The Unfinished Business of Sarah Potts

The following account is the first draft of "The Unfinished Business of Sarah Potts" DS 3/26/09


I awoke in the middle of the night because my dog was barking. As I stumbled through the kitchen I saw her. I thought I was dreaming, My dog's incessant barking convinced me otherwise. It was the ghost of Mrs. Potts. Even though I could see through her to the wall beyond, she was so radiant. She stood looking up, as though to be delivered from something. "What are you doing?", I asked, trying to stay calm, and turning the coffee pot on. "What do you mean, 'What am I doing'? she asked. "My father built this house, but not for you. So, why are you here now?"

"I bought the house two years ago. It had been vacant for years before that. I didn't know you still lived here." I said. She looked at me blankly for a moment, "I don't live here," she replied. "Are you hungry? Do you want some breakfast?", she asked, glancing about the kitchen. I nodded weakly. and said "Yes." I sat down at the table and stared through her, as she scrambled some eggs.





Many people like a good ghost story told around the campfire in the dead of night. But it's another thing to be living in a ghost story. I can't say that Mrs. Potts is an evil spirit. To the contrary she is somewhat delightful and endearing. Mysterious and intriguing. The kind of woman I like. She can be all around me, and yet, I can't see her. In fact, it feels as though she is standing behind me at this moment. Perhaps watching me make these words appear about her. It is the fragrance in the air that tells me she is here. Its quite floral and familiar. A faint air of perfume, I suppose. Yesterday, while driving the back roads around Pottsville and waving now and then to neighbors, this same fragrance caught my attention. If not for that, I would not have known she had come along for the ride. I glanced over to the empty seat next to me and smiled at her. I wondered what she thought about how things have changed around here. The fallow and shrinking fields once worked by farmers and mules, now being surveyed and marked off in 3 to 5 acre plots for new home construction. The nearby quarry operations digging huge deep craters into the ground. I took her for a drive along the road that follows the river thinking she would find it familiar and comforting. We stopped along an old bridge that looked out over the rushing water. As I stared down at the pools and eddies, watching a piece of dead wood rolling and spinning at the river's will, I was suddenly aware that the fragrance was gone. I waited for quite awhile. She was out walking the bank, perhaps. She never came back.




I drove slowly home, lost in thought. Was this only my imagining? Am I just inventing her? As I entered the house I was again aware of the fragrance. The bathroom mirror was fogged as though someone had showered. On the counter by the sink, sat a small box. Next to it a rounded cake of soap glistening wet. I picked up the box and examined it. "Savon Ceillet-Mignardise" (carnation) by Roger Gallet, Paris, France. So, this was the fragrance. And Mrs. Potts seems to have decided to stay for awhile.



The historical archives at the county library shed little light on the matter of just who Sarah Potts was. But I did find mention of her name among the documents of births and deaths. She had been born on March 21, 1911, and died on March 21, 1931. She clearly had died at an early age. And it was so strange that she was born and died on the same day, of the same month. Strange, because it was the day of the Vernal Equinox, and that it was on this date she had appeared in my house. I made several notes of some cemetery locations, and wrote down the names of several families who had lived in this area during the period of Sarah's brief time here. Perhaps some surviving kin of theirs has a story about what happened to Sarah Potts.

I visited several small cemeteries, and at one along the road from Pottsville to Caney Fork, I stumbled onto the grave of Sarah Potts. It was a simple eroding limestone marker that bore her name and dates. Beneath that, was a simple image of a heart broken into two pieces.


Late in the afternoon, I managed to track down an elderly gentleman and his wife whose names I had noted while at the library. We sat on the front porch of their humble salt box house. When I asked about Sarah, the old man just shook his head sadly and shrugged. But later, I took a walk around the yard with his wife. She wanted to show me her garden. One by one, I complimented her on the lovely specimens of rose, hollyhock, hibiscus, and lilac that she obviously took great pride in. Suddenly, she turned to me and said, "Sarah had a baby that wasn't supposed to be. The other woman knew about it, and told Sarah, if ever she could not take care of this child, to bring it to her, and she would raise it. A rough winter came on, and Sarah was quite ill much of the time. One night she bundled the child up and walked through the woods. It wasn't snowy, but an icy rain. She handed the baby to the other woman, and walked the woods back home. Sarah died 5 days later of pneumonia." I felt somewhat stunned by the story. "How do you know these things about Sarah?", I asked, as we continued through the garden. "My grandmother always referred to her as my 'half-aunt, Sarah'. I was young, and had no idea what that meant. When I grew older, I asked Granny, and she told me the truth." I walked back to my truck and made a few hurried notes. Tomorrow, I hope to find the son of the mortician who laid Sarah to rest.



I drove past the house twice. It was a ramshackle place that smacked of neglect. But, by the numbers on the mailbox out by the road, it would be the home of the mortician's son. I had a hunch it was his father who had examined the body of Sarah Potts, and prepared her for burial. I was a bit intimidated by a large dog barking at me as I pulled up to the house. He was showing some mean fangs to me, and daring me to get out of my truck. I turned the motor off and sat there hoping the door would open, and someone would appear to call this dutiful beast off. In a short while, a large, pot-bellied shirtless figure stepped onto the porch. He gave a sharp whistle and a raspy muttered "G'wan", or in the King's English, "Go on". The dog turned and trotted off, giving me one menacing glance back, before disappearing behind the house.

He was reluctant to say much at first, mostly looking skeptically at me, and fumbling with a toothpick in his mouth. I told him that I had only moved to this area recently, and that I lived in the little green house down the road. "I know," he finally said. "I've seen you out sitting on the porch in the mornin's." I nodded, "Yes, I love to have my coffee watching the sunrise." He looked down at the ground and kicked at it aimlessly with the toe of his boot. "That's the house my daddy used to live in, " he said glancing up at me. I was struck by a wordless feeling that I was getting close to something. "Your father, he was a mortician wasn't he?" "Yep," the man said, sitting down on the tailgate of my truck. "He was all that, and more. Back in those days, he was the coroner, the mortician, and the buryin' man too. You know that ol' cabin down along the river?" he asked, looking up at me, and shading his eyes from the sun with his hand. "I think so," I replied. "The one down by the old bridge that takes you to Caney Fork?" He nodded, looking off in the distance. "Mmm hmm, That's where he would take the body and declare it dead. Then he'd lay it out, and figure out what caused it. After that, he'd bury the poor soul. He even made the grave marker." I took a deep breath, and sat down next to him. I stared off into the distance where he seemed to be looking. "Did your daddy ever know a 'Sarah Potts'?" He turned to look at me, and there was a long silent moment when he seemed to be sizing me up. "Yeh, my daddy buried Sarah Potts," he said. "An' there was lots of folk wanted to know why she died, like it was some murder, or sumthin'. But it weren't nuthin' like that. He wouldn't talk about it. He just kept sayin' it weren't nuthin' like that."

"So, how did she die?', I asked. "Was it pneumonia?" He shook his head. " Naw, it wasn't nuthin' like that. But it weren't 'til he was dyin' hisself, he tol' me, I had my mama's eyes." I turned to look at him. "Are you the son of Sarah Potts?" He nodded silently. I put my hand on his shoulder. "I think your mother wants to see you." He nodded, and took a deep breath, "I always figgered she'd come back sooner or later."

The End.

Ana's Art

Red Impro, Ana at Club Lebowski in Plovdiv, Bulgaria...guitar by Balint Petz, video by Elena.

If just for one day...

Scavenger Hunt!!!

I think I am not very good at this scavenger hunt thing. These are all out of order, and I think I missed a few altogether.
Local Person
Something Rusty
Local Currency
Local Food
Street Sign
Local Flag
Local Wildlife
Nature
Local Postage Stamp
Local Weather
Local Transportation
Local Clothing
Night Sky
Sunrise
Local Product - Non-Food
Something Feathery
Something Furry
A Part of Me
Main Hobby
Local Restaurant
Local Mail Box
A Sign of the Season

Contemplation of lost gods....

Two Paintings

Day Breaks

(3'x4' air-brushed acrylic)

Will Waiting

(2'x4' air-brushed acrylic....................Note: All the little whites specks are not in the painting....I scanned a dusty photo..)

Between The Temples # 2

Air-brushed acrylic, 3'x4' ( photo is a bit washed out.. deepest colors visible here at right side are typical of the whole surface. )

What's so Funny?

A classic written by Nick Lowe, but, it was Elvis Costello and the Attractions that put it on the charts.
What's so funny 'bout Peace, Love, and Understanding?

As I walk through
This wicked world
Searchin for light in the darkness of insanity.

I ask myself
Is all hope lost?
Is there only pain and hatred, and misery?

And each time I feel like this inside,
Theres one thing I wanna know:
Whats so funny bout peace love & understanding? ohhhh
Whats so funny bout peace love & understanding?

And as I walked on
Through troubled times
My spirit gets so downhearted sometimes
So where are the strong
And who are the trusted?
And where is the harmony?
Sweet harmony.

cause each time I feel it slippin away, just makes me wanna cry.
Whats so funny bout peace love & understanding? ohhhh
Whats so funny bout peace love & understanding?

So where are the strong?
And who are the trusted?
And where is the harmony?
Sweet harmony.

cause each time I feel it slippin away, just makes me wanna cry.
Whats so funny bout peace love & understanding? ohhhh
Whats so funny bout peace love & understanding? ohhhh
Whats so funny bout peace love & understanding?

Live, 2004

Introduction to the Dream

This is a story/poem I've started. I will try to finish it within a week.


A Dream of Wonder, Blue Dancer, and the Far Side of the Sky

Once upon under
An old Beech tree,
And upon a bed of moss,
A boy constructed
With but one eye open
A most brilliant
Crystal glass ball.

And on a day
Just like this one,
He spun it.
Sitting there
As he imagined
An Indian might,
With legs tucked up
And crossed,
And shoulders pulled back
To the elephant-skin
Smooth gray bark.

Spun it somehow,
Maybe by the heat
Of his palms rising
Above his cool
Imagination,
And with trembling fingers.

Spun it
Into weightlessness,
Where it hovered
Some small distance
Above his cupped hands
For the briefest of time
And then dropped,
And stopped spinning,
And simply rested there
On his fingertips.

In that moment
He could feel
The sky against his skin.
It made him bow his head
and shut
His solitary eye.

He could feel the wind
Shaking the limbs above
Into a soft dance
That let the sky descend
In slips of blue,
To dance likewise
On the spinning
Glass ball.
And the rhythm
was reflected
To the boy's bent face.
A shimmering dance
of blue sun spots
and orange shadows.

And it came to the boy
Quite like a whisper
from the wind,
And quite like
The goose bumps
On his skin,
As the blue sparkled
Crystal sky light
on his face,
This dream
of
Wonder,
Blue Dancer,
And the Far Side
of the Sky.

Between the Temples #1

Air brushed acrylic, 2'x4'

Role Call

It"s strange, our many faces,
And how we can change them.
Switching them around
As the situation dictates.
I am one person to that person,
Someone else to another.

Glass Flower

Sandy's Diary

This is a sad entry of Sandy's, so if you don't want to go there...don't.


August 3 About the Bad Day

It was hot as hell as we were going through Arkansas on Interstate 40. Billy shouted back to me that the bike was over-heating, and that we should pull off for awhile. That was fine with me, since we had been on the road since we left Amarillo at daybreak. I was tired and achy from clinging to Billy for hours - and hungry too. I shouted into his ear that we should stop and eat. So we took the next exit onto Highway 9. Billy wanted to make it to the 9-10 fork before we stopped. There was a little town on Highway 10 that he knew of, and there was a nice cafe there.. It was pleasant on the winding back road, and a lot cooler, with trees hanging out over the road. Leaning left, leaning right as we took the curves....so nice...like slow dancing. It was right there at the 9-10 fork where it happened. We were already leaning left around a curve when suddenly the fork was there -like out of nowhere. Billy throttled down and we leaned even harder to make it. It was a dizzy blur, but we were fine until we hit the dirt and gravel on the outside. Suddenly the bike seemed to just disappear out from under us. It happened in a flash but I remember it like it was all slow-motion. I was still clutching Billy -my arms tight around his belly, and I could see these guard-rails zooming toward us. Billy's head slammed right into one of them -and something gashed my face. Then we were just lying there and I couldn't see much because of blood in my eyes. I remember seeing Billy's bashed-in helmet still spinning on the asphalt. I was trying to get up, but Billy wasn't moving at all. I didn't see the bike anywhere, but I could hear it idling somewhere down the hillside. They found it later, about 20 feet down the slope - upside down in a thicket of wild blackberries. Ironic, in that Billy and I used to go berry picking all the time. We would make cobbler and pig-out in front of the tube.

Some guy pulled up in a truck and called the sheriff in this town nearby. An ambulance came, and I rode in the back with Billy. I could see he was breathing but he wouldn't wake up. I remember trying to reach over - wanting to shake him - but I couldn't move my arm. Turns out it was broken. I never did feel any pain - guess I was in shock. They say I passed out somewhere along the way to the hospital. I was still groggy when they wheeled Billy out of ER and put him onto a helicopter - taking him to the trauma center in Little Rock. I guess I was delirious. I asked the doctor if they were taking Billy to heaven. Maybe that would have been better. Its been two months now, and Billy still won't wake up.

Incognito Underground

How cute is this?

At a flea market I bought a box of large negatives from the 1920's and 30's. Maybe a hundred or so images. This is one.

It is so yesterday, and so cute, right?

UDSALG!!!!

Sign on a shoe store window in Copenhagen. It translates as " SALE!!!! "
This cute, yet practical number costs 50 Danish Kroner, that's about 8 bucks, I think.

Ski Scenic Pottsville!

The mayor's famed meditation chair in the secret garden. This is where the mayor likes to sit and think about ways to solve the world's problems. Twice a year tourists are allowed to have their picture taken in the meditation chair for a modest fee of ten dollars.
Life, the mayor's highly trained dog, patrolling the Mayoral Gardens behind city hall.
Note the double window with the shutters...that is Blog Central and this is as close as you can get to it without special security clearance. This is where the mayor signs many important documents such as the recent proposal for the high-rise trailer park and the even more recent proposal to build the Pottsville Shoe Museum.
This is my little house in scenic Pottsville! It is also referred to as City Hall!
Several years ago there was an old abandoned white frame house here. When it was torn down, they discovered this little one-room log cabin was actually embedded inside the house!
Blue Landscape