Your Smiles Make Me Smile

If you really want to get the most out of my blog, it's best to start with the first post written in July to the present since some blogs refer back to earlier posts; but any order is just fine... Thanks for visiting! Now scroll on down to the good news! ~Renae~

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Part 2 - "She's Speaking To Me From Beyond The Grave"

What are the odds that I was just getting ready to knock on a few doors in Vera H. Edwards’ neighborhood, (well at least where she lived in 1942-Chetwood Street), looking for a morsel of information from anyone on her block, only to find out, that there is going to be a block party on Chetwood Street on Saturday!?  Another coincidence? I think not. Vera has all of this all under control, I am simply trying to keep up with her leads.

How did I find out? Well, Richard went to visit a friend who by pure happenstance lives a block away from Chetwood Street.  Now, Chetwood Street isn’t just any street, it is in Oakland, the eighth largest City in California.  Richard doesn’t live anywhere near Chetwood Street and he has only one friend in Oakland. How weird is that???? Now, being the absolute wonderful boyfriend that he is (I had to say that, but really he is just as sucked in to this mystery as I am), he decided to drive by Vera’s old house.  Richard is not one to knock on doors (he is an introvert) – that’s my job, but while sitting in his truck contemplating his next move, the only two people who happened to be walking on the street that day came right up to him, said hello, and let him know there was going to be a Chetwood Street block party on Saturday. SCORE!  Someone on that street must have known Vera before she moved away, and this is the perfect opportunity to find out.

I do give Richard kudos for doing the “drive-by,” because don’t ‘cha know "...people get shot in Oakland!" This is what I’ve had to listen to since I made the mistake of telling others in the sheltered suburbs of San Ramon that I was going to knock on doors in Oakland.  Even my very own daughter who is the spitting image of me surprisingly said “Mom! People get SHOT in Oakland! Do you KNOW what year this is???” Like “Duh, no, daughter who thinks your my mother, what year is it??" Okay I know she is just worried about me, and for the record, I am not naive, I read the paper, I watch the news, I get it….

If I go into Oakland and knock on a door or two, I will most certainly be confused as a gangsta girl who just happens to be wearing the wrong gang colors to the wrong door on the wrong day; someone will inevitably open their front door, mistake my tatted up arms and my smile for muggin, my wave for "throwing up a gang sign" and when I say "heeeeyyyy wuz up homie" ….POP me like a balloon.  Chill peeps, it ain’t going down that way.  Rest assured there is not one house on Vera's street with bars on the windows.  Since when did we all become so fearful of one another?? Now, possibly there is a chance that I could get bitten by a dog, but that could happen in my own neighborhood….but get shot on an afternoon for knocking on a few doors?  I seriously doubt it.  Will I carry my purse? No. Will I wear shiny flashy clothes and strut like I’m a wealthy lady from the San Ramon Suburbs? No.  Hee hee, because I’m not even if I wanted to be.  I’ll just be me.

Truly I would be safer in Oakland because the only people that want a shot at me as of recent are the powers that be within the City of San Ramon.  Matter of fact, if I DO get shot in Oakland, it was a set-up, made to look like it was a lowly Oakland gang member, because as everyone knows, all 365,000 people who live in Oakland are gang members.  So for all practical purposes start your suspect questioning in San Ramon and then work your way towards Oakland.  They have way more reasons to silence me in my own Stepford town than the chill people in Oaktown do; unless of course, I wear the wrong colors.  But back to Vera, for your references, the coincidences to date, are as follows:

1) The person I think is Vera H. was born on October 8.  I was born on October 8;

2) The person I think is Vera H’s husband is Wilbur, my last name is Wilber;

3) The last four digits of the telephone number to the funeral home that I believe processed the bodies are 0100.  The last four digits of my home phone number is 0100; How many people do you know with 0100 as part of their phone number?

4) Richard happened to be in the neighborhood of Vera’s 1942 address, and learned that there would be a block-party on Saturday, when on Friday, I was going to knock on doors, and then of course get shot.  Maybe Vera is actually out to kill me; and

5) My dear friend Peggy J. called me just to chat a few nights ago, only to tell me that her father is buried at the same cemetery -- because like, all my friends father's happen to be buried at that cemetery.

I know this all sounds silly, and maybe in the end, the joke will be on me and I will have been following the wrong lead the whole time – but if that’s the case, although I don’t think it is, I will step up and have to eat mud, but either way, I WILL get to the bottom of this.  Who is Vera H. Edwards? How did her medical bag and WWII memorabilia end up in my house? And, most importantly, what were her contributions in WWII?

There have been many twists and turns too numerous to tell, but I’m so afraid to lose you with detail that I’ll simply say this...The BAD news is that, I have to work on Saturday.  The block party is on Saturday!  The GOOD news is, Richard is going to leave work early and in the guise of an extrovert, crash the block party!  I think I’m going to ask him to marry me.

To Be Continued…..

Sweet Dreams and Always, GOOD dreams,


Anonymous said...

Take an extra long lunch and go to the block party...

Mrcarparts said...