Around the Block: Dr. Henri Bones Arrives

Welcome to a new episode of Around the Block...

Today's episode is called "Dr. Henry Bones Arrives." 

The streets of Brickford Falls are alive with its citizens out and about for 9 o’clock on a Saturday morning. Some going shopping, some going to work, and some lining up at The Brickford Falls Museum of History and Science.  It's opening day for a new exhibit. They are waiting to see the newest exhibit with items from the world-famous "Bones Collection of Archaeological Finds."  Some are from Brickford Falls' history, some dating back to prehistoric days, and some they just found in the back alley.

And also today, the man himself, the famous French archeologist Dr. Henri Bones, has arrived in town and it is his collection that everyone wants to see.  He is here to give tours and a lecture about his collections.  His son, Illinois Bones, is dropping him off and is off on his next adventure to find the lost but famous Brick of the Covenant.  Dr. Bones reminds him not to forget his passport and overcoat, then reminds him that they named to goldfish Illinois.

The patiently-waiting crowd has yet to spot Dr. Bones despite the fact that he announces his arrival by shouting out "Dr. Bones has arrived." No one seems to really care, not because they don't; it's just because Dr. Bones has refused to be photographed for any of his book jackets, any form of the news, and always wears a Mardi Gras-style mask whenever his interviewed on television.  In fact, he is also wearing an archeologist disguise just to throw people off.  So no one has ever seen him.

But there is one person who has just arrived who recognizes him...  Dr. Bones' latest arch-enemy, Dr. Cornelius Erasmus Van Gawnbybye. For the past three months, Dr. Gawnbybye has pretended to be Dr. Henri Bones and many people has asked him for his autograph and photographic moments. And soon, the line of museum patrons flock around him for photographic moments and autographs. Soon, there would be an archaeological fight that the likes of which has never seen in Brickford Falls.

Meanwhile down, the street, Brickford Falls newest resident, Lady Roxanne Roundheals-Rivington. Retiring from her business, Luparans Lace, she has come to the quiet town for rest and relaxation.  Little did she know, within the few moments that she first steps out on the street, she would witness the archaeological fight that the likes of which has never seen in Brickford Falls.  But not before she meets Brichford Falls most famous French bulldog, Hercules Poirdog, and his master, Monsieur Hastings.

CSM

A View of the Town: Episode 19 -- Bernice Hull

Welcome to A View of the Town, the adventures of Dr. Willis Fletcher in the small coastal town of misty Cove along the coast Maine. Offering tidbits of local color and the lay of the land, we now return to Dr. Fletcher and another of his stories of the the sleepy seaport town.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by carrots.  They're orange and healthy and delish too.  Slice them, dice them, bake them, put them in a stew. Carrots are good for all the ails you.  Carrots.

I've met many a stranger passing through Misty Cove.  Most looking to get away from the heat of the cities during the summer.  Some looking for fresh seafood.  I've met writers, artists, and professors.  Some have left their mark on my nostalgic mind.   And a few leave a deeper mark.  Like Bernice Hull.

One afternoon, I sat napping in my office, enjoying a quiet day which was often rare in Misty Cove, when I heard the door's bell tinkle.  Standing in my waiting room was the most most fairest young lady I ever saw.    Brunette, plain dressed, and shy.  Her name was Bernice Hull and she was visiting friends.  She asked if she could examine her throat and provide her with something to help sooth it.  The night sea air gave her a sore throat, according to her.  I was smitten.  And fortunately, she was unmarried.

With a bottle of gargle tonic, she was appreciative and I took my chances to ask her to lunch at Charlotte's Diner.  Fortunately, Charlotte was not there and we lunched in peace.  She told me she traveled up from New York City.  She told me of her difficult upbringing by an alcoholic abusive father after her mother had died.   

Her father worked but often spent the money on spirits.  She found solace at her local church where she helped with whatever they needed. She took in laundry and became well known for her baking skills on her neighborhood.  She was lucky she could give her earnings for the priest at the church to keep safe.  It was a rough life for a young girl.  Her older brother had run away as soon as he was able, keeping in touch with her.  He had settled in Misty Cove.  I knew him, Buster Hull, a local woodworker known for his excellent work.  And when she had turned 16, she ran away as well into New York City.

When I asked her how she was able to travel and feed herself, she simply replied "I entertain."  Now at first, I was a bit concerned about the form of entertainment.  Misty Cove had no such place or would be interested in such "entertainment."  With a puzzled look, I couldn't help but ask further.  She grinned.  And there it was.  I realized who I was looking at.  Her stage look included rouge, a blond wig, flashy dresses.  Everyone in town thought she was staying with her orchestra in the back of the theatre, but Bernice Hull would emerge after her performance as Babette Le Blond and walk about town and visiting her brother.  I kept her secret.  And she was grateful for it.

Babette Le Blond and her orchestra left Misty Cove after their second weekend performances.  I kept in touch with her for many years.  They ended up in Los Angeles after years of traveling across country, performing wherever they could.  We exchanged cards and letters.  I, of course, would ask Buster about his sister.   She retired after the orchestra broke up and married, settling in Los Angeles where she and her husband opened a small bakery.

Over the years, I have meet some many interesting people in Misty Cove.  The visit of Bernice Hull was always one of my favorites.  And sometime, I'll have to tell you about her return to Misty Cove many years later.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by carrots.  Bugs, Peter, and the Easter bunny could see the benefits of eating carrots and so should you.  They grow underground but don't taste like dirt. They're good for your eyes and easy on your thighs. Carrots.

CSM

WWED?

This is another one of those diary posts that I wrote about last month, or was it earlier this month?  Doesn't really matter.  I decided to title them WWED?  It stands for "What would Erma do?"  Erma Bombeck. Boy, do we need her!

Anyway, I remember Erma talking about couple trying to have a baby.  She wrote about how couples couldn't wait to have a baby.  Nowadays, that has changed but the lesson Erma taught about babies being made is unforgettable.  Babies are conceived when they want to be. They know when you just bought a house with a massive mortgage.  Or you want to save up for a big trip to Paris.  Or you buy a brand new car.

I can apply the same to my situation.  I remember over the past few years thinking about how life was just flying by. One moment, you are driving through a foot of snow to work, the next dealing with 95 degree weather, then putting up the Christmas tree.  All in the matter of what felt like a couple of weeks.  At 55, it just seemed to be flying and soon I would be 56.  Then 57.  Then 58.

But let me tell, the moment I decided to pay off my mortgage as quick as possible, time came to a screeching halt.  It slammed on the brakes.  Now it creeps in this petty pace....  Ugh.  I made up my mind several months ago I wanted to pay off my house by the time I was 60 and I am now beginning to think 60 is 20 years away.

Erma was right.  The moment you want something it feels like it is lightyears away.  I refer to this as the time that tries men's souls.  And of course, there's the obstacles that will come flying at you from out of nowhere.  Also known as "just waiting for the other shoe to drop." 

But I am thankful for Erma.  She taught me this lesson just like a mother.  Well, she was a mother and just like my own mother.  I learned a lot from them both.

Many thanks Erma.

CSM

A View of the Town: Episode 18 -- Babette Le Blond

Welcome to A View of the Town, the adventures of Dr. Willis Fletcher in the small coastal town of misty Cove along the coast Maine. Offering tidbits of local color and the lay of the land, we now return to Dr. Fletcher and another of his stories of the the sleepy seaport town.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by bread.  You can earn it by working or slice it with a knife.  It will rise, but not fly.  It will never flower, but needs flour, and you can cover it with any sort of spread.  Bread.

Babette Le Blond.  What a woman!  I remember the day that she arrived on the 10:30 train, but actually 10:37 because it was always late, all the way from New York City.  It was the summer of 1928, June 19 to be exact, and she had come to Misty Cove to perform at the The Prince Theatre.  The theatre has been the center of entertainment since 1892, when the Gigglesminster Brothers built it.  And now it would be graced by the most beautiful singer that Misty Cove had seen, possibly ever.  

That June was unusually cool so she walked from the train station in her red silk dress and black silk coat with white fur collar.  Her blue cloche tight against her head, with her blond bobbed hair peaking out from underneath it.  Men could have set their clocks to her rhythm as she walked.  Her bright red lips were puckered.  Her rouged cheeks smooth. Her white shoes were like none others seen in town.  Needless to say, she stopped traffic of all kinds.  Men with wagons.  Boys on bicycles.  The church circle reading group who just came out the church gasped as she turned to corner on East Street. Even Freddie, the local town tom cat, stared at her as she passed.

Her all-girl orchestra arrived with her, but they looked far more plain and lagged behind her.  In hindsight, Ms. Le Blond knew how to make an entrance and it almost didn't work.  They stayed in the rooms in the back part of the theatre and could be seen in the back alley smoking and occasionally with a drink in hand.  Now, Ms. Le Blond and her all-girl orchestra naturally caused a stir among the women in town, and it was enough to make their opening night almost a failure.  However, Mr. Gigglesminster Jr. assured his potential audience, when asked, that they were a well-known hit in the major east coast cities. 

I had to see for myself so I was there their first night.  Of course, the audience was thin, only part of the house was filled, with plenty of  seats open. And almost without saying, the crowd whispered and speculated about what they were about to see.  Even, Reverend Albepious was there, prepared to cast a hell-fire eye.  Mr. Gigglesminster Jr. came out first to introduce and welcome "Ms. Babette Le Blond and her orchestra" and to "sit back and enjoy." And as I had mentioned, Ms. Le Blond knew how to attract attention, for when she stepped out on stage, I knew the stunning dress she wore had to be Paris-made.   And when she started singing...  A hush and awe fell over the audience.

For the next hour and a half, Ms. Le Blond and her orchestra took us on mellow ride of opera, hymns, jazz, and patriotic tunes that we had all listened to during the Great War.  At one point, she brought the audience to tears with her version of Amazing Grace then Swing High Swing Low Sweet Chariot.  By the way, the Reverend Albepious even shed a tear or two.  I had never been moved by a musical performance and I was reminded of George Eliot's line in The Mill on the Floss... "But it seems that one mustn't judge by the outside."

The following nights, the house was packed with standing room only.  Neighboring towns had heard about the performance and they came to Misty Cove by the droves.  And Mr. Gigglesminster amde the best revenue, so much so that he added a sound system a few years later after the talkies became all the rage.  Ms. Le Blond and her orchestra stayed to themselves while in town, only walking about a couple of times to see our town.  I've seen many a show on my travels and in Misty Cove, but none like that of Ms. Le Blond and her orchestra.  To this day, they still speak of their two weeks in town.

She and her orchestra eventually settled in California. She changed her name, performed in smaller venues, and married, leaving behind her singing career.  I know that because I was the only one who got to know her and we wrote to each other for years to follow.  The morning after that first performance, she came to my office. I did not recognize her at first.  She wore a plain cotton dress, no lipstick or rouge, and a simple straw hat.  Her complaint -- a slight sore throat from hitting a high note. She was soft spoken and very polite. I showed her about town afterwards and we became friends.  To say that I was smitten with her... But they left to travel onto many other cities to surprise others with her gift.

There's more this story, so stayed tuned.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by bread.  You can eat it fresh. You can eat it toasted.  As a sandwich or as a side.  Sourdough to wheat to rye to sweet.  Nothing be better than sliced bread.

CSM

WWED?

(What Would Erma Do?)

When I started this blog way back when, I wanted to use it for two purposes -- a sort of a diary during struggles and a scratch pad for creativity.  At times, my blog has been my open diary for the world to read. Where I lay it out. Let the feelings roll.  And rant and rave.

At times, it has been my creative outlet or a form of scratch pad for practice.  The second is especially true with the various writing projects over the years, testing the waters to see how different aspects of my writing have worked out.  Those projects have let me try out character creation, plot outlining, and writing descriptions.

This entry is an open diary entry.  I find these useful for letting off steam, being passive aggressive, and being truthful.  And today I feel like I need to skate as near the truth as possible.

About 5 to 6 years ago, I began to feel "the change."   Some refer to it as "mid-life crisis."  I prefer to think of it as "Holy Sh*t!  I've still got a lot that I want to do."   What this led to was an overhaul and evaluation of everything up to that point and weeding out what didn't make me happy.  The operative word in that sentence is "me."  Helen Reddy recorded a song that I often listen to -- "Would you take better care of yourself? Would you be kinder to yourself? Would you be more forgiving of your human imperfections if you realized your best friend was yourself?"   I've slowly became one of those people who had to be their own best friend in order to survive and ever more important a very high-level of independence.  

Several times, it feels like some people in my life have not been able to handle that level of independence I have soared to. Mainly because I think that they themselves may not know how to be independence.  They may need emotional crutches, a constant place to blow up, and/or a sympathetic ear.  And to be honest, I have grown tired of those people! and in turn, I have basically walked away.  Why?  I'm tired. Just like I just wrote!

While wading through intrusive thoughts, reliving painful memories, and bursts of extreme anger, I worked myself to a place where I kept asking the same question over and over and not really getting an answer.  Until one day the answer just slapped me in the face.   

The question (said in a strong and power burst): "For how long?  For how long do I need to be an emotional crutch?  For how long do I need to listen to people complain over and over about stuff they have no control over?  For how long do I have to deal with other people and their decision that they made and didn't work out for them?   For how long?!"

The answer (said in a plain simple calm voice):  "You decide."

I decided that I was done.  My peace of mind became a priority.  My life is mine and nobody else's.  I get to choose.  And to those people I say "F*ck off.  You're breaking my peace."

But I also have had to accept the concept of hypocrisy.  Whew, hypocrisy!  Just seeing the word wears me out.  I just can't stand it anymore.  This is a whole other blog post just waiting to happen.

Well, anyway.   As I said this is one of posts that serves as a diary entry.  I also use them as writing practice just to get thoughts out and practice on the keyboard and learn not to write run-on sentences just like this one.

I have so many writing projects that I want to work on.  I think I will create a schedule, maybe that would help to organize them....  I know there are those who love "A View of the Town" -- tales from the sleepy Maine seaport of Misty Cove.   Lego stories!  Every year I get asked if Brickford Falls will be making an appearance.  By the way, Brickford Falls is partially set up in my basement.  I just need to get my a** down there and work on it.  Then there's two books ideas floating around -- one is a new Time Travelers' Club book.  The other is forming....  A new character, Mrs. Rowena Meredith.  She is fascinating...  well, at least to me she is.

CSM

A View of the Town: Episode 17 -- The Great Turkey Round-up of 1920

Welcome to A View of the Town, the adventures of Dr. Willis Fletcher in the small coastal town of misty Cove along the coast Maine. Offering tidbits of local color and the lay of the land, we now return to Dr. Fletcher and another of his stories of the the sleepy seaport town.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by a pumpkin.  It's neither a pump nor a kin. But it has tough outer skin and a soft inside.  Just like that one cousin who was never a bride with skin like tanned leather. Pumpkins.

Roasted turkey, oysters on the half shell, baked squash, mashed potatoes, mincemeat pie, pumpkin pie, cranberry sauce, baked carrots, parsnip fitters, cheese, fruits...  This was Mrs. Hornbrook's Thanksgiving meal.  I hadn't eaten so well in a long time.  It was my first Thanksgiving in Misty Cove and everyone wanted me to spend the day with their families. Especially the ones with single daughters.  I personally wanted to spend the day in quiet solitude reading that stack of books that I had ordered from New York, but no such luck.

Although I remember the mean well, I also remember how I had spent three weeks before Thanksgiving. Attending to injuries sustained from, what we now call, "The Great Turkey Round-up of 1920."  Not to be confused with "The Great Turkey Debacle of 1921" which involved Richie Williams, or "The Mighty Thanksgiving Feather Storm of 1931."  The 1920 escapade involved a wagon from Portland loaded with over twenty turkeys, a stubborn and impatient horse named Cyril ridden by the young and attractive Ms. Latham visiting from Boston, and a wagon driven by Earnest Simpson, Misty Cove's know-it-all.

Twenty miles south of Misty Cove, a man by the name Big Jim Worth owned and operated a poultry farm with chickens and turkeys. He had been raising and suppling the area with poultry for the past thirty years.  And in early November he would offer Thanksgiving turkeys.  Ebenezer Forthright, a local meat merchant, would send his two sons, Barney and Harvey to Worth's farm to purchase twenty turkeys to sell in his shop.  It would be a family affair with all the Forthrights involved.  You could pick out your turkey, have it cleaned and dressed, and delivered.  Many took him up on this offer.

So, one early November day, Harvey and Barney, the two bachelor sons of Forthright set off for their turkey purchases.   All went well.  Big Jim even threw in two extra turkeys for free since Forthright was a in-good-standing customer.  And so the boys began their journey home.  It wasn't until they were two blocks away from their father's shop.  Now Mr. Forthright had a plot with a barn where he would pin up the turkeys in order to feed and take care of them.  It was not far from the shop, within walking distance.

On this particular day, Misty Cove was lucky to witness the arrival of the young and attractive Ms. Annabelle Latham, actress, singer, and cousin of Mrs. Mathilda Upthank.  Ms. Latham had arrived from New York City where she has just finished her role in a play named "Love is the Only Word."  A two-bit comedy that she took too seriously with it closing only after three weeks.  At least that is what the New York Times reported. (I have a subscription.)  Ms. Latham was greeted at the train station by Mr. Upthank with his horse Cyril and carriage.  With word that a famous actress visiting, a word that undoubtedly started Mrs. Upthank bragging, two young Misty Cove ladies with acting aspirations waited for her arrival on the three o'clock train.   Now to make this story a little shorter, let's just say that Ms. Latham, on a dare, was going to show off her horsemanship.  And Cyril was the horse on which she would do that.

Now to make this scenario complete, I have to bring in Earnest Simpson, the man about town who knew more that you do about just about anything. Even I got a lecture on "doctoring" and how to do it better.  But on this day, Simpson had been lecturing a couple of young men on the art of sailing, even though it wasn't sailing weather, from the seat of his wagon.  He had blustered on for some time.  Right in front the gate that led to the Forthright turkey barn.

As the Forthright brothers made there way towards the gate, little did they know that Ms. Latham who on a dare attempted to show off her horsemanship has accidently slapped the stubborn and impatient Cyril one too many times.  And Cyril became annoyed with his show-off of a rider and decided that she was no longer welcome and bolted.  Right towards the Forthright barn.

Now what happened next is still unclear but remains a topic of conversations at the local cafe.  But what we do know is that the horse hitched to the Forthright brothers' wagon was spooked by the fact that Cyril came racing by and skidded to a stop.  Ms. Latham, who was admired by the bachelor Forthrights for just a brief moment, was thrown up over Cyril's head, feet first, and landed straddling Simpson's shoulders.  Simpson in turn bent over so far and fast that Mr. Latham accidently kicked the two young men in the heads since they didn't have time to run after being trapped by Simpson and his so-called sailing advice. The Forthright's horse reared up causing the wagon to bounce up.  Barney and Harvey fell backward crashing into the crates of the turkeys.  The turkeys, who had been contently enjoying the wagon ride, became startled as their crates crashed to the ground.  They took flight in all directions with feathers flying.

Everyone knows that turkeys can't fly, but they flew.  I saw that part with my own eyes.  What I saw when I ran up to see what the commotion was was this.  Barney and Harvey Forthright laying among now busted empty crates.  The two young men who had the luck of being kicked were leaning against the wooden fence, rubbing their chins and heads and trying to stand.  Ms. Latham sprawled in a water trough along the other side of the fence after being thrown from Simpson's shoulders.  Simpson himself had been knocked silly by at least three flying turkey and was disoriented, arms flailing.  I watched as he knocked himself out when he ran right into a telephone pole.

After Forthright announced that the turkey you caught would be turkey you could buy and believe me the word spread quickly, many of the town residents ran amok attempting to catch the turkeys.  All the turkeys were of various size and this in turn led to a few fist-fights and arguments with the most famous fist-fight between Mrs. Peacock and Mrs. White.  Needless to say, I spent much of my time at the hoosegow and making house calls.

To be honest, I can't recall one Thanksgiving in Misty Cove that wasn't peaceful....  I'm not so sure that I am thankful for that.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by a pumpkin. Their round and orange and make delish pies.  Just like that one cousin who is also round and orange and makes delish pies. Pumpkins.

CSM

Thanksgiving Eve

Thanksgiving eve is one of my favorite days of the year.  It marks the start of my favorite time of year. It leads right into the Christmas season which for me will start tomorrow just a few minutes before that jolly bearded fat man comes riding into town...  Ray Thomas.  In his 1975 Pontiac, with a bottle of Old Turkey.  A bushy white beard.

Who is Ray Thomas you might ask?  Well, he doesn't exist.  I just wanted to throw you off guard.

It's really Santa Claus that comes riding into town.  Right there at the end of the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade.  Up there in his sleigh.  Inviting you to mortgage your house and shop, shop, shop and rack up those credit cards!

None of that for me.  I buy three presents for three people and that's it.  Over the past couple of years, I've been downsizing.  Cleaning out from under the bed, in the closet, in the basement, in garage.  You name a space and I've probably got a box of knickknacks that I've not looked at in 20 years stashed there.  And the sad part is I'm don't know what's in the boxes.  Most of them now are stacked in the garage where I've been weeding out a 50 plus years of stuff.  Happily I can report that the stack has shrunk.

Why is that we keep as much as we do?  The people who have a twisted pile of twist ties from loaves of bread in the kitchen drawer are saving them for what?  The shipping boxes people who might use them for what?  The stacks of papers.  Old catalogs.  That shell you picked up from somewhere sometime some place you went 35 years ago.

I'm thankful for not being one of those people.  I've moved and become one of those that sings let it go.  And I sometimes just sing it to annoy people.  Ya gotta make your own fun!

Thanksgiving is a time for being thankful.  And I am not throwing that away.  I'm thankful for good health.  A sound mind.  Creativity.  Imagination.  An adopted family that looks out for me on a daily basis.  I'm also thankful that I've moved away from the past.  It was fun, but I've got a lot of living to do and really want the room for new memories.

So, let' toast to the holiday season and be thankful we lived another day.  There's no use in fretting.  No use pushing or being pushed.  Just float along and laugh at it all.  That is my plan.  I'm thankful for so much.  And no one, absolutely not one person is going to take that those thanks away.

Happy Thanksgiving Eve everyone!

CSM

2024, the 13th Year of Blogging!

Thirteen years ago, I sat down, created this blog, and began to write.  Over those 13 years, I posted short stories, my trilogy about The Time Travelers Club, and various writing exercises, such A View of the Town.  I wrote during some of the rough years, such as the death of my father, changes in life, and whatever else I wanted to vent about.  But I also wrote during the challenging years such as my new job and new home.  And then came the 2024 break.

Guess what, it has been just over a year since last I posted.  

Was it because I was lazy and just didn't want to?  Was it lack of interest?  Maybe writer's block?

No, not really.  

I was going through the change and decided that I need to just take a break.  A lot has happened over that year.  First, I turned 55.  For me, the magic number.  It was the one where I realized that the road ahead of me was shorter than the road behind me.  And with that realization came change.  I wanted to make the most of what time I have left in this life.  After all, it is MY time and MY life.  Not someone else's, but mine.  So, I have been focused, pushing outside forces and distractions to the side and deeply focused on one question...

"What do I want to spend my time on?"  

My time.  

How did I want to use it?  It may be 10 years, maybe 10 days, or maybe 30 to 40 more years. Who knows! But regardless, it is MY time.  It is time that was granted to me.

With that realization in mind, I sat down and wrote out a plan with goals.  It was easy to name what I didn't want to do... Not to listen to other's bullsh*t (to put it bluntly) because of something that got them all upset.  It certainly wasn't dealing with people who were unhappy with their lives and tried to blame it on others or even me. It is definitely not stuff that doesn't interest me... boring movies, long-winded descriptive books (sorry, but Jane Austin... ugh.), other people's whining, and their general blah blah blah.  I started pushing aside the "blubber" as I like to call it.

What emerged was a shiny bright list of what really mattered to me.

And in the number one spot....  Peace and quiet to focus on the time I have left.  I recently coined this saying...  "The road to peace is paved with people with big mouths."  And let me tell you, I've got a steam roller and a load of whatever that tar-looking stuff that they use to fill in pot holes and starting paving the road!  Some got warnings (or warned) and chose to ignore them.  Others realized that I meant business and kindly shut their mouths.  For for the most part, those who listened and understood are the ones that I love and cherish the most and survived the paving process.  They gave me the support that I longed for.

I have created a plan and a road that I am sure will be horribly bumpy, maybe be hit by a snowstorm or hurricane, and at times just right down dangerous.  But ya know what, I'm ready!  Bring it on!

And here I am.  Working on one of the items on the list.  Writing again.  A part of the plan.  Let it all out.  Hanging the grievances.  The anger.  The resentment.  I am carving out time for books that I want to read, movies I want to watch, and skipping into my imagination with fictional stories to tell. 

As I write this, I realize that I need to figure out parts of the plan, but I'm not worried.  It will come together.  I have faith.

And as I write this, I am listening to Bette Midler, who had her turn at bat as Mama Rose in Gypsy, belt out.... 

"Some people sit on their butts;

got the dream, yeah, but not the guts.

That's living for some people,

for some hum-drum people I suppose.

Well, they can stay and rot!

But not Rose!"

Well, Mama Rose, I hear your words.  But that's just part of it.  Following Bette was Joni Mitchell.  The song that she is singing is one that grew up listening to Judy Collins sing.  Judy made it sound all bouncy and bubbly.  However, Joni's version....  The first time I heard it was in the movie, Love Actually.  In a scene with Emma Thompson.  And I cried.  It was the same song, but different feeling.

"Oh, but now old friends, they're acting strange

And they shake their heads and they tell me that I've changed

Well, something's lost, but something's gained

In living every day

I've looked at life from both sides now

From win and lose and still somehow

It's life's illusions I recall

I really don't know life at all"

I've changed.  And will continue to change whether anybody likes it or not. And that is what makes the new road look way better.  I've looked at life from both sides now and I really don't know life at all.  I look back and see the illusions.  And what illusions they were.  And I even as I write this, I tear up.  So much wasted time over other people's bullsh*t and even my own.  And it is there, where I start. Part of the plan is to write it out.  Write out the anger, the resentment, and whatever I feel that I need to say.  And after that I turn away from the road behind and face the road ahead.  How long will that take, you may or may not ask...  Well not long.  I'm only stopping at that station until the end of the year.

So, there you have it.  Let's wrap up 2024 with some purging and get to the good stuff.

Oh wait, I haven't posted in so ling that I haven't even mentioned Rowena Meredith.  She's so interesting...  She keeps visiting my dreams.  Something about her life and ghost hunting and being a liberated woman of the 1930s...  Now that's what I'm talking about.

CSM

A View of the Town: Episode 16 -- Mrs. Abigail Symons Simmons

Welcome to A View of the Town, the adventures of Dr. Willis Fletcher in a small coastal town in Maine. Offering tidbits of local color and the lay of the land, we now return to Dr. Fletcher and the sleepy seaport of Misty Cove.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by lettuce.  Crisp and green.  Flat, roman, or curly. It’s best with a mix of mustard and honey. Lettuce.

I want to tell you the time that I attended Mrs. Abigail Symons Simmons, the meanest woman in Misty Coves history.  Now Old Mrs. Simmons was on her death bed.  Just waiting for Death to knock on her door.  Probably to hand her off to whoever takes them down below.  Trust me, not one person in town will argue with me.

In order to understand her hatred of people, we would have to delve into her past.  And we just don’t know it.   She had moved to Misty Cove after her husband had died, because it was in his will.  He had to live in the house of his choice in order to receive money from his estate..  Apparently, he killed himself, possible to get away from his wife, but rumor has it he had embezzled money and law was about to catch up with him.  So, Old Mrs. Simmons had lived in Misty Cove for about ten years before I arrived, so about 1910.

Her main order of business was to complain about the orphanage home being too close to her house, the volunteer fire brigade “disgusting taste in uniform colors,” the smell from the wharf, the new color of the hotel, the old color of the hotel, the saw mill made too much dust, the grocery never had what she wanted, the baker's bread was too soft, sometimes too hard.… in fact there was nothing that she didn’t complain about.  Even when she first came to my office.

“How do I know that you are a qualified doctor?” she said. 

“Here are my degrees.  I trained under some great qualified doctors.”

“Those could be fake.  Maybe you bought them.”

I didn’t know what to say.  She sat across from me, frowning, holds folded on her lap, leaning forward a bit, and pursing her lips.  “I have a pain that I need to you determine its source.”

“And where it is?”

She pointed to her foot.  “I fear that it might be cancer.”  She slipped her shoe off and plopped her foot on my knee.

With just one glance, I could see that it was a callus.  A classic case.  She did not like that answer.

“I knew you were a quack.  Not a real doctor.  Any well-educated doctor would know that was cancer.”

Needless to say, Mrs. Abigail Symons Simmons did not return to my office and seven weeks later died at the age of 84.  From a slow painful death of cancer…. In her mouth.  Had she let me say “Open your mouth and say Ahhhh” I probably would have noted the sore.  But she probably wouldn’t have believed me.  

I’ll save some of my “fonder” memories of Mrs. Simmons for later, especially the one about being told to keep her window shades pulled all the way down.  My one of my other favorites being that of Mrs. Astor, one of our seamstresses in town.  Mrs. Astor once said "I just love to embroider her monogram.  It suits her so well."

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by lettuce.  Boston or head or bibb. Toss it with onions, tomatoes, and put it in the fridge.  Lettuce.

A View of the Town: Episode 15 -- Just a Couple of Tidbits

Welcome to A View of the Town, the adventures of Dr. Willis Fletcher in a small coastal town in Maine. Offering tidbits of local color and the lay of the land, we now return to Dr. Fletcher and the sleepy seaport of Misty Cove.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by Horace Pickle's Liver Spot Removal Syrup.  If you've the spots, we've got the syrup.  Horace Pickle's Liver Spot Removal Syrup is guaranteed to remove those ugly de-beautifying splotches.  Just 50 cents a bottle.

Misty Cove, Maine, was founded in 1849 as a small port town. Lumber, shipbuilding, fishing, and limestone were the major industries at one time. Later the tourist trade boomed for big city folk who would come for the summer to escape the city heat.  The main street is East Street that runs north and south.  It was named after General East.  To the north of town was a forest that the lumber trade would not touch.  It was rumored to be haunted by a powerful witch by the name of Amaryllis Stemm. 

One of our major trades is shipbuilding.  Elliott Maston, Elliott Porte, and Elliott Starr formed “Elliott, Elliott, and Elliott, Shipbuilders”, the most revered and prominent shipbuilder business in town.  The three cousins each had started out with their own business and found that unifying they could do better ship building and better business.  When they joined together, they had a very important decision to make -- what to name their business.  The easiest and simplest answer came quickly to decide was…  Flip a coin.  This led to the first fight.  The second easiest and simplest answer took a little more time… Draw straws.  This led to an even bigger fight.  It was Mrs. Porte, mother of the young Elliott Porte, who came up with the best solution.  Alphabetical.  But the feud that ensued only deepened.  Finally, it was Ms. Dewey, the librarian and no relation to the one who came up with the idea of that library system…  Just use their first names.  This idea was the best solution but only after they lost control of themselves in the public library and each grabbing a volume of the encyclopedia set… Volumes M, P, and the one with XYZ.  Heads were slapped.  Names were tossed about.  And finally, Ms. Dewey took her ferule to them.  Out the door they went, but only after promising to replace the destroyed encyclopedia volumes.  When each of them got elderly, they passed the business onto their sons, who changed the name of the business to "Matthew, Matthew, Matthew, and Herb, Shipbuilders."  It was rumored that Herb got paid more since he came last.

Our wonderful newspaper in Misty Cove was established in the early 1850s, some say 1851, while others argue 1852, then there's Abigail Appleton, granddaughter of the founder, who swears that it was 1850.  “The Daily Truth” was the name of our bi-weekly newspaper, except around holidays when it was published tri-weekly to run the sale advertisements.  Their motto – “You never know what we will print.”  It was founded  by Winslow Appleton, a middle of the roader.  Appleton was notorious for playing Devil’s Advocate.  The city relied on him more that any other citizen when it came to solving a town problem.  When it came time to choose the location of the town hall, it was Appleton who studied the town layout, chose a location, and suggested the type of building.  Often he would write our solutions of the town's or folk's problems in an editorial that appeared "every so often", which was the by-line of the column.  Only once did he get in trouble with his editorial -- the time when someone would have to inform Widow Simmons that she needs to keep her window shade in the bath room pulled completely down, especially after her baths.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by Horace Pickle's Liver Spot Removal Syrup.  If you've the spots, we've got the syrup. Horace Pickle's Liver Spot Removal Syrup will remove those liver spots. Don't spill on your clothes if you don't want them spotted.  Just 50 cents a bottle.

CSM

A View of the Town: Episode 14 -- Widow Head

Welcome to A View of the Town, the adventures of Dr. Willis Fletcher in a small coastal town in Maine. Offering tidbits of local color and the lay of the land, we now return to Dr. Fletcher and the sleepy seaport of Misty Cove.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by Old Crown Whiskey.  It goes down smooth, but what can you lose, as their motto says, "If doesn't kill you, you can rely on this booze."  Old Crown Whiskey

Last time, I told you about the Leonora Leticia, a merchant ship that disappeared during a mighty storm on October 12, 1885.  Well, let me tell you about the time that the Widow Head saw that ship sail into port on the same night it sank… only twenty-eight years later. 

Well, let me tell you about the Widow Head and her night at the dock a few Octobers ago.  The night that the Leonora Leticia sailed in, which as you may recall and sunk many years before. 

Widow Head’s husband, Mr. Clear Head, was the town’s prominent and successful insurance salesman for many years.  But he died in a very tragic way.  According to the local gossip, Mr. Head had traveled to Boston, visited a local house of ill-repute, and suffered a heart attack.  Even more it was rumored that he had in the arms of a madam named Sweet Honey.  But that’s another story.

Now, with the help of the insurance money from her husband’s demise, Widow Head lived the life of luxury.  A new house, best rose garden in town, finest furniture.  All the latest styles of fashion.  And since his death, she has been known to take a nip or two… or three… or even a dozen or more.  It was reported that Amos Blackburn, owner of a local tavern, had sold more bottles of old crow to her and kept her well stocked.

To move along, one night, Widow Head must have had one too many as they say and was seen staggering on the dock where the merchant ships moor.  It was about midnight on the 12th of October. Several men who were quietly talking in a small dive near the dock witnessed the whole scene from there.

The excitement broke out when Widow Head let out a blasting scream that woke everyone within a five-block radius.  She ran uncontrollably, still screaming, into the small dive near the dock.  She proceeded to topple tables, chairs, and busted any bottle she could get her hands on. She had to be subdued by a couple of the brawny sailors.  But after wild struggle she broke loose, ran out, and leapt off the dock into the icy waters.

Once retrieved, she was brought to my predecessor. She smelled of whiskey and a bottle of gin was found in a secret pocket in her petticoat.  As he tried to help her, she raved endlessly about seeing the Leonora Leticia, sailing into port with Captain Deck at the wheel.  She said it glowed and misty.  And swore that Captain Deck had yelled out to her.  “I’m comin’ home to you my dear Minerva.  I’m comin’ home.”  The boys never decided whether it was the whiskey or the ghost of a ship, but the story lives on.  And the one piece of important information that you need to know is that Widow Head’s name was Minerva.  Now's there's a mystery.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by Old Crown Whiskey.  Take a few sips if you've got the gripe. Take a few for the flu. It will warm you all the way through.  Old Crown Whiskey.

Join us again next time, when Dr. Fletcher spins another tale about Mystic Cove, a small port in Maine, and its residents.

CSM

A View of the Town: Episode 13 -- The Leonora Leticia

Welcome to A View of the Town, the adventures of Dr. Willis Fletcher in a small coastal town in Maine. Offering tidbits of local color and the lay of the land, we now return to Dr. Fletcher and the sleepy seaport of Misty Cove.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by Larry. Hairy Larry isn't scary but he also picks the bestest berries.  Larry lived in Misty Cove, Maine, but now he's totally insane. Larry.

I should tell you the story of the Leonora Leticia, a merchant ship that sailed between Misty Cove and several ports down south like Charleston and Savannah and even out to Bermuda and Jamaica.  The ship was commanded by a old salt named Captain Enormous Deck.  A hulk of a man with a beard so red that it look like an upside down flame on his face. Some of the boys in town claimed his beard had a family of crabs living in it.  He had been at sea for more than anyone knew.  Some claimed he was older that the hills while others said the dirt.

Now one moonless night, cloudy and dark, a horrid torrent blew in just as Captain Deck sailed towards Misty Cove, passing Pointless Point and up towards Widow's Pier.  But the ship never made it into port.  The lighthouse was dark.  The winds blew so hard that it blown out one of its panes of glass.  The wind was a force to strong for our lighthouse keeper, Nathan Stanhope, and his mate, Perky Parky Patchwork. They struggled to relight it.  Fearlessly fighting the gale. But it was too late. The Leonora Leticia had broken up on the rocks, not far out, but enough that between the tide and the wind, they took her further out, only to drag her to the bottom.

One life-hungry sailor managed to survive.  A young man named Barnabus Clark.   He told of what happened aboard the ship.  The ship was sinking from the water it was taking on.  Captain Deck had tied himself to the wheel, trying to steer the ship.  Clark was swept overboard.  The ship had staggered out toward open water when Clark was swept overboard.  The last he remembers of the ship was hearing a large crack and hearing the mast breaking.  He could see the  Leonora Leticia sinking.  No other survivors or wreckage appeared.  That was in October 12, 1885, near midnight. And here it is forty years later, every October 12, near midnight, and the Leonora Leticia has been seen sailing into port and then disappearing on that fateful night.

I'll have to tell you the rest of the tale.  About just how poor old Barnabus Clark left this world. 

Join us again next time, when Dr. Fletcher spins another tale about Mystic Cove, a small port in Maine, and it residents.

This episode of A View of the Town is brought to you by Larry.  He once said that blueberries are best, but that was before someone shot his wooden chest just to get his best vest that he wore to pick the bestest blueberries.  Larry.

CSM

Alford Tales -- Murder! Part 5

Mama told me that Pa was accidently shot when struggling with Mr. Gwinn.  

Pa met Mr. Gwinn who had several bottles of drink. They followed the North River down to the island.  There, Mama and Mrs. Gwinn hid on the island.  When Mr. Tanner drove by with his wagon, Mrs. Gwinn with the help of Mama got onto the wagon and headed south.  Mrs. Gwinn was leaving her husband.  A man of drink and Godless.  She could not longer live with him.  She left her children with her mama who would eventually travel as well to the south then west.  Mama saw her off, telling her not to worry and that all would be well.

Mama dressed in an old cloak with her face hidden. Her part was to play the witch of the island and make Mr. Gwinn think that she had spirited Mrs. Gwinn away. Carrying his musket, Pa soon came with Mr. Gwinn.  Along the way, Mrs. Gwinn left her shawl to be found.  And it was.  She left her bonnet to be found and it was.  And her basket.  Left to be found and it was.  All along the way to the island in North River.  Mr. Gwinn and Pa had found them all. 

When Pa and Mr. Gwinn, who staggered a lot and yelled for his wife, got to the island, Mama rose up and walked about so that they could see her.  Pa attempted to convince Mr. Gwinn that the witch had taken his wife away. 

But what really happened was that Mr. Gwinn grabbed Pa's musket away from him.  And when he did, he accidently butted Pa in the chin and knocked him out and accidently fired the shot into him.  He ran towards the island with Pa's musket.  Mama hid in the brush.  Mr. Gwinn, drunk, did not see her and ran as fast as he could. At one point, he threw Pa's musket down in the mud and ran off into the woods.  Not really seeming to know where he was going.  And Mama rose up.

What Mama and Mr. Gwinn didn't know was Robert found the musket in the mud.  And Henry seen Mama standing on the island and Mr. Gwinn running through the woods.  What they all didn't know until later was Pa had been knocked out and fell into a pool of water, face down, and drowned.  Mama would get home before Robert and Henry.  She didn't see Pa lying in the water.  And neither did Robert or Henry.  Or Mr. Gwinn.

But later, when Robert came home with the musket.  And when they founds Pa.  She realized what had happened.  That something had happened between Mr. Gwinn and Pa.  Had she noticed him she may have saved Pa.  Mama was never really the same after that.  And everyone assumed that Mrs. Gwinn had been spirited away.

Mr. Gwinn eventually left Rockingham County never to be seen again. All us children told stories of him being taken away by the witch.  Some said that he disappeared out west.  Mrs. Gwinn's mama left one day with her grandchildren, heading west.  After I married Mr. Alford and moved to Monroe County, I saw a woman once who looked like Mrs. Gwinn, but she went by a different name.

So there you have it.  My Pa died by accident, but I always believed he was murdered.  Mama told me the story before she died.  My Mama and Pa both told many stories.  That's where I got my storytelling from.

My grandchildren gather around the fire sometimes and listen to me tell a story or two. I know many and have heard many.  I tell them about the witch on the island and how she moved with us when we came to Monroe County and now she lived out in the woods.  Mr. Alford just sits and grins as they listen.

*******

Margaret Alford died sometime between 1847 and 1850.  She lived out her life in Monroe County, Virginia, being survived by her husband and children and grandchildren.

Alford Tales -- Murder! Part 4

So far, I've made you think that my Pa was murdered.  I'm tricky that way. 

I thought about that time when Pa died.  When they found Pa, he had been shot, but the doctor said it was not normal.  Not easily done.  Looking back that was when I knew Pa had not been murdered like I had always thought, but killed by accident.

Now I have to tell all so you can understand what happened.  First, Pa left early, heading to North River, not north like he had said. Thinking back maybe that's what he meant.  That he was heading toward North River.  He had taken his musket with him, later found by Robert and Henry near the island.

First let me tell you about the day before Pa died, when Mama and I went into Harrisonburg to trade.  I stayed outside and sat down on a bench along side the post.  Staying out of the way like Mama always told me to do.  While I was sitting there, Mrs. Fulce and Mrs. Grisby had stopped nearby.  They did not see me.  But I heard them talking about Mr. and Mrs. Gwinn.  Remember my telling you about her and how she disappeared.  

Mrs. Fulce said that she had overheard Mrs. Gwinn talking to her mama about taking her children to live with her.  Mrs. Grisby gasped and said well with Mr. Gwinn and the drink you can't blame her.  I just casually listened to this concerned news.  About how Mrs. Gwinn was leaving with the Tanners, a family that lived not far from the bend in the Cook's Creek and the big lake.  They were heading west, somewhere further south then to the west.  Mrs. Gwinn and Mrs. Tanner were sisters and that made sense.  Mrs. Fulce talked more about Mr. Gwinn not being a God-fearing man and taking too much drink to take care of his own children.

The other thing I have to tell you is this.  I saw Pa talking to Mr. Gwinn who kept getting madder and madder over something about Mrs. Gwinn and her sister's talking.  I could only hear part of the conversation.  So, I'm thinking it was about Mrs. Gwinn leaving.  And when I thought about it some more, I then knew what Pa meant when he said I'll help the best I can. Saying that to Mr. Gwinn. But I knew that Pa and neither Mama for that fact would never help Mr. Gwinn.  Mama had made it clear one time that she had no interest in helping a man who takes too much drink.  And Pa felt the same way.

Now Henry and Robert had found Pa's musket in the mud near the island in North River.  They brought it home and Mama had hidden it.  One time I asked her about that and she never really told me why she wanted it hidden.  Just said no need to have it around anymore.  And added lucky for Robert and Henry to only found it and not been there sooner to see it all happen.  She never said anything else, until later before she died when she told me the whole story.

Mama told me that Pa was accidently shot when struggling with Mr. Gwinn.  Mrs. Gwinn was to meet Mr. Tanner near a road down by the North River and she would travel on with them.  Her and Mrs. Gwinn's mama would bring the children later.  And Mr. Gwinn was to found passed out from drink, thinking that he had seen Mrs. Gwinn spirited away by the old witch of the island.

Pa had gone to the spot where they were to meet, bringing Mr. Gwinn and several bottles of drink. Mama was to be with Mrs. Gwinn hiding on the island.  When Mr. Tanner drove by with his wagon. Mrs. Gwinn with the help of Mama and Mrs. Tanner was to be put into hiding in the wagon.  Mrs. Gwinn hid on the island. With Mama dressed in a cloak with her face hidden.  Pa soon came with Mr. Gwinn.  Pa carrying his musket.

*****
In today's world, Margaret Alford would either be labeled a suspense writer or possibly a drama queen for dragging out this story.  I have to admit that her twists and turns have even confused me. What happens next... well, you'll have to wait for the next Alford Tale.

Alford Tales -- Murder! Part 3

Thinking about that day Pa left with his musket.  Mama said "I saw him go towards Mr. Hoover's land.  Not north."  I did not ask, but it was a moment that I did not forget.

"Pa had left with is musket and went south."  Henry told me that as well.  He saw him.  Mr. Alford and I visited with Henry and Eleanor.  They stayed with us a few days before heading to the west.  On to Preble County in the Ohio country.  Going with their children.  We stayed here in Monroe County and said goodbye to John a few years ago as he left for Hancock County in the Indiana country.

"I saw him walking towards Mr. Hoover's farm.  Unless he turned north somewhere along the way, he went that way."  Mr. Hoover farmed over the hill.  He and my Pa had been good and neighborly.  Their children were gone west as well.  

"But later Robert and I found Pa's musket down by North River. I've never told anyone this. Robert never believed me so I never said anything about it.  He told me to forget it."  When Henry was growing up, he had a fancy to image things.  I was more sensible like my Mama.  Eliza and Sarah and I were all sensible.  We had to be with our husbands.  It wasn't until now when Henry said "I'd swear on the family Bible that what I saw was there.  She was there standing in the wood on that island in North River."

Henry told me what he say.  "She was there. The old witch that Pa always talked about. Standing there in plain daylight.  I though witches only came out at night."  When Henry said that, I couldn't help but wonder about something else I had heard.  He went on. "Robert didn't see her.  He was too busy looking at the musket.  Cleaning off the mud.  His back was to her and I could see her over his shoulder.  She had on a black cloak with her hood up over her head.  Could only see part of her face."

"You always had a wild imagination.  Remember that time that you thought you saw..."  He didn't let me finish my sentence.  That was unusual for Henry.  He was always polite and kind to listening.  Very much a man of the Bible's teachings.

"I saw her standing there. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.  And felt funny. Like she was trying to kill me.  Robert ran off with the musket.  He yelled to hurry up.  But I saw someone was running through the woods on the other side of the river.  Looked like a man.  I tried to see who it was but never did.  I was afraid to turn back to see if she was there.  I was just a youngin' then.  More scared than anything."

I began thinking about that time when Pa died.  Henry had seen the old witch of North River.  Someone running through the woods. Mama talking about Pa heading south and not north.  It all began to come together.  It all began to make sense what I had heard while listening to concerned news.  First someone running through the woods.  Someone meeting someone on the island.  And Pa with his musket.

That was when I knew Pa had not been murdered like I had always thought, but killed by accident.  Reminded me of that old play I saw once when a traveling troupe had come through Monroe County.  Down at Lewisburg. They acted out the play about Romeo and Juliet by that Mr. Shakespeare.  That's when I knew that the real murder had been of Mrs. Gwinn.  Part of a lover's plot.  

Alford Tales -- Murder! Part 2

Later that day, Pa and Joseph went to over to William Hinds for a meeting about the war.  Mama and I worried that Pa would leave to fight.

But he never did.  We were far away from the war out on the frontier.  Rockingham County was far away from the British. In fact, we were surprised when President Washington rode through.  Although later, I learned that Joseph had told me that when in fact it was George Washington. He had made that up.  He was an ornery cuss.

Mr. Alford and I went into daughter Sarah's last Sunday for a meal and readings.  As I was sitting there, I looked at her and she reminded me much of my Mama.  In fact, she smiled the way my Mama smiled.  Mama would smile whenever my Pa would return from a hunting trip, or brought home a nice fish, or even when he traded for some fine silk.  Enough for a new bonnet or cap.  But Pa also made her cry.

She cried for many days after Pa was laid to rest.  We thought for sure we would never see him again.  It was chilly that day.  Many of the neighbors came round to pay respects.  Even Mr. Alford from Ireland came.  I didn't like him that much.  He told Mama only a few days after Pa had left us that he would marry her if she wanted.  In her grief, she accepted, thinking more of us.  Poor Robert and Henry.  Barely knowing their Pa would now have a new pa.  An Irishman no doubt.

Mr. Alford's proposal came too soon for me.  I never liked him. Never gave Mama a chance to mourn that loss of Pa.  She never smiled the same.  She never smiled much after.  Mr. Alford sold Pa's 46 acres and we moved near Cross Keys and not far from the North River.  I remember one day while walking through the woods coming the island in the river.  The one where the witch lived.  

It was there later that Henry and Robert would find Pa's flintlock musket.  The one that he took with him that last day.  The one that he had his name engraved on the patch box.  The day that they brought that home, Mr. Alford was over to Mr. Shoulderman's, delivery their blankets and shirting.  Henry showed it to Mama.

"Where did you find it?"  She took it from Henry.  Turned it over and over.  Reading his name aloud.  "Henry Alford.  It was lost they said.  Lost in the woods.  North of our farm."  

Robert was only eight and was very excitable.  He stumbled his words.  Robert spoke.  "We found it by the island in the North River."  

Henry nodded.  "I saw it.  The sun was shining on it.  Did Pa lose it there?"  Mama looked like she was thinking hard about it.  She said "We must hide it and we will not talk about it."  It was me, Robert, Henry, and Mama.  Everyone else was gone.  Mama made us swear on the Bible.  "Swear that you will not say anything about it.  Mr. Alford need not know about it."  I had never sworn on the Bible, but Mama was serious.

She wrapped the musket into an old piece of cloth.  And we went out to an old hollow tree out in the woods.  She put the wrapped bundle into the hollow log.  "Not a word.  Not a word to anyone."  We looked at her.  And that was the last of the musket for sometime.  Until Henry went out one day many years later and dug up what was left.  This was after Mr. Alford had died and Mama asked about it.  The log had almost rotted away.  But he found the pieces.  The patch box with "Henry Alford" engraved on it.

At the time when they found Pa's musket, Henry had been six years old.  He was named after Pa, but he never said he was a junior.  But now, just a few years ago when were married and older, Henry told me his secret. And it was with that Henry and I knew what had happened to our Pa. It was murder.  Plain and simple.

Pa had been down south by North River, not far from Mr. Alford's land.  Not north of the farm.  Not near the 46 acres.  But it wasn't until Mama also said something that made me think. One day she was lost in her mind.  Thinking about that day Pa left with his musket.  She said "I saw him go towards Mr. Hoover's land.  Not north."  I did not ask, but it was a moment that I did not forget.