The Old Woman

                                                                         

                                                                                                                                                                

                                                                                                                                                                                       
                                                                                                                                                     

By Joe Glasgow

It was a bitter cold night, and I pulled the quilt up around my neck around my neck. The voices of my parents comforted me as I drifted off to sleep. The aroma of coffee wafted into my bedroom, and awakened me. I was comforted by the sound of their voices they spoke in hush tones about the winter storm.

A chill went down my spine despite being wrapped in my quilt, and pajamas equipped with feet covering. My eyes were closed, and temperature seemed to drop in the room I could feel the warmth of the quilt being tucked in around me. I was startled that I could hear the voices of my parents in the kitchen. I could see that my brothers sound asleep in their beds.

I gave a cautious glance over my left shoulder, and sitting in the bedroom chair was an old woman. She was dressed in what appeared to be early 20^th century clothing. She was just watching over us three boys as we slept. When I turned to call for my mother, she vanished.

We always referred to this home as the “farm house.”  It was a small place that we raised several head of cattle. It was built in the late 1800’s, and the feel of the mysterious enveloped the home.

After I told my youngest brother Gerry, we decided to go into the attic to see what we could find. We found a treasure trove of old late 19^th century shoes, and bits of clothing. It would be Gerry that was the first to notice a temperature drop one summer in the room just off the loft. It was unusually cool; the loft itself was getting stuffy in the under the midday sun.

In the early morning hours one fall morning, dad heard a knock on the door. He checked his alarm clock, and started swearing that his brother-in-law had stopped by nearly an hour earlier than usual for coffee. He slipped on a t-shirt, and pants. When he went to the door, there was nobody at the door. Puzzled, he thought he had just been dreaming, but when he turned around he saw the old woman ascending the staircase into the loft.

I only saw apparition twice, but I felt her often in my presence. In the summer, we would sleep in the loft. During a bad thunderstorm, I saw her looking over us in the flashes of lightning. I was comforted by her presence that we were going to be fine despite the violent thunderstorm. I would look for her during the flashes of lightning again, but never saw her again. Her presence always felt in the loft more than anywhere in the house. We would have running conversations about who was she? Why did her presence stay in the home? All unanswered questions to this day.

Through the years, I would think about her as I passed the old decaying house, wondering if she still dwelt at the old place. Then one day, the house was finally torn down. I wonder if her presence is still on the property. I think of her comforting presence always when I drive by.

Joe Glasgow is a former senior staff writer at Fanstop.com, and is the author of the book Play Ball! Growing Up With Baseball https://amzn.to/2o4M62h

The Old Springville Gym

                                         

     Photo (c) Joni McDaniel 2015

My eyes didn’t want to believe what I was reading on Facebook; it was a simple post which stated “the gym is gone.” The photos that accompanied the statement left no doubt with flames that appeared to be shooting straight to heaven from where the roof should have been. A sacred place of my childhood had perished, and my heart was broken.

It was a cold crisp December evening, snow dusted the ground, and with the falling temperatures mom had bundled me tight as mummy. The sense of anticipation enveloped me when I saw the parking lot of the gym was almost full. I was about to see my first basketball game. I didn’t know what to expect.

Dad found a parking spot, and when I opened the door I could hear the sounds that emanated from behind the closed doors of the gym. I could hear the ring of a basketball being bounced against the hardwood floor. As we approached the door we could hear the opposition cheerleaders urging their team to victory.

It was my introduction to Hoosier Hysteria. We came to see my cousin Danny Banks play for the Springville Hornets. When we approached the door there seemed to be a roar from inside. The visitors were warming up on the floor, and as dad purchased our tickets the hometown Hornets came out of the locker room.

Danny led the way as the hometown Hornets circled the court before breaking down into two lines for layup drills. The local crowd stood as one and cheered. I was hooked on basketball. The old scoreboard straight of the movie Hoosiers would tick down to the start of the game. The place was packed, which didn’t take a large crowd in the tiny gym, but the whole town seemed to be at the game.

It would only be a couple of years before I played for the Hornets as would my brother, as my dad and his brothers. The sense of history, and community was always felt in that small gym.

When I came home on leave from the Air Force in the late 70’s, I knew where to find my friends, and a friendly game of basketball.  Well as friendly as Hoosiers can get playing basketball. The sense of knowing you were home again warmed my soul.

As the years went by, I would still drive by on a December night, and if I listened close, I could hear the roar of the crowd in a tightly contested game from long ago. I’m eight years old walking across a snow-covered parking lot with dad, my heart races in anticipation for what for what awaited me behind the closed door. It was a love affair with Hoosier Hysteria that waited just beyond the entrance. The gym may no longer exist, but in my mind, and stories it will live on.

Joe Glasgow is a former senior staff writer at Fanstop.com, and is the author of the book Play Ball! Growing Up With Baseball  https://amzn.to/2o4M62h