GPS will then give elaborate directions on where to make a U-turn to get back on the correct path.

My husband has no appreciation for this feature and tells it to recalculate because he doesn't make U-turns.  After a couple of miles, you can almost hear the GPS sigh in frustration as it says "recalculating..........".

Just recently I was heading south on a highway and my husband was giving me directions.  He was absolutely sure we were headed north.  Thankfully I was born with an internal compass and knew that we were headed south.

Had I not of known where we were going, we might have driven all the way to the Texas-Mexico border.  Should that have happened, I would almost bet money he would have asked why Mexico was where Canada is supposed to be.

Even with this strange quirk, he has always been able to find his way home every single day.  After 25 years together, I guess there are worse quirks to have........

Written by Christie Bielss

Kimmie the Krusher!

Recently while shopping for a new wallet at a department store, I overheard a conversation two women were having regarding their philosophy on child-rearing.  The women were quite obviously not on the same page and I became transfixed by their exchange of facial expressions and defiant body language.

"There's so much negativity in the world, we decided to avoid the use of negative words with our children.", the shorter woman said to the taller.  The look of utter disbelief on the taller friend's face almost made me burst out laughing.  Having always been the kind of person who likes to people-watch, and this was obviously going to be an entertaining exchange, I decided to see what transpired between these two women.

"I'm sorry, what?" was the taller woman's reply to the other woman's child-rearing philosophy.

"We only want to encourage good feelings, so we never use any language which creates a negative environment." the shorter woman said.

There was a slight pause as the two women stepped out of the way of an elderly woman who was looking at handbags.

As the elderly woman moved on, the taller woman asked "Soooooo, if Kimmie grabs the butcher knife from you while you are slicing food, you don't tell her to stop because it's dangerous and she could hurt herself?".

"Oh heavens no!  There are much better ways of instructing her than using negative words and emotions.", she said.

The two women continued their conversation as I picked up a wallet every now and again so I at least appeared to be shopping instead of eavesdropping.  Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the child, Kimmie, who was the center of their conversation.

Little Kimmie caught my glance and a mischievous grin came across her face.  Having children myself, I recognized that look and knew that nothing good could come from it and I braced myself for what was bound to come next.

I overheard the taller woman ask "How exactly is she supposed to learn how to handle being told "no" in school, or even the real world, if she's not introduced to it at home first?".

The shorter woman replied "We don't tell her no, we just redirect her to something she can play with.  We figure Kimmie can figure out how to deal with the ugliness of the world later on in life when that time comes.  We think children should be allowed to be care-free and not bound by society's rules............".

As Kimmie's mother spoke, little Kimmie spun on her heel and ran like a linebacker at a bank of tall rounders full of jewelry.  

The crashing noise of the destruction she wrought upon those plastic and wood rounders was deafening. Earrings flew everywhere.  Necklaces were a tangled mess on the floor and looked very much like a commercial fishing net.  Bracelets rolled across the highly glossed marble floors, causing store personnel to dodge them as they came at a run to see who might have been injured in the "accident".

As store personnel quickly arrived, they saw Kimmie tossing jewelry everywhere.  A manager quickly got past their shock and asked loudly who the child's parent or guardian was.  I saw the taller woman quickly back away from her acquaintance while pointing to the woman stating "That's her mother".

Store security quickly helped Kimmie to her feet from where she was trying to swim in the pile of jewelry.  They started assessing the damage and directing the department personnel to add up the cost of all the damaged items.  The taller woman said to Kimmie's mother "Hmmm, I do believe your daughter is about to get a lesson in the real world's version of the word "no".  I hope you've got deep pockets.".

I'm pretty sure that despite the destruction Kimmie wrought on the store that day, she still has a bright future in front of her.  She should do great as either an MMA fighter or maybe even with the Roller Derby.  Heck, she has already created a great stage name for herself:  Kimmie the Krusher.

Written by Christie Bielss

The Big Reveal.....Well, Sort Of.......

It's here!  The BIG reveal...... well, sort of.  I had it all planned out right down to the last detail .......and then a few obstacles jumped in my path.  With any project, I know there are going to be obstacles.  I expect them and even try to plan for them.  But this time, I obviously didn't plan well enough.  The obstacles ate up every bit of the extra time I had built into the renovation project timeline.  Much like those DIY'ers on the show "Renovation Realities", I guess I should have built in extra time for those things I had not thought of.  I did, however, succeed in buying the furniture items for the room at great prices either on Craigslist or at garage sales.  The total amount spent will be revealed at the end.

The original piece that spurred this whole renovation was my desk.  My desk for years has been a computer armoire.  It served a great purpose for the occasional computer user, but because I am now spending many an hour in front of the computer, it was making me claustrophobic.

Not only did I have no view, but little view I did have felt like a cave, and the armoire had little to no storage.  I constantly had papers scattered everywhere, making my brain feel somewhat scattered.  I also had no flat surface area to even write anything down.

It became obvious that I had outgrown the part-time usability of the armoire.  I decided I needed something which would allow me to spread out, have some storage space, and even give me the ability to place the desk where I'd have a view out of a window so I wouldn't feel so hemmed in.

Day after day I searched online for the look I wanted.  I spent hours scouring Houzz, Pinterest, Better Homes and Gardens,  and tons of other websites.  I thumbed through magazine after magazine in search of the perfect office/guest room combination.

After an exhaustive search, I finally found the look I wanted with a desk that I had to have............ until I saw the price.  $1,500-$1,800....... before tax and shipping.  ugh.  I was totally deflated.  My husband liked the look I'd decided on though and encouraged me to search Craigslist in the hopes of finding something similar at a more reasonable price.

It took about 2 weeks of non-stop shopping.  One day I clicked on a brand new listing and my jaw dropped.  It was the exact desk I'd fallen in love with.  There it was before me, and for a price that made me wonder if it came with legs and drawers.  I quickly sent an email and the seller responded immediately that it was available and it did indeed have 4 legs and all of the drawers.  I bought it right then and there.  Oh, I was happy, happy, happy!

With that super-win under my belt, I then started shopping for a daybed.  Months passed with no luck.  I was completely frustrated and with hopes dashed, I gave up on renovating the room.  Then a friend emailed and asked if we'd host a couple while they were in town training.

A spark was lit within me again and my energy was renewed.  As I showed renewed interest in completing the project, I shared my budget with my mother.  She scoffed at the price I I had budgeted to for a daybed ....... even at Craigslist prices.  Challenge this redhead and you'll be amazed at how dedicated I can become.  Not only did I find a daybed that mimics the curves of my desk, but I bought it for a pittance of what she thought I'd have to pay.

Another victory was now in the books and was lighting the fire under my feet to get this room finished......... not to mention the rapidly approaching arrival of guests who needed a place to stay. 

With the major pieces for the room purchased, I started by painting the ceiling.  That was much more of a job than I had planned.  I made the B-I-G mistake of picking up paint at a different paint store than I usually use, simply because it was convenient.  The ceiling required 3 coats of paint.  The cheap paint I'd bought was not covering the ceiling and at the rate I was going, it would take 5 coats of paint to cover it evenly.  I finally gave up and went and bought paint at my regular paint store.  Not only had this eaten up 2 additional work days but it also ate up more of my budget than I'd planned for since I had to buy the better paint. 

I learned my lesson and did succeed in a couple of areas with paint:
1)  I bought the better paint for the walls the first time and even spent a lot of time picking out just the right shade.  The result: I absolutely love the wall color.  Could not be happier than I am with that.
2) I somehow was able to get paint between my toes......... with my shoes on.  I still haven't figured that one out since I pretty much lived in my shoes from the moment I got out of bed until I took a shower in the evening.  I'm thinking my dog may have played a prank on me to get even for me not allowing her to romp through the paint trays and decorate the floors of my house with paw prints.

I did run into another unexpected issue: I couldn't find a comforter locally.  Who knew daybed comforters were so hard to find?  I ended up having to order one online and when it arrived (the day before our guests were scheduled to arrive), I discovered the lovely soft shade of blue I was expecting to see, was actually gun-metal gray. Talk about a reality check. Had the comforter been for a bed shaped like one of the US Navy's battleships, it would've been perfect.  Since it was for my woman-cave, it didn't work out so well.

I quickly went through all of the old comforters I had stored away and discovered a white down puffy comforter.  It's not perfect, but it works for now.  And it's soft and cushy to sit on when I want to sneak away and read a book.

I tried really hard not to get too frustrated or panicked with each set back, but the closer to "Reveal Day" I got, the more stressed out I became.  In a house full of half-finished projects, all I wanted was to be able to finally say one room was finished.  For it to be my room was just icing on the cake.

While I don't have the room completely finished at this time, it's close enough that I've decided to show the bits and pieces.  So, without further ado, here are the before, during, and after photos of my newly renovated guest room/office.

The final dollar amount I spent on furnishing the room?
Desk:  $200
Wrought iron daybed:  $85
Bookcase:  $5
Bedside table:  $5
Lamps:  $40
 

Amount spent on paint and other things:

Ceiling paint: $75
Wall paint: $58
Spray paint (for the bed and bookcase): $32
Acrylic paint for bathroom mirror:  $3.50
Kleenex tissue holder:  $10
Bathroom jewelry tray: $12
Toothbrush holder: $5

Now it's time to decide whether to start on the guest bathroom, since I painted the concreted mosaic mirror frame, or finish the other half of the kitchen.  hmmmm......  Which would you do?

By Christie Bielss

The dark and ugly ceiling color.  This photo makes it look much
brighter than it was.



The ceiling after we scraped the popcorn texture off.
Not sure why it became this golden color, but that was the
true color after scraping.



The ceiling after 2 coats of paint and
the lovely poopy-diaper colored walls.

 

3 coats of paint later, the ceiling is done.

Priming the walls and you can see a small portion of the junk in this room

My BEAUTIFUL desk!  I LOVE it!

It has a hand-tooled leather top

Yes, I really can be organized and I do like my label maker!

Bought this bed and painted it a metallic brown

Bookcase my wonderful husband painted

Ok, now I know this bathroom mirror isn't in the room, but
it is the guest room bath and I couldn't take the mosaic tile color any more.

With a tube of silver acrylic paint I covered that ugly mosaic.



The Queen of Organization

I would love to be organized.  To walk into my kitchen and not see a stack of junk mail, bills, and other statements sitting in a pile would make my heart deliriously happy.  To sit next to my computer and not have to constantly restack the pile of junk that keeps falling over onto my keyboard would make me more productive.  I look at everything around me and wonder "Am I ADD or ADHD?".  And then I remember "No, I'm just lazy.".



The original paint color in my office/guest room

I can organize just about anyone else's closet, office, kitchen, etc..  When it comes to my own piles of stuff everywhere, it just makes me want to put on blinders and go hide in a hole.  The amount of "stuff" is overwhelming and the fact that I have to think about whether to keep it or toss it makes my brain bleed.



Desk Disarray



We moved into our current home 3 years ago.  3 years and I still have unopened boxes in my formal dining room.  3 years of not being able to figure out, or really care to figure out, how to organize this home.  3 years of looking at such ugly colored walls inside the house that I haven't cared whether it's straightened up or not.

Just a few things in the middle of the floor

A Humdinger of a Sale

My first real part-time job was at the age of 16 as a cashier at a national discount store way back in the early 80's.  Back in that day, you had to key in all of the code numbers on a price tag in order to ring up the price.  Because the store didn't want customers waiting in long lines at the cash register, they required you to undergo 10-key-by-touch training, shoplifter security training, and pass a test before they'd allow you to work for them.  

Public Domain image courtesy of WPclipart.com

In addition to the training , we also had to learn the preset phrases for greeting customers, taking their money, and closing their purchase.  "Hi! How are you today?  Will this be cash, check, or charge today?", "Your total purchase today is.....", and that ever popular "Thank you and have a nice day!" still stick with me 30+ years later.  Those phrases became so ingrained in me, I could spout them without even having to think about it. 

Being a cashier, I got to meet all sorts of people.  I had customers who were friendly, unfriendly and some who were grossly over-friendly.  Ones who questioned every price on every item, and others who would add one of everything from the point-of-purchase display in the checkout line.  Even had some who only put one item at a time on the conveyor belt so they could watch you ring up every part of their purchase.

Some jobs are mundane and boring, but this job definitely had its funny moments.  When store security would be hot on the trail of a shoplifter and the person in question would come through my lane, I'd invariably get a phone call from security.

I'd answer the phone and hear "We are following a white female in your line who has shoved clothes down her pants to make a fake fat butt.  She has on a very large pair of carpenter pants that are bulging at every pocket and a purple top that has items stuffed under it to make her look like she's pregnant.".

With a comical description like that I had to glance at the people standing in my line to see if I could pick the thief out of the line-up.  Security on the phone would yell "Don't look!".  I'd reply with a "Sooooo what?  You're just calling to say I shouldn't ask what her due-date is?". 

I even had funny family moments.  Like when a husband and wife with 8 daughters in tow decided to take advantage of that week's sale.  Each daughter had a grocery cart, as did each parent.  Each one of those carts was fully loaded with maxi pads....... and not a single price sticker on any of the boxes.

That poor father of 8 not only had to be in a train of carts pushing feminine hygiene products through the entire store, but then had to stand there while I paged on the store intercom for a price check on maxi pads for Lane 8.  I apologized to the man.  He smiled and said "It's not a problem, I just keep thinking of how much money I'm saving.  With 8 girls, plus my wife, there's always someone with a raging case of PMS, so a price check is really no big deal in comparison.".

The all-time funniest experience in that job, and yet most embarrassing for a young naive 16 year old girl, was when a single man came through my line.  I greeted him with the well ingrained company line of "Good Evening! How are you today?", and proceeded to begin ringing up his small number of items. 

To this day I still remember that transaction.  A 2 liter bottle of Coca-Cola, a bag of Doritos, a big bag Hershey's Kisses and under the bag of chocolate was a box of condoms.  I tried to hide my mirth and remain professional throughout the transaction. Quite proud that I'd held myself in check, and without thinking, I concluded the sale with the company line "Thank you and have a nice evening!".

With a grin on his face and a wink of his eye, he replied "Thank you!  I'm planning on it........".  This young redhead blushed bright red from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.  And that's when I learned that sometimes a simple "Thank you" is more than enough.

Send in the Clowns

My daughter, like so many girly-girls, loves to do crafts. She loves it so much that in the name of taming some of the chaos, I finally broke down and devoted an entire shelf in a closet to all of her crafting supplies.  One day while I was painting our guest bedroom ceiling, she asked if she could do some crafting. Thrilled at the thought of her staying occupied and out of the paint, I gave her the go-ahead. She was so excited and quickly decided to make a new magnet for the refrigerator.



Public Domain Image "Clown Face" by wpclipart.com

She worked hard on that magnet for a solid hour.  With different colored felt squares and other leftover pieces from other craft projects, she made a clown face.  With great fanfare she announced her completion of the project and quickly hung it on the refrigerator for all to see.

I tried to show excitement over her cleverly crafted artwork.  I did my best to swallow the lump in my throat and the goosebumps that were quickly raising up on my skin.  She had worked so hard and so diligently, but my enthusiasm was a bit lacking.

I'll admit it:  clowns creep me out.  It's like they're hiding some kind of evil behind all of that weird face paint and the goofy looking rainbow colored wigs.

I stood in the kitchen with a smile plastered on my face as I told my daughter what a great job she had done.  I searched for the positives of having Bozo the Clown on the refrigerator.  The only thing I could come up with was that it would definitely deter between meal snacking.

Many hours later after my daughter had unveiled her piece of art, I noticed Creepy the Clown was sitting a bit wonky.  It's bad enough to see a clown on the refrigerator, but it takes on a new level of eerie when it's looking at you with its head cocked to one side.  I went to straighten The Joker but it didn't budge.

Figuring the magnet was a bit stronger than I'd anticipated, I got a better grip and tugged harder. It still didn't move.  I tried to push up on the side that was sagging.  No luck.  I tried pushing down and even side-to-side.  That blasted clown wasn't budging.

Bozo the Clown sat there with its pom-pom eyes and creepy, crooked smile, taunting me to try and straighten him out. Childhood nightmares started flooding back and haunting me with each futile attempt to move this ghoulish creation.  My imagination ran wild as I envisioned a clown army arriving in one tiny Volkswagen ready to launch an invasion on my home.

With the hair standing up on the back of my neck like a scared cat, I yelled for my daughter.  She quickly arrived in the kitchen and I pointed to her clown that had gone askew.  She laughed and reached up to move it.  Creepy the Clown did not even move a fraction of an inch. 

"Ok, that's weird", she said.  She grabbed hold of the clown by the sides of its face and pulled with all of her might.  All of a sudden, the clown's head separated from the magnet causing my daughter to fall back a couple of steps. 

'Dear heavens, she's decapitated the thing!', I thought.  I just knew the clown minions were going to be knocking down our door any minute.

But wait!  She had decapitated it.  Technically, the evil clown was dead.  He couldn't get on his funny phone and call in the Volkswagen cavalry now.  The only thing he was good for now was the trash can.

I started to breathe again when I realized that much like when Dorothy threw the bucket of water on the Wicked Witch of the West in "The Wizard of Oz", this clown's reign of terror was over.

What remained of the artwork on the refrigerator explained why the clown hadn't moved when we'd tried to reposition him.  It totally explained its creepy, sinister look of glee.

Apparently my husband had accidentally put a bottle of Super Glue in my daughter's crafting supplies instead of in his supplies.  When she created The Joker and carefully placed him on the refrigerator, he thought he would have the last laugh by permanently adhering himself to a surface where he could cast evil grins for the next 15+ years. 

We had foiled the crazy clown's plot.  His caper was discovered and he was where he belonged - in the trash.  But, there was still a lot of Super Glue stuck to my refrigerator, which meant I would always remember what had once been there.

I knew I had to eliminate all traces of him so I could open the refrigerator door without trepidation.  With just a few simple keystrokes and the power of Google, I had the answer to removing him from my life permanently.

I quickly got to work.  A few dabs of acetone-based nail polish remover and his creepy smile was turned upside down as the Super Glue was quickly removed, along with any trace of his presence.  Creepy the Clown was off to the local landfill and my refrigerator was now shiny and clean.  His reign of terror was now conquered, the clown army was defeated before it ever had a chance to organize, and their clown Volkswagen was just another heap of metal in the local junkyard.

In the battle of Redheads vs. Clowns:  This time the Redhead -1; and Creepy Clown - 0.


Written by Christie Bielss

Fitness Fanatic

At my last doctor's appointment, with no prompting whatsoever, my doctor informed me that I was "cleared" to start working out in a gym.  "What do you mean I'm cleared for the gym?", I grumbled "I only asked about swimming."  I wasn't overly thrilled with this clearance, but my family and friends said it would be a good thing.  They said it was necessary.  They even said it was time.  All of them assured me I would feel better and maybe even stronger.  I was told I'd have more energy and I'd build muscle to replace what Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease was slowly eating away.  Yes, the buggers all went in cahoots together and decided it was time I put down my chocolate and put on some walking shoes.



Public Domain image by the US Air Force

With great encouragement they enticed me into working out with the idea of using our city's community exercise center.  At the city's center, you can walk on an indoor, fully air-conditioned track and they even loan out hand-held track lap counters so you don't forget what lap you're on.  Wasn't sure I liked that so much since my favorite way to count is:  1, 2, 7, 9, 10, done!

Before I ever had the chance to make the argument of not being able to leave my children home alone since they are out of school for the summer, I was informed they are old enough to walk or run the track with me, as well as work out in the non-exercise machine area of the gym.

When I walked into the gym the first time, I had preconceived expectations as to what my experience would be and who would be there.  What I discovered upon entering the facility completely blew those expectations away.

Without a shadow of a doubt, I expected my children to run laps around me - literally.  My expectation was met in the first minute of stepping on the track when my son ran backwards faster than I could walk forward.  My daughter, not to be outdone by her brother, literally walked in circles around me as I walked the track.  I was ready to make them both go stand with their noses in a corner.

What I didn't expect though were the number of older people in the gym.......... who were all easily kicking my butt.  These people have gray hair, for crying out loud!  Ok, so do I but I'm at least young enough that I still want to color those grays.

You know, it's one thing to get lapped by a bratty pre-teen, it's rather humiliating to get lapped by an octogenarian.  Hearing that courtesy call of "coming up on your right" from behind made me want to block them so they'd have to stay behind me.

As if it wasn't bad enough to be getting passed on the track by people 20-30 years older than you, they can even do strength training exercises and work the machines as well as professional athletes in the prime of their lives.  Some of the older gentlemen even have muscles as well defined as Olympic athletes.

I mentioned to my mother about being schooled on my first gym visit by students from the Jack LaLanne era.  I thought she was joking when she mentioned they could be participants in the Senior Olympics.  I've heard of the Summer and Winter Olympics, as well as the Special Olympics, but the Senior Olympics?  Surely she jested.

She promptly got on the computer and showed me men and women aged 50+ competing in almost every regular Olympic sport.  Yes, they compete in track and field events (including the high jump), swimming, baseball, and lots more.  And they're having a blast while they're doing it! 

Here's the short video my mother showed me of these athletic seniors competing:  http://www.nsga.com/nsga-spotlight-video.aspx  

Something I have discovered about working out with seniors is they aren't your typical gym rats.  They aren't competitive and they aren't there to put on a show.

When you walk in, they greet you like you're Norm from the old television show Cheers.  They encourage and motivate you..... and quite possibly rib you a bit with their well-seasoned humor.

After a week of working out with the oldies, I'm not feeling too bad about getting lapped by them.  It would be nice if they would consider a change, out of respect for us out-of-shape whipper-snappers.  Instead of calling out "passing you on the right", they should call out "free chocolate passing you on your right".  I think I'd be more inclined to pick up my pace than to want to throw out an elbow.

Written by Christie Bielss

Ghostly Encounters - The Squeal-quel

Friday the 13th...... a full moon.......... a coyote howls in the distance........ you hear the sound of footsteps in the dark.  The hair on the back of your neck stands up and causes your heart to skip a beat.  Your ears strain for even the faintest of noise.  Your eyes stare into the pitch black darkness trying to catch a glimpse of any shadow that moves........ and you wonder if you're brave enough to get out of bed to turn on a light.  Is it an apparition or your imagination???

About a month ago I wrote about the odd night-time occurrences we have been experiencing in our home here.  It hasn't been our first encounter with the strange and unusual though.  My parents lived in a house several years back which had some rather..... puzzling... things happen as well.

When my parents moved into their home, my mother being the rather meticulous unpacker, would only allow one box to be unpacked at a time so she could carefully choose the spot where each item was to be placed.  (Yes, it took a while to unpack.)  The house had a built-in glass display cabinet, which was the perfect place of distinction for her china figurines.  She carefully chose the perfect spot in the cabinet for each one of her treasures.

After they finished unpacking and settled in, some odd things began happening.  It started out innocent enough one morning.  She and my dad woke up to find her favorite china figurine, a rather large piece, moved from the display cabinet.

Now I'm not talking about having been moved an inch or two, or even swapping places in the cabinet with another piece.  This piece was actually removed from the cabinet in the formal living room and placed on a sofa table in the family room quite some distance away.  My parents blamed each other as my mother put the figurine back in the display cabinet.

This happened multiple times over the course of the next 6 months or so.  My mom was sure my dad was doing it as some form of prank since it always happened at night after she'd gone to bed.  After many months of this happening, my mom finally had had enough.  She really read the riot act to my father over his prank and told him to knock it off.

He looked at her quite astounded and said he thought she'd been doing it.  He gave her his word he wasn't touching the piece.  She still didn't quite believe him....... until my dad, a commercial airline pilot, left to go on an overseas trip.

The second morning after he'd been gone, my mother awoke to the figurine moved from the living room cabinet to the sofa table in the family room.  It didn't take long before I was on the receiving end of an early morning telephone call from my rather disconcerted mother.   "I think we have a ghost in this house......... and I don't think it likes my decorating.".

When dad got home from his trip, mom told him about it happening again while he was away.  He laughed and told her that maybe she should just leave the figurine where the ghost moved it.

As time went by they got used to things being moved every now and again.   They decided there was really nothing to get too worked up over ....... until several months later.  My dad was again on another trip when I got a somewhat frantic phone call from my mom that the ice maker to the refrigerator quit working.

This was a problem.  They were about to host a pretty good sized party and a broken ice maker would pose a huge problem.  My husband and I quickly drove over and worked on the ice maker and could find nothing wrong. 

We tried to pull the refrigerator away from the wall, but this was an older style refrigerator and it was a beast.  Even with the 3 of us, we couldn't budge it.  There was no help for it, mom was going to have to call in a repairman.

The repairmen arrived the very next morning and checked everything we had already gone over.  It took 3 very strong men, and a lot of huffing and puffing, to move that refrigerator out from the wall.  What they discovered was very unnerving.

Someone (or something) had completely turned off the water supply line to the ice maker.  The repairmen all said there was no way my dad could have done that by himself.  They also dispelled the notion that maybe it was never turned on properly and had, by a fluke, worked all these months.  Nope, it wasn't possible they said.  Apparently the spook of this house didn't like parties.

When my dad got home from his trip, we told him what happened.  He agreed that something other-worldly was happening here and admitted to not telling about other odd occurrences which had been happening in the house.  

Apparently, he had been hearing a cat meowing in the garage on and off for a number of weeks.  He had been out to investigate multiple times in an effort to shoo away the four-legged foe before it could get into anything.  He had looked everywhere and tried to follow the sound of its cries, but he never could find it or evidence it was ever in the garage.

And then came the night of the party.  That's when we found out that one of the previous owners of the home had been crazy about her cat.  As in creepy-crazy.  While she was away on a trip, she instructed her pet sitter that if anything should happen to her cat, they were to place the animal's remains in the garage freezer so she could take care of it when she returned.

We also learned the house was the woman's favorite home and she had not wanted to move away.  And the story got even weirder when they said she committed suicide after being forced to move out of state and that her one wish was to be able to go back to her favorite home......... and we're all guessing she did.

It wasn't long after that when my parents decided that moving out to the country would be a fine idea..........

Written by Christie Bielss

For Sale: Slightly Haunted House

For sale:  Slightly Haunted House.  A home in Pennsylvania has been put up for sale by the homeowners because a few "odd" occurrences have occurred.  For me, as an ex-Realtor, a red flag immediately goes up and it causes my hackles to stand on end.  As someone who doesn't do scary movies, every nerve in my body screamed for the homeowners to run for their lives and never look back as I read their story.

Courtesy of Wikipedia. Public domain image.

Having been a Realtor, I've gone in some of these "occupied" homes and you can feel the presence of something before you ever open the front door.  Back in the late 90's, I had a client who was an investor.  He'd buy dilapidated old homes, bring them back to their glory, and then sell them for a profit.  A few had some "Casper the Friendly Ghosts" that were no big deal, but there was one home I will never forget.

It was located in an area of town that was just beginning to see a resurgence of pride in homeownership.  The house I was taking the investor's contractor to assess had known only 1 owner in its 60 years since being built.  The contractor had become good friends with my husband and I, so I felt very safe looking at homes with him in rather questionable areas of town.  The home was in pretty bad condition as the owner had been elderly and thus hadn't been able to maintain the home in a very, very long time and had recently passed away.

We arrived to walk through the home at dusk and the minute we pulled up into the driveway, we both just sat there looking at this home.  "Holy crap!  It's the house from Amityville Horror!", the contractor exclaimed as he pulled his handgun out and made sure it was loaded.  I looked at him and asked "Does this really look like a home we need to go inside?".  He looked at me with an expression of complete amusement and teased "Well, since you're scared, why don't you sit in the car with the doors locked while I walk around the outside."

"Oh really?!  You're the one with the gun but I'm the fraidy-cat?!".  Remembering an old verse from the Book of Proverbs: "Pride goeth before destruction and an haughty spirit before a fall" I decided to sit in the car.  "Ok," I said, "I'll sit here and call 911 when a vagrant hits you over the head and steals your wallet".  Laughing, he got out of the car and walked around the exterior of the house.  After checking the home, he was confident it was devoid of squatters and had been properly secured, and thus was safe to enter.  He motioned for me to turn on the car's headlights so he could check out the garage area first.

He lifted the garage door and took a step into the garage.  Using my large Maglite flashlight, he shined it into a dark corner of the garage.  As soon as the light touched the darkness, the darkness moved!  The contractor jumped at the sight and sprinted for the safety of the hood of my car....... after being chased by several very large, and very ticked off, rats.

I laughed hysterically at the scene before me.  Determined not to be bested by the rats........ or me, he closed the garage door and then motioned for me to open the front door of the house.  By this time, the sun had completely gone down and dusk had been overtaken by night.  "Ummmm....... are you sure we need to even go in?  It's so dark, we won't be able to see anything.  Maybe it would be best if we come back tomorrow when it's daylight.", I suggested........ hoping beyond hope I wouldn't have to walk in this house at night.

"Oh no.  We are going in.", he said.  Dear Jesus, protect me!, I thought.  I unlocked and opened the front door.  He looked at me and said "Stay close.  Hold the flashlight.  If anything comes at you, whack it with the light.  It'll kill anything you hit with it.......... just make sure it's not me.".  With that ever so reassuring thought in my head, we stepped into the house.

We were immediately greeted by the overwhelming stench of death.  We both grabbed our shirts and pulled them over our nose and mouths to act as a filter against the smell.  We took a few more steps inside into a large open living room with  beautiful hardwood floors. We were both surprised and impressed with the layout and bones of the home.  A few more steps into the home and we came upon a bedroom...... where the odor seemed to be emanating from.  The owner's remains had been removed, but the mattress had not.  yuck.

We both sighed with relief that the odor was all we had to deal with.  We turned from the room and started to walk back to the living room when the contractor held up his hand for me to stop.  He had his head cocked to one side and was listening intently.  I froze.  He waited a few minutes, shook his head and we moved on.  We came upon the stairs which led up to the very dark upstairs rooms.

As we looked up, we heard the creaking of floorboards in one of the upstairs rooms.  The contractor looked at me and said firmly "Time to go up.".  I looked at him like he'd lost his mind as I said quite emphatically "Oh, hell no!".  He giggled and replied "Well, I am going upstairs and I have the gun so if you want to stay downstairs all alone with just a flashlight, then go ahead.".

I closed my eyes, said a quick prayer of protection for my stupidity in following him, and made the sign of the cross (I'm not Catholic but I was hoping to cover all my bases).  He held the flashlight and the gun as we slowly walked up the stairs, while I held onto the belt loops of his jeans.  He was having to carefully check each step for durability before moving up to the next step, so it was taking a bit to go up the stairs.  As we progressed upward, more creaking sounds emanated from the upstairs area.  I was pretty sure he could hear me swallow hard because he said "it's probably just more rats". 

The thought of being chased by rats caused me to stop.  This was like the 3 Stooges in a haunted house - except there were only 2 of us......... or were there???  It was at this point when I decided I would much rather stand on the stairs in complete darkness than see what was upstairs making those creaking noises.

As I stood there on the stairs, every nerve in my body was standing on edge, as were the hairs on the back of my neck.  You could feel we weren't alone.  There was most assuredly another presence in this house and it was not of the rodent variety.  The contractor shrugged his shoulders at my hard-headedness to stay put and pressed on, leaving me alone in the dark. As he continued up the stairs, he called back "Just scream if you need something", while chuckling at his own humor. 

 He walked around one side of the upstairs and checked it thoroughly.  As he walked to the other side of the upstairs, all of the sudden, the sound of footsteps came from the area he'd just checked.......... followed by the slamming of a door.  My heart was in my throat!  The contractor quickly stepped around the corner and shined the light on me on the stairs.  I lifted my arm and pointed to the area where the noise came from.......... the area he'd just checked.

He looked back at me and all he saw were my elbows and backside as I flew down those stairs and out the front door!  I did not stop until I was inside the car and the doors were locked.  He was quite a few steps behind me and by the time he caught up, I already had the car engine started and the car in reverse.  He had to knock on the car window for me to unlock his door so he could get in.  Thankfully, he'd locked the front door back and secured the house key in the Realtor's lockbox so I didn't have to.

I left part of my tire's rubber in that home's driveway in my zeal to get the heck away from that house.  As we were driving away, the contractor looked at me and asked "I have to ask........ did you slam that door trying to scare me?".  Without hesitating I said "No!" with enough conviction and fear to convince him I wasn't the one.

He picked up his cell phone as we drove back to my office and called the investor.  "Yeah, that house is beyond my level of expertise.", he said.  The investor asked why.  Without missing a beat the contractor replied "Exorcism of a house isn't something I have been trained for.".

Christie Bielss