A Ghost Story (Sort of)

Looking at the front lawn, which desperately needs cutting, reminded me of this. I can’t say for sure that it happened exactly this way, but Nana swears it’s true, and Nana doesn’t lie (mostly).

A while after Dad (Papa to the grandkids) died – it must have been spring or early summer of ’81 – Nana was still living in the house on Ozark Road. As the grass desperately needed cutting, (a job Dad had always done) Nana got out the mower and attempted to start it. She cranked and she cranked on the starter. Nothing. She rested a while, and then tried again, pulling the starter rope over and over for all she was worth. Not even a pop. Finally, exhausted, she let her frustration get the better of her. She sat down on the grass in tears and yelled at the heavens, “Damn you, Charles Gibson, why did you leave me alone to deal with all this by myself?” There were some other choice expletives, but I will omit them for the sake of younger readers.

At that point, according to Nana, she quite suddenly felt an air of complete and utter calm come over her. She knew exactly what she had to do. She went to Dad’s old toolbox, got out the proper sized wrench, and used it to remove the spark plug from the mower. She cleaned the plug, replaced it, and yanked the starter cord. The mower fired right up, and she proceeded to cut the grass.

Now those of you who know Nana realize that she normally couldn’t tell the difference between a spark plug and a set of white wall tires. For her, removing and cleaning a plug would be like a Bushman designing a thermonuclear weapon. But she did it, and didn’t think anything about it at the time.

A while later, after Nana had finished and was sitting in the kitchen, my youngest sister Susan dropped by the house. She sniffed for a second, and then demanded, “Who’s been smoking Dad’s pipe?” Sure enough, the aroma of Dad’s pipe tobacco was hanging in the air.

Again, I can’t say it happened exactly like this, but Nana swears it’s true, and Nana doesn’t lie (mostly).