A comparison of what we had at our old life in Kentucky and what we have now:
Kentucky Oakwood
* 5 acres * enough space for a swing set
*dial-up internet * high-speed internet with WiFi
*satellite T.V. * Instant Netflix
*2100 sq. ft house *1900 sq ft.
* 25 foot rock fireplace in vaulted ceiling * 9 ft ceilings, gas fireplace
*surrounded by woods * surrounded by houses
*20 minute drive to EVERYTHING! *walk just about everywhere
* couldn't see our neighbors house * all we can see is our neighbor
*shed/barn * garage
* school buses * everyone walks/ ride school SUV
*taxes $1250/year *taxes $3500/year
*3 story playset * mega playground: block away
*gravel/dirt drive *paved driveway
*creek *Community pool
*septic *public sewer
*metal roof *shingle roof
*very quiet *cars, sirens, and kids
*no sidewalks (rural route) *sidewalks and lots of walking
* okay school system *school ranked 577th in nation
*hunting *mega squirrels that taunt you
*Great radio stations * Ipod use suggested!
*Wal-Mart or Kroger *Kroger, Trader Joe's, Meijer
*great temperatures/seasons *winter or construction
*room to store recreational vehicles *boat & trailer still in KY
*close to family *has adopted a second family
*McDonalds *decisions, decisions!
*clean air *smokers galore (odd, huh?)
*wrap around deck *full front porch
*everyone knows everyone * all outsiders
* gun range in backyard * "Run! They have a gun!"
*University of Kentucky (Go Cats!) *Ohio State
(yes, I left off "THE"...deal with it!)
Friday, March 25, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Accomplishment
I used to think that packing everything up to move was the biggest pain about relocating. I have since changed my mind. Unpacking is the biggest pain! We have lived in our new house for over 2 months now. We are still living out of boxes. My frustration levels are reaching an all time high. I do not like chaos. I do not like having things out of place or no place at all! And that, my dear friends, is the crux of the problem!
Moving into a new home requires taking all your old stuff that fit perfectly in your old house and finding a location for it in your new house. Sounds easy enough, but unless you just walk into your house and plop it down, claiming: "Here is your new abode, dear lamp!" it doesn't really work. Especially when the lamp is sitting on the dining room floor beneath a chalkboard easel, like mine. (Though I think this technique would work for my husband.) No, you have to check your surroundings. What area of the room really needs a lamp? What part needs more lighting? Is there a plug available in that corner for the lamp? Is there something to sit it on? Oh, the questions are endless.
Okay, yes, I am being overly dramatic, but I am having some "vicious cycle" moments here. I painted my son's bedroom without any furniture in it. It was fast and easy. I puffed my chest with accomplishment when gazing upon the white and University of Kentucky blue that donned the walls. I put up the peel-n-stick Wildcat decals and rejoiced to see progress in our journey of settling in. But that was pretty much where our progress stopped. A few weeks passed before I could no longer take stepping around the sea of boxes. In a feverish rush, I broke out the paint that I was contemplating using in the kitchen. It was a full gallon of blue left over from our kitchen at the old house. I put it on one wall....and fell in love all over again. I was pumped! I finished the kitchen in another day or so. Then, I unpacked my blue and white kitchen decorations. My heart sighed in contentment at seeing the place settled. The only thing left for the kitchen is the curtains I am sewing.
But the rest of the house is a mess. I finally moved the boxes out of the living room and stacked them up along a dining room wall. I rolled out the area rug in the living room (an area rug that I bought new for $65 though it was regular priced $325) and smiled with accomplishment. Really? Accomplishment from rolling out a rug? Yes, that is what my wonderful, anal sense of structure and organization has been reduced to. I also put together the two new end tables I bought. Those and a few chairs is all that sits in my living room since I am waiting to make a trip to IKEA to buy a couch. I also need a piece of artwork for over the fireplace. And I cannot decide where to hang the stuff I currently have.
I am mid-process of painting my oldest daughter's bedroom. And my youngest two daughters are still living among cardboard boxes like homeless children. Our bedroom is not much better since all the questionable items (where should we put this?) have been quarantined in one corner there. Just like the dining room. And the garage. And a room in the basement. In fact, most of the stuff we had at the old house doesn't really fit in well here. I guess I will sell most of it at a yard sale this spring and take the money earned to buy new stuff.
But then I have to wait for better weather....see? Vicious cycle. I have to wait to unpack until I paint. I have to wait to hang this until I paint or figure out where it goes. For those of you who know me well, you know that I can create some beautiful rooms. This house, though, has been seriously trying my decorators spirit. I will prevail, though. I just need to shut up all the chaos of clutter and get busy! Today, I opened my new bedding set and put it on my bed. Yep, another accomplishment!
Moving into a new home requires taking all your old stuff that fit perfectly in your old house and finding a location for it in your new house. Sounds easy enough, but unless you just walk into your house and plop it down, claiming: "Here is your new abode, dear lamp!" it doesn't really work. Especially when the lamp is sitting on the dining room floor beneath a chalkboard easel, like mine. (Though I think this technique would work for my husband.) No, you have to check your surroundings. What area of the room really needs a lamp? What part needs more lighting? Is there a plug available in that corner for the lamp? Is there something to sit it on? Oh, the questions are endless.
Okay, yes, I am being overly dramatic, but I am having some "vicious cycle" moments here. I painted my son's bedroom without any furniture in it. It was fast and easy. I puffed my chest with accomplishment when gazing upon the white and University of Kentucky blue that donned the walls. I put up the peel-n-stick Wildcat decals and rejoiced to see progress in our journey of settling in. But that was pretty much where our progress stopped. A few weeks passed before I could no longer take stepping around the sea of boxes. In a feverish rush, I broke out the paint that I was contemplating using in the kitchen. It was a full gallon of blue left over from our kitchen at the old house. I put it on one wall....and fell in love all over again. I was pumped! I finished the kitchen in another day or so. Then, I unpacked my blue and white kitchen decorations. My heart sighed in contentment at seeing the place settled. The only thing left for the kitchen is the curtains I am sewing.
But the rest of the house is a mess. I finally moved the boxes out of the living room and stacked them up along a dining room wall. I rolled out the area rug in the living room (an area rug that I bought new for $65 though it was regular priced $325) and smiled with accomplishment. Really? Accomplishment from rolling out a rug? Yes, that is what my wonderful, anal sense of structure and organization has been reduced to. I also put together the two new end tables I bought. Those and a few chairs is all that sits in my living room since I am waiting to make a trip to IKEA to buy a couch. I also need a piece of artwork for over the fireplace. And I cannot decide where to hang the stuff I currently have.
I am mid-process of painting my oldest daughter's bedroom. And my youngest two daughters are still living among cardboard boxes like homeless children. Our bedroom is not much better since all the questionable items (where should we put this?) have been quarantined in one corner there. Just like the dining room. And the garage. And a room in the basement. In fact, most of the stuff we had at the old house doesn't really fit in well here. I guess I will sell most of it at a yard sale this spring and take the money earned to buy new stuff.
But then I have to wait for better weather....see? Vicious cycle. I have to wait to unpack until I paint. I have to wait to hang this until I paint or figure out where it goes. For those of you who know me well, you know that I can create some beautiful rooms. This house, though, has been seriously trying my decorators spirit. I will prevail, though. I just need to shut up all the chaos of clutter and get busy! Today, I opened my new bedding set and put it on my bed. Yep, another accomplishment!
Sunday, March 13, 2011
The Police (and I'm not talking about the band)
The entire 5 years I lived in our house in the boonies, I never once had the police come to my house. A few helicopter fly-overs checking acreage for illegal substances, yes, but no actual physical contact on my property. I liked it that way. I savor my privacy. I also like to know they are there if I need them, but I do not need them in my face as a reminder.
Having said that, I would like to note that tomorrow will be exactly 2 months to the day that we moved into our house in Oakwood. And we have had contact with the police 4 times already. I seriously hope that this is not a pattern that will continue throughout the year. I think there are more cops in Oakwood than all of Nelson County back in KY. Every time I go out, whether driving or walking, I see a patrol car. Many times, there is one parked down the street near the park. A part of me likes the fact that the neighborhood is well patrolled. Oakwood is supposed to be the safest area to live in Dayton. In fact, most of the transgressions posted in The Oakwood Register deal with driving incidents. There is an occasional burglary report or a stolen bicycle reported, but mainly they are all speeding tickets or the like. (If you come to visit us, please observe the posted speed limits.)
Rabbit Trail: One of the burglary reports was of $200, a laptop, and an iphone taken from an UNLOCKED Expedition. All the items were laying on the seat in plain view. C'mon, people! Use some common sense!
Another part of me, however, dislikes the fact that the police traffic the area like the Gestapo. The first day we moved in a police officer stopped and was checking out our truck which was parked on the street in front of our house. I say the officer and immediately thought, "What's wrong?" There were other cars parked on the street, so I knew that was legal. But our truck was parked in front of our house against the flow of traffic. I told Brian to run out and talk the officer so we wouldn't get a ticket. He ran outside and moved the truck. The officer was not very welcoming. He told Brian, "That isn't allowed around here." Okay, fine. Lesson learned. (But what was the big deal anyway? Were they afraid someone driving down the street would suddenly forget which way the traffic flowed and follow the parked cars? If so, they shouldn't be driving anyway. Simple driver's ed...drive on the right side of the road.)
The three other incidents with the police all involved the situation with the little girl (previous post). I am so hoping that is an isolated occurrence and not a trend in my life as an Oakwood resident. So, while I am glad to have the protection, I am also a little ruffled by the lack of privacy too. I suppose that is just what goes with the territory. I moved from the boonies to an urban neighborhood. Just another little adjustment to be made.
Having said that, I would like to note that tomorrow will be exactly 2 months to the day that we moved into our house in Oakwood. And we have had contact with the police 4 times already. I seriously hope that this is not a pattern that will continue throughout the year. I think there are more cops in Oakwood than all of Nelson County back in KY. Every time I go out, whether driving or walking, I see a patrol car. Many times, there is one parked down the street near the park. A part of me likes the fact that the neighborhood is well patrolled. Oakwood is supposed to be the safest area to live in Dayton. In fact, most of the transgressions posted in The Oakwood Register deal with driving incidents. There is an occasional burglary report or a stolen bicycle reported, but mainly they are all speeding tickets or the like. (If you come to visit us, please observe the posted speed limits.)
Rabbit Trail: One of the burglary reports was of $200, a laptop, and an iphone taken from an UNLOCKED Expedition. All the items were laying on the seat in plain view. C'mon, people! Use some common sense!
Another part of me, however, dislikes the fact that the police traffic the area like the Gestapo. The first day we moved in a police officer stopped and was checking out our truck which was parked on the street in front of our house. I say the officer and immediately thought, "What's wrong?" There were other cars parked on the street, so I knew that was legal. But our truck was parked in front of our house against the flow of traffic. I told Brian to run out and talk the officer so we wouldn't get a ticket. He ran outside and moved the truck. The officer was not very welcoming. He told Brian, "That isn't allowed around here." Okay, fine. Lesson learned. (But what was the big deal anyway? Were they afraid someone driving down the street would suddenly forget which way the traffic flowed and follow the parked cars? If so, they shouldn't be driving anyway. Simple driver's ed...drive on the right side of the road.)
The three other incidents with the police all involved the situation with the little girl (previous post). I am so hoping that is an isolated occurrence and not a trend in my life as an Oakwood resident. So, while I am glad to have the protection, I am also a little ruffled by the lack of privacy too. I suppose that is just what goes with the territory. I moved from the boonies to an urban neighborhood. Just another little adjustment to be made.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Robbing the Bank
The closing on our house in Kentucky went super easy, right? Yes. When we put the money into the bank, they told us that it would be released in time for our closing. Yes, that sounded about right considering we had a certified check. They said that there would be a 7 day hold. We put the check in on the 3rd and we closed on the next house on the 14th. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the hold should be off when we needed it.
So, why did the teller at the bank refuse to give me the money (in form of a certified check, of course) when I went to get it the day before our closing? Good question. Apparently, those hold days do not include weekends or holidays. So, according to their calculations, we could not withdraw our money until the Monday after our scheduled closing in Ohio.
I went into Panic Mode. I explained my situation fervently. The teller took pity on me and called the manager out to see what could be done. I did not want to lose the house! Or our interest rate that was locked in only until the day of our closing! The manager reviewed the hold on our check. She agreed that it couldn't be released until after our closing. But...she would talk to the regional manager and see if they could trace the check to make sure it had cleared. She said that she would call me when she knew something.
As soon as I left the bank, I was in prayer. While I was driving, I was in prayer. While I was at my parents house, I was in prayer. While I texted my husband and friends, I was in prayer. Help! Help! Help! We had to have that money! How could we get all this way and then stumble on something so silly? We had the money. It was in the bank. We couldn't touch it though because of a stupid "red-tape" hold???? There was NOTHING I could do about the situation. It was totally and utterly out of my control. And aren't most things? Even things that us mortals like to think we control, isn't it all out of our control? Humans tend to set up this guise of taking care of things, of protecting ourselves, armoring ourselves, etc. But it doesn't matter if you have Superman on your side because you aren't in control! Our choices affect the outcome, most definitely. I should have checked with the bank and scheduled the closing dates differently. But I had a certified check. I didn't see a reason for the hold. And someone I know that works at a bank said that their company only puts a 3 day hold on certified checks. Yes, I should have made a better choice, but the situation I found myself in was out of my control. The funds could have been lost (happened to my friend once when the bank accidentally deposited it into the wrong account) or my identity could have been stolen and my account wiped out. Looking on the bright side, I guess the whole "hold" thing wasn't so bad. Much better than the other frustrating ways to not be able to get ahold of my very OWN money. Hmm, I do own guns. Is it against the law to rob the bank for just your OWN money? Eh, probably. I had better make a wiser choice and not try to handle this on my own. I needed help. Big time!
I was asking for help. Again. I could not do this on my own. I needed help. "Help!" I called to God.
I also called the bank back. God answered in the voice of the bank manager, "It has been taken care of. We have lifted the hold on your check, Mrs. Gaskin. When you come in, we will have the certified check for you." And once more, I was in prayer. A prayer full of thanks, ever so humbled by His love for me. The bank did not have to remove that hold. They had every right legally to not give a damn and hold my money until the next week. Matthew 21:22 reads, "If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer.” I am sure most non-believers and especially believers would say that this didn't apply to modern times. How many believers had done so and had not been given what they asked for? Well, I won't dive into that can...all I can say is, "It is true! I can bear witness!" Hallelujah! Amen!
And I skipped all the way to the bank (and left my handgun at home.)
So, why did the teller at the bank refuse to give me the money (in form of a certified check, of course) when I went to get it the day before our closing? Good question. Apparently, those hold days do not include weekends or holidays. So, according to their calculations, we could not withdraw our money until the Monday after our scheduled closing in Ohio.
I went into Panic Mode. I explained my situation fervently. The teller took pity on me and called the manager out to see what could be done. I did not want to lose the house! Or our interest rate that was locked in only until the day of our closing! The manager reviewed the hold on our check. She agreed that it couldn't be released until after our closing. But...she would talk to the regional manager and see if they could trace the check to make sure it had cleared. She said that she would call me when she knew something.
As soon as I left the bank, I was in prayer. While I was driving, I was in prayer. While I was at my parents house, I was in prayer. While I texted my husband and friends, I was in prayer. Help! Help! Help! We had to have that money! How could we get all this way and then stumble on something so silly? We had the money. It was in the bank. We couldn't touch it though because of a stupid "red-tape" hold???? There was NOTHING I could do about the situation. It was totally and utterly out of my control. And aren't most things? Even things that us mortals like to think we control, isn't it all out of our control? Humans tend to set up this guise of taking care of things, of protecting ourselves, armoring ourselves, etc. But it doesn't matter if you have Superman on your side because you aren't in control! Our choices affect the outcome, most definitely. I should have checked with the bank and scheduled the closing dates differently. But I had a certified check. I didn't see a reason for the hold. And someone I know that works at a bank said that their company only puts a 3 day hold on certified checks. Yes, I should have made a better choice, but the situation I found myself in was out of my control. The funds could have been lost (happened to my friend once when the bank accidentally deposited it into the wrong account) or my identity could have been stolen and my account wiped out. Looking on the bright side, I guess the whole "hold" thing wasn't so bad. Much better than the other frustrating ways to not be able to get ahold of my very OWN money. Hmm, I do own guns. Is it against the law to rob the bank for just your OWN money? Eh, probably. I had better make a wiser choice and not try to handle this on my own. I needed help. Big time!
I was asking for help. Again. I could not do this on my own. I needed help. "Help!" I called to God.
I also called the bank back. God answered in the voice of the bank manager, "It has been taken care of. We have lifted the hold on your check, Mrs. Gaskin. When you come in, we will have the certified check for you." And once more, I was in prayer. A prayer full of thanks, ever so humbled by His love for me. The bank did not have to remove that hold. They had every right legally to not give a damn and hold my money until the next week. Matthew 21:22 reads, "If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer.” I am sure most non-believers and especially believers would say that this didn't apply to modern times. How many believers had done so and had not been given what they asked for? Well, I won't dive into that can...all I can say is, "It is true! I can bear witness!" Hallelujah! Amen!
And I skipped all the way to the bank (and left my handgun at home.)
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Catching Up
Okay, I know I haven't posted in almost 2 weeks, but to be honest I thought it would be difficult to top the last post. I reminded myself that this blog is about my life here in Oakwood, so if there are boring days then there will be boring posts. But sometimes the things that I find boring or mundane may be exciting to others and vice versa....so, you can be the judge.
I haven't finished the telling of our story that lead us to Oakwood. After everything went into the works (closing on our house/loan approval & closing on the new house), our budget became drastically tight. We were pretty much living off of savings since the transition from Brian's old job to his new job did not mean an immediate paycheck. The extra expenses of buying a home, i.e. home inspections, "good faith" deposit, appraisals, etc. also cut into that money. There was one week when we didn't have enough money for groceries. Really. But, I did some heavy praying. Like...face on the floor praying. Afterwards, I had no immediate answer, but I was calm and knew God would provide. How, I didn't know, but I knew He would. And He did, by revealing a creative way to work our finances....I had an epiphany! Once again, I asked for help and He answered.
Closing on our house in Kentucky went very smoothly. It only took ten minutes. We signed about two papers and then chatted with the couple who purchased our house and land. They paid cash, so we didn't have to sign a billion papers. And we skipped all the way home.
I haven't finished the telling of our story that lead us to Oakwood. After everything went into the works (closing on our house/loan approval & closing on the new house), our budget became drastically tight. We were pretty much living off of savings since the transition from Brian's old job to his new job did not mean an immediate paycheck. The extra expenses of buying a home, i.e. home inspections, "good faith" deposit, appraisals, etc. also cut into that money. There was one week when we didn't have enough money for groceries. Really. But, I did some heavy praying. Like...face on the floor praying. Afterwards, I had no immediate answer, but I was calm and knew God would provide. How, I didn't know, but I knew He would. And He did, by revealing a creative way to work our finances....I had an epiphany! Once again, I asked for help and He answered.
Closing on our house in Kentucky went very smoothly. It only took ten minutes. We signed about two papers and then chatted with the couple who purchased our house and land. They paid cash, so we didn't have to sign a billion papers. And we skipped all the way home.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Being in a Criminal report is no fun! (Continued)
The police and First Responders couldn't enter the house because of the dog. They needed me inside. I told Brian that I would be fine and there really wasn't anything that he could do anyway. He went back to our house.
I returned inside and held the dog's leash tight while corraling him and the little girl into the back room where the small black and white t.v. set flickered. I closed the door, leaving it open just a crack. I sat down on a small couch and the little girl sat down on the chair next to me. The room was dark except for the glow of the t.v. set. I could hear the police enter the house from the side door. They were discussing the best way to bring the stretcher inside. They directed the paramedics to enter through the front door. The noise of their work disturbed me some. I didn't think the little girl should overhear what was being said and the things that were happening. Keeping one ear turned toward the activity, I focused on distracting the child, who kept glancing at the door.
I asked her what her name was, slightly appalled at myself that I hadn't found that out yet. She told me that her name was Kayley. I told her that was a very pretty name. I introduced myself as well, and then asked what her dog's name was. "Reggie," she said, "Mommy named him and he loves mommy very much."
I told her that I could tell since he was being a very good guard dog. Reggie was sitting at my feet while I stroked his back. Every few moments he would hear a noise he didn't like, mainly male voices, and he would leap to his feet again. My soft murmurs were enough to calm him down.
I asked Kayley how old she was. "Five." She said proudly. She told me that she had an older brother but he was staying with their grandma. That information didn't seem to line up with what I knew already, but I didn't press the issue. I asked her how she found her mommy in the kitchen. "I was sleeping on the couch but then I woke up and went looking for my mommy." "And she was on the floor?" I asked, wanting to have a clear picture in my head. She nodded. I kept talking to her, trying to keep her distracted. Every question I asked or story I told her about my own children seemed to return somehow to the her own mother. Kayley was overly attached for a five year old. In the back of my mind, I wondered how many times she had been in this situation.
The lack of commotion in the other room caught my attention. I heard a guy say something about a little girl being here. I called out then, saying that she was in the back room with the guard dog. The police officer came near the door and asked if anyone had contacted a relative to come get the child. I told him that the grandmother was on the way. He wanted to know the contact phone number for the grandmother so I handed him my cell phone through the crack in the door. He said the number was nearby and the grandma should be arriving soon. He asked me to make sure the house was locked up before I left. And then everyone was gone.
At 2am, my mind flittered to the fact that I was sitting in a strange house in the middle of the night, with a child I did not know, holding a leash to a dog that wasn't exactly friendly. I wanted to be used. No one else had come to see why a little girl was screaming in the street. No one else even opened the door or fluttered a curtain. I was there. I was placed there....right there. At the house across the street from the little girl who stood screaming for help...for me...in the middle of the night. He was using me mightily. Little 'ole me comforted that child who had seen too much for such innocent eyes. That I had no doubt of.
I slowly opened the door and peeked around to make sure there wasn't any lingering officers for Reggie to attack. The coast was clear. I let go of the leash so Reggie could do his thing and secure the area. My hand was sore from gripping the leather so tightly. I walked to the kitchen. I am not sure exactly why, but a voice in the back of my head wanted to see if the things I had seen earlier were still there. Or had I imagined them? The room had been rearranged slightly. There was a step stool in the middle of the floor. I had overheard the paramedics digging for any medications the lady may have been taking, so I attributed the sudden appearance of the step stool to their rummaging through cabinets. There was a skillet full of uncooked eggs on the stove. I checked to make sure all the burners were turned off. I felt the oven door to make sure that hadn't been turned on either. All the knobs were off.
The money was still everywhere, though. A box of jewelry with bills sticking out of the top sat on the back burner. A shoebox with a stack of cash was on the kitchen table next to a purse spilling forth ten and twenty dollar bills. The other things were gone though. I pushed it to the back of my mind. Kayley was standing in the kitchen doorway.
"When will my grandma be here?" She whimpered uncertainly. "Soon," I told her,"She is on her way right now." I put my arm around her and turned her away from the kitchen. "We should pack some things to take to grandma's house, right? Where are your clothes, sweetie?" We began searching for some clean things for her to pack. That was when grandma arrived. I introduced myself. She was very apologetic for keeping me awake. She fussed at Reggie for jumping on her, then moved absently around the house. I am not sure what she was doing. She was not that old...she couldn't have dementia. I snagged her attention back to the reason for her being there. "I have been trying to find some things to pack for Kayley." She nodded but went into the kitchen.
That was when a police officer popped back inside the house. At least the lady had the presence of mind to grab Reggie's leash. The officer spoke to the grandmother, asking about her daughter's past medical history. While that was going on, I took Kayley to find a bag for her things. It wasn't easy, but we found one and shoved a change of clothes into it. I handed Kayley her coat to put on as well. "She has a history of seizures....and a metal rod in her back. But that is all." The grandmother told the officer. I silently sighed in relief. Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps what I thought I saw was something else.
I checked the front door to make sure it was locked. The grandma was heading for the door with Kayley, who was clearly relieved to be leaving. "Do you think you should take her purse?" I asked, and pointed to the purse laying open on the kitchen table. The woman seemed taken aback but nodded and retrieved it. I locked the side door behind me and helped her get Kayley and Reggie in the car. She thanked me again for staying with Kayley. I told her my name again and my house number in case she needed anything else. And then they were gone.
Standing in the snow, out in the cold night, I said a prayer for Kayley. And for her mother. God moves in mysterious ways...but they are only mysterious to us. Every once in awhile we get a glimpse of how He moves, and in those moments.....well, I know I am blown away.
Four days later: Brian leaves the house with Lena to go to the park. A police cruiser pulls up and the officer gets out to talk to Brian. I watch the scene from inside the house. I was doing laundry and just happened to walk by the window. After a few minutes, the cop gets back in his cruiser and drives off with the siren on. Brian proceeds to the park with Lena. Of course, I am anxious to know what happened. Did the officer have news about the woman? Was she okay? I sent Brian a text to see what was up. He said the officer just wanted our phone number and would be in contact with him later. He didn't give any details about the woman who had been carted off by paramedics.
The officer didn't call Brian. He called me. That afternoon he called because he had a few gaps in his report that he needed to fill in. He asked if the little girl came to my house to get me. He used this wording with Brian when identifying him on the street earlier that day. Brian had told him that I had heard the little girl and went out to her. I told the officer the same: that I heard her and went out to see what was wrong; she told me that her mom was on the kitchen floor and wouldn't wake up. I told him about the dog and how I stayed in the back room. He said that he was glad to have the identity of that person filled in and that I would be listed in the report.
"We are looking into this. There is an investigation going. We don't let things like that slide here." He added.
My stomach dropped. Ah, the feeling of disappointment. My instincts had been right. My eyes had not deceived me. The elastic band on the counter, the needle case, the bottle of pills spilled across the floor. No, I knew. But I wanted to think better of the situation. I wanted to think better of this mother.
I asked if the lady was alright. He said that she had been released from the hospital. Then he added, "Don't worry, the people handling the estate have taken care of it and you won't be seeing her around anymore." I had noticed that the car was gone. They had kicked her out. No more squatting at dead grandmama's house. His tone said it all: the riffraff was gone. I wanted to ask more: What about the little girl? Where were they now? Were they getting help? But the officer implied that the little girl would probably be taken away, then he stated that since there was an investigation he could not say any more, and they would be in touch with me if they needed me for anything in the future of the case. Great! Did that mean I will have to testify? Be called as a witness?
**Note: Names have been changed and certain details were omitted due to the delicacy of the matter.
(Brian's name was not one of them.)
I returned inside and held the dog's leash tight while corraling him and the little girl into the back room where the small black and white t.v. set flickered. I closed the door, leaving it open just a crack. I sat down on a small couch and the little girl sat down on the chair next to me. The room was dark except for the glow of the t.v. set. I could hear the police enter the house from the side door. They were discussing the best way to bring the stretcher inside. They directed the paramedics to enter through the front door. The noise of their work disturbed me some. I didn't think the little girl should overhear what was being said and the things that were happening. Keeping one ear turned toward the activity, I focused on distracting the child, who kept glancing at the door.
I asked her what her name was, slightly appalled at myself that I hadn't found that out yet. She told me that her name was Kayley. I told her that was a very pretty name. I introduced myself as well, and then asked what her dog's name was. "Reggie," she said, "Mommy named him and he loves mommy very much."
I told her that I could tell since he was being a very good guard dog. Reggie was sitting at my feet while I stroked his back. Every few moments he would hear a noise he didn't like, mainly male voices, and he would leap to his feet again. My soft murmurs were enough to calm him down.
I asked Kayley how old she was. "Five." She said proudly. She told me that she had an older brother but he was staying with their grandma. That information didn't seem to line up with what I knew already, but I didn't press the issue. I asked her how she found her mommy in the kitchen. "I was sleeping on the couch but then I woke up and went looking for my mommy." "And she was on the floor?" I asked, wanting to have a clear picture in my head. She nodded. I kept talking to her, trying to keep her distracted. Every question I asked or story I told her about my own children seemed to return somehow to the her own mother. Kayley was overly attached for a five year old. In the back of my mind, I wondered how many times she had been in this situation.
The lack of commotion in the other room caught my attention. I heard a guy say something about a little girl being here. I called out then, saying that she was in the back room with the guard dog. The police officer came near the door and asked if anyone had contacted a relative to come get the child. I told him that the grandmother was on the way. He wanted to know the contact phone number for the grandmother so I handed him my cell phone through the crack in the door. He said the number was nearby and the grandma should be arriving soon. He asked me to make sure the house was locked up before I left. And then everyone was gone.
At 2am, my mind flittered to the fact that I was sitting in a strange house in the middle of the night, with a child I did not know, holding a leash to a dog that wasn't exactly friendly. I wanted to be used. No one else had come to see why a little girl was screaming in the street. No one else even opened the door or fluttered a curtain. I was there. I was placed there....right there. At the house across the street from the little girl who stood screaming for help...for me...in the middle of the night. He was using me mightily. Little 'ole me comforted that child who had seen too much for such innocent eyes. That I had no doubt of.
I slowly opened the door and peeked around to make sure there wasn't any lingering officers for Reggie to attack. The coast was clear. I let go of the leash so Reggie could do his thing and secure the area. My hand was sore from gripping the leather so tightly. I walked to the kitchen. I am not sure exactly why, but a voice in the back of my head wanted to see if the things I had seen earlier were still there. Or had I imagined them? The room had been rearranged slightly. There was a step stool in the middle of the floor. I had overheard the paramedics digging for any medications the lady may have been taking, so I attributed the sudden appearance of the step stool to their rummaging through cabinets. There was a skillet full of uncooked eggs on the stove. I checked to make sure all the burners were turned off. I felt the oven door to make sure that hadn't been turned on either. All the knobs were off.
The money was still everywhere, though. A box of jewelry with bills sticking out of the top sat on the back burner. A shoebox with a stack of cash was on the kitchen table next to a purse spilling forth ten and twenty dollar bills. The other things were gone though. I pushed it to the back of my mind. Kayley was standing in the kitchen doorway.
"When will my grandma be here?" She whimpered uncertainly. "Soon," I told her,"She is on her way right now." I put my arm around her and turned her away from the kitchen. "We should pack some things to take to grandma's house, right? Where are your clothes, sweetie?" We began searching for some clean things for her to pack. That was when grandma arrived. I introduced myself. She was very apologetic for keeping me awake. She fussed at Reggie for jumping on her, then moved absently around the house. I am not sure what she was doing. She was not that old...she couldn't have dementia. I snagged her attention back to the reason for her being there. "I have been trying to find some things to pack for Kayley." She nodded but went into the kitchen.
That was when a police officer popped back inside the house. At least the lady had the presence of mind to grab Reggie's leash. The officer spoke to the grandmother, asking about her daughter's past medical history. While that was going on, I took Kayley to find a bag for her things. It wasn't easy, but we found one and shoved a change of clothes into it. I handed Kayley her coat to put on as well. "She has a history of seizures....and a metal rod in her back. But that is all." The grandmother told the officer. I silently sighed in relief. Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps what I thought I saw was something else.
I checked the front door to make sure it was locked. The grandma was heading for the door with Kayley, who was clearly relieved to be leaving. "Do you think you should take her purse?" I asked, and pointed to the purse laying open on the kitchen table. The woman seemed taken aback but nodded and retrieved it. I locked the side door behind me and helped her get Kayley and Reggie in the car. She thanked me again for staying with Kayley. I told her my name again and my house number in case she needed anything else. And then they were gone.
Standing in the snow, out in the cold night, I said a prayer for Kayley. And for her mother. God moves in mysterious ways...but they are only mysterious to us. Every once in awhile we get a glimpse of how He moves, and in those moments.....well, I know I am blown away.
Four days later: Brian leaves the house with Lena to go to the park. A police cruiser pulls up and the officer gets out to talk to Brian. I watch the scene from inside the house. I was doing laundry and just happened to walk by the window. After a few minutes, the cop gets back in his cruiser and drives off with the siren on. Brian proceeds to the park with Lena. Of course, I am anxious to know what happened. Did the officer have news about the woman? Was she okay? I sent Brian a text to see what was up. He said the officer just wanted our phone number and would be in contact with him later. He didn't give any details about the woman who had been carted off by paramedics.
The officer didn't call Brian. He called me. That afternoon he called because he had a few gaps in his report that he needed to fill in. He asked if the little girl came to my house to get me. He used this wording with Brian when identifying him on the street earlier that day. Brian had told him that I had heard the little girl and went out to her. I told the officer the same: that I heard her and went out to see what was wrong; she told me that her mom was on the kitchen floor and wouldn't wake up. I told him about the dog and how I stayed in the back room. He said that he was glad to have the identity of that person filled in and that I would be listed in the report.
"We are looking into this. There is an investigation going. We don't let things like that slide here." He added.
My stomach dropped. Ah, the feeling of disappointment. My instincts had been right. My eyes had not deceived me. The elastic band on the counter, the needle case, the bottle of pills spilled across the floor. No, I knew. But I wanted to think better of the situation. I wanted to think better of this mother.
I asked if the lady was alright. He said that she had been released from the hospital. Then he added, "Don't worry, the people handling the estate have taken care of it and you won't be seeing her around anymore." I had noticed that the car was gone. They had kicked her out. No more squatting at dead grandmama's house. His tone said it all: the riffraff was gone. I wanted to ask more: What about the little girl? Where were they now? Were they getting help? But the officer implied that the little girl would probably be taken away, then he stated that since there was an investigation he could not say any more, and they would be in touch with me if they needed me for anything in the future of the case. Great! Did that mean I will have to testify? Be called as a witness?
**Note: Names have been changed and certain details were omitted due to the delicacy of the matter.
(Brian's name was not one of them.)
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Being in a Criminal Report is no fun!
Okay, so I was trying to put these posts in sequential order, but things have happened and everyone wants to know the story about the little girl. So, here goes:
Last Thursday, about 1am, I was just starting to doze off after Brian made it home from work when I heard a child's voice. Was it one of the girls? I listened closely but didn't hear anything. Then, I heard it again. Was Tierney talking in her sleep? Had Lena left one of her talking toys on? Nothing. I couldn't get back to sleep so I decided to talk with Him some more even though I had said my bedtime prayers already. I asked Him to use me someway. I mean, He had moved us up to Ohio, so I wanted to be put to use. Oh, when will I learn to be ready before I ask? He answers...always...and lately, it has been rather immediate. It definitely was on that Thursday night.
"Help! Someone help my mommy!"
I did not mistake that scream. I bolted up in bed and looked out the window. A little girl in a nightgown stood on the driveway across the street. I watched her go to her neighbor's door but no one answered. She screamed again and again. I climbed out of bed, and wearing my nightgown, grabbed a blanket out of the linen closet, put my jacket and snow boots on, shoved my cell phone in my pocket, and headed out the door.
"What's wrong, honey?" I remember asking her when I made it across the street. She told me that her mommy was on the kitchen floor and wouldn't wake up. She took me to the side door of the house, where a Boxer barked and growled. Yikes!
I am not a dog person. I did not want to be attacked by this dog. "Hey there, sweetie." I said in a comforting tone. The dog sat down immediately. The little girl opened the door, and the Boxer jumped up and licked my face. It nearly knocked me back outside. I grabbed his leash and began talking to him while stroking his back. He calmed down enough to make it inside the house and up the stairs to the hallway. The house was like walking into a museum. A museum for the preservation of 1963. The place reminded me of my great grandma's house back in Louisville. There was a rotary phone on the hall perch. The furniture was covered in plastic and on the wall hung a 11x13 photo of a lady with a beehive. No joke. The only place in the house that seemed to have been touched lately was the back room where a t.v. flickered with Carson Daly, and where clothes were scattered about in a nearby bedroom.
I followed the little girl into the kitchen. My eyes scanned the room and noticed some odd things. But my attention was quickly drawn to the lady laying near the sink on the floor. She was laying face down on the floor in a hoodie and boyshort underwear. I took the blanket I was holding and laid it over her legs. I shook her and called out to her, but she didn't respond. I checked her pulse. She was alive, but her heart seemed a bit fast.
I turned to the little girl then, and reassured her that her mommy was okay. I told her I was going to call for help. The girl seemed to relax a little then. I immediately dialed 9-1-1. I asked the little girl what her house number was but she didn't know. I ran outside, where Brian met me, and we scanned the house until we found a small placade in the yard with the street number on it. Help was on the way.
I headed back inside. Brian tried to follow, but the dog had a gleam in his eye and a ferocious growl waiting for him. I shooed Brian away and calmed the dog again so I could get inside. I told the little girl that help was on the way. I asked her if she knew a phone number of someone I could call for her. She wanted her grandma to come pick her up but didn't know the number. I decided to go next door to the neighbor's house. I had seen the older gentleman that lived there check on this house a few weeks before, so I thought that perhaps they might know whom to call. The little girl said they must not be home. I had seen her go over to their house for help but no one answered the door. I was going to try anyway.
The man answered and he had apparently been awake (surprise, surprise). He had a number on a little card. I looked at the card. At the top was a name & phone number in large print, and below that was another name & phone number in smaller print. The name of the grandmother was the smaller. It didn't take long for me to fit the pieces of this puzzle together. The name at the top of the card was their former neighbor--the great-grandmother. Apparently she had recently died and this granddaughter was crashing at her place now. That certainly explained the tribute to 1963 and the reason for the clothes stashed in the back room.
I called the grandma, who sighed when I told her that her daughter was nonresponsive on the kitchen floor. Okay, that wasn't the response I had expected. I asked her if she could come get the little girl. She asked if the neighbors were home. I ignored her. The neighbors obviously did not want to help. They were elderly and did not want to be bothered with the situation. I asked her again if she would come and pick up her granddaughter. She said she would be there as soon as she could. She asked me to stay there with the child. DUH!
When I got off the phone with her, the police had arrived followed by an ambulance.
Right about then, Brian pulled me aside to whisper in my ear that he had my gun shoved into the back waistband of his jeans. He had grabbed it on his way out the door. He didn't know what I was doing running across the street but he wanted to be ready for it. I thanked him for having my back. But having a gun on him right now! Lovely.
To be continued.......
Last Thursday, about 1am, I was just starting to doze off after Brian made it home from work when I heard a child's voice. Was it one of the girls? I listened closely but didn't hear anything. Then, I heard it again. Was Tierney talking in her sleep? Had Lena left one of her talking toys on? Nothing. I couldn't get back to sleep so I decided to talk with Him some more even though I had said my bedtime prayers already. I asked Him to use me someway. I mean, He had moved us up to Ohio, so I wanted to be put to use. Oh, when will I learn to be ready before I ask? He answers...always...and lately, it has been rather immediate. It definitely was on that Thursday night.
"Help! Someone help my mommy!"
I did not mistake that scream. I bolted up in bed and looked out the window. A little girl in a nightgown stood on the driveway across the street. I watched her go to her neighbor's door but no one answered. She screamed again and again. I climbed out of bed, and wearing my nightgown, grabbed a blanket out of the linen closet, put my jacket and snow boots on, shoved my cell phone in my pocket, and headed out the door.
"What's wrong, honey?" I remember asking her when I made it across the street. She told me that her mommy was on the kitchen floor and wouldn't wake up. She took me to the side door of the house, where a Boxer barked and growled. Yikes!
I am not a dog person. I did not want to be attacked by this dog. "Hey there, sweetie." I said in a comforting tone. The dog sat down immediately. The little girl opened the door, and the Boxer jumped up and licked my face. It nearly knocked me back outside. I grabbed his leash and began talking to him while stroking his back. He calmed down enough to make it inside the house and up the stairs to the hallway. The house was like walking into a museum. A museum for the preservation of 1963. The place reminded me of my great grandma's house back in Louisville. There was a rotary phone on the hall perch. The furniture was covered in plastic and on the wall hung a 11x13 photo of a lady with a beehive. No joke. The only place in the house that seemed to have been touched lately was the back room where a t.v. flickered with Carson Daly, and where clothes were scattered about in a nearby bedroom.
I followed the little girl into the kitchen. My eyes scanned the room and noticed some odd things. But my attention was quickly drawn to the lady laying near the sink on the floor. She was laying face down on the floor in a hoodie and boyshort underwear. I took the blanket I was holding and laid it over her legs. I shook her and called out to her, but she didn't respond. I checked her pulse. She was alive, but her heart seemed a bit fast.
I turned to the little girl then, and reassured her that her mommy was okay. I told her I was going to call for help. The girl seemed to relax a little then. I immediately dialed 9-1-1. I asked the little girl what her house number was but she didn't know. I ran outside, where Brian met me, and we scanned the house until we found a small placade in the yard with the street number on it. Help was on the way.
I headed back inside. Brian tried to follow, but the dog had a gleam in his eye and a ferocious growl waiting for him. I shooed Brian away and calmed the dog again so I could get inside. I told the little girl that help was on the way. I asked her if she knew a phone number of someone I could call for her. She wanted her grandma to come pick her up but didn't know the number. I decided to go next door to the neighbor's house. I had seen the older gentleman that lived there check on this house a few weeks before, so I thought that perhaps they might know whom to call. The little girl said they must not be home. I had seen her go over to their house for help but no one answered the door. I was going to try anyway.
The man answered and he had apparently been awake (surprise, surprise). He had a number on a little card. I looked at the card. At the top was a name & phone number in large print, and below that was another name & phone number in smaller print. The name of the grandmother was the smaller. It didn't take long for me to fit the pieces of this puzzle together. The name at the top of the card was their former neighbor--the great-grandmother. Apparently she had recently died and this granddaughter was crashing at her place now. That certainly explained the tribute to 1963 and the reason for the clothes stashed in the back room.
I called the grandma, who sighed when I told her that her daughter was nonresponsive on the kitchen floor. Okay, that wasn't the response I had expected. I asked her if she could come get the little girl. She asked if the neighbors were home. I ignored her. The neighbors obviously did not want to help. They were elderly and did not want to be bothered with the situation. I asked her again if she would come and pick up her granddaughter. She said she would be there as soon as she could. She asked me to stay there with the child. DUH!
When I got off the phone with her, the police had arrived followed by an ambulance.
Right about then, Brian pulled me aside to whisper in my ear that he had my gun shoved into the back waistband of his jeans. He had grabbed it on his way out the door. He didn't know what I was doing running across the street but he wanted to be ready for it. I thanked him for having my back. But having a gun on him right now! Lovely.
To be continued.......
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