Words and pictures from the author of the Elizabeth Goodweather Appalachian Mysteries
Friday, January 18, 2008
Fay is home! And her doctors have decided that this event -- as well as another which put her in the hospital on an earlier occasion -- was not a stroke, but Hemiplegic Migraine, which can mimic a stroke but, unlike stroke, is treatable! This is Very Good News and I thank you all for your intentions.
I'm just back from a visit to Albemarle, NC where I spoke last night at a library to a group of very nice people. I've found I really enjoy following MapQuest's sometimes eccentric directions to places I've never been. There's always a little feeling of adventure -- especially when I get lost.
The night before I left, I dreamed that I was traveling and I passed a little house with a sign for a Spiritual Advisor -- you know the kind -- Madame This or Sister That. So yesterday, when I found that I had made a left instead the right called for, I turned around and saw in front of me a little house with a sign for Madame Dora, Spiritual Advisor. "Ah, there it is," I thought and kept going.
Only to go past my next turn and find myself getting out into the country. "This can't be right," I thought and pulled off the road into the driveway of a lonely little house that looked as if no one were at home. I called Courtney, the lady who'd invited me to speak, to find out where I'd gone wrong. I was done with my call and getting ready to back out and retrace my route when suddenly a pickup truck with two tolerably rough-looking fellows pulled in behind me, making it impossible for me to back out.
Figuring that they were probably the residents of the house, I made motions to indicate that I was just leaving but one of them (wild eyes, long, stringy gray hair under his tractor cap) jumped out and ran up to my passenger side window and hollered, "Security!"
"Excuse me?" I said, "I was lost and pulled in to use my phone."
Then he got a good look at me and my white hair and started backing away. "No harm, ma'am, we don't mean no harm. Our 84 year old momma lives here and we keep an eye on the place."
I told him they were good boys to look after their momma and we parted amicably. When I got home today and told my husband this little story, he suggested another possibility. Maybe those good boys were keeping an eye on their meth lab.
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