Author: melgrieves

It was supposed to be a day of fun. The kind of day where a person could just be free to enjoy everything about it. An innocent day. One, just like many others that summer, where friends got together with a plan of adventure and exploring. It didn’t turn out that way. That day changed the lives of four young boys, four pals, forever.

March 1978

I sat in the cruiser writing out my report. I was disgusted, but was trying to be objective with my input. This was the third time this month I had to visit the McClellan residence. Alan and his buddies from the bar were again having a late night, or, I guess, early morning party. The music, as usual, was cranked up to an ear-splitting level. The neighbors once more complained about the shouting and sounds of glass breakage in the back patio. The elderly next door neighbors were almost apologetic in their call that rousted me out of my nice warm bed, but I reassured them they were doing the right thing.

My appearance at the door was all that was necessary to move the partiers quickly out the back door. I walked in a few steps and found the off button for the sound system The music was thankfully shut down and the scene was quiet.

“Dammit Alan, why don’t you cut this crap out. I’ll bet you don’t even know the names of the people who were tearing your place apart.” I said in a reasonably loud voice.

Alan McClellan, my close childhood friend, stood a few feet away swaying back and forth until he caught himself with one arm against the door jam. His eyes were not tracking or focusing, and I wondered if he even heard what I had said.

“Jack, why don’t you come in and have a drink?” was his slurred answer to my pointed question.

“I think there’s still a little bit of Jim Beam around here somewhere.” He added and began to look around the living room mess, tossing cups and empties as he went.

“Most of those kids weren’t even twenty-one. Look, you big dumb son of a bitch, you’d better start getting it together. I’d just as soon throw your sorry ass in jail as look at you.” I remarked.

“Ah, here it is.” He said as he reached under a pillow on the couch and held the almost empty bottle up in the air.

He hadn’t even heard me.

The big man, at least six feet five and close to three hundred pounds, fell back onto an easy chair with no grace or control. He looked up at me through rheumy eyes. He took a swig from the bottle, recapped the thing and tucked it between his legs.

“I’m sorry man. It won’t happen again. I promise.” He begged.

So, he had heard me.

“I was only going to have one drink at the tavern but I saw a face in the mirror behind me that looked like, like, oh, you know. It scared me.” He continued then started crying. The tears began to stream down his face.

“I thought he came back.” Alan said in a slow methodical cadence, but now quite a slur.

“Buddy, all that alcohol you’ve been drinking lately is messing with your mind. You need to take a break from the booze, I know it and you know it too.” I said as a friend.

“I know, I know, but.” Was all that came out of his mouth as his head lolled to the side.

Alan had never finished high school, in fact he had zero interest in education, or anything else. He became a trouble maker in grade school, always fighting or getting into arguments with teachers. He began working at his dad’s salvage business right after his freshman year then took it over after his father’s death last year. He was a haunted man.

The big man had passed out. I found a blanket, threw it over him, checked the back door lock, did a walk through to make sure nobody was still at the house, shut off the lights, twisted the lock button on the doorknob and walked out. I stood on the porch for a moment, breathing in the cool spring night air, thought briefly about what Alan had said, then headed for the patrol car.

I finished writing the situation, wondering if it was even worth the bother, but decided to follow protocol and have record of the home visit. I’d type it up later at the office.

 I sat back in the car seat and looked down the quiet street, my mind drifting back to what Alan had said.

June 1958

“Hey, Jack, what do want to do Saturday.” The shouted question came from Bertus Butler or just Bert to us kids.

 He was behind me as we coasted down the only paved street in Prouty on our bicycles. The noise produced by playing cards hitting the spokes caused quite a racket. Our imagination expanded by the sound; we saw ourselves as speeding bikers tearing through town on big motorcycles.

“I don’t know, what do you want to do, Alan.” I asked, as I looked to my right and saw the big, chubby red-haired kid crouched down in a racers posture to become more aerodynamic.

“Let’s do something different, he answered, I’m tired of fishing at the city reservoir.”

“We can play some baseball or basketball over at the school?” suggested yet another voice not wanting to be left out.

Charlie Wardwell, probably my best friend ever, sped up to be right next to me.

“They just put up some new backboards, and nets too.” He added in a loud enough voice to be heard above the cards clicking.

“Yah, Hannity, what do you want to do.” Came another request from Bert.

“How about a bike tour.” I suggested.

“Sounds good, said Alan, we haven’t taken one of those since last fall when we ended up at the old Johnson farm and got stung by all those wasps. Remember?”

Everyone started to chime in about that adventure. We each, of course, lied about how many stings we had endured.

“My Mom wasn’t too happy with that adventure.” Said Charlie.

“We need to do something different.” Bert chimed in.

“How about riding out to the jump, we’ve never actually been there on our bicycles.” I suggested.

“Cool, I’m in.,” said Alan.

“Me, too.” Quickly chimed in an animated Bert, but we’ll have to ride at least five miles!”

“I’ll have to check with my parents first.” Charlie moaned.

“Heck, they don’t need to know where we’re going, just tell them we are going to be riding bikes most of the day, that’s all. Cause that’s what we really will be doing.” Alan prompted.

“Okay then, let’s plan on it. But only if it’s nice weather.” Charlie agreed.

“I’ve got fifty cents to buy everyone an ice cream cone. I’ll race all of you to the Tastee Freeze. Last one there is a rotten egg!” I said as I was already pedaling hard down the street.

March 1978

 I was one of two deputies covering the sparsely populated Lincoln County. There were three communities in the entire boundary, the county seat of Sentry, and two smaller outlying towns. The country was entirely suited for agriculture. The soil was a deep loamy texture and quality small grain crops seem to thrive in the fairly dry environment.

We put a lot of miles on the road to make our presence known, but overall, crime was at a minimum and mostly minor. An occasional car accident in a town, a property dispute, or bar fight would bring us running but mostly we did a lot of patrolling and visiting with people. I wasn’t much of a stranger to the locals as I was born and raised in Prouty, one of the three towns in the county. Except for a stint in the armed forces, I had been spent my entire life in this country. My entire life, I thought and shook my head.

I pulled away from the curb and took a route through the quiet streets of the community. I, for some reason, thought about past crime in the county. In the past twenty years, there had been one failed attempt of robbery by a couple of young guys who had rolled into town and saw our bank as easy pickings, and a late-night break-in at a hardware store. That was about the total of anything major.

A few youthful keggers, burning violations, and street sign shootings was just enough to be aggravating but it was something to keep the tongues wagging of the locals who congregated at the coffee shops or post office.

 Criminal activity, other than that, was almost nonexistent. Just the way I like it, I thought. I had seen plenty of guns, and shooting, and suffering and dying In Viet Nam. The glazed eyes of the dead were something that had haunted me since childhood, and wartime casualties made it even worse.

June 1958

“You guys ready?” Charlie asked as we parked our bikes by the train depot unloading dock.

We checked all the gear we were carrying to make sure nothing was missing.

“I brought my BB pistol just in case we see some gophers or something!” Bert said enthusiastically.

“Big deal, but you gotta pump that thing at least ten times to get any power behind your shot.” Alan snorted.

Bert whirled the gun around to the big kid.

“Okay, smarty, lets see if you feel this.” And fired a BB toward his fellow traveler.

The shot missed but a few minutes of yelling ensued.

Bert just stood and smiled. The short and scrawny kid with almost white hair, thick glasses, and ears that looked like Dumbo just glared at Alan as he climbed on his bicycle.

“Okay, we all have full canteens, snacks, jackets, hats, good shoes, and what else?” I asked in a take charge voice.

“I brought a patch kit for any flat tires. It’s a good thing my dad taught me how to fix them.” Charlie said.

“I remember, you complained the whole time you were doing it.” I laughed.

My best friend started to laugh with me.

“And I got a giant pack of Double Bubble.” I announced.

“Did anyone tell their parents where we were headed?” I asked the one important question.

“No way, Alan said. Or else we would be playing checkers all afternoon in the backyard or something boring.”

I looked at our group and everyone else was shaking their head in a back-and-forth manner.

“Okay, gang, time for a new adventure.” I said and signaled the group to move out, much in the same way I had seen a calvary leader do it on the television.

We took off with whoops of enthusiasm and excitement.

“Last one to the jump is a dirty lowdown sidewinder.” Someone hollered.

We were out of town and on our way in minutes.

March 1978

I drove through town before heading to Brower, the other county town. It was even smaller than Prouty and only one business, Duffy’s Bar, was open in the evening. I imagined not even the neighborhood dogs were making noise this time of the morning. I passed the home of Charlie’s parents. I had spent many a night camping out in a backyard tent with him. We did a lot of things together. School events, church events, scouting, and even chasing the same girls kept us in a competition. We also had a bond that was not understood by anyone but us. A time in our life we wanted to forget. Leaning on each other during emotional times as a saving grace for both of us.

Charlie went on to college, got his teaching degree, then a masters in psychology. He was now a high school counselor, and according to him, the work was quite fulfilling. I missed him on occasion when an event in the area triggered old memories of our friendship.

We talked on a regular basis, and even more so as he and his fiancé began planning their wedding. I was asked to be his best man.

“I’ll have Mandy invite some single and available women to check you out. Lord knows you need someone to get you straightened away.” He said with a laugh.

He was right in a way; I had never found someone to connect with. I wasn’t without physical trysts, but my work and hours just didn’t work out to develop any high levels of commitment.

“You just take care of your own woman; I find her highly attractive and she gave me a pretty suggestive hug the last time you guys left my place.” I joked.

“Yes, she said something about you forgetting to take off your police accessory belt the whole time we visited. She said she had to keep moving around to keep a flashlight from digging into her. Then she said to her horror that she certainly hoped to God it was a flashlight.” was his comeback.

Then added, “I told Mandy it probably was a flashlight, one of those miniature jobs.”

“All right, enough of that crap you overeducated mind bender. Just tell me when and where I have to be for this event. That is, if she doesn’t dump your sorry ass before the date.” I finished.

We had been through much together. He was moving on, and I was still stuck in this country.

“By the way, I saw Alan the other day.” I added.

There was a brief silence from Charlie then, “How’s he getting along?”

“No change, he’s still majorly screwed up, and putting away the booze big time.” I answered

“If only we had done things differently.” He sighed.

“Yes, I know. I told myself that many times. Anyway, later, gator.” I said and hung up.

June 1958

The dusty road was nothing more that two paths of dirt that led the car tires in an orderly direction.  Weeds and tall grass grew between the pathways so we just rode single file. Farmland bordered one side of the road and the Burlington Northern Santa Fe railroad right of way captured the other side. Barbed wire fences were strung to keep any wayward cattle of the tracks. The faint scent of creosote filled the air. That oily chemical was used to soak railroad track ties and prolong their usefulness. I never thought it was a pleasant smell.

We sang a few bars from our favorite television shows like Have Gun Will Travel, Wagon Train, Davy Crockett, and even the Paul Parrot shoe commercial. The trail was fairly flat and easy but it seemed to stretch on forever.

“Hey, I saw that someone drew a heart with your initials and L.W. on the school sidewalk, Charlie chided me. It looked like your writing, too!

L.W. was Linda Wallace, a girl that kind of liked me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did it herself.

“Don’t think so, besides, who cares.” I said, a little miffed at his discovery.

“Hold up.” Yelled Bert.

I looked back to see the little guy was working hard to catch up. We all stopped for a swig of water.

“How about a piece of Double Bubble gum, Jack.” Alan asked.

I dug the pack out and handed one to each adventurer who in turn checked out the inside wrapper for any good jokes or information.

“I’m glad we aren’t doing this ride later on this summer. I would be way too hot.” Charlie said as he loosened the bolo tie, removed his brown cowboy hat and wiped his brow.

“Hey, it’s not so bad.”  commented Alan, who face was beet red from exertion.

“Let’s keep going then.” I suggested.

“Hey, do you want to get up and walk across the trestle before we ride over to the jump?” Bert asked.

“We could, I guess, you guys want to do that?” I asked the others.

Alan shook his head no but the majority ruled so we headed out.

The railroad trestle carried freight and passenger trains across the Tilton River valley. The length of about one-half mile made it one of the longest in the state. It stood over one hundred feet from waters level. There was a catwalk along the entire thing so that workers could do repairs. Every so often then was a jut out for the workers could safely stand back and away from a crossing train.

It took over two hours to reach our destination. We dropped our bikes and walked up the incline to the trestle mouth.

“If you put your ear down on the track, you’re supposed to be able to hear if a train is less than a mile off. suggested Charlie, I read about it in a comic book.”

We each tried our luck and decided it was safe. We stood and looked at the length of the crossing. It was the first time any of us had tried this.

“Remember to hurry from one safety jut out to the next just in case.” I suggested.

The group dropped all of their gear near the entrance and started across.

“I’m going to just stay here and watch all our stuff; I need to take a break.” Alan offered.

“Bock, bock, bock.” mocked Bert as he flapped his arms by his sides.

“Shut up you little goofball, or I’ll come over there and sit on your head. I’ll squish your tiny brain out of your ears.” Alan said.

“Come one out here and get me then.” Bert jeered at the big kid.

“Aw, you’re not worth the effort.” Alan said and sat on a track.

“Whatever you want to do is fine.” I said.

“I double dog dare you to go first.” I taunted Charlie.

“No big deal, Howdy Doody.” He said, then shrugged, turned and stepped onto the catwalk.

March 1978

I sped down highway 89 after I had checked in with our night dispatch. Sally Slocomb, the newbie on the job, acknowledged my call and signed off. She had actually transferred in from Reno, Nevada, where she had a similar job. She offered her services to the county at minimum wage, suggesting she needed something to do as she assisted her aunt to transition into a nursing home. There was no evening person manning the phones before she arrived, so she was a welcome addition.

I thought about asking her out for a cup of coffee one day just to get to know her. She was quite pretty in my eyes, and seemed to be a no-nonsense type of person. Sweet talk and flowers just wouldn’t cut it with her, I was pretty sure. Maybe some tough times in her past molded the way she was. I could certainly understand that concept.

“Screw it.” I said and picked up his transmitter.

I got hold of the office dispatch again.

“I’m off at eight this morning, I’m buying coffee and pie. Interested?” I said then waited for what I thought was a long pause.

“See you at the Log Cabin at eight.” Came a cheery voice over the radio.

The rest of the shift went by quickly.

June 1958

Walking on the trestle was a little scary at first but since the catwalk was at least four feet wide and there was a rail on one side, we picked up the pace, determined to go to the end and make a return trip. The sound found us before we saw it. A train was making its way toward us.

“Maybe we’d better run back where we started.” Charlie said as he turned to me with concern.

“Let’s just stay in a jut out and see what its like to have a train come so close to us.” Bert suggested.

“No way, I said, I heard you can get sucked under the train because of the vacuum pressure it causes.”

“Well, I’m headed back, let’s go.” I hollered.

“I’m staying.” Bert announced.

“You’re crazy, come on.” Charlie pleaded with his stubborn friend.

“Nope. Take off and run like girls.” Bert chided.

And we did. The train was about the length of a city block from the trestle when we jumped over the side of the track bed. The noise from the whistle was deafening. I looked to see Bert locking his arms and legs on the railing but lost sight of him as the train engine lumbered past.

Just as fast as the thing arrived, it was gone. We frantically looked out on the trestle. Bert was dancing a little jig just to show us he was just fine.

He took his time to reach the rest of us.

“No big deal.” He said and walked past us to the bicycles.

I began to wonder if maybe my idea of him being weak and afraid just because of his size and looks was all wrong. He was either very brave or really stupid.

We bombarded him with questions. We were all still excited about what had happened.

I looked over to the right and could see the jump. The Indians called it a pishkun, a place where buffalo were funneled and fooled into running over a high ledge. They landed below, usually injured or killed. Elders and women finished them off with knives or spears, and proceeded to skin and cut up the carcasses. They would make clothing from the hides and process the meat by smoking, a source of food for many days to come.

Locals had been visiting the jump for years, hoping to find arrowheads and spear heads among the rubble at the bottom.

We all had visited the site with our third-grade class on a field trip and again with my parents, but had never been on my own at the jump.

“There is our destination.” I yelled and pointed down river.

“Let’s ride as far as we can then we’ll hike in, so grab your gear.” I suggested.

We all picked up our bikes and jumped on.

“I don’t think I want to ride over there, there’s a lot of prickly pear and foxtail cactus. We’ll all get flat tires then really be in trouble.” Alan whined.

“Oh, come one.” Charlie said. “You’ll probably never get another chance.”

We four explorers headed south above the river breaks.

March 1978

I had a great visit with Sally, and two pieces of the cafe’s world-famous apple pie, or so they purported.

I found out that she was divorced, apparently a victim in an abusive relationship. She talked about her attitude toward others because of that experience. She also mentioned that she had taken many classes to become quite proficient in self-defense.

“Whoa, I said holding my arms up in the air, I’ll try not to do anything that requires you to go into attack mode.”

I talked about my life in the county, the stint in the army that led into law enforcement, and my outlook to the future.

“I experienced quite a traumatic experience when I was a kid, and for some reason letting go of the memory has seemed impossible.” I explained.

“I’m right with you. If I see a couple arguing on the street or in a store, I immediately feel a panic that comes from the past and it takes a minute to let it go.” Sally said.

I didn’t want to let our time together end as I was thoroughly enjoying the visit, but I needed to head out and get some shuteye.

I said goodbye, but not before inviting Sally to my place for a homemade spaghetti dinner, my specialty. Actually, it was only whole meal I could be together that tasted half decent. She agreed and we went our separate ways.

Over the next month we saw a lot of each other, talked on the telephone daily, and grew quite close. We both seemed to put the skids on being emotionally available for any intimacy, and I accepted that.

May 1978

Charlie’s wedding was to be held in two weeks. He called.

“All right, before you say anything, I’ll have you know I’m bringing a date.” I announced.

“Yah, right!” came the expected retort.

“Honest, she’s running dispatch for the sheriff ‘s office, and I heard she was in the Miss American contest. She also has a PhD in mathematics, physics, and a masters in developing interpersonal relationships with intelligent, good looking, and charming law enforcement officers.” I explained.

“So, what she doing with you?” came the question.

“I told her that we could dress down for the red neck wedding and that the reception would probably be held in your eight by forty trailer.” I said.

“And I told her that she couldn’t snicker when she met the groom, that he couldn’t help that he was born with such an ugly face.” I added and smiled into the phone.

“Just show up, you moron, when you’re supposed to, and no you can’t wear those Converse Allstar tennis shoes, so don’t bother asking.” Charlie said trying to get in the last word.

“I’ll try.” I said and hung up.

June 1958

We got to the lip of the jump quickly. The view from the top of the ledge was wonderful. We could see the entire expanse of the trestle, the slowly meandering river, and some cattle off in the distance. The sky was a light blue and a few fluffy clouds floated above. We spent some time checking the layout.

“Hey, Charlie said, I think we can go over here and jump to that landing below.”

He and I checked out the spot he was talking about and found a small shelf about six feet down. We decided to give it a try.  We backed up slowly trotted to the edge. We both stopped and looked at each other then laughed. It was doable.

The trip down wasn’t much but the landing was a little rough. We whooped to each other and scrambled up on our feet, anxious to walk around the side, climb the hill and give it another try.

We heard some shouting above us but I couldn’t make out who was saying what. Suddenly I watched in horror as Bert flew off the ledge, floated through mid-air then landed at the bottom of the hillside. I remember screaming and raced to the edge to look down. Bert was laying among the rocks. His legs and arms were a funny angle and he wasn’t moving.

Charlie and I jumped, tumbled and ran to the bottom. Bert was staring up at us with sightless open eyes.

I was trying to process what had happened when Alan came barreling down the hillside.

“He, he was just looking over the edge and he must have slipped.” cried an excited Alan.

“I wasn’t close enough to catch him.” He continued.

“What do we do now?” Charlie screamed.

“He’s dead, Alan screamed even louder, I just know it!”

“One of us has to ride back into town.” I yelled in a panic.

“I will.” Charlie announced and with that ran to where the bikes lay, and took off. He was pedaling crazily and disappeared from sight.

After a few minutes the shock was wearing off and I was drained.

“What were you two yelling about just before Bert fell?” I asked Alan.

“We weren’t arguing, we didn’t really say anything to each other.” He said and left it at that.

We sat for over two hours in the hot sun until finally help arrived. There was at least a dozen cars and trucks, led by a sheriff’s department cruiser.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. The three of us had to tell the sheriff about our day and misadventure. We included the trestle walk and everything else we could think of.

The only witness to Bert’s tumble was Alan, so Charlie and I couldn’t answer any questions concerning that. We had to recount reaching Bert’s body, his position, and questions on whether we had moved anything when we got there.

I wanted to talk about the stare of the eyes of a dead person but nobody asked me about it.

Our parents loaded up the bicycles and we rode home in silence. That night my mother hugged me and I cried for what seemed hours.

I rarely saw Alan or Charlie the rest of the summer as I was grounded to stay only in our yard. It was a tough summer.  I had a lot of time to think about what had happened, but mostly about Alan lying to me about the argument I had heard just above Charlie and I were standing.

I developed a sick feeling that Bert had been pushed to his death, but didn’t want to believe it.

There was a funeral for Bert, but I never went. Bert’s family moved away a year later and I never saw them again.

Someone put up a fence on the edge of the jump and signs were erected announcing caution.

When school finally started, I reached out to Charlie immediately and asked him bluntly, “Do you think Bert fell accidently?”

Charlie looked at me through suddenly sad eyes and nodded his head back and forth.

We never spoke about it again. But we forever would be tied to the death of our friend.

June 1978

The big day had finally arrived. Sally and I met up early so that we would arrive for the wedding in a timely manner.

She had been introduced to Charlie and his bride-to-be the weekend before and they seemed to hit it off just fine. That was a relief to us guys.

Charlie, myself, and his future brother-in-law were in a motel room just down the road from the church. Last minute shoe shining, looking for lost cufflinks, and trying to tame the unruly cowlicks was the order of business.

Someone knocked on the door. Charlie opened it and Alan stood at the threshold. He had been drinking, it was obvious, but was in fairly good shape.

“Well, I just stopped by to offer you congratulations on your big day.” The huge man said quietly.

“Thanks, Alan, its appreciated.” Charlie said.

“Ah, there’s something else we need to talk about, in private if that’s alright.” Alan continued.

“Mick, can you head down and see how our fathers are faring for a few minutes.” Charlie said to the youngest member of the groom’s entourage.

As soon as the door shut Alan started talking.

“I need to get something off my chest. I need to talk about the jump.” He began.

“Hey, big man, you don’t need to bring that up if you don’t want to.” I said with a bit of a cringe.

“Jesus Alan, all of that was a long time ago, we’ve all moved on, and I’ve got to get ready for my wedding.” Charlie pleaded and tried to herd Alan out of the room.

That wasn’t going to happen. Alan stood in front of the closed door and braced himself. He wasn’t going to move until he was ready to.

“I’m going to talk, and you guys are going to listen. I can’t let you continue to think what I know you think about me.” He started.

Alan stared at his two childhood friends pointedly, we didn’t say anything.

“I am, and have always been afraid of heights. I can’t even get on the roof of the salvage shed. You remember, I’m sure, when we decided to take that bike trip to the jump but sidetracked to the trestle? There was no way I could have gotten on those tracks. I made up some lame excuse and Bert was giving me a bad time about being chicken. I was alright with that. Following me so far?” Alan asked.

We both nodded our heads and remained quiet.

“Well, you two decided to do the short distance jump off the ledge and were down below when Bert started to berate me and really got mean. I had never seen him like that. I told him I wasn’t ready to jump and to cool it. I was standing quite a way away from the edge to stay in my comfort zone, when all of a sudden, I felt a push in my back. Bert wasn’t big enough to move me but he tried. I yelled at him to quit and started in about how I was afraid of high places. I stood there staring at him. He backed up and raced toward me again. He was really trying to push me over the edge. I didn’t know what to think but I just sidestepped him and he want flying past me and out of view.” Alan said as the words tumbled out.

“I couldn’t even make myself look over the cliff’s edge to see if he was alright.” Alan said and started to cry.

“I didn’t want you guys to know I suffered from acrophobia, or that Bert was pushing all the right buttons, so I just shut up about everything.” He said and started to calm down.

“I knew nobody would believe that that scrawny little kid was getting the best of me, but he had.” He continued.

“He went over on his own, I didn’t have anything to do with it, and so now you know. That’s the truth. Believe it or not but I had to get it off of my chest. Not telling the truth has been killing me for years.” He finished.

I stood up and walked over to the man who had finally unburdened his soul. I gave him a hug.

“Thanks, Alan, you don’t know how much that has helped me.” I said quietly.

“Hey, big man, Charlie said lightly, welcome to stay for the ceremony and party.”

“No thanks, my party days are over. I got some living to do.” He said and simply walked out the door.

Charlie and I just looked at each other for a moment, letting years and years of doubt drain out of us.

“Come on, it’s time for you to get hitched. I give it about a year before she finds someone more interesting.” I suggested.

Oh, yeah, and I give you less than a year before we are doing this same thing for you and Sally.” Charlie retorted.

The wedding was special.  There was one instance of concern, however, when I feigned searching for a lost ring. The bride was in a panic, the groom just shook his head at me and smiled. Sally and I danced, laughed, and kissed. And kissed some more. The yoke of guilt had been lifted off of my shoulders. It was time for another day of adventure and exploring.

I never went back to the jump, never wanted to, and never will. It was just four young boys who were looking for excitement and fun.

Many years ago, I had been searching for a project that would keep me busy, out of the house, and provide a certain satisfaction of completion. I liked wood working but didn’t have the space or tools to begin that endeavor. The idea of stamp or money collections was appalling, and I could only do so much to my backyard to keep it in shape.

I, and my sons, who were ages twelve and ten at the time, traveled to my parents’ home one weekend day. I was talking to my dad about doing something to keep me busy. He walked me out to the back of his property. Sitting in the middle of the former chicken yard was a faded blue 1957 Chevrolet. It was covered with algae, dirt, and, if I didn’t know better, chicken manure. The interior was in great shape, the body needed some work, but overall, not too bad at all. My dad had bought it years before and planned on working on the vehicle himself. His health problems now prevented that. I had never thought about auto restoration but the idea was perfect.

We struck up a deal and I traded an old Ford truck for my brand-new old car. We drained the gas tank and added new fuel, added oil and water, filled the tires, and jumped the battery. It fired up. A plume of blue smoke filled the air, but soon the exhaust was clear. My boys and I jumped in and took off for home.

The car ran like a champ as I pulled into the west side of my town. I looked into the back seat and saw both boys hunkered down on the seat.

Now they were old enough to formulate their own ideas of reality.

“Everybody is staring at us when they go by. We should have washed the car before we left Grandpa’s town.”

The other son gave an affirmation to that very thought.

“Guys, I said, they are staring at this car because it a classic. It is one of the most popular cars ever built. People are jealous.”

I left it at that.

Several blocks down the streets I felt a draft coming from the back. I looked to see that both of these characters had their windows rolled down, their elbows outside, and giving nods to all those who happened to look their way.

They helped me sand, prime, and prepare the car for body work and paint. We all took, in some way, ownership of that old car.

 It was a classic example of perception. It was truly classic.

Chippy the Squirrel was a happy little guy. He had a nice home in an old pine tree. His nest was always full of seeds and berries and nuts. He had a small family and kept them fed and safe.

Chippy had lived in the Oak Tree woods for quite a long time.  He had many friends and shared adventures with them. One day Chippy decided to see if his favorite feeder had been filled with peanuts. The humans at that house loved birds, butterflies, and flowers. They must have liked squirrels too because they fed Chippy all the time. He would sit on the feeder and shell the peanuts then stuff them in his mouth until his cheeks were fat, then would carry the load back to his nest. The humans would sit out and watch him. They never yelled or tried to catch him. Those humans were nice.

Not all humans liked squirrels, so he stayed away from them and their houses. They would shake a stick or a broom or just yell when he bounded around their yard. Chippy didn’t understand why they did that, but he would just ran away and never venture into that area again.

Chippy was watching his friend Chesley the crow and several other big black birds fly high in the sky. They made a terrible racket as they flew through the air. Sometimes they just spread their wings into the wind and floated. Chippy wished he could fly too.

Suddenly Chippy heard a loud noise that was not really a dog bark, or a human voice. It continued to get louder and louder. Chippy ran up a fence and looked into the back yard of a human’s house. The noise was coming from a small animal on the porch. It was all wrapped up in a kind of rope and was struggling to move. The animal was crying out for help. Chippy jumped up and stood beside the poor creature.

“Do you need help?” Chippy asked.

The little animal with great big eyes looked at Chippy and cried.

“My humans tied me up this morning and I got tangled up in this leash. It would be muy bien if you could help.” It spoke.

“I will try. My name is Chippy, and I am a squirrel.” Chippy said.

“My name is Chi-Chi. I am a dog, but my humans call me a Chihuahua. That means what kind of dog I am. I would appreciate much if you can help me. I can’t get to my water dish or food dish since I am all tangled up.” The dog explained.

“Do you like acorns?” Chippy said and slipped one out of his fat cheeks.

“You can have one until we get you free.” He continued.

The little Chihuahua looked at the soggy nut for a moment and curled up his lip. He thanked Chippy for the offer but decided not to try it.

Chippy walked around the dog, looked at the leash with all of its knots and began to chomp through the material.

“I have strong teeth so I will try to chew up this thing that has you all tied up.” Chippy said.

“Muchas Gracias, Cheepy.” Chi-Chi said.

Chippy didn’t know what that meant but went to work chewing on the leather materials.  It didn’t take long before everything was loose, and Chi-Chi was prancing around his yard.

“That was a very nice thing for you to help me, do you want to be my friend?” Chi-Chi said in between gulps of water and mouthfuls of his food.

“I would be very happy to have a dog as a friend, but how come you don’t bark at me like all the other dogs do?” Chippy asked.

“Oh, they are bored and just look for something to do while their humans slowly move around the trails and pathways. They are mostly pretty nice guys.” The little chihuahua explained.

“I have many friends in the woods, would you like to come with me and find some of them?” the little squirrel asked.

The dog bounced up and down on his front legs.

“I would like that very much Senor Cheepy. My humans hardly ever let me out of the yard and keep me tied up almost all day long.” Chi-Chi yelped.

“I don’t think you can climb the fence like Rupert the cat and I can, so let’s find another way to get out.” Chippy said working up a plan.

Chi-Chi tried to climb anyway. His new friend was right, he could not climb or jump high enough to get over the fence.

“Come on, I found a way out of here.” Chippy said cheerfully.

Soon the two friends had scooted on their belly underneath the swinging gate. They took off across the fields laughing and squealing.

“This is so much fun, amigo, I have never got to run wherever I wanted to go.” the happy dog said.

Chippy showed the little dog his family nest, the trails that ran through the woods, the flowers that humans had planted in places, and where his friends the deer rest and feed.

“This is wonderful, Cheepy, I never knew any of these things were here.” Chi-Chi said in glee.

“Let’s go visit the neighbors farm. They have animals that you have never seen either. They are called cows. They look like deer but are big and fat. All they do is eat grass and yell something that sounds like Moo.” the squirrel suggested.

Chippy squeezed a fence link and Chi-Chi followed behind.

“Oh, oh, I think I am stuck.” Came a panicked voice from behind Chippy.

Chippy turned and saw that his adventuresome pal was definitely wedged in the fence.  Chippy tried to push and pull with his arms, but they were too small and weak to do much good.

“What am I going to do. My humans will miss me, and they will be mad that I am not at home. I am sure they will get another dog and not want me anymore!” rattled the scared little dog.

Chi-Chi started to howl and cry out.

“Just be calm, we will find a way to get you free. Don’t worry. I will ask my friends to help.” Chippy said and took off running.

“Please hurry, I am afraid and don’t want to be left alone.” Chi-Chi whimpered.

Chippy looked for Sammy, a big deer who he first met when he came to the woods, but he was nowhere to be found. He kept on running through the woods. Suddenly he saw a group of crows eating bugs in the grass.

“Chesley, barked Chippy, can you help me.”

Chesley, a big black crow, who Chippy had become friends with, looked up. He hopped and walked to the gray squirrel.

“I will if I can, what has happened.” Chesley cawed.

“I have a new friend named Chi-Chi. He is a Chihuahua dog and is stuck in a fence. I can’t push or pull him out.” Chippy explained.

Chesley thought for a few minutes.

“I don’t think I can help because I can’t grab anything with my wings, and my feet wouldn’t be much help either.” He admitted.

Chippy stared at the bird for a few seconds then started to move away.

“I think you are right, to I will keep looking for help. Have a nice day in the woods.” Chippy added.

Chippy was getting concerned because it was starting to get dark, and his poor little friend must be anxious. He should never had tried to climb through the fence, but it was too late to think like that.

Three minutes later a familiar brown and white body appeared on top of the fence line right behind a house. Rupert, the cat, was walking and purring some tune when he saw Chippy.

“Hi Chippy. How are you today.” The cat asked.

Chippy told Rupert about the trapped dog and that he could not find any way to help Chi-Chi get free.

“Oh, another dumb dog. They are always getting into trouble one way or the other. I will come with you and see if I can help.” The cat said.

Thank you, Rupert, I hope you can.” Chippy cried.

Soon the two were standing in front of Chi-Chi. He was shivering and crying. He was afraid. Chippy introduced the two to each other. Rupert walked around the little dog then leaped over the top of the wire fence. The cat sat down for a moment as he thought, then he just as quickly jumped back over and stood behind the dog.

Suddenly Chi-Chi gave out a squeal, his little thin legs were pumping, the back side of his body was wiggling, and he slipped through the fence.

Chippy heard the little dog yelp, “Ouch”

“Hombre, you bit me!” the Chihuahua barked.

“Yes, I did, and you are now no longer trapped, either.” Rupert announced.

The realization of freedom finally hit Chi-Chi.

“I thought you just need a little bit of encouragement.” Said the cat.

The dog jumped up and down with excitement that he was free. Chippy thanked Rupert and offered him an acorn as a token of his appreciated. The cat declined.

“But I have to get on the other side of this fence if I am going to get back home. Aye, Yi, Yi, what will I do?” Chi-Chi wailed.

“Dogs.” Said Rupert with disgust as he flipped his tail in the air.

“Walk down to that open gate and go through it.” Rupert said as he looked down his nose at the freed dog.

Chippy and Chi-Chi turned their head to look down fence line.  Ten yards away they saw an opening. The dog ran madly to and through the gate.

“I have better things to do, now. Stay out of trouble, okay.” Rupert ordered as he walked away.

“I should get back, my humans should be home soon.” Chi-Chi said.

The two explorers raced each other back to his familiar house. There was no light on, and it was quiet.

“I guess I will climb back under the gate and wait for my humans, but it has been more fun today that I have every had.” Chi-Chi admitted.

“I am glad for that. Maybe I will come over during the day and play while you are on your patio, that way you don’t have to be alone.” Chippy said.

“Thanks, amigo. That means friend.” The little dog explained.

“Thank you and now I’ve learned a new word too. I guess friends teach each other different things to learn.” Chippy said.

“But I don’t think I taught you anything today, did I.” the squirrel asked.

“Si, senor, I learned that I must never try to squeeze through a fence ever again.” Chi-Chi said.

The two little animals laughed, and Chippy headed back to his nice warm nest.

It had been a wonderful day.

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………