People wonder where I get my odd ideas for storytelling.
It's called life.
It's called life.
These two entries were published in an old blog in March of 2007:
Mar. 12th, 2007
This morning my son answered the door to find a man who gave him a
piece of paper, telling him "Pastor Loewen will know what this is."
I don't. Any guesses? It looks like Hebrew.
Though highly unlikely, if I ever get to the point where I can
actually earn a living from writing, I am going to boobytrap my house
and surround it with signs asking visitors if they can outrun guard dogs
and bullets.
Addendum: Fortunately, two Jewish scholars who read my blog identified the writing as Hebrew, written incorrectly and accidentally scanned
by me upside-down.
Specifically, it's the Aaronic benediction, except it's
written wrong. Hebrew should go from right to left, top to bottom, and
this goes from right to left, bottom to top. It says, "May Yahweh bless
you and protect you. May Yahweh make His face shine upon you and be
gracious to you. May Yahweh turn His face to you and give you peace."
To this day, the person who gave this to my son has never been identified.
I do not like mysteries. They disturb the placidity I strongly desire in my life.
On Monday in the late afternoon I walked into the living room and saw a figure on the other side of my curtained front door standing on the porch. The silhouette was very evident, a tall individual standing a little off center. Head, shoulders, and upper torso clearly visible.
Just as I registered there was somebody on my porch, the figure moved rapidly to my right (illogical as the porch's only entrance steps would have been behind the figure and moving to the right just goes a few feet to a porch swing and a elevated porch wall some five feet off the ground).
Thinking one of my boys had become stuck outside (after five years of living in Baltimore, I always lock my doors), I speedily opened the door to discover nobody there. I quickly walked around the house.
Nothing.
All three of my sons were inside, none having gone outside and none as tall as the figure I saw. Nobody had the time to do a swan dive off the eastern side of the porch (onto a gravel driveway), especially with the speed at which I opened the door.
I've stood in front of the curtain several times since then watching the curtain and there was no way I saw the silhouette of a vehicle of any type traveling on the road that fronts my house.
It was a person I saw and contrary to popular opinion, I am not losing my mind.
First, it's some guy passing me Hebrew epigrams and now it's shadowy figures on my front porch.
I'm not afraid or nervous or anything. Over the years I have lost my apprehension for the weird and now I'm only mildly intrigued at best or mildly annoyed at worst. And like Cain McBree, my narrator in the short story The Pig, I'm not above facing down the natural or the supernatural with a lead pipe.
On Monday in the late afternoon I walked into the living room and saw a figure on the other side of my curtained front door standing on the porch. The silhouette was very evident, a tall individual standing a little off center. Head, shoulders, and upper torso clearly visible.
Just as I registered there was somebody on my porch, the figure moved rapidly to my right (illogical as the porch's only entrance steps would have been behind the figure and moving to the right just goes a few feet to a porch swing and a elevated porch wall some five feet off the ground).
Thinking one of my boys had become stuck outside (after five years of living in Baltimore, I always lock my doors), I speedily opened the door to discover nobody there. I quickly walked around the house.
Nothing.
All three of my sons were inside, none having gone outside and none as tall as the figure I saw. Nobody had the time to do a swan dive off the eastern side of the porch (onto a gravel driveway), especially with the speed at which I opened the door.
I've stood in front of the curtain several times since then watching the curtain and there was no way I saw the silhouette of a vehicle of any type traveling on the road that fronts my house.
It was a person I saw and contrary to popular opinion, I am not losing my mind.
First, it's some guy passing me Hebrew epigrams and now it's shadowy figures on my front porch.
I'm not afraid or nervous or anything. Over the years I have lost my apprehension for the weird and now I'm only mildly intrigued at best or mildly annoyed at worst. And like Cain McBree, my narrator in the short story The Pig, I'm not above facing down the natural or the supernatural with a lead pipe.
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