Author: melgrieves

Preparations for the holidays begin months before
But this year not much time was actually spent in a store.
Catalogs and Amazon were my favorite source for toys
And other gifts for all my family members to enjoy.

Deliverymen came often to my front porch to leave
Boxes of toys and other items for me to retrieve.
Some were hidden carefully behind a post or tree,
Close to the house but where others would not see.

I bought enough for relatives from age 2 to 81
And baked a variety of cookies and breads for everyone.
Even a family Corgi loved the baked items and treats galore
So the sweets had to be placed higher than so close to the floor.

Grandma’s house held twelve of us around the table that day.
We ate delicious food and talked and laughed and stayed
Until all the presents were opened and treasured by each one.
The food was delicious and the comraderie super fun.

It’s hard to gather the whole family for any kind of celebration –
We travelled from Portland, Las Vegas, and I drove from Ovation.
Snow began falling lightly on Christmas Day this year –
It was pretty and white and enhanced our Christmas cheer.

Then came the Big Freeze – snow, ice and then even more.
It was pretty and cold, and then hats and gloves we wore
As we shoveled our steps and sidewalks and drives
And hurried to finish our task before more snow arrived.

I got up the next morning and stepped into the shower –
At first I was warm, and then I began to cower
As I started to shiver and almost went into shock
So I quickly dried off and reached for my frock.

My water supply was icy and I learned I wasn’t alone.
Several neighbors were on Facebook or calling on the phone
And sharing our concerns and searching for a solution,
And fellow residents helped us come to a warmer conclusion.

So with help from our neighbors and friends nearby
We warmed up our bodies and said with a sigh
“How great we live in Ovation where we all help each other!”
So we can return to building snowmen or whatever we druther.

I hope you all had a Christmas as wonderful as mine
With friends and family, as shared in this yuletide rhyme.
And I wish everyone a healthy, happy, and cozy ’22
With all the best of everything for me and for you.

One day Chippy the squirrel decided he would leave his Lake Forest Park home and find out what was on the other side of the road. He was a curious squirrel and wanted to see new things. That morning he went to the edge of the road and looked both ways before starting across. Suddenly a big bus appeared. Chippy had to run fast to make it all the way across safely. Wow, that was close, Chippy thought, those cars go so fast!

Chippy looked at the trees in front of him. Oh boy, he thought, my favorite kind of tree. He looked all around and saw some Oak trees. And what comes from oak trees? Acorns! That was Chippy’s favorite food, and he was so excited. He hopped and ran to the first tree he saw. He climbed up a little way and looked around the forest. Gosh, they were all Oak trees. He was a happy squirrel.

Chippy wandered around the woods until he found an old dead pine tree with a big hole in it. He climbed up and saw that it would be a perfect home for him. He spent time building a nice soft nest. He was so tired, so he climbed into his new home and went to sleep. What a wonderful day, he thought.

Chippy awoke the next morning and the sun was brightly shining. He was hungry so started wandering around to find something to eat. He found some berries, some mushrooms, a couple of fat green worms that did not taste too good, then saw a backyard where the humans had a bird feeder. That was one of Chippy’s favorite things. He hopped toward the yard, then scrambled up the fence. The feeder was easy to climb. He ate until his gray belly was full.

Chippy was running back into the woods when he saw a deer. He walked up behind it.

“Hello.” Chippy said.

The little deer jumped into the air and ran away. Chippy chased after the deer.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to meet you so I could be your friend.” Chippy chirped.

The deer looked down on the little gray squirrel.

“Sorry, I get frightened very easily. My mother taught me to run away from anything that frightens me. We deer seem to get chased a lot, Momma said. We are always looking for danger.” the little dear offered.

“That must explain why you have such big eyes and ears. You can see and hear really well.” Chippy said.

“My name is Sammy. Momma says I am a fawn. That means young deer I guess.” said Chippy’s new friend.

“Hi, I’m Chippy the Squirrel and I just moved into the area. When I get scared, I just climb a tree.” Chippy explained.

“I don’t think I can climb a tree, but I can run really fast.” Sammy said with some excitement.

Sammy looked back at his mother and three other deer partially hidden behind some trees.

“Momma said we are going over to the hillside and eat some delicious grass. I will be back tomorrow; will you be here?” Sammy asked.

“Yep, Chippy said, I’ll be right in this very spot.”

Chippy spent the rest of the afternoon climbing trees and exploring the woods. What a wonderful place to live, Chippy thought.

“I hope Sammy comes back tomorrow. He was a nice deer.” Chippy said as he squeaked and barked at nothing in particular.

Sammy and Chippy became good friends. The little squirrel even met Sammy’s mother and cousins. They had a fun time all summer chasing each other and running through the woods. One day Sammy stopped and looked out through the trees.

“Oh no, “Sammy said, “the loud barking animals are coming to get me.”

Chippy looked in the direction of the noise.

“Oh, I don’t know what kind of animals those are because humans call them by different names. They never go off the path because the humans have a rope connected to them. Just stand here and I will prove it.” Chippy announced.

The two friends stood very still, and the humans and the dogs walked right by.

“See, I told you. Now let’s see what we can see,” came a chirp from a happy squirrel.

“Hey, did you know you don’t have spots on your back anymore?” Chippy said as he followed Sammy through the woods.

“Yep, Momma said as I got older, they would disappear and never come back.” Sammy explained.

“Do I have spots on my back?” Chippy asked Sammy.

“Nope, not one.” Was the answer.

Chippy felt disappointed but decided it was because he was old too.

The leaves in the beautiful woods started to change colors and Chippy knew what that meant. Acorns! He started filling his mouth with as many of those tasty nuts and bringing them up to his nest. He worked hard to collect them.

“Do you collect acorns for the winter, too?” Chippy asked Sammy one day.

“I don’t think we eat those things.” Sammy said.

“Try one, you might like them.” Chippy suggested.

Sammy bent down and found an acorn on the ground. He started to chew it. He spit it out at once and shook his head.

“I don’t think I’ll have anymore of those.” Sammy exclaimed as Chippy laughed at him.

One day Sammy found Chippy running away from a bird feeder. A human was yelling at him, and he was laughing as he ran.

“Chippy, Momma said we have to leave the woods for the winter. We are going to stay somewhere else for a while. So, I won’t see you until next year.” Sammy said sadly.

“That is all right, I will be here when you get back. Thank you for being my friend.” Chippy said.

Sammy bent down and touched his nose to Chippy, then ran off.

The next few days were lonely ones for Chippy. He did not have his friend to play with. He was sad.

One afternoon he thought he heard another squirrel, so we went to investigate. He moved slowly through the brush and caught a glimpse of another gray squirrel just like him. He bounced over to make a new friend.

The new squirrel just stood and watched Chippy approach. It was a girl!

Hi, I am Chippy. I live in these woods. What’s your name?”

The girl stared at Chippy for a long time. She walked up very close to the curious squirrel.

“My name is Sally. I got lost and ended up here. I do not know where my home is now. I’m a little scared.” The little squirrel chirped.

“Don’t worry about that, you can stay with me if you like. I have a nice nest and it is full of acorns for the winter. There are even some bird feeders nearby. Do you want to do that?” Chippy asked hopefully.

Sally agreed. Chippy showed her around the woods, including where he and his friend Sammy played, then finally up to his nest. They had much fun together and explored the entire woods.

One day they woke up to see a white blanket of snow covering the ground. They sat side by side looking out from their home. It was nice and warm, and they were two happy squirrels.

Sally and Chippy stayed in the Oaktree woods for many years. They started a family and were happy. Chippy and Sammy visited every summer. One year Sammy introduced a beautiful doe named Shika to Chippy and Sally. Standing behind her were two little fawns, with white spots on their back.

Chippy looked behind him then barked. “Tippy, why don’t you introduce yourself to our new little friends.”

A young gray squirrel, Chippy’s boy, jumped and bound out from behind a bush and ran to the little deer. Soon they were jumping and running in circles.

Chippy and Sammy just looked at each other and smiled.

 What a wonderful place to live they both thought.

This article was printed in the September 2021 edition of The Internaitonal Branch of the Royal Scottish Country Dance Society Newsletter

When the global pandemic came to our 55+ community in western Washington, our previously active and social lifestyle came to a grinding halt. Gone were the Book Club, Baking Guild, Card Games, Movie Night, Craft Groups, Happy Hours. Even our small gym was off-limits inside our closed Community Hall. Folks were anxious to do something. ANYthing! I was approached to start a dancing group that could meet outside and socially distanced for safety.

During my 30+ year teaching career, I had danced off and on with the San Diego Branch of RSDCS. (Thank you, McLaughlins, Evans, Buchans and Drews!) For the last 15 years of my career, I included teaching my 3rd, 4th, and 5th graders “The Kingston Flyer” to perform for our annual school Open House. It was a big hit and easily tied to our curriculum.

I was sure my dance days were over after retiring to the Pacific Northwest in 2018. The nearest SCD group was nearly an hour away in Tacoma. Then, I found out about the International Branch’s travel program to be based in Utrecht, Netherlands for Spring of 2019. I dusted off my gillies and met my sister there for an unforgettable experience. I was out of shape and out of confidence, but everyone was so accommodating and generous of spirit, we had a great time.

Fast forward to May 2020. Neighbors from the Ovation at Oak Tree community were invited to our outside patio for an introduction to Scottish Country Dancing. Eighteen folks showed up! I had rewritten “The Kingston Flyer” with no touching and lots of distance. It worked! In honor of our local train, we christened the dance “The Oak Tree Flyer” and our dance group was born. We have danced every week for the last 16 months. Here’s how we did it:

* We landed on Saturday mornings at 10:00am for our dancing. Masks were required.

* Class was only one hour. We took frequent “breathing breaks”.

* Warm-up stretching was done with folding chairs for support and was brief because most folks walked to our venue.

* We danced on textured concrete, so the good support and comfort of sneakers kept us safe.

* We adapted contact figures like right hand turns to bending elbows to have hands near, but not touching. Similar for hands across, circling, crossing, etc. We substituted back-to-back for contact turns when possible. Down the middle and up was often a ladies-first chase and return. * We began with VERY simple dances like “The Ox”.

* Dancers were provided written lesson reviews and technique briefs as well as links to appropriate You Tube videos and the DSAH lessons.

* We used familiar-dance walk-throughs as part of our warm-up.

* We incorporated a Scottish Country line-dance as a technique review.

* When weather was cold or wet, we were able to dance under the patio cover which had heaters in the ceiling. We only needed the heaters until we warmed up.

* We were all vaccinated by the end of March, so we dropped our masks and began using disposable gloves to learn the feel of contact dancing. By June we had dropped the gloves and shared a large bottle of hand sanitizer. Gloves and masks are always acceptable, but not required.

We are a consistent group of 8-10 dancers who have now mastered about nine dances and will soon perform for our neighbors. We are so blessed to have danced the pandemic into the background! Many thanks to the Society for the accessible materials and to my sister, Dr. Noel Chavez of the Chicago branch for her support, encouragement, materials, and advice. Next up: Pandemic Dancing v2.0!

A NOTE FROM WASHINGTON’S WEST

When I danced with the IB in Utrecht, my form was poor, at best.

So I enjoyed the people and the place, even if I didn’t impress.

Fast forward to 2020 as we hunkered down, depressed.

Would we ever get to dance again? Would our gillies forever rest?

My neighbors got wind of my dancing past and my imagination they soon pressed.

Could I devise a dance so safe it would foil the Covid pest?

I took the one dance I knew by heart and gave it a twist, turn and jest.

Before we knew it, we were dancing outside, though the masks made us all want to rest!

We’ve danced every week for 16 months with me leading the class—who’d have guessed?

Sometimes we were 3 dancers, sometimes 10, but we always did our best.

I’m sure we’re not the only dancers to put Social Distancing to the test,

But we showed up in the rain, wind and snow, because we knew we were blessed.

Blessed to be together, to be moving and learning with zest,

To dance for all those who couldn’t, became our ultimate quest.

So, thank you SCD, for your dancers, your teachers and all the rest.

Thanks for your joy and your support. Thanks, and all the best! 

Here’s a piece of advice; be careful not to leave yourself in debt to a newsletter editor! But, on to the task at hand. 

I imagine that the source of most holiday traditions are faith-based, a happy accident repeated, or a cherished childhood memory. For me, with a devout Catholic mother, Christmas always started at midnight mass. Until Latin was abandoned and midnight became 5pm on Christmas Eve! A happy accident? One comes to mind but that was after the holidays. Some childhood memories are still vivid, but circumstances intervened.  

I grew up in a large, Victorian apartment in West London. Heating was by coal fireplace, including the bedrooms. The kitchen and dining room were separated from a huge living room by a long L-shaped corridor. In post-war London, getting coal was difficult and so we lived in the dining room year-round and the living room remained closed. Except on Christmas Day, when the oversized fireplace was lit and the door unlocked to reveal a decorated tree and the wrapped presents. Anticipation had been building and that made it so special. Later, after moving to Southern California and to entertain our infant daughter, I started a log fire to re-create the mood. We had to open the windows and patio door to cool down! Even after forty-five years in the US, Christmas remains my preferred holiday. Thanksgiving was new and, at first, an opportunity to buy two cheap turkeys and store one for Christmas, but is now another welcome chance to gather and enjoy our extended and growing family. 

As for the cliches about the English; do we pull crackers and don paper hats and read the dad jokes inside before eating turkey and roast potatoes, roast parsnips and brussels sprouts with Christmas (plum) pudding for dessert and Christmas (fruit) cake later? You bet! 

This Christmas memory first appeared in the Escondido Times-Advocate in 1983.

When I was a young girl growing up in a small farm town, I figured everybody celebrated Christmas the way we did. That was not so long ago, really, when decorations didn’t go up until two weeks before and sales didn’t start until the day after and mothers gave from their hearts, not their pocketbooks.

Christmas Eve found us hanging our stockings in the kitchen (all the easier for Santato find, since we didn’t have a fireplace) and listening patiently to the Bible version of the Christmas story, then being totally entranced by my mother’s best “let’s keep a secret” voice reciting “’Twas the Night Before Christmas.”

Then it was off to bed for my sisters and me. With lots of extra kisses and hugs, our night was complete. But Mother’s was just beginning.

First to the secret hiding places to retrieve the treasures collected over the past year. From behind the sheets in the hall closet came new petticoats, from under the bed with the polka-dot spread came new socks, and from the cedar chest came baby dolls in homemade frocks. All year, Mother would search out the sales to find the perfect gift for each of us. Her Scots blood made her able to get more out of a dollar than most—a good thing, since there wasn’t money for luxuries at our house.

Instead of dollars, she invested time, energy and imagination. Plain petticoats were transformed with a snip of ribbon and a touch of embroidery. With a little creative nudge, they became passports to the “Nutcracker Suite.” Thick socks were not merely instruments to keep out the Missouri cold, they were puppets for our hands or magic skates to try out on the slippery kitchen floor. Baby dolls were no longer toys, but friends to invite to the next tea party with Mother’s cherished demitasse cups.

With the gifts tucked under the tree in their recycled-from-three-years-ago wrapping paper, it was time to stuff the stockings. Sure, she always saw to it we all got new toothbrushes and some nuts to shell. But more important, she personalized each sock in a special way.

One year I got a fried-egg sandwich (my favorite). For three years in a row, my eldest sister got the same old tired penny loafer (she finally burned it). Stockings stuffed and re-hung, it was time for Mom to get some sleep.

It was 2 in the morning, but try as she might, sleep simply wouldn’t come. She tossed and turned, remembering her own childhood Christmases when the Depression was written about in the newspaper but certainly not felt in the lovely home of a Southern gentleman. She remembered the Christmas she and Dad were snowed in without benefit of indoor plumbing.

Then she imagined the boundless joy of her three girls, and all thoughts of sleep disappeared. Grabbing her daddy’s school bell, she raced through the house chiming, “Christmas gift! Christmas gift!” and giggling us all out of bed. Wrapped in Grandmother’s quilts, we carefully emptied our stock treasures into our laps with squeals of delight. Mundane necessities transformed into precious gifts, plain ideas turned into cherished memories.

Last year, after inheriting a comfortable sum of money from a long-lost uncle, Mother felt honor bound to “make up for all those years I couldn’t buy you presents.”

No, I didn’t turn down the new shoes and nice clothes, but I also didn’t tell her she already gave me the best gifts of a lifetime when she made memories from her heart. I think I’ll tell her that this year.

The office I worked in for over 25 years included men and women of various ages – some employees close to the ages of my children, many in their 40’s and 50’s, and one or two employees in their early 60’s.  A good percentage of the people had been employed at City Hall for several years, so we all had a history together.  Despite the range of ages, we had fun together socializing within the office with monthly birthday parties, occasional potlucks, a baby shower now and then, etc., and even got together sometimes out of the office too – we all got along quite well. 

One day as I walked into the break room, I overheard a conversation between two of my colleagues about their ages and how they were trying to fight the onset of wrinkles, and then the conversation drifted towards who looked old in the office and who didn’t, what they guessed their various co-workers’ ages to be, etc.   About then, a couple of customers came into the office with a question, and when they left, the same two co-workers began trying to estimate the age of each of those customers.  They mentioned the amount of gray hair, wrinkles around the eyes, frown lines, etc.  

Suddenly, Christopher, one of our youngest coworkers, came walking into the break room and heard this last part of the conversation.  He looked at them both and said, “If you really want to guess someone’s age more accurately, don’t make a judgment by looking at their faces. What I do is look at their necks – that’s where the real age lines are!”

That was a new and somewhat startling thought to me, so guess what I did when I went home that night – yep, when I changed clothes and looked closely at my neck in the mirror, I was stunned!  “Oh my God!”  I said to myself – and I really don’t swear much at all, but I was astounded at my neck wrinkles!  You see, I’d never noticed before because when I change out of my day clothes into my jammies, I’ve typically already taken my contacts out so I don’t see all that well.  Without my contacts, my skin looked smooth and much more youthful than when I looked closely while wearing my contacts.   Now I’m guessing that sometime soon after you read this, you’ll find a reason to wander over to a mirror, take a gander at your image and look very closely at your neck like I did.

It’s also possible you’ve noticed that I wear turtlenecks a lot.  If I’m honest, there are probably two reasons why I like to wear turtlenecks – one reason is because I tend to get cold in the fall and winter months, and well, you might be able to guess the other reason. When I was working, I often wore turtlenecks to work, and now in retirement, I still do. So when you see me out and about this fall and winter, you’ll know I have more than one reason for wearing so many turtlenecks!  Can you relate?

by Bob Johnson

Charlie White Cloud glimpsed the quick glint of reflected sunlight as he kneeled down on a dried greasewood plant, vegetation that was barely surviving in the hot New Mexico summer. He knew immediately what had caused it and who was behind the binoculars in the trees six hundred yards away. The shimmering hot afternoon air was not playing tricks on his trained eyes. Charlie had tracked his prey for three days and this was as close as he had gotten to Levi Little Pony. That six hundred yards may as well been six miles. The only way he could reach that destination was to ride down the backside of the flat butte he stood on, wind around the arroyos that were like a spider’s web in that low lying land, then climb another rocky ridge. He knew it was a waste of time.

He looked high in the thin blue sky to see a lone red-tailed hawk ride the upward push of the hot air currents, his head most likely swiveling to look for a desert mouse or rabbit that is unaware of any pending danger.

“What do ya see?” sheriff Wyatt Tomes asked as he swatted away a swarm of black flies that seemed to be everywhere.

The tall lanky man, with a round face sporting a huge bushy mustache, and a mean nasty scar across his nose looked down with expectation.

“Got nothing.” Charlie lied.

He knew Tomes would continue the chase no matter how fruitless the continued effort would be.

The sheriff of Silver City and a small band of deputized locals had followed their tracker  through the Gila Wilderness and most of those boys were getting pretty disgusted with the chase.

Charlie, earlier in the week, was quite happy just sitting outside the swinging doors of the Cowboy Saloon, watching the tumble weeds being sent on down the street by an ever present warm wind. The sheriff had made him an offer of enough cash to keep him in good straits throughout the winter.

“Levi Little Pony done robbed the Wells Fargo Bank in Buckhorn and that lazy sumbitch Yankee that got appointed lawman in that god forsaken town got there shut the cell door on his leg and is laid up. I been elected to catch that scalawag and bring him in.” Tomes spouted.

“I need you to lead this posse and track down that crazy Indian. We catch him, you get five percent of the take from the bank. You the only one around these parts that I believe can do the job. What say, Charlie?” Tomes asked.

“I’d be willing to pay you a little something out of my own pocket for each day we are on the trail. Catch him or not you still get paid.” The man added.

Levi Little Pony and Charlie had been scouts together for the Eighth Calvary in the New Mexico, Arizona area for a long time. On one expedition the two were part of a troop led by Lieutenant Sylas Somerby that came on a group of friendly Hualapai Indians. Somerby, for some reason, gave the order to round up the tribe and move them to another area. There was a disagreement with the chief of the group.

A skirmish that soon ensued left almost every buck, squaw, and child dead at the hands of the U.S. Calvary. A seething Little Pony resigned immediately because of that type of action, but was belittled by the command, and his pay was withheld for some unknown reason.

“Come with me, Charlie White Cloud the younger scout said.

“This is not a good place to be. It hurts my heart to be here.” Little Pony said in a quiet moment.

“I will not leave but it is important for you to do what you think is right. Never look back at your actions and feel badly. You are a good man and must remain so. Good travels Levi Little Pony.” Charlie said as he held his arm up in the air as a sign of peace.

 It was shortly after that time that Levi Little Pony began to wage his own war.

He became a legend in the land, as he relieved the whites of whatever valuable they have had, stole guns and goods from the U.S. Army every chance he had, stopped wagons on the trail, and distributed the booty to the displaced Indian tribes in the area.

“I think we ought to consider going home.” Charlie said as he stood up and squinted at the lawman sitting on his horse.

“Yea, Wyatt, one of the newly appointed posse members said, I got to get back to the store, my wife can’t run it on her own.”

“I agree, another said, we’ve wasted enough time on another law man’s problem.”

Sheriff Tomes sat in his saddle looking out across the vast wasteland of scrub, rocks, and trees.

“No, I was given the responsibility of getting this guy and By God, I’m going to do it.” The sheriff said with some conviction.

“Well Sheriff, Charlie White Cloud said, it looks like you’re on your own. I’m heading back to town.”

Wyatt Tomes narrowed his eyes and looked at the former scout.

“You be passing up a passel of money, you know.” He said.

“Not worth it, Charlie said, and started to walk toward his pony.

Just then a gun shot rang out.

“What a bunch of crap, Adam Bennett said, as he ripped the paper out of his old Smith-Corona, what do I know about cowboys and Indians?”

Adam looked down at what he had written, shook his head, tore up the few pages he had typed into little pieces, and threw them unceremoniously into the overflowing garbage can that stood in the corner of his bedroom.

“I am not a Louis L’Amour or McMurtry, not even close.” Adam said as he chastised himself.

“So why am I wasting my time writing this drivel.” He continued in a private diatribe.

The writer wondered how this story had even materialized. This was even worse than the writer’s block he had been experiencing. It was something at least he thought, but what?

“I need to get a drink, clear my head.” He muttered.

The ex-factory worker turned writer grabbed his pea coat, neck scarf, red beret, and left his apartment.

He wondered why he had listened to people who said he had real talent for writing. They gushed over his seasonal stories he had submitted to the Dollar General quarterly newspaper generated by his employer. The little poems he included in cards and letters to friends and family were well received, and a professor,teaching an evening courses he attended, said he should continue to pursue the idea of being a writer.

“Maybe I really just wanted to get away from that company’s distribution center, a lousy job I had held onto for twelve years doing the same things over and over again.” He said to himself.

His wife of four years was long gone, their marriage a mistake from the beginning. She had said she was pregnant and Adam did the right thing and married Laurie. It turned out to be a lie, she wasn’t, and things went downhill from there. She continued to live a life as if she was free and single while Adam added overtime hours every week just to make ends meet. They had nothing to show for the years together when they finally and legally divorced. No love lost, no tears, no anger, but more of a mutual relief.

Adam started putting together thoughts of their relationship and the consequential parting then put it down on paper. It was not great but honest. He submitted his work to a small literary magazine and the effort was accepted for publication. The money he received wasn’t much, but in his mind he could do more and do it better. He chucked his job, got a little apartment and began to live a bohemian lifestyle. Simple, spartan, and frugal.

He kept telling himself the next big deal was just around the corner.

What was around the corner, however, was a dive bar aptly named the Dead End.

Adam pushed open the old beat up door to the entrance of the old bar and was immediately assaulted by the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke. The place had been around for years, the ancient dark wood fixtures and back bar darkened even more by years of tavern air. He looked up and down the long bar, the usual customers sitting in their usual spots. It wasn’t even noon. A Dean Martin song was playing on an antique juke box along the back wall.

“Hey Abe, what’s happening?” yelled the voice of one of the characters in the place.

Adam somehow had been bestowed the nickname by one of the patrons months ago. With the muddled mind of a drunk, the old boy was putting together the first and last initials of those around him, and thought himself quite clever to come up with Abe for Adam Bennett. Most of the folks since, assumed that was his name. So Abe it was.

“Just taking a break from the typewriter, Phil.” Adam answered.

“Hey, you got Hemingway shaking in his boots, for fear he’ll be replaced?” came a loud voice and a cackle from an old gal that Adam knew only as Bloody Mary.

The laugh turned into a deep raspy cough. Her cigarette never left her mouth.

“Just a coffee, Jack.” Adam told the bartender.

The bartender brought over an oversized heavy duty mug filled with something that looked like coffee, smelled like coffee, but didn’t taste much like the stuff. A couple sugars and creams and it was palatable.

“You making a fresh pot?” Adam asked Jack.

The bartender put down the racing form he was studying, looked a bit perturbed at Adam, and began to start another supply of the stuff.

Adam sat there looking around the bar, taking everything in, trying to form some ideas for another story, or novel, or poem, or just something. Nothing was happening. The imagination was taking a vacation and there was no notification that it may be back soon.

The wannabe writer sat for another hour, downed a couple more cups of coffee, read the local newspaper that had been left, talked small talk with a young lady who had just gotten into an argument with her boyfriend and she easily parlayed that drama into drinks from the regulars, then quietly left the place.

Wired on coffee, Adam grabbed a sub sandwich from Porky’s, a nearby sandwich place, and set off back to his apartment.

“I’ll just sit at the desk and see what happens.” He decided as he spoke again to himself.

He had been doing a lot of that lately.

He sat and stared at the paper in the typewriter. Soon the clacking of the keys began.

All of their riders quickly twisted their heads toward the rear. They could see a lone rider racing across the open grass land. In pursuit were two fellows pushing their horses as hard as they could. The two were firing handguns as they rode.

“Alright, I guess we better see what that’s all about.” The sheriff said.

The group turned their horses and spurred them off into the direction of the action.

Charlie White Cloud stood still and gazed in the direction he had been looking earlier. He raised his arm high over his head, his hand in a fist. Seconds later, a lone figure emerged from the bush, and gave the same motion back. Charlie White Cloud jumped on his horse and headed back to Silver City.

Hours later the sheriff, the deputized posse, and another lone rider slowly rode down Main Street past the kicked back chair Charlie White Cloud was sitting in and stopped at the jail.

The tired bunch straggled past him as they walked into the tavern, no doubt looking for something to wash the trail dust down. They were a sorry looking bunch.

“Well, we never caught up to Little Pony, but we nabbed ourselves a small time rustler.  He was picking a couple of head from the Bar J, when he was sighted a couple cowpunchers and lit off. We hadn’t come up when we did those two cowboys chasing him would have strung him up right there and then.” The excited store owner spouted.

“I guess the Sheriff’s going back out then.” Charlie asked.

“Nah, he’s done. I think common sense caught up to him.” Was the answer.

Charlie White Cloud leaned back in his chair until it hit the wall. He dropped his hat over his eyes and took a nap.

“Well that’s all well and good but that must be the end of the story.” Adam muttered.

“Now what.” He continued on his own conversation.

Adam sat as his desk wondering where he came up with such a story. Nothing he had ever written before had anything to do with the old west or even the 1800’s. He decided it must be a desperation from somewhere in the far dark reaches of his mind. Charlie White Cloud, Levi Little Pony, and Wyatt Tomes had appeared from nowhere.

“I’m out of here!” Adam said to no one, again grabbed his warm weather gear and left his apartment.

He stood at the bottom of the steps to his building, listening to the noises of the small city. The constant traffic, interspersed with an occasional obnoxious horn honking, a jack hammer chipping away at some concrete or pavement, some kids yelling at each other as they kicked at a ball in the park across the street, and a couple in his apartment behind him arguing in obnoxiously loud voices about some matter.

Adam tried hard to conjure up some idea or story in his head that would involve any or all of what he was experiencing. Nothing was there.  He turned and trudged downtown. Las Cruces had always been a special place for Adam ever since he had moved here with his mother, the artist. He was nine years old and the life change from what he had experienced in Los Angeles was wonderful. He immediately made friends in the neighborhood and at school, participated in sports, and was happy. None of those things happened in Los Angeles. He and his mother left an unhappy domestic situation and an alcoholic abusive father. She, as a painter, found a community of like-minded people and became successful in her own right. The air was clear, the weather was temperate, and the people were friendly.

“I think I’ll hit a matinee and chill.” Adam muttered as he walked in no particular hurry.

The marquee of the Rio Grande theatre was showing some oldies, One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and the Clockwork Orange. He decided it would be a nice distraction and purchased his ticket at the front service booth, something that was disappearing from the cinema scene.  A giant popcorn and soda was a must and he settle for a seat in the exact center of the sparsely attended theatre.

The entertainment ended, and the bottoms of the popcorn and soda containers were empty. Adam got up to leave. He turned to the aisle and stopped. Four seats away was his ex-wife and some cowboy so engaged in romance they weren’t aware the films had ended. He was shocked, then angry, then dismayed, then amused. He turned and walked in the other direction. That cowboy, Laurie’s date of the day was, at one time, his supervisor at Dollar General, Marshall Wilkins. The man was old enough to he her father, but Adam guessed that wasn’t part of the old boy’s thinking right at the moment.

He laughed quietly as he exited the building. She certainly got around.

“Maybe she’ll rope old Marshall like she did me.” He said to himself.

“And..maybe there’s a story there.” He said while he worked his brain for an idea.

Adam was amazed, after reading author’s bios, of how many had horrendous childhoods, or wartime experiences that had marred their life, or love lives gone bad, or sexual orientation confusion. He thought maybe his marriage, the absence of love, the subsequent divorce, and the aftermath might make fodder for a good story. He decided to think on it.

Adam stopped at Image Ideas, a locally owned stationary and office supply business. He liked trading with the little guy rather than a big box corporation. The money stayed in the community that way. He grabbed a ream of paper and walked to the front.

“I’ll be right with you.” A voice called from somewhere.

“No problem, I’m in no hurry.” Adam answered to the voice.

A young lady with a beautiful smile moved toward him from behind a pile of boxes.

“We just got a huge shipment in and I’m trying to get it all put away before the end of the day.” The woman explained.

“I’ll be quick with this single purchase and let you get back to it.” Adam said.

He was taken by her dark hair, large brown eyes, beautiful smile, and dusky skin. He thought she must have been of Mexican or Indian heritage.

“My name’s Adam, I’m a writer, that’s why I need the paper.” He said then immediately wondered why he had to add all that idiotic information.

“I’m glad to meet you, Adam, I’m Lucy.” She replied.

“Have you worked here long, Adam asked, I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?”

“I moved down from Silver City last month. There are more job opportunities for me here. This one opened up immediately so here I am.” She explained as held her arms open in front of her.

“What do you write?” she asked.

“Oh, a little of this and that. Mostly just a little. I’m working on a story now but it’s going slow. A lot of this ream of paper will end up in the recycle container, I’m sure.” Adam said with a smile.

Lucy laughed politely then began to walked back to her work.

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” Adam said over the noise of the entrance bell ringing above his head.

She absentmindedly gave a small wave and had already picked up some paperwork on the top box of the shipment.

Nice girl, Adam thought.

He turned his attention to the misery concept of writing and how he could make that work for him.

“Maybe I can get some thoughts from an insane asylum, or Nurse Ratched. Louise Fletcher was such a formidable opponent for McMurphy in that flick.” Adam said to himself as he walked along.

An older couple walking hand in hand gave him an odd look as they passed. He could understand that reaction. Crazy schizoid ranting as he walks the community streets! A headline.

Adam decided to pass on an evening meal as a bushel of popcorn still possessed a large portion of his stomach. He had the money for food, but his paltry savings, soon to disappear, introduced him to a life of cheap, not cheap, frugal living. He headed up the street to his apartment.

The sun was beginning to drop down over the peaks of the Anacacho mountain range, and the temperature was starting to dip quickly. The bright red beret that he had stashed in his coat pocket came out and covered his head. His mother had given him the cap as a present when he announced he was going to try writing. She said he must “look the part.” It didn’t keep much heat on the old noggin.

Adam walked into his apartment, looked around at the mess of dirty dishes, magazines and newspaper strewn about, an unmade bed and an overflowing garbage can.

“Ah, home sweet home.” He said loudly to himself.

He made a cup of instant coffee, took off his shoes, tucked his newly purchased ream of paper on a book case shelf, and sat down at the typewriter. He put his fingers on the keys and…waited. He decided he was wasting his time right at that moment.

The writer got back up, dumped the cooling coffee down the sink drain, flopped back on his worn out couch, grabbed a book he had started reading, a biography of William Randolph Hearst, and was soon asleep. The last thoughts for the day was of the eccentricities of the rich.

The noise of an obnoxious group of crows in the trees outside his window woke him from a deep sleep. He slowly moved off the couch, grimacing the entire time. That piece of furniture was never meant to sleep on he had decided long ago. He stretched his legs and back, and worked his neck back and forth. He grabbed an apple and headed back to his desk.

“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.” He ordered to himself.

Levi Little Pony watched the fancy horse and buggy bounce and sway across the open land. A trail of dust kicked up behind the rig. A rich man named Hearst, George Hearst, had just made a deal to buy the land that Little Pony had owned for just a short time. It didn’t seem real.

“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Little Pony, the well-dressed gentleman said, I’ll give you any amount you say this land is worth and then give you more!”

Levi wasn’t really interested in selling the land he had pitched his teepee on. The view, overlooking the new town of Pleasanton, was spectacular, and he was happy here. He would not forget the memory of how he got the money to buy the land, nor forget the anger and vengeance he once felt toward the world. He had settled down, given money to poor tribes, orphanages, schools and churches. He basically was living off the land, growing crops and hunting meat. He now had a young wife, a member of the small Tolowa tribe, and a young son he names Louis. His life had become simple and meaningful. He was hesitant.

“Mr. Hearst, I appreciate the offer but I don’t really need much money as we are a simple people and live a simple life.” Levi explained.

“Here’s what I’m going to do. I own and operate several gold mining operations from here to San Francisco. What if I give you a share of ownership and build you a house anywhere you tell me you want to live.” The man offered.

Levi Little Pony liked the idea of a warm safe house for his family, and had often looked at land closer to the mountains.

“Okay, Mr. Hearst, we have a deal.” The short Indian replied.

“Fine, wonderful!” the man said with glee.

He grabbed his pocket watch and glanced at it.

“Got to get going, but I’ll have my lawyer get in touch with you. Lots more things happening before 1880 ends, and I’m doing them all. Have a fine day, sir!” he said as he headed for his buggy.

“Now where did that come from?” Adam said incredulously.

He stared at what he had written and shook his head as if the brain needed realigning. He had had no intention of continuing with some outlaw Native American. He pulled the paper out quickly making a zipping sound, stared again at the words, and laid his work face down on the edge of the desk.

“George Hearst, for Pete’s sake!” he exclaimed.

The name that came out of the air was the father of William Randolph Hearst, the newspaper magnate and multi-millionaire. The father had been a mining engineer and very rich. Adam decided it must have been a residual memory he had gleaned from the biography he had read the night before. Makes sense, he thought to himself.

Adam looked again at the page he had just finished typing. The ribbon was on its last legs. He searched for a spare to no avail and decided to buy another and possibly get a chance to talk to the young woman he had met the day before. He was quickly out the door.

He was without a vehicle as he had sold the old beater a few months before. The city bus stopped near his apartment building, and the fare was inconsequential. He did, however, have a bicycle that he liked to ride when the weather was nice. Today was such a day. He unlocked the old ten speed Raleigh, tested the tires, donned a helmet and headed on down the street. The warm breeze was a pleasant sensation on his face, and a nice feeling of freedom came about. He dodged a few potholes, gave his best effort to obey the traffic rules, and was in front of the stationary shop in less than ten minutes.

“Hi, again!” Adam said brightly as he came through the storefront door.

The young lady looked up and smiled then said, “two days in a row, wow.”

“I see you got all the boxes put away, looks very nice.” Adam said as he looked around the shop.

Actually he had no idea what it had looked like before, or even if things were straightened out and merchandised or not. But he felt he needed to say something positive.

“I’m here to pick up a typewriter ribbon for my old Smith-Corona.” Adam said.

The young lady stared at him.

“You use a typewriter?” she asked.

“Don’t you have a computer and a printer?” she added.

“I’ve always used a manual typewriter. I feel that the words I type are more real. I can see and hear each and every word show up on a sheet of paper. It gives me a great feeling of accomplishment.” Adam explained.

The truth was that Adam had tried to use a computer. He was the recipient of an old Mac the company was tossing as they had completely upgraded their technical division. He found a used printer that cost almost nothing and set about to improve his connection with real world of computers. In two weeks, both items were sitting in a dumpster awaiting final disposition. He had constantly encountered one problem or the other. It just wasn’t going to work and he chose to return to the basics.

He didn’t expect the lady, Lucy, he thought was her name, to understand. In fact many of his friends question that very same thing. Computers and printers were too much money and, to Adam, gave no feeling of personal experiences.

“I don’t even know if we have ribbons.” She said.

“They are behind the counter in the drawer just to the left of the cash register.” Adam said, having bought a few from the owner.

“You’re right.” The young lady said as she discovered the storage place.

Adam paid for the ribbon, and wandered around the store for a few more minutes. He knew it was just so he could glance up at the new employee a few more times.

He took a chance.

“Do you get a coffee break by any chance? I’d like to treat you to a coffee and pastry at the Royal Bean across the street as kind of a welcome to Las Cruces thing.” Adam asked with uncertainty.

“I break at ten this morning, I’ll meet you there, okay?” she said.

“Perfect, I’ve got some other errands to run so I’ll see you there.” He said.

Adam had absolutely nothing to do, but it sounded better than saying he would hang outside the building until it was time for coffee.

The coffee shop was busy with downtown business people taking a mid-morning get away from their jobs, also. Adam and Lucy found a small table in the back that allowed for a little more quiet. Adam ordered a coffee, black, and Lucy decided on an expresso drink called a Macchiato.  They shared a large almond croissant. They talked about the weather, her work, downtown businesses, and got around to his writing.

“What are you working on now, Adam?” Lucy asked with a genuine look.

“I am having a devil of a time coming up with a story line. My mind blanks out and nothing seems to come around. For some reason though, a little tale of cowboys and Indians, and rich white people has popped up in my brain and seems to write itself. It makes no sense and I can’t figure out where the story is headed. I’ve decided my brain synapses are misfiring and that is what is coming out of it.” Adam explained then laughed.

He coffee partner laughed with him.

“There must be a reason for it. She said. Just let it flow and see what happens.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Adam replied.

Lucy glanced at the big clock behind the counter.

“Got to go, thanks for your invite.” Lucy said, got up quickly and left the coffee shop.

Adam enjoyed his time with her and decided he needed to repeat the invite again. Soon.

“I haven’t seen Mom in a while, I think I’ll pedal over and see what she’s up to.” Adam said to nobody as he jumped on his bicycle.

His mother lived in a large studio apartment that was basically an artist co-op. There was lots of window which was conducive to bringing adequate light to the artist’s work areas. The place was noisy, open, and most of the occupants, he believed came from another planet. His Mom included.

“Mom! “Adam yelled as he reached the third floor walkup.

“Coming, coming.” The voice called from the other side of the multicolored door.

His mother opened the door , smiled then quickly walked away. She was wearing a light blue painter smock, neon green knee high socks, the obligatory Birkenstock sandals, and was balancing a large glass of wine and a paint brush in one hand. She headed around the corner to her inner sanctum painting studio.

“Hi Mom, I thought I’d come by and see what was going on with y…” he stopped speaking.

Today, apparently was the day that his mother was painting a nude. The model, a very large woman, easily in her sixties, laid out on a sofa chair, a floral crown drooping over one eye, and an almost empty wine glass tucked between her legs, presented herself.

“Adam, this is Hazel. Hazel with is my son the writer.” His mother said by way of introduction.

“Glad to meet you, son. While you’re standing there could you grab that Pinot and fill my glass please.”  Hazel said without concern.

Adam tried to focus on the task at hand while he poured the wine into the stemmed container almost hidden by the old lady’s crotch.

“Thank you, your Mother is a fine painter, just look at her work.” Hazel said with just a bit of a word slur.

Adam glanced at the smear of paint on the canvas. It didn’t look like anything, but that was how his Mother painted. And she sold them, a lot of them.

“Just came by to say hi, give you my love, and take off.” Adam said backing away from the scene.

“Honey, let’s do supper soon, okay.” His mother said all the time looking at her masterpiece.

“Sure Mom, later.” Adam said and slipped out the door.

He smiled at the situation he had just left, shuddered, and jumped back on the bike. Time to head home.

Adam wondered what was going on at the Dead End, and leaned his bike up against the front, covered with brick painted black. This place was never decorated except for the string of Christmas lights that adorned the front façade year round. The entire look was never meant to entice somebody driving by to try out the ambience and refreshments. It was for the locals and the regulars. And nobody else.

Adam walked in to the usual smell, and the usual crowd. Don’t these people have homes he wondered?

“How about a double Jack with a beer back.” Adam said.

Three or four heads turned and looked at the most recent customer.

“Tough day, Abe?” one of them asked,

“No, I just thought I’d have a little something to wipe out a vision I had just a short time ago.” He answered.

Then he shuddered.

One thing about the bar being so close to his apartment, he could walk his bicycle home, and that is exactly what he had to do. He had overdone things, which happened occasionally and he knew he would pay for it the next morning. It didn’t help that everyone that came in bought the poor brooding writer a drink, either.

Morning came quickly, too quickly. He needed something on his stomach. He fixed some eggs and toast, but first scraping off the beginnings of mold on the crust. The toaster heat would kill anything growing he decided.

His head full of ideas for writing, he sat at the desk. Adventures with a crazy artist painter? Nudes and other ugly things? That had a nice ring. Tavern regulars? Idiots who don’t know when to quit drinking? Yes he had a lot of ideas.

Adam found the new ribbon in his discarded coat pocket and loaded it on the typewriter. Now again, here we go.

“Let’s see if you have the real stuff.” He said as he laid his hands on the starting position keys.

Charlie White Cloud stood on a street corner, a sturdy hickory cane helping him keep his balance. He was old, he didn’t have an exact number but was born before the Civil War began. The year was 1927, so he figured he must be at least seventy years. His vision was cloudy, and he had not been able to teach tracking or hunting to the many white folks who had settled in the area and wanted those skills.

Silver City was the same only bigger. The main street was paved with packed gravel, but the board walks still fronted all the towns businesses. Everyone was in a big hurry to go somewhere. He was headed back to his lean-to shack behind the now quiet blacksmith shop. With the advent of those automobiles, a smithy’s work load was small and scarce.

Adam stopped typing. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t thinking these thoughts that were appearing on the paper. Maybe he was losing his mind. Something not real was happening and he was beginning to feel those little knots of fear closing around him. 1927? Unreal. He thought he might as well tell the typewriter to do its own thing and he would come back after it was done. A magic spell? Had he been secretly hypnotized?  What was going on?

He got up and looked around his apartment, then outside, then opened the door and peered into the hallway. Everything was normal except for what he was typing. His mind was spinning.

“Okay, he thought, if that’s the way it’s going to be then so be it!” he said to himself.

Adam slowly moved to his desk, rolled a clean sheet of paper into the little Smith-Corona and began to type one more time.

My mother, the artist, can sometimes appear to be a little crazy. She loves life and has fun living it.

“Now that’s more like it!” Adam said and slammed his hand down on the desk.

He pulled the sheet out and inserted another. He sat still for a moment then began again to type. He saw what was appearing across the page and groaned.

Suddenly a bright red car slowly drove past. It was the fanciest auto that Charlie had ever seen. It had rubber tires with wagon wheel type spokes, large front headlamps, and another tire strapped on the back. The car looked like no other. It stopped just ahead of Charlie, and a young man, jauntily stepped out of the driver’s seat. He was wearing a fancy tweed suit, a leather helmet and goggles. He looked ridiculous, Charlie thought.

He approached and spoke softly.

Charlie could see he had some Indian blood in him.

“I wonder, sir, if you could tell me where I might find the city offices.” He said with a clear voice.

“What kind of car are you operating?” Charlie asked ignoring the question.

“That, the young man pointed to the machine, is a 1926 Packard Twin 6 Roadster. A very fine automobile indeed.”

Charlie, stepped off the board walk, and wandered around the thing. He wasn’t impressed.

“That thing is fine, the old Indian muttered, as long as you have a road to drive it on. Get it off the trail and it is worthless.” 

The young owner laughed, “True enough, it does have limitation. Give me a paint or a pinto anytime.”

“Now, how about directing me to the city offices, uh, I didn’t catch your name.” the young man said.

“Names Charlie, Charlie White Cloud.” The old man said under his breath.

The young man’s demeanor changed immediately. He quickly stepped forward and spoke.

“I wish to shake your hand if I may.” He said.

Charlie extending his hand and the man gripped it very lightly, shook it up and down once, and stood back.

“I am honored to meet the respected Charlie White Cloud, my name is Louis Little Pony.” He said quietly.

“I think you knew my father Levi Little Pony.” He continued.

Charlie White Cloud stared silently at the young man, the son of a good friend from long ago.

“Yes, we were scouts back in the sixties for the Army.” Charlie said.

“My father died two years ago, but told the story many times of how you tracked him for days only to let him escape. He admitted his wrongdoing, and the reasoning he used to be that way. My father, for many years continued to make things right by sharing what he had stolen with those in need. I feel no shame for calling him my father.” Louis Little Pony said.

“Yes, he was a good man, and a good friend.” Charlie said as he nodded his head.

It had been many years since he had thought of the two wild young Indians racing across hills and plains on their horses, competing in gun and arrow shooting, and trying to best each other with tracking skills. Yes a long time ago.

“I have business that I must carry out now, then find a hotel room. I plan and being here for a while. I would like to buy you a meal if you allow me to.” Louis said.

“I’ll be right over on that chair, he said as he pointed to his usual resting spot in front of the Silver City Saloon, which was the same old ragged place they called the Cowboy Bar for years. You can find me there when you are done with your affairs. In the meantime I will work up an appetite. We will eat at the Alamo Café. They have good food.”

Charlie watch the son of the notorious Levi Little Pony, start up his machine and drive down the street.

“What will they think of next, movie pictures in your own home?” he exclaimed.

“Too damned many new things.” Charlie said then said back in his chair.

Close to an hour later, Louis Little Pony walked toward Charlie. He had changed his clothes and now looked like a real person, not some dandy, Charlie thought. He had tied a band around his head and had the true Indian look. A large turquoise stone on a necklace and moccasins completed the dress.

“I’m all checked in for a month. I figure it will take that long to get things settled. Let’s go eat.” Louis said.

Charlie White Cloud did not ask questions as was his nature and culture.

The two walked into the restaurant and sat at one of the tables. A middle aged man with slicked down hair and a pencil thin mustache approached them. He eyed the two of them, giving Charlie a slight nod.

Louis Little Pony spoke quietly but clearly.

“We would like two of your biggest steaks, and all the trimmings. I want my friend to get his fill, as he has told me he has a great appetite.” The young man said with a slight smile.

The proprietor took a step back and looked at the two for a minute.

“Do you have the money for this, I’m not in the business of charity. This food costs money.” He spouted with a slight sneer on his face.

Louis Little Pony reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a coin. He quietly set it in front of the man. The man’s eyes got big and his demeanor changed immediately. The coin was a twenty dollar gold piece.

“I have plenty of money, Louis Little Pony said to his guest, but the Indian shouldn’t have to buy respect. Anyway I would like to share with you some things about my family and my father.”

The young son of Levi Little Pony told of his father’s need to give all his ill-gotten gains away. He moved to a teepee on land he owned, living a quiet and peaceful life. He told of a rich man from the East offering him large sums of money to purchase the land. He told of his father’s decision to accept ownership in a business of gold mining, not thinking anything would come of it.

“My father refused to take money from that business as he had no need for what he knew of finances was minimal. He raised me, with love, and continued the simple life until the day he died.” Louis said.

Louis told of attending schools and studying business. He agreed to follow what his father had wished for any monies that came from the mines. That was to give back in whatever was deemed fit as reparation for the damage he inflicted in the Silver City area.

“I was astounded by the sheer size of the estate when my father passed.” Louis Little Pony said.

“It was thousands and thousands of dollars, just impossible to imagine.” He continued.

“I admit I have spent some of the money on frivolous things, like my car for example, but I do not act like I am a rich person. That would go against what I have learned.” Louis said.

Charlie sat quietly and listened to the story, taking a bite of the juicy steak that had been set in front of him. He said nothing.

“I have a plan I need to offer the city, and I hope they agree to my father’s gift. I am going to suggest that a new school be built. I am also willing to pay for housing for as many teachers as it takes for the children of the community to be education. I am going to suggest that I will also pay for a new jail and sheriff’s office to be constructed.” It seems like a tall order, but I have more than enough money for it all.” Louis said quietly.

“What do you think?” the young man asked.

Charlie White Cloud looked off into a distance for a moment then spoke.

“Your father would approve. He was a very proud man, a good man, and, although he rode down the wrong road for a period of time, a just man. I believe he would be proud of what you are trying to achieve.” He said.

The young man briefly teared up but smiled.

“Thank you, Charlie White Cloud. May father was not wrong about you.” Louis said then moved his chair away from the table and stood up.

“I hope to spend many days seeking your wisdom.” Louis said and left the place.

Charlie, his belly full, and his mind happy, slowly walked back to his place.

Adam quit worrying about how and why he was telling a story that was appearing out of thin air. He was now starting to wonder if there might be an ending.

The writer, with his best effort, was completely lost. He didn’t know any other in his profession that he could talk with about this phenomenon. He certainly wouldn’t ask his mother about it. She would bring out the tarot cards, or crystals, or call her spiritual advisor. Not going there!  He, once again, got outside to breathe some fresh air and clear his head.

He was startled as he walked down the steps, by the sight of four people dressed in Native American indian garb, the kind of clothing that Hollywood would have dressed them in. One was wearing a full war bonnet, and others had single or double feathers tucked in their headband. Moccasins completed the ensemble. They looked at Adam, and must have noticed his look of confusion.

“We’re headed down to the Act Theatre. We all have bit parts in the theatre production. Don’t worry we won’t try to take your scalp.” One said and they all laughed in unison.

“What’s the name of the play?” Adam asked.

“The Renegade Indian.  Story about a rouge Indian, his friends, and enemies. Pretty good. You ought to come and see it.” He answered.

Adam stood there with his mouth open for the longest time, turned to the right, and put some distance between himself and the actors.

“That can’t be a coincidence can it?” he said out loud.

Adam Bennett decided he was going crazy. He kept walking. It was dark and the moon overhead shone his way back to the apartment. The racing mind had quieted and he was tired. A good night sleep was what he needed, he thought. Yes, a good night sleep without dream of cowboys, Indians, or anything else for that matter. It didn’t take long for his tired mind to give up and he fell asleep.

Adam Bennett stayed away from his typewriter for a week. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew he had no control over what was happening when he sat as his desk when he started to compose.

During this time he kept busy. He had coffee with Lucy, he went to a movie with Lucy, introduced her to his mother, and invited his new found friend to dinner the following weekend. She was fun, happy, and a sincere person. There was no hidden agenda that he could determine, and they enjoyed each other’s company immensely.

Finally, Adam felt that the break from writing had been long enough. He was determined to finish whatever had started. On an early morning as the birds began their chirping, he was at his desk.

Louis Little Pony was well received by the citizenry over the next several month. They all told him they would be foolish to ignore his gifts. The city began multiple construction plans, with the school being the priority.

“The old one room school days are over, we will build a facility that will be the envy of the entire county!” gushed the mayor.

“This new jail will be efficient, well-constructed, and solid. Nobody will escape this place.” A sheriff’s deputy surmised.

The people of the town all recognized the young benefactor and greeted him warmly as he walked down the streets of Silver City. One day Louis came to Charlie White Cloud and asked him if he would like to take a walk. Charlie grabbed his cane and moved slowly with Louis. Two blocks behind the saloon, they stopped in front of a small newly constructed house. Louis motioned Charlie to enter the home. Inside was a small kitchen stove, dining table and chairs, and a fine made up bed. The floor was solid planking, the windows thick and solid, and a small fire was burning in the fireplace at one end of the room.

A nice place, Charlie thought.

“I hope you will accept this gift from my father. He directed me to help you, his old friend, if you were still among the living.” Louis explained.

“That man saved my life and I owe everything to him, make sure he lives a comfortable life. Those were his exact words.” The son of Levi Little Pony offered.

The larder was full of canned goods, various foods, salt, flour, and sugar. There was even flowers in a fancy vase on the table.

“I will accept Levi Little Pony’s gift. I do not deserve such a fine home but will stay here the rest of my days. You have proved yourself to be a good son. Thank you.” Charlie said with eyes slightly watering.

“Have you run out of money yet?” Charlie asked.

“Well, I just sold my interest in the mines. The people in San Francisco who manage most of the finances suggested I buy something called stocks. Apparently there is a market for them. I am told a person can buy parts of many, many, companies that exist. The word is diversification. It is all new to me, but I trust those people.” Louis answered.

Charlie White Cloud listened. It made no sense to him. He just expected the young man to say yes or no. More information than he needed to hear.

“The other news is that a young lady, a school teacher from back home, has agreed to come to Silver City and accept a job in the new school. This woman I expect to marry. She is the daughter of a white father and Kiowa mother. She is a beautiful woman. She will be arriving soon and I will introduced her to you Charlie White Cloud. She will bring much happiness to my home.” Louis went on, quite exciting about the upcoming events.

The next couple of years were not kind to either friend. Charlie White Cloud developed consumption, lived his last days in his own home, and died at about the age of eighty. He was buried in the community cemetery. He was given a full military funeral as he spent years working with the U.S. Calvary. The entire town turned out for the event.

Louis Little Pony married his sweetheart and lived well. Their first child, Lawrence, graced their home soon after, but they lost two more babies at birth.

In 1929, the Great Stock Market crash changed the life and livelihood or the Little Pony family. They lost everything. He sold his fancy car and bought a used Model A, the fancy house he had built for his family was now owned by a local politician, and he also found he was not the most popular person in the town as he was basically broke. Louis built an addition onto Charlie White Clouds house, and his family lived there. His wife continued to teach and Louis found odd jobs to keep food on the table. A reverse of fortune, but Louis did not complain. He had seen how his father dealt with poverty and with financial wellness over the years. He was happy he could do for this town what was done.

“It was my father’s money, not mine.” He would tell his wife.

“We will always be happy if we chose so.” He added.

“I’ll get to watering the vegetables in the back and have supper on the table when you and Lawrence get home from school.” He said with a smile and walked out the back door of the little home.

Adam stared at the words he had typed. He could feel, now, that the story was going in an understandable direction. Maybe an ending, he thought. Please come to an end so I can start on something of my own.

“Maybe I’m a little more accepting about what is going on, but I don’t think I’m very far from crazy.” He said to himself.

He looked at his watch. He had been writing for over six hours. His stomach told him that he had missed a breakfast and a lunch. A quick trip to the burger joint down the street is in order. He got up, looked once more at the three quarters filled page of typed words, and left.

Shortly thereafter Adam walked back to his apartment, a giant soda container in his hand.

“I’ll have enough caffeine in my system to see this thing through, by God.” He told himself.

“Let’s see what’s going to happen.” He exclaimed.

Lawrence Little Pony grew up tough and wild. He got tired on the half-breed taunts, and the name calling he received from the local boys. He was smart enough to know they would only change their ways if he made them do so. He fought them, and usually ended up being chastised by the school, the community, and most certainly his mother.

“Mom, do you know what they call me, and call you?” he would ask.

“I know you can’t fix the ignorant, and you can’t fight ignorance, either.” She would say.

The age of seventeen, Lawrence Little Pony, was rangy and sinewy. He was strong and muscular, and, since his mother was still a school teacher, quite educated. But he wanted out, he wanted adventure, and wanted to help his country in the ongoing war. His father, now completely crippled after a fall from some scaffolding at the top of the church tower, was bedridden and sick. Lawrence told his parents of his plan.

“You must follow your heart, son. Do what you think is right or spend of the rest of your life unhappy with ignoring your choices.” Louis Little Pony said in a quiet voice.

Louis’s wife, however, was fearful for her son, and disapproving. Ultimately they bid goodbye to Lawrence as he boarded a bus headed for an intake center.

The lines of nervous, boisterous, and scared young men stood in lines as they prepared for induction into the United States Army. Lawrence Little Pony was excited. This is what he wanted to do.

“Hey, Indian, don’t think they’ll let you in. You got to be able to speak English and nobody understands smoke signals anymore.” A voice from the crowd yelled.

Several others laughed at the slight. Lawrence ignored the jab. He was next in line.

“Name and birthdate.” Came a quick question.

“Lawrence Little Pony” he said.

“Lawrence what?” the big man with short crewcut loudly barked at him.

The young man from Silver City hesitated just for a moment.

“Lawrence Little, sir.” He said.

He gave the man his birthdate and was directed to another line for vaccinations, health exams, eye tests, and other various procedures that had never happened to him before.

“Little, get your ass in line to get your gear.” Another gruff voice bellowed.

Lawrence Little, yes, that would work for him. And it would save a whole lot of abuse, he was sure.

The war dragged on for what seemed to be forever. Lawrence Little showed valor in the field, was decorated many times, wounded twice, and was honorable discharged. He was a proud soldier.

He also had been corresponding with a girl back home all those months. She had been a classmate of his, a good friend, and a God fearing woman. She had gotten a teaching degree and was now the principal at the Silver City High School.

Louis Little Pony died shortly before Lawrence could ship home. Pneumonia and complications ended his life. His mother was retired and keeping busy with activities in the town. It was difficult to write his parents to explain his name change, but he felt they understood. He planned on making it legal when he got back.

Within months, Lawrence Little was married and he and his wife began a family. Three sons and a daughter blessed the home. The family legacy was never forgotten however and each member of the next generation since the beginning, knew of how money was obtained, spent, and lost. The story passed down was always factual and truthful. It was important for them all.

Adam sat back in his chair, okay a nice little story, he guessed. He got up, stretched, twisted his sore neck muscle back and forth, and cracked his finger knuckles. All done he figured.

It was three in the morning and deathly still outside. He slurped the last bit of soda, laid back on his bed and thought about what he had written. Yes, a nice story of generations of people. He turned the table lamp off and slept.

Adam began writing a short story about movie stars and their troubles in the world. An idea came to him after the misery of the young man in “The Clockwork Orange.” It was a fun little piece and he felt a great freedom of being able to type what his mind directed him to do. That other nonsense was finally over.

Adam met Lucy at the La Nueva Casita Restaurant in downtown Los Cruces. It had a tex-mex vibe and wonderful food. They were seated a booth near the middle of the place, and took in the décor.

“This place is very nice. Lucy said as she looked at the large murals on the walls, and it smells delicious.”

“I’ve been here once before and we won’t be disappointed.” Adam said.

The two ordered their entrees, drank lemonade, and talked.

“You know, Lucy, I really don’t know much about you. You met my mother and she filled you in on every family secret we ever had. I know you came from Silver City, but that’s about it.” Adam stated.

Lucy smiled, wiped her mouth with a napkin and set it on the table.

“You know, you’re right, I guess I haven’t share a lot about my past. Nothing exciting though. I have older brothers, and they all have jobs in Silver City, working for the family construction business. They build houses, barns, garages, almost anything.” She started.

“As you might have guessed by the color of my skin, I am of Indian decent. My family is a mix of several tribal affiliations over the years. I am proud, however of my heritage.” She continued.

“I haven’t even told you my last name, it is Little. My father changed his name from Little Pony to Little when he joined the service in World War…

Adam Bennett, sat there staring at the young lady across the table. His mind tuned out all sound. He could not move.

Sometimes the work of a writer can take on its own reality.

******

James Enright awoke from a seemingly endless dream. He laid in bed momentarily and watched the ceiling fan as it pushed the warm Albuquerque night air around. He quietly moved out of bed where his wife was still asleep. The bed stand clock read four o’clock. He never got going this early but he was now on a mission. The man wrapped himself in the old house coat, slipped on some comfortable house shoes and padded down the stairs.

James entered his office and situated himself in front of his computer. He waited while the screen lit up.

He had experienced no success in the last three years and his people were on his case to fulfill the contract he had signed with them. He had been in such a downward spiral in his life and nothing was working for him…until now.

He knew he was on to something. The dream was so real and vivid that he had to put it down in words before any of it was lost. The famous writer and playwright started typing on his keyboard.

Charlie White Cloud glimpsed the quick glint of reflected sunlight as he kneeled down………

The first time I saw him, I was struck by how good looking he was – dark hair, dark eyes, and he appeared to be athletically built besides.  And to top it all off, he was moving into my neighborhood!  I and probably a lot of others, particularly of the female persuasion, are easily attracted to good-looking specimens like him.  Naturally, I was looking forward to meeting him.  

He turned out to be friendly, eager to meet each new neighbor, and once he knew you, he continued to greet you happily each time he saw you.   When he was with any residents in a social setting, he was very good about expressing his appreciation for the food some people brought to those occasions.  He was alert to everything around him, and smart too – he seemed to catch on quickly to how things are done, schedules for different activities, etc., and looked forward to each social occasion.

As I suspected, he was an active kind of guy – I’d see him running for exercise.  Now most of us in my neighborhood are a bit older, and most are a bit slower than in years past – not this guy.   This guy was something else – he was fast, spry, agile even.  He wasn’t interested in the exercise equipment inside the pavilion either  – no, he was more of an outdoors guy.  He liked nature and all it had to offer.  He seemed to like working or recreating or doing anything outdoors.

You get the picture – movie star looks, smart, friendly, athletic  – what more could a lady want in a friend or companion?  And he seemed almost eager to please all those around him.  Once he got to know you, he would practically jump through hoops to please you.  He could be quiet at times, but was immediately energized when his friends wanted to get together.  He loved getting together with his friends.  In my area, he counted Ken, Gayle, Annie, Linda, Chris, Marilyn, Anita, Luke, me, and of course Gina among his friends.  But his best friends in the neighborhood are named Poppy, Sachi and Solene.  Piper is a real blue ribbon catch, ladies – if you can keep up with him!

Today was the day, Harry thought to himself. He had feelings of anticipation and fear and excitement.  I’m going to ask Mary Lou Wyneski to the Junior Prom. The plan was in place and he was ready.

Harold (Harry) Lindstrom, aged fifteen and three quarters, was ready to get into the dating scene. He had his driver’s license, just, was now a little taller than all the girls in his class except Jane “the stilt” Williams. No one had the height that she had. That’s why none of the guys liked to stand to close to her, plus all of his friends had a date to the school dance.

Harry stood in front of the mirror and studied his face. Just a few pimples but not bad, and the cuts from using his Dad’s razor had almost healed up. He tilted his head a little and decided he looked a lot like Ricky Nelson. If only his hair was longer he thought. It took forever to grow out after that last buzz cut his Mother had given him. He slapped some Brylcreem on the scalp and combed a perfect part on the left side of his head. “A little dab’l do ya “is what the commercial says and that’s what Harry did. Maybe I’ll put just a little more on, he thought. Never hurts. He worked another dab into the hair.

Harry found some Aqua Velva in the medicine cabinet and doused a little in his hands. Whoee! That stuff was strong, he thought to himself. He decided to take it easy putting that on my face.

He put on his best jeans and clean shirt had the cool button down collar feature, inspected his finger nails, rubbed his brown leather loafers on the back of his calves to give them a shine, pulled his white socks just a bit, and put the new fashion thin belt through the pant loops.

She can’t resist me for sure he thought as he gave a salute to the image in the mirror and headed downstairs for breakfast, the taps on the heels of his shoes announcing his arrival.

“Well don’t you look smart today?” His mother said as she poured milk on his Cheerios.

“Big day today, huh.” She added.

Harry had confided in her his plans but made her promise, cross her heart, not to say anything to his Dad until after it was done. She crossed her heart, buttoned her lips then zipped them. Dad sometimes was too much.

“Yep, I’m going to do it.” I said with hidden excitement.

Just then his Dad walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, Rudolph Valentino, gonna pop the big question today, huh? Let me give you a few pointers from the old master.” He said in a plenty loud voice.

Harry glanced up and over to the corner of the kitchen where his mother stood.

“Thanks a lot, Mom.” he said with a slight edge to his voice.

She just shrugged.

“Now, make sure you get in a quiet area so the other kids aren’t snooping into your conversation, okay, then come right out and propose your plan straight out and no hemming and hawing. A girl doesn’t like a guy to pussy foot around when it comes to a date, right Mother?” he said.

Harry rolled my eyes and tried to hide behind the Cheerios Box. He had developed his own plan. He wished he were deaf right at that moment.

“Ya gotta come across as a smooth, cool dude, like I was, right Mother?” his Dad said then looked at Mom for approval.

His father came over and ruffled Harry’s hair.

“The way you smell with at aftershave you’ll knock her off her feet.” He said and laughed loudly at his own words.

Now I have to comb my hair all over again, Harry thought angrily. Sometimes he just hated his Dad.

“Now Pete, just leave the boy alone and let him do things his way.” His mother said softly.

Sure, after you blabbed to Dad, Harry thought.

The walk to school took about twenty minutes. Harry met his friends, Meatball and Patrick, along the way. They had been the three musketeers since forever.

“You ready to ask Mary Lou?” Patrick said in a nonchalant way. He had been Harry’s best friend since the first grade, and lived across the street.

They moved down the sidewalk with only the taps that had nailed to their shoe heels making any noise.

“What if she says no?” Harry asked.

“Well then the heck with her, find another date.” His pal suggested.

“But I don’t want to go with anyone else?” Harry whined.

“Then stay home and be miserable.” Patrick said.

He always had a suggestion, good or bad. That’s what friends were for Harry guessed.

“Hey guys, wait up.” Came a voice behind the two.

They turned around to see Mike aka Meatball Slovinski, running up the sidewalk. He was big; no he was fat, but didn’t mind the nickname. He was holding up his pants and trying to put a belt through the loops. Meatball was always late. Harry got into an argument in the fourth grade with another kid and Mike came between the two fighters and just stared at Harry’s opponent until he took off. Since that day they had been friends and shared in a lot of adventures.

“Come on, slow down, what’s the hurry?” Meatball said as he approached the two.

“Harry’s going to ask Mary Lou Wyneski to the prom today.” Patrick announced.

Meatball’s eyes got big.

“Really, Mary Lou Wyneski? Why her?” Meat said with little tact.

“Just because.” Harry said.

The conversation quickly turned to the science test that was coming up in second period, the lousy football game the weekend before, and the sweet 57 Chevy Belair convertible that Russ Hornsby, a senior, was driving around. They discussed what cars they were going to get when it was time.

Harry was involved with the talk but in the back of his minds he was going through his plan to ask for a date. He gulped as the thought of doing this might be too much for his nervous system.

Patrick was right, if it didn’t happen, no big deal Harry thought. He would just go out and kill myself.

The day just dragged by as Harry prepared to actually ask a girl for a date. He had never done so before, ever. Mary Lou sat across from him in several classes and smiled at him a lot. Harry thought she was really pretty. Her hair was usually nice except when her aunt gave her a permanent and her hair ended up looking like she put her finger in an electric outlet. She wore colorful bows in her hair, she had cool cat eye glasses with all kinds of shiny gems around the edges, and her front teeth didn’t stick out as much as they used to since she started wearing braces. Yep, she was the one.

History class finally ended as Harry rushed over to Mary Lou’s desk before she could leave. He stood next to her, his heart pounding.

She looked up.

“Hi Harry, she said a little startled, what did you think of that story about the Magna Carta, really crazy right?”

That was the last thing Harry wanted to discuss.

“It was cool, but will you go to the prom with me.” He blurted out suddenly.

That wasn’t how he had rehearsed the proposal but it was out there now.

Mary Lou stopped reaching for her books and looked at Harry for what seemed to be forever.

“No.” she said quickly.

Harry’s heart fell through his feet. How could this happen, after all the planning?

“No?” he said feeling like a broken man.

“I mean I have to ask my Dad if I can go.” Mary Lou explained.

“If he says okay then I would like that, very much.” She finished.

She would like it very much, wow, Harry thought.

“I’ll let you know tomorrow before class.” She announced.

Mary Lou got up to leave, then stopped just a few inches from Harry. He started to hyperventilate.

“What’s your last name again?” she asked.

“Lindstrom, Harold Lindstrom.” Harry said with some hidden disgust in his voice with having to share that information.

Boy, he thought, unbelievable.

Mr. Wyneski must have given his approval because Mary Lou walked by Harry at his desk the next day and gave Harry a big emphatic nod yes and told him that they could talk about it later. Mary Lou gave him her telephone number on a pink piece of paper, folded in the shape of a heart. Harry didn’t hear a single word from the teacher about King John or anyone else. He was going to the prom with Mary Lou Wyneski.

The dance was only a month away so Harry’s mother sprang into action immediately. She called Mary Lou’s mother to find out what color dress she would be wearing, he guessed so the corsage he was supposed to give to his date wouldn’t clash with her clothes. Harry didn’t think that was important but the mothers did.

His Mom went down to some second hand store and found a white sports coat, had it altered in the sleeves and the shoulders, got it dry cleaned, and sewed different colored buttons on since a few of the old ones were missing. Harry tried it on.

“Boy, all the girls will turn their heads when you walk into the gym wearing this.” Mom gushed.

“Give me a break, they’ll all have their own dates.” I said but secretly thought she might be right.

Harry looked pretty sharp. He had some dress pants and shirt that went with the coat. Even his Dad got into it by taking him down to get a new pair of black dress shoes and dark socks.

“Ya don’t wanna look like some goomba with white socks. His Dad said. “They’re okay for everyday but for the big night ya wanna look like a million bucks.”

“Ya got any underwear that isn’t ripped or holey?” he asked.

“Dad!” Harry said in exasperation and shook his head.

“Ya never know, ya gotta be completely dressed for action if you know what I mean.” His Dad said loud enough for everyone in the store to hear.

Thankfully, after a short prayer by Harry, they left and headed over to Little’s Lanes for a soda.

Harry’s Dad was quite a bowler and involved in a couple of leagues each week. He liked the game and hung out with a lot of guys, mostly from the Ford factory where he worked. He drank a lot of beer when he bowled.

“Keep ya loose and focused.” His dad explained when Harry asked him about all the beer bottles at his teams table.

When people walked by they immediately started shouting at his Dad with jokes and jabs. His Dad shouted right back. Harry asked for a grape Nehi and his Dad drank something called a bourbon ditch.

“I gotta set something up with Marvin so I’ll be right back.” His Dad said as he moved off his stool and walked to a back room.

Marvin was the manager and maybe a part owner, Harry was not really sure. The noise of the balls rolling down the lanes, the pin strikes, and some kind of crappy piped in music was constant.

“Harry, Dad said when he returned, I just got word that I qualified for the state tourney over in Brownsville, so I won’t be home for your prom.”

“What about the car, I was going to drive it to the dance.” Harry asked with a great concern.

“Hey, bud, old Dad isn’t going to ruin your night, I’ll just tell grandpa that we need to borrow his car for a night, he’ll let us.” His father said nonplussed that the plans of picking up his date in a big Ford Fairlane had just evaporated.

Harry groaned. Grandpa’s car was a 1953 Buick Special. Puke green. It looked and drove like an army tank. It the inside stunk from cigar smoke. His Grandpa Bill, was puffing on one all the time. Harry thought he might as well pick up his date on a bicycle built for two. His life was over.

Harry talked to Mary Lou a little ay school but now that the word was out of who was going with who to the Prom it seemed like everyone was watching everyone else to see if there was budding romance. He played it cool and calm. Harry let her know when he would pick her up and she just nodded. That was her answer? Maybe she wasn’t that excited to go with me, he thought.

Dad brought over grandpa’s car a couple days early and Harry spent a quite a few hours cleaning all the brown gunk off the inside windows, scrubbing the seats and wiping the dash with hot sudsy water. A whole can of Glade air freshener didn’t seem to do much and he had found a green bottle of air wick and stuck it under the front seat. It was the best he could do. The morning of the big dance Harry washed the car by hand, scrubbed several months of dust and mud off of the tons of chrome and wheels, and deemed it ready.

Harry slid into the driver’s seat of the finished product, then immediately got out and started rummaging through the house for another can of Glade.

“I got it all set up for you at the Lanes tonight.” His Dad yelled at him while packing for the state bowling tournament.

Harry wondered what that was about and went upstairs.

“Huh?” Harry said.

“Yah, I got a private back room at Little’s Lanes for you and the little lady to enjoy a fine meal, compliments of Marvin and the guys.” His Dad explained.

“No, I was going to take Mary Lou to Henry T’s for a dinner before the dance. Mom got reservations for me last week. I explained. All my friends are going to be there.”

Me and your mother decided it would be a lot nicer to have a private dinner for two, so I had her cancel the plans. You’ll like it. They make good burgers, you know that.” His Dad droned on.

Harry stomped down the stairs.

“Mom, I’m eating at a bowling alley.” Harry whined.

“Oh, you know dear, your father wanted to do something special for you and your date tonight. It’ll be really nice, he said so.” She said.

Harry went to his room, laid down on his bed, and screamed into his pillow.

Harry stayed upstairs the rest of the day, then started to get ready. He took a long hot bath, closely inspected his face and teeth, combed his hair to his satisfaction, put on just a little after shave and started to dress.

Harry realized he didn’t have a tie. How could he have forgotten such a thing!

“Mom! He yelled down the stairs, I don’t have a tie.”

“I’ll be right up.” She said from the kitchen.

Harry’s mother came up the stairs with a tie she had grabbed from their closet.

“Your Dad said that this was a new tie and he had never worn it.” She said as she measured, flipped, and knotted the neck piece.

Harry put on his jacket and looked in the mirror. The tie had red and white bowling pins and black bowling balls plastered all over it. Harry wanted to cry.

His mother inspected him up and down, tucked and prodded then stood away for one more look.

“You are so handsome.” She said and kissed his cheek.

With teary eyes she gave him the corsage that was to be given to Mary Lou.

They both went downstairs just as his Dad was about to leave for Brownsville. He looked Harry over,

“Ya gotta be careful with those flowers, ya don’t wanta stick her boob with a pin.” He said and laughed loudly at himself.

“Honey, he wouldn’t do that.” Mom said with a hidden smile.

They wished Harry good luck and he left, alone with his anticipation and expectations.

His date looked beautiful in her green dress that kind of puffed out all over.  It made a loud swishing sound when she moved. Harry handed the corsage over to her mother.

“Mrs. Wyneski, could you pin this on for me, I’d be afraid I might poke your daughter.” I said with an air of confidence.

“Why Harold, that is very thoughtful.” The woman said.

Harry heard a voice from the living room loud enough to drown out the sound of the television.

“What time you bringin her home, kid?” was the question.

Harry peeked around the corner to see Mr. Wyneski laid out on the sofa wearing only an undershirt and shorts. He was drinking a beer.

“It should be about midnight, sir. Harry said with a little fear in his voice. Maybe just a bit later.”

“Well, I’ll be up and waiting right here.” The guy said and pointed down to the sofa seat.

“Shut up Jack, Mrs. Wyneski said, let the kids have some fun.”

“He’s just trying to be gruff.”  She added.

Harry looked over at Mary Lou and she just rolled her eyes.

The two left the house and Harry raced around to open the door of the big Buick for his date. She slid in. He practically ran around to the other side and jumped in. They didn’t say anything for a few moments.

She looked around the interior of the car.

“It belongs to my Grandpa, I tried to get the cigar smell out but couldn’t completely. The windows were brown with all the smoke. I washed everything down. I hope it’s okay.” I blurted words out nervously.

Mary Lou looked across the expansive seat to Harry.

“It is certainly a big car isn’t it?” was all she said.

They drove off.

Harry explained what his family had planned for the evening, and where they were going to go to eat. He could tell his date wasn’t really enthused about it but that was what it was going to be. It’ll be alright he told himself. He hoped.

The drive to the bowling alley only took about twenty minutes. Neither person said much of anything.

There must be something he could talk about to start a conversation, Harry thought. Then it hit him.

“Did you know that the Magna Carta was annulled shortly after it was signed so it wasn’t that big a deal?” Harry announced.

“Oh.” Mary Lou answered.

The Magna Carta, what an idiot he was, Harry thought, couldn’t he think of something else. What a dope.

The short drive finally ended and the two kids walked into the building’s entrance. They took a couple of steps then heard it.

“Attention everyone, please stop bowling, I have an important announcement.” Came the voice.

It is really weird to listen to the noise of the place then suddenly silence.

“We have in our presence tonight, prom royalty, Miss Mary Lou Wyneski, and Mr. Harold Lindstrom.” Boomed Marvin’s voice.

“Please give them a Little’s Lane welcome.” He continued as he held a big smile aimed at the two stricken teenagers.

Applause and most likely some derisive cheers filled the air.

Damned Marvin, Harry thought. He tried to hide his face.

The two moved as quickly as possible to their dining room which was really the office with everything moved out of the way. A card table and two chairs sat in the middle. A tablecloth, two candles, and a vase with flowers adorned the scene. Dean Martin crooned from a record player behind the two of them.

Marci Morgan, a woman who was always hanging around the Little’s lounge waltzed in.

She took the drink order. Harry ordered a Grape Nehi, and Mary Lou asked for an RC Cola.

It arrived in plastic glasses full of ice. Real classy Dad, Harry thought.

“Huns, don’t worry about the meal, we’ve already planned your menu. Just sit back and have a good time.” Marci said with a slight slur.

Harry was stricken with foreboding. What would be next?

Surprisingly, a plate of spaghetti and meatballs, an antipasto salad, and bread sticks appeared.

Harry had seen this exact food before, at Luigi’s across the street. Okay, things were looking up.

They carefully ate, not to get spills on their clothes, but much to Harry’s chagrin, meat sauce dripped down his Dad’s new tie. His date offered to clean it but Harry really saw it as a sign.

“Nah, I’ll just take it off.” Harry said as he removed the tie and stuffed it in his pocket.

“You must really like bowling.” His date stated.

“Oh this, this belongs to my Dad, it wasn’t my choice. He bowls all the time.” Harry explained.

 They ate pistachio ice cream for dessert, and got up to leave.

As they walked out of the room to leave, Harry saw trouble.

Tommy Nichols and his cousin, Fred Peters, stepped in front of Harry. They were kind of the school juvenile delinquents with their ducktail hair and black leather jackets. They thought they were pretty darn cool.

“Well, aren’t we the pretty boy tonight.” Tommy sneered.

“Just get out of the way, Tommy.” Harry said.

“Introduce me to your little date, I think she’s kinda cute with those glasses and her Hee Haw teeth.” He continued and started to laugh.

Harry didn’t hesitate, but threw a fist right into Tommy’s nose and the jerk stumbled backward. Both guys, after their initial surprise, started toward Harry. Suddenly a big arm and body stepped in front of him.

“You pea brains get out of here, now. I’ve put up with enough of your guff. And I hope Harry busted your nose.” Marvin said evenly.

The two trouble makers left all the while yelling back at whomever would listen to them.

“Sorry Harry, is everything alright? And for you too, Miss.” Marvin asked.

Mary Lou nodded slowly, and the two left the place thanking Marvin for everything.

Not a word was said between the two but as Harry opened the door for Mary Lou, she suddenly reached over and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thanks.” She said as she squeezed his arm.

Harry, now in seven heaven, practically ran around the car and climbed in. His date, was demurely sitting right beside the drivers area, the Prom dress covering a large portion of the front seat. He got in.

“I hope it’s alright if I sit here, I feel so far away by the door.” Mary Lou commented.

“Sure, no problem.” Harry quickly said and climbed in.

They were practically touching shoulders. He didn’t want to move an inch.

The dance was great with all the colorful streamers, lights, and a live band. The two of them entered the decorated gymnasium and went their separate ways to meet their friends. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Even Meatball, his date, Cinnamon  Roll and her sister Tootsie, were chatting it up over by the punch bowl. The theme chosen by the junior class was April Love, a movie and song made famous by Pat Boone. It was wonderful.

How’s the night so far, Harry?” Patrick asked as he walked up to stand beside his friend.

“Oh, a few bumps here and there but otherwise its okay, you know.” Harry said with a nonchalance.

“We’re both a couple of pretty sharp looking dudes tonight, huh. Gotta go, Barbara is waiting for me.” Patrick said and was off.

Mary Lou began walking across the gym floor toward Harry. She was absolutely beautiful. Then he remembered something and immediately panicked.

Cripes, he thought to himself, I don’t know if I remember how Mom taught me to dance last week. Was it two steps forward and one back or just the opposite? He started to sweat just a bit.

They finally got out on the dance floor and Harry admitted to his date he couldn’t dance very well. She smiled and told him to follow her lead. It was lovely, they were a perfect fit. The two traded partners with their friends for a few dances, tried their hand at doing a little jitterbug, and sat occasionally to enjoy the terribly sour punch, cookies, and nuts set up for everyone.

The prom queen and king were announced and the regal parade of people marched around the gym receiving applause from the many chaperones. The lights danced on Mary Lou’s face and Harry was beside himself with happiness.

The two climbed into the Buick, and much to Harry’s relief, Mary Lou resumed her previous place on the seat.

Harry made it to Mary Lou’s home much too soon for his liking and parked the big car.

The two of them sat and talked nonstop about the meal, laughed about the P.A. announcement, briefly mentioned the altercation with Tommy, searched for a good music station on Grandpa’s radio, reviewed all the couples and their finery, and laughed some more about Marci being a bit soused but delivering a good waitress job. Then they decided April Love was the best song ever. It would be their special song.

Suddenly the porch light began to flash off and on.

“I guess it’s about midnight and I don’t want to make your father mad.” I said.

“I don’t want him to get mad either, otherwise he won’t let me go out with you again.” She whispered.

Harry’s jaw dropped, then a smile formed.

“No, I wouldn’t want that either.” He said quietly.

The young girl moved over and gave Harry and sweet kiss on his lips! They didn’t move from that position for what seemed to be hours. She moved away.

“Thanks Harry, I had a wonderful time.” she said as she scooted to the passenger door.

Harry didn’t move for a bit, then he jumped out of the Buick, ran to the other side of the car and let his date exit the vehicle. They held hands as they walked up to the house.

“You are a special guy.” She said as she opened the front door and disappeared into the house.

Harry drove home in a fog of love. What a Prom night!

Detective Lou Willis was not happy. He had been ordered by Captain O’Donnell to visit a very successful but retired local detective and ask for help. Unfortunately the Ovation Police Department was stumped and needed fresh eyes at the scene. If only it could be someone else’s eyes Detective Willis thought, he wouldn’t have to put up with an impossible egomaniac; a certifiable pain in the ass.

Reginald Asbury-Smyth had arrived at Ovation some twenty years before, a transplant from the Oxford area in England. His very rich aunt had left him a sizeable inheritance, including land and property in the area. He decided to make a career move and live in a more posh lap of luxury. Unfortunately for Detective Willis, Reggie was also hired on as lead detective in the Ovation law enforcement community.  Years of holding his tongue, tempering complaints, and hiding from the man as much as he could was indicative of what Willis’s career had been since then.  Reggie’s retirement was a heavily attended celebration. Everyone wanted to be sure he was out the door.

Detective Asbury-Smyth was quite self-absorbed and determined to be right at all costs. The problem was that the man had one of the most successful records of closing cases of anyone up to that time. He was a cross between Sherlock Holmes and a British television detective by the name of Morse. A short temper, constant demands for his squad to repeatedly review details of a case, and disrespectful to his fellow officers; that was, in a nutshell, Reggie.

The unmarked police car pulled up to the curb in a quiet older neighborhood in Ovation. Lou sat for a moment and let his eyes wander around the yard of the huge Victorian mansion, a big part of the inheritance bounty. Flowers of every imaginable type, bushes, trees, and hedges decorated the front. The grass was trimmed and the entire place was immaculate.

Well, the old boy is really getting into his hobby it looks like, Willis thought.

Reggie was a lifelong arborist, horticulturalist, botanist, and any other name that he could come up with when bragging about his retired life style.

The detective got out of the car and let his brown leather coat stay open, covering his ever-present shoulder holster and gun. His jeans and boots gave him the unmistakable look of a cop. He drew the line at growing the macho mustache however.

Willis didn’t bother going to the front door, but walked around the side and toward an immensely sized green house. He heard a noise toward the back of the structure and entered. The air was stifling and Willis removed his sports coat immediately. The place was filled with all kinds of plants and flowers floor to ceiling. A nuisance hobby, Willis thought. Give me bowling or golfing or boating anytime.

Willis could see Reggie leaning over something on a table. A contraption of magnifying glasses in front of him. He was talking quietly to someone although Willis couldn’t see who it might be.

Willis cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence.

Reggie jumped.

“Confound it man, can’t you see I’m busy? Why didn’t you knock?” Reggie turned and barked.

The wild haired Asbury-Smith was a spitting image of Albert Einstein. The big bushy poorly managed mustache, the mouthful of crooked teeth, a large protruding nose and big ears were part of his unusual looks. It is little wonder that he was a sixty something year old bachelor. Horrid looks and intolerable, Lou thought, kept the ladies at bay. The portly man was wearing a canvas looking pair of pants, a tweed sweater, and covering it all was a workman’s bib apron with the saying I love gardening, it makes it easier to hid the bodies. Probably a retirement gift.

“I did just announce myself and a green house door doesn’t exactly make a loud racket when I rap on it.” Willis explained, disgusted that he should have to defend his entrance.

“I am in the middle of a very delicate cross pollination of my beautiful Phalaenopsis and my Oncidium. Reggie railed. “A mistake must not be made and this procedure needs my full undivided attention.”

“Phaleo, what?” Willis said.

“Orchids, man, orchids. I wouldn’t expect you to know that, old boy. I imagine you have trouble identifying dandelions.” The obnoxious Reggie quipped. He looked down his nose at Willis then turned back toward the table.

“Now my little darlings, I expect beautiful offspring from your effort. Rest now and I shall return.” He said to his flowers.

“The most delicate of flowers, and the most unforgiving if not cared for properly. Much like women.” Reggie added.

What would this old fogey know about women, Detective Willis thought, I doubt he had ever had an adventure with the opposite sex. No woman could stand his condescending attitude.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion, Willis, I’m a busy man.” Reggie said.

“It has to do with a death at Oak Park, I thought the department had sent over a packet of information to you. The Captain asked me to find out what you thought about the situation.” Willis answered.

“Packet, what packet, oh yes, it’s somewhere in the house, but I haven’t had time to look at it. Can’t your bungling crew solve anything? Sometimes I doubt if the department could order a piss-up at a brewery. Just give me the quick facts, man.” Reggie demanded.

Willis explained that body of a middle aged man, George Lassiter, had been found face down in a small patio garden area. A three prong gardening hand rake was imbedded deeply into his chest, but it was determined the garden tool had nothing to do with the death as it appeared the man was suddenly in the throes of a quick death and fell on the rake. The coroner had ruled out heart attack and stroke but found some unusual chemistry in the blood. He couldn’t pinpoint the substance with his antique laboratory equipment.

“I shall be along shortly, I assume the crime scene or perhaps death scene has be compromised by heavy shoed police and emergency people. Am I correct?” Reggie said with a sniff.

“I can’t answer that, but will meet you there after I follow up on a few more leads. The address and other information is in the packet. You can figure out how to find your destination yourself from that.” Willis said with a feeling of one-upmanship.

“Oh very well, but must I remind the Captain, and the department, that I am retired. I do wish he would find some ample replacement for me so I may get on with my life.” Reggie stated and walked toward his big house.

The journey began when Reggie was good and ready to head out to Oak Park. A pleasant day for a drive, Reggie thought. Reggie’s Aston Martin DB6 purred as he sped down the road. The auto was a bit of a big spend, Reggie thought, but American cars didn’t have the class of this vehicle. They were all about sparkle and shine. This was a true driving machine.

I’m glad the department still thinks I have my skills and deductive reasoning intact, Reggie thought as he accelerated the Aston Martin into a tight corner of the road.  Still it’s fun to make Willis squirm, my favorite thing to do, he thought then actually smiled. He’ll make a fine detective. Someday.

He slowed the sports car when he viewed the Oak Park sign, down shifted, and drove through the gated entrance.

He noted an Oregon White Oak Reserve, wonderful. Washington’s only native oak was disappearing from the Puget Trough area. It was good to see someone cared.

An assortment of trees dotted the long divided drive entrance. Mountain ash, leaf maples, cedar, dogwood, hornbeam, and one lonely chinquapin.

Low lying Evergreen huckleberries, Isanti Dogwoods, rhododendrons, descampsia grass and azaleas had been tastily planted along the sidewalks along with northwest native plants like the Oregon grape, snow bush, licorice and maidenhair ferns, yarrow, and tufted hair grass. Very impressive.

Reggie thought he should tip his hat to the landscape planners. Everything was hardy, low maintenance, and showy. It could perhaps, he sniffed, certainly use a larger splash of color. I should invite the principals to my residence to see how a perfect area is established and kept. Yes, I shall do that, he decided.

Reggie parked his car next to a cordoned off area and walked to the house.  He noted each home sported Thuja that would act as a visual barrier between driveways. Excellent choice. He entered the home and was led to the backyard by a uniformed policewoman.

The old ex-detective wandered around the garden and patio back area. He stopped to look at and admire many of the plants. He studied the layout, the sun and shade pivot points and the water spritz system that had been crudely put together.

“Officer, bring the widow out so that I may talk with her.” Reggie said.

The policewoman was looking at her cell phone.

“Now, madam, if it is not too much trouble.” Reggie ordered in a slightly louder voice.

The young woman rolled her eyes and hustled into the house. Soon she reappeared with a salt and peppered haired middle aged woman. She was plain and, what the old boy decided, was perfectly unhandsome.  She wore baggy blue jeans and an oversized man’s short sleeved shirt.

“Ah, you must be in charge”, the woman said to Reggie, “whenever might you move out so I may tend to my garden?  You people have trampled and mashed a perfectly beautiful setting. It needs watering badly.”

“Mrs. Lassiter, I assume.” Reggie said ignoring the irritating question.

“I want you to go through, in detail, exactly what happened prior to your husband’s death.” Reggie demanded.

The woman sighed, shook her head and growled under her breath, “Once more for you idiots.”

She explained that she and her husband had almost finished their lunch, tomato soup, and a tossed salad when her husband got up from the table, announced he felt dizzy and a little sick. She suggested he step outside and get a little fresh air. When she had finished her meal and George hadn’t returned she walked off the porch and saw him lying on top of her prize Delphiniums. He wasn’t moving and she felt for a pulse. The woman explained she then ran back into the house and called 911. The arriving medics announced that her husband was indeed dead. The coroner arrived and did whatever coroners do then hauled him away.

Reggie studied the woman, who seemed to show no emotion indicating a terrible loss.

“You have a beautiful yard and garden.” Reggie said changing the subject.

The woman immediately perked up her demeanor.

“I was voted “Best Yard in Oak Park” two years in a row.” The woman said and pointed to a couple of plaques hanging on a nearby wall.

“It looks as if you and your husband have put a tremendous amount of work into the project.” Reggie hinted.

“George wouldn’t lift a finger to help in the yard. It was all my work.” She said proudly as she extended her arms out at the entire expanse.

“He would sit on the patio, drinking beer and telling anyone who would visit that over my dead body am I going to crawl around in the dirt.” She snorted.

The old detective seemed to ignore the negative conversation and spoke to the woman.

“I would like you to guide me around the garden, these flowers fascinate me.” Reggie suggested.

It didn’t take much prompting for Mrs. Lassiter to start the private tour. She pointed out each item, spouted many of the genus and species labels for each plants as well as their common name.

“Oh, and what is this beautiful plant?” Reggie asked when they stopped in one section off the main patio.

“That is called Queen Anne Lace, in fact the leaves are so succulent that they may be picked, washed, and put into any salad. They have a very sweet taste. In fact, George insisted I mix them into his salads.” She explained.

“Oh, I shall like to try one myself.” Reggie said as he stooped down to pluck a large leaf.”

“No, you don’t want to do that.” Mrs. Lassiter said as she tried to steer the old detective away.

“Now why is that, madam?” Reggie asked.

“Well, you don’t, I mean, you shouldn’t” she sputtered.

“You know the reason, Mrs. Lassiter, and so do I.” Reggie said evenly.

“This is not a Queen Anne Lace. It is an exact look alike of that plant called Poison Hemlock.” Reggie said pointedly.

The woman paled and sighed.

“You carefully mixed the Poison Hemlock leaves into your husbands salad knowing full well what results would ensue.” Reggie concluded.

“You executed your plan to murder your husband.” The old detective added.

“That bastard got his wish, it was finally over his dead body that he ended up in the dirt.” The woman said without remorse.

Then she started to laugh like a crazy person.

“Young lady, please handcuff this woman and take her away. She will be charged with murder.” Reggie ordered to the policewoman standing a short distance away with her jaw slacked.

Reggie Asbury-Smyth backed his car out of the driveway and sped down the street. He surmised that most of the houses along these streets would fit into his living room, drawing room, office and dining room. The old Victorian until I die, he reaffirmed to himself.

He turned left and slowly headed toward the entrance, again thinking an abundance of flowers would certainly soften the area.

“I shall get home to see how my darlings are doing in the green house.” He said quietly to himself.

The Aston-Martin with Reginald Asbury-Smyth at the wheel sped down the road. Another case closed.