Saving the Goldeneagle: The Auto-Biography of a 1964 Dodge 330

New Pictures and Updating my Etsy Store Today

2010-08-04T14:04:00.000-04:00

EelKat Wendy C. Allen New pictures of me, so, new profile pic! I am sitting on the stump of "The White Money tree", the site most of the poltergiest activity that has happened in our yard. There shouldbe water all around me, but the swamp has gone dry.

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EelKat Wendy C. Allen

Me modeling for my new line of gypsy wear. :)

Watch for my Gypsy fashions to show up at my Etsy shop this fall!

EelKat Wendy C Allen August 2010

16 new photos

EelKat Wendy C. Allen Working on my Etsy shop today. It's getting a magor overhaul in preparation for the new iems that will be listed this fall. It was a "doll shop" but now it is going to be an online extention of my new brick and mortar off line shop. There's no brick and no mortar in my store. hhhmmm...wheels and metal? =P :)Hey, gotta rebuild my car anyways , why not turn it into a travleing store?

- EelKat Wendy C. Allen
  I read this article about a woman that wanted a store and couldn't afford the rent, so she turned her car into a store and went on the road, and every where she went, she just took her shop with her. I thought, boy what a great idea!
  
  I've ...spent more than half my life living in a car, I love living in a car, I love working retail, I want a shop, can't afford the $500 per week rent for a shop here in Old Orchard Beach, I'm in the middle of rebuilding both of my vandalised cars (the Dodge in 2 peices and the Volvo keyed to hell) so, why not combine everything all into one big giant project and turn one car into a house and the other into a store?
  
  Been musing over this idea for a couple of months now, wrote up this big business plan sort of thing to try to work it all out and see if it could be done, did lots of Googling trying to find out if any one else has ever done anything like this and OMG
  
  I found tons and tons of folks who live and work out of theircars and they are all full of advice on how they did it and what works and what doesn't and, so now the project itself is underway and, so since it's started.
  
  So, that's where I'm at today. Setting up the online extention of the shop now, and the offline out of the car exstention of the shop will hit the road next spring.
  
  Now to learn how to drive. Written driving test next week. The Volvo should be running befoe the end of the month. I have a very busy summer going on this year.

"For Fear of Little Men" by Wendy C. Allen:

Find me on MySpace and be my friend!

The Volvo and the Dodge - together again!

2010-07-28T01:36:00.000-04:00

EelKat Wendy C. Allen Oooh - the sound of an engine! While the Goldeneagle has a long way to go before it's running again, the Dazzleing Razzberry is back on the road! YAY! Well, for an hour or so at least. After last week's vandalism of it, an "emergancy hotwiring" was done to get it out of Biddeford and out f reach from my stalker who has switched from attacking the Dodge to attacking the Volvo.

37 minutes ago ·

- EelKat Wendy C. Allen
  With the Goldeneagle now under 24 hour guard 7 days a week, she had started saying that it's demon had "moved into" the Volvo. ??? I have to ask, how is this woman still on the streets? In any case, as many of you know, 7 months ago the Vol...vo mysteriously stopped. All electrical systems shorted out, and it has sat where it died on York Hill, ever since. Unfortunatly, this is just 2 blocks away from the home of my stalker, the woman who vandalisded, cut in half, and than stole the Goldeneagle ( http://www.squidoo.com/stolencar ).
  
  For many weeks now she has been threatening the Volvo, raving and ranting, claiming that because it is black it therefor has demons living in it, and railing on about how she has to kill the demons, therefor she has to kill the Volvo.
  
  hhmmm --- I seem to recall her using those same words about the Goldeneagle.See More
  29 minutes ago ·
- EelKat Wendy C. Allen
  Anyways, most of my time this month has een spent with the Goldeneagle, which is many hours away. This means the Volvo has been left unattended at only a 3 minute walk from her house. Over the past few weeks, rocks, gri-gris (witch's spell ...bags), eggs, and a weird assortment of other things have been thrown at the Volvo.
  
  One day I returned home to find that some one had dumped sand and gravel all over it and than, with a rag, rubbed the sand and gravel all over it scratching the paint over nearly every inch of it.
  
  Another day the molding was pulled off and much of the doors and fenders are dented where some one punched their fists into it.
  
  Last week, the car was "keyed" a term which means someone went all around the car carving the paine and body metal off of it, most likely with a key or screw driver.Saddly this means that not only is there masive paint damage, but they went so deep in their carving, that the metal itself is clawed apart. This is not a cheap thing to fix.See More
  22 minutes ago ·
- EelKat Wendy C. Allen
  And so, after days on end of repairs and car parts all over the driveway, the engine was finally strted up, once again, and it stayed running long enough for it to take the long drive across the state, to park along side the Goldeneagle, be...fore the string of vandal attacks get a chance to go as far as they did on the Goldeneagle. And now both of my cars are far away and under 24 hour guard. The advantage here though, is the man who has them lost his job 2 months ago and has nothing to do, but tinker on anything he can find. nd while the Goldeneagle is a repair job that'll take 3 or 4 years to finish, the Volvo will be back to normal and back on the road in a matter of weeks...and THAT is going to change everything, because I am buying a travel trailer for the Volvo and going back to the lifestyle I lived back when I lived in the Goldeneagle: life in a car on the road.

"For Fear of Little Men" by Wendy C. Allen:

Find me on MySpace and be my friend!

Fulltiming with a 1992 Volvo 240GL as a tow vehicle: advice?

2010-07-28T00:52:00.001-04:00

Explaination: While you hear me talk constaintly about the Goldeneagle, a 1964 Dodge 330, I do have a second car, which is not mentioned qute so often:The Dazzleing Razzberry, a strange little Volvo with nearly as many "haunted car rumor ci...rculating around it, as the Goldeneagle itself. You can tell I like collecting cars rumored to be haunted, as these are only 2 of 4 such cars I owned. All 4 are cars I have lived in.

I love my Volvo. It's a 1992 240GL (4 cylinder). I've had it for years. It's maximum towing weight is 3,300 pounds.

However, it's an old Volvo, it has problems...lots of them. I'm constainly having it worked on. It has fits of temperament whenever the temps hit 30F and every time we get a heavy rain. Every one is always telling me I should get a better car, or at least a better Volvo. But you know what? I like this car. I'm used to this car. I've also be told by mechanics that there is no way in hell that this car will tow it's recommended 3,300 pound towing capacity. They say 2,500 pound tops, and the more I can stay under 2,000 pounds the better.

Well, that means I need a VERY lightweight trailer BEFORE I put anything in it, because it has to weigh under 2,500 pounds AFTER I load me and my stuff into it! So that drastically limits the trailer options out there for me.

Thankfully I'm some one prone to small spaces. I lived in a car for 9 years, followed by 27 years living with 5 other people in a 16x9 foot beach house, followed by living on the streets under a 8x6 tarp for 3 years, for a short summer in between I lived in a handmade teepi about 4 feet across at the base, I lived in an 8x8 foot treehouse about 20 feet off the ground one summer, I once attempted to built a yurt, but the town zoning officer made me take it down before I ever had a chance to live in it. So, a tiny trailer? No problem. I can do that. Even a tiny trailer is bigger than most places I've lived during my life. I admit, my life has been far from normal. I seem to thrive on having an as far from normal lifestyle as possible. Can't explain it. It just is.

Now if having a big trailer with a lot of space was a high priority for me, I would have to sell the Volvo and get a car or truck with better towing capacity. But for me, keeping this car is more important to me than having a lot of space in the trailer.

I'm still looking at trailers at this point and right now Thor's T@B and T@-DAH are looking like my best options, because they are small, lightweight, designed to be towed by compact cars, fit my personal needs, and are both under the 3,000 pound maximum. The T@B looks like a better option than the T@-DAH considering it is 1,000 pounds lighter. I mean, the last thing I want to do is overload my car and have to buy a new transmission!

But any ways I was wondering if any one had any advice they could offer, such as, what brand/model trailer would you recommend (the price on the T@B seems pretty steep, what are some cheaper options?) Or is there anything I could do to the Volvo that would take off some of the stress from towing a trailer.

Also, is there anyone here who has ever used a little Volvo sedan as a tow vehicle before? If so, what advice could you offer? and What type of trailer did/do you use?

Thanks!

The Goldeneagle weighs more than the Volvo's towing capacity! LOL! Once the Goldeneagle is up and running, I can get a bigger trailer and tow both the trailer AND the Volvo behind it. Cool!

The Goldeneagle once upon a time more than 30 years ago, used to tow a giant green Vardo, which my family lived in while on the road. Did I ever mention we were gypsies - by race, culture, and lifestyle?

"For Fear of Little Men" by Wendy C. Allen:

Find me on MySpace and be my friend!

Info about Living in a Car Full Time

2010-07-27T10:56:00.001-04:00

EelKat

Maine

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Joined: 07/27/2010

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Posted: 07/27/10 10:56am

2007 Keystone Fuzion wrote:

What's the pro's and con's. What is the greatest advantage fith wheel or motorhome, besides the cost difference in purchase and upkeep? What are the diffence in safety concern?

Can't answer those questions. We lived in a car. No motorhome, not trailer, nothing. Three people, 2 (big) dogs and a 3 cats in a 4 door sedan, for 9 years straight. =P That was 34 years ago, and I was the kid.

I've been part-timing in my car off and on ever since (34 years total).

I've am planning on going back into full timing next year. Spending this year getting everything in order. I've got a friend who's letting me keep my car (the very same 1964 Dodge we lived in all those years ago) in his garage and things I want to keep but can't take on the road, in his attic.

This time around I'll be living in a 1992 Volvo 240. I'm currently looking for a lightweight travel trailer (probably around 12') for the Volvo, so that I can take a bed, a toilet, and a few days supply of food along with me.

For me a VolVo with a 12 foot trailer is all I need. It's just me and 5 cats, so, I don't have a need for anything bigger. I'm one of those people who would rather sleep on the ground in a sleeping bag, than sleep in a bed, so I would only need the bed when it rains. I don't need a stove because I tend to eat stuff raw (apples, nuts, sandwiches, etc), and whenever one is around, I tend to do all my eating at SubWay anyways! LOL!

I'm very much an outdoor person, so I don't need a house, seeing as I never stay inside. That means I also don't need a TV, chairs, table, and practically everything else that comes with a big camper/trailer/motorhome. I'm never indoors long enough to use them, so why get a camper that has them?

I don't need a shower, because I tend to go from beach to beach and it's a simple matter to bath in a rinse off stall while wearing a bikini. And yes, I have even done that on Christmas day when the below zero wind chill on the beach was -48F. I go to Lobster Dips and Polar Bear Dips on New Years Day too. I got a thing for frigid cold North Atlantic waters. I'm a beach bum I suppose you could say. A good 3/4 of my time is spent at Old Orchard Beach, (off season and in the winter when the best sea shells can be found) where I have many, many, many relatives who let me park in their yards.

Also, in 34 years, I've yet to set foot in a campground.

But yeah, basically, it's about personal style more than anything else. What do you need? What can you live without? What will just be in your way? A lot of people are like me and would never spend enough time in the trailer/motorhome to warrant having anything bigger than 12'. Than again, there are just as many people who couldn't survive in anything under 30 feet.

There are a lot of things to ask yourself:

Is it just me? Is it me and my spouse? How many children are going to be living in it? How many pets? How much room does each person/pet need?

What about money? How will I earn my keep? Am I living off savings/pension? Will I work online? How will I get internet access? Will I sell arts and crafts at shows? Am I part of a traveling band? Will I work are carnivals and campgrounds? Do I need room to store products I sell? Me personally? I'm an artist and an author. I make 100% of my income online by selling my drawings, paintings, and photography via www.zazzle.com and by writing articles for sites such as www.squidoo.com and www.associatedcontent.com and I sew dolls and small cat/dog/pet quilts and other assorted small crafts through www.Etsy.com . All of my artwork is stored on the hard drive of my computer so there is no need of storage space, and the crafts that I make are small, so I keep them in a cardboard box that is about 3 feet square. I don't have any credit cards and I pay for everything online via my PayPal account or offline via cash on hand. Also, for those wondering how much I make: my income varies from $90 to $200 per month. The most I ever made in a single year was $2,800. My income is less than $3,000 per year and I get by quite well and never want for anything.

Will we be eating at fast food places or cooking our own meals? If cooking our own meals, will it be stovetop, oven, microwave, bbq grill, or campfire pit? Will we need storage space for food or will we be going from WalMart to WalMart and be able to buy what we need one day at a time?

Do we need a toilet or will there be enough rest stop places to go without. (I have an over active bladder problem and have to stop to pee about twice per hour - thus why a toilet is a MUST for me.)

What about health? After a 2 month long coma, my dad is disabled. He has diabetes, his medication has to be refrigerated. In spite of his disabilities, he's planning to get a motorhome when he retires, the need for refrigeration is a contributing factor that he has to look for when looking at RVs. Because of a heart condition and a bad leg, he can not be more than an hour away from a hospital. He has to map his travel plans around hospitals and Rite Aid/CVS locations. Because of his leg he needs a motorhome that can accommodate a walker and has a wheelchair lift - not easy to find. If you or anyone traveling with you has health issues, you have to look at what their needs are and base your RV buying decisions on those needs.

Than there is towing and drivability to consider.

For starters: What type of car do you drive? There's a big difference from a SMART-CAR to a Dodge Power Ram 1 Ton Pickup. What you drive now, will help you decide what you will drive once you start RVing.

If you want to keep your car instead of buying a pickup truck, that will seriously limit your options as anything over 16 feet will be way out of your towing capacity. If you don't have one already, can you afford a $20,000 - $40,000 pick-up that is big enough to pull your trailer? Or if you opt for a motorhome, will you be towing your car/truck/motorcycle along behind it?

What about gas mileage? There's a big difference from 50mpg to 5mpg. If you are going to drive a super sized motor home while pulling a car behind it, every day, do you have enough savings and monthly income to pay $100 or $200 or more for gas each and every day? I was pumping gas one day last summer when a guy in an giant mega sized RV was also pumping gas and complaining that he was paying over $500 a week for gas and was going to have to stop using the RV. What are your gas spending limits? What are the mpg rates for the car/truck and the camper you want? Can you afford to go as big as you'd like or will you have to go smaller just to be able to afford gas?

The bigger the camper/trailer the better your driving skills need to be. Some RVs are as big as an 18 wheeler. If you are going that big, you may need to get a bus driver or truck driver license depending on what state you register it in. How big of an RV can you reasonably and responsibly drive... really? Think about it: have you ever driven either a bus or an 18 wheel rig? Before you dish out a lot of money on a super sized motor home, you need to try test driving a few to see if you are personally comfortable behind the wheel of one or not. Some people are, some people are not.

Likewise, some folks are great at towing, while others are not. You may such at maneuvering a trailer and find a motorhome easier to do or the other way around. Until you get out there and actually test drive one of each, there really is nothing any one on a forum can recommend as to which is better because each person is different.

And than there is towing capacity. How important is it to keep the car you have now? If you plan to keep the car/truck you have now, how much can it safely tow? I have a Volvo. I love my Volvo. I've had it for years. It's maximum towing weight is 3,300 pounds. However, it's an old Volvo, it has problems...lots of them. I'm constainly having it worked on. It has fits of temperament whenever the temps hit 30F and every time we get a heavy rain. Every one is always telling me I should get a better car, or at least a better Volvo. But you know what? I like this car. I used to this car. I've also be told by mechanics that there is now way in hell that this car will tow it's recommended 3,300 pound towing capacity. They say 2,500 pound tops, and the more I can stay under 2,000 pounds the better. Will, that means I need a VERY lightweight trailer BEFORE I put anything in it, because it has to weigh under 2,500 pounds AFTER I load me and my stuff into it! So that drastically limits the trailer options out there for me. Now if having a big trailer with a lot of space was a high priority for me, I would have to sell the Volvo and get a car or truck with better towing capacity. But for me, keeping this car is more important to me than having a lot of space in the trailer, thus in my case at least, the smaller the trailer the better. I'm still looking at trailers at this point and right now Thor's T@B and T@-DAH are looking like my best options, because they are small, lightweight, designed to be towed by compact cars, and fit my personal needs. So, yeah, if you will be towing, you have to consider the car/truck you already have and wither or not you are keeping or trading, and match your trailer to what your car can handle. I mean, the last thing you want to do is overload your car and have to buy a new transmission!

As a general rule the more income/savings you have, the bigger you can go. But than again, why do you want to be a fulltimer? Are you planning to do a lot of wilderness boondocking? If so, a car and tent will suit your needs, as the dirt roads to get into the wilderness are not rv friendly (I know - been there, done that. Deep wilderness boondocking is my own personal style, thus why a car and a small trailer are personally best for me). Will you be going to a lot of state fairs and craft shows? If so, you'll need something with a lot of storage space, thus a bigger trailer or motorhome would be better for you.

So you see, there are a lot of variables you have to consider. Why do you want it? How much can you afford? What are your driving skills? How will you be using it? How many people/pets will be going with you? What health issues are there to think about? Where and how will you get your meals? Where and how will you sleep?

In short, no one answer is right for every one and you may have to buy and sell a few RVs to find the size and type that best suits your personal needs. What I did was to sit down a write of a list of everything I could not do without, and everything I could live without but didn't want to live without, and everything that would in some way effect my choice. In the end, I found out that for me a Volvo with a 12' trailer was more than I needed and would suit my needs perfectly. Only you can decide what it is that will best fit you.

Hope that helps.

2007 Keystone Fuzion wrote:

Any regrets on saleing house to go full timing?

We didn't sell our house. Instead we rented it out, which gave us a monthly income while on the road. It also gave us the option to still have a house to go back too, should at some point we decided fulltiming wasn't for us, and we still had a permanent mailing address. (Our mail still came to 146 and the renter's mail came to the new 146-A.)

"For Fear of Little Men" by Wendy C. Allen
Find me on MySpace and be my friend!

Full-time RVing - Does Size Matter?

2010-07-27T10:20:00.000-04:00

Full-time RVing

In the 1970's, we rented our house out and went on the road to become "fulltimers". For 9 years: me, my parents, a German shepherd, a poodle, and 3 cats lived in a 1964 Dodge 330 4 door sedan. We had no trailer, no motor home, no camper, no RV or any kind, just us and a 19 foot long car, which equaled 6x10 feet of actual living space.

Today 34 years later, I am in the process of restoring that exact same car, buying a 16' travel trailer for it, and once again going on the road to live full time in a car, this time just me and my 14 cats. Every one I know is telling me I'm crazy, they say, "but there's no room in a car!", "you are looking for a trailer that is too small!"

Well, remember that house I mentioned earlier that we had rented out? After our 9 years of living in the car, we returned to that 16' x 9' house, (yes, our car was 3 feet longer than our house) added 8 more dogs, 24 more cats, and my mom had 3 more kids, and we lived there for the next 27 years.

When our house burned down in 2006, my mom and my 3 brothers moved into an apartment in the city, my dad moved into a Chevy Malibu, and me and 2 dogs and 9 cats moved back into the 1964 Dodge 330 4 door sedan which I still had/have. Beside the car I built a tent out of a 8x6 tarp and that is where I have lived ever since.

So, for me, this is just every day living.

And now I'm here reading this thread, and seeing people complaining that they couldn't live in anything smaller than a 30' rv? OMG! I look at that and ask, How can you live in something THAT BIG!?! I've never lived in anything that was even half that size, not once in my entire life! I just couldn't even imagine living in something so huge! Well, every one is different I suppose, I guess it has a lot to do with where you grew up. I grew up in a car. I know that's far from normal, but hey, I love it and for me, smaller is better.

"For Fear of Little Men" by Wendy C. Allen:

Find me on MySpace and be my friend!

I Gave up Fulltime RVing for stupid reason...anyone else?

2010-07-27T07:12:00.001-04:00

I was a "fulltimer" for 9 years back in the 1970s. (I lived in a 1964 Dodge). I never did any cross country traveling, and basically lived in a different town on Maine every week, and over the years have lived in practically every town and city in Maine at one point or another. I love Maine, I never had any desire to go any place else. I was born and raised in Maine, and am a full time resident of Maine, I just didn't live in a house and made the entire state my home and I loved it. So, I guess I'm sort of weird when it comes to fulltiming, because I always hear others saying the "whole reason" for fulltimeing is to travel from one side of the country to the other. Well, okay, that's great if you like traveling, but, that's just not my style. Anyways I did this for 9 years, and than everything changed.

I gave it up for a "normal" lifestyle because that's what all my friends and family and my 264 relatives told me I was "supposed" to do. I will point out at this point, that my relatives until the 1960s were gypsies - in race and culture and lifestyle. We all lived together in a caravan of cars, vans, campers, and buses - all 264 of us, aunts, uncles, cousins, in laws, each couple with no less than 8 children, one wife with 15 children and there were 4 polygamists in the group, thus why there were so many children over all. I was still a baby back than, so I have no actual memories of living in the big caravan group, which disbanded when I was just 2 years old.

Anyways, the whole kit and kaboodle of them, went their separate ways and took up "normal" lifestyles with houses and jobs and living the whole "American Dream" thing. They shun the "gypsy lifestyle" and go out of their way to hide their race and culture. Me, I guess I sort of had lingering memories of that life, even though I was still a baby when the whole thing ended, because by the 1970's I had started living on the road as mentioned above. I did that for 9 years, but than gave it up to live a "normal" life with a house and a car and a job. I did this because my relatives were very persistent and very good at making me feel guilty about not being "a normal person".

Anyways fast forward to today, 34 years later. I tried to "live a normal life" doing the whole living in a house and having neighbors and working at Macy's part time and selling Avon part time and writing part time. I tried to "fitin" and for 20 years I have been miserable! I've gotten more and more depressed with each passing. In the past couple of years I became suicidal. I could not understand why. I mean, I had a "normal" life. In theory I have the "perfect" life, or so I was being told. I should be happy, right? This past year I've done some serious soul searching to try to figure out what was causing my depression, and it occurred to me, that it started when I moved into a house! It got worse when I got a "regular" job and started living a so-called "normal" life.

Than last summer some one asked me: "Why do you do what your family tells you to do? Why don't you do what you want to do? Why do you care what they think? Look at them, they are far from happy with their own lives. They are only busy bodies trying to control your life, because misery loves company and they are miserable and they were jealous of seeing you happy so tried to make you be miserable right along with them."

Hearing that was a real eye opener. I started looking at the people telling me how to live my life, and realizing, OMG! They are not happy! I never even noticed it before. I was too busy trying to do everything they were telling me I was supposed to be doing, to even step back and look at why they were so bent on telling me what to do.

Suddenly it occurred to me: I have spent the past 20 odd years doing what OTHER PEOPLE told me I SHOULD be doing instead of doing what I WANTED to be doing.

But than I had to ask myself, if I could do anything, anything at all, what WOULD I be doing?

The answer: I never would have stopped living in a car on the side of the road. I never would have stopped going from the bottom of Maine to the top of Maine and back, year after year. I never would have stopped going from one Maine beach to the next week after week, each week living at a different beach. I would still be bunking down in fishing villages and eating at fishing shacks and conversing with fishermen on the docks. I would still be parking the car at nature preserves and spending hour after hour hiking through Maine's glorious green forests. I would still be eating soggy sandwiches out of the trunk of my car, while photographing Maine wildlife. I would still be sleeping under the stars, without a tent on the ground with nothing but a sleeping bag, and listening to crickets chirping. I would still be doing what I loved best of all: living close to nature. I would still be happy if I had not giving up this "fulltimer" lifestyle I had had all those years ago.

I guess I'm just a nomad at heart and settling down in one spot, is simply not for me. And so, I am spending 2010 getting my life "in order", paying off bills, getting rid of stuff, downsizing big time, getting my car fixed up and ready to become a full time road trip car, and seeking out the "perfect travel trailer" to suit my needs. And by this time next year, I will be back on the road, back in the life style I love, back to living full time without a house and calling once again the entire state of Maine my home address.

Sorry for the long story. But I just needed to tell this to some one who would understand the need to live houseless and on the road, and at the moment none of my friends or family understand me or my desire to live this nomad lifestyle, they think I have lost my mind, literally, they keep setting up appointments withpsychiatrists and psychologists! The doctors have pointed out, that it is my relatives and not me who have some serious mental issues here, because as the doctors have pointed out: I'm in my 40's and these relatives (uncles, aunts, and distant cousins, some of whom I've never even met because they live in Utah and I live in Maine!) have no right to tell me how to run my life, and the fact that they have gone so far as to call in doctors is proof itself that they are suffering from a serious condition (I forget what he called it) that causes them to need to be in control of everything around them. WOW! You know what, in a way, I'm glad they sent me to all these doctors...now I know that I'm not crazy for wanting to live the lifestyle I want to live, and what's more, now I am able to look at the people who stopped me from living the life I wanted to live and realize, they have no say over anything I do and I don't have to listen to them. What a load off my mind that is! (I know, I should have thought of that on my own and I feel stupid for never thinking of it. I guess sometimes we just need an unbiased outsider to force us to see things as they really are!)

But anyways, I was wondering, is there any one here who has ever had a similar problem? Did you live a fulltime rv lifestyle and give up on it for some silly reason than go back to it years later? Did you dream of doing it for years but put it off because family/friends made you feel guilty for wanting this life? If so, please share your story about what stopped you and how you got back into it.

"For Fear of Little Men" by Wendy C. Allen:

Find me on MySpace and be my friend!

Learning to Relive My Dream

2010-07-23T17:07:00.000-04:00

EelKat Wendy C. Allen So, I've been going over ways to expand my income using Etsy. I sew everything: cloths, dolls, quilts, tote bags, dog beds, you name it I've probably sewn one! I embroider, cross-stitch, crochet, needlpoint, bargello, chicken scratch, French knot, blackwork, and crewl.

EelKat Wendy C. Allen

I pleat, I smock, I yo-yo, I do 3-d beading, and I even have the patence to make cathedral window quilts and king sized hand beaded and embroidered crazy quilts. Seems like I should be able to do this as a career instead of a hobby, right?

about an hour ago ·

EelKat Wendy C. Allen

So - uhm - a sudden and unexpected gift of money (from not one, but two different people, both with an attached note saying to use the moneey to expand my home business) has resulted in my buying a lot of sewing supplies the past couple of weeks. Ben has cleared out one side of his living room and turned it into a mini-sewing room for me, and I ... See Morewill not likely be online much for the next several weeks, as I will be spending the rest of the summer at his house, sewing a whole lot of stuff, that you should see show up or sale on my Etsy shop in late summer early fall.

And I will be doing something I haven't done since before the fire that left me homeless 4 years ago: quilting. So with Ben's ok, I am turning my quilting hobby into a full-time career. Getting back into sewing full time again, should also have a huge effect on my mood, seeing how not having a place to set up my sewing machine, thus not being able tosw was one of the things that wascausing my major depression fits. I love sewing and not being able to sew was like cutting my arms off. I mean, before the fire I was sewing every day all day long.

53 minutes ago ·

EelKat Wendy C. Allen

And the goal now is:

Short term: make enough money from Etsy, to buy a booth and do what I really want to do: become a full time artisan taking my crafts, dolls, and quilts on the road to fairs, festivals, and shows.

Long term goal: make enough money to restore the Goldeneagle ( http://www.squidoo.com/stolencar ) and get a careval wagon style ... See Moretrailer to match it, pack up my cats, my comic books, and my sewing and become a full time artisan living on the road, traveling across the country from one fair to the next - doing what I loveost of all: sewing, attending fairs, and living in the old Dodge.

People have called me a gypsy, like it was an insult, but that is the life I grew up with as a very small child. We were gypsies. We lived on the road. We lived in that car. We followed the fairs. In the late 1970's we settled down and became farmers. I have never liked farm life. I am not a farmer.

A wek or so ago, it was pointed out to me, that I have spent the lat several years "taking orders", living life he way other people around me thought my life "should" be like, and I was not living my dream. They tol me, I not only was not living my dream, but I was burying my dream alive and killing it and it in turn was killing me. It has damaged my health and put me on a dangerous downward spiral into depression. Then this person asked me: You are always doing what every one tells you to o. What do you want to do? If there was no one to tell you what to do, what would you choose to do?

I've spent the past 2 weeks thinking about that question. I used to have goals. I used to have dreams. And than...something else happened...on a whim, I went to a psychic and had my first ever psychic reading. I don't beli was more for a laugh, un my having a reading done was more for a laugh, until I actually got the reading done.

The reading said: In a few days you will be taking a trip. That trip will change your life. It will revive old memories and hopes and dreams long ago forgotten. It will set you on the path to a new life and a new career, one you have dreamed about but tossed aside.

Well, here I am, me, the agoraphobic who can't leave the house let alone go on a trip. Me? Go on a trip? LOL!

33 minutes ago ·

EelKat Wendy C. Allen

Than, as many of you already know, last week, the Yarmoth Clam Festival happened. As is usual for the festival, a band of gypsies who opperate New England's largest side show and carnnie attraction, set up there carnival on the outskirts of the Clam Festival.

During my early childhood the Clam Festival was a yearly event for my family, as was the ... See MoreState Fair, the Strawberry Festival, the Moxie Festival - you name it, if it was a carneval event we were there. (This was before the whole "White Monkey" event that has a drastic effect on my life and changed everything)

We lived in the Goldeneagle back than, sleeping on the side of the road. I loved it. I thrived on it. I loved being part of a band of gypsies, following carnevals and living on the road. Part of the reason I kept the Goldeneagle all these 34 years was because seeing that car brings back memories of our old gypsy lifestyle from way back than. And that was always my intention with rebuilding that car - to once again take it on the road and follow the carnivals and sleep in the ditch. I know to some people that sounds crazy, but I really love that lifestyle. And, I forgot that.

It's been so many years since I have been to a fair or a festival or a carnevail, and that used to be such a big part of my life. The lights, the cotton candy, the ferris wheels, the merry go round, the popcorn, the booths of plastic junl for sale next to the booths of fine art crafts, the clowns, the freaks, the drag queens, the costumes. I didn't realize how much I missed that, until out of the blue, last week, Ben suddenly decided (after reading my now deleted FB note) that I needed to get out of the house and back around people again, and he took me of all places, to the Clam Festival.

But he took me there, not realizing that Smokey's Greast Show had set up their huge traveling side show-carneval-circus in a feild just behind the Clam Festival. Smokey's Greastest Show is THE VERY SAME carneval that we used to follow around in the Dodge back in the 1970s! I know these people. I remember these people. They are all the same people I remember running the show 30 years ago! I couldn't believe it when I saw them. The same rides, the same acts, it was liking going back in time, everything was still the same. The people were older of course, but they are still the same people.

I spent 3 days and nights there, just soaking in all the carny life atmosphere, that has for so long been missing from my life.

And than I realized. This is what I want. This is what I have always wanted. That's why I kept the Goldeneagle, because it reminded me of a lifestlye that I haven't lived for 30 years. And that's when it hit me: that was my dream, that was my goal, and I pushed it aside because other people told me it was a stupid dream. I buried the goals that were my heart's true desire, in order to live a life I hated, because that's what other people told me I was "suppossed" to do.

I actually have some old blue prints I drew up years ago, of the booth I was going to have built. Living on the road, being a full time carny worker running booth at fairs THAT WAS MY DREAM.

And now, with everything that has been happening the past few years and weeks, I'm starting to realize, this all happened for a reason - to get me back on track to a dream that I tossed aside, because others thought that dream was silly. Well, maybe it was foolish and stupid and silly to them, but it wasn't to me. It was the think I loved dong. I've been miserable ever since I gave up that lifestyle. I've been depressed ever since I let other people control my dreams. That has to change. And I'm going to change it.

And that now, is my long term goal: to revive my goals and live my dream.

6 minutes ago ·

The contents of this blog, are taken from the second draft of the book "For Fear of Little Men" by Wendy C. Allen, and reprinted here with permission. Find me on MySpace and be my friend!

UPDATE: May 15, 2010: Home Again!

2010-05-15T23:59:00.000-04:00

Thank you to those who have called with sightings of this car as it was moved across the state and from person to person. {{{{hugs}}}} You have helped me trace it's current wherabouts and it will be home soon! Thank you for helping me find my car! Hugs & kisses to all of you! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all of your help!!!!!

UPDATE: May 15, 2010: Home Again!

The Goldeneagle is back home safe and sound. Thanks to all the people who helped me locate it, helped me buy it back from the scrap yard that it had been sent too, helped me move it and helped me pay the movers for it's long long 4 hour trip back home. Well, here it is as it looks today. As you can see from the pictures of it before it was stolen, verses the pictures of it after it was stolen 10 days ago, it suffered badly at the hands of the thieves. Oh well. I guess we will just have to rebuild.

Riding Back Home

Home At Last!

The contents of this blog, are taken from the second draft of the book "For Fear of Little Men" by Wendy C. Allen, and reprinted here with permission. Find me on MySpace and be my friend!

UPDATE: May 11, 2010: The Goldeneagle Has Been Found!

2010-05-11T11:00:00.000-04:00

UPDATE: May 11, 2010: The Goldeneagle Has Been Found!

Yes, we have now verified that the car sighted on May 8th, was in fact my car!

I have just returned, from the long long trip to verify that the car reported found and suspected of being my car, was in fact The Goldeneagle. It has sustained much damage in it's move, as you can see from the photos below. We are now working with a mover to get it brought back home and it shall soon be back where it belongs.

This is the first time I've seen it since it was stolen 6 days ago. The last 6 days are the ONLY 6 days of my entire life, that I have not been in this car. And actually, the damage is not as bad as was described to me over the phone - thank goodness! I talked with 7 different people on the phone, all of whom had seen my car, all of whom told me the car was now cut in half, but from there the reports varied, so until today I had no idea how badly it had or had not been damaged. While every one was telling me something slightly different, they all agreed on the fact that the car they had seen was now in 2 pieces, which confirmed the fact that each person had seen the same car while it was on the move across Maine. The last sighting of my car, it was reported heading towards a scrap yard, a place that makes a business of crushing cars. I knew the place people were talking about, that they thought my car was heading to, and so called them, and they did have my car, or at least a car that fit the description of my car had just come in shortly before my call to them, so they set it aside out back to wait for me to come take a look at it myself and see if the car they had was my Goldeneagle, and it was, as you can see from the pictures below.

I've just come from there and yes, as mentioned by every single person who called to report having seen my car, the Goldeneagle has been cut in half! Also some parts of it were already removed and sold before it reached the guy who has it right now. The floor boards are gone entirely, a result of the original mover dragging it on the ground behind his truck. But, floorboards are easily built by hand out of sheet metal, so that can be fixed.

All 4 wheels, and tires, and the rear axle were not with it, by the time it reached the guy who has it now, and no one seems to know what happened to them or where they went. Again, however, these are all parts that are replaceable, so, these too can be fixed.

Thankfully, the guy who cut it in half, cut it at the body to nose seam joint and it's a simple welding job to fix. Unfortunately the frame underneath the body (which was already cracked as a result of a tree falling on the car some 20 years earlier) has twisted out of shape and I suspect is beyond repair, but building a new frame from scratch will not be hard to do, and getting a Polaris frame (which will fit a 330 with slight adjustments) is not hard to do either, so the frame is fixable.

And oddly enough, most of the reports were telling me of body damage, which as it now turns out that most of the damage described as having been received in transit, was ACTUALLY the damage that was done to it by vandals last March, BEFORE the car was stolen on May 5th, and NOT damage it received while on it's move across the state. The damage you see done to the doors, was a result of the vandals prying open the LOCKED doors and as I said that had happened on March 18th, as did the holes in the fenders, and the other various twists and bends in the metal.

And considering the condition of it (it's last day of use consisted of a nose dive into the Atlantic Ocean, thus why the extensive rust) all in all, it survived it's trip rather well. And other than being cut in two and losing the floor boards and an axle, all in all it really did not sustain all that much damage in it's move across the state. It can be fixed.

I took these pictures of it's current state to a mover, and he thinks he can move it with a fork lift without any farther damage.
Arrangements are now being made to bring it home - in a few days the Goldeneagle will be back where it belongs.

Thank you once again, to all the people who helped me locate my stolen car {{{hugs and kisses}}}} to all of you!

The contents of this blog, are taken from the second draft of the book "For Fear of Little Men" by Wendy C. Allen, and reprinted here with permission. Find me on MySpace and be my friend!

FAQ: Why Do People Believe This Car Is Haunted, Cursed, or Possessed?

2010-05-08T02:03:00.001-04:00

FAQ: Why Do People Believe This Car Is Haunted, Cursed, or Possessed?

A Brief History of The Goldeneagle

For 30 years, the Goldeneagle has sat in my garden, silent and motionless, sitting on top an ancient Native American grave yard. Originally it was one of many cars that lined this hill. Mechanics have long baffled over our difficulty at keeping a car running. We buy on average a new car every 6 months, a necessity caused by the inexplicable fact that once a car is parked too close the The Goldeneagle, it never runs again. The only answer mechanics have ever been able to come up with was that our driveway must be on top of some sort of "natural electrical fault line" which drains the power out of the cars, thus causing irreprible damage to the battery, alternator, and electrics. Local people with more superstitious beliefs, point to The Goldeneagle, saying that it has an energy sucking demon in it that drains the electricity out of everything that passes it. They point out that it is not just cars, but also watches, radios, cameras, clocks, and other electrical items which also die once in contact with the car. Indeed they have a point. It is a puzzlement, that could possibly explained by the last day of this car's life.

The "electrical sucking" problems are a more recent development however. The car, when brand new, was a problem from the day it left the showroom. Driving it was near impossible, as was controlling it. Every one who ever attempted to drive it, compared it to "Herbie The Love Bug" saying it had a mind of it's own and would not go where they wanted to go. You could sit for hours trying to get it to start, than give up, only to have the engine come on on it's own. There was no way to adjust the speed of it. If it was moving, it was going 80MPH or 35MPH. There was no in between, and it went fast or slow without warning. Mechanics who examined the car, said they could find nothing wrong, but assumed it was a problem with it's control system. You see, this car was an unusual model. A limited edition. A prototype, less than 5,000 of them were built, today this car is one of less than a thousand presumed to exist, though some estimate there may be fewer than a hundred of them left.

This model, a 1964 Limited Edition Version of a 330 Coronet, was made from September 1963 - January 1964. Technically it is a 1963 Dodge, that was built using parts from both the left over parts of a 1963 Coronet and the later 1964 330, thus the difference from a Limited Edition 330 and a regular edition 330. There in lays the problem. The 1964 330 is a push button car, while the 1963 Coronet is just a regular key operated car. In other words, they combined push button technology on a none push button car. The regular edition 330's did not have this problem, because they were push button cars, made to be push button cars. Because of this unique combo feature of the Limited Edition versions of the 330's, mechanics assumed that The Goldeneagle's problems stemmed from that. Somewhere in the system, when connecting the push button wiring in, something must be faulty they said. However, while mechanics had a logical and rational answer for our car's inexplicable activity, several locals, preferred the superstitious answer, of saying the car was possessed and had a demon controlling it.

Than there was, however, the doors. While driving down the road, switching from 35 to 80 to 35 again, the doors would suddenly fly open, the seat belt unbuckle, and it was, hang on for your life or going flying out on the pavement head first. Because the car is so huge and can move 8 people, we often carpooled locals to church on Sunday. However, this event was short lived, as after a few times of this door flinging habit, they began to swear the car had "pushed them out". While church members kept their distance saying a demon in the car had tried to kill them, mechanics said the problem was three fold - caused by faulty locks, damaged seat belts, and cracked rocker panels.

The car was originally intended to be one of the town police cars. Old Orchard Beach had bought a whole fleet of Dodge's that year. The Goldeneagle, however, did not see duty with the rest of the fleet, because it's problems were there from the very beginning, straight from the factory. An elderly man bought the silver still unmarked police car, and with a paint brush, painted the entire car in gold leaf, named it The Goldeneagle, and it became his rarely used family car. The Goldeneagle stood out, a sight for sore eyes, it's thick, cracked, dripping, brush streaked paint job, made it a sight from hell. It's mad dash habit of unexpectedly speeding than flinging it's doors open, caused people to run from the streets when they saw it coming. With it's gold streaked paint resembling fire, it's brazen lipstick red interior, a white jagged grill that looked like teeth, and big round head lights that looked like eyes, the car was dubbed demon possessed, and quickly became a local legend. Unable to control his car, the elderly man put it in storage, and it sat unused for years, no one dared go near the thing, and locked away, it was quickly forgotten.

Than in 1975, the car was discovered locked away, nearly new, and with almost no mileage on it at all. Because people were terrified of it, believing it to be haunted or possessed; it was going to be crushed. But my father not believing in local superstition around the car, and seeing it silly to crush a nearly brand new, though badly painted, police car brought it home. My dad, an antique car collector at the time, offered $100 to buy it from the crusher and brought it home. My father was convinced that the superstition behind the car being demon possessed were nothing but people's imagination, and he set out to a total rebuild from the ground up, to put an end once and for all to the unexplained activities of this bizarre car. My father's theory was it had serious factory built mechanical problems, thus why the massive rebuilding of it. The car spent a year in pieces and finally it reemerged, a metal-flaked orange, with thick neon red hippie shag interior. It went from demon terror to flashy pimp-mobile. However, rebuilding it, did nothing to stop it's habit of driving off, opening doors and "throwing" people out of itself.

Over the next 7 years, the car would go to more than 40 different mechanics for an evaluation. Oddly, of all the places we took it, there was only one mechanic, who would continually work on this car, again and again, and again. It became a monthly habit to take the car to him. What was odd about this was that in the past three day, my car was stolen, chopped up, nearly crushed, stripped down, passed from person to person, and eventually landed back where it had originally started out: in the yard of the only man to be able to work on it all those many years ago. The guy who has it right this moment was only one of over 40 mechanics that worked on this car, trying to find out what was wrong with it. I was quite surprised actually, when an anonymous tip came to me, yesterday, telling me that they had seen my car earlier that morning being hauled towards his business and they suspected it was on it's way to him. Well, having had most of my cars there at one point or another, and knowing this man and his business, I called him, and indeed, my car was in fact there, and I had called him just in time to stop it from being scraped. He has set it aside and it is now awaiting it's ride back home. This fact no doubt, will cause these superstitious people to claim the car possessed the truck driver to take it to that particular place, knowing it would be saved from the crusher if it could only get to the one man who had a past history with this very car. But in any case, all these years, no mechanic has ever been able to cure the car of it's odd little habits.

When my father first brought it home it was assumed that the car was in near perfect condition. This assumption was based on the fact that it had seen almost no road time as a police car and had seen very little road time while owned by the elderly man. Upon bringing it home, a new discovery was made, one that no one had before been aware of - this car, before being put into storage, had been submerged in salt water, a fact that was revealed, when my father stripped it down to try to find out what was wrong with it. The discovery of the car's connection to the ocean, had only just begun. In the few short years we drove it, it would take several flying leaps off roads, piers, and bridges, and do a nose dive straight into the ocean, as if being dragging in by a magnet. It is unknown how many times this car went underwater, but it is suspected now that this alarming habit was what caused the elderly man to lock it up all those years prior.

The Goldeneagle 1964 dodge 330 bytwighlightmanor

We had the car four years, when it began to "attract death" and locals began pointing a finger at the car claiming it's demon was now killing people. In 1979, a ten year old girl on a bike, was hit by a car and killed instantly. She died in our driveway, under the front bumper of The Goldeneagle. Though not the car to hit her, it's presence on the scene of the crime, caused an out cry, to crush the car and kill it's demon.

An alarming discovery was made years later, when it was discovered that this was not the first young girl to see such a fate. Many years before we had acquired the car, my Aunt B, when just 2 years old, had likewise been hit by a car, though again not the Goldeneagle that hit her, it was there at the scene of the crime, and it had been blamed for causing her near death. This scene of young girls dieing or nearly dieing inches from The Goldeneagle, would repeat itself many times, and became the thing that would make this car a legend.

Dead dogs, cats, and birds, began to show up, around the car with no explanation as to how they got there, and than, the thing that terrified many - one day at church, the car lept off by itself, "chased after" two small white terrier dogs and crushed them. This event was witnessed by nearly every member of the church. It would be the last time we would take The Goldeneagle to church on Sundays, instead using the blue station wagon after that, because of the outcried of hate and terror from members whenever they saw the Goldeneagle.

While the other habits this car had, were scaring people, it was it's connection to death, that had caused the outright terror, that would result in the many years of vandalism. For over 30 years The Goldeneagle has been consistently vandalized. We had had it only 2 years, before the first attack on it by locals, who filled the gas tank with beach sand, and the entire fuel line had to be rebuilt as a result. From the mid 1970's - 1980's, we weekly found the car egged, marshmallowed, t-papered, and keyed along with messages to crush it to stop the curse. It has in it, it's third windshield, a result of rocks having been thrown at it on multiple occasions - once while we were driving in it: the rock came threw the windshield and missed my forehead by millimeters. While we knew who a few of the vandals were, we never found out who was behind most of this long years of attacks on the car.

The Goldeneagle - 1964 dodge 330 byeelkat

"The Goldeneagle" a 1964 dodge 330 byeelkat

The Last Ride of The Goldeneagle and Why the Woman Who Stole It, Hates It So Much

When I was 9 years old, an event would happen to terrify every one, and cause the car to never be used ever again. A hurricane lashed wildly up the coast, not unusual, seeing how we live on a beach. My self-proclaimed "prophet" cult leader grandfather had phoned from Utah to say that a fire would kill us all. He than phoned my grandmother in Biddeford and told her the same thing. This was not an unusual happening, as he was a raving lunatic and had made hundreds of such wild "prophecies" every week for years. The difference was, around midnight my grandmother called us in terror to say that her house was in flames. Without a thought we all piled into the Goldeneagle, it being the fastest car we had, and sped the way to Biddeford We arrived on Graeme Street to see the giant Victorian mansion nothing but towering flames and my grandmother running down the road hugging her cat. She lept into the car and we drove around Biddeford waiting for the fire to stop and trying to calm her down. It was one of Biddeford's biggest fires, spreading out to neighboring houses and the town was in a panic trying to keep the fire from spreading to the 1700's Congregational/Temp Saco ward Mormon Church next door. The giant ancient church with it's towering stain glass windows is unique around here, the goal was to save the church at all costs. All costs, cost my grandmother and five other families their homes, as the fire swept up the block burning everything in it's path. With the Goldeneagle cruising on the scene of Biddeford's giant fire, rumors started up, that the car's demon had started the fire.

Two days later, with the hurricane still raging down on us, half the town evacuated, and flood waters now nearing the town hall, a woman on East Grand Ave, doubled over, coughing up pools of blood, with 4 feet of water and rising fast, power lines down, and brilliant blue flashes of electricity coming from the power lines and sparking across the water, no ambulance could get to her. It was our Goldeneagle that would suddenly take an 80MPH nose dive down Maine Street, and into the raging hurricane tossed Atlantic Ocean with it's 20 foot waves, water flashing with wild electrical power lines, and water well over the roof. The drive went on underwater for nearly a mile to East Grand Ave. With the woman in the car, the entire car filled to the dash with ocean water fast turning red with blood, we were speeding back up Main Street and reached the Town Hall Hill, to be meet by 3 police cars, two fire trucks, and an ambulance, all of which followed us on the fastest car ride I have ever been in as we drove the dieing woman at speeds far in excess of 100MPH all the way to the Webber Hospital some 15 miles away.

The combination of the off the chart speeds (the hand marking our speed had gone all the way around and broke off), and the long drive under salt water, fighting against a raging hurricane, put too much stress on ever fiber of the car. When we finally stopped, opened the doors, let the water drain out and got the woman into the hospital, the car would never move again. The trans was shot, the engine waterlogged, the frame cracked, axles twisted, both back wheels hanging side ways, and the leaf springs left who knows where behind somewhere under the ocean. A friend who saw the high speed chase, and had joined in behind the police, drove up behind us in a light blue VW. The giant 19 foot long Goldeneagle was tied to the bumper of the tiny VW and towed home, parked in my rose garden, and would never move again until May 5, 2010, when it was stolen. Alarmingly, it was this very same woman whose life had been saved by this car, who was the woman to steal this car and sell it to be crushed, claiming it had a demon in it. Since the day of the high speed cash that saved her life and killed my car, she has maintained the theory that it was the car that had caused her health problems to begin with, claiming the car's demon had cursed her.

The Goldeneagle 1964 dodge 330 bytwighlightmanor

The Goldeneagle (1964 Dodge 330 Limited Edition) bytwighlightmanor

My Rose Garden: The View of the Goldeneagle From The Road --- Can You See It?

Behind the Roses: A Car Hidden From the World --- a Close Up of the Same Spot in the Photo Above

The Rise of The Rose Garden

On Being Homeless and Living In a Dead Car

When I was 9 years old, I did not yet have a garden. I did however have a car, which I bought for $1 from my father. The car was turned into an office and I would set out to writing the Twighlight Manor series, while using the Goldeneagle as a writing desk. If I was outside of the house, I was inside of the car. I pretty much lived in the car, and it was not unusual for me to take my meals outside to eat in the car and often, stay out at night and sleep in the car. As a general rule, I spent only one or two hours a day, for the next 20 years, NOT inside of this car. I grew up on a cult compound. While I could not escape the cult, I found I could escape having to listen to their constant preaching, by locking myself inside of The Goldeneagle and reading or writing and ignoring their delusions about all the evil that existed in the world outside of their cult.

My constantly in the car all day and all night for years on end, resulted in my getting to see people's fascination with it. It seemed, my car was some sort of tourist attraction for visitors from Quebec, who for some odd reason, flocked to my car every summer and stood around chattering in French. Nearly every one of them would attempt to buy it, with offers going higher and higher. The highest offer I have yet received, for the car I paid only $1 for, was $50,000, an offer that came long after the car had collapsed to the ground and had to be lifted up on cinder blocks to protect it.

The problem here, is I have Autism and I can not deal with even just one or two people around me with my having a panic attack. So these daily visits from dozens and dozens of French Canadians was driving my batty and I had to do something to stop them from flocking to my car. On the other hand, than there were the local religion crazies, who were daily dropping by to throw eggs at my car. I had to stop that at well.

To protect it from the vandals who thought it was cursed, and Canadians who seemed desperate to buy it, a garden was built around it, thus hiding it from the sight of the world. By the time I was 11, the car could no longer be seen, as pine trees, blackberries, lilacs, and roses, grew up over and around my car. I never did a thing to trim them, letting them grow wild, and by my late 20's they had become a huge jungle, and local vandals seemed to have forgotten my car existed seeing how not even NASA Satellites or Google Maps, had been able to see. People have stood only inches from the car and not known it was there, not until March 18, 2010 that is, when the vandal woman who would steal and sell it on May 5, 2010, came in and tore up all my bushes, uncovered the long buried and forgotten to the world car, and smashed the living hell out of it (see photos above).

While I had always planned on restoring The Goldeneagle, it's last drive through the ocean, had cause serious damage and massive rust problems, which prevented me from doing anything loud or harsh around the car for fear of it crumbling. Yes, the rust had gotten that bad. It was the fact that the rust had gotten so bad, that was the reason the vandals were able to do so much damage so fast, with so little effort. For years my comings and going in and out of this car had been delicate and gentle. I knew what to touch and what not to touch. I knew where it's weak spots were and how to avoid them. The vandals in their brutish ox in a china closet manner had ripped off the doors, and jumped in. The result was the instant disintegration of the entire floor. Once the floor had crumbled it was a simple matter of pulling off every thing else and throwing it.

Oh yes, I knew years ago, what would happen if any one touched this car in even the slightest manner. You have to remember, that I am homeless. I have been homeless for many, many years. This car IS my home, my house. I lived in this car. I knew how to keep it from falling apart, and I knew that under no circumstances could any one ever be allowed to touch it in it's frail delicate condition.

The problem with having Autism, is you have a server disability that prevents you from doing pretty much almost everything, and bars you from getting hired at places that would rather not hire you, but than, you have to deal with laws with also say Autism is not considered enough of a disability for you to get disability help from the State, either. It's all I can do, just to find enough food to feed me and my cats. Finding a place to live or a way to restore my car, is near impossible unless I can find someone who will hire an Autistic woman who only knows how to read, write, work on 1964 Dodges, grow roses, and embroider. I don't know how to do anything else. I can't count, I can't do math, I can't do money, I can't tell time, and most stuff that people seem to think is easy, I can not understand at all.

In fact, guarding this car is the only real thing I have ever done with my life. It is a vigil I took very seriously thus why the fight to get it back. Guarding this car and protecting it from vandals, IS my job, my purpose, my duty, my life. To protect this car at all costs - that is what I have done since I was 9 years old. Only this, and nothing more. There were no adults in my life to teach me how to do anything else, and so for 30 years, it's the only thing I have done, because it's the only thing I know how to do. Had I the money to rebuild it and drive it, I would in a heart beat. That would not be hard at all. I know every inch of this car. It's like a giant jig saw puzzle. I'm good with puzzles. Give me a puzzle that takes the average person weeks to finish and I'll have it done in less than an hour. Give me the parts to rebuild my car, and it'll be on the road in days. Putting it back together is not the problem, it's lacking the pieces needed to put it together that is the problem. But guarding, protecting, and working on this car, it really is the only thing I know how to do. For the last 30 years, I have done nothing else, for the simple fact, I was never allowed to do anything else, today, I don't know how to do anything else.

This car was much more than just my car, it was also my house. I lived in this car - you will remember that I am technically homeless - this car IS my home. Without it, I have nothing. Absolutely nothing. Everything I owned was inside of that car. When they took the car, they left me, quite literally, with absolutely nothing. Like Jesus and Gandhi I own nothing. All I had was this car to live in and now I don't have that any more. Well, I'll have it back in a few days, but I won't be able to live in it any more, because the people who stole it, also cut it up. It's now in pieces. So in essence, they not only stole my car, but they also stole my house. The "tent" thing was next to the car, I used the tent in the winter when it snowed, and the rest of the year, I used the car. Now I have no roof over my head at all. And with no way to put the Goldeneagle back into one peice again, it may be a very long time before I have a roof over my head again.

A Car in the Garden byeelkat

FAQ: What Is It About You and This Car? It's Beyond Repair, Why Do You Keep It? Why Is It So Important To You?

Because this car is my best friend. My only friend. The only friend I've ever had. I don't have any one else. I have no family. I have no friends. I am alone. I am homeless. I have Autism. I am outcast, by society. I have no one to talk to. I have NO ONE. NO ONE. NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON. I started talking to this car when I was 4 years old, because there was no one else for me to talk to. No one. My family consisted of a group of religion crazed jerks, lead by a self proclaims prophet who had found a cult, and who on his orders, have shunned me since I was 4 years old. Not one of the adults ever talked to me, ever looked at me, ever acknowledged that I existed. They only time I was mentioned by any of them, was to warn each other to not talk to me, because they told one another I was the child of Satan and possessed by an evil spirit. And so, for 27 years, ever since I was 4 years old, I sat in my garden and talked to the only thing that didn't turn it's back on me, the only thing that didn't shun me, the only thing that did not accuse me of being evil: this car.

Etiole, aka The White Monkey, is why, well, not him exactly, but the way I was treated because I refused to deny that I had seen something in the woods all those years ago, when I was just four years old. Because I refused to tell a lie and say that I had not seen "the White Monkey" I was locked up for 27 years, with no human contact outside of the members of the cult compound on which I lived. On what few occasions I was allowed outside of the house, it was to lock me inside of this car.

And the car, aka The Goldeneagle.... I spent 27 years alone in isolation with only this car to talk to. I had no one else to talk to. Just The Goldeneagle. This car became, the only real friend I have ever had. Since I was 4 years old, I was not allowed to have contact with humans. I escaped from the cult at age 30, and the only thing I kept, was this car.

Yes. That one little tiny five minute segment of one day, in one summer of my life when I was 4 years old, is what snowballed to cause everything else. I mean, I was barely more than a baby, but they base everything on that one event. I've got 2 uncles who, if I try to talk, they put their hand up and say:

"Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Oh no! No! Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. No! You're crazy, I don't want to hear it. I remember the White Monkey. No. No. No. No. No. You're the crazy girl that ran from the temple. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Your evil spirit will get me. I'm not going to listen to you. Lalalalalalalalalalalalala.see I can't hear you. I'm not listening. Lalalalalalalalalalalalala. This is me. Lalalalalalalalalalalalala. Not listening. See? Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope."

I'd look at him standing there with his fingers in his ears and think: "And he's calling ME crazy? I mean - I'm a kid, he's 60. What, you're telling THAT'S normal? If he's normal I want no part of normal!"

But it was like that my whole childhood. And my teen years. And my young adult years. And now in my middle age years. As a result, you well very rarely if ever, hear me saying the word "No" vocally. I have a deep dislike of the word, after hearing it repeated 3 dozen times every single time I open my mouth.

But it was every body. My mom, my uncles, my cousins, they all treated me like that. My dad and my 2 grandmothers and my Aunt B. were the only ones who didn't treat my like I belonged in a straight jacket. They were constantly telling me I needed to be in a straight jacket, ever since I was 4, ever since "The White Monkey". My mom wouldn't let me talk to anyone after the whole "White Monkey" thing. She had this invisible 2 foot barrier around her and I had to stay in it or else. If I stepped just 2 feet 1 inch away from her, she flew down on me shrieking at the top of her lungs "You little bitch! Trying to run away are you?" than she'd slap me across the face and I'd fall down on my bum. By the time I was 6 years old, I didn't dare get more than 4 inches off her heels, I knew she'd whollop me if I did.

I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone either. If I tried to speak, my mom would grab my arm, shove me behind her, and than explain "She's crazy, don't listen to her, we don't. She has an evil spirit you know. Remember the White Monkey?" It didn't matter what it was I was going to say or who it was I was going to say it too, it was always "Don't talk to her. She's crazy. Remember the White Monkey." The adults in my life made sure that I would never ever forget the White Monkey, they brought it up every day in every conversation. Normally, I probably would have forgotten the whole thing with in a week. I mean, I was four years old for crying out loud! I don't remember hardly anything that happened to me when I was four. I remember the White Monkey and I remember the temple trip. Why? Because every day I was shushed up, told not to speak, and whomever I was trying to speak to was told "She's crazy. Don't talk to her. Remember the White Monkey." or "That's the girl that ran away from the temple. Stay away from her. She's nuts!" Both incidents happened when I was 4 years old, and they are the only two things I can remember from that year, because no one ever allowed me to forget them.

I got used to the name calling early. My high priest/Sunday school teacher used to think it was weird that when he'd call my name in class, I acted like I was deaf and not respond at all. One day he asked me about it. I was 12, I could not understand why he'd be using my name at all. He tried to explain that that was what people did, but I did not understand him, because no one had ever used my name before. After he met my mom, and her the way she talked about me (she never talked to me, always about me), he realized why I had been so confused by his using my name. After that he made sure to use my name every day. He come over to the house to talk to me and said my name several times. I guess he realized that, I didn't really even know what my name was, because it was not a word I'd ever heard before.

One day a man at church gave her hell because of it. She was sitting in the chair at a church meeting crying her eyes out. (She always sits in church or court or doctor's office's crying her eyes out - it's called "Crocodile's Tears" or "crying for sympathy - she's good at it too - had years of practice, most people fall for it.) And this guy came over and asked her what was wrong, and she said:

"I can't have any children, the doctors don't know what's wrong. All my life I wanted a baby."

He looked at her funny and said:

"But I thought that was your daughter" pointing to me. I was about 12 years old at the time, and was sitting with less than 4 inches between myself and my mother..

Suddenly she stopped crying, She went into a rage and started growling with disgust.

"Her? She's a bitch. That's the child of Satan. That filthy evil low life bitch. She's a female. She's competition. I don't want no competition. Little bitch from hell. I wanted a boy, not some damn female."

The man flew into a rage, you could hear him screaming all through the church. Every one stopped and stared:

"How dare you say things like that about her. And right in front of her too! You should be grateful God blessed you with that beautiful little girl. What kind of a mother are you? No wonder God won't give you a son. If I was Him, I wouldn't give you one either. You don't even deserve the child you do have, why should he give you more?"

On another occasion when I was 21 years old, she dragged me out of services and made me sit in the mother's lounge by myself. She was screaming all the way down the hall as she dragged me saying: "You bitch! You filthy dirty bitch! You son of a whore bitch you! I don't need your competition! You damn competitive filthy bitch! Why don't you die and go back to Hell were you belong. Filthy bitch. Competition bitch!"

Later a woman asked my mom what was going on. She told her: "I was talking to Mike, but he was lusting after that bitch the whole time instead of listening to me. I don't need her competition."

"But aren't you married?" the woman asked.

"That bastard! I can't wait to get rid of him. He lusts after that filthy bitch all the time too. He lusts after every bitch. He lusts after you, and you encourage it. I've seen the way you parade around in front him. Satan's the father of both of them. That filthy bitch son of a bastard whore, she's nothing but competition. All my men are always lusting after her."

"But doesn't she have that **** guy?"

"Yeah. He was supposed to be mine too. Damn bastard, went lusting after her. He was supposed to marry me, not her. He ought to be excommunicated. Damn bitch, he's 30 years older than her. Filthy competition bitch. Why don't she just die. Bitch."

Some one once whispered to me from the pew behind us: "I'm so sorry for you, you're mom is like the Evil Queen and treats you like Snow White." I never thought of it that way before, but I guess she did have a point there.

One of our neighbors, nicknamed my mom "The Jealousy Bitch", than my mom started calling her "The Hysterectomy Bitch", they used to go out in the driveway and scream those names out at each other back and forth. An all out feud broke out between them, and the police had to come in a separate them. The court ordered a restraining order for each of them on the other, and after that they took too opening the window to yell at each other from the windows without going near each other. A few weeks later their house burnt to the ground. They blamed my mom, but never had any proof. Their daughter was the girl who saw the uhm "UFO thingy" with me. They moved when I was 9, and I was pulled out of school when I was 8, and things got really freaky after that.

The Goldeneagle, my 1964 Dodge, stopped running when I was 9, but before that, when I was 9 and younger, she used to make me sit in the car. Someone would try talking to me, usually a Sunday School teacher, and she'd freak out if I dared look up at them. I was always supposed to look at my feet, and she yelled and threatened me, if I looked up. I guess that's why I don't look at people when I talk now. I know that seems to upset people, and I try to look at them when I talk, but it's like I'm "gun shy" over it, because for years I was punished for looking at people while talking. I guess in the back of my mind, it's like, I keep hearing her telling me it's sinful and I get all jumpy and nervous about it and stare down at my feet or my hands instead of looking at you when I talk. But than, she'd drag me out of the church and make me sit out in the car. She'd give me "the silent treatment" which I sort of liked in a way, because it was really the only time she ever shut up. I mean, her mouth was always going steady. If she was awake her mouth was flapping, and it was always bitter and filled with anger and hate. I can't remember her ever saying a kind or loving thought about any one. She's just so full of hate. Every other word out of her mouth was bitch, slut, whore, whoremonger, bastard whoremonger, filth bitch, lust, or some other variation of all of the above. I don't remember her ever addressing me by my name. I was always "the filthy bitch", "that child of Satan", "that evil demon possessed witch", "little piece of trash", "the competition bitch", or "that slut assed whore". So, locking me in the car and than sitting there glaring in at me, not saying a word, was sort of relief for me, because I could finally get some piece and quiet for a few minutes. I mean, just for a few minutes to pass without having to hear the word "bitch" twenty times was a blessing!

I spent probably 70% of my childhood sitting in that car. The only times I got let out of my room, was to get in the car and drive to church, get in the car and drive to her hundreds of doctor appointments, or "get in the car you bitch and think about what you did". I did a lot of getting in the car and thinking. And talking. To the car. There wasn't any one else to talk to. After she'd lock me in the car (which was pointless, cause I could unlock it from the inside), she'd turn around and start yelling at my dad. Sometimes I wonder if she didn't put me in the car, just so that she COULD yell at him, without having to keep an eye on me. I liked being in the car when she started yelling at him, because it was safe in there. Safe from the bricks, which she always seemed to have. I never realized it than, but thinking back now, I wonder, why we always had bricks in the house? They were just laying around on the floor and on the table, and when she got mad she'd grab them and start throwing them. I never thought it strange as a kid, because they was just always there, but looking back now, I don't it's normal to have bricks laying around the house like that is it? I mean, I've never heard of any one else doing that? I have no idea why the bricks were there.

Sometimes, when the fighting got really bad, I'd go hide in the car. When the fighting started outside, she'd grab an axe off the woodpile and chase my dad with it. I'd run for the car, take the keys with me, and lock myself inside. I always had the keys to that car. My dad gave them to me when I was like 5 or 6 years old. That's how it became my car in the first place. If any one wanted to drive that car, they had to get the keys from me. I was about 8, when my mom started calling the car "demon possessed" and tried to sell it. My dad put a stop to it saying "That's her car, you can't sell it unless she says you can." After that my dad made it very clear to every one, that the Dodge was mine, and no one was to touch it. I didn't own much, and birthdays and Christmas were not a big deal because I was a female and thus did not deserve parties and presents and stuff. I had one sort of a party when I was 6 and another when I was 8, both involved 3 cousins coming over to help me blow up balloons, than eat cake, than leave. But the rest of my years it was "that bitch don't deserve a birthday." So, the car, was pretty much the only thing I was ever allowed to own.

When I was a kid, I was constantly threatened with being sent to Pine Land Center. Oh, I knew what Pine Land Center was all right. I knew where it was and what it looked like, because we went there lots of times throughout my childhood.

My mom would load me into the car and we'd drive for hours with her screaming at the top of her lungs. We'd drive halfway across the state to New Glouster. We'd drive past the big horse farm and the place with the giant angus bulls and an ancient stone tower, and we drive past the weird weather station thing, and than we'd reach the miles of long white fences, and there it was: Pine Land Center. We'd drive around back and she'd leap out of the car and point up at the huge brick building with the prison bars on the windows, screaming: "Look at that! You see that! Those people live behind bars. They never go outside. You have a garden. Do you see any gardens around here? They're all crazy. That's what happens to crazy people. They get locked up in Pine Land Center and we forget about them because no one wants them. Once they get in there they never come out. No one ever comes back for them. Do you want to live here? Answer me you filthy bitch! You want to live in this place for the rest of your life and never see the light of day again? Well than you'd better wise up or that's where I'm putting you! It's where trash like you belongs. Every one in that place would be glad to be in your position. They don't want to be in there. No one wants to be in there. You don't wise up, that's where you are going. We can go in and talk to Dr. Collins right now or you can get back in the car and go home."

Some times I wondered, by the way she talked, if she had ever been in Pine Land Center herself at some point, because she talked about it like she knew the inside of the place pretty well. And I always wondered if we had some relative locked up in there, whom no one ever mentioned. There were rumors about my mom's mother having a "crazy sister". And a few years after Pine Land Center closed it's doors, I meet for the first and only time, my Great Aunt Josephine, who told me I was the first visitor she had had in nearly 30 years, she said no one in the family visited her, ever since the accident. She explained someone had hit her in the head with a baseball bat and it messed up her brain (and her face, which was a twisted mess) and that she was alone in the hospital for years and had thought her family had forgotten about her. She died about 2 weeks later, so I never got to ask her for more information about who had beaten her with a base ball bat or what hospital she had been locked away in all those years and years. And after I meet her, I always wondered, if the hospital she kept talking about was Pine Land Center, and if that's why my mom was so obsessed with that place.

And what inspired these trips? Well, on one occasion I wanted to watch the Smurfs on TV and next thing I knew we was driving for Pine Land Center. I was about 6 at the time. I used to watch Smurfs on my mom's TV - I was allowed to watch one TV show per week and from age 6 to 8 all I wanted to watch was Smurfs. One day my mom watched it and realized there was wizards on it and she went screaming through the house about "those evil Satanic Dungeons and Dragons shows" and I was never allowed to watch Smurfs again. In her mind, I wanted to watch Smurfs, therefore I was evil and should be locked up in Pine Land Center. All the trips to Pine Land Center started off over something like this. Scooby Doo cartoons set off a couple of them - you know, all those evil ghosts.

But yeah, we drove up to Pine Land Center a good 4 hour drive four or five times a year for about ten years. It was her big threat to me, if I didn't stop talking about Etiole and saying he was real. She got the shock of her life, the day we drove all the way up there to find the place closed down, boarded up, empty and abandoned, with a big "for sale" sign standing out front. It became one of the old abandoned mental hospitals after that. That didn't stop the yearly trips up there though. We'd still go up there a couple of times a year and drive around the grounds, which are huge and spread on for like 2 or 3 thousand acres - the place is just monstrous in size.

A few years ago some working farm group bought it and now it's open to the public, so, yep, I've actually been inside several times now as well, because, my mom, she still drives up there every year. Usually on "open farm day" in July, she goes, because that's when thousands of people go, because they open up the gardens to the public than. It's like a big local agricultural holiday here in Maine, and lots of people spend all year waiting to go to Pine Land Center now. The last time she dragged me up there was in 2004, I was 29 years old.

I was about 17 when Pine Land Center shut down, and after that she had to find another mental health hospital type place to threaten me with. She choose the Sweetser Home in Saco. We'd drive up the mile long driveway and there were the llamas and little bantam roosters running around the big old Victorian farm house. It didn't look bad really. Pine Land Center was all cold and dead looking, but this place was warm and friendly, and it had roosters, my favorite animals, running all over the yard, and I could see from looking at the place from the drive way, the patients were right out there taking care of the animals themselves. Pine Land Center terrified me. I've always had a problem with my phobia of hospitals. Sweetser Home, looked nothing like a hospital, it looked like a farm. I like farms.

The Sweetser Home threat did not work out like she planned. I was supposed to be terrified of it, and want to go back home with her, but I was all ready to get out of the car and go hug the Red Pile Old English Game Rooster that was walking towards the building. I'd always wanted a Red Pile OEG but they are rare and hard to find. This was my first time seeing a real one instead of just seeing them in poultry books. (At the time, I was studying to be a judge of exotic breeds of poultry, so I was like a walking poultry encyclopedia, I could tell you the breed and history of any type chicken you showed me, and I could tell you every thing that would disqualify the bird from a show.) We only went to Sweetser Home 2 or 3 times, because the more she drove me there to threaten me with leaving me there, the more I anted her to leave me there, and it seemed, since the whole thing was nothing more than a threat and a bluff to scare me, that it became pointless to take me there if I actually wanted to stay there.

But yeah, that's where the whole rumor about me refusing to get mental health help comes from - it comes from the fact that I was terrified of Pine Land Center, after having been dragged up there 30 or 40 times in the first ten years of my life, and has nothing what so ever to do with wither or not I actually wanted to talk to a psychiatrist or psychologist. What you got to understand here is, that I was scared of the building itself, not the doctors inside the building. That's why she never dragged me to a local doctor's office. I wasn't scared of a doctor's office, and would have gone right in. I wasn't scared of the doctors and would gladly have talked to them. It was the building that I was scared of. Pine Land Center was a damn big building. Biggest building I'd ever seen, at least. And the building just completely terrified me. She'd start dragging me towards the building and I'd start creaming and crying and trying to run for the car. I looked up at those big windows with all the bars and it was like the building had a face, with eyes and teeth. I was terrified that the building would eat me. I completely totally believed that people were trapped inside that place, because the building had eaten them and there was no way out. Yu could not get me out of the car when we were near that building, I'd grab hold of the doors and not let go. The car was my safety net. Inside my Goldeneagle (the 1964 Dodge) I was safe. Outside of my car though, there was Pine Land Center towering down on me ready to eat me alive. You have never seen such terror as you would have seen had you been there those days while I was in the Pine Land Center being threatened with that place.

That's why I freaked out as a teenager when Bishop Mo showed up in church one Sunday with doctors from Pine Land Center, saying there was here in church to take me away. I was in the Cape Elizabeth Church, a good 2 hour drive away from my Goldeneagle, I was trapped. I was terrified. I loved going to Church but after that day, Church was no longer "safe" and my phobia of going to church has grown steadily ever since. Thankfully the Pine Land Center doctors left the church that day, telling me there was nothing wrong with me that my finding a friend wouldn't cure, they described me as "a very lonely child", while they told Bishop Mo, HE needed to get psychiatric help. Well, he was standing there telling the Pine Land Center doctors that I had a demon living inside of me, after all.

Over the years The Goldeneagle became my safe haven, my only means of escape from the mad house I lived in. It's the only place I've ever felt safe. Ever. Even still today 40 years later - inside that car, is the ONLY place, I feel safe. I got really bad off, as a teenager. I became very suicidal, well, I still am actually, just not quite as bad as I was back than. Tajid's murder, really, pushed me to my limits, I mean, it's not every day you walk into your garden and find your best friend laying there chopped up. You know. I did not deal with it well. And the court trail, just week after week and month after month and for what? My best friend was still dead, and than Lisa B. was dead too. I remember, she was standing over him and I came around the corner, and she was right there, just two inches from my face, we were eye to eye, I looked at her, and than I saw Tajid on the ground, and I knew what happened, and she knew, I knew what happened. I turned and ran like hell, screaming all the way back to the house, and she ran right after me, right on my heels the whole way. My dad heard me screaming and came out of the house, just as I ran running in past him, and he grabbed Lisa, and I don't know how the police got there but next thing I knew there were police all over the whole yard, and Lisa B. was dragged away and I had all these people all around me asking every question under the sun, and than some one handed me a paper and said they'd let me know when the court date was. And Tajid was just laying there. He was still alive and he was just laying there, and Anistatia was still alive too, but her legs were both cut off and her intestines were pull out and her breakfast was falling out of her stomach and the others were dead, John had been drowned in the brook, his neck was broken, by the end of the day Tajid and Ann were dead, I was the only one left alive. I was just so, sick%u2026I couldn't get them out of my head. I couldn't eat for the longest while, not after what happen to Ann, seeing her food just pouring out of her stomach like that. I just. I went numb. That's when I stopped talking. I just shut down. I couldn't deal with it. After the court stuff was over, I retreated to the car, to my Dodge, my Goldeneagle. I stayed there, in the car, for days, and days, and days. I didn't move. I couldn't. There have been so many time, that if I had not had that Dodge, I really don't think I'd be alive now. Just having that car, having a place that I felt safe and protected in, made me feel, comforted and less like wanting to kill myself. I wouldn't be alive today, if I had not had that car to turn to, because I didn't have any one or anything else to turn to. It's the only place, I've ever felt safe.

In 2003, when I was 28, when I lost my high priest, I took Buddy, my dog, and we walked for miles. We walked to the beach. Than walked the length of the beach. We turned around, and walked back the length of the beach, which is 7 miles each way We got to Pine Point, and we walked down the train tracks. Than we walked back home, and sat in the Dodge for days. And than every day after that, rain, snow or shine, until Buddy, got to old last year, we walked that same roght, than came home and sat in the Dodge. I didn't know what else to do. I'd never been without out him before, my high priest that is. And than suddenly I was completely alone. Just me and Buddy, and my car. But than Buddy died 3 years ago and now it's just me and my car. My Goldeneagle is the only thing I have left now. I am alone. No friends. No family. Just my car. Only this and nothing more.

So you see, for 27 years, this car was quite literally, the only friend I had. That is why, I fight for this car. I lost my high priest, the only human who ever talked to me, 7 years ago. I lost my dog, 3 years ago. O can't lose this car, because it's all I have left, I don't have anything else left to lose. You can read the rest of this very, very, very long article here:

Living With Asperger's Syndrome: ~Who Is Affected by Autism?~ In one word: me. I have Asperger's Syndrome, a type of Autism. Life is difficult, not so much because autism affects the things I do, but mostly because people do not take the time to get to know me. My cloths scare off...

The Goldeneagle - 1964 dodge 330 byeelkat

My On-Topic Lenses

EelKat: I love Eels. I love Bobcat. I am a Giant Squid and this is my official profile lens on Squidoo. I figured I needed an "about me" page, since people keeping asking me questions about myself and things I do, that way I can say look, here's the answer...
Encounters With Aliens, Angels, & Water Faeries: I'm making this page about Amphibious Aliens/Water Faeries because . . . I saw one, meet one, made contact, had an encounter with one, or whatever you want to say it is that happened. It was late summer/early fall of 1979. I was four years old. It ha...
The Goldeneagle: The Goldeneagle: The car that inspired the books "Friends Are Forever", "The Rise of the Goldeneagle", and others in The Twighlight Manor Series, and the inspiration it's most beloved character: Etiole Swanzen aka The Goldeneagle. NOTE: As I am a b...
A Look Inside Life On the Streets: You find out quickly who your REAL friends are when one day you have a "normal" life and the next day you lose everything to a flood. People love you because of what you own, not because of who you are - once you become homeless you become friendless...
Living With Asperger's Syndrome: ~Who Is Affected by Autism?~ In one word: me. I have Asperger's Syndrome, a type of Autism. Life is difficult, not so much because autism affects the things I do, but mostly because people do not take the time to get to know me. My cloths scare off...

From The Thief Herself In Her Own Words:

Here is the woman who stole my car, and here is her reason for doing it: This woman is a stalker who, as you can see, makes a habit of spreading false rumors and lies about me. Her current accusation is the topic of this lens, which states that I killed her dog, a dog that she, due to religious convictions, refused to take to a vet, after it was brutalized by her husband, an act that was witnessed by multiple police officers, and for which he did 2 weeks in jail for. This sort of defamation of character that I have to deal with on a daily basis:

The Real Eelkat: The truth behind Wendy C. Allen, the woman who calls herself "Eelkat", and the psychological problems that led to her mental health breakdown. The "animal rights activist" who murdered my precious Old English Sheepdog! Obsessed with a junk car (BTW,...

About Me

LensmasterEelKat has been a member since April 18 2007, has rated 6,171 lenses, favorited 3,285, and has created 388 lenses from scratch. This member's top-ranked page is "Publishing Methods".See all my lenses

The contents of this blog, are taken from the second draft of the book "For Fear of Little Men" by Wendy C. Allen, and reprinted here with permission. Find me on MySpace and be my friend!

Stolen Car: Please ReTweet & RePost: Help us find the Goldeneagle!

2010-05-06T00:01:00.000-04:00

Stolen Car: Please ReTweet & RePost: Help us find the Goldeneagle!

Stolen Car: Please ReTweet & RePost: Help us find the Goldeneagle!

On May 5th, 2010 between 1PM and 4PM Maine's famous "Haunted Car" The Goldeneagle, a 1964 Dodge 330 was stolen from Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine. We know who stole it, but they are refusing to give any information about what they did with it. Please if you have any informationabout the whereabouts of this car, please contact:

May 8th -- Contact info removed--- Thank you to those who have called with sightings of this car as it was moved across the state and from person to person. {{{{hugs}}}} You have helped me trace it's current wherabouts and it will be home soon! Thank you for helping me find my car! Hugs & kisses to all of you! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all of your help!!!!!

More information about this car can be found at the following sites:
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http://www.squidoo.com/StolenCar.
http://www.squidoo.com/The-Goldeneagle.
http://wendycallen.webs.com/
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http://savethegoldeneagle.blogspot.com/
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http://www.zazzle.com/twighlightmanor/gifts?cg=196942370519116292
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http://www.zazzle.com/eelkat/gifts?cg=196365650846344669
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http://www.squidoo.com/Amphibious-Aliens#module81118401

She claims that my car has a demon living in it. She also claims that that so-called demon is killing members at our church, via me casting spells and sending him out after people. She claims that the only way to put an end to the very long list of things she claims this "demon" is doing (deaths, illnesses, weather patterns, etc) is by taking my car and having it crushed in order to kill the so-called demon that she believes lives in my car. I may have Autism and not understand a lot of things, but even I know that these things she's claiming are nothing but the ravings of a madman.

I seem to recall, "Thou shalt not steal" being one of the 10 commandments. What, are they TOO Christian to bother with that one or something?

She stole my car. She is not denying she stole my car. She's quite proud of the fact that she stole my car. She sold it to have it crushed as scrap. A 1964 Dodge 330 Limited Edition, of which there are less than 1,000 known to exist in the entire world, one of the rarest cars there is, and SHE SOLD IT FOR SCRAP! For $80 dollars. She sold it for $80. OMG! Where is her brain? Can any one say Judas Iscariot and 30 pieces of silver? Not only is it a rare and irreplaceable car, but it's famous - I have tourists flocking to see it every year. People think the car is haunted. My mom is not the only one who calls it demon possessed. Others say it has a ghost living in it. UFOlogists think it's some sort of energy magnet for UFOs or some weird theory. It's been in books and on TV, this car, is the car known as "The Goldeneagle". It has web sites and fan followings and T-shirts and mugs with it's picture on it. It's only been stolen a couple of hours and already fans of the Goldeneagle are going into an uproar online. I mean we're not talking about some little family car here. We're talking about a paranormal icon. This car is a legend. To people around the world this car is some sort of, I don't know, paranormal hotspot or something.

I just want my car back. I don't care if she did have it crushed, like she claims she did. I still want it back. Even if there's nothing left to finish restoring, I still want it back. I'll turn it's remains into a monument so that NO ONE will ever forget the lengths she went to to hurt me.

The only thing I had left was my car. She has already, burned, smashed, cut up, broken, trashed, set fire to, and destroyed everything else. Her going to my friends, family, and church telling people to stay away from me because her false claims I am demon possessed or a witch, cost me all of my friends years ago. Her running to my bosses have cost me my jobs. Year after year I try to ignore her steady constant defamation of my character. Year after year I try to ignore her calling me demon possessed or accusing me of being a witch. For years now, I kept telling the police and trying to ignore her and go on with my life, but she keeps on doing it and the police keep on ignoring me. Why? I have my own life. Why is she so obsessed with me? Why is she stalking me like this? Why won't she leave me alone? and why is no one doing anything to stop her?

All I had left was my car, and now it's gone. I have nothing left to lose now. No farther reason to live. Nothing to look forward to. No dreams. No hopes. My dream to restore that car was the last dream I had left. All the other hopes and dreams I had, where already taken away by her. The police knew what she was going to do. The police knew she had threatened to take my car. The police knew that she had trashed my car March 2010, The police knew that she had already may an attempt to steal it a few days after the vandalism. The police knew. And The police did nothing. She does everything in her power to make life hell and not worth living, and for 20 years now I've been coming to The police, asking for their help. Twenty years, begging The police to do something, anything to stop her madness, stop her hate, stop her violence. Twenty years The police have stood back and done nothing. October 2006, my house was burnt down, after she threatened to burn it down, and I became homeless, and still The police did nothing. Why? Why aren't The police doing their job? Why? Why won't The police stop these ludicrous hate crimes? Why won't The police stop her acts of violence and terror? Why did The police let her steal my car? I don't understand. It's their job to stop criminals. Why won't The police stop her?

That car was all I had left. The police knew she getting ready to take it. The police knew. The police could have stopped her. The police knew and The police did nothing. Why? Why didn't The police believe me? Why didn't The police help me? Why didn't The police listen? Why don't The police care? Why do The police allow this to go on? Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. Why? I can't take this any more.

But I am asking anyone now: PLEASE HELP ME FIND MY CAR. Please bring it back. And don't underestimate the length I will go to to get this car back - in ANY condition. There is NOTHING else in the world, more important to me, than this car and there is nothing I won't do to get it back. It was all I had left. Without it, I have nothing left to live for. I can't go on like this. Every day she comes up with some new way to make my life hell, and she's already trashed and destroyed every thing else I owned. All I had left was my car. Why didn't The police stop her?

She is the same person who did this on March 18, 2010:

I am getting sick an tired of dealing with increasingly psychotic and childish people. The vandals have struck once again - but this time, they got caught in the act and I know WHO they are. There are two vandals, a man and a woman - husband and wife, from the Saco ward of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in Maine.

I arrived home tonight to find them IN my car. In my locked car, which they had removed the door of to get into. They broke the lock off the back passenger side door. They removed both the front and back seats from my car. They slashed the seats of my car and ripped out the stuffing. They slashed the headliner of my car and pulled it off. They took the arm rests off the insides of the doors.

This car - being a 1964 Dodge 330 worth approx $50,000 has just received nearly it's value in damage at the hands of 2 "good Christians".

I will be posting pictures of the damage tomorrow - both here and in a new chapter of For Fear of Little Men, which I shall write tonight.

The worst part of it is - it's one of my relatives.

I fail to see the logic behind these increasingly idiotic and senceless acts of vandalism. This is the same relative who broke into my house a few years back and burned all of my manuscripts and artwork too.

I'm seriously questioning her sanity and wondering how to go about having her institutionalized as criminally insane, if any one has any advice on how to go about institutionalizing this woman before her acts of violence get any worse - please let me know.

She is doing this, because she claims that I have a demon. She says it is alright to do these things to me, my pets, and my belongings, because she says God tells her it is alright. She says that God wants her to drive out my demons. Her constant talk about her belief that I have a demon is baffling.

While I am not the only person she accuses of being demon possessed, I seem to be the only person she consistently vandalizes in this manner.

This is the same woman who goes to my church and tells my Bishop I am a witch, the same woman who has tried for several years to have me excommunicated from the church, her reason being that a am "a demon possessed witch who puts curses on her". That accusation alone should have told the Bishop and other church leaders that she is a raving lunatic.

This is the same woman who on multiple occasions attacked my dad with an ax - twice sending him to the hospital.

She is the woman suspected of having burned my house down 4 years ago.

The contents of this blog, are taken from the second draft of the book "For Fear of Little Men" by Wendy C. Allen, and reprinted here with permission. Find me on MySpace and be my friend!