far too much writing, far too many photos

An addendum to yesterday’s entry:

Lately, for some reason, I’ve been talking to various folks about the house and the strange happenings, in part just from the sheer amazement at finding that kind of entertainment taking place in my living space. So it’s been in my thoughts.

Yesterday afternoon I’m on the phone with a friend. I’d told them some about what’s been happening in the house –- if nothing else, it’s a real conversation piece -– and I hear, very suddenly, a noise from downstairs. Sharp and distinct. Loud. Louder than most of the odd noises I hear around this place. Far as I knew, I was alone here, so I immediately headed downstairs to see what was up, telling my friend about it as I went. (God bless cordless phones.) I open the door to the laundry room, I see movement, I could feel my heart rate increase. Someone I don’t know is in there. A guy. He turns around, I remember I had a 2 o’clock appointment for the annual furnace maintenance, I see his tool kit, my heart slows down. I’d left the garage door open, when he pulled up the driveway by the garage he walked in and knocked on the inside entryway, which opens into the furnace room. Getting no answer (me being upstairs on the phone), he tried the door, found it open, stepped inside, saw the furnace, started setting up.

Comedy: it’s everywhere.

We get to talking, me and the furnace guy. Turns out he was born in this town, has lived in the area his whole life, knew the folks who built this house. Which means he knew the woman who took the header down the stairs and joined the choir invisible. He couldn’t remember their last name, I didn’t press him. I’ve learned enough.


I recently came across some notes made in my last day or two in Madrid and during the trip back.

For instance: at the airport in Madrid the plane was parked way the hell away from the terminal, they loaded us into buses to take us to is. A long, circuitous route, through a tremendous amount of airport traffic -– trucks, buses, miscellaneous funny-looking service vehicles, carts pulling trailers. I stared out the rear window, checking out the scenery. And noticed that several vehicles had been trailing our bus through all the twists and turns it took. The small truck immediately behind us had a teletubby hanging from the rear-view mirror. The purple teletubby. Hanging by its neck.

Madrid’s been in my thoughts these last few days. I’m aware I never finished the final entry I wrote from there [see entry of 3 August] -– I intend to pull myself together and dig into that. I’m also going to write up whatever I can decipher of these notes I found. Which means it’ll all be showing up here sooner or later.

Be warned.

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