Buried Sunk n Treasure
Rumor persisted (and fanned by the fuel of exaggeration by yours truly) via word of mouth thru the generations when this tract of real estate (once Baron open space trumpeted and whet the imagination of an even number of oddballs, fabulist believers, and desperados), now currently recorded as 724 West Railroad Avenue.
Oh, an important tidbit need be aired claiming entitlement got inherited. Kapellmeister (me) only qualified sans underground, where an “X” marked the spot that freed thyself from any need per gainful employment,
This exemption to no longer apply sweat equity by figuratively and literally pressing my nose to he grindstone would become a pleasant revelation ex post facto from the series of fortunate events (principally the discovery of some long forgotten squirreled away loot), which presented an unexpected challenged asper how to occupy myself productively with most hours of every day.
Thru countless XL faux laryngeal pipelines (viz circa early seventeen hundreds) embarked fervent glomming, hellishly inimitable kickass minor fitbit players within history local to this area, the moderately traversed dirt trails got packed down by traveling caravanserai (minus the aid of Global Positioning Satellite systems, MapQuest, or Travelocity) to what comprised the hamlet of Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania.
The majority of these gregarious, extemporaneously carousing adventurers got bit by feverishly incurable gadfly bite, sans envisioning oodles of wealth sunk deep within the terrestrial bowels, and would be unearthed by hook or crook toil let trees, which exhumation shred of information (based on a tattered crude drawing signed by caption Kidd) pointed to someplace within the coordinates 40.0230° North, 75.3152° West.
These well sea sunned scrappy, rapscallion true Jet blue Uber landlubbers sought to MineCraft every potential willow o’ the wisp clue to track down supposed fabled riches accidentally discovered by a Philadelphia aristocrat, who went by the pseudonym Rumplestiltskin.
Soon thereafter, a trickle than flood of early colonialists, sons and daughters (and kindred folk) of the Revolutionary thence Civil War flew out fast as greased lightening like (Pandora unboxed qua) loosed banshees mortgaging to Lex Lucifer, their persons and possessions to race (pell mell, helter skelter, higgledy-piggledy) as capital one yahoos.
Each retelling and whispering down the figurative alley magnified the fact or faction, which even if paraded as a tall tale, would thence only generate increased suspicion that such locked haven merited greater zeal.
The undiscovered pile of loot assumed grander proportions than all the then known consolidated wealth, If possible, no doubt Midas would dare emerge from his grave to snag a potion of this purportedly outrageous trove of glittering precious metal
One persistently stubborn prevarication hinted that even captain Kidd dumped his spoils within a deep crevasse on the premises, which exact location (from this point forward along the story) might be best kept withheld of and simply referred to as xyz West Railroad Avenue.
Please keep on the QT (from any family, friend or foe) any knowledge gleaned from reading this missive.
The Deva of this domain would stomp similar to an SS Storm trooper across the short distance between our respective duplexes, and then march down the stairs of this pretend fallout shelter if a horde of huzzahs heard clear across to Compton.
Hence, the specifically named municipality, and keystone state county deliberately omitted (as an IdentityGuard) against army of gold diggers.
“Aye kin do without those nosey buggars”! Thus (spake Zarathustra from Plato’s closet), who bespoke said epithet to mortal men, boiled down for simplicity sake asper offering a commendable retort per the bedeviled, daring-do foo fighters, who (with an ear to ear grinch like leering grin) gleefully encapsulated the sobriquet employed by the coterie of each self-made one-man expeditionary force.
As a skeptic per such tall tails, I half-heartedly listened with one ear.
If this bloke swallowed such an embellished do zee of a whopper, he may as well believe in the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, and The Great Pumpkin.
Yet, do not argue with this amateur astronomer that the moon iz not made of cheese!
Fate tends to reflect irony, mockery, and travesty (smack dab as a sucker Judy ish hiss punch right where one is most susceptible), the moreso when circumstance seems predetermined to make a laughing stock of an apostate in oral recitations that became pushed to the tipping point with outright falsehoods i.e. fake news (that would cause President Donald Trump) to blush with each retelling.
You guessed correct, that any resemblance between the above statement, and this scrivener birthing a doozy (contrived around a thread of truth) most likely right on the money honey. Den, aye made a little plan Stan.
The above commentary cited as a generalization apropos per this doubting Thomas in regard to far-fetched yarns, which merely tease the appetite.
Figurative wool pulled over these eyes, especially when the top notch insatiable craving for hunger games delude even the most rational primate to be deceived by such outrageous morsels.
These outlandish (pot of gold at the end of a rainbow) feed some doggone stray cat a tonic bestial pipe dream.
Gasps became particularly exasperating when she or he fell prey to sand trapped qua being hoodwinked, gullibly taken live via knick knack paddy whack Yikyak zingers on par with what one reads while waiting in the checkout aisle, where The National Enquirer or other Rag Magazines assail believability, derail gullibility, and logical reasonability.
How easily one can become a motley fool (blithely swallowing hook, line and sinker), especially when the paucity of facts disproportionally outweigh plethora of self-evident fiction.
Try as one might, the charlatans finagling information loaded ornately in the guise of priceless handful of riches socked away by some marauder.
More often than not, gallimaufry sugar coated with the pretense of believability, which resultant destiny never teaches those whose bulb doth not burn bright within the maws (of a fools paradise), wherefore her or him lays claim to the contrived, feigned, imagined stolen glittering gold.
Thus my immediate hesitation, indecision, and trepidation, whence a paradise of untold wealth tripped the figurative wire loosing a series of fortunate events (Take that Lemony Snicket!) inexplicably expunged long impressed tell tale signs (that would provide dead reckoning, point out blank range, and pin credence against questionable profuse swirling millennial supposedly make believe falsehoods), here in plain view upon the cellar floor at this duplex within a tony mainline community within Lower Merion, Pennsylvania.
The horn of good and plenti bedazzled thine myopic eyes, when a fluke of circumstance, this predilection to tidy up a space allocated as mine de facto man cave ephemerally reversed penurious hand to mouth existence.
Such fluff and stuff the ethereal materiel of a childish fairy tale!
This every now and again yen to don the role of milch maid (attired in the apron and kerchief garb) subsequently imbues this older male with undertaking the whim to spruce up (and make more oak kay this habitation hie would pine to remain a tenant), cuz this basement serves as the next best solution to a deserted island.
Upon padded posterior, heavy duty gloved hands and cushioned knees with ample old rags, scrub brushes and buckets of hot soapy steamy water, a darn bugged task itches mass elf with ambition to receive the good housekeeping seal of approval.
Attention slowly but surely became attuned (envision a splashing threnody) to completing a thorough (A plus) job, where no house cleaner would even tackle such tedious chore with gusto.
Plus, a great satisfaction of accomplishment ensues when energy and time expended tending to a mission that rarely invites enthusiasm.
Along thee merry way this pseudo faux missus Doubtfire busily chore tilled, dove frenziedly humming, judiciously, and lovingly neatening plethora re: slab a tat for humanity and Sean Hannity.
Though an occupant in this nook and cranny for what seems a lifetime, I confess to be unsure if sizable squares of stone constitute granite, or some other mineral.
A thought arises, that whatever the rock hard materiel, a set of burly, bronzed and beefy strapped young men accessed a local quarry long fostered back to flora and fauna of natural habitat with the exception humanity turn swards via plowshares.
The topography of these once deep gouges within Penn Valley (eye sores slowly healing from being abandoned when the majority of accessible sought after blocky corked deposits exhausted) soundlessly crept back to a haven for bountiful great and small creatures of nature.
Though only moments before commencing this light maintenance endeavor (sans sweeping avast collection of ferocious dust bunnies, and mopping the cement like floor akin to a hired hand), a helter skelter and welter of concatenating dog gone hallucinations brought a halt to this arduous yet physically challenging under taking.
Over zealousness, senselessness, and eagerness conspired to disembark domestic job and leap pell mell toward appeasing an internal nagging voice to get a jump-start upon leaving no stone (well…in this case maybe one hundred pound cement grid) unturned enterprise.
While scouring one sectional inch of the foursquare times seven (or a approximate estimate qua floor space thereof) mousy, pesky, whispery, and Petsmart notion needled, prodded and wedged well power to cave.
Weakness to stave off fanciful hokum wielded ma self to surrender rapidly to chase mirage, which wrought Wunderground puzzle pieces (pitch perfect patchwork) as a source for generosity, monetary, and salutary salvation.
Mine myopic eyes got drawn to faded etchings engraved into at least one hefty fitted topface boxy cornerstone.
Riddled with intrigue, one would be fain to deduce (perchance guessing far afield of rationality) thine current rapture to be jetting meself to (the Atheist version) of seventh heaven.
An under statement to describe acquiesce toward this sudden curious state possessed me like a demon.
No idea what secret might be hidden in a subterranean chamber, which might prove a daunting, daring and damning task.
The one smoothed linkedin grooved cement like tile that drew my attention (and subsequently boosted a giddiness with countless visions of opulence dancing on par with sugar plums within ma noggin) showed the vague and faint traces of the letter “X”.
This spot (right near the base of the cellar steps) seemed apropos to defer the bathing and swathing.
Majority area of foundation remained untended, whereas thee ridiculous twittering internal singsong sans soaking up splendour, would quickly absorb enthusiasm.
Fortunate that the owner of this facility showcased shelves of neatly organized tool, which peculiar thought arose asper said rent collector presaged what the following events foretold.
An intent arose to pry loose most promising large keystone despite the letterhead wore smooth, and practically bore no trace human hands chiseled away a symbol meant to convey some message.
Oh…. a funny thought just occurred.
This unknowable individual (somewhere back tracking in time) I kibbutz joshing resorted to rocketmail.com (obviously the most non-technical modus operandi), yet all joking aside puzzlement arose trying to surmise what the faint outline attempted to pronounce.
Hopefully, that very basic question would be answered, and no doubt a flood (or more like a tsunami) of questions would come cascading within the acutely curious, excitedly generous, and justly luminous noggin pressing random thumb wide yelpers.
Ever so gently, the application of a manual sandpaper contrivance cleared the mere shadow of what resembled “X”, but might designate something else altogether.
After a small number of brush strokes, the grooved marking became a little more clear with two slightly visible cross marks that bore outlines of older overwritten, which offers the first golden opportunity to incorporate the word palimpsest.
A heightened inquisitiveness elevated groundbreaking lucky find, whereby mental, physical and spiritual enmeshment absorbed every tingling cell in my average charted, envisage goaled, and innate kneaded mindset.
Bur…Five below zero temperature, this chill buzz fed, impressed, and sketched etching remained booty hidden for who knows how long?
Hence, I carefully rifled thru the highly organized racks of implements, which stash of tools included the gamut from most rudimentary to what a handyman would require at present.
Eager to get to the literal bottom of this mystery, the voice of reason reiterated diligence, patience, and science of being methodical.
A slight shift quelled thine gamesome gaze, which automatically found focus riveted (as if an invisible force turned the head of this old school pencil neck geek).
Eye spied a wedge (village people – like me former foo fighting octogenarian widower dad – used back during his searing robust years to split wood in tandem with an axe) and hatchet.
I went back to square one (literally), and began to tap around the perimeter of this select large stepping-stone of sorts. Little by little, the basted depth brick type place hitter necessitated a longer bladed device.
Once again upon entering the workshop (where all the gewgaws amazingly maintained in military precision), one look askance informed these myopic eyes of the perfect trappings to storm (with hands akin to a surgeon) further progression to make headway to loosen mooring of approximately one square foot headstone size linchpin.
Similar to previous action, the more appropriate gizmos implemented to free analogous to a slightly loose long in the tooth chunky capitalone hefty lode.
Back and forth from stony frontispiece to garage getup (housing any article under the sun, moon and stars to labor lovingly) simply manifested in simultaneous synchronicity with sudden need, thus disallowing any axe to grind.
The endeavor to dig deep and create four deep crevasses carved out an emplacement to affix a winch, which as if by prestidigitation silently rolled to a stop, and cast a shadow within the schema of this phenomenal undertaking.
Bot George, this contraption seemed smarter than myself and of apiece instinctively set to loosing pulleys and chains to hoist this mother f..k…g brute of a small rectilinear crafted boulder.
Despite a tight fit, the Jolly Fred Roger persona of a hoist persistently tugged, though this now idle bystander stood clear out of the way and felt a fit of being petrified lest the effort witness wrecked machinery, and shattered jagged fragments whereat the mass of said would sedimentary solid glob would get impossibly lodged within what might be a portal to…
Whew…no need for anticipatory anxiety because the machinations of this super sophisticated Breakstone beauty brought nonpareil extraction as in league with an oral surgeon removing a difficult to reach tooth with aplomb, finesse, and wholly kryptonite pizzazz.
I stood outside an abyss, and stared into what appeared to me sight as some sort of hutch, which practically invited a trespasser to appease furrowed brow apprehension.
A high tech ladder unwittingly wrought itself securely for me to shimmy down into the bowels of this pit, which appearance of said object (at the speed of greased lightening), now preceded any such thought solving this quandary leaving no occasion to rung me hands together.
Since safety mattered first and foremost, I tethered this five foot and ten inch physique with adequate tension before into the leap into the unknown with a sank you cosmic consciousness, galactic grant, and, universal underpinnings.
The plunge seemed to last for infinity, and this crash test dummy only experienced a lightness of being when getting softly plummeted to…. antiquities, lavish a plenti and riches galore.
Bright city like neon lights from the shimmering geodes, jewels, and magnificent prodigious storehouse of blinding scintillation (even though eyelid shut tight) from precious metals found no temptation to violate the encapsulated complex edifice that also exuded a life force, which hypnotized me into a trancelike state.
When this chap opened his bespectacled ocular orbs, he found himself staring at the white background of an unwritten document.
Ah!
Invisible ink needed to be treated with a special solution to reveal one layer upon another, (which offers me to tweezer like handle the word palimpsest (how grand to jimmy a second occasion of this lovely word), which scholastic term might (like the Cheshire Cat) appear again, acknowledging syllabification and pronunciation initially defies definition if just a mere newbie to expansive vocabulary) akin to delicately pealing one after another sans crinkly outer onion skin on par with exactitude, careful certitude without compromising aptitude vis a vis brain surgery.
Analogously this painstaking procedure also in league with archeologists employed to access relics of previous civilizations, or one mining treatises whereby faint etchings barely discernable, thus the palimpsest a literary equivalent to said chipper forensic illustrious Lumineers.
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