1967
Just an odd and ends memory

Odd what memories can be brought up by an unrelated story, the year was 1967, neither Pete nor I had cars so I would use one of my dad's. Now he did not really care what a used car looked like just as long as it was in good condition and around six years old at the time he bought it. So... at the time he had a pink dodge station wagon and that is what we took our dates to that years prom in. Strangely I don't remember my date any longer but what happened later. We dropped our dates back at their homes and along with my sister we went joy riding in the newly cut roads in the farm fields north of the house. At one time there had been ponds for the stock in this field but over the grape and raspberry hedges I could see dump trucks driving through that area in the daytime so I gave it no thought that night as I drove better than 60mph on the new dirt roads, that is until too late I realized that they had doglegged around the pond temporarily. The next morning my dad asked where the car was. I told him that he should be able to see the top of it out the front window, about where the old farm pond is. Out of that one could build the rest of the story.

Outside of this comment are attached memories of the same event, Pete and I needed to wash this car before the prom, so over at his house I pulled up as close to the curb so that the hose would reach the driver's side of the car, well part of the car. To reach the rest of the car I had to back up. Now I was "real" close to the curb. As I backed up, the hex head of the curb side fire hydrant's hose connection cover sliced into the rear fender and rear passenger side door like a hot knife. As our attention was on the drivers side, we did not notice it till later. My karma was heading south.

Back to my splash down, after wading out of the pond, not too deep now but muddy, viscus mud at that, we woke up a neighbor to see if he would pull us out with his pick up. Now he is stuck too.

Back to my dad, the only time my mother heard him swear was when he accidentally laid his head open with a hammer, he just told me he wanted the car back, clean, by the time he came home from work. I rode my bicycle across town to Sahagan's towing and hired him to pull both vehicles out and deliver them to their homes. After I paid him he gave my my change from a cash box in the refrigerator. Of course I had to ask him why the refrigerator, he told me straight faced that he liked to deal in cold cash.

We never did fix the the slice in the side.

1990

between '89 and '93 I lived in Jackson Park Housing, which provides housing both for the naval station Bangor, and naval station and shipyard Bremerton, now called Naval Station Kitsap. About three miles from Bremerton, all up hill. Oyster bay was just one off shoot of the inland bays of Puget Sound and one could ride a bicycle along Shorewood Drive, from Kitsap Way, than along a bike/walking path to enter the housing area at the water front. The housing went up the hill side from there. One of two address I lived at while there was 33-c Wencker Way. I bought up the point of the sameness of the housing to each other, as a point of worry of finding the right unit, in real pea soup fog it is hard to tell where one is.

The scrap of memory of a sf short story about the fog in London is true. My story was written on a foggy night, two nights ago, while I was on patrol at a construction site in S/E Wisconsin, as the fog swirled, and eddied in the nearby street lights and hid from view, everything, yet the sky above was mostly clear. I again remembered to that scrap of a story and its broken dimensional boarders, I wish I could give the author proper credit. The story could have gone many ways and in the fog maybe it did.