Quite frequently I find myself doing something that is far removed from what I started out wanting to do.  A learned psychologist would view it as someone being easily distracted.  And, if I think about it long enough, I can see where that psychologist might have a wee bit of concern whether I’d be able to perform properly in certain jobs where being easily distracted would be a danger to others.  Straight off the top she’d cross out Bomb Disposal Technician and right after that she’d nix Human Heart Transplant Specialist and from there I imagine the list will get trimmed all the way down to Pancake Flipper.  That’s psychologists for you; they look on distraction as being an extremely serious and raucous behavioral trait.

I think it’s rather entertaining.

My old friends don’t share that same view.  They look on my easy distraction as being “considerably scary” but I never let that bother me in the least – I just went out and made me some new friends.

Anyway, there are more serious afflictions out there a guy can have; Leprosy oughta be right near the top.  I mean, think about it, wouldn’t you rather be standing amongst a trio of easily distracted axe jugglers than riding in a Toyota pickup with three Lepers going to a Wendy’s?  Of course you would!  So, there you have it; first is Leprosy, then there’s distraction and right behind that is procrastination then deliberation and finally wonderment.  But, barring the possibility of becoming a Leper, I can tell you with no hesitation whatsoever that the bite of distraction smarts.  

A good example of this was the day Her Nagness announced that she was going to die in withering pain unless she saw, before the day was out mind you, some chickens wandering around our property.  I gazed upon her with wonderment then advanced procrastination to front and center but distraction ultimately won over.  Fifteen minutes later she came into our bedroom and caught me tidying up some of her things.

“What’re you doing in here?”  She emphasized with a pause between each word.  “Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to get my chickens!?!”  I felt I had somehow gotten myself into a pickle because each of those words got progressively louder.

“Well, I…uggghh…I thought maybe…”  I said looking at her with big, droopy, puppy-dog eyes, “…that maybe I oughta gather up some of your stuff.  Ya know, what with you fixin’ to die in wither…”   

During the drive back from picking up the chickens I wondered how she was able to move so quickly and overwhelm me.  Despite conjuring up most all of my ailments, resplendent with supplanted exotic explanations such as they were, she was now getting her chickens.  By this time, I didn’t really give a care one way or the other about the chickens - the only things I was concerned about was being able to see out of my right eye again and, since I was using it so often, to find some way to stop my nose from quivering whenever I breathed through it.

There have been other distractions along the way that have left me with profound questions on whether or not Leprosy would be a better choice over distraction.  One of them would be the day me and Bob found the weird house at the end of Murky Lake Road.

Murky Lake Road is the exception to other roads here in the Mission Valley in that the others are straight; they either go straight east and west or north and south and they’re divided into mile sections.  They are straight because they were laid out by intelligent men who employed the use of complicated surveying equipment.  Murky Lake Road on the other hand, has more twists and turns than a tub of guts and reminds me of all the county roads back in Virginia.

Speaking of which, do you know what complicated surveying equipment the Commonwealth of Virginia employs when they lay out their roads?

They use cows.

That’s right, they use cows.  See, here’s how they do it, the road-surveying man brings out a cow and he points it in the general direction he wants the road to go.  The cow begins doing exactly what cows do and ambles off.  The road-surveying man bends over and picks up an arm load of stakes and takes off following the cow.  At every spot where the cow turns direction or stops to pee or leaves a meadow muffin the road surveying man drives a stake in the ground.  Right behind the road-surveying man is the road-building man sitting on a bulldozer.  The road-building man drops the blade and follows the stakes.  This procession continues until the cow dies, which is where and when the road ends.  The road-building man covers the cow over with a pile of dirt then turns the bulldozer around.  Finally, the road-surveying man jumps on the bulldozer and all the way back the two of them talk about how great of a job they did.

The day we found the weird house was the same day we found the road.  I am not exaggerating when I say we found the road because it doesn’t exist on any map – it has no official name, it has no sign of any traffic and, other than the house, it has no real destination and the whole crazy thing started with a phone call.

Riiiinnnngggggg!

“Hello?”

“Hey, Bob, tomorrow’s your customary day off, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Well, it’s supposed to be a really nice day so I got to thinking we oughta take our metal detectors for a walk and check out some old homesteads.”

“You got a spot picked out, Joe?”

“Nah, not really.  I thought we’d just start out by taking a drive and see where we end up.”

“Ugghhh huh…have you forgotten what happened the last time we did that?”

My spirits were immediately quenched - he was referring to the time we started out going Christmas shopping but we ended up in this real neat old-timey bar where we shot pool and drank beer all day.

“Hey!  Now that wasn’t entirely my fault, I got distracted.”

“Yeah…well your distraction brought a great deal of excessive misery down upon me.  Do you realize my wife thinks you’re a hazard to society?”

“No, I didn’t.”  I said matter-of-factly while switching the TV to the Science Channel.  “What gives her that silly idea d’ya think?”

“Ohhh, I dunno…maybe it has something to do with…”

“Ohhh, wow Bob!  Quick!  Turn your TV to the Science Channel, there’s this neat show on abou…”

“Ohh, for Christ’s sake, Joe, will you FOCUS!  What time d’ya wanna leave?”

“I’ll pick you up at 8 bells.  Make sure you bring some extra batteries, your first aid kit and…and…”  I said while flipping to the Hitler channel, “Hey…didja know that Hitler was a combatant in WW I?  Ohhh, yeah…you’d best pack a lunch, we might be out there for a spell.”

“Seig Heil, Mein Fuhrer!  Any further orders?”

 “A’yup, it’s your turn to buy the beer.”

“Javol!  Mein Idiot Savant.  See ya at eight.”

The next morning I walked outside to greet a glorious and bright Saturday with no cloud cover whatsoever and jumped in the truck for the short drive over to Bob’s.  When I got there it was clearly evident he was itching to go because all his stuff was sitting outside the garage door in a neat and orderly pile.

His neatness and orderliness pisses me off - even his fishing tackle box is obscenely neat and orderly – he arranges the lures by colors and then by sizes for crying out loud!  Mine is a much better system…when you open my tackle box you’ll find all the lures are in one big ball and all the colors are the same…rust. 

“Mornin’ Bob, how are ya?”  I said climbing outta the truck, “D’ya got everything ready to go?”

“Yep, I just gotta put ice in the cooler, is all.  How ‘bout you?”

“I got everything except my metal detector.”  I said looking innocently up into the trees, “We’ll just swing over and pick that up on our way out.”

He looked at me like I had worms crawling out of my ears.  “If you don’t beat all – wasn’t that you who called last evening saying we’re going metal detecting?  Now here you are and you forgot your metal detector?”

I rolled my eyes dramatically, “Ohhh, like you have any room to talk Mr. Walk-half-way-across-the-field!”

Not long ago he and I went to a place and we were half-way across this 180-acre field and all of a sudden he stops and begins fiddling with the controls on his metal detector.  He looked back at me saying, “Heh, heh, I forgot to turn it on.”  A few minutes later he gets a signal and bends down to start digging it up.  So I watch with interest and the next thing I see is he leaves his detector lying on the ground and heads toward the truck.  It occurred to me he probably had to go potty or do something equally important but I had to ask.

“Hey, Bob, wha…ugghhh, where ya going?”

He barely turned his head, “Back to the truck…I forgot my digging tool.”

“Swell!  Why doncha bring a coupla beers with ya b’cuz by the time you get back it’ll be Noon, you bonehead!”

He waved in response.  “Is that nice?!”  I yelled after him.  “I’m just laughing at ya is all, you don’t have to go and get all vulgar like.”  He waved at me again and I shook my head and said to myself, “Some people just don’t like being laughed at, I reckon.”

For the next few hours we drove from spot-to-spot that had old buildings sitting in various stages of dilapidation but none of the ground they sat on offered up anything special enough to stick around for.  We were on the move once again and it was getting close to noon when all of a sudden I slammed on the brakes and pointed the truck into this enormous field and ultimately towards a growth of trees I spotted at the far end of it.  I turned so fast Bob was catapulted out of the seat and spilled onto the floor where he got wrapped around the gear shift lever.

“Git up, Bob,” I said trying to shift gears.  “You look mighty silly laying down there like that.  B’sides, you’re supposed to be up here helping me look for stuff.”

“I would be up here looking for stuff you idiot,” He said, scrambling back onto the seat, “I was down there,” He pointed with a very stiff finger, “Because your driving stinks!  I saw this field coming…” He thumbed over his shoulder, “…three miles back!” He took a sip of his beer then smacked his lips, “Where the Hell’r we going anyway?”

I pointed, “To them trees over yonder.  If I was building a house, I’d build it there instead of in the middle of a field, wouldn’t you?”

We’d gone about a mile when my stomach started to grumble, “I’m getting hungry, didja bring yer lunch?”

“You bet!”  He said, patting the tube-shaped container sitting between us, “It’s right here in my duffle bag.”

“Good, I hope you brought extra b’cuz I forgot mine.”

The look he had was revolting.  “Who was it that said…”  He screwed his face up then wobbled his head back and forth, “…I got everything except my metal detector?”  He said in a girl-like voice.

“Bob,” I said, exhaling heavily, “I did put a lunch together but I got to watching the Learning Chan…say, didja know that Jupiter is over a 1,000 times the volume of Ear…”

“Shut up!  Or, so help me…”  He bobbled the sandwich in front of me, “…you’ll starve out here for the rest of the stinking day.”

“I’ll bet you were a problem child in school, weren’t ya, Bob?”  I said, snatching the sandwich out of his hand.  What I am is a lateral thinker.  It’s wher…”

“No!  You wanna know what you are?  Do ya?  You’re scatterbrained!  It’s wher…”

“That’s quite unfair, Bob.”

“Huh, wwwhhhat…that I think you’re a scatterbrain?”

“No,” I said shifting gears, “That you didn’t give me a chance to answer any of them questions.”

He was still yelling out his window when we stopped in front of the tree line and we sat in the idling truck peering into the thickly wooded area.  There was nothing to indicate any buildings were there or had been there.  What I did see was a break in the tree line and shifted the truck into gear and drove to it.  As we drew closer I read Bob’s mind and mentioned how much it looked like an old, overgrown roadbed.

“Where do you reckon it goes to?”  We both said at the same time.

“I dunno,” Bob said, “But you can stop reading my mind any time now.  You’re starting to scare me.”

I glanced over and watched him take a long pull on his beer then listened as he belched out several musical notes.  “Nice one, Bob…whada’ya gonna do for an encore, whistle Zippity-Doo-Da outcher backside?”

“Maybe, but I don’t think I brought enough of these beef ‘n bean burritos to get more ‘n five or seven notes.”

We hadn’t gone more than fifty feet when the road started curving this way then that – there were curves on top of curves and I’m not so sure one of them didn’t go full circle.  We went around one and I could’ve sworn I saw myself coming around the curve behind me and the steering wheel was being turned so fast that it was heating up.

“Here,” I said with a squeaky voice, “Hold my beer until I get us outta this mess.”

“What kinda madman would lay a road out like this?”  Bob screamed incredulously.

“Ohhh, I know exactly what kind.”  I said, spinning the wheel furiously.  “In fact, I got five bucks in my pocket that says there’s gonna be a big pile of dirt at the end of it.”

We went like this for almost four miles until we saw it looming up in front of us and, just like that, the road ended.  And, right there, was a big pile of dirt.

The look on Bob’s face was priceless - his expression was exactly like that of a Capuchin monkey – it went from a combination of surprise and bewilderment to complex confusion then all of a sudden he started to grapple for the door handle.  I gathered he was having a might bit of trouble because he was still holding a beer can in each hand.  I sighed then latched onto his shoulder and forced him back into his seat.

“You just sit there a minute, alright?  Now, I know what you’re thinking, I’m not clairvoyant, Ok?  It’s just that, well, I used to drive on roads like these all the time when I lived in Virginia see?  So, I know how they are when I see one, that’s all.”

His hand was trembling as he handed my beer back but the can was all mangled up from his escape attempt.  “That’s alright,” I said, looking at the cans and his wet arms, “I’ll get me a fresh one.  Whada’ya say we get out and take a look around, huh?”

The custom on our metal detecting outings is to give each new place a name because it’s much easier to say a name than it is to describe where it is.  All too often we have as much fun naming the place as we do metal detecting on it because it takes several treks to it in order to name it.  For instance, our more productive sites have exquisite names like Dollar Holler, Dime Time, Penny Candyland and then there’s Mabel’s Mayhem.  This new place, however, was a cinch to name because the very second we got beyond the pile of dirt we found a pool of black, stagnant and bubbly water.

“Well, Bob,”  I said, swinging my arm in presentation, “On behalf of today’s festivities I hereby proclaim we name this place Murky Lake.”  It was only about eighteen-feet in diameter but Murky Pool didn’t sound very alluring or splashy.  I stared down into it and the only question I could think to ask was, “Do you reckon any dinosaurs are languishing around down there at the bottom of it?

I looked up just in time to catch a glint of sunlight off something in the distance and if I hadn’t of caught it; neither of us would ever have seen it.  “Hey, check it out,” I said pointing about seventy-five yards in the distance.  “Do you see it?” 

“Yeah, I do now.  Good eyes, Joe.”

“Thanks, I’m an excellent noticer.”  I said as we gathered up our stuff and made a beeline for it but with every closing step I was left feeling more agitated.  I certainly didn’t let on to Bob, but the whole place was giving me the creeps.  We had a hundred feet to go and this time Bob read my mind.

“Man, that roof sure looks weird, don’t it?”

Indeed, it melded into the surrounding trees so perfectly that it looked like the forest floor.  And, as we closed up the gap, there wasn’t a solitary thing to indicate anyone had been there for ages; no worn paths, no furniture, no garbage pits, no nothing.  It looked like whoever lived here woke up one morning pissed off.

“Maw!  Goldangit, I’m gonna die in withering pain if I stay in this house another hour.  Now, you git yerself and dem damn kids ‘o ours outside ‘n clean the place up.  I want it nice ‘n clean like, ya hear?”

“But Paw!  What’r we supposed to do with all ‘o it?”

“Judas Priest, woman!  Cain’t you do any thinkin’ fer yerself?  Everthang you picks up gits throwed in that pool over yonder!  Now git after it, meanstwhile, I’za gonna sits in here ‘n decides if’n I’m gonna set the place on far or not.”

Other than the house, the only outside thing we could see was an old clothesline.  A quick study revealed it had some strong wire because a good-sized tree branch had fallen across them causing both crossbars to pull away, leaving the posts to stand as silent sentinels of the task they once performed.

Looking back at the house I saw where it was completely devoid of any architectural graces, just two windows and a door and a crooked chimney poking out of the roof.  And, now that we were closer, I could easily see why it blended in so well; the wooden shingles were grey with age and there was sufficient moss growing on them to camouflage it perfectly.  I turned toward Murky Lake and decided the glint I caught probably reflected from one of the windows and not from someone’s freshly sharpened axe.  However, I had learned long ago that it’s always best to err on the side of caution.

“Bob,” I said, leaning my detector against a tree, “I think we oughta have a look-see out here before we go inside.  Ya know, to kinda make sure no one’s around, huh?”

“Why‘r you a little fraidy-scaredy cat?  You afraid after we get in there someone’s gonna come running up and lock us inside?”

“You damn tootin’ I am!”

“Good,” He said, with a sigh of relief. “So am I.  Can you believe this?” He said, waving his arm around, “This is like a hospital ward!  Hey, you remember the old Minesinger place we were at a year or so back, right?”

Bob was contrasting another old homestead we visited.  He caught word from a guy about the “old Minesinger place” who got it straight from a guy who just happened to be Minesinger’s great-grandson’s best friend’s mailman about how Minesinger buried silver dollars all around his property.  Well, I’m here to tell you…you just don’t get such detailed information from accurate sources like that every day!  I waved a quick goodbye to Her Nagness and we left skid marks in our driveway as me and Bob headed out on another adventure.  To get there required quite a drive through the woods but eventually we came to an old forestry gate, where we parked the truck and then walked for a third of a mile along this ancient trail.  Presently, the old, decrepit and abandoned house came into view as did many, many years of accumulated junk and household refuse – the whole place was a landfill.      

I came back to present reality…“Yeah, no kidding,” I said, looking around then pointed a finger, “You go that way and we’ll meet up back there somewhere.” I gestured, pointing further into the woods.    

I circled out thirty yards or so and didn’t find a thing or anyone and neither did Bob so after we met up we turned and walked straight toward the house.  This side had another two windows and a door but the window to the right of this door had a single shutter.

“Oooohhh, Bobbbbby,” I said, walking a little behind him, “D’ya have some thought as to why that window only has one shutter and all the others have none?  Hummmm?  Privy, ‘O traveling clown?”

“I have no Earthly idea Mr. Excellent Noticer, but I’ll be glad to entertain any explanations you may have as to how come it’s moving and there ain’t any breeze blowin’.”

I looked again and, sure enough, it was slowly moving back and forth like someone was using it as a fan.  By this time we were standing in front of the door and I was staring at the shutter.  “Well, that’s certainly something you don’t see every day.”  I said, reaching up to grab it, “Whadaya suppose is…”

I was interrupted by a dull, muted yet full-bodied sound that emanated from inside the house.  It sounded like a door slamming shut, or maybe a big, heavy book falling flat on the floor.  What I was sure of was the fact that if the door wasn’t there to act as a backboard then Bob’s beer can would’ve easily been tossed a good hundred feet.  As it was, it splashed back and showered me and I suddenly realized I was standing there with a perfectly viable excuse should I suddenly lose control of one of my bodily functions.

“Jimminy Cr-r-r-r-ickets,” Bob stuttered then stumbled backwards, “What the Hell was that, d’ya suppose?”

“I dunno, but what’re you waitin’ for?”  I said, shoving him back toward the door, “Jeeves, the Butler, ain’t gonna be a’comin’ to let us in.  Open the door already!”

He turned the knob and the door creaked open - it was the sort of creak you’d expect to hear from the lid of an ancient coffin being opened only it wasn’t that sort of creak, it was more like the creak you hear when you lift the lid off a wet Styrofoam cooler full of beer.

By now, I could plainly see Bob was feeling a wee bit uncomfortable; a fact I ascertained from the numerous dots of perspiration accumulating on his forehead, but mainly because his teeth were chattering like he had been freshly plucked out of an ice-filled lake.

“Bob!”  I yelled, shaking him firmly, “Get a grip, Man!  Make your move inside!  Ohh, and you can rely on me b’cuz I gotcher back, Buddy!”

I winced the second I said it because at that particular moment, the only weapons we had at our immediate disposal were our Leathermans - mine was the first generation Wave and Bob’s was the newest model and the only difference between the two was that his had a smaller pair of scissors and had a teeny, tiny set of screwdrivers.  So, now, in my mind, the chain of authority had been instantly established – since I possessed the biggest pair of scissors, I gave myself the authority to give the orders.

“Here, Bob, take this,” I said, stuffing my Leatherman into his sweaty palm, “Use it and use it well whilst you’re poking around in here.  I’m gonna run and grab our diggin’ tools and I’ll be right back.”

The look on his face was terrifying and his response was even more impressive.  “You ain’t going no where.” He said, instantly whipping out the scissors of my Leatherman and swished them menacingly in my direction, “You’re gonna stay right here with me.”

“Bob, do you realize you just used a double negative in that senten…”

“Shut up!  Or so help me God I’ll take these scissors and slay you where you stand!”

“Ohhh, alright, I was just kidding ya, ya big dope.”

We walked inside and found the place to be just like I suspected it would be; speckled with mouse droppings, a haze of dust everywhere and a smattering of minor household remains.  In the middle of the floor of the tiny adjacent room was a swirling cloud of dust and within it was a brick that apparently got dislodged from the nearby aging chimney.  A squirrel’s nest in the chimney suggested its hasty retreat and explained how the brick came to rest where it did.

I held out my hand, “Can I have my Leatherman back now, ya pansy?”

“Yeah, here ya go,” He said, handing them to me sheepishly, “I gotta be honest with ya, Joe.  You know that swinging shutter?  Well, when we were circling around the place I seen it hanging on the wall so I ran up there and swung it real hard then ran back to meet you where we did.”

“I know,” I said, grinning, “I watched ya when you did it and then when you weren’t looking I ran up and stopped it.  How’d you get back up there so fast and swing it again without me seeing you?”

“Huh?”

“You…ah…you didn’t ahhh…hummmm, ohhh, never mind, let’s go back to the truck and grab a beer.

On the way back Bob stopped at the big pile of dirt and kicked down to some of the lower layers.  I watched him but kept walking because I knew exactly what I was going to hear even before he said it.

“Hey Joe!  C’mere, take a look at this, do these look like cow bones to you?”