It is rude to chase people...

If any of you know me, you know that I accidentally chased someone last year, but I didn't mean to, so that wasn't rude. (just to clarify before I start this episode of Characters):

After trying to make my body move enough to pass it off as dancing at a show my friend Tricia and I went to (a real person, not just me spelling my name differently to try to pretend I wasn't alone), two exhausted patrons of the arts headed home. Even tired, Tricia and I talk a lot. So we were describing the evening with a dramatic point here and an arm flail there.

"If Carrot Top and Bryan Adams were to have a child, the bass player would be it," I decided.

"Yes, but with a hint of suspicion as to whether or not Bob Dylan was really the father," added Tricia.

As we laugh away at this possibility, we pass by a man wearing more layers than necessary on an early Fall evening and holding torn plastic bags of varying shapes and sizes, not giving much indication of what they contained. I was driving, so of course I was scanning for hazards and checking my mirrors constantly and noticed the man (plus, a couple had just stumbled onto the road near my car, so I was extra alert). Continuing on with the conversation, I glance in my rearview mirror to see what the man was up to.

That is where I see it.

The man's plastic bags sit on the sidewalk as their owner starts running after the couple, across the street. I can only make out the figures as the little dark shapes weave throughout the street.

"That man is chasing those people!" I announce to Tricia. "We should turn around."

As I make an illegal u-turn and go back, I start wondering what I am going to do if I find the man still chasing the couple.

Throw open my door as the car is still moving and yell, "Hop in!"

Park my car, lock my doors, and call the cops.

Jump out and chase the man...see how he likes them apples (Apparently I am scary enough to run away from).

When I was u-turning, I had to wait for a city bus to bumble on by so by the time we got back to the scene, the man had re-claimed his bags and the couple appeared to have been rescued by the bus.

Honestly, though. Chasing people? How rude.

*The conversations between Tricia and I weren't remembered exactly, but the gist is accurate.

Found: One Escaped Retiree

Apparently I have a knack for finding people who have escaped. From prison. From an institute. From a nursing home. Ok, fine. Only really ones from nursing homes.

Most recently, I was heading out for a nice dinner with my sister and grandmother, when we had to wait for an elderly man to cross the sidewalk behind our vehicle (my sister was driving, of course). We wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, he stops and waves us to go first.

As we back out, he begins to step towards the vehicle, gesturing for us to roll down the window.

Now this is usually the point where I would lock my doors (I'm a door locker) and crack my window just enough to hear him, but not enough where he could reach his hand in and strangle me (did I mention that I have Cindy as my mother?). I do neither of these things because the man seems harmless and the effort it took for him to even make the "roll down your window" gesture convinces me that I could fight him if I needed to.

We roll down our windows to hear him ask politely, "Would you give me a ride home?"

He continues with, "I thought I could walk the whole way, but my legs are so tired and I don't think I will make it."

We couldn't just leave him there!

I open the door beside me and he climbs in. As he does this, my grandmother pipes up with his name. Oh, small towns.

"I haven't seen you in ages, " declares my grandma. "I thought you had moved away or something."

"Nope, I still live in the same place," replies Joe.

Grandma starts to give my sister directions to his house - just a few blocks away.

"Were you in the hospital or something?" inquires my grandma, pointing to the medical-style bracelet on the man's wrist.

He quickly places his other hand over the band and replies, "No, no, this was from a while ago. I just haven't taken it off." (because that isn't at all suspicious)

I got a good look before he covered it.

We get him to his house and wait in the car to make sure that he gets into the house alright. As we are watching him shuffle around to each door, trying not to let us see that he is locked-out, I mention that his wrist band said the name of a local nursing home.

"OH!" gasps my grandmother (she does a great horrified gasp).

I hop out of the car and over to the man, asking him if he lives at the nursing home. He becomes irate with me, but admits that he doesn't have a key.

To make a long story shorter: A neighbour sees us and comes over, surprised to see him, mentioning that he sees the Joe's children when they come to mow his lawn and check-up on the house. He gives me a knowing smile and sits with the elderly man to catch-up. I ask if everything is ok and if we can leave. The man assures me that he will be fine.

Back en-route to dinner, we decide to stop in at the nursing home to make sure that they know what is going on. After a few "Oh, we were looking everywhere for him!"s and a couple of "We never would have found him!"s we were on our way - with a little less faith in the staff at that facility.

I think they need to change the code to get out from the default 1111.

At least he wasn't as angry with us as the man Liz and I found at midnight in Calgary one time.

Another story for another day.

...because weird stuff happens

Here I am. Back at it. I realized that I missed the blogging lifestyle: sitting in my pajamas with a hot cup of tea, deciding on how to best tell a story with the right amount of excitement mixed with a sensitivity to my mother's worrying tendencies.

For those who have spent any amount of time with me, you will know that I have the special gift of "extraordinary" - don't mistake this for me implying that I am extraordinary, but rather that I tend to attract the off center, the odd, the perplexing, the (well, let's just say it) crazy.

I couldn't possibly pick up where I left off two years ago, so I am going to need to start fresh - beginning with a little ditty that I like to call I've Just Seen A Face (not to be confused with a semi-popular tune by a relatively unknown British band)


My home, as of right now, is located mere steps away from a quaint path which ducks in and out of weeping willows and stony brooks. It really is lovely. My friend Rebecca and her husband David recently moved on the other side of this path and with the move came the promise that we would go for evening strolls together (ask my sister...apparently I don't go for "walks" I go for "strolls"). Last Thursday marked the first day we kept our word.

Part of the rules are that we meet half way between our houses - on a tiny bridge over the brook. I know, so romantic. But we are in different time periods, so we have to leave letters in a little mailbox to communicate with each other....wait, that could be wrong. Keanu, how did you get in here?

Ok, back on track.

I see Rebecca wandering towards the bridge and after getting a tour of her new house, we begin down the path.

The walk (I am calling it that because I feel we were going at a reasonably quick pace) was delightful, with our conversation never lagging (unlike our pace as we came up the hill - fine, I'm a slow walker). We were on the home stretch - out of the path and onto the sidewalk - when a woman walks past us. I don't remember seeing her come towards us, but then again, we were barely watching where we were going. I'm surprised we didn't ram right into her. She had on an interesting shirt with an unsusal design, but overall, very average looking. Not missing a beat, we kept walking.

Not more than 15 meters away, the woman passes us again - from the same direction.

This time she gives us a little grin that almost says, "You know you've seen me before."

Now at this point, I am telling a story that I must have been into because I barely noticed her until she passes us and Rebecca shoots me a worried look.

"Umm Trish, isn't that the same woman who JUST walked past us?" Rebecca whispers.

Now that she mentions it, yes, that is the same woman. Same kind of disheveled hair. Same interesting, but not trendy, shirt.

We both whip our heads around, expecting to see her back just steps away from us.

She is gone.

We scream.

We scan the area, trying to figure out where she went, but apart from a few cars parked beside us on the road, there was no where for her to go. I bend down, hoping to see feet as I peer underneath the cars, but no such luck (not that some crazy lady hiding behind a car wouldn't have been a little creepy).

Rebecca and I quicken our pace, desperately trying to think of explainations. Did she run around the block? No, there was no way. Does she have a twin? But how did she disappear then?

I realize that it is terribly cliche to have a eerie encounter conclude with a disappearance, but I am telling it as it was. Who was this ghostly woman passing us on the street in clear light? (my friend Chelsea describes my favourite part of day this way. Clear light is the time of day where you can see everything but the sun is no longer in the sky. It is like walking into a bright room but you can't find the source so there are no shadows).

To take our minds off of it, we watched a little So You Think You Can Dance....always soothing.

The next day, I kept expecting to see this woman. I have a lot of time alone at work, cleaning rooms and thought about the situation, deciding that if I saw this woman again, I would confront her.

If she crosses my path again, I will let you know.