Living, Now and Then

 

Mankind wasn’t really made to live in the steel, concrete,  cages of the cities. It was convenience and security that brought the beasts into existence. Early man wandered and gathered his food, he lived off the land, with the land. They, we, our ancestors, anyway, developed an intricate knowledge of plant life and refined early “technology” for hunting and domestic purposes.  

Eventually, man moved into a more tightly clustered group of farm. They had become agriculturists with crops and livestock, primitive structures, they had something to protect.

 

Settlements got larger, more elaborate, packed in tighter, often behind walls. Cities provided benefits, but the call of the wild never abated. Look at the irresistible opportunity provided by “the new world.” People risked an ocean voyage and wilderness, loaded up in sturdy, wooden wagons pulled by oxen and sat off across an unchartered, unknown expanses, hoping to find a small patch of land they could call their own. 

 

Hunter/gatherers, as a group, lasted approximately 199,000 years, and did pretty well for themselves, they made slow, but consistent progress evolving along the inconsistent scale of evolution. While, by comparison, in our, by short run of about 100,000 years we’ve managed to get to the glorious choice of freezing under the dusty clouds of nuclear winter or baking under the depleted ozone of climate change, fire or ice. How’s that for progress?

 

The advantages of living in a city are myriad and undeniable, occasionally, though people need to get away. City walls close in, compacting and crushing, the streets constrict, traffic snarls and twists, the urban symptom of pathological indecision. Everybody wants to be somewhere else, and nobody is going anywhere. 

 

Being off the grid is important, but it means a lot of things. Most widely it’s used to mean being electronically disconnected, putting away cell phones, tablets, laptops, leaving newsfeeds and streaming videos behind. I prefer to think of it more holistically, leaving behind the freeways, controlled access service roads, strip malls and quick oil change shops that pop up everywhere. 

 

We’re going “off the grid” this week, a small cabin in a small state park, on a lake that exists in Ohio and Pennsylvania. Nestled into the coniferous forests of the area.

 

Native Americans of the northeastern United States, particularly around the Great Lakes region, had tales of the Pukwudgie. A race of small people who lived in the forests and played tricks on unsuspecting humans. Legends varied by tribe and region, from harmless pranksters who would, on occasion, offering assistance or in some cases stealing children or committing acts of deadly sabotage.

 

Early settlers from Europe crossed through these places, dark forests, carrying all the demons that had followed them across the Atlantic Ocean. All the puritan anguish and guilt, all the fears of being unworthy and repressive ethos plodded along with them, through forests across mountains. What did they see when they looked out at the forests in the middle of the night? What did they think when someone went for more firewood, or water, or to answer the call of nature and didn’t come back? How long would they look before they wrote them off to something unspeakable, and decided to move along? Destiny was waiting, after all.

 

We like to set out around the firepit after dark, surrounded by the forest, watching, listening, nature never sleeps, the noise is raucous and demanding.
I like to get up early, set out on the patio, and watch the world change from night to day, watch the shadows crawl back into woods, the sun chasing away the darkness.

 

Lights in the other cabins start to blink on, a thinly veiled threat to nature, Man is here, and he brought electricity and internal combustion engines, air conditioning and forced air furnaces. There are roads, and shops that sell camping supplies, charcoal and bags of ice, soft drinks and bundles of firewood. We’ve managed to tame the wilds, at least incorporate them into our neatly ordered world. 

 

I can’t help thinking, in the night, there are still things that move through the primordial forests, things ancient, and infinitely patient, and when we’re gone, when we finally push things too far, they will still be there. At least I hope so.

 

“The world is indeed comic, but the joke is on mankind.”

 

H. P. Lovecraft.

Memorial Day

Another Memorial Day weekend, another chance to remember those who have passed, to think of all the people who are gone. More than I can remember, at least all at once. I’m never too sure how I should feel about people who died. Nobody ever explained that, it wasn’t covered in religion class, church, social studies, anywhere. How do you look at someone who is gone?

It is always a shock when someone tells you someone you know, or knew, is dead. You feel a pain, a loss, a part of you aches, maybe a part of you dies, I don’t know. But, it is painful, it hurts, and the closer you were, the more it hurts. And then it fades, an empty nothingness, a blank, a vacuum somewhere, some place you didn’t even know existed. And now it doesn’t. And nobody ever tells you how to deal with it.

So, you ignore it, somebody you knew is gone, forever. Deal with it. Easy enough, most of the time, but once in a while something creeps across your radar, a sound, a scent, a sight, a distant trembling madness that demands your attention, and you’re stuck. Looking into a place you don’t want to look into, or even think about. Thinking about somebody you will never see again, at least not in this place. And, it is always just you, and your empty place. Nobody really wants to know about it, everybody has their own memories, their own empty places, they don’t need yours.

“Deep into that darkness peering, 

Long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal dared dream before.”

The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe

Sometimes you can’t see the face of the person, you can’t remember what he looked like, how her voice sounded, but you always remember where you were, what you were doing when you heard. You always remember that. The details are burned into a cave painting in the recesses of your sanity. And you look when you have to, but most days, it is in the dark, out of sight. And there is no instructions on when to look, how to feel when you do look. 

“I kept thinking about what the weatherman said, 

and if the voices of the living could be heard by the dead.

Well, the days gonna come when were going to find out, 

In some kind of way I take a little comfort from that, (now and then).” 

Jesus of the Moon, by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

I don’t know much about death, or spiritual renewal, or profound religious beliefs, and I’m not sure it would help if I did. But, I do know many people who meant so much to me have gone to join the choir invisible, and there are days I don’t think about them, and there are days when it seems as if that is all I think about. And I don’t know why. Death is almost taboo. Everybody can join, everybody will join, it is an offer you can’t refuse, but don’t ask about, don’t talk about it, and for God’s sake don’t think about it.

So, on Memorial Day I am going to toast all of those who are lost, to me and everybody else, and I am going to toast everybody who is still here. Everybody with a secret cache of regret they deal with alone. Because I know the old song was right,

“Pancho needs your prayers, it’s true

But save a few for Lefty too,

He just did what he had to do,

And, now he’s getting old.”

Pancho and Lefty, by Townes Van Zandt

Summer, Old and New, the Battle Rages On.

Weekend in the summer, the yard versus me. An ancient battle, the clash of the titans, one blade of grass at a time. An epic struggle, crab grass lies just beneath the surface, waiting to pounce, and devour the neighborhood, dandelions pop up, almost too quick to notice, forget watching grass grow, try turning around after mowing and seeing the yellow, smiling faces spring from the leafy base, and laugh at you.

But, this year there is something more ominous, something odd, almost eerie. A bare patch, about 8 feet long and three feet wide where nothing grows. Grass, dandelions, clover crawl right to the edge and stop. It taunts me, defying explanation, it is unnatural, unreal, and odd. If I sat up a game camera I’m convinced it would prove animals won’t walk over the ground. Domesticated cats and dogs that prowl the neighborhood, and the wildlife, from squirrels, skunks, raccoons, even deer that travel from the park on the north side to the streambed and small farms that lie just to the south all would give the narrow patch of dead ground a wide birth. But, I’m not sure what else it would capture. Do wildlife cameras record an evil malevolence that is slowly awakening?

The Past

Maybe this neighborhood was built on an ancient Indian mound. Maybe it was a battle site, or hunting ground, maybe it was a miscarriage of justice in the name of progress.

There were rumors that the Memorial Tournament in Northwestern Columbus was cursed because Muirfield Golf Course was built too near the tomb of Leatherlips and the traffic and noise bothered him. Every year, like clockwork it would rain on the final round. To placate the ghost, end the curse, and finish the tournament on time they moved the tournament to the weekend following Memorial Day. This change seemed to work, because the tournament hardly ever gets rained out, Memorial Day weekend is much more meteorologically  pleasant and they didn’t even have to change the name to the “Weekend After Memorial Tournament.” Who knew a Wyandot Chief would be such a stickler for a government created holidays?

Southwestern Ohio and West Virginia are filled with tales of curses, hauntings and ghostly retribution from abuses of settlers, and the violence of local tribes spilling into the afterlife (I will have a full report with video after Our Amazing Vacation). Ohio is built on ancient forests, filled with dark spirits, whenever my wife and I get off the freeway, and take a state route I am reminded of the words of Marlow in Heart of Darkness “this, also, has been one of the dark places on Earth.” 

Meets The Present

When we walk through the old forests, and the rolling hills you can almost feel the old world trying to break through. Ancient powers straining just below the vale of modern civilizaztion. If you are lucky you can catch a glimpse of an old building, or power line or telegraph pole, slowly being consumed, torn down by the old world. We are only visitors here, and you see it in the casual disregard nature has for our powers of construction. 

I look at that bare patch and I see the power of history coming to reclaim its heritage. My wife, who is not as atuned to the old ways, the old worlds, sees a low spot that has been drowned too often (the curse of Leatherlips all over). Today, I will spread some topsoil, grass seed, fertilizer and water faithfully. Maybe it will work, maybe not. I will let you know. In fact, I might take pictures, kind of work in progress mixed with before and after, and then combine them into a blockbuster movie (actually more of a slide show) with music, special effects and a dancing skeleton (our newest travel mascot).

Kayaks, Mexican Food and a Ghost, or Two.

My wife tried kayaking on Lake Superior. She did very well. She did so well we are thinking about getting her a kayak. Her kayaking success didn't really surprise me, she is very talented, and thoroughly stubborn. I have told her, several times, "just because it was your idea doesn't mean it will work." But, it almost always does. It is the maniacal optimism, and fanatical attention to detail that makes things work. I have never known anyone who can see things so clearly, but I have never known anyone who can look at something with such power and precision, such laser focus, sometimes it scares me.

Anyway, our trip, our date week, on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan was such a smashing success we have decided to recreate it. On a much smaller scale of course. Nobody can catch lightning in a bottle twice. But, a long weekend before the slog of the school year and the agony of holiday shopping madness is preventative medicine at its finest. Dr. Clark, and his All Star Medical Chorus.

We are going to try to take a long weekend in September and rent a cabin on Lake Hope in southeastern Ohio. My wife, two kayaks, a small, comfortable place to stay, and a three day weekend kayaking around a beautiful lake. Could it get any better?

Oddly enough, yes, it could. Lake Hope is less than a half hour from Athens, OH, home to the only Taco John's in Ohio. As far as I know the only Taco John's east of Iowa. Taco John's is the home of Potato Oles. Small, deep fried pillows of shredded potato covered in some sort of spicy seasoned salt. They are delicious. Burritos and tacos and taco bravos, and some of the spiciest green sauce in the fast food universe. A staple of our wasted youth in Colorado and Nebraska. Only a half hour away, could it possibly be any better?

Interestingly enough, yes it could. Turns out Lake Hope is only three and a half miles from the Moonville Tunnel. Wherein lives the Moonville Tunnel Ghost.  You might think the Moonville Ghost would live in what remains of Moonville, a ghost town. Just a few foundations sticking up from the ground, a scattering of forgotten artifacts of hurried construction and patient decay. He doesn't. Or in the Moonville Cemetery, a small patch of land just south and west of the tunnel, where the few remaining headstones mark the mostly forgotten passing of some resident and whose failing conditions mark the passing of time. He doesn't. Not according to legend, anyway

The Moonville Ghost lives in the railroad tunnel. It is said he (or she, depending on the legend, and I have always been an equal opportunity coward) was killed in a terrible accident in the tunnel. Or a malicious act of anger and jealousy. Once again, it depends on the rumor. Either way, it is the tunnel that is haunted, though some people have claimed to see odd things in the abandoned cemetery as well. So who knows, maybe more than one ghost, or just one ghost who likes to get out and boogie around a little, and that is ok with me.

Kayaks, tacos, ghosts, and my little maniacally stubborn, stubbornly optimistic angel. It should be a good time. Don't worry, I will tell you all about it. With pictures, and possibly a movie.

Looking for ghosts, Edit 1.

"In a crowd... a man descends several rungs in the ladder of civilization. Isolated, he may be a cultivated individual; in a crowd, he is a barbarian." This is how Gustave Le Bon felt the sanity of the individual may have succumbed to the madness of a mob during the French Revolution.

Going back, back thousands of years, through all of history, it is easy to see the mistakes. Civilization is very old. There are many ghosts, forgotten images, dancing just out of sight. Spirits who survived the worst, and those who didn't. Spirits who watch the cycle repeat in a loop of suicidal regularity.

Sometimes it is hard to know when you see the rare bright thing if it is a ghost. Showing you something, something important. Is there a ray of hope, some chance of survival? Or is it just a forgotten dream playing tricks on a tired mind? How do you reconcile the things you know with those you only feel? In the chasm between the two is probably the answer. We need to talk to our ghosts, listen to our ghosts. 

Watch the news, see the hate, watch the senseless slaughter. Think, this has been going on for centuries. Ask yourself "why?" Then ask yourself "Why isn't everybody asking themselves why?" In that instant you will begin to see the problem. 

We don't listen to the ghosts. Attempting to impose order on chaos only dissolves the structure further. There are realities that need to be faced, even when they are uncomfortable, and alien. The world turns at different speeds everywhere. 

There is a belief that if you devise and execute a plan you are making progress. If the plan is not working it is simply a matter of altering the measurement. Looking long enough there is always a way to find some scrap of evidence to support any choice.

Of course, the problem with this is the evidence, no matter how superficial, or stupid becomes the cause. And then, no matter how worthless the original supposition the proof says it is working. Ghosts don't care about metrics. They have seen it all.

Violence, a dynasty is born in blood. It grows through subjugation, and oppression. Finally it is brought down in a storm of anger and retribution, and the whole thing starts again. 

There are days when things just don't make any sense. Days when it is hard to leave the house. Foul news, evil on the rise, every day it just seems worse. Armies on the move, hatred written on the walls, vicious acts of intolerance. It can really start to wear on a soul. 

But, I suppose it is not too late, if we can listen to the ghosts. They have seen it all.

I have been writing this post for several months. I will write it for several more, and I will repost it every time. I am not sure why, but it seems important to me.

Do You Remember Where?

Places can haunt just as easily as people. In many ways even more. There are places from my past that weave in and out of focus, One minute it is clear, solid and then it fades. Lonely places, crowded places, places that mean nothing, but maybe they use to mean everything.

Why do they follow me around? Why do they keep popping up? There is nothing connected to most of them. Nothing at all. But there they are, in the dark,in the back, worming to the front. Why? Let me clue you 

Places have magic, places have power. Magnetic attraction. Pulling you, inexorably to the past. But what past? Sometimes I even know the town we were living in at the time. Names like Roswell, Pocatello, Scottsbluff, but after that it gets fuzzy, indistinct. Where in the town was this building, this alley, this bridge. Are any of the visions still there? Were they ever really there? A lot has happened, a lot has changed. If I could go visit would anything look at all like the things chasing me? 

My wife likes to visit new places. See new things. Will they end up haunting me. One place we have been to, twice, was the unfortunate victim of a terrible wildfire. Burned, gone, erased from the place, but not from my places. It will always be there, and I will never be able to return the favor.

I work in a very old building, in an ancient part of town. Sometimes the building will sigh, and you can almost hear it say "oh brother, I can tell you, I have seen some things." And you know it has. It has seen a lot of things. It sat, derelict, empty except for some homeless people, wildlife and memories. The memories are still there.We don't talk about those, though. They are just out of sight, you can feel them, but you can't see them.

When I first read "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad the line "and this also has been one of the dark places..." kept me from being able to finish the story. I tried, but the "dark places" kept insinuating itself into my thoughts. Not so much because I felt my memories were of dark places, but the notion places had the ability to be dark. Still, to this day, those words have more meaning than he probably intended. What of the places that come to me, without being called, without explanation?  Certainly they had at one point been a place of darkness. But it was long before I got there. Then they were just places, with a story to tell. Maybe a lot of stories, or maybe just one long story.

Maybe, since my family moved a lot when I was young, and I have always been a little awkward, shy, it was easier to meet places, things. Maybe places, things were easier to understand. Maybe they still are. I don't know, maybe nobody does. Maybe no place knows. but, maybe they do.

So It Begins.

Our building is very old. It has a past that is not entirely wholesome. People speak in hushed tones about the days it was used as a speak easy. Tales, awful tales, circulate about the time it housed the overflow from the local jail. Mythical, monstrous stories, of terrible and awful occurrences. All dubious origin. Nobody thought they were true, but everybody believed them.

Initial construction was completed in the late 1800s. Three additions were cobbled on to the original over the next 37 years, leaving dark corners, small dank recesses, and oddly shaped rooms scattered in unexpected places. The whole building teeters on the line dividing reality and the other places. Places where the darkness is more than the absence of light. Places where the darkness lives. Places where the darkness is so absolute it cuts a clean line at the threshold, even sound won’t enter those places. Places where people go and never return. Sometimes the body, the vessel, comes back, but the person doesn’t. There are lines in our building nobody should cross.

This too, has been a place of darkness

In the basement is the darkest place of all. It is up a small flight of stairs, with a small rectangular landing. There is a heavy gauge chain link fence with a sturdy gate, held secure by an imposing lock, that separates the two places. In there, the darkness is darker. If a person were to watch long enough, and that person would be a fool, the darkness will start to boil, and roll. Twisting, dancing, living. Occasionally a toy will tumble down the steps, landing at the fool’s feet. If the fool had any brains at all he would not touch the little ball, or truck. No, the best course is to finish your task in the less dark part of the basement, and get out, as fast as possible.

During those early days the company had developed a very workable relationship with several manufacturers in developing countries. They produced the components for several machines that were moving beyond planning to procurement and production. Transformative machines with enormous potential. It would take some time to gather all the pieces, and assemble the parts into the whole. All of those parts needed to be stored somewhere. Once the rest of the building was full we were left with only the basement.

As the final crate was pulled from the elevator and the ordeal was almost over there was the slightest movement from the darkness.  A darkness slightly darker than the impenetrable black. Stirring, shifting, fading, coming closer, moving away. It had a  sound, breathless, gasping, terrifying. We stood, frozen in terror, knowing our lives were over. All of the sudden the great price on all the needed parts seemed a terrible deal, a balance sheet that was going to be zeroed out with our deaths.

As we stood, waiting for the end, a small cup tumbled down the stairs, it had a delicate ring as it fell from step to step. At the bottom it landed gently on its base. It was spotless, and shone as though it had just been polished. The voice grew louder, clearer, and it sounded as if someone were clearing their throat. “Tell John🍺 our cappuccino machine is broken, please.” It said.

“Right away.” we said, running up the stairs, faster than any man had ever run.

🍺 John is the equipment manager.

A New Life Explained App, (not really don't get too excited)

Election years are murder on government funded research and development facilities. Sure, the next war monger President will come through with some serious coin for their particular weapon of choice. Probably not like Bush, and Rumsfeld golden years, man those guys knew how to spend some defense capital. But, whoever wins will want to put their mark on history, and the best way to do that is providing the cash to develop a weapon that will bring the enemy to their knees.

Until then we, here at Life Explained, have some free time on our hands, and some room in the company coffers. What better way to take care of both problems than developing a few smart phone apps. People are always goofing around with the silly things.

Of course, a quick glance at the market reveals a glut of almost every type of app imaginable. Games, notes, lists, photo, video, all are covered. Fortunately, for us, here at Life Explained, anyway, there is one category woefully undeveloped. Supernatural Detectors.

Using the latest technology and the most ancient artifacts we combined a cell phone camera with a spell from long forgotten texts and created a powerful tool to detect the presence of the departed. Which was a good start, but duplex communication was needed. We added a binary wave algorithm and the wisdom of Anubis (the Egyptian god of the Underworld) to converse with the ghosts.

Turns out they (the ghosts) are everywhere. Our kitchen and the shipping dock were filled with them. We were so excited, think of the things we could learn, the challenges we could overcome, the wisdom of the ages waiting for us. All things from all time delivered digitally.

Turns out ghosts are pretty dull people. Oh, probably not all of them. Occasionally you will probably run into one that offers some jewel or two. But, far and large most of them just want to talk about food, and drink. A lot of them ask about coffee, and if it is still so tasty. Donuts, sweet rolls, and pastries and frozen burritos are a constant source of fascination.

So, if you want you can buy our ghost hunting app, just don't expect too much.

Looking for Office Space, Look No Further.

Recently we, here at Life Explained Ohio Office (LE HO HO HO(for Christmas, you know?)) discovered that we have a new ghost in the building. Yes, a new ghost. We are headquartered in a very old building, in a historic part of town, and when we bought the place it had several ghosts living here already. They are harmless, and willing to pitch in when work gets busy. They are great security people, and make wonderful couriers. And since they don't ask for much, just a place to stay, no benefits, and no withholding taxes we kept them.

But our new ghost is not so helpful. He is not even a real ghost. He is just the remnants of an angry food exchange in the kitchen one day.

Bob, from Building Services was eating a sandwich, pastrami on marbled rye with golden mustard, one day, when Bobby from product development walked in, and yelled, "hey! that's my sandwich, you piece of crap."

Bob assured him it wasn't and said he was an idiot. Bob, and Bobby are both kind of hot heads. Bobby screamed, "hey everybody, Bob is a low down, bottom of the barrel, lop eared lunch thief. The worst kind of scum, I hate that guy."

Bob couldn't take it any more, he was very sensitive about his ears, they are kind of large. He hurled the sandwich at Bobby. But, Bob is not your typical athlete. In fact Bob is not an athlete at all. He missed Bobby completely, and the sandwich landed "Thwack" right in the face of General Mills, from the Joint Chiefs, who was there to look at the new [text redacted for national security].

We had to fire Bob, the General was furious, and a mess, with a whole chestful of ribbons and metals covered in golden mustard.

Bob was being escorted out when he heard Bobby say, "oops, here is my sandwich, in the refrigerator. Sorry, Bob." Who would have thought they both had pastrami, on marbled rye with golden mustard. Actually, when you consider how heavenly it is there is nothing surprising about it at all.

But, Bob's rage was so great it actually split from his body, and took up residence in our kitchen. Where it just hangs around arguing with everybody, about everything. Even the old ghosts won't go in there.

We have called in the best Supernatural Eviction Specialists in the country, but they say since Bob is not dead there is not much they can do. Then they bill us $500.00.

We hired Bob back, thinking that might help. He just stands in the kitchen arguing with himself all day. The guy is a jerk. So, we moved on. We bought everybody a small refrigerator and microwave for their desk, and coffee is delivered routinely.

If anybody is interested we have  a small "office space" for lease. It comes with a microwave, refrigerator, and coffee maker, and a building services associate. Make an offer, please.

Don't worry, everything is going to be fine, probably.

Halloween is coming. This is a good time for a public service announcement;

If you are seeing ghosts, goblins, vampires, aliens, werewolves, headless horsemen, poltergeists, or presidential candidates don't be alarmed. They are probably only children dressed up as frightening specters of the netherworld. Except, of course, for the presidential candidates who are adults acting like children.

You are probably safe. A good method to test the safety of any situation is to ask your friend to go first. "Hey, Bob, how about checking out that group of deranged looking characters standing on the steps over there."

"Are you insane? That's the school building, and those are teachers! Remember the murderous, maniacal, wretched years we spent in school? I'm not going anywhere near them. Look at them, standing there armed with text books, and homework, pop quizzes, trips to the principals office, detention, and blinding, boundless hatred."*







"Oh yeah, you're right, lets cut through the graveyard, and across the freeway instead."

The lesson to be learned here is there are always alternatives, and sometimes you don't need to sacrifice your friend. But, don't get too close because sometimes the teachers demons can not be avoided.




*I have nothing but respect for teachers, I love them, all of them, even the ones with razor sharp yardsticks and venomous sarcasm, I guess that is all of them.

Security Measures, But, Don't Get Any Ideas.

Here, at the top secret Life Explained (#lifeexplained) headquarters, we are keenly aware of security.  Conducting research into matters vital to national security, world peace, the eradication of alien threats, the continued habitability of the planet, exploring, and colonizing deep space, disease analysis and prevention, fighting plaque, and gingivitis, and lowering serum cholesterol, blood sugar and blood pressure* can tempt even the most honorable competitors to unscrupulous, criminal attempts to lay their grubby, felonious, lazy paws on our stuff.  Nothing personal, competitors, and you know who you are, we have video tape, well it is not actually tape it is maintained in a"cloud storage," an ingenious, online, offsite, secure medium, that has revolutionized... well that doesn't really matter, we know who you are, and so do you, that is all we are saying.

Of course, we have your normal armed guards, your normal retinal scans, and your normal concrete doors with steel reinforcements, titanium dead bolt locks, and high voltage enemy dissuaders, your normal vicious attack dogs, and for good measure we threw in a few of your normal Inland Taipan snakes, and just to be extra cautious, we released a few of your not quite so normal Komodo Dragons, wandering randomly through the building.  We thought about adding some spiders, but that is just insane!  Who would do that!?!?!?!

You know, though, you can never be too careful, risks are everywhere, and dangers lurk behind every closed door.  Closet doors are especially perilous here, at the the top secret Life Explained headquarters, god knows what those things are hiding.  Bob, the accountant, opened a closet to get his jacket, in 1996, and was never seen again, nobody has opened a closet since.  Anyway, we have many secrets to protect, countless proprietary designs, and fabrications, many, many intricate, elaborate constructions, and devices that need to be kept from prying eyes
.

What more effective way to combat burglary, industrial espionage, and vandalism than vampires and ghosts?  It does make being the first one to clock in or the last to punch out a little uncomfortable, but you know the old saying; "Anything worth having is worthing sacrificing a few over achieving coworkers for."

*Tell your doctor if you have high blood pressure, or elevated cholesterol, or a nagging injury, sore feet, dry, flaky skin, or a general sense of uneasiness, or if you've been eaten by a ghost, or bitten by a vampire.  That is what they get paid for.

Should the Nobel go next to the Emmy, or by the Pulitzer?

I work in a very old building, and sometimes I get there very early, and depending on the time of year, it can be very dark.  As you walk through the building there is always a lot of noise, a symphony of creaks, and groans, and shuffling sounds, and something that sounds similar to the purring intonation  made by the velociraptors in Jurassic Park, that would be awful.  Oddly, the noises always seem just out reach of the built in flashlight of the iPhone, you can almost see the source of the sound, but not quite.  It was frustrating.

Then, I read about this app available for the iPhone that would show paranormal activity, and in some cases allow you to communicate with the spirits.

I rushed to download the app, and spent the evening familiarizing myself with the "interface."  It seemed that ghost hunting was going to be stressful enough without adding confusing menu options, and complicated gestures, so I learned where the optimal screen for my approach was and the quickest way to get it loaded.

It was so exciting, I could barely sleep.  This morning, I rushed around the house fixing lunch, slurping coffee, finally it was time to leave, a quick peck on the cheek of my lovely wife, and a cryptic "hey, clean off a space for my Pulitzer, would you?"

She replied, "you are not trying room temperature fusion again, are you?  Remember the stitches.  And I sure you mean Nobel Prize, unless you are writing an article."

"Oh, great, a Nobel is smaller, I think, They take less room, it will be much easier to make space."

Whoosh, the elevator door opened on the darkened fourth floor, but the phone was at the ready, held high and scanning the room.  A noise to the right and a quick move in that direction, and I could not believe my eyes!  There, on the screen of the iPhone was a ghost.  He was standing about 12 feet (about 4 meters), and carrying a box, it looked kind of heavy, maybe 20 pounds (about 15 degrees Celsius).

"What are you looking at?"  He asked, staring right at me. I was shocked.

"Why are you carrying a box?"  That was the best thing I could think of to say, the whole thing kind of caught me off guard.  Try finding a ghost walking through the kitchen at work carrying a box, and see if you do better.

Slowly, he put the box on the floor, picked up a ghostly thermos, poured himself a cup of ghost coffee, sat down on the box, took a sip of his coffee, lit a cigarette, and said.  "It's my job."

"You carry boxes around a warehouse, for a job, in the afterlife?"  I asked, this was almost too much.

Another ghost came over and borrowed a cigarette, and a light, and a cup of coffee, some things never change.

"Yes, I do.  Hey, it's a living, we all have to eat."  The ghost said. "It's not all we do, we take stuff out of boxes and put it in other boxes, and send it to other places. Which works out ok, because those places send us boxes of stuff. Kind of the circle of afterlife commerce."

"Do you like it?"

"It ain't so bad, last year we had Attila the Hun as the warehouse foreman, and that could be a little tense. Now we have some guy from the renaissance.  He spends a lot of time painting and talking about art and enlightenment, so it is pretty easy, and the hours are good.  We have really good insurance, including dental, and 6 weeks of vacation.  All in all it is pretty nice, and there is always a chance for advancement, they moved Attila into sales and marketing. He cleaned up real nice."

He seemed pretty content, and I was glad we met.

A ghostly whistle sounded and he said he had to get back to work.  I see him around once in a while and he is doing well.  He met a girl, and they are getting married in the spring, he said I could come to the wedding. It would be a little awkward, so my wife and I decided to pass.

Turns out ghosts have have the same problems, and opportunities as all of us.  They are just trying to get by, they struggle and they scrape, and they take coffee breaks.  So, next time you are in a dark room, and you hear an otherworldly noise, try to stay out the way it is probably just a guy doing his job.  And if someone picks up your plates and puts them in the dishwasher it might not be your wife, no matter what she says.