The joys of a country life...
Some may say that I'm really not living in "the country" but I beg to differ. Our neighborhood may have housing developments trying to converge and absorb the horse and cow pastures but it's still country. We still have deer and coyotes wandering through the wooded areas, there are still chickens and cows and turkeys and llamas and donkeys all over the place. The roads definitely qualify as back country roads with few street lights to guide your way. We're just outside the city limits,(like our property line butts up against city property yet we're still unincorporated Snohomish County), yet there's enough gray area that we're never sure if the sheriff will come out or city cops if there is a disturbance. Not only that, but it just feels like country, frogs croaking madly in the spring, the scent of mown hay in the air in the summer and a stillness at night that you don't get in a suburban setting.
Why is this an interesting subject? Well, last night after 1am, just as I was drifting off to sleep, we hear a car slow down in front of our house. It stops. The next thing we hear is the song "You Are The Sun" by Lionel Ritchie, blaring at an unimaginable level. Next thing we hear is some dude bellowing the lyrics at the top of his lungs, actually managing to drown out Lionel's voice on occasion (which was a marvel in itself, considering how loud the music was playing.) It went on. And on. He sang the whole bloody song, if you can call that singing. At one point, Paul asked me if I knew this guy? Is he one your ex's? (It amuses me that he would think this, for I was beginning to wonder myself.) I assured him, with much giggling, that I did not have any clue who that was. Finally, the song ended and he got back into his car, and with the sound of the Macarana song echoing down the street, he drove into the night.
At least, that's what we thought.
Shortly after, we heard loud music again and a car turned down our road, heading south. About three minutes after that we heard what we thought was tires screeching loudly. And five minutes later the flashing lights of a police car were illuminating the night, followed by two emergency vehicles and a fire truck. I said to Paul, "Sounds like somebody took out the cemetery fence down the street again." This happens every couple of years: there is a small Lutheran cemetery about a half mile from our house, and the section of road it's on has about four 90 degree turns in a very short distance. It didn't seem like a long time before the fire truck and emergency vehicles headed back to the station. By 2am it was all quiet again and I was able to get back to sleep, and I hoped for the best for whoever was involved before I drifted off.
Paul just took a scooter ride down the street to see if there were any signs of last night's disturbance. What he found was astonishing and sad: the cemetery did indeed take a hit early this morning. About 30 feet of the chain link fence, several trees and headstones were ripped out of the ground and car parts are strewn all about. I'm going to take a walk down there later and see what can be done energetically to breach what I'm sure feels like a huge gaping wound in the spirit world. There may be no need to do so: I'm almost certain the guardians of that place have things well in hand. Yet there is no doubt that a visit would be in good form and I'll do whatever needs doing to help settle things a bit.
Loving the country life...
Why is this an interesting subject? Well, last night after 1am, just as I was drifting off to sleep, we hear a car slow down in front of our house. It stops. The next thing we hear is the song "You Are The Sun" by Lionel Ritchie, blaring at an unimaginable level. Next thing we hear is some dude bellowing the lyrics at the top of his lungs, actually managing to drown out Lionel's voice on occasion (which was a marvel in itself, considering how loud the music was playing.) It went on. And on. He sang the whole bloody song, if you can call that singing. At one point, Paul asked me if I knew this guy? Is he one your ex's? (It amuses me that he would think this, for I was beginning to wonder myself.) I assured him, with much giggling, that I did not have any clue who that was. Finally, the song ended and he got back into his car, and with the sound of the Macarana song echoing down the street, he drove into the night.
At least, that's what we thought.
Shortly after, we heard loud music again and a car turned down our road, heading south. About three minutes after that we heard what we thought was tires screeching loudly. And five minutes later the flashing lights of a police car were illuminating the night, followed by two emergency vehicles and a fire truck. I said to Paul, "Sounds like somebody took out the cemetery fence down the street again." This happens every couple of years: there is a small Lutheran cemetery about a half mile from our house, and the section of road it's on has about four 90 degree turns in a very short distance. It didn't seem like a long time before the fire truck and emergency vehicles headed back to the station. By 2am it was all quiet again and I was able to get back to sleep, and I hoped for the best for whoever was involved before I drifted off.
Paul just took a scooter ride down the street to see if there were any signs of last night's disturbance. What he found was astonishing and sad: the cemetery did indeed take a hit early this morning. About 30 feet of the chain link fence, several trees and headstones were ripped out of the ground and car parts are strewn all about. I'm going to take a walk down there later and see what can be done energetically to breach what I'm sure feels like a huge gaping wound in the spirit world. There may be no need to do so: I'm almost certain the guardians of that place have things well in hand. Yet there is no doubt that a visit would be in good form and I'll do whatever needs doing to help settle things a bit.
Loving the country life...