Dad, the Basement Wall Collapsed!

Looking a little grim my wife handed me the phone. Our youngest daughter Courtney was on the line. “Dad, the basement wall collapsed – but everyone is safe!” I couldn’t believe what she was saying. It was about 9:00 on a Wednesday night in the middle of August. It had rained buckets that day. In fact it had been raining heavily off and on for several weeks. I asked her to repeat what she had just said. In more detail she explained that the entire 30 foot length of their basement wall had collapsed but that everyone was ok and that they were going to be staying in the fifth wheel camper that night. The next day I took off from work and went out to see what had happened. It was just an ugly sight. Broken concrete blocks, mud, dirt, and debris partially filled their basement. A 30’ span of their home was now unsupported, the freezer was blown over on its face; the plumbing was ripped off from the bottom of the toilet. On top of all of that it was still raining – the cloudy and gloomy day seemed to mirror our spirits. The insurance adjuster showed up at about 6:00 on Thursday night, a day after the collapse. He was pretty frank in his assessment that he didn’t think their policy would cover what had happened. As soon as he was gone my son-in-law Gus and I began to brace up the floor with some landscape timbers. Amazingly the now unsupported span of their home did not collapse or even drop down. We dug out the freezer, set it upright and plugged it in. Remarkably it still seemed to work. I took off that Friday also and went out to help brace up the floor some more and begin the task of digging out. The insurance company sent out an engineer to check out the collapse – and probably to validate why they were going to deny their claim. (A few days later our daughter was told that if the entire house had collapsed the insurance company would have paid……say what?) Over those first few days we braced up the floor so that it was safe to be in the basement, we pulled out as many of the concrete blocks as we could and just tried to clean things up as best we could. On Tuesday (6 days after the collapse) that portion of the basement was excavated, the debris was hauled out and a good sized trench was dug so that we could begin rebuilding the basement wall (Gus and Courtney decided to go with a plywood basement). While the rebuilding was going on, our daughter and son-in-law and their three children (ages 3 months to 7 years) and their yellow lab Auggie lived in the fifth wheel trailer camper next to their house. Sometimes it’s really hard to see how God is working. Really hard. Gus had been furloughed from his job at the ore docks for several months and was working very little. Courtney was a stay at home mom with the three little ones. And now this. How were we going to get all of this done? How were we going to rebuild the basement? On one of the Saturday’s before we began work we all gathered in their makeshift home for prayer. I read from Matthew 6:25-34 – the passage that talks about not worrying about where your food and clothes and housing are going to come from. That’s kinda hard to do sometimes. And then in verse 33 it says this, “But seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness and all these things shall be added unto you.” I got a little choked up when I read that. And I changed it around just a little bit. The Vander Ark version of Matthew 6:33 reads this way, “But seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all the pieces of your basement will be added unto you!” That Wednesday night when we found out the wall had collapsed I sent out prayer requests to as many people as I could think of. You may disagree with me, but I believe that God cares about basements! Prayers for the basement collapse went up across Minnesota and Wisconsin and North Dakota. I even received an email from a missionary friend in Germany that they were praying. We needed God’s help! Over the next couple of weeks we saw how God could bring things together and give Gus and Courtney a new basement. Volunteers came from a church in Hawthorne, Wisconsin and a church in Floodwood, Minnesota to lend a hand. People just “seemed” to show up just when they were needed. Family members worked hard; my son-in-law Gus and his dad George worked especially hard. I guess when something like this happens you have a choice: you can curl up into a ball or close the window shades and sort of ignore the mess. Or start digging. God can perform wonders, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have to work our fingers to the bone. Miracles can start by just picking up a shovel or a hammer. Remarkably, about three weeks after the wall had collapsed and about two weeks after the site was excavated, the basement wall was rebuilt and the big hole in their backyard was all filled in! Sometime during the rebuilding process Gus turned to me and said, “You know, Courtney was praying for a dry basement.” I think I replied with something like, “So she’s responsible for this?!?!?” God answers prayer in some pretty unconventional ways. And so when our daughter prayed for her basement, God probably thought, “OK, you asked for it!” and sent one of His angels to give that old concrete block wall just a little bit of a push. I later asked Courtney, “There isn’t anything else you’re praying about that I should be aware of, is there?” Dan Vander Ark Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved onetoomanypotatoes.blogspot.com 

My Cholesterol is OK, But My Rhubarb is a Little High

It was time for my annual physical. I was feeling OK but I knew that I should just get checked out. Or checked up I guess it is. After waiting for a few minutes in the family clinic waiting room in our end of town, my doctor’s nurse came out and hollered, “DAN, GET IN HERE, NOW!” Not really. The nurse was nice and asked me to come back to the exam room. However, we first had to stop by the dreaded scale. I knew my weight had gone up a couple ounces since my last physical, but I wasn’t quite prepared for the number that flashed on the huge digital scoreboard out in the lobby. “Hey everyone in the waiting area, Dan’s weight has gone way, weigh up!!!” Maybe in the future that’s what they’ll do to motivate us to lose weight. I thought it must have been showing kilograms, but when I squinted to read the fine print it said, “Sorry buddy, this is America, these are POUNDS!” With the breakneck speed of developing technology I am sure that in a couple of years the scale will be equipped with a face detection camera and will be interfaced to your kitchen’s refrigerator. In a 2001-Space-Odyssey scenario, the HAL voice will soothingly say something like, “Hello Dave, er I mean Dan. Here is a printout of the dates and times that you ate those 27 Dove bars last week. If you were living on Mercury your weight would be OK. But try to remember – this is Earth.” In the exam room the nurse asked if I was on any meds. “Why yes I am. I eat one Dove bar once a day ½ hour before breakfast.” She also asked if I had any howitzers in the home and if I ever felt threatened. “Only if I leave my socks in the middle of the floor,” was my reply. She then took my blood pressure. It was actually pretty good – like 129 over 80 or something. If I remember correctly – for the ideal blood pressure the first number should be approximately twice your age. And for the last number you should add your telephone number to your age, divide by 6 and then multiply by the number of Dove bars you had that day. She then instructed me to put on one of those really fashionable Tommy Hilfiger looking gowns. I work in the purchasing department of the hospital/clinic system that I went to the physical at and it never dawned on me that I should order some really really good gowns that actually have ties on them (and in the front!) and that cover more than 50 percent of your body. I got the gown on and somehow got it tied. I bet those guys on Cirque Du Soleil can’t tie those things. While I waited for the doctor I read a couple of magazines. The oldest, Popular Science, had a really interesting article on the development of the printing press. And National Geographic had an article by Lewis and Clark on how they met Sacagawea. And Life had a cool article about how we landed on the moon. I didn’t know that. When the doctor came in we chatted briefly. I have been going to him for about 20 years (or about 7 “annual” physicals I think it is). He is a really good doctor and very personable. He checked my heart (it was still beating), he checked my lungs (I was still breathing), he checked my reflexes (I still had some), and he checked my ears. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that the light from the otoscope coming OUT THE OTHER EAR created a silhouette of Mickey Mouse on the wall. “That’s odd,” the doctor remarked. And finally he asked me to say “Aaaahhhhhhh.” I guess that was to check out the little hangy down thing in the back of my throat to see if it was still there. When he was done he mentioned I still needed to do the lab work stuff. So off I went to find the lab. When I went by the scale I swore I could hear it snickering. I got to the lab and was greeted by the lab tech (more technically known as the “phlebotomist”). A phlebotomist is one who practices phlebotomy – which is the art of bloodletting. Bloodletting has been around for about 2000 years and has been practiced by the Mesopotamians, the Egyptians, the Aztecs, the Mayans and the Lutherans. And to quote from www.reference.com/fleabotomy: The popularity of bloodletting in Greece was reinforced by the ideas of Galen, after he discovered the veins and arteries were filled with blood, not air as was commonly believed…” Maybe they were first called “airteries.” Galen also believed that “humoral balance was the basis of illness or health, the four humours being blood, phlegm, black bile, and yellow bile.” Now I’m no doctor, but to me the four humors are guffawing, chortling, chuckling, and side-splitting-milk-coming-out-your-nose laughing. And get this – and again I am quoting from www.reference.com/fleabotomy: “…the practice was continued by surgeons and BARBER-SURGEONS! Though the bloodletting was often recommended by physicians, it was carried out by BARBERS…the red-and-white-striped pole of the barbershop, still in use today, is derived from this practice: the red represents the blood being drawn, the white represents the tourniquet used, and the pole itself represents the stick squeezed in the patient's hand to dilate the veins.” Can you believe that? And how about this: Leeches became especially popular in bloodletting in the early nineteenth century. In the first half of the 19th century hundreds of millions of leeches were used throughout Europe. And that doesn’t include those used for fishing! In 1824 a French sergeant was stabbed in the chest in combat. They took him to the local BloodLetAtorium. During his treatment over the next couple of weeks they “let” more than half of his blood supply and applied more than 70 leeches! And he survived! And we complain because the hospital Jell-O tastes like a Goodyear tire. (Note to my congressman and senators: Have you guys read this? This is one sure way to lower medical costs! Leeches at Bill’s Bait and Barbecues are only $2.95 per dozen. But then again, once you guys start managing leeches they will probably cost $637.12 a dozen). And just a couple other little tidbits about phlebotomitizing. One of the signers of the Declaration of Independence was a phlebotomist. Or at least believed in bloodletting. And George Washington was treated with bloodletting following a horseback riding accident. Almost 4 pounds of blood was withdrawn which contributed to his death in 1799. Shouldn’t the Secret Service have said something? Back to my physical. The lab tech filled the mason jar with blood, removed the leeches and I was done (except for filling that other little container). A few days later I got the lab results back. But before I give you those results I have to confess something. About 17 days before my physical I ate a rhubarb pie. In one day. And not just a piece of rhubarb pie, an ENTIRE rhubarb pie. And about 2 days before my physical I ate ANOTHER rhubarb pie (except for one piece – I knew the dreaded “Scale” was waiting for me so I had to cut back). So when I got the lab results back they read like this: Dear Mr. Vander Ark We have determined that you are still alive. The bad cholesterol is just a tad high, but it’s ok and the good cholesterol is just a little low but it’s ok so you won’t need to eat Lipitor or oatmeal or pine needles. But your rhubarb is a little high. Please watch the sweets. And I always thought rhubarb pie was a vegetable. Dan Vander Ark Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved onetoomanypotatoes.blogspot.com

An A-Mail From T-Bone: Swimming Lessons

Introduction: For 13 years T-Bone, our Lab/Irish Setter mix canine companion lived with us. But in May of 2006 we had to put him to sleep due to a losing battle with separation anxiety and his old age issues. So the following is what I call “An A-mail (Angel Mail) from T-Bone;” sort of “heaven from a dog’s point of view.” Hey master…I am up to typing 5 words a minute now! They have a huge keyboard by one of the pearly gates of the city that is made just for dogs – it fits our paws perfectly! I guess it’s what they call dogernomic. It takes me awhile to type these, but hey, I gots lots of time! The angels help us (the younger angels-in-training); they help us spell somewhat and then we can pull up anyone’s name on planet earth and just hit the send button and they say somehow it gets to you. So that’s kool. I guess my email address is tbone@heavenisreallycool.dog if you want to try replying. There’s a young (and big) Newfoundland pup up here I met the other day. He can only type one word a minute so I am helping the Angel-In-Training help him. Ain’t you proud of me? And guess what Master? I CAN SWIM! You know how scared I was of the water when I was down there with you? And you tried so many times to get me to swim but I would only go up to my chest? I do remember the one time you tossed me in off the dock at your mom’s lake and I went under for a couple moments and pretended I was a submarine. But I forgives you Master. Up here – I ain’t afraid of the water! I went swimming in the River of Life the other day and was floating on my back even. It’s kind of comical to see. But we had a great time! We wuz watching HDTV the other day (Heavenly Days TV that is) and me and the other dogs who couldn’t swim too good on earth watched the story of when Peter tried walking on water. It was way cool! Its in the Bible in the New Testament (you DO know where the New Testament is, don’t you Master? Just kidding ), in Matthew chapter 14. Remember the story? Jesus had just fed over 5,000 people with just 5 loaves of Wonder Bread and two little walleyes. Then he told the disciples to get into the boat and cross the Sea of Galilee, but He went up into the mountain to pray. That night a really big storm came up and those big brave disciples were straining at the oars and weren’t making any headway. But all of a sudden, somewhere around 4:00 in the morning, they saw someone WALKING ON THE WATER! ON TOP OF THE WAVES! And Jesus said something like, “Hi guys, how’s it going? Don’t be scared!!!” But with the wind still blowing and the waves still raging and Jesus still walking on the water, Mr. Bigmouth Peter said, “If it really is you Jesus, tell me to come to you on the water!” And guess what? Jesus told him “Well come on down!” Peter very cautiously got out of the boat, sort of testing his weight on the water (kind of like when you used to put me into the tub Master). And it was just like walking on Jell-O for him! Boing! Boing! Boing! Boing! He looked like Neil Armstrong walking on the moon! He was having a great time as was walking on top of the water and the waves just like Jesus! But all of a sudden, when he began to get scared (I knowz the feeling) and he took his eyes off from Jesus, he began to sink……reallllly sloooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwllllllllllllllllllllllllly. It was so bizarre. I remember when you told the funny story of how you and your brothers were tubing down the Ottertail River and you came to a spot in the river and wanted to see how deep it was. So you rolled off the innertube – and fashooom! You sank like a rock to about 15 feet deep. Just your hat was floating on the water! Your brother was laughing so hard when you came up he almost shot minnows out his nose. Anyway Peter didn’t do that (hold it – I gotta connect my doggy thoughts – I don’t mean Peter didn’t shoot minnows out his nose, I mean he didn’t sink fast)…He went down really slowly! But when he cried out for help, Jesus grabbed his hand and pulled him up. That was so cool. And Peter just walked non-chalantly back to the boat on the water like nothing happened. But Thomas, Mr. No-Faith, said, “Yo Petey, wuz up with all your wet clothes? I told you not to get out of the boat.” You know what Master? That story taught me too things. Hold it, I mean two things. First, Jesus helps us out in the storms of life. Big-time. Jesus comes in a way we don’t think He will and at a time we don’t think He will. When we are in storms, He loves us and can help us! Next, I would rather be a wet water walker than a dry boat sitter. We gives Pete a lot of grief because he sank, but hey Master – he was the ONLY ONE WHO HAD THE GUTS TO GET OUT OF THE BOAT! So we need to have faith and get out of our boat named “ComfortZone” and see what God can do in our lives. And next….no wait…hold it a moment…let me count on my doggy paws for a second…..nope that was two. Well Master I gotta go. Hey you know what!? The Taco Bell dog is up here now! And he is a she! She just got here and her name is Gidget and she was 15 earth years or like about 105 dog years. She is teaching me Spanish, like "¡Yo quiero Taco Bell!" and ¿Es usted todavía calvo? (Are you still bald?). Sorry Master, I couldn’t resist. Well, me and Bob and Maggie and Ghost and Xander and Alfie and Kegger and Guiness and several Max’s and Tomack are getting together for sort of a Vander Ark extended dog family reunion. The twins are putting it all together for us. Oh, and Gidget is coming as a special guest (I think I love her Master, maybe it’s the way she speaks Spanish). I miss your wife scratching me behind my ears and hugging me. The angels up here do it, but its just not the same. Hey Master, one last thing. I still look for you every day by the gate they say someday you will be coming through. I just lay out there for awhile and sort of think about you. Heaven’s real nice, but it ain’t the same without you and Mrs. Ark. Love, Yer Dog T-Bone Dan Vander Ark Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved onetoomanypotatoes.blogspot.com

God is....a Toaster

I just joined FaceBook. A couple of people invited me quite awhile ago but I always hesitated to bring myself into the 21st century (my two son-in-laws teased me a few months ago when I said I needed to get batteries for my Walkman…”that’s so last century” was their response). Our computer at the house is just connected to the internet via dial-up so needless to say it sometimes takes a few minutes to motor around and download or upload stuff, have pillow fights, give and accept hugs, view photo albums and generally just do “stuff.” Maybe we are the Dialup-Dinosaurs-of-Duluth; am guessing there are a few more of us out there, but we are definitely becoming extinct. Anyway when I signed up I came to the Pink Floyd, excuse me, I mean the Wall, and noticed a friend had posted this fill-in the blank statement: God is ______________. A few people commented and someone had filled in the blank by posting this comment “…Good!” Now my theological education and 25 plus years of pastoral experience kicked in and I wanted to put something rather profound on there. So after I thought for awhile (well ok, so it was only 3 seconds), I came up with “God is…a Toaster!” I knew that would sort of stir things up a little and my friends would wonder what had happened to their Dutchman preacher friend: “Has he been reading the wrong version of the Bible again?” “Has he been a Viking fan too long?” “Have all the cloudy & cold days in Duluth caused his brain to mold over?” But I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. This was my FIRST day on FaceBook and I didn’t want a couple of missionaries who had approved me as a friend to like, you know, call the district superintendent or something. “Hey that preacher guy Vander Ark up in Duluth thinks God is a toaster. I don’t think that’s one of the 16 Fundamental Truths!” But to a lot of people (and in all practicality) God IS no more than a toaster. Think about it: 1. A toaster sits on the counter or in the cupboard and stays pretty much out of the way until needed. 2. A toaster is pretty manageable in size and we can control it: we take it out, we plug it in, we set the buttons, we put in the bread, and when we are done, we put it away. 3. We put in something and we expect something in return; we put in fresh bread slices; set the shade of darkness and expect it to produce a perfect slice of toast. 4. If the toaster doesn’t produce or doesn’t work right and it burns the bread, then we get upset and throw it out and buy a new one. The parallel? 1. We sometimes want a god that will just sit on the counter and pretty much stay out of our way and not upset our lives or disturb our sleep or make any demands upon us until he is needed. We certainly don’t want a god that will ask us to bring cookies to our neighbor that just mowed over our flowers or ask us to forgive someone that has hurt us very deeply. We just want a god for funerals and job losses or severe illnesses and similar life-is-tough situations. In other words, we want a convenient god. 2. And we want a manageable god. We want a god whose theology we have figured out and packed away in our nice little theological box. And we want to be able to unplug our god and put him back in the cupboard when we don’t need him or if he should start to bother us. 3. And if we give something to our god, we certainly expect some sort of return on our investment. It’s only fair. “I gave my tithes, so now I shouldn't have any more financial problems.” “I read my Bible, so now I shouldn't have any problems at work today.” “I go to church regularly, so now I shouldn't have any problems with my teenage children.” “I memorize and study Scripture, so now I should always be filled with joy.” I put the bread in, shouldn't I expect a perfect slice of toast? 4. Finally, if our god "burns my toast" and does not work things out like we think he should (my relationship fell apart; that job promotion didn’t come through; I am still battling this chronic illness), we get in a huff and look for another church or another god or another theology. Or even a non-theology. Wilbur Rees penned this very biting poem (I am not sure when it was written and it may not be politically correct in this day and age; but it speaks to our innate desire to obtain just enough of a theology to soothe our conscience): “I would like to buy $3 worth of God please, not enough to explode my soul or disturb my sleep, but just enough to equal a cup of warm milk or a snooze in the sunshine. I don’t want enough of Him to make me love a black man or pick beets with a migrant. I want ecstasy, not transformation; I want the warmth of the womb, not a new birth. I want a pound of the Eternal in a paper sack. I would like to buy $3 worth of God please.” God is Eternal and defies description. When we have been in heaven for 10,000 X’s 10,000 years, we will still only have just begun to know the depths of His love and His beauty. We will only have just begun to touch the fringes of His ways. He is the Almighty, the Creator of the Universe and the One Who holds the oceans in the palm of His hand. The nations are a speck of dust on His scales. He is the King of kings and the Lord of lords. He is worthy of all of my time, all of my energy, all of my talents, and all of my life. Were He to never answer one single prayer of yours or mine, He would still be good and holy and just in everything that He does. (But He does answer prayer, just try it!). Were I to lose everything, He would still be The Faithful One. And He has such an intense love for people that He sent His only Son to die an excruciatingly painful death on Calvary for us. Even though you may not think so or believe so, God has an incredible love for you as an individual and cares deeply about you and the struggles you face and the questions you have. At times we do unfortunately treat Him like our toaster – we tuck Him away in the cupboard and ignore Him until we are hurt or in trouble. But He is abundantly ready to forgive our wrong concept of Him and our wrong attitudes toward Him. 

Dan Vander Ark All Rights Reserved Copyright 2009 onetoomanypotatoes.blogspot.com transformationthroughintercession.blogspot.com 

The Haunted House on Little Cormorant

For many years my brothers and sister and I had seen “something” in the old abandoned farm house on Little Cormorant Lake. Big Cormorant, Middle Cormorant and Little Cormorant were three lakes just west and south of Detroit Lakes in northwestern Minnesota. Trolling for Northern Pike would often take us to the back side of Sugar Island and into the little bay where the vacant house stood. Although now almost completely veiled by trees and other foliage, back in the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s you could see the house fairly easily. And whenever good fishing, sunset, and a perfectly still evening intersected on that portion of the lake, as your eyes scanned the bay they always seemed to be drawn to the upstairs windows. And it was then that you swore something or someone was looking back at you. Even though it had been abandoned decades earlier, some sort of ethereal light invariably flickered through those window eyes once the sun had gone down. More than once when we had given up fishing for the evening and motored away from the bay, your eyes were convinced that you could see someone standing in the upstairs window. And they were looking back at you. In July of 1997 my older brother Jan, my younger brother Kevin, our youngest sibling Lisa and myself were all together for a couple of days of relaxation at my parent’s lake home on Little Cormorant. Dad and Mom had first built a little cottage on the southeast corner of Sugar Island in the mid 70’s, but in the 80’s they turned it into a year-round home and sold their home in rural Moorhead. There are few things in life more beautiful and enjoyable than being on a Minnesota lake in the summer. The laughter of kids swimming and diving off the raft, fishing, water skiing, the July 4th boat parade, the smells of the lake and the sound of Loons were all elements that contributed to sort of a Terry Redlin Americana scene on the island. Sitting on the deck after supper the talk always turned to how the boat was running, was the beaver dam across Cty Road 6 causing the lake level to rise again, and who’s doing what on the island. But that night it turned to the old abandoned farm house. We had always talked about checking it out after the sun had gone down to see what might be causing the ghostly light and shadowy figure in the upstairs window. Whether it was the fact that we four kids were rarely at my parent’s home at the same time or that we finally just figured we had to know what was going on, we somehow mustered up the courage to investigate the house…at night. We had gone to the house a number of times during the day to explore and look around. Mostly under decay, it was just a simple small two story house. When you pried open the front door you were very careful where you walked. The floor was rotting and sagging terribly. The stairway went about 8 steps and then turned immediately to the right. Upstairs were three bedrooms – with two of the bedrooms using a single adjoining closet (you could go from one bedroom to the other through the closet). Throughout the house plaster was falling down. The stale smell of oldness pervaded the entire dwelling. The basement was earthen and I can’t remember if you entered it through a trap door in the kitchen or through a cellar door outside. Maybe we should have, but we never did go down there I remember that July night as though it were yesterday. It was perfectly still and warm. And it was a new moon which meant that there would be no light from the blackened sky to help illumine the bay and abandoned farmstead. The four of us were slathered with bug spray to try to at least repel a portion of the mosquito onslaught we knew would be awaiting us in the tall grass and bulrushes. My folk’s old black lab Max accompanied us. The five of us got into the boat and we began to motor the small aluminum fishing boat from the southeast corner of the island. Following the shoreline we made our way around the island and then to the bay to the northwest. About 100 yards from shore we killed the motor and began to silently paddle toward shore. The Navy Seals would have been proud of us. As I mentioned earlier I absolutely love the sounds and smells and sights of a Minnesota summer on the lake. Toward evening you could hear the Loons or see an occasional muskrat or beaver swimming or hear a distant boat trolling for pike. But this night I didn’t seem to notice any of that. About 20 yards out we all had to push with the oars against the thick mat of weeds to get close to the shore. It became darker and darker and a Londonish fog settled over the bay. When we reached the shoreline all four of us heard a low guttural growl coming from Max. Her hair on her back bristled as she stared toward the farmhouse. We were about 75 yards from the house but almost entirely hidden by the tall reeds. Jan whispered, “I see the light!” Each of us had flashlights but we didn’t use them. Kevin firmly gripped Max’s collar. My heart was hammering inside my chest and I am sure that my goose bumps had goose bumps. For whatever reason we made our way toward the house in birth order order -- which meant Jan led, I was in the middle, Kevin was next, and Lisa followed. We didn’t do a military type low-crawl, but we kept as low as possible. Once we got within 50 feet of the house we stopped and sat down on the weeds and the brush. An owl hooted in the trees just to our right. It was dark but our eyes had adjusted enough so that we could see each other and we could see the whitish farmhouse. We looked into each other’s eyes. We were all terrified. Not only was Max’s hair still bristled, but I think our hair was standing on end also. Without talking we communicated that “I’m scared but I want to go in” look to each other. Even though the hinges were laden with years of rust, the door actually opened pretty silently. Your eyes always play tricks on you; shadows can become a million different monsters. But something or someone was definitely upstairs. We clicked on one flashlight for the briefest of moments and quickly scanned the main floor. It was just the parlor/living room and the kitchen. Nothing. But as our Little Cormorant Navy Seals Team stood there petrified on the main floor, you could see the faintest of glows coming from somewhere upstairs. In a slow compacted huddle we made our way to the second floor. We had to be exceptionally careful in the dark and on those creaking (and rotting) stairs. Kevin still had a good grip on Max. And we decided to stay together. I for one had seen to many scary movies where one of the actors decided to peel off on his or her own. And that’s the last you ever saw of them. We decided to work our way toward the bedroom that faced the lake – the one that we had seen the light in. The top of the stairs emptied into a short stubby hallway; to the right was one bedroom and to the left the other two. All three bedroom doors were closed. Nothing but blackness could be seen spilling out from under the doors of bedroom number one and bedroom number two. But under the third doorway. Frozen with fear all four of us just stared at the bottom of that door. Make that five of us. In the creepy darkness you could feel Max’s hair bristling on her neck. Again we heard her guttural growl, only it was louder. The ghostly light flickered as “something” moved across that path of light on the other side of the door. You could hear each of our hearts pounding with horror. Jan hurriedly turned on the flashlight and pointed it toward the doorknob. It began to turn! That was enough for us! Not worrying about any rotting boards, Kevin and Max tumbled down the stairs first, followed closely by Lisa and then Jan. I wanted to flee faster than they did but I was frozen and too terrified to turn away. I felt like I was living a nightmare. Jan yelled to me, “Danny, come on!” I was shaking uncontrollably and in my fear had actually thrown my flashlight. Jan came back up the stairs. “Danny…let’s go…NOWI Somehow I forced myself to start to turn to go down the stairs when the door began to open! I knew I should have run but my eyes fixed in horror on that opening door. When I backed up into the darkened hallway and turned to go down the stairs I tripped and fell. The door creaked open. The ghostly light spilled into the hallway. A silhouette moved toward the doorway. I was scrambling to get to my feet and to the stairs when “something” grabbed my ankle. “Jan! Kevin! Lisa!” Something’s grabbed my foot! It felt like the cold iron grip of a boney hand. In the mayhem and terror and blackness I couldn’t believe this was happening. I screamed to them again, “Help Me!” Jan raced upstairs again, smashing his shin against one of the steps when he crashed through a rotted board. Kevin and Lisa flew back up the stairs with Max. I was now sliding back toward the bedroom. “Something’s pulling my leg!” Something’s pulling my leg! “Danny, what is it??” “JAN, KEVIN, LISA – HELP ME!!! SOMETHING’S PULLING MY LEG!!!” Just like I’m pulling yours :>) Ok so most of this kinda sorta didn’t really happen that way. But there really was an abandoned farm house in that northwest bay on my folk’s lake. And even though it’s gone now, it was creepy! We went there a few times during the day to look around, and even then in the broad daylight it gave you the heebie geebies! (At least it did me anyway). I would not have spent the night there for a thousand dollars. And remember when I mentioned that the two bedrooms had an adjoining closet? One time when we went to explore the haunted house I went upstairs and so did my brother Kevin. He saw me go into one bedroom – and he went into the other. I made my way through the closet and hid just on the other side of the closed closet door in the OTHER bedroom. When he opened the door I went “Boo!” And he ALMOST fainted. Knock knock! Who’s there? Boo! Boo Who? Don’t cry (over this pathetic story) Dan Vander Ark Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved 

Dr. Amber Frankensteen

My oldest daughter is going back to school to get her degree in Accounting. So it only made total sense to me, in order to fulfill one of her prerequisite classes, that she had to dissect a piglet. And it was an online piglet dissecting biology class that she was taking, so the surgery had to be performed in her own home. She ordered the kit that contained all of the items she needed for her dissection but had it shipped to her sister’s home in the country. Seems people have been stealing UPS shipments off from her home-in-the-city front porch, so she had them sent to the sister’s country home. I was fortunate to be at our daughter’s country home when Amber opened the UPS package. And we were all under the assumption that she had ordered a piglet to dissect. You know, Babe’s younger relative. When we opened the box we found that that box contained two smaller boxes. I assumed it was one box for the bacon and one box for the porkchops. But alas, when we opened the first box we found that it contained some miscellaneous dissection items and A COW EYE! That’s like totally gross. (And it seemed to me that wherever I stood by the table, the eye was looking at me.) So we figured the piggy must be in the second carton. She began to open that box. I pointed out that the writing on the box showed she was opening it upside down. Good thing we caught it. My younger daughter matter-of-factly mentioned that we could have been mooned by the piggy! She continued to carefully open the second carton. No piggy. Just a sheep brain and some more dissecting stuff. I found a box of microscope slides amidst the packing stuff. I opened the little box of slides and held one up to the light. “Oh look!” I said excitedly, “It’s the Eiffel Tower! Must be when the sheep brain was in Paris!” I am not sure if Amber has done the home cow-eye-sheep-brain dissection thing yet, but if not I am guessing it may go something like this: (Her husband’s name is Kevin) Kevin: Oh hi honey. What are you cooking for supper? Dr. FrankenAmber: DON’T EAT THAT! IT’S FOR SCHOOL! Kevin: OhhhhhKaaayyyyy…..and what’s up with the goggles? Dr. FrankenAmber: I am working on my accounting degree. Kevin: OhhhhhKayayyyyy…..you’re cooking for accounting? Dr. FrankenAmber: I have to dissect a pig but it turned out to be a sheep brain and a cow eye. Please! I must have silence! – I have to make an incision along the medulla oblongata. Kevin: What’s the brain’s name? Abbie Normal? Dr. FrankenAmber: OK, ve are now taking ze brain out to ze garage; faithful assistant Kevin, go hook up the jumper cables to ze Zubaru…AND DON’T FORGET ZE COW EYE! (In the garage) Kevin: Ok Dr., ze jumper cables are now hooked up to ze brain! Hold it, why am I talking in zis stupid Transylvanian accent? Dr. FrankenAmber: Ok – go start ze Zubara and rev it to 8,000 RPM and hold it there for 30 seconds. AND I VILL FLIP ZE SWITCH! (With ze Zubaru revving) Kevin: Dr., ve now has 8,000 RPM’s!!!! Dr. FrankenAmber: Kevin, I AM FLIPPING ZE SWITCH! (With a greenish ghostly light and ozone and the stench of overcooked sheep brain filling the garage) ZZXVVVVVVVYYEEERRRRGGGHGHGHGHGHGHGVVVVVVVYIIIPPPPPPPPKKERRRRRRRRBLANGBUMP! Suddenly there is an eerie silence. Both Dr. FrankenAmber and her faithful assistant Kevin peer closely at ze brain. The quivering mass is quivering. Dr. FrankenAmber: IT’S ALIVE! Kevin: OK, I’m outta here Dr. FrankenAmber: Vait! Before you go, hook up ze cow eye to ze new Ford F150 crew cab! Kevin: Ve kan't do zat! I mean, We can’t do that! The car salesman told me that will void the warranty on your new truck…3 years or 36,000 miles or jump starting one cow eye, whichever comes first… Dr. FrankenAmber: Vell…I guess…ok. Come on sheep brain, let’s go watch “Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader”…. Dan Vander Ark Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved onetoomanypotatoes.blogspot.com