Sequim Gazette Editorial and Letters to the Editor

Life wouldn't be nearly as interesting were it not for the occasional twist, good and bad - the surprise birthday party, the occasional broken heart, the joyous wedding, the unwelcome rain on some of our best parades and the first grandchild.

Whether good or bad, try as we might, none of our unusual experiences can be erased from memory. Like the Ten Commandments, they are carved in stone. But what about those experiences that cannot be explained, the ones we try to forget, the ones about which we dare not tell anyone?

Among the unusual experiences in my long life there are things that are neither good nor bad; they are bizarre. Now please understand that this is written for your eyes only. I have held this information bottled up until this very moment, so don't tell anyone else.

Referring to the ghost of his father, Shakespeare's Hamlet says, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." Have you ever seen a ghost? I have, but I'm not going to tell you about it because you wouldn't believe me. I'm going to tell you about a different bizarre experience that you won't believe.

In 1994, I lived in Vacaville, a medium-size, Northern California city in the Sacramento Valley. At that time, the city was best known for Vacaville Medical Facility inmate Charles Manson. More recently Cindy Sheehan, mother of a slain soldier, left her Vacaville home on an anti-war campaign. Now, in a disappointing Nov. 4 election, she has lost a bid to unseat House Speaker Nancy Pelosi.

For me, Vacaville was a quiet, ordinary town - until I saw the UFO.

Yes, I really saw a UFO.

There I was, sober and wide awake, lying on a chaise lounge in the backyard, looking up at a clear, blue sky. Through a gap between our almond tree and the telephone pole, I glanced to the northwest and saw a stationary, saucer-like ... craft. Having a piloting background, I am good at determining the position of an aircraft.

This baby was hovering at around 2,000 feet. It was no more than two miles from me. There wasn't a sound - no propellers, no evidence of jet propulsion. It wasn't very large, about the size of an obese Boeing 727. It wasn't a perfect disc.

It looked more like an economy wedding cake; it had three layers. Either someone had plastered a Star Trek promotion sticker on my glasses or it really was there.

It hovered for about two or three minutes. They must be observing me, I thought. What would you do if you suspected someone was watching you from a ... craft? I waved. It left. Much faster than any aircraft I had ever seen, it zapped to the north.

What should I have done? Call the tower at the nearby Air Force base, take a cold shower, tell someone else? I ran next door to Bud Franklin's house.

He still hadn't stopped laughing when I stammered, "But Bud, I really did see it. It was right there between the almond tree and the telephone pole." I thought I heard his wife sniggering in the next room.

He paused long enough to ask, "Did it look like a cigar?"

I folded my arms, stuck out my chin and said, "No, it looked like a three-layer wedding cake."

"Mr. Laugh" asked, "Did it have a bride and groom on the top?"

"No, and it didn't have frosting hearts and roses either. It was a real flying saucer and I can prove it, Bud."

"Oh yeah, how?"

"Did you hear Prince Rupert's Manly Prize bark?"

"Who's that?" asked my smart-mouth neighbor.

"My papered bichon frise."

"You bet papered. He steals the newspaper off my porch. Bark? That mutt barks at bugs."

I refused to be insulted any longer. I left his house and moved to Sequim. However, let me tell you who I saw floating over my septic tank yesterday ....

Louis Howard lives in Agnew. He has written columns for The Reporter in the Sacramento Valley and the Sequim Gazette.