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Pronunciation:
ˈhōm\'
1a: one's place of residence
4a: a place of origin
Both definitions define my relationship with Pittsburgh. Only 1a defines Marieke's; Waynesboro, PA is her 4a. It was in this area that we spent 4 days in and around.
To recap from Going to South Central...: Marieke and I had been invited by Katy, Brian's wife, to partake in a surprise 30th b.day party at their house in Chambersburg, PA, where we would spend two of the three nights during our visit.
Since our presence in the area was to be kept secret, our destinations before the party had to be chosen carefully. Our first stop was Marieke's bff Stacey, her husband John-Ryan (it is common in the region for names to have such hyphenated nomenclature) and daughter Morgan's house. When last we saw this house, it had just been moved into and lacked a back deck. With the help of his wife, John-handyman-Ryan built one... complete with fire pit, skylights and separate but equal 'grilling wing'. Of all the porches we have heretofore sat, this was the nicest by far.
Our first night passed at the home of Brian's mother, Cindy, on a sofa bed accompanied by a black cat, Magic, whose temperament is questionable, fur manged, idea of morning skewed. Not bad for 23 (that's 161 in people years!).
Brian was ultimately surprised to see us there, among the 8 others attending the shindig. Needless to say, Katy's plotting and scheming was successful. There, of course, was a moment when Brian had to reconcile all of the truths, half-truths and just plain lies he had been told in the weeks leading up to that day, but it all washed out in the end.
Brian and Katy have a beautiful daughter, Sadie Lorelei, whose love of running around the yard is matched by her ability to get into just about everything; doubtless such activities wear her parents to nubs on a daily basis. Our eventually exacerbating visit was made so much more pleasant by this little girl with her big, blue eyes and generally cheerful disposition. If only she knew how much easier she made the whole trip for us both!
In order to fully appreciate the events that next transpired, know that 2 of our most recent 4 trips 'home' resulted in what we like to term 'car drama'. We were left stranded for nearly 9 days when Marieke's Geo Storm died and were forced by circumstance to purchase our spunky '86 Chevy Nova, only to watch as a mentally challenged deer meet an untimely death on the pavement of I-76 after having rolled on our hood, which was crushed, on our very last visit almost 4 years ago.
In Brian and Katy's guest bedroom reside various memorabilia of the Nittany Lions most of which have origins dating back to Brian's childhood bedroom. Having put aside the ingrained dislike of Penn State for the duration of the trip, I was essentially at peace with the situation. But for a brief scuffle with a window fan, the night seemed to be winding down in comfort. And then... it happened.
Only the Big Butler County Fair's school bus demolition derby rival the sounds of screeching tires and metal-on-metal friction Marieke and I heard as we lay in bed just short of falling asleep. Our first collective thought, then immediate verbalization was 'Oh my god- the car'. Knowing that our attempts to rubberneck through the side window would be pointless, we bounded for the livingroom for a visual confirmation. Sure enough what I first thought was a motorcycle turned out to be a red Chrysler Breeze- the missing headlight having been lodged underneath Katy's Tahoe. While Marieke kept an eye on the situation, I dashed down the hallway to let our hosts in on the bad news.
In but one swift step, Katy was out of bed and down the hall. The broader scene on the other side of the front door was of an additional car operated by a female, now outside her car and in bedroom slippers, shouting "Call the PO-leece! call the PO-leece! I know who hit your car!"
Marieke then reported that the man driving the red Breeze had left his car and was now proceeding on foot back down the alley (Shasta Alley, as we came to find out later) which he was driving from just before hitting the Tahoe. According to Marieke, "...he just left his car like he came home from the mall and was going to his house, but not slow, with a bit of a hustle, like he had to pee..."
The shouting woman then got back in her car with the intention to 'hunt him down'. A preliminary investigation revealed that the bonnet of the red car had gone under Katy's rear quarter panel and bumper and looked to be quite stuck.
With a sigh of relief, I found no damage to our own car, but directly across the street were two Acuras, one of which had its front bumper under the back bumper of the other Acura and was missing several layers of paint but had a multi-tiered dent running from bumper to bumper. The mirror was hanging, rather comically, from a single wire.
Katy had run over to alert her cross street neighbors of the incident, when a police cruiser pulled onto the street and parked nearby just as the shouting woman returned in her late 80s Cadillac. She immediately began yelling at the officer that both cars were hers and had been chasing the other one down all night long.
At this point, Katy had her camera out and was taking pictures of the Tahoe when I suggested that she take pictures of her neighbors' cars as well. She proceeded to do so while Brian, Marieke and I began lamenting on the events of the late evening. Marieke never ceased in randomly calling out 'surprise!' in Brian's direction after each stage of the incident unfolded.
I'll spare the myriad profanities that echoed through the quiet town that evening from all parties. All told, there were four POleece cruisers and one K-9 SUV on the street.
In the end, the shouting woman, along with her bedroom slippers, were taken away in one of the units after having presumably failed a breathalyser test and Katy and Brian found new acquaintances in the house-flipping neighbors across the street. After essential paperwork was exchanged, all parties retreated into their residences and we proceeded to evaluate the situation with the help of the delicious leftover potato salad from the earlier party.
Just about, oh, maybe half hour later, when we all had calmed down enough to go back to our chambers and retire for the second time that evening, the door bell rings.
Please see 'There's No Place Like Home, Part II' for the continuing saga.
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29 July 2008
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