It's A Brand New Day

I could numb, I could be bitter. But no. I'm rising above it all. Nobody and nothing's going to get me down.

I've been shot at and rushed, held at gunpoint, and made to bare the contents of my freezer. My doors have been broken down, the screen door ripped by someone's knife, and they could've (but didn't) hooked up a chain around my freezer and pulled it right through the side of the house. That would've been much worse.

As it is, it does cause some heartache -- I'll admit it -- to see my curtains flapping in the breeze, shattered glass still shattered everywhere. But there's a simple solution to that. I'm not going barefoot or in stocking feet like normal, I have my shoes on. And I called a friend of my cousin in the house patching industry, and he's supposed to be here later this morning with a crew. So all that's cool.

Yesterday I had the darkest spirit of foreboding, or whenever it was. It had to have been yesterday, I guess. (I'm really rising above it.) I knew the possession of that file without a backup would be a problem. But now that it's gone, I'm fine with it. Of course they would want it. Whether there were any really deep dark secrets in it -- I only went through it for an hour -- I don't know. But the grange people are a secretive bunch. They don't take kindly to folks poking around in their business. So I guess I had it coming to me.

As far as I'm concerned, at this moment anyway, I'm willing to live and let live. Because I'm up here somewhere, rising above it all. What a glorious morning! I have a view of the sunrise today that I don't usually get, since there's usually a block between me and it. But with the windows all shot out, it's definitely a stunner. And that's touching my spirit in a positive way. I should've opened myself to an armed gang much sooner, just kidding. But I'm looking at the payoff. I can see the sunrise in a clearer way, and don't forget I have the roll of yellow "WARNING" tape the police left as a souvenir. It takes years traveling from one black market to another for one of these!

I checked on Grandma. She's fine. Slept right through it, bless her heart. In fact I thought I heard her giggling in her sleep today. So maybe she's up on a cloud with Grandpa. She'll be up after a bit going to the bathroom and I'll fix her a little something for breakfast. If she asks about the breeze, I'll just tell her it's a great day to be alive, etc., and that there was some terrible gunplay last night and that we're very fortunate to still be here.

So I've been up a while. I've surveyed the damage. Could've been much worse. Going to be better. Live and let live. Do what I can to make things better. Maybe I'll reach out once again to the Grange Sisterhood and let them know No hard feelings. We may as well live together. We have a rich heritage together, going way back.

That's the sense I got from the file. If there was a falling out -- it's past. And if I felt like quashing this secretive, brutal, totalitarian conspiracy of the country, that was last night. I'm fine today. Today I'm more interested in mutual understanding and making peace.

And ... today I'm more interested in this beautiful sunrise. And in sweeping up the glass so I can take my shoes off.

All Day And All Of The Night

I have terrible news. Grandpa's grange file is now in enemy hands. True. They came for it last night and were turned back at first. The police came and they fled. But later -- much later -- we had it out again, and they rushed the house from three directions and I couldn't fend them off.

Of course the police wanted to know what was going on. And of course I was reluctant to get into the whole thing about the shadowy underworld the Grange Sisterhood inhabits. If somehow they've been able to fly under the radar for the last 70 years, or whatever it's been, they're not going to believe me now.

What am I supposed to say? There's a vast rural conspiracy to turn the town back into the country? And they won't be satisfied till we're all milking cows and scooping up after horses? It's all true, but you know how it sounds. So I put threw them off the trail. And they gave me a roll of yellow tape as a souvenir and left.

But the truth is this: Town people, mostly young men, who go into the country unwittingly are being systematically killed. All as the result of some kind of terrible test that most town people cannot pass, having loose morals and more eagerly reaching for their zippers. The country folk have trained their horses as assassins, leading them by a grove where sham orgies are taking place between grange people, men and their matrons, and it involves the various allurements of farmers' daughters with cinched up cutoffs and very white cheeks. And apparently overseeing the whole thing is a shadowy network of country women led by a giant Peruvian queen and her daughter.

I know it's laughable. But I had dinner with them and saw the thrones! And I had this one file, that went up to 1963 or so, whenever it was that Grandma and Grandpa stopped taking part in grange events, dropping out in anger or being shunned.

I'm not completely unsympathetic to the grange people. Actually I wouldn't mind seeing a little more countryside around here. The town can be very depressing. Especially areas like Skidrow. And I would like to get rid of fly by night carpet stores. So to that extent, I hear ya, sisters. And the idea of a greater morality on the part of our young people, naturally I resonate with that. But where I draw the line -- and I say this without apology -- is when the guy is simply kicked to death without warning. I think everyone deserves a second chance.

Plus, it's hard to be too sympathetic because of what happened, with my windows being shot out and my doors kicked down. What a terrible night, trying to doze off here and there, sitting there at the windows with my sacred swords and Grandpa's guns. The wind blowing through the shot out windows flapped the curtains in my face. And the coldness made me feel like giving up. But I tried my best to stay up.

Then about three in the morning I heard their cars again. Lights were flashing at the south and the north and there was some activity at the other sides of the house. I shot a few rounds which made them take cover. But they knew it was just me and a sleeping old woman in the house. So they moved in, shooting from three different sides. The windows were shattering everywhere, and pretty soon the doors came in, the north and the south. And in a second they had me covered.

They demanded only one thing, the file! So what choice did I have but to go to the freezer and get it? I moved a pack of frozen pork chops and there it was, in a well-marked freezer bag. I'm really strict about this, making sure the things in my freezer are orderly and used in a way that minimizes the damage freezer burn causes.

But I got off pretty well. They could've killed me. And what I was imagining didn't happen, which is that they would bring in a chain and put it around the freezer and drag it right through the front door. But why would they do that? Since they could just as easily open the freezer and take the file out. They might've done it just to show me they meant serious business. Which I know they did.

Fortunately, I remember enough of the contents of the files to put down the main points.

The Grange File -- Well, Hush My Mouth

First, if I am assassinated before getting this posted, you will not be reading this sentence until something happens. If worse comes to worse, I need to make a final request to whoever comes into my house and finds my body: If my computer is still running, you must finish paraphrasing the contents of this file at my right hand. But if the ones who assassinate me have taken the file, there will be nothing at my right hand. In that case I will need you to push the "Publish Post" button on the screen.

But let's say the assassins have also damaged my computer. You will have to open my Blogger account on a different computer and find my list of posts. The one you will look for is called "The Grange File -- Well, Hush My Mouth." (Blogger is saving drafts for me.) You will need to open it and see how far I've gotten. If it's anything beyond these paragraphs of instructions and perhaps the next introductory paragraph, then please see that it is finally posted on my blog. And please cover my body with a sheet so Grandma isn't traumatized, should she wake up.

Then call the police. I believe we can assume the police will know what to do when they find a body at a crime scene. But if they seem to be ignorant on the subject, I think the procedure is that they should rope off the scene of the crime, draw an outline of my body in the chair, and call the county coroner, who will pronounce me dead. Then you can expect a pack of rabid funeral home wolves to arrive, fighting and clawing each other to see who will ultimately make money off my funeral. Please do not let them take me through the north door. I hate the north door!

I spent the better part of an hour going through Grandpa's "Grange File" and I will summarize the contents of everything that is relevant to our present day concerns. Wait! There was a shot! About scared me to death! Someone literally just second ago shot through the window! Glass is shattered all over the place. I'm on the floor behind the big chair, with just my keyboard stretched out. Terror! Terror! (Kind of dirty back here. Hope I didn't tear my pants on the chair lever.)

OK, it's been quiet for 10 minutes. Back up. Definitely going to skip summarizing this stack of recipes for grange meals. Also the more benign grange board meeting notes. Although it is interesting that in '56 they changed from giving out 50 year pins to the more expensive gold watch. Were the Eisenhower years that prosperous? Must press on... Another shot! Oh crap! And from the north side, that one could've taken me out! There's a hole the size of a walnut in the wall just above me! This is getting dicey. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Run spell check on that.

There are sirens in the distance, so I might be OK. I had my back up against the wall for a while. There's a big delay. I'd hate to die without getting this done. I don't want an asterisk next to my name at the graveyard, meaning you died less than honorably with unfinished business.

I just saw some headlights coming up the hill, then suddenly go out. Someone's pulling in the drive. I might need to finish this tomorrow, if I make it through the night. I've got a towel over the monitor. It's not completely dark but close enough. There's a wicked breeze coming through the shot out windows.

Oh my God! A brick just managed to get itself heaved, presumably by someone doing the heaving, right through my bedroom window! Is this the end of the world? Is this how it ends? No! The sirens are getting closer! I could see all kinds of shadowy motions through the broken glass. There's limited escape for anyone up this hill. The car's gone. It was some big old lumbering '50s model, the kind the grange people like. My heart's pumping wildly, like the motor on an antique washing machine.

I ran to the north side and looked across the way toward the school. The police are on the way! Meaning this file is going to have to wait. I don't know what to do with it. OK, I stuck it in the freezer under some old pork chops. Need to get those out. Looks like some freezer burn. Need to start marking the meat packs with dates. That's a good tip for any food buffs out there. Use your meat in the order you freeze it, going in chronological order. You can save a lot of money by buying it on sale and freezing it. But your savings will not be as great if it's spoiled by freezer burn.

The police are pulling into the drive, like Gangbusters, parked all cattywampus, their headlights slicing through the gun smoke at weird angles. Meaning I need to hit "Publish Post" now in case they turn out to be some corrupt cops and kill me at the door. I hate it when cops go bad. But that's another opinion for another day.

Pray for me ... and check the meat in your freezer. It's always later than you think.

No Solitude In My Own Cellar

Yesterday was an anxious day. I was in the cellar and found the grange file in the box. So far, so good.

But I clung it to my chest, knowing there wasn't a backup copy. I hate the idea of not having a backup copy. Blame it on computers. It's so easy to lose things.

I know we used to go see the country music show at the park when I was a kid, and we'd all be lined up to get autographs. It seemed normal then but if I was a kid now I'd ask for two, just in case I lost the first one. And, come to think of it, I don't have any of them anymore. So I should've learned my lesson early on.

But there was no time to take the file somewhere and get it copied. Anyway, I might be waylaid on the way and then my enemies would have the file. Do they know I have the file? Maybe it was hooked to a wire and set off an alarm back in the grange barn when I moved it, meaning a vast force of hooded assassins and their horses will be coming for it. These are the kinds of thoughts that go through your mind.

Holding it to my chest, I felt my heart racing. That's real. That used to happen to me when a teacher was about to call on me, or worse, at the end of a really contested eBay auction. I had an auction sniping program that literally made your final bid with the shot of a Thirty-Ought-Six. I used to win an auction and open the windows to let the smoke clear. It gives you a heart attack. I envy guys with a pacemaker, because that's a good backup.

As soon as I had the file, I realized there was no solitude in my own cellar. Other people had been there -- the original house builders as well as family members in the years since. And anyone could suddenly appear. So I got up and with haste went upstairs. Grandma was turning. Must not let her see me coming from the cellar or see the file. The living room has had people through it. It's our main room.

Outside! Eventually my path around the half acre was like the kids in the Family Circus comics. Over by the well, by the pussy willow trees, by the shed, in the garage, by the tiny grove, at the south corner, next to the well, on the roof, where the old trellis used to be, in the blackberry patch...

All along the way I felt the mounting breeze, starting off slow and easy but building ever more steadily till it was a pleasant light breeze. The pages could've gone falling to the ground and been blown randomly toward the north. Or they could've spontaneously combusted in the light of the sun -- they'd been mostly in darkness for decades.

I thought I might sit on them, but any kind of dew on the ground would smear them. A couple of the summer's last moths flapped an irregular course near me. Moths! Moths eat paper, right? You need a cigar in your suit pockets to keep them away. And I wasn't wearing a suit.

I stopped in my tracks. Gotta get a grip. I've already had a million chances to lose the file. Need to consider the odds. I should've stayed in the cellar. I returned to the cellar, haunted by the ghosts of all those who'd been there before. It was oppressive, as I can plainly attest, but it was a more controlled environment.

So there I was. At the end of a mad trek around the property. Back in the cellar. Finally settled, I looked down at the only copy of the file I had ... and with the greatest care and trepidation, opened it.