Archive for the ‘massachusetts’ Tag
I am a lover of all things strange and odd. Over the years I’ve collected oddities and facts as well as weird little stories. Here are a couple you might enjoy.
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#1
Once upon a time in a land far far away called Boston, Massachusetts some weirdness was afoot. There was a gentleman by the name of James Ball who had a weird and morbid fear of being buried alive. In his mausoleum constructed in Boston’s Mount Auburn Cemetery, he arranged for a telephone to be installed in his crypt.
In time, Mr. Ball died. His widow, accompanied by a great crowd of relatives, friends and business associates, followed Mr. Balls body to the grand limestone tomb.
Just after dark that same night his wife was passing through a sitting room and heard the telephone ring. A maid passing outside the room heard Mrs. Ball say, “Hello?” and then she heard a bloodcurdling scream. She rushed into the room to find Mrs. Ball with a look of horror on her face clutching the telephone. The line was dead, and so was Mrs. Ball. She died of a massive coronary, but the identity of the caller remains a mystery to this day. On the day of the funeral, when the crypt was unsealed, the crowd saw that the lid of Mr. Balls casket was open, and the telephone was off the hook.
#2
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Once upon a time there was a dog lover, a husband who took his Labrador retriever on a 4 mile walk a couple of times a week after dinner. One day he came down with a bad case of the flu, so it fell to his wife to walk the dog.
After supper, she clicked on the dog’s leash, and they headed out the door. She wanted to go to large open lot at the end of the street, but the dog tugged at the leash and all but dragged her around the block to a house on the corner. The dog pulled the poor woman up the stairs and began scratching furiously at the door. The wife scolded the dog and was trying to pull away when she heard a sweet female voice inside the house call out, “You’re a little early tonight, darling! Wait just a minute.”
The next moment, the door swung wide open and there stood a pretty and buxom young woman in a sexy negligée holding a large bone in her hand.” This should keep the dog happy while we’re – Uh-oh!”
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Well, there you have it. Avoid crypts, telephones in crypts, and properly train your dog not to eat big bones from strangers.
ZEN IS HELL AT TIMES
In my younger days I spent a great deal of time wandering through the graveyards of Southern Massachusetts. I’ve always liked cemeteries and some of the oldest graves in the country can be found in and around the Plymouth area. Say what you want about the Pilgrims, but they brought their love of catchy epithets from the old country, and they are some of the best. I spent many hours sketching cemeteries and painting a number of interesting oil paintings which allowed me to sit for hours in a quiet and serene place. Here is a small collection of epithets from this country and others.
From Church Stretton, Shropshire, England
On Thursday she was born,
On a Thursday she made a bride,
On a Thursday put to bed,
On a Thursday broke her leg, and
On a Thursday died.
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From a churchyard in Oxfordshire, England
Here lies the body of John Eldred,
At least, he will be when he’s dead.
But now at this time he is alive,
The 14th of August, Sixty-five.
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From Middlefield, Massachusetts
Old Thomas Mulvaney lies here.
His mouth ran from ear to ear.
Reader, tread lightly on this wonder,
For if he yawns, you’re gone to thunder.
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From Keeseville, New York
Here lies a man of good repute.
Who wore a No. 16 boot.
Tis not recorded how he died,
But sure, it is, that open wide,
The gates of heaven must have been,
To let such monstrous feet within.
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From Chelmsford, Essex, England
Here lies the man Richard,
And Mary his wife.
Their surname was Pritchard,
They lived without strife.
And the reason was plain,
They abounded in riches,
They had no care or pain,
And his wife wore the breeches.
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Here’s a favorite from a grave in Winslow, Maine and proves that short and sweet is always the best.
Here lies the body of John Mound
Lost at sea and never found.
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NOW, SIT DOWN AND WRITE YOUR OWN
It’s just turning 6 am on Thanksgiving morning. It’s a windy and chilly day as it seems to be every year on Thanksgiving and I love it. This just happens to be the one holiday that means more to me than any of the others. Many holidays are religious and since I’m not a religious person they mean very little to me. My best memories of my family are those from the many Thanksgivings we spent together. There is no anticipation of gifts and the many negatives associated with that mind set. It’s just a peaceful family gathering to share a meal and to be thankful for the good things in our lives.
I’m lying in bed with my better-half who’s sawing some serious logs next to me. My cat just jumped up on the bed to demand his Thanksgiving breakfast, and the coffee pot just came alive and is beeping to let me know it’s time to get up. This morning is going to be just about me and that big, fat, twenty pound bird awaiting me in the kitchen. I began thawing him out two days ago and yesterday I began some of the prep work for his debut today. Tradition means so much to me and I love preparing the bird.
As a youngster I spent all of my Thanksgivings with my immediate family at my grandmother’s home. She was an old school cook whose Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners were the things of legend, just incredible. She was responsible for my undying love of cranberry sauce (the jelly kind) and the stuffing and gravy she was famous for. I begged her for years for her gravy recipe but she’d just smile and say “maybe when your a little older”. She went to her grave with the secret and I’ve spent years still trying to get it just right. Man do I miss her at this time of the year.
As a young man I married and moved away from my home area in Pittsburgh to Massachusetts and lived twenty minutes from Plymouth Plantation. I visited Plymouth every year and attended as many of the local celebrations as possible. I ate Thanksgiving dinner at the Plantation, was on and off the Mayflower many times, and really developed a love for the area. We even visited many of the Wampanoag Indian ceremonies that we were introduced to us by a friend who was a member of the tribe. It was a terrific tradition we’d developed but as in all things change was inevitable.
Divorce required me to find a new residence. I bought a small cottage near the ocean in Kingston, Massachusetts only 5 minutes from downtown Plymouth. I lived there for three years and submerged myself in the history of the Pilgrims, the Indians, and everything Thanksgiving. Again changes had to be made when my company bankrupted and I moved to Maine. For the next seven years I celebrated a rather lonely Thanksgiving tradition. I returned home to Pittsburgh once or twice during that time but for the most part it was just me, my cat and two ferrets. I maintained my own tradition with a large turkey breast, stuffing and all the trimmings and made the most of my crappy situation. The memories of all my past Thanksgiving’s helped tremendously but once again change was in the air. It arrived unexpectedly in the person of my better-half.
After a few years of adjusting to one another we’ve finally settled into a rather happy life and the holiday traditions had to change once more. We both maintain certain of our own family Thanksgiving traditions and are now creating a few of our own. This year we’re welcoming our new grandson to the table for the very first time. He was just a pooping and crying ball of flesh last Thanksgiving but now he’s grown into a walking and almost talking little person about to be officially seated at the holiday table. I hope in the years to come the memories of his grandmother will mean as much to him as mine do to me.
I also hope that your Thanksgiving will be even better than what you expected. The best thing about traditions is their flexibility. No matter how much change we’re forced to deal with, both good and bad, the traditions carry on regardless. The thoughts of years past and loved ones who are no longer with us are the real traditions and they can never be taken away.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING
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