People don't believe me when I tell them I am cursed.
Ok. So, I go out on Sunday after having a conversation with my broker that he should let himself in to show the house. He had a husband making a second trip with his wife to see what she thought. For his part, he had already begun suggesting to the broker changes he wanted to make. A good sign.
When I come home that night I notice that an antique pipe bowl (at least, that's what I think it is) had left its perch on the dining room wall shelf to come to rest on my kitchen counter, with its face to the wall.
Yes, the pipe bowl has a face across its entire front surface. It looks like its about 6" high by 5" wide, and hollow, so you can put the pipe in through the top, with a loop for a handle. The front is the broad smiling face of a farmer. I know he's a farmer because on the back of the piece it says in big letters, "Farmer John".
Farmer John is not particularly attractive (sorry, Royal Doulton). But he's also just a ceramic bowl. He doesn't look evil, unless you are four years old or have a really strong imagination. I keep him because he's a family heirloom, which, at some point, someone liked. Probably it was my paternal grandmother, about whom I could tell you a few stories.
When I spoke with my broker the next day, I learn that the wife, walking through the dining room, sees Farmer John, and says that he is looking at her, and that she can feel his evil spirit, or some such nonsense.
Because my broker is a normal person, he thought she was kidding at first.
He just doesn't know my luck well enough. She wasn't kidding. Being a sale's person, he finally said that he would move it, and did, to my kitchen.
May I say, without a moment's hesitation, and without concern for insulting the religious or superstitious minded, that this women was NUTS, and I would have been perfectly happy if, instead of escorting the Farmer into the kitchen, he escorted Mrs. Poltergeist out the door by the back of her collar and tossed her down the steps, all the while chanting, "Ooom booga mommah koo koo, wakataka boom boom woo woo, I cast ye out, witch," slamming the door behind her.
Of, course, because its a slow market, he did not do so. Sorry, I wasn't home to help him out with her, because no way she was buying the Hauppauge Horror House.
You don't believe I am cursed? That was the closest I've come to selling my house yet.
The Farmer is going back into the dining room. For anyone who doesn't like it, all I can say is - Ooom booga mommah koo koo, wakataka boom boom woo woo.
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About Me
- David
- I started this blog in September, 2006. Mostly, it is where I can talk about things that interest me, which I otherwise don't get to do all that much, about some remarkable people who should not be forgotten, philosophy and theories (like Don Foster's on who wrote A Visit From St. Nicholas and my own on whether Santa is mostly derived from a Norse god) and analysis of issues that concern me. Often it is about books. I try to quote accurately and to say when I am paraphrasing (more and more). Sometimes I blow the first name of even very famous people, often entertainers. I'm much better at history, but once in a while I see I have written something I later learned was not true. Sometimes I fix them, sometimes not. My worst mistake was writing that Beethoven went blind, when he actually went deaf. Feel free to point out an error. I either leave in the mistake, or, if I clean it up, the comment pointing it out. From time to time I do clean up grammar in old posts as, over time I have become more conventional in my grammar, and I very often write these when I am falling asleep and just make dumb mistakes. It be nice to have an editor, but . . . .
Hilarious. More home diaries. You just can't make this stuff up.
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