Motel Life Continues

As I mentioned earlier, when we arrived here at our Motel away from Home we noticed (yet weren't surprised) to find a police presence in the parking lot. An unfortunate sign of our times seems to be that that wonderful safe haven for travelers, once known as Motels, has since then turned into hovels for those on the dole.

And what a shame because motels once gave me a feeling of nostalgia. I used to associate them with visions of families traveling in their huge gas guzzling cars complete with home-made ham salad sandwiches, a bunch of cranky kids, and a tired mom.

Not so much anymore.

After putting up with the screaming antics of one of the regulars here, and being awakened at midnight by slamming doors and yelling on the floor above us, I was horrified to hear on the local news that the body found in one of the rooms here the day we arrived was the result of a homicide. And I sucked in my breath when the news station zoomed in on the finger print dust smeared door, and I saw the room number. It was one off from ours. It took a bit of deduction before I finally figured out that the room in question was directly behind us. We front the courtyard and that room borders the parking lot. Anyway, the news continued to say that the young lady (24 years old) put up quite a fight and the family is distraught. She'd apparently been there with a boyfriend who has yet to be questioned and we've heard nothing further on the matter.

I guess this explains why we found the business card of a homicide detective in our door. I have to wonder if they even bothered to find out who checked out of our room right before we checked in.

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So on a lighter note.

Sitting in a motel room all day long is claustrophobic and just plain weird.

Wilbur strikes a Pit Bull Frog pose in front of the TV while we watch Turner and Hootch (I kid you not!).

I couldn't take sitting around any more and finally said, "ENOUGH!" and took Junior to Doggy Day Care for a half day while I did some running around and then we were off to the Dog Park to kill time before picking up Hans from work.

The end result of six hours of play time.

Ditto for today which also included an especially intense 15 minute tug of war with another dog.

That's a brand new Hedge Hog lying beside the little man.

He has not performed a squeakerectomy on it.

He must be tired.

Tomorrow we finally get to move back onto our Knotty Cat with her newly painted and very pretty bottom.

Honestly, I can't wait!!

 

From Live-aboard to Motel Dweller

Oh My God!!!! I want to go home!

I mentioned in a previous post that while the Knotty Cat is on the hard in order to get her bottom cleaned and painted; Hans, Wilbur, and I get to luxuriate (read sarcasm) at a motel.

And I gotta say, I don't know how people do it.

The fun started around midnight last night when I was awakened by slamming doors and yelling people. Why, oh why, do people wait until the dead of night to start fighting? Luckily this was a very short lived event and then everything was quiet.

Then while I was at the dog park this afternoon I found out that a body had been found at our particular motel the day before. I guess this explains why the police were here all day and a homicide detective left a calling card in our door.

So tonight while eating our dinner of pizza (I love pizza but I'm already longing for a home cooked meal) the yelling and door slamming started again. This time it was right across the court yard from us and as I peeked through our curtain (I'm destined to be Gladys Kravitz wherever I live) I recognized a man I'd seen earlier on my way to the ice machine and even then I could just feel the anger coming off of him. He was now storming up and down the walkway and screaming into his phone. Hans made me get back from the window and we could hear many doors slamming, and more than one voice yelling. I looked out again and Angry Man (skinny and wearing no shirt) was still pacing and I could see the glowing screen of his cell phone clutched in his hand. When he started shouting again to someone about his having three thousand dollars in the bank by Friday so leave him the 'F' alone we called the front desk. We were informed that Angry Man had just been told to shut up right now or he was going to get kicked out.

Things finally quieted down.

I have to wonder why anyone would feel the need to leave the privacy of their room in order to have a loudly nasty conversation on their cell phone.

What's sad is the fact that this really is a nice motel. It's clean, well maintained, and the staff is very friendly.

I have my own opinion about why this kind of crap happens these days but I don't intend to turn this post into a political debate so I'll stop right now.

Wilbur wants to go home too!

Ground Hog Day, or perhaps, Oh Crap, Not Again!!

Last summer when we moved (and thus drove 2 vehicles for 2 days) from Pittsburgh to Florida, we ended up staying at a motel that I referred to as The Roach Motel, a term that we used for our more sensitive friends and family. For our really good and more understanding friends, we simply called it the Crackhead Motel.

I fear we may now be staying at either one's close cousin.

This morning after loading up the vehicle with our luggage, groceries, and Wilbur, we made the short jaunt to our new digs for the next four days while our Knotty Cat gets her bottom cleaned. Since Wilbur didn't recognize our new route (and probably thought there wouldn't be a break for a few more hours), he settled down and went right to sleep. And let me tell you that's the extreme opposite of what I have to put up with when we make our usual four mile ride to the dog park, a route the little stinker now knows all too well. And even though the park is only a few minutes away, it means I have to endure the entire trip with a screaming, snorting Pit Bull who fully anticipates playing with his group of extensive friends.

Whether they like it or not.

Wilbur snoozes with our orange juice and his all time favorite, a can of whipped creme (all our other perishables were shoved into the refrigerator at Hans' workplace).

Poor, poor Wilbur. I swear it's pure Pit Bull abuse. Imagine being shut up in a motel room with only a king size bed and a TV for entertainment (along with a full food and water dish).

This is the polite picture.

 

Even with a king size bed, it portrays how very needy Wilbur truly is.

 

The not so polite picture I absolutely refuse to ever have published is the one (thanks to many of the hot flashes I'll endure tonight) where I have both my legs outside the covers and straddled on either side of Wilbur. It gives the impression that I'm giving birth to a dog while blogging.

 

But anyway, I'd no sooner dropped Hans off at work this morning and pulled up to our new and temporary home, I noticed those pesky police cruisers once again parked along the perimiter of our building.

Hmmmm.




And I'm not sure why, but I really didn't feel any safer to find upon arriving back at our temporary home after taking Wilbur to the park and picking up Hans, to find that a homicide detective had stuck a business card in the key slot of our door.

 

Not quite the same thing as someone promising quick pizza delivery.

 

Life continues

After Hans' accident, we're enjoying our rather mundane existence here on the boat. Especially since I could easily be planning his funeral.

Random images pop into my head now and again from our evening in the emergency room. Like when I first spotted Hans on his gurney. He was facing backward and all I could see was his bald head, but I knew it was him and I was so relieved to see him sitting upright. How at one point I noticed that his eyes were red-rimmed and he looked so puzzled and vulnerable which is just not like him. And he would say again and again, "All I saw was a flash of red." "I never saw it coming." And like I said, he'd repeat this over and over. His bruises have grown even bigger and have changed from a lovely shade of magenta to an ugly yellow and in some areas, nearly black.

Last night I finally let Hans take the wheel of our remaining vehicle for a one mile drive to our marina and it nearly did him in. He was shocked at how much it took out of him and how his chest (which is now a hideous mustard yellow) protested from the exertion.

Since Hans only took one day off from work (I would have needed a month) due to this whole fiasco I made sure he did nothing today. And for the first time since we moved here, we never set foot ashore once. I don't think a sloth could grow moss faster than us and so far we've eaten our way through fried eggs, corned beef hash, home made fudge brownies with walnuts, chicken wings, and oven baked macaroni and cheese (I love our propane stove).

Wilbur also jumped on the band wagon and has only ventured into the cockpit a couple of times to take a pee, even though he knows I'm waiting for him to get rid of the entire loaf of banana bread he inhaled when he was left alone while I drove Hans to work. Wilbur (whom I found cowering in our berth) claimed it was a sacrifice on his part as he's very concerned about what that wonderful propane stove is doing to his mama's hips.

"Who, me?"

Our entertainment this weekend has consisted of too many political shows, football, and listening to each others arteries harden.

We're continuing to find out bits and pieces of information about what led to the accident Hans was in that caused so many injuries and damages, and it's very disturbing.
We now know the police were not chasing an armed robber. They were chasing a purse snatcher. And it's not like he was some sort of serial purse snatcher who spent his days running about willy nilly and knocking little old ladies to the pavement thus shattering little old lady hips.
No.
What this dude did was steal money out of the purses of family, and family friends. Of course these victims then ran shrieking to the police about the heinous crimes committed upon them and then stated that 'Junior' swore he'd never be 'taken' and would only go out with a fight. This so reminded me of stories my dad used to tell at the dinner table. Years ago Dad worked with a woman who would complain about how some dirty SOB stole her TV set and it would turn out that the SOB was her father. She would eventually get the TV set back only to have some other SOB steal it (usually a brother or a nephew). These people spent their lives stealing from each other and calling the police more often than we call for take-out pizza.

So this piece of crap is what four policemen felt the need to chase at high speeds through a semi residential area during rush hour. And I have to wonder what went through their minds when they heard the explosion of metal on metal and witnessed pieces of vehicles fly through the air as a direct result of their chase of this desperate criminal.

We've since read in the paper that if the police recognize a perpetrator by name and knows that finding said perpetrator will only be a matter of time a chase is not necessarily warranted. But purse snatching, even if the perpetrator is unarmed is worthy of a chase.

Dear God I'll never jay walk again. I would imagine that's a crime punishable by death.

But only if there's a police car nearby.

Can you tell I'm pissed?

I still think someone has some 'splaining to do!

Especially this dude.

It's always something!

A few years ago a seat belt warning light came on in Hans' car and even though it would cost a chunk of change to fix, Hans had it taken care of anyway.

Actually the mechanic told Hans that he was fixing it whether Hans liked it or not.

Monday night that seat belt repair was put to the test when our car and 270 pounds of force (Hans) came up against an airborn car traveling at approximately 60 MPH. I'm relieved to report that the seat belt and Hans survived, as did the handful of other people in vehicles who were hit by the car that was speeding down the wrong side of the road while being chased by at least four police cruisers.

However, our vehicle and the passenger of the speeding car did not.

All Hans remembers is driving through a semi residential neighborhood on his way home from work when out of nowhere he saw a flash of red and a fraction of a second later he was sitting stock still, air bags deployed, looking down at his legs and thinking, "I guess I'm alive." When he couldn't open his driver's side door he crawled out the passenger side. The flash of red he'd seen was a car and its remains were now resting on the front of our car where it eventually came to rest. Lying in the street a few feet behind Hans' vehicle was a man covered in blood and apparently the driver of the red car. We later found out (via the newspaper) that the passenger was dead and pinned between the red vehicle and Hans'.

This is what we've been able to piece together:

The passenger in the red car was apparently wanted by the police. They saw him sitting in the passenger side of the red car and gave chase.

Four police cars and a fleeing suspect speeding through rush hour traffic in a 35 MPH zone? Let's face it there was only going to be one resolution to this, the only question being, how many cars and/or pedestrians would become victims.

The red car was traveling in the wrong direction in Hans' passing lane when he hit a pick up truck directly in front of Hans (Hans never even saw this it happened so fast). This spun the red car sideways and partially ejected the passenger who then slammed into an SUV. The car continued to spin and was airborn when it landed smack in front of Hans car where Hans T-Boned it and apparently crushed the passenger. A car behind Hans was able to jump the curb and keep from rear ending him. Luckily no one was on the sidewalk. Just down the street however a little girl had been riding her scooter on the sidewalk and her father who was watching her said it sounded like a damn bomb had exploded.

The police were driving so fast they went right past the wreck and had to turn around.

This happened around 5:20 PM, I got to the hospital around 6 PM, and I was allowed to sit with Hans in his little emergency room cubicle. These cubicles consist of curtained partitions thus allowing for absolutely no privacy. I am a very queasy person and for the next few hours I was entertained by the sound of gallons of phlegm being sucked out of a poor mans lungs in the cubicle about a foot away from me. On the other side of us a man started demanding drugs before they even finished wheeling him in, during the insertion of his catheter, and before and after he puked. Hans got to leave for X-Rays and then later a CAT scan while I stayed behind and tried desperately not to throw up too.

I'm not being cruel, I just know I could never work in a hospital.

Except for the nasty bruising that was already showing up from his seat belt, Hans was deemed healthy enough to go home and so we left the hospital sometime after 10 PM. Echoing down the halls behind us as we departed I could hear the escalated cries of our neighbor as he called out, "Dear God would you just give me my drugs!"

Hans took yesterday off and needless to say he's moving around pretty carefully. His left elbow and right knee are very sore and his bruises have expanded and are now a lovely shade of magenta. He's also started in on the fun task of dealing with insurance companies etc... At one point one of the insurance people asked Hans if the offending vehicle had insurance or not and Hans told her he was really sorry but they hadn't exchanged niceties and she'd have to ask the police that question.

Which reminds me. While Hans was getting X-Rayed a woman came in and told me Hans had a $200.00 deductible and how would he like to handle it. I started to say I wasn't sure and then all of a sudden something came over me. I told her Hans was damned lucky to be alive, we no longer have a car, this accident should never have happened, and while I know they deserve payment, as far as I was concerned we weren't giving them a penny, someone else could just cough it up. I then told her my ears were on fire I was so mad. She really was a sweet person though and asked if we were part of that awful accident. She then asked me if I had a police report number yet (we didn't) and she said to make sure we got one from the police before we left. We did.

So today I took Hans to work and we drove past the accident site. It's just feet from the intersection where Hans was going to turn to come home and I can't believe those cars were able to build up such high speeds. They had to have flown through the intersection and we wonder if they actually had a green light!

The blue car is (was) ours and the body of the driver was a few feet behind it. As far as I know he's still alive.

I'm not sure where the red car's engine ended up, and supposedly the body of the suspect is between the cars.

There have already been a lot of questions raised about the necessity for this chase.

While we were at the hospital we were led to believe that it was the result of an armed robbery in progress. And boy oh boy, if the driver lives he's in a lot of trouble including homicide, we were told. We then heard that the police happened to drive by the red car and recognized the passenger as a wanted suspect. In that case was a high speed chase really necessary? They couldn't have radioed that the suspect was spotted at such and such street and was northbound? If four policemen were so close by (and there was at least one unmarked car in the chase), they couldn't have taken turns and drove a few cars behind (this was a very bright red car) until they were in a safer, less congested area? And I have a feeling they would have found him again at some point anyway as he continued living here during his purse snatching, ripping off pawn shops, life. And so far no one seems to know where and when this robbery occurred.

Other's have said that we have to expect some collateral damage when the law tries to keep us safe from criminals.

That's well and good until you or your family become the collateral damage.

Last weekend we finally used our boat in the way it was intended to be used.
We went sailing.
The weather was perfect with a bit of wind and we managed to spend a few pleasant hours putting around in the bay. I'm also thrilled that we exited and entered our slip without any problems.


Along for the ride was Annie.
Is she sweet or what?!
A very dear friend of Hans' from his 'paying his way through college book selling days' passed away last summer and his friend's wife (who also sold books door to door) lives down here and was able to go out with us. Yvonne brought their daughter Tessa and the lovely Annie with her. Wilbur was fascinated with Annie and was actually on his best behavior. One time Wilbur approached Annie while she was taking a sun bath and all she did was lift a warning lip (with nary a sound) and Wilbur immediately scooted over to the other side of the cockpit and left her alone.
We all had to laugh at the end of the evening though when Annie fled the parking lot in a very dramatic manner and ran back to the boat where her long lost love Wilbur was anxiously awaiting her return.


Check out my solar powered clothes dryer. I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised that after hanging our laundry out like we live in a tenement, we'd receive a visit from the police that very night.
We were fast asleep and still can't quite remember what woke us up but we immediately knew it was the police. I pushed and shoved my way past Hans (not an easy task in a very narrow area let me tell you!), who was struggling to make himself decent, and advised our visitors that I was letting our dog into the cockpit first. They stayed on the dock and shortly thereafter Wilbur (who'd gone from barking like a madman to wiggling with glee like a madman) and I (in my blue flannel nighty sporting cute little penguins) were ensconced in the cockpit while Hans (who never did get decent) stayed inside and talked to all of us via the cockpit door.
It would appear that a 911 call was placed from our slip and we swore it hadn't come from us.
No, we didn't roll over on our phone while we were sleeping.
No, Wilbur doesn't have opposable thumbs.
No, we were absolutely certain we did not call 911 and I invited them two times to come aboard and check things out, and both times they refused.
After asking for our phone numbers (which they immediately dismissed with a waving of hands) they said the only thing that came over the line had been static.
After they left (and I have a feeling they didn't believe us) Hans asked me what time it was assuming it was something like 3 AM. It was 11:20 PM. Talk about feeling like a couple of old farts.
The next morning I felt obliged to tell the owner of the marina what had gone on and instead of feeling like we might get kicked out I was very happy to find out that this was nothing new. It would appear that one of the boats in the marina used to have a land line on his boat (how bizarre is that?) and it just happened to be in our slip. Somehow or other the line used to short out and send emergency calls to 911. That particular boat is now several slips down and uninhabited but it's obvious that the problem has yet to be solved.
The phone company and the police were notified.
Yesterday, Wilbur was the only disappointed body when I happily hung out our wash and didn't receive a visit from our boys in blue.


Life with Wilbur on the Knotty Cat. He's a cuddle-butt!

Who needs the stinkin' police when you have pit bull to guard the beer cooler?

When it rains it pours.

Literally and figuratively.

Last night we anchored through our first thunderstorm. We were in the cockpit when the lightning started and Hans was counting the seconds between flashes of light and thunderclaps.


"It's two miles away." He announced with confidence and within seconds the storm was on us.

I scrambled to close the hatches and Hans started up the engines which was a very smart idea because if our anchor hadn't held we'd have smashed into the wall behind us. A 40 knot gust of wind hit us and our brand new grill cover went whipping away (just a sick reminder of losing our sun pad on the first day out!).

We stood in the cockpit under the bimini while again and again we were slammed with wind and rain, and the sky was alive with lightning. Wilbur stayed right with us and was a very good boy. Chlorox hid in her litter box.

Then with one final ear shattering boom of thunder directly over our heads that literally shook my fillings, it was over.

That's when Hans decided to take the dinghy out in order to retrieve our grill cover that we could see bobbing happily along some docks (probably trying to find a better home, like one without a dog and cat!) a few hundred feet away.

After picking it up out of the water with a boat hook and emptying it of what he said felt like a ton of water, he was back. I had been feeling guilty about it blowing away because I was the one who'd cinched it over the grill. Then I saw that the plastic slider that holds it in place was twisted and actually ripped apart.

That's how strong the wind was!


Wow, we thought! We survived a big blow, and to celebrate we sat back for a well deserved beer (Hans) and bourbon (me).

Then the police showed up.

Hans and I were puzzled but Wilbur, with tail wagging glee, was very happy to see Mr. Policeman and wanted to give him a big smooch.

Mr. Policeman informed us that Mr. Landowner in one of the houses on shore said he watched Hans dumping garbage into the river from our dinghy! We explained ourselves and after Mr. Policeman informed Mr. Landowner of what Hans had really been up to we were exonerated.

As we sat in the cockpit and discussed the accusation I suddenly realized that in order to see Hans all the way across the creek picking up our grill cover, Mr. Landowner must have been using binoculars and I was appalled!


"What kind of sick person does that?" I exclaimed and fed Wilbur some more bourbon soaked ice cubes (they soothe his itching).

The more we thought about it the angrier we got. "Honestly, sailing people are some of the most upstanding people in the world! The best! Probably even better than the best!"

And then one of our Knotty Cat's seedier relatives sailed into our anchorage.

Our boat is one of 40 built by Bob Johnson back in the 90's. It's the only catamaran he ever designed, and has a very distinctive look to it. This is the first time we've encountered a 'sister boat' and wouldn't you know it had to be last night.

"Hey!" The captain hailed us. "You have a cool boat!"

We agreed.

"We have a cool boat!" He shouted.

We agreed.

"Wanna party?" He called out and headed our way with what I'm sure were intentions of rafting up, and that's when I realized he was drunk.

I hoped Mr. Tattletail Landowner wasn't watching with his binoculars, and prayed that the air conditioning was going full blast in his house and he couldn't hear us.

"You don't want to anchor here." I called out. I then gave him some vague police story, and that this wasn't really an anchorage, and then I lied and said we'd need to leave in the morning.

"You have a cool boat!" he yelled again. "A really fucking cool boat!" And a girl on the bow called Mr. Landowner an asshole.

They finally motored away and I'd love to know how one anchors a boat in the dark while totally trashed.


And while Mr. Landowner might think Hans and I are The Beverly Hillbillies with our towels etc... hanging from our lifelines with clothespins, he ought to thank his lucky stars that the Deliverance Crowd decided to darken someone else's shore!