Merry Christmas to the Ground – A Fond Christmas Memory

My grandmother, Gram Spratt, moved into her retirement home a number of years ago (more than five). The name of the center is Leisure World and you can do anything and everything you would in the outside world, inside, without every having to leave. Access is only offered to residents and those with passes granting entrance. I’ve had to call up to my grandmother on certain occassions because I lacked both credentials to get in. The guards aren’t packing heat, but they are definitely suspicious of anyone under the age of 64; as a teen I was categorized, “terrorist”.

Gram Spratt, she’s got major spunk. Spunk is probably not the right word, she’s got fire. She’s a passionate woman – just observe her watching the Redskins lose. She doesn’t let much funny-business slide, she never did when we were younger and she won’t hesitate to pop us boys when we threaten the safety of that glass clock that has always sat on her coffee table in the middle of her living room or anything else prone to shattering.

I knew if I ran my brave idea by her it would have been completely shut down, and she wouldn’t have hesitated calling the LWPD on me in a hot second. So, the operation would have to remain a secret. Whoever produced and directed Ocean’s 11 has already contacted me to make the greatest Leisure World conquest a major motion picture (I told him I didn’t want Brad or George to play me – I recommended Matt Lauer or Christian Bale).

Midge (as Uncle J calls her) lives on the third floor of Turnberry Courts. It’s a nice place. We all have access to the foyer of the main foyer to the condo. The pre-foyer is comfortable. It has a nice mat to stomp and dry your shoes, it has a door to an adjacent room that’s always locked, and it has a phone to contact the residents who live there if you ever get locked out. I’ve had to use the phone a couple times.

My grandmother has a button on her phone that she can push to let loser grandchildren in. Once she hits the key the foyer is mine. It has a couch or two and community bookshelves chock full of James Patterson and Danielle Steele classics – I always scan it hoping for less thought provoking reading.

The elevator used to open up to a mirrored interior, perfect for any narcissist; I would only get three floors of satisfaction. You turn left to get to her comfy little home. It’s a couple doors down the hall. But it’s whats two doors down from the elevator that has captured my attention for years.

The sign on the door reads, “Refuse”.

Visit after visit, after the condo exploration had been exhausted, I always came back to the disposal room. The room is only but a closet. It has a shelf for recycling. But it has a hatch for garbage. Adventurers reading, did your eyes perk up when you read that? A hatch! A hatch is the portal to endless possibilities. Everytime I opened that hatch to look in I couldn’t help wonder…

What’s down there?

What will I do with the all rubies?

Would I meet Sloth?

What ever happened to Fraggle Rock?

Questions that never crossed my mind…

What if it’s a cesspool?

What is a disposal?

How far is three stories?

Christmas day 2004 came around and I con’t suppress the wonder any longer. After cups of wassel and family time I whispered in Brett’s ear, “I’m going in today.” My brother gets excited about things like this quickly. “You are!?” Popping out of his seat he was primed, “Let’s do it.” By “let’s” he didn’t mean us, he meant he wanted a share of the jewels just not the journey. I would have to enter the ranks of the brave that had gone before me – Harry, Luke, Indy, and Benny the Jet – alone.

The hatch slid open, and I slid in. I braced myself against the walls of the shute with my feet and forearms stabilizing me. My plan was to shimmy down to the cavern below and then describe the fortunes I found to my brother and cousin above. I can’t remember if I moved my foot of arm first, but it’s undeniable that I fell.

I fell fast and hard.

I didn’t land in a pile of Aztec gold, and I didn’t have time to douse my torch in the pool of kerosene. Both ankles turned inward, the sides of my feet touching the sides of my legs. My nerve endings let my body know what happened by taking my breath away. I would have cussed but I couldn’t scream. I was light headed and balacing myself and my pain against the chute. Then Brett started tossing newspapers on me asking if I had found any skeletons or mermaids. I found neither.

Just so you know, at the bottom of a trash shute is a trash compactor. It was off when I made the heroic plunge (which totally compromises the use of “heroic”).

I fell out of a tree when I was in fourth grade.

I fell over a six foot fence when I was in fifth grade.

I fell down three stories in a garbage shute the day I turned 23.

Bruce Willis may do a good job filling such a bold role.

Happy Anniversary and Merry Christmas.