Lately, I’ve been corresponding with a handler for a Miami locksmith. Over the course of the ten days or so that we have been chatting via email, I have been thinking about Bob. Not the Bob I wrote the post to a few days ago, but another Bob.

Several years ago, I think it must have been 8 or 9, DH were doing quite a bit of traveling. I’m guessing at the time frame, because I clearly remember Diva and Country being present, but not Stuntman. Anyway, we were in St. Louis, I think, and we managed to lock ourselves out of the van. The keys were there in plain view, and it was an incredibly aggravating thing. Now, DH and I tend not to stress about the inevitable. He went to the front desk and asked them to recommend a locksmith, and we settled in to wait for him to arrive. We just hung out and enjoyed the kids and talked, and it was actually a pleasant interlude.

Finally Bob arrived, and he had a bit of difficulty with getting in the van, so he was with us for a while. We were watching him, and he, apparently, was watching us as well. I really wish that I could remember the exact words, but I can’t. I guess the fact that I can’t points to how this was really a serendipitous thing that happened. Anyway, he said something about how we were as a family and as a couple, and that we either seemed to enjoy each other or should continue to enjoy one another. As he was packing up his tools, I commented to him that he should also have a pleasant day, and then enjoy his evening at home with Mrs. Bob. After all, that’s what you say, right? It was then that Bob taught me several things and broke my heart. He told me that he could not do that, because Mrs. Bob was no longer with him. She had died about a year previously.

I had nothing much to say to that, yk? But I realized then that I took for granted that DH would always be with me. And also that people who appear cheerful may actually carry huge amounts of grief. I had forgotten Bob until I started emailing with Ben. But I hope I had not forgotten the lessons I learned the day Bob took me to school.

Yesterday, I posted about a car dealer in Hutchinson, Kansas. That car dealership started in Newton, which is where my in laws live, so it’s a town I am somewhat familiar with. It’s not a large town, by any stretch, or at least it wasn’t when I was last there several years ago. There were still a wide variety of small independent businesses there, and it was a neat little place to visit, and when I said “I’m married to Floyd and Mary Jo’s oldest son”, everyone knew just who I was, and I was greeted like a neighbor. That was a mighty nice feeling, but I wonder if the same thing would happen today.

I’m noticing a similar thing here in my not-so-small-anymore town. I used to know everyone, and everyone knew me. Now I’m just a face in the crowd. New people are moving in at what is to me and alarming rate, and developers are building houses and apartments on what is basically swamp land. Apartments. Here in Bitty-burg. Folks, I graduated in a class of less than 150, most of whom could not wait to escape this little town. I wonder if those who have come back are as bewildered as I sometimes am.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying the conveniences of the new Wal-Mart, and the multiple grocery stores and the fast food joints, and even the plethora of drug stores with their endless aisles of intriguing make-up phenomena. But I’m also missing the days when there were only 2 of each type of store, and the only place to get a burger was Shirley’s and if you wanted anything else, you had to drive across the river for it. As for truly local businesses, we are down to just a handful: a fish market, 2 corner convenience stores, and a hair salon or two. And Shirley’s of course.

So what brought this on? That little car dealership I mentioned yesterday as the place to get a used car in Hutchinson, the one that started in Newton, is also a Salina, Kansas Car Dealer. That small Kansas car dealer has expanded. It’s not just a local business anymore. While that growth is great for the owner of the car dealership, it has some implications for those who love their hometown just like it was.

My mom and I talk about a lot of strange things as we travel to and from the lake to see Grandmother. The last time we went, Grandmother had called me “Elizabeth”, Mama’s cousin’s name (I call her Aunt Liz), and so Mama called Aunt Liz after we left the nursing home just to chat, and we found out her brother, Uncle Joe was in CCU, and that started the discussion I am about to relate. Now, I just had to let you know that the path we took to the discussion was completely reasonable.

So, we started talking about that branch of the family. Joe and Liz are the last siblings left of what were 6 siblings (Somehow it seems I am forgetting one. Mama will correct me if I am.) Their mother Aunt Bert, was married to my Granddad’s brother. (Have you ever noticed how complicated families are? I’m exhausted and haven’t even gotten to the story yet. Nor have I introduced you to all the players.) (Yes, I love me some parenthetical statements.)

So, talking about them led me to relate a story to Mama that my cousin Cheryl had told me. Cheryl is Bert’s grand-daughter. I was doing a paper in school on ESP, and Cheryl told me the story to use in the paper. It seems that Bert was sleeping one night, and dreamed she saw a casket come in the window. Shortly after that Mama’s brother William was killed in action, and so everyone assumed that’s what the dream signified. BUT! Just a couple of weeks later, Bert’s husband Henry died, too. When they went to the funeral home to make the arrangements, Bert went to one casket, and said “this is the one”. Grandmother asked her if she wanted to look at the others, and she said “no, this is it, this is the one that came in my window.”

Now, that story did give me the willies, but since I have had my own supernatural experiences, including deja vu, but never dealings with the dead, it did not freak me out. It was just like “whoa”. It was and is no great surprise to me that the dead can and sometimes do attempt to communicate with us, or that some of us are given warning before certain life-altering events, whether or not we recognize the warnings at the time.

Which brings me to the reason I decided to share this story. The 1408 Movie is coming out, and I’ve watched the trailer, and it deals with this idea of the dead affecting events in the lives of the living. It’s based on the short story by the same name, written by Stephen King, and stars Jason Cusack and Samuel L. Jackson.

Here’s the trailer:

Now, here’s the thing. This 1408 Movie intrigues me. I used to be a big fan of Stephen King, because his brand of psychological horror founded in normal events just appeals to me. Most of his stuff falls into the realm of “well, it could happen”, and that just messes with my mind in a way blood and gore could never do.

P.S. to Mama: I just realized typing this out that Bogue and Dale were not involved in this. There was another story Cheryl told me involving them and Aunt Bert, but I can’t remember the details of it. Perhaps it will come to me, and I can tell it to you as we are passing through those thick woods. Muhahahahahah

Dh finally got the old car and van cleaned out, so I need to call and get them hauled off. Needing to do that has reminded me about the only car we’ve ever gotten rid of that didn’t leave us on the back of a wrecker. When we still lived in Topeka, my fil gifted us with a gorgeous Chrysler LeBaron. He got it used at a great price from Conklin, a Newton, Kansas Car Dealer, and that thing was suh-weet. It had power everything. Dh drove it’s wheels off doing field service. It still ran great when we moved, but we decided not to bring it with us, because it would not hold all of us, and we could only haul one vehicle, so we chose the van. We sold it to the friend who helped us pack up house, and as far as I know, she’s still driving it. I haven’t talked to her in quite a while. Maybe I should call her today, after I call the junk car man.

Mama and I went to see Grandmother Sunday. It was a milestone day for us, and not in a good way. She did not recognize either of us, which was bad enough. But she also did not recognize my name, which is different from not recognizing me. My 39 year old self has been part of her life for a very short time, really. But my NAME has been part of her life for four decades. Even more disheartening was that when Mama said “Mother”, there was not a flash of anything in Grandmother’s eyes or face.

She looked so sad and alone in the bed. I realized that as tough as it is on us to be there unrecognized, it’s got to be worse on her. Surely she must feel deserted, if the people she loves never come around. And if she doesn’t recognize us, then the effect on her is the same as us not coming at all. We are just more faceless strangers performing tasks to try to ensure her physical comfort.

Right before we left, Mama took down a sign that had hung in Grandmother’s room above her bed since she went into the nursing home. The sign said “Dear Visitors, if I am sleeping, please wake me.” I’m pretty sure Mama was crying when she did it, but her back was to me.

We left the nursing home, and went “home”, that being what we call Grandmother’s house. We walked around, looking at the green growing things. Grand-dad”s tractor is still parked under the barn across the road. The flowers and shrubs that my Grandmother loved are growing riotously, spilling over the beds. It was all very interesting, in that way that quaint places that belong to strangers is interesting. There is no more of my grandparents left there than there is in photographs in a magazine.

I wonder if that’s part of the draw of magazines? Perhaps they conduct market research to determine which pictures will strike a chord with their readers memories. What exactly will take them flying back to their own pasts in a way that is pleasant, but not painful? Close, but not too close to the reality they once knew?

DH asked me last night what I wanted for Mother’s Day. I snickered and told him I wanted my laptop, and he snickered right back and said “no”. Can you believe it? But it reminded me of what was probably the funnest gift he ever got me. When we were still living in Colorado, he scored concert tickets to see Garth Brooks for my birthday. We were one row from the top of that huge stadium, and I was so excited to see and hear Garth in person that I didn’t even care about the seats. That was the only concert I’ve been to as an adult.