Trip Down Grove Street

Trip Down Grove Street - Part 2

The retired MDH crowd organized a lunch rather than breakfast this week so I came into town and had some time to kill. Decided to go over to Grove Street and see if I could find Lisa and the Harrison's at home. But, of course I was stopped by a train. I still don't miss 'em and the screeching loudness came wafting by me like roadkill on a motorcycle.

A train in front and behind. They talk a lot about the "romance" of trains up here in G-Burg, but it really sounds like a thousand nails on chalkboard to me.

I first stopped at the Harrison's and although there was no vehicle, I stopped anyway and was immediately greeted by Odie, the meanest friendliest dog in the universe, although I have to confess I only saw his mean side today. The Harrison's have lived on Grove for most of their kid's lives I reckon and so I wouldn't have guessed I was a total stranger. I knocked on the front door and then sat down on the steps to do something with my cell phone, I think, then got on my bike and started to take off. I took out my camera (the blog is always hungry), and took a short video of Odie barking at me. No one at home so went down the street and saw Marty on her throne, but I didn't stop. I parked next to the old house and glimpsed Lisa painting the house. We had a nice visit and I was very glad I had the time to stop by. I didn't miss the days of a paintbrush and moving the ladder around that big old 2-story Victorian.
Little did I know until a day later all the things going on unseen at the Harrison's. Apparently there were people at home but they didn't recognize me. They, or she, made a frantic call to Daddy and he called the police. They, or she, besides not knowing me didn't like the fact that I was taking pictures. Evidently I left before the cops arrived. Nice neighbors. They are just like their dog.
Just kidding of course. The Harrison's are the absolute model of great people and great family. Logan, Rayanne, and Ian are very very lucky kids.

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Flashback Friday

Class, Or Lack Thereof The Dwight Vice gravestone in Oquawka, Illinois. I bring this old chestnut out every so often just to remind me that class is classless. Dwight Vice was killed in his home near Oquawka in 2001. It was one of those things that can generate crime: two guys thought Dwight had a lot of money stashed at home because of his pot-selling sideline to supplement his fishing job. Not really one of those big drug deals gone-bad things. Marijuana was, according to the trial, about the only stuff Dwight sold. But these two guys barge into the house and killed Dwight and attempted to kill his 11 year old kid, Darryl, before they took off with what money they could find. His son, now 23, was stabbed in the back and left for dead. He survived and is wheelchair bound and has undergone several surgeries to repair his wounds. He will be paralyzed for life. None of this is pleasant. Reading the facts of the murder and attempted murder are most unpleasant

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Existing In BFE

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