Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Halfway House

Oldest son and I spent last weekend on the annual Troop ski trip. We go to a small ski spot in the Poconos and usually stay in the condos near the slopes but this year the Adults fell into a house rental near the secret ski spot.

It was a very old house. Turn of the century. Turn of the 19th century.

I was last to arrive and so I got the "Shawshank" room. I felt like a a recently released ex-con.

It had a sink and a range, a small card table and sad little wooden chair and a single bed.
The only thing missing was the timber with all the names carved into it where the ex cons hung themselves. The bath upstairs was a claw tub and the basement was literally carved out of the surrounding rock. After skiing we watched a little TV but the only thing on was a episode of This Old House. I still find this funny. Not as funny as two guys in horse outfit, but still funny.

Afterwards I put on a can of beans and pondered my future now that I was out of prison.

The most direct drive up from our town is using all back roads through places like Flemington where all the car dealerships have gigantic US flags flying and Butzville, a name the boys never tire of. On the way up the snow cover got deeper and deeper until route 402 which was still snow covered the morning after our little "storm".

On the way back I got a speeding ticket in of all places, Butzville. I was passing a slower moving car on a spot of 2 lane road downhill and with a breeze before the road turned back into a single lane in my direction. I saw the State Trooper sitting in the parking lot waiting for me.

He did the strangest thing when he pulled up behind me, screaming in his bull horn to keep moving until "the diner", like I knew where I was. Where is the freeking diner?

He came up on the passenger side and my passenger didn't know how to open the car door, not being familiar with the car and attempted to open the door. Bad move. Friendly Mr State Trooper slammed the door shut and barked at her to open the window. I'm sure that speeding minivans with middle aged Americans are often confused with terrorists so he had to treat us like one. He continued to bark orders the whole time.

So now I have an unwanted connection to Butzville and it will always be known as the "place where I got that ticket that time".

At least I have somewhere to go after they let me out of the big house.

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