DON'T GO DOWN IN THE CELLAR...

Grandma always said, “Don’t go down in the cellar because…” and just let the sentence trickle away.   She would never finish that sentence. No matter how much my brother and I tried coaxing her, Grandma remained mute as to why we shouldn't/couldn’t go down in the basement.  

Our feeble attempts at blandishments, compliments and bribes were met with a vague smile, as her lazy eye twirled to the outer limits.  We would try and guess why we couldn’t go down in the basement; everything from something stolen, usually from an important archeological dig in some far off land or a mummified body of an old-time gangster buried in a shadowy corner.  The countless, small rooms formed a rabbit-warren-like maze, perfect for hiding all sorts of dark and mysterious secrets.

Every year, on our summer vacation to Grandma's remote hobby farm, built in the shadow of the Canadian Shield, our speculations grew wilder and  scarier.  The last summer when we were there, me, wise beyond my years at 10 and my baby brother, juvenile at 8,  tried again to pry the reason out of Grandma.  We were surprised and astounded when she said, “All right, all right already.  I’m tired of all your years trying to pry the answer out of me, I’ll tell you why you mustn’t go down in the cellar.”  We leaned forward in anticipation, two sets of bright blue googly eyes riveted on old Grams.  Grandma started talking, her wispy old voice barely audible, “You mustn’t go down in the cellar because…” All of a sudden, Grandma stopped speaking, gasped, sucked her breath in and didn't let it out again, then toppled out of her rocking chair, dead as a mackerel!

Image courtesy of by Witthaya Phonsawat/ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

                                                     

                                                        

TIME WARP

 

Funny how time flies when you’re on the computer.  Not funny ha, ha but funny weird, like you’re in another dimension or parallel universe where time is strangely warped.  Recently, I was on my way to bed around 10:15 p.m., when I remembered that I was recording something in my bedroom, which ended at 11:00 p.m.  Oh, poop, I won't be able to watch my VCR tape until recording is finished.  Yes, I know, VCRs are so passé but they’re paid for and I know how to program them.  I’m able to fall asleep on the sofa (one of my favourite things to do on The Killer Couch), wake up, take my VCR tape from the living room machine, pop it in the bedroom machine, go to bed and continue to watch the show I fell asleep watching – which I will then fall asleep watching again but, at least this time I’m in bed.

Shoot, I thought to myself, how will I be able to kill 45 minutes?   I’d already shut everything down in the living room and didn’t want to turn it all back on again, so I tidied up a bit, took some more stuff out to the blue box, which was already at the curb and then sat down at my computer, ostensibly to shut the thing down for the night.  Well, here it is, almost 10:55 and the 45 minutes are pretty much gone.  And it didn’t seem to take so long to pass by either.  Why is that, I ask myself? 

If I was sitting in the doctor’s waiting room or car dealership or standing in line at Service Ontario to get my license sticker renewed, the time would have dragged by like I was having a root canal.  Yet, sit down at the computer and start surfing or checking Facebook or writing and all of a sudden, it’s like 1:00 o’clock in the morning.  How does that happen?  Time Warp is how.  And there seems to be different kinds of Time Warps – one like the above (Computer Warp) and another type which happens when you're driving – Trip Time Warp. 

I experienced Trip Time Warp about a year or so ago when I was still living in The Town down under, and on my way to Montreal for a family Thanksgiving.  I decided to take the back roads via the North route and enjoy the spectacular fall foliage and set off bright and early, headed for Bancroft.  For those of you who don’t know where that is, it’s about 135 miles (220 km) northeast of where I used to live.  

According to Google maps, it takes about 3.5 hours to get there from The Town down under.  Curious about how long it would take to get to Bancroft from my new place here in South Park, SCA, I checked it out.  I thought that it would be much faster to get there from here, since I’m so much further north.  But, again according to Google maps, there’s only a 6 mile (13 km), 5 minute difference, which I don’t understand ‘cause I’m about 30 miles (49 km) more north than where I used to live.  And, again, according to Google maps, it should take 1 hour and 3 minutes to get here (South Park, SCA) from The Town down under.  So, now that I have confused this story with facts and gotten way off base, how come there’s so little a difference in miles and time to get to Bancroft from here?  Could this be another form of warp?

Anyhoo, as I continue making my way to just a little bit west of Montreal where my family lives, I stay on the back roads and enjoy the scenery.  It usually takes me about 12 hours to get to Montreal doing the rural routes but I find the drive so much more enjoyable.  I take my time and stop to stretch my legs and Sofie’s, and we have lots of walks in interesting places. 
  
One of my favourite places to stop at in Bancroft is The Princess Sodalite Mine Rock Shop.  It’s just a klick or two past Bancroft’s main drag and I find it fascinating.  You can actually go out back and mine for rocks.  Tailings are constantly transplanted there from the Princess Sodalite Mine, along with truckloads of materials from local mines, quarries, etc.  There’s a huge variety of rocks and minerals to hunt for and choose from. They supply collecting pails (bring your own rock hammer, if you wish) and charge so much per pound for your treasures.  If you decide to visit, remember to wear totally closed-in shoes!  That’s the only way you’ll be  allowed in the ‘mine’.

As the day starts to wane, I’m getting tired and just a little bit bored with the drive.  I start checking the clock more frequently but the time doesn’t seem to advance much.  I punch a more direct route into the GPS, including highway as an option, so my drive now takes me through highway hell, aka Ottawa, at rush hour.  I call my sister around 5:00 o’clock to let her know that I’m still alive and mostly on track and that according to the Garmin guru, I should be there around 6:30ish.  Well, for the next 50 miles (80 km) or so, it seems like the clock has gotten stuck at the 5:00ish point and I don’t seem to be getting much closer to the tiny town where my sister lives.  I pull over to the side of the road and telephone her again to let her know that calling out the National Guard is not necessary and hopefully, I’ll be there soon.  It feels like I’m stuck in a time warp.  I try to explain this feeling to my sister and she seems to understand.

I finally make it to my destination and get out of the car, stretching and bending to loosen up, ever so happy to be there and not in a moving car.  Sofie would be happier if we were home but is okay as long as she’s with me.

So now back to the present, it’s the witching hour, 12:00 o’clock midnight, and here I still sit, at the computer.  What happened to 10:55?

  

(Riff Raff) It's astounding
Time is fleeting
Madness takes it's toll...

(Magenta) Ahh...

(Riff Raff) But listen closely...

(Magenta) Not for very much longer...

(Riff Raff) I've got to keep control.
I remember doing the Time Warp.
Drinking those moments when
The blackness would hit me.

(Riff Raff & Magenta) And the void would be calling.

(Guests) Let's do the Time Warp again.
Let's do the Time Warp again.

Songwriters: O'BRIEN, RICHARD

Credit for the ‘Lips’ image and Time Warp song goes to one of my most favourite movies of all time, The Rocky Horror Picture Show.