Susan M. Boyer

USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Agatha Award Winner

  • Home
  • About
    • Bio
    • Media Kit
    • Photo Galleries
    • Privacy Policy
    • Stella Maris Books, LLC
  • Books
    • The Liz Talbot Mystery Series
    • Carolina Tales
  • Maps & Extras
    • Stella Maris
      • Who’s Who in Stella Maris
      • Stella Maris Map
    • Carolina Tales
      • Coming Soon!
  • News
  • Events
  • Blog
  • Contact

Susan M. Boyer

USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Agatha Award Winner

  • Home
  • About
    • Bio
    • Media Kit
    • Photo Galleries
    • Privacy Policy
    • Stella Maris Books, LLC
  • Books
    • The Liz Talbot Mystery Series
    • Carolina Tales
  • Maps & Extras
    • Stella Maris
      • Who’s Who in Stella Maris
      • Stella Maris Map
    • Carolina Tales
      • Coming Soon!
  • News
  • Events
  • Blog
  • Contact

There’s No Place Like Home

December 1, 2009 in Family

Like a lot of folks, I went home for Thanksgiving. I’ve lived in Greenville for a while now–we won’t go into how long, as that brings up troubling math problems related to my age. But somehow, the little town in North Carolina where I grew up will always be home.

Mom did what she always does–she made enough food to feed a small country. While we stuffed ourselves silly, we caught up on the ins and outs of each other’s lives… Dad’s acid reflux problem, my niece’s ear tubes, my uncle’s new red El Camino with the orange Firebird-looking thing on the hood…

And the latest on the group of women who bought my grandmother’s civil-war-era farmhouse.

My maternal grandmother passed away a little over two years ago. My grandfather had been waiting for her at the Pearly Gates for years, so their six-thousand-square-foot house was empty. It’s a gorgeous home, and it had been lovingly cared for. Our family had many years of happy memories there. It was an emotional thing, is what I’m saying. No one wanted to sell, but it was the only practical thing to be done. None of us needed a house just then, especially one that size. Though everyone hated to see it pass out of the family, my mother, aunt, and uncles decided to sell.

After a year or so, a group of women bought the house. My understanding was that they planned to use it as a shelter for abused women. Now, to say that this home (on six plus acres) in a rural part of a county that’s a hundred miles east of nowhere is an unusual place for a shelter would be an understatement. Whatever. They bought the place.

What The Shelter Women did not purchase, was my uncle’s house, which is next door and shares a driveway. We’ll call my uncle Harley, because he would not appreciate having his actual name on the Internet. The government, and all that.

The Shelter Women want Harley to leave.

They have told him, multiple times, that he cannot stay there, as the women who will be given shelter have been traumatized, and will not like having a strange man so close by–I’m paraphrasing, but this was the gist of it. Harley would be happy to leave if the Shelter Women would buy him out. They just want him to leave.

The Shelter Women have never moved into the house, but periodically they come by. I think my uncle watches for them, and maybe goes outside and acts extra crazy just for fun–maybe shoots something. (He once took out two squirrels with one shot.)

So, The Shelter Women showed up a few weeks back with a minister of undetermined theology. He didn’t speak English, and my uncle didn’t recognize whatever language he was speaking, but the minister’s mission that day was to exorcise the property.

Recently, The Shelter Women have become upset that my family didn’t tell them the house was haunted. Listen, my grandparents lived in that house for thirty years. My grandmother lived there for seven years by herself. There were no ghosts. (At least if there were, they were well-mannered and quiet.)

But the minister, nevertheless, went into the house with a bottle of what was presumably holy water.

Then, he walked all over the yard sprinkling and chanting.

Then they–The Shelter Women and the minister–came next door and asked if they could sprinkle Harley’s yard. He’s an easy-going guy, so he said, “Sure, why not?”

Then, they wanted to sprinkle Harley.

I think they settled for rubbing his head with some of the water in the bottle. What the minister was chanting is anyone’s guess. Hey, they can sprinkle Harley with whatever they want to, but unless they come up with some money, he’s not moving.

Poor Dad. With drama like this, his acid reflux got no attention whatsoever.

I really need to go home more often. And take a tape recorder. You can’t make this stuff up.

Filed Under: Family Tagged With: Family

Comments

  1. NT says

    December 1, 2009 at 5:10 pm

    LOL! It’s all true! Being a member of this “troubled” family, I can attest to all of it. Uncle Harley lives to terrorize those women. 😉

    Log in to Reply
  2. Rebecca says

    December 3, 2009 at 3:12 am

    Puhleeze tell me you’re pulling these stories together into an anthology or memoir or something. Though I think under cover as fiction would be smart – how can some of these things actually be real!

    Log in to Reply
  3. Kim H says

    October 15, 2019 at 10:58 pm

    I don’t know your Uncle, but I love him!

    Log in to Reply
  4. Laura Turner says

    October 15, 2019 at 11:25 pm

    Susan you are too funny! Love your storytelling!!

    Log in to Reply
  5. Ginger says

    October 16, 2019 at 7:43 am

    What a wonderful story!

    Log in to Reply
  6. Faye Farmer says

    October 16, 2019 at 9:00 am

    Love this, beautiful family

    Log in to Reply

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.

Susan M. Boyer Follow Susan
GoodreadsBookbubInstagram

Categories

Tags

Blather and Profound Notions Charleston Conferences Cover Reveal Crazy Happens Demon Diane Diets and Other Torture Evidence of My Insanity Evidence of Rampant Insanity Family Giveaways I Am Therefore I Write Jazzercise Karaoke Lowcountry Boneyard Lowcountry Bonfire Lowcountry Bookshop Lowcountry Boomerang Lowcountry Boondoggle Marilyn Moments Michelle the Maniac Occasionally I Cook Passing Sweet Time Precariously Perky Julie Refreshing Beverages Road Trip SCWW Sweet Jenny the Alien Talk to Me The Caring and Nurturing Alien The Queen of Pain The Singing Alien Thoughts on Books Read Vast Fat-Wing Conspiracy Wendy the Alien Who Might Kill Me Wild-Eyed Rants

Newsletter Sign Up

This form needs Javascript to display, which your browser doesn't support. Sign up here instead

Home About Books Events Stella Maris Blog Privacy Policy Contact
Copyright © 2019 Susan M. Boyer. All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2023 · Susan Boyer Child Theme on Genesis Framework · WordPress · Log in