Rascal Chuck Vanishes in the Country Store

      I'm going to call this Part II. If you remember from last week, Dan, Chucky and I left the supposedly deserted school, crossed the street, and now face the prospect of exploring The Country Store.

      We hesitate before even going in. The Country Store looks innocent enough. The store owner stands on the doorstep and waves us inside. Still, we're suspicious. We're supposed to be in a restored village from the late 1800's.  

    Dan, the voice of reason, tries to make light of it. "Maybe you just imagined what you heard." 

    Chucky looks at me and I look at him. 

    "We didn't imagine it." 

    We now think the school is haunted, but, we see two people coming out of the Country Store--unharmed and laughing. 

    "We'll only stay for a minute," I whisper to Chuck. "Stay close by." But who am I fooling? Chuck, otherwise known as Inspector Chuck Clouseau, now has his mojo back. He marches up to that store, determined to sniff his way through.

    "Welcome to the Landis Valley Country Store," the volunteer interpreter says, who's playing the role of store owner. He's dressed like he would from the turn of the century. Dan immediately engages him in conversation, and this guy is good. He never breaks out of his role. It's almost as if he believes he really is the owner. 

    "I see you brought the missus," he says. "Go on. Look around. But stay out of the post office," he warns, his tone darkening.  No explanation. Just--stay out.

    Chucky has, of course, begun sniffing. Dan continues to talk. I feel as if I've been dropped into some kind of time portal wonderland. I want to stop and pick up everything. Imagine what it would have been like to live back then, before electricity, tv, internet. This is a world that still revers George Washington as a hero.

   Most of the people who lived in this village grew their own food. This country store, for them, was like amazon is for us today. 

 

     

 

    

    I spot the old-fashioned operator phone in the corner and step over to have a closer look. I imagine this would have been the only phone available in the village. You came to the country store to make a call. You came to collect your mail. 

    Stay out of the post office. I turn to my right, remembering the volunteer/owner's warning. Chucky has sniffed his way through the store and is now feet away from the post office. I imagined an actual office, but it's only a section of the store with a sign and three walls with cubbies to put the mail. 

   "Chuck," I call out, trying to avoid the inevitable. 

   For years Chuck has suffered from selective hearing. He can hear his snack bag rattling from two floors away, but to hear his name being called out a few feet from him--for some unexplained reason, a sound barrier goes up. 

    "Chuck, stop."

    He doesn't. He sniffs his way into the Post Office. 

     I turn toward the front of the store. Dan is still talking, talking with the volunteer/store owner/and I can also assume postmaster about 1860 politics of all things. I have a few moments, I think, to make this situation right. I will run in, scoop Chuck up, before the postmaster realizes that Chuck is in the post office. 

    But Chuck has vanished. Totally. Desk, stool, cubbies. All there. No Chuck. What? I look around. Did he run past me? No. There is absolutely nowhere he can be hiding in this post office space. 

    

    Now I'm worried. Maybe there is a good reason why this guy wants us to stay out of the post office. 

    I have no choice now. Just confess everything. Get Dan. Then tell the volunteer/owner/postmaster what has happened. 

    I purse my lips and get Dan. He follows me to the back of the store. He reads my body language. He knows something is wrong. 

    "Where's Chuck?" he asks.

    I grab his arm, speechless, and point to the post office. 

    "Hey," Dan says in his calm, reasonable voice, "you're not supposed to be in there."

    Chuck is not a big talker, and for a rascal cat, he has a small voice, but I can hear him clear as day. Meow.

    "Chucky." There he is as if he were there the entire time. But he wasn't there. 

    I tell Dan the horrid truth. "There's something fishy about this place. I can feel it."

     "I don't know what to say." Dan picks Chuck up, and we say goodbye. 

    "Can we just go? Now?" I ask. Beg.

    "But what about the shoemaker?" Dan asks. "What can possibly go wrong at the shoemaker?"

                              TO BE CONTINUED - PART III

    
 

Rascal Chuck Is Haunted At School

    Even now it's difficult to explain how the haunting happened. We're traveling in Pennsylvania when Chuck insists on seeing a one room school house nearby. A very special place. Circa 1890. Called the Maple Grove School. 

        I know all about it. Thousands of school houses just like this one existed in Pennsylvania after free public education was established in the state in 1834. All across rural Pennsylvania, they were built to provide schooling from first through eighth grade. These are known facts. No dispute.

      Chuck wants to see the school. Go inside. See what it was like over one hundred years ago.

          What can go wrong?

      Dan parks the car, and we head across the beautiful grass field. I see the school in the distance, and it's just like the school on Little House on the Prairie or When Calls the Heart. There's even a school bell on top to call the kids to school.

         One teacher and a bunch of kids of varied grade levels all in the same room. Chuck's grandfather (my dad) went to a school like that in Minnesota. He was a second grader who skipped a grade because he did the third grade work when he finished his work. So, the next year he jumped to fourth grade. 

        There's no one around because the school hasn't been officially used since the 1960's. Is that an important fact to consider? We spot the outhouses to our right. 

        There is also a place to tie your horse if you were lucky enough to have one to ride. 

        We open the front door and peek in. Eerily deserted. I don't use that word eerily lightly. I can feel something in the air. I shrug it off. The place is old. Sometimes I have a too active imagination.

         I am immediately mesmerized, staring at the rows of desks, old-fashioned desks, and the black wood stove that sits prominently in the middle of the room. I imagine all the kids who sat there, farm kids, most likely.

    The blackboard proudly displays the Pledge of Allegiance for the children to recite. 

        Chuck scampers in beside me. 

        "This is the way it used to be," I explain to my rascal cat. "No computers, no WIFI, no TV's in the classroom. Just books and a chalkboard. Kids brought their lunch with them or they went back home for lunch. There was no cafeteria with hot lunch being served." I'm pulling from memory here because I used to be an elementary school principal, and I know all about lunch periods and recess.

        Chuck doesn't react. I gaze down and he's not there. Has he even heard a word I've said? Where the heck is he?

        Suddenly, I hear a crash. What?

        Behind me, to the left, is the cloakroom where the kids would have put their coats and hats. When we walked in, we saw only the coat hooks hanging from the walls. 

        The tell-tale signs of an orange and white tail disappears out the front door. Chuck is running as fast as Chuck can run out of the school. The bang was the front door slamming, then swinging open again after Chucky ran through it. Something scared him. This doesn't make sense. He's the one who wanted to see the school.

        I go to investigate. Now I hear it--a kind of stomping of boots. The sound that kids would make if they just came in from a snow storm and were trying to get their boots clean. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. 

        I hesitate. One side of my brain is saying there must be a reasonable explanation. Just go look. The other side is screaming--this is too weird because I know there's nothing there. No snow outside, no kids. No boots. 

        I round the corner. Sure enough, only a deserted cloakroom.  Again it's eerily quiet. 

            

        Chuck is outside. He's found Dan, standing where they would hitch the horses. 

        "What's going on?"

         A haunting? I can't even begin to explain it. "We heard something. Let's just get out of here."

        "Chuck said . . ." 

        There's more to see in this preserved village that dates back hundreds of years. But now I'm beginning to wonder. Is the General Store haunted too? That's where we're headed to next.

                                                        TO BE CONTINUED 

Rascal Chuck Climbs a Mountain

        I suspect the idea started when Chuck and Theo, his brother in crime, conferred that morning on the sofa.  I think Theo put the idea in Chuck's head that climbing a mountain was a good idea. Imagine the view, he probably meowed. The fresh scents you can sniff.

          "Do you want to come with us?" Chuck probably asked.

          "Me?" Theo probably let out a slight cough. "Not today, bro. Feeling a little under the weather. But you go ahead."

            So Dan, Chucky, and I find ourselves signed up for a two hour hike, following our trusted guide, destined to climb a mountain. But, first we have to get to the mountain, which means hiking through a forest. We are in northern New Jersey in Ringwood State Park, light jacket weather, the day after too much rain so it's a bit soggy but glorious.

            We follow a secret path through some fields and woods to reach the trail that will eventually lead upwards.  

          The path seems somewhat magical, especially when we pass some ancient statues, each one representing one of the major continents--Europe, America, Asia and Africa:

       We pass a lovely wooden bench, but there is no time to rest. 

           We now begin to enter the forest. Chuck is with Dan, snuggled securely in his backpack, but when we reach a stream, he meows to be let out. Looking for frogs and fish is one of the things Chuck likes to do best, so while I distract our guide, Chucky does his thing with Dan.

        Soon we're hiking into the inner part of the forest. The trail inclines nice and slow. There is a slight breeze. The sun is out. 

        

        We are almost there. The incline steepens. The trail narrows. At the highest point, we must climb a few steps onto a giant rock that is flat on top, but the sides extend down, down, and if you are afraid of heights, it is best not to look down. If you think you might slide down the sides, it is best not even to climb on top of this rock. 

        But, of course, we do. The view is magnificent. Chuck is out of the backpack, and he has scampered up the rocks. He wants to see the view.

      

        "Keep an eye on him." 

        I have no idea how well cats can navigate on slippery rocks. I have no idea how well I can navigate on slippery rocks. I already know how Dan is feeling. He is staying exactly in the middle of the large rock and not looking down.

        The view is of the Ramapo Mountains. 

        I make the biggest mistake while I am up there. I look DOWN

          

and realize at once that we are at tree top level and if we slide down and fall, we will be in BAD SHAPE. It is a long way down. 

        I make an executive decision. "We should grab Chuck."

        He is on the edge of the edge, sniffing. Of course he is. Half his body is off the rock, half is on. I don't think he even realizes where he is. Some plants are growing in between the crevices, and he is exploring. He has absolutely no interest in the view. 

        I very carefully move closer to where he is.  If he looks up and sees there's nothing in front of him, will he panic? 

        

        "Chucky, Chucky."

        He turns and looks at me.  And then without a second thought he moonwalks from the edge and returns to where I am standing, paralyzed with fear. They say that cats need to be rescued from trees because they can't backtrack once they run up. But I've just seen for myself that a cat can save himself, if he's a rascal!

        Later, safely back at home, I see Chuck with Theo. I hear a lot of meowing, and I imagine that Chuck is telling Theo what happened on top of the mountain--how mom freaked out once again. But I'm wrong. He seems to be telling Theo how he made it to the top of the mountain!

        Theo, lazing in the later afternoon sun, doesn't seem to care. He's all stretched out and mighty glad he decided to stay home. He's no rascal cat!

       

        

        

Rascal Chuck Meets The White Ghost

     "So what is a cactus plant, anyway," Chuck wanted to know. That was his first question. Then he wanted to see one. 

        Where do you have to go in this USA to see a cactus plant, and not just any cactus plant? A Euphorbia lactea. Better known as the White Ghost. In Arizona? 

      Dan, of course, has the answer: "Actually, there are six states that have cactus plants: Texas, California, New Mexico, Nevada, Utah, and . . . "

       "Arizona. Well . . ." I look over at Chucky. "Maybe this coming summer we can go in search of the White Ghost, but for now . . ."

        We reach a compromise. The Conservatory in Longwood Gardens, Pennsylvania, has a section filled with cacti. We confirm that they have the White Ghost--an  extremely rare cactus plant with a chunky trunk and an unusual pale ghost-like complexion to its skin.

        I am suspicious. I believe that the cactus plant is there, all right, but why name a plant the "white ghost"? I'm not a fan of cacti anyway. They're prickly, for one thing. Don't bang into one by mistake, or you'll be sorry.  And I'm concerned that Chucky in his enthusiasm to see the White Ghost will want to sniff it, get too close, and get his eye gouged out or get those prickly things lodged in his fur. Or maybe he'll try to climb it. And then he'll be stuck up there, literally STUCK.

       Dan has a completely different opinion. He finds them fascinating. Cacti can store enormous amounts of water. They collect CO2 at night, not during the day, like other plants. They have many medicinal purposes and have been linked to treating glaucoma, liver disease, ulcers, fatigue, and they contain antioxidant properties, minerals and vitamins. 

       I am reluctantly impressed, but still . . . 

        We hurry through the Conservatory, reach the cacti, and set Chuck down with a stern warning to BE CAREFUL! Look don't touch. But I know this kid. He barely listens when he's on a mission. He wants to see this White Ghost and there is nothing that is going to stop him.

            Luckily, there is no one else around. This is not a very popular exhibit. Everyone is looking at the fabulously beautiful orchids, which is where I wish I was. I'm determined not to like these cacti, but sure enough I stumble upon one that takes my breath away. Because this one is NOT prickly. What?

     I reach out and touch the leaves and they feel like velvet. This cacti is called Felt Brush. I try to steer Chucky over here. He gives them a glance, but it's no go.  I walk further on and now I'm in love with the Mexican Fence Post Cactus. Tall and lean. It looks exactly like its name.

       

      "Chucky, over here. Look at this." But Chucky is sniffing his way through the exhibit with only one thing on his mind.

      I then stumble upon something even more spectacular--Silver Ball Cactus. Frankly, I never knew cacti can be so interesting. Maybe, just maybe, I'm wrong. Maybe this White Ghost is not as threatening as I think. I take a few quick deep breaths. Smile.

        "Dan, where's Chuck? He's got to see . . ."

        I am too late. Chucky is across the exhibit. He has found the cactus plant he's been looking for, the cactus plant of his dreams. He's stopped a few feet away and is staring at it, most likely admiring it. I start walking towards him. So this is it--the White Ghost. The sun is shining through the glass roof, and the darned cactus plant is actually glowing, almost as if it's going to come alive and do something. It looks other worldly. But then . . .

        

        Someone turns off the lights. That's impossible because the light is the sunlight coming from outside. Still, the room darkens. I feel a chill course down my spine. This has got to be all in my head. I'm about to turn to Dan, the voice of reason, when I hear howling wind. What? An eerie background noise. A kind of groaning begins around me. I'm not going to get freaked out by this, I tell myself, as I run toward Chucky and scoop him up.

       Of course, he doesn't want to be scooped up--rescued--and starts to wiggle with all his might. He is a strong cat. 

       Now I hear  laughing. Dan?

                     "Sorry. Sorry. I couldn't resist."

                     "That was you?"

                      "Only the moaning. The rest is the storm outside." 

                      I've been so wrapped up in exploring the cacti, I don't notice the oncoming storm. Darned global warming. This crazy weather is getting ridiculous. "So this has nothing to do with the cactus plant. I'm an idiot." 

               I put Chucky down. He shakes off the humiliation and gives me that look that cats give you when they agree with you that you are an idiot.

              "Okay. Okay. Go look at your White Ghost." 

              All is well. Chuck scampers over to sniff the White Ghost. He's almost there when suddenly, out of nowhere, a bolt of lightning illuminates the space. We all look up. The raindrops that have been falling turn into big juice drops. Thunder crashes down.

             "That was dramatic," I whisper, staring at the White Ghost, which is still there, of course. BUT . . .

             Chucky is not. The bolt of lightning, the crash of thunder was too much. He is huddled, this rascal cat of mine, amidst the Felt Brush cacti. His long orange and white tail is the only part of him that is visible. 

            Ha. Ha. He must know what I've been suspicious of all along--this White Ghost cactus is not just your regular cactus. There's something funny going on in Cactus Land.

                

        

 

            

Chuck, Ramsesses the Great, and the gods

             Visitors to Egypt—even rascal cats—come to Egypt to see at least two major sights: the pyramids at Giza and the Temple of Luxor. 

We didn't even have to emphasize to Chucky that a trip to Luxor Temple will be like nothing he has ever seen before because he wanted to come.

“Remember the pyramids at Giza,” Dan asks. "On all that sand?"

 

Chucky nods.

“Imagine a complex, filled with gigantic statues.” 

“Luxor" Dan explains, “was the capital of ancient Egypt back in the day.”

“1300 BC,” I chime in. “That’s even before ancient Greece had its Golden Age." 

But Chuck isn’t here to see the temple. He has only one thing on his little cat mind: Ramesses II.

Ramesses II was the pharaoh who ruled for 66 years. A real mover and shaker. He built the entire temple complex.

Chucky knows all of this.

Actually, the people built the complex, but not for the Egyptian people. This place was built for the pharaoh and the priests, a place where they could come and meet with the gods in private. 

Which means they actually believed the gods were there, in the inner recesses of the temple.

Dan tells Chucky that this temple complex was dedicated to the gods. BUT everything—the statues and the drawings (called reliefs on the walls) celebrate the Pharoah Ramesses II.

But, again, Chucky knows everything about this pharaoh, and he can’t wait to see Ramsesses. 

I am in awe of my first view of the temple complex. Humans look like insects in comparison. At the entrance we spot the infamous obelisk on the right and know there is a companion obelisk to this one in Paris.

        As we continue to walk, we spot some of the columns of the temple that have survived.

    

This place is bigger than I expected. I turn to Dan. "I think Chuck needs to be in the backpack, or he'll be trampled because everyone is looking up."

Dan agrees. Chuck is not happy. He prefers to be on his own. He wants to scamper off and sniff. But the temple is very crowded. Finally, we compromise. He climbs into the backpack, but positions himself so he can look out and see the sights, on the lookout, of course, for the Pharaoh.  

We walk around toward the entrance. Now we can see the obelisk more clearly and also some of the statues that are positioned in front of the temple. 

        

 

Finally, we are smack in front of the entrance and facing Ramsesses II. 

        Well, the truth is I'm facing Ramsesses. Dan is kind of walking backwards, so Chuck can see what I'm seeing—his hero. 

         Dan is an expert on Ramsesses. He read his entire biography in French and begins to share with Chuck even more tidbits of his life:

        He is fourteen years old when he becomes pharaoh.

    

        He is married to the famed Nefertari, his first wife and favorite queen. Even after she died, Ramsesses continued to have statues dedicated to her, reliefs done of her. Scholars say he was obsessed with her. 

         Supposedly he is the pharaoh associated with Moses in that wonderful Hollywood movie The Ten Commandments. Ramsesses is the pharaoh who rejects a Moses who demands over and over again--Let my people go--but there is no concrete evidence to support that connection. 

        Ramsesses lives to be 96 years old, has over 200 wives and concubines, 96 sons and 60 daughters. He lives so long that his subjects believe that when he dies the world will come to an end.

        There is no ancient site in Egypt that does not make mention of Ramsesses the Great. 

        Chuck becomes more interested in Ramsesses. When Chuck gets excited, he wants to be walking around and sniffing. That is what is happening now. He begins to meow. The crowds around us moves on to tour the temple.  

        "All right. All right. Just for a minute or two." 

        Now that Chucky's paws are on the ground, he darts over to Ramsesses, sniffing at the base of the magnificent statue. 

         Dan and I are gazing around. We walk around the temple proper and begin to examine some of the walls. The reliefs tell a story of the pharaohs interacting with the gods. 

        Don't worry, though, I have my eye on Chuck. There is no way he is getting lost here. I'm soaking up all the Egyptian history and lore and watching Chuck at the same time.

        In fact, I notice him move away from Ramsesses. I notice him move away from where we are. It is a big complex and he seems to be on some kind of mission. Moving faster now.

        "Dan, it's Chuck."

      

        Chuck can scadaddle rather quickly when he wants to. He is racing now as if being drawn somewhere toward the temple. Suddenly, he seems to disappear around a corner.

        

         "Oh, no." My greatest fear is that he'll go inside, and we'll never find him. Because we've been warned to go in the temple as a group. Don't wander in there alone. An errant thought enters my mind. Chucky in there alone. This temple was built for the gods. Maybe there are still some spirits there . . . some forces . . .

          Dan breaks into a run, headed in Chuck's direction. In a minute Dan disappears. 

          I hold my breath. Now both of them could be headed toward disaster. I try to wait patiently. Everything is going to be okay. There has got to be some reasonable explanation why Chuck ran into the temple. Dan will find Chuck, and they will be back. I know they will. 

        Chuck has not been abducted by the gods.

        Sure enough, I see Dan emerging, unscathed from the temple. He's waving. Chuck is following close behind.

          "What was that all about?"

          Dan lowers his voice. "The kid wanted some privacy."

    

          "What?"

          "Let's just say that all that water he drank earlier, well, he suddenly realized he needed to use the restroom facilities."

            What???? "Chucky, I hope you didn't . . . take a whizz . . . in the . . . temple."

                    Chuck has his lips pressed together. He looks up at me. He's not saying anything, but I can guess what he's thinking. "Mom, a boy has to do what a boy has to do."