tim’s thought property

I mentioned once that my family’s Passat is quite possibly haunted. Well, Tim (Penner) thinks that this epidemic of the vehicular paranormal is a lot more serious than first thought.

Let me recount:
The Passat
It had this shifting and alignment problem for a while where the alignment would arbitrarily turn in one direction without warning. This made driving quite difficult. After a few trips to the shop, the car was returned and made a terrible knocking and rattling noise, not unlike something heard in a Haunted House. The noise came from the console, right along the E-Brake, and when we looked to see what was the matter, my brother and I saw a glowing red-hot Catalytic Converter. Playing Sigur Ros in the car only adds to the haunted feeling.

The Tercel
This sleek silver car is a delight to drive. Sporadically in the last few months, however, the stereo decides to cut out, at will. There will be no warning. I have at times, been driving, have the music blip out, then reach with my right hand holding some kind of object to hit the speakers back on to their cradles to get sound back. I’ve done this once with a towel, driving 130km/h down the No. 1 Hwy, back from Alberta. Not too safe, granted. Now, the speakers are more or less out, and sometime flicker when I hit a pothole, or bumpy road, or even idle the car to the point before stalling. *tsk-tsk* I can only shake my head.

The Concord
Well, as mentioned in the preceding post, the car did die for no real reason on the highway. It had also had this problem driving like it was a standard transmission, by giving evident tugs when it accelerated. It was quite strange, how these problems started on being picked up from the airport, and festered until the Friday wherein it decided to give out, and have to take up residency in a garage.

The Intrepid
Upon seeing Tim Penner on Sunday, we hopped in the car and sped off to see Divorce, Italian Style, and his stereo began getting quieter, as if it were turning its volume down on its own. Yes it was playing the role of DJ, despite the fact that I held the iPod and I had hands to change volume on the stereo and iPod.

The Astro
Yet another entry in this epidemics list. My family’s Astro van and I haven’t had a great history together. I’ve damaged more on that van than any vehicle I’ve ever set foot in. But this particular situation is about the cruise control, which decided to respond on it’s own accord. Normally, after I keep a consistent speed, press cruise, let go of the gas, then cruise, it all kicks in, there is a short decline in speed, before it resumes. Well, I played with this for almost 35 minutes of my 45 minute drive one evening, having cruise kick in when I would take my foot off the gas to slow down, only to realize that I’m still driving at 105. Then each subsequent time when I would try to put it on, it would insist on not working.

So Tim suggested that perhaps the Phantom that haunts the Passat is perhaps haunting all the cars I get into. Perhaps it is floating around the garage, wanting so bad to stay in the Passat, that it decided to follow me into whatever car I get into.
Does anyone know the number for the Ghostbusters?

Sarah and I had planned on visiting Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, out in southern Alberta, as well as Frank Slide on the Friday. This was supposed to be an adventurous day, being educated as we learned. You know, presumably about herding buffalo and how a town can be spared from a frightening disaster. After the time of learning, the Clan and us would meet up at Mill Creek Baptist Camp, to pick up Aruba, Sarah’s teen-age sister. She was also getting baptized that afternoon, at the camp, so it was going to be an action packed day. But our day took a different twist of action than expected.

We had decided to leave the house by 10:00. Her father and brother, Alfie, had made plans to drive out to the foothills to get dead fall for the firewood pile that took up the back yard, like some rude and intrusive beaver dam. So, the guys left at ten o’clock with the van, trailer, gas and occasionally working chainsaw. Sarah and I had less of an easy time getting out, since we had to scramble to make our lunch, upload our pictures from the day previous, rustle our cds and get everything ready. Our pursuit was accented with gentle promptings from Sarah’s mom, trying to usher us out as to not miss our sites. (Yet really in secret, her and Pip were planning on constructing a birthday cake for me, which was made in the shape of a Pirate ship. Oh man! was it something else!)

So as the two of us left at 10:48, we had to stop into Safeway for some fruit, as our time was already on the late side. As we hit Hwy 3, the Concord was travelling along fine. But about ten minutes outside of Lethbridge, just after Coalhurst, the cruise control shut off and Sarah had to bring the car to a halt on the side of the road. It wasn’t just the cruise at fault. The car wouldn’t start, the engine wasn’t turning over. So she popped the hood, and I went out to look. I told her that it wouldn’t really help, unless the engine was on fire or some other visibly wrong thing happened. I’m really inept when it comes to engines. As we tried starting it again, I suggested that perhaps we’d pray. I was hoping that GOD would come through in a way that would get us on the road quick, and not cause us to miss Aruba’s baptism. (At this point I would like to state that Aruba is not her real name, neither are Pip and Alfie the proper sibling monikers. This is just a form of anecdotal sharing, in which I practice the freedom to re-name them for privacy’s sake.)

So as I returned to the car, after my prayer, Sarah and I began to muse about how long we’d have to wait for help. She looked up in the rear view and sees a van so strikingly similar to their family fan that when it pulls over in front of us, she sees that the driver talking on the cell phone is none other than her father, and the passenger is none other than Alfie. Remember how they left almost forty minutes before we did. We passed one of those surprised glances to each other as we left the car to greet them. Dad was already calling home, and then to the Dempsey’s for assistance in retrieving the car. Alfie was quite pleased that now our situation granted him someone else to chop wood with, that someone being me.

Well, we recounted our tale of events leading to the Concord’s failing, and then they related their story. They drove out in the morning with the realization that the chainsaw was beyond usable quality and had to go to a rental store. So the time they took to get there occupied them for a few minutes. As they were making their way to Hwy 3, Alfie had to really go to the bathroom. So “Dad” found a Tim Hortons to stop at and also decided to get a coffee. By the time they pulled out of the parking lot and begun to actually drive to their destination, they saw a purple Concord not unlike the family Concord pulled over on the side of the road with the hood up.

This is where many could say co-incidence plays it’s hand. I don’t think so. I don’t think too highly of co-incidences.

We all drove out to the camp together, then Sarah and I got the van to try to get to Head-Smashed-In. It wasn’t feasible, so we picnicked at Fort MacLeod instead. As we drove back to the camp, we hit a wrong road, and were taken ten minutes out of the way. We arrived at the camp twenty minutes after the baptism had begun (as we were told to be there at 4:00 sharp), but graciously enough, the baptism did not begin for another fifteen or twenty minutes after we got there. It was beautiful to see.

So yes, we had an adventure that day, though not the one originally planned or expected. We had a day all about seeing GOD work in many different ways.

The littlest one of the Clan, affectionately called Pip, is probably the most interesting character I have ever met. She is a ten year old of which words cannot really describe. Imaginative, is one thing she is. Pip is also quite random in the things she says, filling in the tangents from one topic to another in her mind, only producing the end product, which ends up being a few degrees away from the leading point. For more anecdotal references, one might look here. It will paint a more complete picture and provide definition and precedence.

This little episode had taken place at a dinner, while I was in Lethbridge at the house of some friends of Sarah’s family. So as we all were dining in the sun room, a deer slowly saunters up the coulee and begins to nibble on the grass. Pip, being the young excitable that she is, left the table to see the deer up close. As she ventured outside, many of us were cautioning her approach from the table. “Not too fast, now.” “Go slowly.” And of course, being the ten year old that she is, she knows this advice. I then proceed to get up with my camera to document this wildlife and wild-hearted. Our hosts bring out a bowl of baby carrots to give to Pip, to feed the deer.

With more advice from the table, “Toss them gently.” “Let it eat them before you throw more.” “Don’t try to scare it.” the little one proceeds to do things her way. The deer turns and walks down the coulee, and Pip decides to follow it. At this point, wanting the deer to return, Pip is now lobbing the carrots as well as she can, (this resulting in a short four-foot over-hand toss) to the deer, it’s back and it’s general direction, while telling it to eat the food. With all of this constant desire to detain wildlife, the small bowl of baby carrots were emptied. As the deer slowly lost its interest and descended down the coulee, this time for good; Sarah had come out to rustle up the littlest one, and bring her back.

I returned to the table, and watched the short exchange and triumphal return of Sarah and sister. They both began to pick up the uneaten carrots, as I returned to the coffee I had left on the table. When the girls entered, little Pip came round to me and we shared this exchange:

Pip: (chipper and bright) Here Tim, I have some carrots for you.

me: Uhh…(obviously unsure of what to do) No thank you.

Pip: (eager) These ones weren’t eaten.

me: (already laughing internally at the situation) Um, well, I thought you threw all the carrots to the deer.

Pip: (still chipper, and still ten) Oh, these ones are fine. They didn’t hit the ground.

me: (laughing inside) “There is no way you can pass those off! I saw you throw them all! These are ground carrots!”…I think to myself …Uh, that’s ok. I don’t want any.

Pip: (regardless) Here you go. This is where she puts one on my plate.

me: (in humourous disbelief) Thanks. I’ll eat it later.

Here is a way:
1. Get to know someones ins and outs well enough to surprise them with a delightfully appropriate birthday card that not only
a) has their name written into the joke on the cover
b) has a picture of an old bearded man that may or may not look a future version of them
but c) has an appropriate reference to what happened that day. ie.“No, Timmy, I did not have a pet dinosaur when I was younger, now stop asking!”
2. Provide a well written and touching entry to the card, making it very possible to cause the reader to wonder why they are so fortunate.
3. Purchase a light switch cover with a picture of Johnny Cash on it, for the use of sprucing up that person’s bedroom at home.
4. Capitalize on a noted childhood enjoyment of Batman by purchasing a handbook on how to be like him. Possibly The Batman Handbook will do. No, it will do.
5. Prove to that person how much you know about them in the little, common things that by compiling such a mix of sentiment and understanding, will render the recipient struck dumb and silent, able only to look in your eyes and wonder
“Why am I so fortunate?”

By the way this is a true story. It happened. Here’s the proof.

During my time in Lethbridge, I occupied a lot of my time in the car by playing one of the many Licence Plate games. In the one I took up, the object is to construct a passable acronym from the three letters, quickly while the car is still in sight. For example, as Sarah and I merged onto a certain bridge, there were always trucks driving in the merge lane. As we entered one time, the truck that-wouldn’t-move-to-let-us-merge had a licence plate reading YJY or You Jerk, You! Another one was (this one was gold, by the way.) Un-Nameable X or UNX. That was one of Sarah’s finest. Every now and then, the acronym would be so subtle that one of us would lose it in conversation, when one of us would possibly say something like Don’t Tell That (DTT).

Well, on one particular Thursday, Sarah and I were borrowing the car of their family friends, the Dempsey’s. Now one more piece of info is the plate of Sarah’s Concord: Krispy Kreme Vendor or KKV. Keep that in mind.
We drive out to the mall, and proceed to do a little shopping at HMV. Upon our return to the parking lot, we are searching for the green vehicle that is the Dempsey’s. When we arrive at it, Sarah begins to fiddle with her thousand keys to get to the proper one. I’m standing and looking into the car, thinking to myself, Man this car is a little messy. I wonder what these papers are all for? I look to the back of the car as I wait, and see the plate, and it is Krispy Kreme Network as in KKN.
So I remark out loud at the neat coincidence, “Look at that, Sarah. The Dempsey’s are Krispy Kreme Network.”
Then I follow it up with another observation, “I didn’t know that they were from B.C.” as the plates were from British Colombia. I look again at the front seat, then see a stainless steel coffee mug in the cup holder, and it dawns on me: my coffee cup is not stainless steel, and what’s more, it’s in my hand.
“This is not our car, Sarah.” I say all cautioned, and look around. As I do, I catch eyes with a woman walking by, who has likely heard that comment.

At this point, Sarah is embarrassed, since she had not been able to get the right key in the door for the obvious reason. While we return to where the proper car is really parked, Sarah is visibly red-faced. I’m trying not to further it, by contributing my laughter, but as I see the plate of the Dempsey’s car I can contain it no longer.

“You Were Mistaken, Sarah. Even the Dempsey’s car thinks so.”

This post has been in the makings and musings for the last day, and now it’s the first of a few re-caps from my brief vacation.
This whole day has been a long experiment in the act of saying goodbye; the art of letting go, and continuing on. Can it be that everybody has in them this desire to be with someone who is so meaningful and fulfilling that to say goodbye in any form is impossible? If so, then I am right on the ball. So is she. We have a habit of long goodbyes.

As we sat in Drumheller eating our picnic lunch, I was stuck in thought. I was in a moment of contentment, and everything felt right and proper and in its place. As we went to the museum, we had a great time. As we talked some more, the chiseling away of our time and our own continual excavation of our own lives seemed reflected in the hoodoos of the Badlands.

The closeness of her to me was what I was going to miss the most, the ability to be comforted by someone’s presence, and that alone was invaluable. Words can fall to dust, in the end; there is something innately reassuring and peaceable about company.

Airports have this sense of great love and longing, I find. There is something deeply emotional about these places. The constant Arrivals and Departures; gates for cheerful reunion, gates for sad separation; tears of joy and sadness flow forth in these ports. As we checked in for my flight, we were close and silent, holding one another’s hand in the reluctance to let go. As if suitable for the mood, the Starbucks had some love songs playing, appropriate to our feelings.

In the relative emptiness of the Airport, she and I were struck dumb with silence. There was the constant feeling of the end, as the digital clocks slowly robbed from us our last minutes together. As we sat together, close and sad, I had a thousand words running in and out of my mind, all too futile to say. What can you say at this moment? Nothing that can stop a departure. No, there was no way for a cinematic ending, wherein the plane stops and we can run to be together, as the screen fades to black.

As I stood in line at the customs checkpoint, we had our last embrace. Nothing I could say would even begin to stop her tears, so I said nothing. That last touch with great reluctance was how we parted, and I watched her in her descent down the escalator, and turned only when she was gone.

When I took my seat on the plane, I thought about how I had been sitting beside her all week, and now, there was a vacant spot beside me. And as I pictured her driving home and being sad, I finally begun to cry. As silent and restrained as I could, I let my tears spill out, as I ascended upwards and eastward. I closed my eyes for the entire flight, being forced to let go.

There is something deeply sentimental about departures and arrivals. They hold in their power the wellspring of hidden feelings that aren’t shown everyday. In the act of leaving or the act of reunion there is something so deep down that surfaces, something so strong that comes to light. It shows you how much you love someone.