Autobiography Part Two

Actually, the truth is that I did want to go to college, but staying at I.B.M. was very tempting. I wanted to go to college for three reasons: One, to become a teacher; two, the G.I. Bill was available to me, but I had to use it soon or I’d run out of eligibility to use it (it had to be used within six years of a person’s honorable military discharge); three, my sister told me that I was stupid to even try to go to college. I remember how humiliated I was to hear my sister say that to me. Number one and two reasons were very important, but number three may have been the actual stimulus to force me to put the first two reasons into action with no more delays (Actually, I may owe my higher education to my sister, though no comforting, sibling smile ever crosses my lips when I think of the circumstances). There are some things that hurt so much that they sit on your shoulders, like boulders, for a lifetime, with no amount of effort able to shake them loose or crush them You simply have to get stronger so you can carry that load, and if you’re lucky, the boulders chip, crack, split with every success you have and are no longer there at the time of your own death. Unfortunately, sometimes it’s the memory that has the most weight.

            So now I was a student in Geneseo, N.Y. (A town about 25 miles south of Rochester, N.Y.) for four years, at least (I thought I might go for a higher degree, also). I challenged myself by becoming a double-major in psychology and elementary education.

            I have often told myself that my four years in the Navy were the worst four consecutive years of my life, while my four consecutive years in college were the best four years of my life. But I’m not sure that is true anymore, of my college days, not with Sandy, Mara, Lily and Slone successfully competing with that statement. But attending college in Geneseo led to my career as a teacher, my meeting Sandy, having Mara, and then Lily and Slone.

            I worked hard in college and even went to summer school classes each year to stay ahead of the college work load and get good grades.

            In my freshman year, I met Sandra Lee Grace, who turned out to be the love of my life; my best friend, wife, partner and soul-mate. We’ve known each other for forty-two years, forty of them as a married couple. I truly feel that she is much more intelligent than I am. And to prove that, the first thing she taught me after we were married was: The smartest thing a husband can say to his loving, considerate, worshipful wife is, “Yes dear.” Now pay attention, guys. Whoever is reading this, here’s a good retirement plan. Every time you say, “Yes Dear” save a penny. By the time you retire, you’ll be a millionaire. Years later I learned never to argue with a tired woman . . . nor a well-rested one. But I did learn that a woman’s mind is much cleaner than a man’s mind simply because a woman changes her mind much more often. J

            I met Sandy at a cafeteria workers’ get-together, in a local restaurant/bar named Radessi’s, which was within easy walking distance from the campus (but, for some reason, I drove my 1968 VW). My roommate, Bert Catlin, who later was the best man at my wedding, thought I was studying much too earnestly, so he good-naturedly harassed me into going with him. Of course, he probably didn’t have to work too hard to convince me to put my textbooks and lecture notes away.

            There was a back room for large parties in the restaurant. When we arrived there, I sat where two long tables had been pushed together to accommodate about twelve to fifteen cafeteria workers and a couple guests, like me. I didn’t know anyone except Bert, so I felt out of place. Apparently not everyone knew each other, so a guy at the end of the table rose and addressed all of us. He explained the situation and asked that all of us introduce ourselves. He started, then sat down. The next person stood and introduced themselves, then sat. The rest of us followed the same routine.

            As strange as it may seem, I have no recollection of seeing Bert for the rest of the night. I wasn’t even sitting by him. He had a face like a leprechaun, so maybe he spent the party time under the tables (naughty boy).

            As people were introducing themselves, I happily realized that there was a girl sitting on each side me, each trying to get my attention. I never considered myself good-looking because of my droopy eyelid, but it was a pleasant feeling to have the attention of two young women. The girl sitting on my right was named Kathy. I can’t remember the name of the girl on my left. But I was sure they must have forgotten their glasses or their contacts. I was tall and slim; maybe that was the attraction.

            When it was my turn to stand and introduce myself, I gave my name, my year at college (freshman), my duel majors and then started to sit back down. I had to stop in mid-squat when a voice rang out asking, “What’s your name, again?” I straightened up, looked at the far end of the tables, where the female voice had originated and saw the pretty, smiling face, with a beautiful head of auburn hair (She still has beautiful hair after all these years. Yep, the best hair color that money can buy J). I had not been aware of her before that due to my conversation with the two girls on each side of me. When I looked glanced back at the girl who asked for my name, I saw a smile that was radiant and flirtatious, sitting under a crown of long auburn hair. I wondered, Who the hell is that? I was not used to girls being aggressive to get my attention, or even like the two girls that sat near me and expressed a genuine interest in me. I though, Is this how college will be?

            As I talked to the two girls who sat near me, while I was drinking beer and nibbling on a pickled sausage that I had bought from the bar, I occasionally glanced at the far end of the tables to look at the auburn-haired girl. But each time I looked, she was never in the same seat; she was in fact sitting closer to me each time. Soon she was sitting across the table from me, still flashing that big smile, accompanied by flirtatious eyes. To my disbelief, she suggestively asked if she could have a nibble of my sausage.

            Until then, I’d always been very cautious around girls due to all my rejected advances, which were caused by the sight of my drooping left eyelid. It made me shy, hesitant and insecure. But with my sausage in hand (so to speak), I can remember smiling back at her (perhaps blushing) as I held the sausage out across the table while she leaned forward, taking a dainty nibble of my pickled sausage. She stared at me, not at the sausage. She nibbled it, chewed, swallowed and still kept looking into my eyes (at least that’s how I remember it). I remember thinking, This girl is not for real. She was weird, but in an appealing way. Her eyes were gorgeous and seemed to sparkle; her lips were full, soft and inviting, like slices of watermelon. I couldn’t help smiling at her for being so brazen. Who is this girl? I asked myself, and Why can’t I remember her name after all those introductions?

            The other two girls got up and went to the bar for more beer. As they did so, auburn-hair girl stood, swung around the end of the table and quickly took the seat that Kathy had been sitting in.

            When Kathy and the other girl returned, Kathy said, “Sandy, you’re in my seat.” Now I knew her name. Sandy said something to the effect that there were plenty of other seats.

            I could hardly believe what I was seeing and hearing and was, at the same time, flattered by all the female attention. I’ve never considered myself a good-looking guy (I’ve never been accused of acute cuteness either) due to the typical negative reactions that I receive concerning my droopy eyelid (I was so afraid, before Mara was born, that she would have a droopy eyelid and have to go through what I went through),so it was an ego trip to have three young women vying for my attention. I’m not sure when the words popped out of my mouth, probably when both of the other girls walked away, but I do remember looking directly into that auburn-haired, green-eyed girl and asking, with emphasis, “Are you for real?”

            I had come to the opinion that she was just a tease; aggressive and somewhat strange, but a tease nonetheless. So I decided to play along and call her bluff.

            I think her response to the “Are you for real?” question was to ask me to find out for myself ( She was a mystery and I figured I’d have to bite her on the butt to get to the bottom of things; to figure her out). To make a longer story short, she surprised me; she was for real and really did like me and there was also no bluffing involved. I’d never met any woman like her before, and being both curious and mystified, I wanted to learn more about her. This event occurred on a Friday so we spent Saturday and Sunday getting to know each other. After that I started saying cute stuff to her, like, “If I say you have a nice body, would you hold it against me?” and “You’re a pretty fart smeller,” instead of saying, “You’re a pretty smart feller.” I guess love makes you think childish things are funny (I used to say that “fart” phrase to Mara, also).

            Sandy was two years ahead of me in college, so when I was a lowly freshman, she was a junior (an upper-class student).

            We had wonderful times together, but I limited them to weekends. The week was for studying and that frustrated her, so I came up with a compromise. We could study together in the library and after every hour of study, we would spend fifteen minutes together. That wasn’t as easy as it sounds, but we did fairly well because both of our grades increased nicely with all that study time. We were in the library four or five hours a night.

            Being a lowly freshman, the upper-classmen (juniors and seniors) thought they could haze anyone, especially the other freshmen and sophomores. The military veterans at Geneseo didn’t see it that way at all. After a history class, one day, I met some military veteran friends outside the Sturges building. We were milling around when some upper-classmen approached us with goofy-looking beanies in their hands. They asked if we were lower classmen and I said that we were. They told us to wear the beanies. I told them that we were veterans and too mature for that kind of baby stuff. The leader got huffy and made a verbal threat. By then, some of my other veteran friends had gathered around me (I only remember two of them: Mark and Joe). I think it was Mark (ex-marine) who said something like, “Be advised that you guys are in a kill-zone, so saunter away while you still have some dignity left.” (Mark was aiming for pre-med or pre-law, one of those, and he talked like a military officer). Joe laughed and I made a Navy joke by saying, “Hey, look guys. They each have a head on their shoulders, so they must all be shitheads (Joe was Navy, like me, so I got the joke). The Army and Marine guys didn’t get it, but when I explained that in the Navy the toilet was called the head we all laughed at the upper-classmen, while someone behind me said, “Oh! I get it,” an Army or Marine guys said. “These guys are latrine heads.”

            I think there were four or five of them and four or five of us. The leader said, “OK for now, but you won’t always be together like this. I countered with, “You’re right, but the day after you hurt one of us, we’re all coming to find you and your friends.” One of the veterans behind me said, “Think about it and don’t be stupid because this is no bluff.”

            For the next couple of days we tried to go places in a group. A couple of times a group of upper classmen walked toward us with those damn beanies. We just stared at them and they’d veer off in another direction. One time I heard one of them whisper, “That’s those damn vets.” They never bothered us again; not even once, even if we were alone.

            Having talked about “leaders,” I find it strange that when I was young Middle School, High School, Navy (not so much in college), I was a leader. Guys seemed to follow me around (probably mostly because I was a good fighter), but it seemed like they just assumed that I would lead and I usually accepted the role. But as I got older and older, I did not want to lead anyone except myself and Mara, until she was independent. And I did not want to follow either (except for Sandy, who is the smartest woman that I know). I was a leader, for a while, at the Moose Lodge, but that negative experience convinced me to not try to lead ,nor follow anyone, though, as exceptions go, I will follow Sandy and Mara anywhere. If Mara ever moved to Australia (New Zealand would be better), she’d find out just exactly what I mean. (ha ha).

            Much of my character and thoughts are compress in one of my very favorite poems: The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost.

            Just before the end of Sandy’s senior year and her graduation, I asked her to marry me, so on May 20, 1972 we were married in the Geneseo college chapel. I had learned that love is like money; you can never get too much of it. My roommate, Bert Catlin was my Best Man and Sandy’s sister, Colleen, was the Bride’s Maid.

            Sandy’s mom (Helen) and dad (Robert) were there, plus as my sister Fran, my brother-in-law, Larry, my niece, Lori and my nephew, Mike (My other two nephews, Mark and Tony had other commitments).

            The funny thing about the wedding is that just about every time the minister paused for a breath, I said, “I do.” I forgot where it was that I was supposed to say, “I do,” so to cover all the bases, I said, “I do” a lot. Kind of funny, but maybe it was just me.

            Luckily, Sandy got a job in the nearby Pavilion Central School, as an elementary teacher. I still had two years to go before I would graduate.

            We lived in a converted Quonset hut in Retsof, N.Y., about half way between Geneseo and Pavilion (At the intersection of routes 36 and 63).

            We moved there after the wedding, but weren’t there very long. When the weather turned cold we kept hearing scratching noises, in the middle of the night. When we realized the noises came from foraging rats who wanted to get out of the cold, I patched up all the holes that I could find and put rat poison in darkened, concealed areas of the apartment.

            Sandy usually got up each morning before me (and to this day, she still does). One Saturday morning she rose and was going to start ironing her clothes for the next work week.

            I nearly jumped up and crashed into the ceiling when she screamed. I stood up, almost lost my balance, then ran into the kitchen. Sandy stood there, her eyes bugged out and hands covering her mouth. She was making an awful moaning sound. I said, “What?” I couldn’t see anything that would make her scream like that. She pointed to the open closet door where she kept the iron. There, shriveled up, was a dead rat that was half hanging out of the plastic bucket in which Sandy kept her iron. I looked, then almost had my ear drum shattered when she yelled, “Get rid of it!” I closed the closet door so she couldn’t see it anymore, put my arms around her and told her to come to the bedroom with me. I got dressed, then left her in the bedroom and immediately took care of “the problem.” (I didn’t even want to say the word “rat.”)

            Previously, I had not known that Sandy was so afraid of rats. I got rid of the rat and when that dirty deed was done, I had to wash my hands every half hour (seemed like that, anyway) to remove any possible microscopic specks of rat dander off my fingers, even though I never directly touched the rat with my skin. I picked it up with a rag. The rag couldn’t be saved, washed or sprayed to clean it. It had to be placed in the outside garbage can. Hell, I’m lucky that I was allowed back into the apartment, especially since I had suddenly become a rat-handler, as if I changed suddenly into a nefarious and contagious demon (it wasn’t really that bad).

            I notified our landlord, Frank Rose, that we’d be moving out because of the rats. He tried to tell us that he’d fix everything, but it was too late. Sandy would never be able to stay there any longer.

            It turned out well, though. We found a nice place in the nearby town of Caledonia, on Brown Road. It was an apartment built onto the back of a two-car garage. The apartment was quiet and allowed much privacy. Our landlords were Dick and Wilda Van Ostrand. Nice people with two nice daughters.

            When I say it was a quiet apartment (compared to the traffic noise from Route 63) I’m referring to the cemetery on the left (really nice, quiet neighbors), a farmer’s field in the back, a large back lawn on the right (the back part of Dick’s lawn), and a long driveway off to one side of the apartment.

            I finished up my last two years of college while living in that apartment. After my graduation, in 1974, we stayed there two or three more years because I had gotten a teaching job in Avon, N.Y., which was only about eight miles down the road, in the opposite direction that Sandy had to drive to her school. The interesting thing about getting the job in Avon was that I never even applied for a job there. Somehow I had neglected to send a job application to Avon. The principal (Tom Wallon) had job openings so he went to the teaching office at Geneseo and found out about me, somehow. He called me to come in for an interview, then called me in for a second interview, then, a day or two later he called to offer me the job of a third grade teacher. I accepted.

            Five years later Mara was born and when she went to school, it was in Caledonia. We were now a three-school family.

            While we lived at 2843 Graney Road in Caledonia, N.Y. I may have saved someone’s life. A neighbor lady, Elaine Hibbard (husband, Wayne, and kids Chris and Heidi) had come home with her kids from grocery shopping. She unloaded the kids and some of the groceries, but accidentally left the car in neutral. When she came out for the remainder of the groceries the car was rolling backwards. She tried to get in the car to put on the brake but was dragged under the car and her leg was twisted up underneath the frame of the car. The Elaine told Heidi to call me.

Heidi called in tears and snuffles and told me what happened. I got in my car and drove the short way to their house. Heidi and Chris were crying in the garage; Elaine was trapped underneath, in much pain and crying. I grabbed two large stones and put them under the front wheels so the car could not roll backward anymore. But Elaine’s leg was too twisted and stuck for me to get her out. Trying to pull her out would have made it much worse, so I called the local police and they brought the fire rescue squad. They got her out just as Wayne arrived home (someone called him). Elaine was brought to the hospital (broken leg) and Wayne took care of the kids. I left quietly while the police, rescue workers and Wayne took care of the details. It probably wasn’t a life-saving event, but Elaine felt that it had been (She came to tell me that about a week later).

            I became a happy, third grade teacher. I loved my job and nearly all of my students. There are always certain kids that irritate you, though you’ve tried your best with them. But mostly I was as happy as a witch in a broom factory.

            During my last two years of college I got very interested in magic. I learned a lot and planned to use that talent when I became a classroom teacher. I joined two magician clubs; one in Rochester, N.Y. named the Society of American Magicians (SAM) and one in Buffalo, N.Y. named the International Brotherhood of Magicians (IBM). I learned much more and improved my skills by learning from established members of both groups. (five or ten years later, maybe in the 1980s I won the “Best Article of the Year Award” for an article that was published in the IBM magazine. A year later I got an “Honorable Mention” (I think that means that I finished in second place for the award) for a different article that was published in the SAM magazine.

            Every Friday I would perform two or three magic tricks for my students, if they earned it with good behavior. It was so popular that word got around the school and I had requests to perform for the other classes (the school that I was in went from grades K-4). So once a year I gave up all my free time (when my students were at gym class, or library, music, art, etc.) in order to perform for all the grades. There were three or four classrooms for each grade, so I performed twenty minute magic shows (some classrooms would double-up to make it easier for me; less shows to do).

            I enjoyed teaching my students. I really liked them and had patience with them. But that was not true with many adults. I was never accidentally rude with many adults, so when I look into my past actions, I see no excess of good behaviors. Just a rogue in heart and soul. Probably too rude and vociferous to many adults that came across as doltish irritants. But if I had obeyed all the rules and done what was expected of me I’d never have gotten where I am today. So saying, “Fuck you,” or “Go to hell,” once in a while is not always a bad thing.

            One thing stands out in my mind, concerning a parent who was a Jehovah’s Witness crack-pot. Jehovah’s Witnesses (JW) religion is distinctly different from mainstream Christianity in too many ways to mention, but I was considered, by this parent, to be a part of a secular society (worldly, not spiritual; materialistic, not spartan). They often interpret the Bible literally and sternly. The JW do not observe (you really can observe a lot by watching) Christmas, Easter, Halloween, or any other holiday that they consider Pagan in origin (I notice that those who are most anxious to share their religious views with you almost never want you to share yours with them). The parent told my principal (Thomas Wallon) that he believed that I was a devil’s advocate who was using magic to sway his beliefs and corrupt his son. I had to spend a great deal of effort on self-control so that I wouldn’t fart, then laugh my ass off and hand it to him. So many problems that teachers have, come from the parents, not the students. If I hadn’t been in school, I would have laughed hysterically. Too many times, however, schools must cater to parental nut-cases who have to be treated as if they were not nut-cases. The solution? The poor boy had to wait outside my classroom, door closed, while I performed ten to fifteen minutes of magic for the rest of the class. His tears could break your heart. I wish rigid, narrow-minded, blind-faith religions freaks would stay clear of me so that I have more time to “mind my own delusions” instead of theirs. This all reminds me of something Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) said: “In the first place God made idiots. That was for practice. Then He made school boards.” Instead of the word “God,” I would replace it with the words, “if there were a God,” but most importantly I would replace the words “school boards” with the word “religion.”

            I’m an atheist. I do not believe in any Gods, or an afterlife, but as a teacher I could never admit this fact. What kind of crap would a JW come up with if he had that kind of information? Actually we are all atheists. Billions of people do not believe in the ancient Roman and Greek Gods. So there’s nothing very special about atheists, nothing damning or dangerous. We simply don’t believe in one more god; the singular god of most modern religions. And, if religion is supposed to be a blessing, it must be wearing a great, fool-proof disguise. Too serious? OK, here’s a joke:

What do you get when you cross an

insomniac, an agnostic and a dyslexic?

You get a person who stays awake at

night and wonders if there really is a Dog.

            Lying to other people is not difficult, but lying to yourself and then believing it must be a struggle. I find it difficult and uncomfortable lying to myself, more so over important personal issues. I dislike trying to lie to myself; therefore, I am incapable of accepting the spiritual, supernatural tenants and dogmas of religions and their Gods (A pebble of logic is so much greater than a mountain of religion). I now accept who and what I am, as far as religion is concerned. I cannot accept extraordinary religious claims without extraordinary proof; I do not submit to the illogical delusions, and the myriad contradictions inherent in religions. However, since I am sure of my atheist convictions, I no longer need to debate, nor publically denigrate the spiritual beliefs of others who think that they have also found their answers to one small part of life and death. I agree with Bertrand Russell (British Mathematician and philosopher) who said about his own atheistic beliefs, “I would never say that I would die for my beliefs. I might be wrong.”

            During my early teaching career, on weekends or school vacations, I started performing magic acts for birthday parties, Brownies, Cub Scouts, father-son and mother-daughter banquets, etc., but the vast majority of my magic shows were for kids’ birthday parties. During this time I often dreamed about being a famous magician; later the dreams turned to expert karate master, famous author, actor. It took about a decade for me to realize that those dreams were mostly foolishness. The fame and money would not have been worth the time away from home and family, the things that are most important emotionally and that I value much more than fame and money. Family and my teaching career is where I belonged. I never regretted that seminal moment of realization.

            Here’s a good laugh. I used to have big dreams and desires of becoming a famous magician, like David Copperfield, and earning a grand salary for performing magic. It all seemed so much more interesting, fun and monetarily rewarding than being a low-paid teacher. Hell, I should have become a scatologist. One who studies scat expects a shitty salary. But I really enjoyed being with and teaching younger kids. However, I not only had a wife, but when Mara came along, I had a great kid to spend time with. And we had plenty of fun as a family, so I came back to reality and that carried me away from my unrealistic dreams. I learned that I valued my family more than a chance at being rich and/or famous, and have never regretted doing it.

            Segue: One summer I needed to get a summer job so I applied to the Groveland Prison that is just outside of Retsof, NY. I got the job as a math and reading teacher for inmates who chose to take classes. Get this: They were paid fifty cents for each class. Most of them only wanted cigarette money and didn’t care about the learning process. One day an inmate with the AIDS disease cut his finger intentionally and while another inmate distracted the prison guard outside my classroom door, the inmate who cut his finger dripped his blood into the guards coffee cup. You can’t get AIDS that way, but it wasn’t know at that time. One day the big news was that the Supreme Court of the U.S. decided that any AIDS persons could go to educational classes instead of being kept segregated in the prison infirmary of separate living quarters. The next day a young black man came up to my desk to ask me a question (but he had another reason for leaning on my desk). He put a math paper on my desk, near my right elbow and pointed to a problem. Then his nose started dripping onto the math paper. His nose dripped a coupled more times, soaking into the absorbent paper. I looked up at him angrily. He smiled, saying, “I have AIDS.” I ordered him to sit down. He did. I called the guard and the guard took him away after I explained what had happened. At the end of class I went home, wrote a letter of resignation (I quit) and never returned to the prison again. After that, I spent my summertime jobs working on a horse farm. I really like horses. I fed them in the morning and in the evening, but in between I cut hay, bailed hay, but mostly had a four-wheel drive pickup truck and went around the horse farms one-thousand acres and repaired (sometimes even building fences) the miles and miles of wooden fences. It was a solitary job that I liked very much.

            During my second year (1976) of teaching at Avon, Sandy and I had an opportunity to go to Hawaii during the Christmas school break. Wow! We had a great time. I kept drinking the Hawaiian mixed drinks just so I could eat the fresh pineapple spears that were placed into them. Previously, my only experience with pineapples was from a can, but I found out that fresh pineapples taste so much better than the canned ones. I even bought fresh pineapple spears at a local market and put them in our hotel room refrigerator to snack on at night (we stayed in the same hotel that Jack Lord, the star of the old Hawaii Five-0, TV shows. He lived in the penthouse, but we never saw him).

            Sandy and I toured, ate at good restaurants, shopped and enjoyed the sunshine, the beach and the warm ocean. I also performed a magic show for the local magic club. While I performed, in the afternoon, Sandy laid on the beach and got too much sun. She was in pain for a couple of days.

            The day before we were going to depart for home, we were in a restaurant and the TV was on. The weather report showed that a bad blizzard was about to hit upstate New York. It was said that the widespread snow storm would encompasses both Buffalo and Rochester. The storm was a severe blizzard; one of the worst in many years. We were flying back home the very next day. Ouch! We’d be getting to Caledonia during the tail end of the blizzard or shortly after it blew itself out. Just wonderful.

            We landed in Los Angeles, then departed for the Buffalo airport. When we got there, it was easy to see that the roads were heavily snow covered and drifting snow was a problem. Once again my blue, 1968 VW saved the day. Where other cars slipped and slid with little traction, my VW did just fine and got us back to Caledonia without incident due to the VW’s excellent traction (motor in the back of car).

            But arriving at the apartment in Caledonia was not trouble-free. Dick had the driveway plowed, but right away we saw that Sandy’s car was nearly buried with snow and the entrance to our apartment was covered with six or seven feet of snow. The snow was so high that we could not see the top of the apartment door.

            I shoveled the walkway, to the front entrance so that it looked like a seven feet high tunnel, three feet wide, with no roof. It was a depressing sight, but we managed.

            The next day (it was a weekend) I brushed off Sandy’s car, but when I lifted the hood I could not see the engine. All I could see was a thick blanket of snow covering the entire engine. The car was parked facing into the wind and the snow had an easy time getting through the grille. I cleaned that out as much as I could, then tried to start the car. Luckily, after a few tries, it started. I left it running to melt off the remaining snow and to dry the engine parts and all the wires and belts.

            I believe it was in 1978 that we had a home built on fifteen acres of land that I had bought a year or two previously. It was a yellow ranch style home, built about seventy or eighty feet back from the road (at first we had a dirt driveway). It was on a side road, off of Route 36, near the Caledonia Fairground. The name of it was Graney Road (not granny, someone’s grandmother). Interesting fact? The first murder in Caledonia occurred on Graney Road.

            When I earned my Master’s Degree (Sandy already earned hers’) we decided to have a child (had a good time too). Sandy got pregnant in October and Mara Grace Sheehan was born on July 10, 1979. Sandy had to have a Caesarean section to deliver Mara, who was breach (since then she’s been going in the right direction, except for a few times in her teens…. ha ha).

            Mara’s birth was the most important seminal moment of my life. Sandy was nearly unconscious because she had to be anesthetized for the operation, so the nurse brought Mara to me. Wow! She wasn’t even as long as my forearm. She was not crying, just looking up at me, as if saying, “Are you my daddy?” I had tears in my eyes and was definitely choked up. I think my eyes must have looked like watery spot-lights as I admired my newly born daughter. I starred at baby Mara as she squirmed in my arms, engulfed in a blanket. Our eyes touched like hands reaching out for each other. More tears flooded my eyes and I seemed to be drifting on the wings of ecstasy or, perhaps, she was an angel lifting me with her tiny wings. An extraordinarily special feeling passed through my whole body; a pleasant tingling. Somehow I knew that my life was not just a husband and a teacher anymore, but had taken on the bigger role of a father, and I was pleased. I knew that I had to be a much better father to her than mine had been to me. Without a doubt, I knew that Sandy would be a much better mother than I had. Since then there has been incredibly special relationship between Mara and I. I don’t think I could survive without her, literally. A person can’t survive without a heart, and that’s where Mara is for me.

            Even now that she’s married and has two children of her own (Lily, age 7 and Slone, age 6) I still see my little girl and remember hundreds of special times and places that we had wonderful times together. I would, this very second, die to save her life (or Sandy’s, Lily’s, Slone’s or Todd’s). I’ve had a long, healthy life; they deserve the same and I hope they all get it. I also hope that, if any of us dies first it will be me. It would destroy me to have to live while one of them died. Speaking of “health,” I laugh at something I once read which said that being “healthy” is simply the slowest possible rate at which to die. On the other hand eating too many “natural” foods isn’t good because most people die of “natural” causes. J

            While Mara was growing up, I continued learning more magic tricks, practicing and doing more magic shows. When Sandy stopped being my assistant, Mara took her place. Instead of a pretty and classy assistant, I now had a cute and funny assistant.

            I liked my job back then and very much liked my students. I taught them as well as I could, and had plenty of fun with them, but Mara was what I wanted at the end of the day. We played a lot in the magic room (I was often her horse named Sasha. I’d be on all fours and she’d get on my back), I read books to her, we watched special TV shows (like the A-Team). She would cling to me; a kind of Velcro-love relationship. I think it would be fair to say that I clung to her as well.

            As she grew, we did more and more together: movies, parks, bike rides (one summer Mara and I were bike riding with a friend of Mara’s. A dog (pit bull) came running out onto the road, growling viciously. The dog went to Mara’s friend so I ran to her and scared the dog away. Unfortunately, the damn dogs went to Mara and bit her. Luckily he dog had its shots. The cops came to get the dog because it had bitten someone else. The dog was brought to the authorities and killed (Euthanized? Such a polite word for killing). Protecting someone else and not my daughter irritated me for years; still does, but not as severely.

We had a wonderful dog named Trisha, but I should have

named her “locksmith” because I had her trained so that

when I stamped my foot on the floor really hard, she’d

suddenly make a bolt for the door.

            Mara liked Halloween because we would buy a pumpkin and cut it into a jack-o-lantern together. I helped her to draw a face on the pumpkin with a black magic marker. I had a special, pointed saw with large teeth that I used to cut the top off the pumpkin. We both liked to reached down inside and feel the squishy, slimy, spaghetti-like pumpkin innards and the slippery seeds. We would pull all the innards out and wrap them in newspaper (they’d go into the garbage later on). Then I’d pick up the pointed saw again and cut out the marked pieces of the face. After she saw how it was done I held her hand with the saw in it (it very sharp) and we would saw the pumpkin face together. The warmth of her hand would warm my heart and that made me love her even more. Sometimes I had to try very hard not to get teary-eyed from the happiness she gave to me. When that was done, we’d place a candle into the pumpkin, put the top on the pumpkin and place it on the front steps when it was dark. Mara and I would look at it and at each other feeling a special bonding. We would back up to the middle of the lawn and the lighted pumpkin looked even better. It seemed to have a magic aura around it. Then, sometimes, I’d grab her and suddenly, loudly say her name to scare her. She grew to expect that in future years, but it became a very pleasant ritual. I think she may have liked the pumpkin carving process more than the candy-collecting part of Halloween.

            When Mara was in her last year of middle school, or the first year of high school (13 or 14 years old?) I took her far out into the rural farm country, sometimes even on dirt roads. I’d let her drive the car very slowly, with my instructions. She loved it and so did I. It was another special activity for us (I didn’t tell Sandy). Every now and then we would do that and every time we did it she was thrilled. Later, when she got her learner’s permit, I more formally taught her how to drive, but on the regular, paved roads. She was afraid to parallel park the car. I showed her how to do it 2-3 times, then let her try. She got frustrated because it was the hardest thing she’d have to learn before she could take the driver’s test. We went out every day after school and practiced until she got pretty good at it. She thought I’d get frustrated with her initial failures, but I didn’t. We laughed like children at the failures and kept right on practicing for about a month. It might have been the most fun for both of us in that learning process. She got really nervous and failed her first driver’s test .She felt awful and was somewhat depressed until I told her that I had failed my first test also. Then she was fine. Misery loves company. J Teaching Mara to drive were some of the happiest moments of my life.

            Mara and I also played basketball, softball and made our yearly trip to the Caledonia fair where Mara and I rode the fast, thrilling rides, played the games and ate the food. She loved crashing into me when we rode the bumper cars (with a devilish gleam in her eyes, but a pleasing smile). One year I purchased a raffle ticket and won a bicycle for Mara, but she had to wait a couple of years until she was big enough to use it.

            One summer day there was a pouring rain. Mara and I stood in the shelter of the open garage. I realized then that Mara had the same wonderful feelings that I always had about rain: the look of its vertical decent, how each drop shines then splashes and creates a bowl of water, for a split second. Most importantly, the sound of the raindrops on the roof. It gave a calm, relaxing feeling to us. The rain was absolutely wonderful at bedtime where the sound could put us to sleep so easily. Pitter patter, pitter patter ……. zzzzzzzzz. I’ve often wondered why it has that effect. Maybe it’s a vestigial, biological remnant of evolution, or just a genetic trait passed from me to Mara. Perhaps it’s the warm, comfortable, content, secure feelings that we had in our mother’s womb. We still love the look and the sounds of rain. I prefer to die on a rainy day. The final big-sleep coming with the pitter patter of rain.

            When I was in high school I used to really like to have gym classes in the swimming pool. I liked the water, the cool, smooth feel of it like rubbing up against cool silk. I felt buoyant, supported, refreshed. It was like the water supported my weight, as well as my worries and fears. But that doesn’t mean that I was on the swimming team, or even wanted to the on the swimming team, mainly because my two favorite events were not even swim team events: floating and sinking. J

            I still get satisfaction from rain (day or night), from storms, the darkness of night, and clear, starry skies. That’s three out of four things that most people dislike. That’s just me. I am unafraid in the darkness. I like it and have been called “strange” for liking it.

            As the years went by Mara, like a cuddly puppy softly burrowed into my heart with loads of joy and love thousands of times. Even after all these years, she still has a permanent place in my heart; a place where the endearing concept of love resides for a father and the daughter he loves, and who loves him back just as much. To bring happiness to Mara was a wonderful thing for me; a delightful feeling or tingling pleasure from head to toe.

            When Mara was a senior in high school, she was in the senior play. The play was Annie and Mara played the part of Miss Hannigan, the mean lady who ran the girls’ orphanage. We knew that she was in the play and we had tickets to see one of the evening shows. She didn’t talk about it very much and we didn’t give it a lot of attention. But when we went to see the play, it was Mara who was stealing the show with her outstanding performance. The audience was clapping for her during the play. At the end of the play, when the characters come out on stage to bow to the audience, Mara got the loudest applause. After the play, friends would grab our attention and tell us how good Mara was. She did an outstanding job. Her mom and I were exceptionally proud of her. Even now, when I think about it, I still smile and feel that warm and bright glow of a father’s love and pride for his precious daughter.

            Segue: I’m reminded of the home-made Father’s Day card that Lily gave to my last year. It said, “Happy Farter’s day,” instead of Happy Father’s Day. That’s my girl!

            Mara had so many friends that I couldn’t remember all their names, sometimes not even their faces. It seemed like I’d see a new face with her group every other time that they’d come to the house. When they did come to the house, Trish, our female Collie/Shepherd dog, would immediately stick her nose in their crotches and an sniff. The girls would jump back. Funny. I guess Trish was a ruff (rough) lesbian because she didn’t do that to males.

            I was in the Master Bedroom bathroom one day (the door wasn’t latched) and Trish poked her head into the door and opened it while I was taking a crap (brave, very brave dog). She nudged my knee as if trying to tell me something, then looked at me and whined. Hell, I never did find out what that was all about. I surmised that she was trying to protect me from some evil potty, poopy monster.

            Mara having many friends is one way that she was very different from me. In elementary school I did have a lot friends or, perhaps, a lot of friends and good acquaintances. But as I progressed to high school, I was much more selective of who my friends were because I didn’t want quantity, but rather quality. I feel even more so now. I am a solitary person who prefers privacy, alone-time and only a very few friends. I guess I could say, about my friendships, that I have avoided some friendships that I hope will last a lifetime. I’m not much for “small talk” either. For me the phrase “silence is golden” fits perfectly. “I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself, than to be crowded on a velvet cushion.” (Henry David Thoreau) I much prefer solitude to socializing. It leaves much less room for other’s lies and gives me more time to concentrate on my own and how to stop them. I think, however, that the privacy of my self-imposed aloneness gives me the freedom to let my thoughts grow wings, to soar in the beautiful, bright and imaginary skies that light-up my thoughts.

            As nature intends for all of us, Mara grew to become a teenager and started the inevitable process of seeking her individuality and independence. Of course that must involve rebelliousness and making her own mistakes, then learning from them. This process also includes desiring more freedom from parents. I had a difficult time with her not needing me as much. I had to restrain myself so she could enjoy her growing need for independence and freedom from parental domination. I knew that it was a good thing for her, thought it made me sad to feel us growing apart, even though I knew that it was a normal, desirable and necessary process.

            When Mara departed our home for college, I was a wreck dealing with the classic “empty nest” syndrome. It hit me hard. First came a terrible sadness, then an awful depression. The depression was a painful headache inducer that temporarily sliced away my happiness as if it had been an appendage of my body. For a while I was a “mell of a hess,” wishing that I could die to end the physical and emotional pain. Now and then I still have those types of depression (for varied reasons). Some people are afraid of heights. I’m not. Rather, I’m afraid of depths, the depths of depression. Unfortunately, Sandy has to deal with my episodes of depression, an unjust punishment for a woman whom I love so very much.

            When Mara was at the University of Buffalo, my bedtime routine changed. If Sandy had gone to bed before me, I’d stay up awhile longer, then I’d walk down the hallway, stop at her empty bedroom, walk in, then say, as I had thousands of times when she was home, “Daddy loves you, Mara.” (or Maragold). Then I’d walk into her dark room, sit on the edge of her bed and quietly cry. I hid these emotional episodes from Sandy and Mara. It was a weakness brought on by an extreme love for someone that I thought of as lost and gone (though that was not true). I knew it was a natural, actually a desirable thing for Mara, so I tried to remain strong. Since she went to the University of Buffalo, which was close, I consoled myself with the fact that I could see her on weekends at college or occasionally when she came home. When I did see her it was as if the light inside my heart went from a dim 40 Watts light bulb to a bright 150W bulb.

            Mara met Todd Bonnewell, but was secretive about him. I respected her privacy; so did Sandy. We did not pry (too much), though we were curious and concerned.

            Mara started dating someone else when Todd went to Washington, D.C. for a job and their relationship broke up. The new guy, Jason, helped her get a physical therapy job in the Baltimore areas where he lived, but then that relationship also ended. I think it ended because Jason was too possessive and unwilling to treat Mara as an equal. Suddenly Todd was in the picture again and they got back together. (I believe Mara still had the job in Baltimore). I was happy for Mara, but for me also because of all Mara’s boyfriends, I liked Todd the best. He was impressively mature, determined and very intelligent. How can you not like someone who also loves your daughter and treats you respectfully?

            I wasn’t so happy though when Mara moved to Florida to be with Todd. That was because Baltimore was so close to Rochester that Sandy and I could be there in about seven hours. That made for easy visits on some weekends. Mara moving to Tampa Florida; however, meant a couple of days travel time. But, again, it was good for Mara, and that was the most important thing to us.

            It was a sudden move for Mara. One weekend Todd came to Baltimore with a rental truck, got all Mara’s apartment belongings and brought her to Tampa. It was as if they had eloped.

            It was a bit confusing for Sandy and I, but eventually Mara filled in the details (details are important so I try to dot all my “Ts” and cross my “eyes) for us concerning her and Todd. I was happy if she was happy. I’ve always wanted the very best for her, especially happiness and good health — sometimes I image being a super-vigilant and powerful white blood cell attacking the enemies of healthiness and happiness in both Sandy’s and Mara’s blood. Kind of weird, but imaginative and well-meant.

            Segue: Which is better, eternal happiness or a ham sandwich? It may appear that eternal happiness is better, but this is not true. After all, nothing is better than eternal happiness and a ham sandwich is better than nothing. So simple logic dictates that a ham sandwich is better than eternal happiness. So please enjoy your ham sandwich.

            Mara and Todd were married in Hawaii in the summer of 2005. It was a wonderful wedding with Todd’s mom, dad, brother, sister-in-law and a couple of Todd’s friends

            When Lily and Slone were born, I was so happy to be a grandfather that, at times, I felt giddy and pleasantly silly, like a Leprechaun dancing in a field of shamrocks.

            Shortly before Lily was born I retired and was very pleased about that. The stress of dealing with parents and administrators (even other teachers) was making me angry, depressed and feeling miserable. My guilt had made me miserable, also. I had said too many things that I regretted; harsh words to a couple of teachers, one administrator and a couple of parents.

            I felt bad about that when I had a chance to think rationally and not emotionally. I had spoken, to too many people, words that I wished I had not spoken. It would have been nice to be able to swallow them and have those words go back down my throat and settle in my voice box, then be erased as if they had never been thought of or spoken; never having been born in the cradle of my throat. The absolute irony, though, is that I knew it would happen because I knew myself well, yet I knew that sooner or later I’d feel guilty or depressed about something I did or said.

            Segue: That reminds me. I once read an astronomy book which declared that both Neptune’s and Pluto’s existence was accurately predicted long before they were actually discovered (seen). How? It happened because of the known peculiarities in the orbits of the outer group of planets. People (planets) are like that, too, aren’t they? If you carefully notice their actions and their words, as well as what happens around them (their orbit), it is usually enough to inform you of where they were, when they will be there again, and, most importantly, who and what they really are as people (planets). You will also know what their behavior will be in specific situations, or in certain settings, their likes and dislikes, their core morality, what their opinions will likely be on certain topics, whether they love their wife and/or children, if they are lonely, or troubled, etc. Most people I know don’t think like that. They readily accept surface features (commonly referred to as bullshit) which are often disguising what they really think, the deeper issues that lie far below the thin ice of a frozen personality lake. How much can you really know about a lake if you judge it solely by its surface features? You’ll miss everything that lies below the surface, right? Sometimes I’ll feel a negative vibe and avoid certain people, or I get an ominous feeling about what’s under the ice of their outward thoughts and actions. With some people, it grows tiresome always having to read between the lies. Sometimes I even get that feeling about myself. But I also know that some people avoid my friendship. Perhaps they are one of those people who think they see something they don’t like under the ice of my own frozen, icy exterior.

            I’ve learned as I get older that the less you talk to someone, the better you get to know who they really are. You can learn so much from just listening to people ramble on about their favorite subject, themselves. And if they do pause to take a breath or to give you a chance to responds, just smile and they will fill in the void of silence by talking about their favorite subject, again. I f you must talk, just ask for further details about whatever they just said and they will gratifyingly return to their favorite subject time after time. I surprise myself, sometimes, by finding myself talking too much. The ego is a strong force that likes to hear its own voice.

            I retired two years early (Sandy and I were going to retire at the same time) and I’ve never regretted it. I loved teaching for most of my career, especially my interactions with children, but the stress of parental and administrative demands wore me down (retirement by attrition). Growing to dislike teaching seemed like an improbable possibility in the beginning.

            Sandy and I had originally planned to retire to western North Carolina (around the Ashville area), but Mara was our only child and she would have our only grandchildren, so we decided to sell our house in Caledonia, New York and move near Mara and Todd in Largo, Florida. That has worked out very well because being close to Mara and our grandchildren has brought us much happiness. And they are so easy to please; give them a dollar, and they behave as if you’ve given them one-hundred dollars. But that’ll only last until they are teenagers when the reverse will be true. J

            Largo, Florida? I hate the brutally hot summers and the traffic congestion, but it’s worth it to be close to Mara and her family.

            Florida could have cost me my life, too. After we came to Florida, I went on a kayak guided tour of some part of the Everglades (Sandy did not go). There was a path through the Everglades that could accommodate a kayak. I like that kind of adventure so I decided to go. The trip started out relaxed and scenic. We got to a part that opened up like a pond, but with heavy vegetation around the edges. The guide pointed out two spots on the surface of the water, like two floating dark balls, but they were an alligator’s eyes watching us. Its entire body was below the surface of the murky water so it could not be seen, just the eyes broke the surface of the water. The tour guide said to be careful and it wouldn’t bother us, but then the guide showed us the dented, punctured area of his canoe and told us that the previous week, the alligator banged into, then bit his canoe (there was a hole in the aluminum bow). We all laughed, knowing that he was trying to scare us . . . but he wasn’t. He saw us laughing and told us that it was true. We continued, not too far away and saw a surfaced alligator that was swimming along slowly. We pulled our paddles in and let it swim by us. I think there were about eight of us, one per kayak. The vegetation was beautiful and wild. The guide explained a lot about the particular vegetation and animal life. Apparently the path through the Everglades was well used for kayak tours and went in a large circle. I, being the tallest, had trouble with the mangrove branches at neck and head level. I had to duck under them or push them up out of my way. We had just about completed the circular path with the outlet coming back into that pond area where the alligators were sighted, when I encountered a thicker branch that was too low to duck under, so I attempted to push it out of my way . . . and tipped over my kayak as I floated into that pond area. The kayak was upside down and full of water. I had to turn it right side up. Luckily the water was not deep. It only came up to my lower ribs, but the muck at my feet was slowly giving way. Yep. I was sinking. But when I pulled one foot up out of the muck, the other sank deeper, and vice versa. I wasn’t scared until I saw the tour guide getting the other kayakers to form a crescent shaped barrier around me. Oh shit! I thought. I looked around and recognized the area where we had previously spotted the alligators. Then I thought, “What the hell good is that kayak barrier going to do. What? The guide and the other people do know that alligators can swim underwater, right? But I didn’t have time to get too scared (Hey! I was fearless; barbarian, a berserker. I could defeat Mr. Bubble-eyes ‘cause I would instantly change into a larger alligator. Yeah! I was an instigator). I pushed the front of my upside down kayak onto another kayak, then pushed it further onto another kayak so that one kayak supported the front and the other kayak supported the back of my draining kayak. I had lost my balance a couple of times and went under water (ruining my camera), coming back up saturated with mud, twigs, leaves, other vegetation, algae and slime. I looked so frightful that I could have scared the alligator away. But all that effort had forced my feet down into the quicksand-like bottom and I couldn’t get out. Another kayak came close and I leaned as far over the bow as I could and wiggled my feet to loosen the hold that the muck had on me. Slowly I freed myself. One person stabilized the front of my emptied kayak while another stabilized the back and I managed to drain it and get back into it. We made it out of there, but we did, again, pass two alligators (probably the same ones), though, this time, we could only see the eyes watching us and some bubbles (my guess is that the bubbles came from the gators laughing at me).

            The trip back in my van was very uncomfortable. Sandy and I had rented a room that tourists used. I entered the room and Sandy looked at me as if I were the notorious Swamp Monster (or a debris-covered and wet Bigfoot). I shook my head at Sandy and said, “I’ll explain later.” I undressed and entered the shower. The water ran off me like liquid mud sprinkled with detritus. The water sprayed out of the shower head clean and clear, but poured off me like sewage. A couple of times I actually had to clear the plugged-up drain. I was a mess, but when I got clean again I felt much better, until I explained what happened to me. Sandy started laughing hysterically. Then I saw the humor in it and we both laughed. We went out to dinner and drank wine to celebrate my living through that ordeal. Later that night I thought about the old joke that asks, “How many arms and legs does an alligator have?” And the answer, “That depends on how far along in its dinner it is.”

            I also remembered that some famous guy said, “To live fearlessly, you must challenge death on occasion.” Now there’s an example of a famous asshole. I’d like to put that guy, wearing alligator shoes, in the water near two alligators and see how fearless he is. I’d dress him in a vest so he could be an investigator. Geez, I think my jokes are more dangerous than the alligators were.

            Segue: I hate my episodes of depression. My droopy eyelid and my episodic depressions have been the curses of my life. I’ve never been able to deal with them successfully, weaknesses that I’ve never been able to overcome, even after a lifetime of emotional struggle. To my friends, the droopy eyelid is barely noticed, but to me it dominates my entire face. Neither Lily, nor Slone have ever mentioned it, which mystifies me. It has never bothered Sandy, and yet, when I look into a mirror, it’s ugliness and the emotional pain it has cost me is all I see and feel. Going out in public is irritating because I catch adults and kids staring at my droopy eyelid as if I were a freak. It makes me want to hide, be alone, stay home and avoid social situations. I get terribly vivid memories of the scowling rejections that I’d receive in high school when I’d ask a girl to dance, then walk away hearing the laughter of her and her girlfriends. I should have been able to overcome it long ago, but haven’t. It surprises me when a woman finds me attractive. Those feelings of ugliness are only lifted when I’m around Sandy, Mara, Todd, my grandchildren, most relatives and certain friends. I often wonder how different my life would have been if I was not born with the droopy eyelid. It would have be nice to have had a healthy, positive self-concept and a strong self-confidence, though, by asking myself and watching others, I’ve also learned that the idea of self-confidence can be a negative trait if it originates from the lack of recognizing one’s own weaknesses and then remaining blind to it consequences. This is not the same as self-confidence that originates from successes due to superior skills, abilities and/or being handsome.

            I think that when I grow up, in a reincarnated life, I’ll be a jovial, PMS-free, Wonder Woman. A change of sex and a different life might do me some good. Gee? I’d have breasts and a vagina. What would that feel like? Oops! I seriously doubt that I’ll enjoy having “periods” every month and cramps that come with them, or the emotional roller-coaster rides, or the pain of having a baby. Shit! That doesn’t sound like such a good thing anymore. I changed my mind.

            Maybe I could be a horse. Yeah. A stud. Yippee! I’ll come back as a tall, handsome, black stallion that all the mares want to be with. Better yet. I could be a wild stallion, and have my own herd of mares in the remote wilderness of Montana. Oh, never mind. Just horsing around though the term “bareback” does come to my mind. J

            My hobbies now are martial arts and writing. I also enjoy reading, and when I’m tired of those things I go the Internet. I also watch TV (currently, my very favorite show is NCIS, starring Mark Harmon. Sometimes I even feel like a precognitive genius watching this show . . . until I realize that the show is a repeat J), especially when Sandy and I can watch together as we enjoy wine and cheese. I especially like it when Sandy goes to the kitchen and cuts the cheese. She cuts the cheese with sharpness so there’s a staccato-like sound to it and the aroma is amazing. Good rhythm too . . . Bam, bam, bam. J To Sandy and I, it doesn’t matter if the glass is half full or half empty as long as it still has wine in it. J

            Writing, reading, the Internet and TV are solitary activities from which I get a lot of pleasure. But I must admit that I do sometimes drift off into my own little world. But it’s nothing to worry about because most of the people there know me and the strangers give me a chance to work on my social skills. J There must be a fine line between my hobbies, thoughts and mental illness. J

            Just this afternoon I went to see the Bruce Willis movie A Good Day to Die Hard. I have enjoyed all the Die Hard movies; there’s three or four of them. I particularly like action/adventure, thrillers, westerns, dramas, sometimes sci-fi movies like Aliens and some comedies (I have a weird sense of humor which comedy movies quite often do not reflect). Right now my favorite movie comedian is Melissa McCarthy (long ago my favorite comedian was Red Skelton. His zaniness matched my sense of humor almost perfectly). When I was a kid I liked westerns, Tarzan movies and the Three Stooges. Normally I would have taken a nap instead of going to a movie (Since I’ve retired, I take short naps almost every day. While I’m asleep, I probably make the same noises as Sandy’s coffee-making machine), but I don’t refer to them as “naps.” That sounds too childish. I prefer to call them my Happy Hour. Retirement has been wonderful. Good-bye tension and hello pension. But there is, sometimes, a problem with my retirement. Occasionally it’s difficult to get a day off and when I do work, it’s not for pay (after retirement, all work is an invasion of privacy). Also, Sandy used to have a passion for cooking, but now she has a passion for not cooking because she’s so busy, but it’s not a problem because I’d be fat if she cooked too much. Her food tastes too good to resist a second helping.

            Now that I’ve retired and got hearing-aids using my Veteran’s benefits I listen much more carefully to the conversations going on around me. Thus, I’ll probably have to change my will often before I die.

            When I was young, and beginning my teaching career, I seldom thought about retirement. It was so far in the future that I figured I’d fall off that bridge when I came to it. But look where I am now . . . retired, age 67 and when Lily is 10 and Slone is 9, I’ll be 70 years old and, perhaps, not be able to do much with them. It will hurt a lot, but I’ll try not to show it to them because when I was their age, old people were boring, and I wanted to be outside riding my bike, playing baseball, football, basketball, running, climbing trees and being with my peers. But I’ll always love them. I’m reminded of what Mark Twain said about getting old. He said, “Birthdays are truly cases of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” J

            As a kid I liked TV shows, like: Gun Smoke, Bonanza, The Twilight Zone, I Love Lucy, The Lone Ranger, Hopalong Cassidy, Maverick, Cheyenne, The Rifleman, Lash LaRue (he used a whip instead of a gun), Tarzan, etc.

            My older movie stars are: Humphrey Bogart, James Cagney, Spencer Tracy, Johnny Weissmuller (the best Tarzan), Jimmy Stewart, Burt Lancaster, John Wayne, Maureen O’Hara, Katherine Hepburn, Kirk Douglas, Gregory Peck, Charlton Heston, Jack Nicholson, Paul Newman, Robert Redford, Steve McQueen, Sean Connery (the best James Bond). I’m sure I forgot some.

            Currently, my favorite movie stars are: Clint Eastwood, Sylvester Stalone, Tom Cruise (though his personal opinions on some subjects are naïve, arrogant and repugnant), John Travolta, Matt Damon, Robert DeNiro, Bruce Willis, Catherine Zita-Jones (Wow! I’d like to ask her to play a cop with me . . . an under covers cop. Oops!), Robin Williams, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Michael Douglas (Kirk’s son), Tom Hanks, Anthony Hopkins. Again, I’m sure I missed some.

            I like most of the classic Country music now (Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, of the older generation, and the more modern country music of the younger generation of people like: Toby Keith, George Strait, Faith Hill, Shania Twain. In my pre-teens and teens I liked the Rock and Roll music of The Beatles, Elvis Presley, Bobby Darin, Connie Stevens, Buddy Holly, and most of the black singing groups etc.

            My favorite candy as a kid (especially at movies because they lasted a long time) was jujubes. As an adult, my favorite candies are: black licorice, Baby Ruth candy bars, Peter Paul candy bars.

            My favorite cookies are: Oreos, Oatmeal cookies, chocolate chip, and most soft cookies (not the ones that shatter and spread shrapnel crumbs into your mouth, onto your shirt and pants, and onto the floor when you bite them).

            I’ve written over 150 poems and six books (so far). The book titles are: Maragold in Fourth, Maragold in Fifth, and Maragold in Sixth (children’s books), plus three adult, action/adventure novels: Roman Wolfe’s Adirondack Mt. Ordeal, Roman Wolfe 2: Classroom Terror, and Roman Wolfe 3: The Problem of Evil. These Roman Wolfe books are not only action/adventure stories, they also explore religion vs. atheism, good vs. evil, and the conflicts that exist that make a person mostly good or mostly evil. There’s the old story about two fighting dogs existing in each of us. One is mostly good and the other is mostly evil. Which dog inside of you, will win? It’s the one you feed the most. Unfortunately, all the fighting I did in high school caused me, in later life, to ager too quickly at factual and/or imagined slights. I’m still not able to forgive frequently and unable to forget slights. I am still very defensive (though tempered by age) and too offensive (also tempered by age).

            For the Adirondack mountains book, I wanted authentic scenery descriptions so one summer in the middle 1980s I drove to Long Lake. It would be an important part of the book, so I canoed the length of the lake (18-20 miles), against the current. It was slow going because motor boats were coming too close to me and to prevent capsizing I had to turn the canoe perpendicular to the motorboats’ waves. I left early in the morning when there wasn’t much traffic but in the afternoon there was a lot of motorboats. It took me all day to paddle the canoe to the end of Long Lake. I camped there for the night. I built a fire, ate, then went into the lake to wash all the sweat off. The mosquitoes were voracious. I didn’t think I’d ever get to sleep. I must have because I was awaked by loud noises. I thought it was a bear trying to get at my food which I had hanging in a tree by a rope. I had pulled the food up near a high tree branch, then tied the rope around the trunk of the tree. I turned on my flashlight and didn’t see anything. I figured that if it was a bear and s/he came at me, I’d run into the lake. It turned out to be two raccoons making a hell-of-a racket trying to get the food down from the tree . . . and they did. They climbed up the tree and chewed the rope so the bag fell to the ground. My flashlight caught them both holding the bag and running deeper into the woods. I followed them and found the bag. The things in paper or plastic wrappings were mostly gone. It was no big-deal. It wasn’t food I missed, but water. I ran out of water and needed it because I had been sweating so heavily. I forgot to mention that I stopped at a cabin, half way through the trip, and some kind people gave me containers of water.

            This raccoon event happened about 3:00 or 4:00 A.M. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, so I ate breakfast, filled up on water and stared paddling back by moonlight. The lake and surrounding land looked beautiful and, at the same time, surreal. The water was as peacefully flat as a mirror, reflecting images of the moon, clouds, and surrounding terrain.

            On the way back to the boat dock I was paddling with the current so I got back more quickly, about 2 P.M. I drove into town, got something to eat, then climbed a mountain by following the designated trail. By the time I got back to my van I was exhausted. I climbed into the back of the van and fell asleep. I rose about 8:00 A.M. and drove back to Caledonia. I had pictures of my trip and snapshot-memories. I used those pictures and memories to describe the traveling-on-Long-Lake scenes of the first Roman Wolfe book.

            My favorite and premier birthday gift of all time was given to me by Sandy on July 10, 1979; the gift of my daughter, Mara Sheehan. Nothing in my life has ever given me more pleasure thatn to be the father of Mara Grace Sheehan. My next favorite birthday gift came from Mara when she was at the University of Buffalo. She took me (and Sandy) to Buffalo to see the comedian, Gallagher, the watermelon smasher. I laughed my ass off (had to go back to my seat to find it). Next on my list of favorite birthday gift came from my nice son-in-law and Mara. The gift was a NOOK tablet for reading digital books. What a wonderful device.

            As I approach the age of 70, I find myself more disappointed in the things I didn’t do, but could have done, than the things that I did do (coulda, woulda, shoulda). But the weakness in that statement is that it’s 20/20 hindsight. I know now what the things are that I wish I had done, but back then I was ignorant of them. However, if I wanted to know everything, I’d have to go back to being an omniscient teenager. I may not have accomplished all the things that I would have liked to accomplish in my life, but I ended up in the place where I wanted to be; with Sandy, Mara, Lily and Slone. I guess that my advice to Lily and Slone would be to not let their dreams stay dreams. It may seem that some things are dreams, and are impossible, but the word impossible is rather unique because within it are the words I’m possible. So maybe those dreams or at least some of them will not be impossible. Another bit of good advice for Lily and Slone is that when you are adults, never take a laxative and a sleeping pill just before bedtime. J

            As I type this autobiography, I’ve noticed that the ring and little fingers of my left hand feel numb, sometimes even tingling. I guess I have car-pool tunnel. What amazes me is that I don’t car pool with anybody. I just get in my car and go places by myself. Wait a second. Now that I think about it, maybe it’s really called carpal tunnel, but as I said, I don’t car pool, not even with a car pal. And I sure don’t go through any tunnels (I don’t think Florida has any that are above water). Oh, man! Sandy just informed me that it’s called carpal tunnel syndrome. It’s caused by the compression of the wrist on the Median nerve as it passes between wrist bones, like going through a tunnel, then down into the fingers. Well. That settles that mystery. I’m actually experiencing that syndrome. Feels weird but doesn’t prevent me from doing anything with my left hand fingers. I noticed that when I pick my nose, I have no trouble gouging out a crusty booger. J

            On March 12, 2013 I went to my karate class. Everything was normal, even boring, until I went into the changing-room to put on my karate uniform).

            Nearly always there are a few guys in there doing the same thing. We all say hi and maybe pass on some news or jokes with each other. I took off my civilian clothes and put on the bottom of my uniform, then grabbed the top part of my uniform. After Sandy washes them, I usually simply roll them up and stick them into my gym bag. Well I unrolled the top and something fell to the floor. I looked down and thought, What the hell is that? I looked around but no one acted as if it were theirs so I figured it had to have fallen out of the top of my karate uniform. Like a fool, I picked up the strange cloth and stretched it out before my eyes to see exactly what it was. Oh crap, I thought, then said, “Geez. How’d my wife’s panties get here. I’m still holding them in the air while everyone stares, then starts laughing. Then it started. One guy said, “Hey Bill. You gotta hobby we don’t know about?” Everybody starts laughing harder. Then another guy says, “You wanna cross-dress? No problem.” Before I could talk and defend myself (I had been the one who folded the laundry. Static electricity had held the panties to my uniform top) another guy says, “Try’m on, Bill. Let’s see how they fit.” Now the room is full of hysterical laughter. My friends’ faces are fire-hydrant red (piss on them) and their wide eyes mockingly staring at me (one guy was holding his stomach because he was laughing so hard it hurt). Trying to be calm, I said, “Wait a second. Let me explain.” One of the guys interrupted me, saying, “No explaining needed. You told us that your name is William, but I figure it’s really Wilma, right?” Someone else shouts, “No! No! It’s Willamina.” Now they are all bent over holding their stomachs and class is ready to start. Oh, shit, I’m thinking. The story is going to get passed around to everyone in class. I knew it would. I know a good story when I tell one. I’m the second place finisher in the Grand Master of exchanging lies for bragging -rights for the best plot lines and the weirdest characterizations, though that story happens to be true (Every now and then I do something crazy like that). I don’t know for sure who the ultimate Grand Master is, but I suspect it’s some joker named Mike French (my nephew).. . . and it did. My face was hot from the blushing embarrassment. I knew they’d never let me explain because they were having too much fun at my expense. The Master sensei went to the front of the class to lead the beginning exercises, but first he states that the new person in class, dressed like a guy, is really named Willamina, formerly thought to be Bill.” He held his hand out horizontally, pointing to me, then continued, “but apparently, and more appropriately, called Billie, with an “i” and an “e” at the end. My face felt like a lighted flare as he explained briefly (not panty-ly) what had happened in the changing room. If someone had touched a piece of paper to my cheek, it would have ignited. Naturally everyone was laughing, except me, though I knew from the start that, although it was embarrassing, it really was funny. Then I had second thoughts about just how funny it was when the two women in class stared at me, smirking, but said nothing as their stare became a sarcastic grin then a suspicious smile accompanied by raised eyebrows. And was that was the end of it? Hell, no. The class was seventy-five minutes long and it seemed as if every five or ten minutes someone was poking fun at me. Man, I couldn’t even blame Sandy for my embarrassment because I was the one who had taken the clothes out of the dryer and folded them. As I walked out the door, after class, I said, “See yuh, guys.” The response was a laughing mixture of names like Billie, Wilma and Willamina. I just shook my head and got out of here, though, I admit, I grinned all the way home. It was all good-natured fun . . . but I don’t ever want to have that much fun again, nor provide that much entertainment.

            Wow! What would Lily and Slone think about me having a pair of women’s panties in my gym bag. Ugh!

            I’m not really bright, but sometimes I get a truly great idea. When I die, I want to be cremated especially since I’ve been reading that most cemeteries are raising their prices for burials and blaming it on the cost of living. Now that’s outside the box thinking that I’m talking about, bordering on genius. Yippee! I know I should have a will. Everybody should realized that. After all, a will is a dead giveaway, right?

HOW GIRAFFES GOT LONG NECKS

3-29-73

            Once upon a time, in the vast plains of Africa, there lived only two giraffe families. Each had a mother and a father. One family had a daughter and the other had a son. The daughter and the son liked each other very much so they thought that someday they would get married.

            But while they were waiting and growing up they would play together and enjoy each other’s friendship. They would even hunt for food together. They liked to find a thick, green patch of grass to chew on, or a juicy green bush. They often wished they could eat the leaves from the tall trees because the leaves were green and looked juicy and tasty. But in those long ago days giraffes had short necks so they could not reach the leaves in the trees.

            One cold and windy morning the two giraffe families were worried about their safety because they sensed a strong storm coming. They also sensed that it was a bigger storm than they had ever seen before. The dads and moms decided that they should go into the jungle to seek shelter from the storm’s cold wind and the chilly rain.

            When the wind and rain began they decided to go to the jungle even though they feared the dangers that were there, especially the gorillas. The giraffe families thought the dangers from the storm were greater than the dangers from the gorillas so they went quickly to the edge of the jungle and then, while making sure that they stayed close to each other for protection, they walked in leaving the cold wind and the chilly rain behind them.

            They had only walked into the jungle a little way when they noticed a beautiful patch of ground with the most delicious looking, long grass growing on it. There was a small opening through the thick trees and they quietly entered through it, not noticing the danger.

            While the giraffes were eating the grass, the hunting gorillas closed the small opening with a tall, camouflaged fence and leaned heavy logs against it so that it was tightly closed.

            The giraffes heard the gorillas closing the fence, but it was too late to escape. They walked to the fence; all of them afraid of the gorillas. They saw that they were trapped and their fear grew.

            The giraffe families were so scared of the storm and hungry when they entered the small opening that they didn’t notice that the small opening was in a wall. It was a large, circular wall, about six feet high. The wall was covered with vines, moss, bushes and many tree branches so that they could not see it from the outside.

            The gorillas had built the wall when they first moved to that area so they could trap other animals in it, but the gorillas didn’t  build it so they could eat the animals that they had trapped inside the wall. They wanted to tease them, make fun of them, scare them and see if they could find a way to escape. It was a cruel game that the gorillas liked to play. No trapped animals had ever escaped from that wall. The trapped animals would starve to death when the little food that was inside the wall ran out.

            The gorillas were especially enjoying themselves while watching the frightened giraffes because they knew that they would be moving to another area of the jungle soon. It would take some time to build another wall in that new area, so they were hoping that these entertaining memories would last until they could build their new wall near their new home. The gorillas went back to their camp and bragged about what they had trapped.

            Now the giraffes were all alone. By the end of the second day that the giraffe families were trapped, the gorillas got bored with watching them and moved away as they cruelly laughed at and joked about the giraffes who were imprisoned in their jungle jail.

            The adult giraffes were angry at themselves for being so stupid. They wished that they had been more careful, and they thought that standing in the storm’s wind and cold rain would have been better than being trapped inside this tall, strong, circular wall.

            But they all knew that they could not get free unless they all worked together. They must save their food supply even though there was very little grass left to eat. But most importantly, they had to think of a way to escape from the wall.

            There was only enough grass and water to last a couple more days at the rate they had been eating it. If they were careful, they may have enough for three or four days; then they would start to starve to death. The entire afternoon was devoted to thinking . . . thinking of a way to escape. When evening came and darkness set in, there was still no ideas about how to get over or through the wall. But the next day, when the boy and girl giraffes were hungry for something different than grass, they began looking up at the unreachable green vine leaves and the juicy leaves that were hanging from the trees that were close to the top of the wall. They thought it was impossible, but they talked to their mom and dad about stretching their necks to get at the vines and leaves.

            The mother and father giraffes thought they might have a good idea. It might work because the muscles of a giraffe’s necks are soft and very flexible. But the bigger problem was that they didn’t know how they could tell if their necks were really stretching. They giraffe families thought about it and solved the problem by listening to each other’s ideas. Soon they had decided on what they though was the best idea.

            Since the boy giraffe looked like he was six inches taller than the girl giraffe it was decided to let the girl giraffe keep stretching her neck up toward the leaves as if she was going to bite them. Then, if her neck really did stretch they could tell by comparing her height with the boy’s height.

            Sure enough, after one full day of stretching her neck, the girl giraffe had stretched her neck six inches and was now just as tall as the boy giraffe. Now that they saw that the girl giraffe could stretch her neck, all the giraffes tried stretching their necks. They all stretched their necks upward toward the leaves on the vines and tree branches. They soon discovered that they only the young giraffes could stretch their necks. They decided that the young boy and girl giraffe still had soft neck muscles were that were still very flexible, but the adult giraffe neck muscles were already hardened and would not stretch.

            Now both young giraffes started stretching their necks toward the ripe, juicy green leaves. They worked hard as their mom and dad watched them. But they got extra hungry and needn’t to eat more grass to gain energy so the moms and dads decided that they would eat less to save the grass for their children.

            After a week of stretching their necks, the food was gone, but the children’s’ necks had stretched three and one half feet. They laughed when they saw their mom and dad looking up at them. Then the children both walked to the wall, lifted their long necks into the trees and started eating the leaves that their parents could not reach. After their parents had eaten the remainder of the grass, the giraffe children easily knocked leaves off the trees so their mom and dad could eat.

            Now they had an added advantage because not only did they have a plentiful food supply, but now the children could see over the wall. The giraffe children looked over the wall, hoping to find a way of escaping their prison.

            They looked, but saw nothing helpful. The families discussed their thoughts, but no good ideas came to anyone. They could not think of a good plan that would help free them. They did not want to give up and they would not give up, but they knew that their new supply of food would not last too long either. If that happened before they could find a way to escape, then they knew that they would starve to death. The thought of this made them all sad and mad.

Then one day the mothers and fathers were talking about building a ramp to the top of the wall.

            They thought of a ramp, but they had no wood to build such a ramp. They talked about the long, straight pieces of sturdy trees that they needed, but there were no trees in the small clearing. Even if there were trees, there was no way of chopping them down or even bending them.

            Then, as their children looked down at them, they both blurted, “Long, straight and sturdy?” Then their parents realized that they didn’t need trees to build a ramp. They said the children’s  words out loud, “Long. Straight. Sturdy.” Their eyes shined and their lips smiled. They had the answer. They all knew now that these words can also describe their own new necks. They could use their bodies and necks to make a ramp.

            The two mothers and two fathers, who were the sturdiest, would stand side by side and form a ramp with their necks up close to the top of the wall as they could. Then the boy giraffe, and the girl giraffe would climb up the giraffes’ neck-ramp and onto the top of the wall. Then they would slide down the wall and jump the rest of the way to the ground.

            They worried about jumping and hurting their skinny legs, but then they noticed that the ground was covered with grass and moss and fallen leaves, plus it was wet ground so it was as soft as a pillow and this would help prevent the giraffes from getting hurt when they had to fall the last few feet to the ground.

            Once they were on the ground, the girl and boy giraffe could bite through the vines that locked the gate and free their mom and dad.

            And this is exactly what they did. After that was accomplished they all stood outside the wall and hugged each other because they were free at last. They left the jungle and went back home where they are now happy and free. As they walked across the plain to their home, the giraffe children whispered to each other, “Wow! Mom and Dad are short.” Then, “Yeah. Really puny.” They laughed loudly, catching the attention of their parents who asked what was so funny. The boy say, “Oh. Nothing. Just a joke.” But the girl was bold and said, “Well. Another thing we were thinking was that children usually look-up to their moms and dads, but now our moms and dad have to look-up to us.” They giggled.

            “OK,” one other fathers said, “Now that you two have the long necks you can get us all the food from the tops of the trees. After breakfast, you can start getting supplies for our lunch and after lunch you can start getting supplies for dinner and before you go to bed you’ll have to gather a good supply for our breakfast. Thank you for being so kind and helpful.”

            The boy scowled at the girl and said, “You farbnarblenokedodo (farb-nable-nokey-do-do). See what you have done.” The girl replied, “Don’t be such a notelfeefeejanpoo (no-tell-fee-fee-jan-poo). They are just joking, getting even with us. They must have heard us joking about how short they are.” They all was well and everyone was happy.

            A few years later, when the boy and girl giraffes were grown up, they got married. A little while later they had a baby and, guess what? It had a very long neck. Now all the babies that they had, were born with long necks and when they grew up to get married and have their own babies, all those babies had long necks. This went on for hundreds of years until all giraffes are now born with necks that grow each year so they can reach up into the trees to get those green juicy leaves.

HOW SNAKES GOT LONG BODIES

4-29-73

            Once upon a time there was a land with a beautiful green forest. At the edge of the forest there was a tall, majestic tree, with branches reaching up like arms and fingers to grab pieces of clouds to eat like cotton candy. This tree was the home of a kindly and playful chipmunk family. There was a father, Papa, a mother, Mama, a sister, Lala and a brother, Sala.

            They used to look out across the field at the forest and wonder about the exciting things that might be in there, beyond there, things they couldn’t see and could only imagine. They had relatives that lived closer to the thick forest, but they never dared to enter the forest because of the dangerous “Ball Snakes.”

            One day Mama and Papa chipmunk had to go on a trip to visit the relatives who lived closer to the forest. They had done this many times before so they did not worry about leaving the playful and curious brother and sister alone in their wonderful and safe tree. But just before the mother and father chipmunk left, they once-again warned their children that their meanest enemy was the Ball Snake and if they saw something on the ground that looked like a brown ball, they must stay safely in their tree because Ball-Snakes cannot climb trees.

            So the father and mother chipmunk left while the brother and sister played joyfully in the tree for a long time, mainly the game branch tag. Soon they got hungry for some nuts. They knew that there were plenty of nuts stored in the tree so they didn’t have to leave the tree to get food. But just as they were climbing from the top of the tree to the middle of the tree they noticed a big, brown nut on the ground, and not too far from their tree.

            Lala and Sala chipmunk looked at each other happily. Their eyes glowed with bright curiosity. They knew that the nut was big enough for them to fill both of their stomachs. But they were cautious when they remembered that their parents had warned them about the Ball Snakes.

            In those long ago days snakes were round, like a softball, but they could flatten themselves a little so they looked like a very small football. They were brown like a walnut and ten times as big. Because they were shaped like a ball, they could roll fast and easily catch a small animal on the ground. And the Ball Snake’s sharp teeth could kill a small animal easily.

            The two chipmunks watched carefully for a few minutes, but when they did not see any movement they decided that since they had never seen a Ball Snake near their home tree, then this must truly be a large, tasty nut for them to feast on, especially since it really wasn’t shaped like a ball.

            So down the tree they scampered, then into the field they rushed in search of that nut. The grass was tall and it was not as easy to see as it was from the high branch of the tree. The chipmunks went farther out into the field than they should have before they decided that the nut should not have been that far away. They thought that they must have passed the nut in the tall grass. They started back toward their tree home, still searching for the delicious-looking, nut.

            Then, half way back to their tree they saw the big nut. They walked toward it with delight. Their mouths were watering from hunger and their stomachs were wiggling and growling while waiting for the taste of that juicy nut.

            Both chipmunks were bending over to pick up their large treasure when, suddenly, they jumped backward just as the nut opened its wide mouth; its teeth pointing up and down, like icicles in its jaws.

            Lala and Sala fearfully hugged each other as they stared at their worst enemy, a vicious Ball Snake. They did not run for they knew that this snake could easily catch them, even if he wasn’t between them and their tree home.

            Then, even though they were afraid, they whispered to each other and formed a plan to escape the deadly teeth of the Ball Snake.

            When the snake saw the chipmunks walking straight at him, he was surprised, but he grinned and thought it would be much easier for him to catch and eat the both of them. The closer the chipmunks got the wider the snakes mouth opened and the bigger his sharp teeth seemed to grow.

            Quickly, the Ball Snake rolled forward toward the chipmunks. But as he tried to bounce on them, the chipmunks jumped to the side. Brave Sala bit the nose of the snake and would not let go, even though he could smell the snake’s stinky breath. He knew that he and his sister’s lives depended on it. At the same time Lala bit the snake’s rear-end and she, too, would not let go, even though the snake farted. Ball Snakes always stink at both ends.

            The chipmunks fought hard because they knew that they needed each other’s help if they were to save both their lives. Each of them knew that they must not let go and each knew that they must pull, as hard as they could, in opposite directions, so the snake could not escape and bite them.

            The snake was powerful and he pulled back. The chipmunks dug their feet into the ground and strained with all their strength to keep pulling and pulling and pulling. They bit harder and they dug their front feet deeper into the ground. They kept pulling with all their draining strength. But it looked like nobody was winning. Sala and Lala were full of fear now as they felt their strength fading and their bite muscles aching.

            Each held on, but each knew that their strength was almost gone. The snake had more strength than they had and he was just waiting for the chipmunks to let him go so that he could at least catch one of them for lunch.

            Just as the chipmunks were pulling with their final strength, they heard the rustle of the grass. It was their mother and father. The father helped the son and the mother helped the daughter and together they were much more powerful than the snake. They pulled and pulled until the snake could no longer keep itself in a ball shape. The chipmunk family was stretching the Ball Snake. Now the angry snake looked like a piece of rope.

            The family let go of the snake and ran when they thought the snake was too tired to come after them. They ran out of the reach of the exhausted snake, but the snake was angry and he crawled after them, even though he was too tired and too slow.

            The family of chipmunks noticed that the long snake was so slow that they could easily run circles around him and still not get caught. When the snake was a ball shape, he was fast and dangerous, but now the snake looked like a piece of rope slowly dragging itself through the grass.

            The chipmunks stopped and stared at the snake, then they cheered because now they were faster than the snake and could get away easily. The snake could no longer be their great enemy.

            When the snake realized that he could no longer catch the delicious chipmunks he gave up and crawled away. He went off to live in dark places where he could hide himself with shame.

            This happy news traveled fast throughout the forest and soon the chipmunk family and their relatives were having a big celebration party where all the chipmunks learned how to stretch snakes so they could no longer be their worst enemy. Now they could all live happily ever after because when the stretched Ball Snakes had babies, the babies where not ball shaped, but long and thin string. They would now grow into a ball, but into a rope shape.

April 29, 2000

My Dearest Maragold,

            I was walking down the hallway, to go to bed, last night, and by habit I stopped at your bedroom breathing as my heart swelled with both tremendous love and pride, as well as an overwhelming concern for you. I would usually continue to stand by your bedside for a few minutes, acting as your sentinel against any evil or harm that might come your way. I had this feeling that as long as I stood there, or as long as I was close to you, then nothing could hurt you because evil would know I was willing to sacrifice my life in order to protect you, and even evil wouldn't want to risk its own well-being knowing how maniacally fierce I’d fight to protect you from harm.

            Now you’re off on your own and I'm not around to protect you door. As I do every night, I opened your door slightly and whispered, "Daddy loves you." I wonder how many thousands of times I’ve done that each night as you were growing up? ( 365 X 18 = 6,570) In your early years I used to enter your bedroom and kiss your forehead or cheek before I whispered, “I love you.” Sometimes, if I was really worried about you (like once when you came home sick and drunk) I would step inside your dark bedroom, let the door close so there was only a thin sliver of light, then watch you sleep. I’d listen to your gentle, and that makes me feel sad. Life is often a tough experience and I can’t protect you from things that you will encounter. Life is sometimes like a maze of mirrors and as you walk through it, you’ll not only feel lost, but you'll also have difficulty distinguishing between reality and superficial reflections. Sometimes life is simply what you make of it. Everyone has troubles, worries, fears, stress and responsibilities, but some people stay happy despite all this, while others get sad and/or depressed (me, unfortunately). I guess the truth is that happiness is not a gift that someone else gives to you; it's a gift that you give to yourself. I'll be the first to admit that quite often I have not allowed myself to accept that gift. It helps tremendously to start that habit when you are young; then you can form a positive habit and have that happiness for a majority of your life. This is what I did not do for myself and now in bad times I slip into the negative habit of feeling sad, upset, depressed. I know now that I should have formed that habit when I was young, but I didn't know it when I was young. So now I offer this insight to you so you don't realize it when it's too late (like I did). I love you very much Mara, always did, still do, and always will. Your Mom and I will always love you and be there for you. ALWAYS.

Love always, Dad (mi amor, mi vida)

A MARAGOLD FOR SWEET WILLIAM

5-8-2000

            Her name is Mara, but I have always called her “Maragold” because she is as beautiful as a flower (Marigold) and as precious as gold. I’m her very proud father.

            When she was born and placed into my arms, I pulled the blanket away from her red, moist face and looked into her eyes. I was excited but speechless. I had helped create a new life. My face muscles were taut with a smiling joyfulness and, as we stared at each other, she smiled, too, and kicked her feet under the blanket. It seemed, though, that the kick came from only about six inches away from her face because she was so tiny. I held her hand in mine, amazed that her whole hand was only the size of my thumbnail. Both the kick and the thumb served as reminders of just how small this precious handful of life was. I guess it was at that moment that I really grew up.

            I realized that I had a great responsibility to care for and to protect this child and I was surprised at how ready and willing I was to be a model for her. I would teach her all I knew, and she would grow up to be a wonderful person. What I didn’t realize was that I would do more growing up than she would, and she’d teach me more than I’d teach her

            When she needed me because she was too small to take control of objects in her environment, I learned to be more giving of my time, energy and expertise. When any potential danger appeared I learned to be her shield, her protector (I would have given my life to protect her). When she had trouble with school work, or wanted to learn to play basketball and softball, I learned to be her patient instructor. When she needed my time to read to her, to play with her or drive her to a friend’s house or school activity, I learned to sacrifice my time in order to help her, to make her life rewarding and fun, and, thus, make my sacrifices seem trivial in comparison. When she became emotionally distraught, I learned to be understanding and soothing, like salve on a wound. When she was sick, I tended to her needs (although her Mom was better at this task. Moms are best when children are sick) and learned to be caring and concerned for the welfare and health of others. When she hugged and kissed me, I learned the true meaning of loving and being loved.

            It was a remarkable experience watching the both of us grow up, but it was all too short, especially when she became a teenager and craved the attention of, and being with, her peers. It was a sad experience watching her slowly drift away from me and float towards her peers, but I learned how to cope with that sadness and see the good in it because I had learned to look at and understand her needs instead of focusing blindly on my own. After all, that’s the normal process of growing up, isn’t it? The striving for independence, and taking charge of the direction that your future life will take. Instinctively I knew this because I went through the same developmental phase as most teenagers. I also learned that reason and logic are not necessarily part of a teenager’s early development, but I also learned to smile at the humor in my Maragold’s faulty logic (most of the time, anyway).

            Now my daughter is a senior in college and will soon not only be out of the home permanently, but quite possibly her new job will take her out of the area where we’ve lived for 30 years. You can take the daughter away from the Dad, but you can never take the great memories away from a proud Dad. And one memory in particular, teaching her how to drive, serves as another learning experience. Parents seem to dread the day that their child wants to learn to drive. Not me.

            It was a wonderful experience; one that brought my daughter and me closer with shared laughter. I learned not to pre-judge her, to trust her, to have confidence in her ability, and to give encouragement freely and not dole it out in predetermined doses.

            My heart will always ache for her presence, but a parent has to let go for the good of the child, to let the child become an adult, to grow physically, mentally, emotionally and to expand their world and experience its rewards independent of family relationships and its restrictions. Yes, I let go slowly and reluctantly, but I knew it must be done and learned to have the will and fortitude to do something that seemed bad for me but necessary and good for her.

            But, ultimately, the final question that a loving and concerned father must ask himself is, Who exactly learned more while the child was growing up? The child or the parent? Also, sometimes it’s not the question s we ask, but the questions we didn’t think to ask that are the most important for deciding the direction of our lives, our goals. Conventional wisdom would probably indicate that the child learned more than the parent. But I know that that is not always true; it wasn’t for me. I definitely learned more. My daughter taught me more than I ever taught her: love, caring, team work, laughter, responsibility, maturity, patience, adoration.

            Being a father to my daughter has been one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. I took my role as a father seriously and enjoyed it immensely. Yes, my heart will always ache for those days when my daughter and I grew up together.

            I like to think of flowers that symbolize the both of us; a Marigold for my daughter, Mara, and a Sweet William for me, thus, a Maragold for Sweet William. And, to me, she will always be as pretty as a flower and as precious as gold. And I will always owe her for all those intangible gifts that she gave to me as we were growing up together.

NOTE: Submitted to Reader’s Digest, but not accepted

for printing. But writing it was a pleasure for me. Re-

reading it every now and then gives me a wonderful

feeling of joyous warmth and splendid love.

A WALK IN THE FOREST

1-19-03

                We walked together, side-by-side and hand-in-hand, with our shared smiles warming us and our mutual love comforting us. Sandy, Mara and I are walking casually on soft, mossy ground, like walking barefoot on a plush green carpet. We peered up through the outstretched fingers and arms of all the towering trees, wearing their glassy, green gloves. It was a verdant, silky forest, abundantly alive, yet so quiet that we could hear the friction of the sun’s rays brushing passed and reflecting off the lush leaves that formed the emerald-green canopy over our heads.

            We listened to a chatty, busy-tailed gray squirrels and watched them leap from the arms of one tree into the welcoming arms of another tree.

            Our eyes met with a deep sense of wonder, with caring and love as our lips curled into wide, warm and adoring smiles. We shared this amazing time and place; the impression of it indelibly etched in our memories, never to be forgotten and always prized like precious gold. Casting our enlightened, joyful eyes downward at a fuzzy movement, we see a hopping, bouncing bunny whose twitching nose, bright eyes and erect ears which seem to be greeting us to his domain in paradise like a friend’s waving his welcoming hands.

            We continued our walk through this colorful and comfortable, natural paradise until we arrived at a luminously clear-watered creek, making its gurgling, churning and pleasant noises. Those sounds were hypnotic as the water tumbled over and around the stones and vegetative obstructions that lie in its path. We found a calm pool, like a mirror, that clearly showed our smiles of affection for each other. No words were spoken, nor did they need to be. We hadn’t uttered a single word to each other since we entered the plush forest, yet we knew what each other was thinking. We stepped out of our footwear, abandoned Mother Nature’s carpeted floor and stepped into the cool, crystal-clear water. The wet, refreshing sensation slithered and curved its way around our lower legs. The water had a cleansing, invigorating effect as it carried dirt and sweat away, leaving our feet clean, fresh, energized and ready to walk again without the slightest effort or strain.

            After drying our feet and putting our footwear back on, we traversed the width of the forest, finding a vast field of scented grasses and wild flowers of all colors, shapes and sizes. A gentle, warm breeze kissed our faces and tousled our hair as we imagined that each of the millions of blades of grass to be our close friends who waving to us, beckoning us to continue our joyous journey towards the gleaming, snowcapped mountains that could be seen in the distance. Our steps avoided both the grass and flowers as each parted before our feet, making a path so that our steps would not crush the delicate, undulating and vibrantly alive vegetation. The smell of the wild flowers was like exquisite perfume, so sweetly aromatic and pleasing to our olfactory senses, much like the finest food would be to our taste buds.

            We enjoyed these sensations together. We shared this marvelous beauty, these splendid sights and smells as we approached the perimeter of the field and started the gradual incline at the base of the granite, white-capped mountain peaks, like old men in their white wool head-gear. Those huge monoliths seemed to be Mother Nature’s sentinels, showing both her superlative beauty and her unparalleled strength via those massive spires. The magnificent sensations and the beautiful visions that we were experiencing were once-in-a-lifetime feelings that were the very best part of life and which very few people get to witness. I felt privileged to see all this glorious beauty with the ones I love most, my family. We proceeded at our leisurely pace, taking in all the beauty and the thrilling marvels that surrounded us before we continued this trek to our final destination. For a treasured moment we stood hand in hand; the warmth of love coursing through our arms and into our hearts.

                Leaving a small clearing, we, again, came to a plethora of trees, but more of the evergreen variety than of the broad leaf type. But their hue was no less colorful; just a different shade of beauty. We continued hand-in-hand, with matching smiles. We approached a place that could not possibly contain any shred of evil, no ounce of ugliness, no shroud of hate. It was an innocent, pure place of tranquil beauty, where life was almost perfect and no evil lurking in any corner in this paradise of the pleasant sensations.

            It was not our destination to climb the mountain because it’s beauty could be enjoyed without a mountain climber’s laborious effort. Indeed, the strain would have been a distraction from the beauty and peacefulness that surrounded us. This, after all, was our journey to find beauty, peace, calmness, contentment and the ultimate satisfaction that nothing but paradise could offer to the human senses and spirit. It would not be an exaggeration to say that even famous worshippers of nature, such as Thoreau and Emerson, have never come close to witnessing and feeling the beauty of nature as this grand trek of ours has revealed to us since entering the charmed and enchanted forest at dawn.

            Now, as late afternoon approaches, we are pulled by some unknown, mysterious but gentle force, towards a newly built log cabin. We stood there surprised and amazed. How could this be? A cabin waiting for us to occupy it at the end of our glorious, one day long journey? Looking closer we see that the white chinking kept the space between the logs water tight, the windows and doors were perfectly fitted, with the windows ideally placed to overlook the golden grasses and bountiful colored wild flowers in the field. This whole experience was stunningly wonderful and an unexpected, happy retreat for us.

            The door was unlocked, as if the cabin was waiting for us. The fireplace consisted of flat stones, which must have been collected from the creek, each stone perfectly fitted and unusually aesthetic. And this cabin was stocked with enough food to last an entire winter. Plentiful firewood was stacked high and neat, and appeared to be thoroughly seasoned. There was even a mini-library. It was as if we were expected and everything had been prepared for us.

            I started a fire, my tired, old bones cracking as I bent. Soon the whole cabin was warmed and lighted by the glow of the bright red, orange, and yellow flames. The two women that I love so dearly prepared the most wonderful, and delicious meal that we have ever shared. Daylight was fading and the shadows of the forest were growing as dusk approached rapidly and for the first time that splendid day I felt exhausted. I laid down on one of the beds, which was soft and comfortable, while both my loves sat by the fireplace to chat, read by the firelight, and watch over me.

            I started to doze off to sleep, I felt the warm hands of Sandy and Mara each taking one of my hands into theirs. I felt more peace and happiness than I have ever felt before. I could feel their deep love for me as it slowly rose, like heat, up my arms, then through my entire body. No one could have asked for a more beautiful day for my last dream. And what a wonderful last dream it was; absolutely wonderful.

            I died peacefully, in my sleep, just as that dream came to its joyful conclusion. And I died the happiest husband and father on earth. Thank you, Sandy and Mara, for faithfully accompanying me on my final journey to a paradise where I shall life in your mind that could not have existed if the two of you had not been holding my hand from the beginning of this glorious and final journey of my life.

            Please remember that, in our family life, just like this last day, I have loved the both of you, with all my heart and mind. The both of you made me incredibly happy. And now I wish for the both of you to continue your lives peacefully, happily, but with memories of how much I loved the both of you.

I Love you, Sandy and Mara.......Bill/Dad…....ILYBBC

LETTER TO LILY…1-7-06

My Dearest Lily Bee,

            It is such a wonderful feeling to be your maternal grandfather. I love holding you, feeding you and playing with you. You are so precious to me.

            I take pictures of you, think of you every day and talk about you with much pride and hope, and you are only seven weeks old.

            I’m sixty (60) years old now and I’m hoping that I live long enough to see you grow to be a smart, beautiful, and healthy adult.

            Your mother is my only child and, so far, you are my only grandchild. I hope I get to have more grandchildren (your sisters and/or brothers), but right now you are such a joy to hold, care for and love.

            I hope we get to know each other and see each other often. I hope you will love me like I already love you. I hope I can be as good of a grandfather to you as I was a good father to your mother. I loved you mother so much that I made sure that I spent extra time having fun with her. She can tell you about all the things that we did together, all the good times that we had as she was growing up (before she became a teenager and preferred to be with her school friends – but that’s normal for a teenager).

            I also hope you will respect, trust and honor your mom and dad, accept their love, advice and decisions that are intended to help you, even though you may not think they are correct. Moms and dads sometimes have to be stern with their children to make sure they learn which actions are correct and which are wrong, according to the family’s standards and traditions.

            But, remember, being stern and getting angry with you now and then does not mean that they don’t love you. They love you enough to make sure that you know what is acceptable and what is not, in order to be a good, kind and responsible person. They love you enough to want you to grow up to be a caring, considerate, and respectful adult. If you make your mom and dad proud of you, then you will make your Nana and me Da very proud of you, too.

            Help other people, be kind to them, be considerate and respectful, and when you are an adult you will be rewarded for your generosity and your advanced maturity.

            Please, Lily; please, please, please don’t use illegal drugs (nor cigarettes or alcohol, if at all possible). Using illegal drugs just a few times can, surprisingly, ruin the rest of your life. And that’s the truth, Lily. I had a high school friend who started using drugs after high school and he had to live with his mom and dad for years because he couldn’t think correctly anymore. The drugs did that to him. He is my age and still has to live in a home where other people can take care of him (his parents died). Also, as a teacher, I’ve seen kids ruin their lives with drugs.

            And, Lily, choose your friends carefully. Be smart enough, mature enough, thoughtful enough to realize that you will be judged, quite often, according to the actions of the friends that you choose. Their good or bad behaviors will be thought of as your good or bad reputation. That may not seem fair, but much of life isn’t fair. It’s up to you to make smart decisions for yourself.

            You have control of your journey through life just like the captain of a ship has control of his ship’s direction. But if the captain’s friends (his crew), are mostly bad people, then the captain’s ship, and his future will become lost or troubled, or, perhaps, even sink (disaster).

Please remember that you are the captain of your life (ship) so steer towards happiness and healthiness. If you choose a bad crew (bad friends), they may take the captain of the ship (that’s you) to the bottom of the sea with them, destroying your happy and successful future. So, my dearest Lily Bee, choose your friends very carefully. Think about how their actions reflect on you.

            And if I don’t live long enough to see you grow up, please remember that I loved you and wanted the best of everything for you. And if you ever just need to talk to me, just look into the night sky for the North Star, or just think of the North Star and me, then talk. That’s where my spirit will be when I’m gone (pretend). I’d love to listen to you and think about you and love you even when I’m no longer alive. Perhaps talking to me in your imagination will help you discover a solution to whatever was troubling you. I hope so.

            I’ll be watching over you, your mom and Nana from the North Star. Talk to me any time, Lily. Da loves you very much.

SWEET LILY BEE…2-20-06

Our precious, darling Lily,

Who loves to hear me buzz,

Your grandpa Da loves you truly,

Just as your grandma (Nana) does.

We cuddle you closely,

And sing to you a song.

We read books to you,

Both short and long.

We love to hold you,

And kiss your sweet head,

Even changing your diapers,

And placing you safely in bed.

We watch as you sleep,

And listen to you breathe,

So quiet and peaceful,

Like a fresh, gentle breeze.

We stare at you with much love,

Amazed by your eyes so bright.

Your smiles melt our hearts,

And fill us with pure delight.

And when those smiles grow wider,

Our happy hearts do sing.

You make us feel royal,

Like we are a queen and king.

You look all around,

With blue eyes so alert.

We want to protect you always,

So you will not be hurt.

Listen to your mom and dad,

Your grandmas and grandpas, too,

Even though that may be difficult.

Then disappointments will be few.

We’d love to see you grow up,

But if we are not here,

Remember that our love for you,

Was tremendous, Lily dear.

THE HOUSE OF 1,000 DOORS (THOD): Birds

11-28-2010

            Lily and Slone got permission from their momma and papa to visit Mr. Pooka (MP) after their papa called to make sure it was OK with MP.

            Then Lily and Slone ran to their bicycles and raced to MP’s cabin in the woods. Slone won the race and was a good sport about it by not teasing Lily.

            Slone and Lily saw MP waiting on the porch with a big smile. He enjoyed Slone’s and Lily’s visit very much. He was glad to be their friend and a friend to their mom and dad.

            “So, what do you think we should do today?” MP asked.

            “The House of a Thousand Doors!” Lily and Slone both shouted, followed by, “Pleeease, MP, pleeease.”

            “OK, my little friends. Let’s go find that house.” MP jumped down the porch stairs, hopped onto his bicycle and yelled, “Yippee! Follow me, and we shall see what we shall see.”

            Lily and Slone raced after MP, laughing with excitement. They followed MP into the woods for a long way.

            There was a narrow bike trail made by MP who had travelled this way a lot. But the trail soon ended at a shallow, bubbling creek.

            “Do you remember the name of this creek?” asked MP.

            “Range Creek,” Lily and Slone shouted.

            “And do you remember how it got its name?”

Slone and Lily looked at each other, then Lily said, “We forgot.”

            It was not always called Range Creek. A long time ago, it was called Strange Creek because strange things sometimes happened to people when they crossed this creek. Even to this day, very few people come this far into this forest. But you’ll be safe with me, until we get to THOD.”

            Lily and Slone looked confused. “THOD?” Slone said.

            “Yeah. I sometimes call it THOD: The House Of Doors. Now, let me remind you that this creek is shallow, but there are invisible, water creatures, called Grabbers, that pull at your legs and bite them. That’s why very few people ever cross this creek. So we need to do just like we did before. Go back up the trail; then go back down as fast as we can and race across the creek. Keep pedaling, don’t slow down even when the Grabbers are grabbing at your wheels. If you’re forced to stop and get off in the creek, then run as fast as you can while pushing your bike. When we are all across the creek I will use my medical magic powder to heal the bites and cuts that you get from the Grabbers.”

            Lily asked, “MP. Why don’t you use your magic powder to protect our feet? Then we can just walk across the creek without the Grabbers hurting us.”

            “Geez, Lily. The water washes off the magic powder too fast. That’s why,” Slone said, teasing Lily.

            “Oh, yeah,” Sorry. I forgot. OK. Can we go now, MP?” Lily asked.

            They went one-at-a-time and they all crossed the creek safely, although they heard moans and groans of the jumping Grabbers who wanted to bite them.

            Once across the creek, they parked their bikes against some trees.

            The forest was darker after they crossed the creek. The sun wasn’t able to shine through the crowded trees, especially with their extra-large leaves. It was much more quiet, too. There were no sounds of insects or birds and no squirrels chattering in the trees.

            MP picked up Lily and Slone, saying, “The vines sometimes change into ropes and pull animals down into holes and eat them and not all the leaves are really leaves. Some are Leavers. They look just like large leaves, but they have large mouths and can bite at the feet of animals that walk on them. If I carry you, the both of you will be safe. I have my feet and legs soaked with magic powder to protect me.

            Slone and Lily didn’t know where the THOD was. They were lost. They wondered how MP knew the way to THOD because there wasn’t a path that they could see.

            “Don’t be afraid of what I’m going to do next. Remember last time? You didn’t get hurt and you won’t this time either.” Then MP walked toward a huge thorn bush, with three to four inch thorns. “I’ll change those thorns to lollipops and each of you can take one as we walk through the bush.” Lily picked a blueberry lollipop and Slone picked an orange lollipop. MP heard them say, “Yummy, yummy.”

            On the other side of the bush was a nice looking lawn and a path that went straight to THOD. As they walked down the path, they had to swat the mosquitoes away. There were more than usual amount of them, but in a few seconds the three friends were at the front door.

            Before they even knocked on the door, a friendly robot, named Red Butt (RB), opened the door, saying, “Good to see you, Harvey. I see you brought your two young friends again. Welcome Lily and Slone. Oh, Slone. May I ask if you would get rid of those nasty mosquitoes for me? They are all over the lawn and starting to get into the house.”

            “Of course. Anything for my good friend, Mr. RB.” Slone ran all over the lawn, covering every inch of it.

            RB watched Slone and smiled as he saw hundreds of mosquitoes falling to the ground like dead fleas off a dog.

            When Slone returned, RB said, “Oh my, Slone, those fart bombs of yours really work wonders at killing those mosquitoes. But, quickly, come inside so I may close the door to keep your stinky fart bombs from getting into the house. Slone, my young friend, you are a really good stinker. I stink you are a really nice boy, too. You are a real smart stinker and know just how to solve a problem. I stink that you are wonderful boy. Your teachers must be really proud of how well you stink What do you stink about that?”

            “Well, Mr. RB. I like to stink. Especially when I’m sitting next to my Da. He’s a pretty good stinker, too,” Slone responded while laughing with RB, MP and Lily.

            RB walked away, still laughing, his jaw hammering up and down in a robot laugh.

            MP, Lily and Slone looked down a long hallway. The hallway was so long that they could not see the end of it, even though, from the outside, THOD was only about sixty (60) feet long. Some sort of illusion was working here, but it made THOD even more mysterious and fun for Slone and Lily.

PART 2

            “MP? Is your name really Harvey?” Lily asked.

            “Yes, Lily. My first name is Harvey and my last name is Stewart. When I was a baby my mom and dad started calling me Pooka because they had seen a movie, starring James Stewart, called HARVEY. In the moive, James Stewart had and invisible friend, a six feet six inch tall friend called Harvey the Pooka. But Harvey the Pooka, in the movie was invisible to everyone except James Stewart. And when I grew to be so tall and kind, but not invisible, I was just like Harvey in that movie. That’s how I got my names.

            As they walked down the long hallway, Lily grabbed onto a doorknob. The doorknob immediately turned into a nose and blew snot onto her hand. Lily pulled her hand away and said, “Yuck,” then she wiped the boogers on her pants, where they turned to worms ─ Lily did not see this happen─ the worms crawled into Lily’s pocket to find a dark, warm place to sleep.

            Slone laughed at Lily, but when Slone grabbed a doorknob, it turned into a dirty, stinky pig’s foot and started shaking hands with Slone.

            “Oh no,” shouted MP. That pig’s foot stinks more than your fart bomb. MP sprinkled magic powder all over Slone’s smelly hand. Slone’s hand became clean and fresh-smelling in seconds.

            “Don’t touch the doorknobs until we choose a room to enter,” MP said.

            “OK,” Lily and Slone responded, with a playful giggle.

            Lily and Slone followed MP down the hallway, then suddenly noticed that all the doors had eyes. When the eyes were open, they could be seen, but when closed, the eyes disappeared. Then Slone and Lily noticed that the eyes followed them and that was a spooky feeling, like being touched by a ghost’s cold hand.

            MP stopped walking and asked, “Who’s going to pick a door this time?”

            “Lily picked the last time so now it’s my turn,” Slone blurted.

            Lily and MP agreed so Slone looked up and down the hallway.

            “Hmm,” Slone mumbled, then, “Ahh. I can’t make up my mind.” Then suddenly, “Oh, oh. Look. That doorknob is shaped like a small toilet. I pick that door.” Slone ran a few steps down the hallway and grabbed the doorknob. Immediately he started spinning around and around as if he was being flushed down a toilet, only he was being flushed through the door and into the room.

            Lily and MP laughed, but did the same thing and they were also flushed into the room that Slone had chosen.

            At first the room was dark, then a light turned on. The room was empty, except for a large mirror. All three of them walked close to the mirror, but they could not see their reflections. It was a very strange mirror, they thought.

            All at once two large hands shot out and grabbed MP, then pulled him right through the mirror, as easily as being pulled through a curtain.

            Quickly Lily pushed her hand into her pocket to get magic power only to feel the squashed worms caused by the force of her hand. She pulled her hand out of her pocket and the worm’s guts and juices dripped from her hand. Lily yelled, “Yuck!” and shook her hand. The guts splattered. Each droplet illuminated itself like a firefly so they could see better.

            Slone and Lily could see that they were all alone, worried and scared. Suddenly two white arms shot out of the mirror and pulled Lily and Slone through it just like MP. On the other side of the mirror MP was holding them. He smiled at them and said, “Don’t worry. It’s a magic, hand-mirror.” MP laughed, then a couple of seconds later Lily and Slone got the joke.

            They all looked around, but all they saw was a large field, like a huge field that a farmer would use to grow hay. The field had very few trees. But it looked beautiful because many of its leaves were lighted up with different colors similar to a Christmas tree but not as many lights. Near this tree birds were chirping gaily and butterflies were dancing in the air.

            But soon the sky grew darker. One particular cloud was black and started raining black licorice chunks. MP picked up a pocketful because he liked the taste of black licorice. He gave some to Lily and Slone who like it, too. That black cloud turned gray like the rest of the clouds now that it dropped its load of licorice. The entire sky was full of gray, gloomy cloud, as if the sky was full of smoke, and not a single sunbeam could be seen anywhere. Then the gray skies were replaced with black, storm-clouds. MP felt stings of danger, as if evil bees were flying in the wind.

            Suddenly the sky filled with thousands of large black-birds who started screeching angrily and swooping down at the groups heads with their talons grasping for their heads.

            “Danger!” MP shouted, while quickly giving Slone and Lily each a bag of magic powder. Slone used it to get his super-strength and Lily used it to get her freeze power.”

            “I don’t think that super-strength and freeze-power will work against these black birds,” MP shouted. Then he said, “Sprinkle yourselves with more powder and say the words: ‘Magic powder on my bones, make my skin as hard as stones.’”

            When Slone and Lily did that, their skin still felt soft to them, but they trusted MP even though they were scared.

            A group of black birds dove at them, going faster and faster as they got closer to the three friends. They had long sharp beaks, like knives and they were going to cut the three friends.

            Four angry black birds flew into each person and four dead black birds bounced off the stone skins. More birds came and the same thing happened, then more birds until the ground was littered with dead black birds. It looked like a back rug had been thrown on the ground.

            From the clouds came a moaning sound as if mother birds were crying for their dead children.

            But then the black birds got smart. A hundred of them flew at MP, grabbed him with their feet and carried him away, high up into the sky and far, far away.

            Slone and Lily swatted at the birds and yelled for MP, but they could not help him. The black birds took MP, but left Lily and Slone all alone.

PART 3

            Lily and Slone starred into the sky until they could no longer see MP or the black birds. They didn’t know what to do. They sat down on the ground and tried to solve their problem: How were they going to find and rescue MP? They sat for a while longer, not talking when Lily saw a white bag lying on the ground. She ran to pick it up. As she walked back, she said, “This is MP’s magic powder bag.”

            “He must have dropped it by accident when those bad black birds grabbed him,” Slone said.

            “He dropped it all right, but I don’t think it was an accident. I think he did it on purpose because he knew we’d need it to find him and help him. And you know what? I think he’s right.”

            “Why do you say that?”

            “Because of our problem. It would take us days to walk as far as those birds flew, but that problem would be solved if we had wings.”

            “You mean that you think that powder is strong enough to give us wings?”

            That’s what I think, yeah.”

            “But we don’t know the magic words to say while sprinkling the powder on our arms to change them to wings.”

            “Look! Look here,” Lily said with amazement in her voice. “MP’s magic words book is in the bag, too.”

            “Great!” Slone shouted. “Find the magic words to give us wings.”

            “I’m looking . . . Oh, I found the words. First we have to sprinkle the powder on our arms, so let’s do that.”

            When that was done, Lily continued, “Now we have to say: ‘Magic powder do your thing and turn each arm into a wing. Parframatolis’ (par-fram-a-toll-is).”

            Their shoulders started itching, then feathers grew quickly and in a minute they both had wings.

            They flew as fast as they could to find MP. They sailed over fields and forests, over creeks and rivers, then over the Monster Mountains (MM) that had dark-chocolate filled lakes.

            While flying over the MM they spotted hundreds of black birds sitting in an old , dead tree. The birds moving in the tree made the tree look as it if were alive with its many arms swaying in the air.

            But the side of the tree is what caught their attention next. The side of the tree was white. As they got closer they knew it was MP tied to the tree.

            Then they saw a group of black birds throwing dark-chocolate, mud-balls at MP. MP’s white fur was getting darker and darker as it got covered with the chocolate.

            The birds thought that MP would get angry, but to their surprise MP was smiling and licking the chocolate off his face. The birds had no idea that the chocolate balls were tasty to MP. The birds thought that if they didn’t like the chocolate, then MP wouldn’t like it.

            Then, high up in the MM, the snow started falling fast and the wind started blowing hard. It looked like a blizzard was coming their way.

            Slone and Lily flew behind some large rocks, then peeked over the top to see what was happening. What they saw was lightning striking the top of the dead tree and setting it on fire. It made the tree look like a huge candle that lighted up the whole area and showed Lily and Slone that there were many more black birds there than they had seen from high in the sky.

            The heat from the fire caused the birds to squawk loudly as they fell out of the tree, landing in a chocolate mud-puddle. They looked ridiculous with chocolate dripping out their noses and mouths. Then the chocolate started to get hard, in the cold mountain air, so the black birds that were covered with chocolate got stiff and couldn’t move inside their hardened chocolate shell. The other black birds didn’t know what was going on. They looked confused.

            Sparks flew off the burning tree top and fell to the ground. Some sparks fell on the black birds feathers and set them on fire. All they could do was jump into the chocolate mud puddle to put the fire out, but then the cold air hardened the chocolate and they were stuck inside a chocolate shell, just like the other birds.

            The birds who were not injured were now so scared that they pooped on the ground and started to rapidly fart. This rapid farting pushed their bodies in different directions so that they looked like they were doing a poopy-fart-dance as they squawked in fear.

            MP wished that he could squeeze his nose shut because the bird poop and farts were terribly stinky. Then he thought, “Wow! This stinks much worse than Slone, but I sure wish he and Lily were here.”

            MP felt the ropes moving around his legs, stomach, shoulders and wrists. His wrists were tied behind the tree so he couldn’t move away from it. Then, when the ropes began to move, he realized that he was tied-up with snakes, not ropes.

            When MP laughed at the birds, some of them flew to his shoulders and tickled his nose with their feathers. It made MP sneeze so hard that he blew all the feathers off those birds. Now the black birds were not black at all because they had no feathers. They looked pink and naked like a baby.

            Slone and Lily decided that they would change themselves into rabbits, then sneak down and free MP. The black birds didn’t pay any attention to the rabbits so Lily and Slone snuck to the back of the tree and tried to untie the snake-ropes that had MP tied up. When the snakes would not let go so Lily and Slone made some magic gloves, then took turns rubbing black bird poopy all over the snakes. The snakes stared burping, sneezing and choking and finally gave up and let go of MP. MP was now free. The uninjured black birds did not know that yet.

            MP took the magic powder bag and sprinkled magic powder over the black birds that were close to him. The bird’s color changed to white with red dots so they looked like ghosts that had the measles. It was so strange looking that it scared those birds into doing nothing when they finally saw that MP was free.

            By now there was six inches of snow on the ground and it was snowing hard and the wind was blowing harder. MP was desperate to get himself and his friends out of there. He had an idea. He took more magic powder from the powder bag and sprinkled it all over Lily and Slone, who were still rabbits.

            “My friends, who set me free, you now shall each change into a ski.” Poof. Lily and Slone changed from a rabbit to a ski.

            “This won’t hurt so don’t worry,” MP said to Slone and Lily. Then MP stepped on top of Lily with one foot, then on top of Slone with the other foot. They were now his skis and he skied down the mountain side. He was quickly out of sight as the snow came down faster and faster.

            But at the bottom of MM the wind was gentle and it was snowing only lightly and MP changed the skis back into Slone and Lily. MP smiled and patted Lily and Slone on the head for being such good friends. Then he said, “Good job. Thank you for rescuing me. We should go home now.”

            “How do we get home? Lily asked. “We’re in the middle of a huge forest and at the bottom of the MMs.”

            “We can we fly again. Right?” asked Slone.

            “No, my friends. We will not fly. We will walk home.”

            “But that will take days and momma and poppa will worry about us.”

            “No. It won’t take days and your momma and poppa won’t worry about you.”

            “I don’t understand,” said Lily. “How you will do that?”

            MP grabbed Lily and Slone by the hand and walked into another large thorn bush. When they came out the other side, they were at Range Creek, and they saw their bicycles. Lily’s and Slone’s jaws dropped and their eyes bulged in awe at what MP had done. They all rode their bicycles across the shallow creek and a few minutes later they were at MP’s cabin. They parked their bicycles near the porch.

            When they got inside, MP called Lily’s and Slone’s parents and asked if they could stay for lunch. The parents gave their permission so Lily and Slone had lunch with MP while they talked and laughed about their amazing adventure.

            After lunch Slone and Lily rode their bikes home with pleasant memories, and looked forward to the next time they could come to visit MP, whose real name, they learned, was Harvey Stewart.

THE NIGHT MR. POOKA DIED

7-14-2011

            It was a quiet Saturday morning. The happy birds sang loudly as the sun warmed their feathers and the breeze made them sway gently in the lush green trees.

            Mr. Pooka (MP) was happy that Lily and Slone went on vacation with their Momma and Poppa. He knew that they would have a good time. Saturday was their usual day for visiting him and he missed them already.

            MP sat at the table eating breakfast and thinking nice thoughts about Slone and Lily and their really nice Momma and Poppa. But it was a nice day and he wanted to do something to take his mind off how much he missed his little friends.

            "Oh, yeah," he said to himself. "I can go to the house of a thousand doors and have an adventure all by myself. Maybe I can go to a movie on Sunday and then on Monday my two best friends will be back from vacation. He was feeling so happy now that he walked to the window and listened to the joyful birds and felt the warm sun on his face. Then he thought that he saw the sun move. "No," he said to himself, "The sun moves too slowly, but I thought I saw something strange. Probably it was a yellow balloon.

            MP grabbed a handful of magic powder from the barrel and put it in his pocket. He thought how pretty Lily was and how handsome Slone was and that made him forget to get two full pockets of magic powder.

            He went outside and climbed on his SNARF-EN-BARGER (that was his giant turtle). "OK, Snarfy," he said, "Let's go. Yippee-dippy-doo-doo." So Snarfy walked slowly through the woods. But after a while he turned his head and said, "You are heavy, Mr. Poo-Poo."

            MP laughed. "My name's not Poo-Poo. It's Pooka and you know that."

            "Oh yup-yup, I certainly do know that your name is Poop-Poop. You should change your name."

            "No. No. You TURKY-DURKY-WARFEN NARF! Now I know you are teasing me, so behave yourself or I'll turn you into a worm."

            "Oh, sure TUBBY-WUBBY TOOT-POO. If I'm a worm, then how will you ride me? ha ha ha.”

            "You silly FLUBBLE-DUBBLE-TUBBLE. All I have to do is change myself into an ant and I'll ride on your back. Anyway, this is all non-sense." So Mr. Harvey Stewart (that's his real name, but he didn't use it much because people called him Mr. Pooka=MP, or just Pooka) sprinkled some magic powder on the turtle (the turtles name is Shelly) and it made him able to walk faster. Then a little more powder made him able to run.

            But now MP was bouncing up and down on the back of the hard turtle shell and his hind-end was getting sore. Bump. Bump. Bump. Sore. Sore. Sore. When Shelly got to the hidden tunnel, MP jumped off Shelly and rubbed his hind-end for a long time. He rubbed his hinny so hard that he farted on his hand. "OOH. Stinky, stinky," he said as he laughed. But when he laughed his body shook and farted a lot more. "Pew," he said. "I smell just like Stinky Pants." =SP

            "Who’s Stinky Pants?" Shelly asked.

            "SP is my friend, Slone. When he farts it kills all the bugs in the house and his Momma has to open all the windows. But Rosy Butt=MB, that's Lily, smells wonderful, like a garden full of fragrant roses."

            Shelly said, "I just saw the sun move and I think I saw a red star following it."

            "No, that's just a big yellow balloon. Maybe a little red one too. Someone is having a party and they let the balloon go into the sky. "See you later," MP said to the Shelly, as he dived down the hole, right into a deep mud puddle. Yuck. Yuck. Now he was all covered with mud with two pink eyes peeking out of his muddy face. He looked like a giant chocolate candy bar with red, jelly-bean eyes.

            It’s a good thing that he had magic powder. Without thinking much about it, he used more of the powder than he should have to clean himself so that his fur could be white again. But he needed to have light and the tunnel was dark now, so he threw magic powder onto the ceiling as he walked and the powder lighted the tunnel, after he sang the first line of a magic song: NOODLE-DOODLE-WEENIE-MEANIE-STICK YOUR HEAD INTO A BEANIE.......

            Then MP heard a big boom, bang, clang and the tunnel filled up with smoke and heat. MP saw fire at both ends of the tunnel. The tunnel grew dark again as he started coughing. His eyes watered from the irritation of the smoke. He reached for more magic powder, but all he found was a little bit that was not even enough to fill a salt shaker. He squeezed his tearful eyes in anger at himself for not bringing more. Suddenly he was knocked unconscious by something hard that smashed him in the head. He fell to the ground as dirt and rocks covered him. His last thought was, “Lily. Slone. I need help.”

            As he lay buried and unconscious the remainder of the tunnel caved-in. Now MP was buried even deeper under more dirt and stones. Dirt filled his nose and mouth (luckily his eyes were closed). The heavy rocks squeezed his body making it even harder to breath the dusty air as he choked and coughed. His warm blood flowed down the back of his head and neck.

                                         *

            The yellow witch (YW) said to the red witch (RW), "See, my dear. I told you he was stupid and that we could get him."

            RW: “Yeah. He’s dead now. He won't give us trouble, that’s for sure.”

            YW: That’s right. He's finally dead. Later we'll get those two brats that are his friends. You know, those kids named Silly and Bone. I think that's their names. Maybe it's Willy and Stone.”

            The witches stayed near the collapsed tunnel all night to make sure that Mr. Pooka was dead. The night was quiet and nothing happened, so now they knew the Pooka was dead for sure. They flew away laughing loudly.

            YW: "We really fooled him. He thought we were a yellow and red balloon. Really stupid, huh?"

            RW: "Yeah. Really dumb, dumb, smell my thumb. Ha ha ha."

            Now the witches sang a song:

“

            Yes, yes, the Pooka is dead.

            We buried him in a dirt bed.

            We made him feel the pain,

            By smashing him in the brain.

            We’ll dance on that Pooka's grave,

            And very happy is how we’ll behave.

            That Pooka, Pooka went bye-bye.

            We laughed and watched him die.

PART 2

            Sunday morning, after they had killed the Pooka, the yellow and red witches went to Mr. Pooka's house and stole most of his food and drinks for a celebration party. Then, just to be meaner, they knocked over tables and chairs, broke dishes and glasses and even the front door window as they left.

            "That Stupa-dupa-poopoo pooka won't need this stuff anymore," the Yellow Witch cackled with excitement.

            Then they flew back to their cold, mountain cave and had a party. All their sister and cousin witches were there, too, like the purple witch, black witch, green witch, blue witch and many more. They drank frog-noggen-snorker-dorfen juice (made from frog brains, bat’s eyes, rat’s tongues and the blood of a Toomy Moony monster).

            That same Sunday afternoon the Bonnewell family returned home early from the lake. Lily and Slone had fun, but they wanted to see how Mr. Pooka was doing. They called him on the phone, but he didn't answer.

            They asked their Momma and Poppa if they could ride their bikes to Mr. Pooka's house and their parents both said, "Yes, you may do that, but don't stay long. Be home for dinner."

            Slone and Lily ran out the door, climbed on their bikes. Slone zoomed away really fast on his fart bike. His farts made him go a lot faster than Lily could go. He got there first, but waited for Lily.

            Lily said, "Riding behind you is really stinky. Pew, pew, pew. You're a stinky poo."

            Immediately they saw the broken window but they still knocked on the door, but got no answer. They looked into another porch window, but did not see Mr. Pooka. They knocked again, then opened the door and walked into the house. The house was a mess, and they wondered why and how it happened. They heard a noise at the front door and turned around.

            Shelly, the turtle, and Hoot, the owl were near the door. It was a funny sight seeing Hoot riding on Shelly’s shell, but something wasn’t right. Lily and Slone noticed that they both had tears in their eyes. Hoot said that they had been waiting to give them the sad news that Mr. Pooka was dead and buried in the tunnel that went to The House of a Thousand Doors (THTD)."

            Lily and Slone wondered what exactly had happened. Shelly told them that the Yellow Witch (YW) and the Red Witch (RW) blew-up both ends of the tunnel while MP was in the middle of it and that the whole tunnel had collapsed with MP being buried in it. “He must have run out of magic powder, Shelly guessed.”

            "Show us! Show us, quickly," yelled Lily.

            "Fast, fast!" screamed Slone.

            "It happened yesterday morning. It's too late now," Hoot said.

            "Wait Slone. We have to get some of the MP's hidden magic powder. Remember? He told us where he hides it. It's at the bottom of the garbage can, in a Zip-Lock plastic bag."

            "I don't want to reach into the garbage can and get all slimy. You do it," said Slone.

            "Oh, don't be a chicken," Lily yelled at him. We just have to take the garbage-can bag out and take out the bag of magic powder. It's not inside the garbage bag. It's under the garbage bag. We can us the magic powder (MP) to save Mr. Pooka."

            "Oh. OK, sorry I complained. Let's do it."

            Lily and Slone ran into the house. Slone pulled the garbage bag out of the can and Lily reached into the bottom of the can and picked up the MP bag. They ran outside, sprinkled magic power (MP) all over Hoot and changed him into a giant owl. Lily and Slone climbed onto Hoot and Hoot flew them to the tunnel in the woods.

            Shelly was left behind and was not happy. He Yelled at Lily, Slone and Hoot, "You are all MEANY-WEENIE-BOOGER-EATERS."

            When they arrived at the tunnel, Lily and Slone jumped off of Hoot and ran to where the tunnel used to be.

            "Oh, no," Slone said. "The tunnel is caved-in. Mr. Pooka is probably dead and we weren't here to help him against the bad witches. He must have run out of "MP" or he would have been able to save himself."

            "Well, we can't just give up. We can see where the tunnel was because the ground sinks where it collapsed. You spread some MP at the end of the tunnel and I'll spread it on the beginning of the tunnel and we will meet in the middle. You know, spread it on top of the ground where the ground sinks down a little bit."

            "Yeah, I can see it now," Slone said.

            So Lily and Slone spread the MP on top of the ground where the tunnel had collapsed inward.

            Slone said, "We need big ears now so we can hear if anything is breathing or moving down there."

            "Great idea, Slone," Lily told her brother. "That's a good way to use your stinker."

            "What? I didn't fart. I used my brain."

            "Yeah. That's what I mean. You used your stinker. That's your brain. It's a stinker, not a thinker."

            Lily and Slone spread MP over both their ears and they grew big. They could hear the worms talking to each other under the ground. Then, at one part of the ground, Slone thought he heard shallow breathing, but no movement, and it was not the worms breathing.

            "I hear Mr. Pooka breathing, but it's as if he’s almost dead," Slone said. "Come here and see if you hear it?"

            Lily moved near Slone and listened. "Holy-marfin-folly-dolly-poo. I do hear breathing. But it’s not in the tunnel. Come. Move over here a little bit."

            "Yeah, I know. It's a little ways away from the tunnel, like there was another tunnel that went away from the tunnel that we used."

            "Oh, yes, yes," Lily yelled. "MP must have tried to dig another tunnel so he didn't get trapped in the old tunnel when it collapsed. How very smart of MP."

            "But he's still trapped. He didn't have enough air to breath and he got weak. He must have fainted because all his air is disappearing. Good thing it lasted as long as it did, and good thing we came home in the afternoon and not late at night.

            "Thinkee-Winkee on you sister. You have a stinker for a thinker, too."

            “OK. Enough. Put your big ear to the ground and listen. I'll do the same."

            In a minute Lily's and Slone's heads came together. Slone said, "We found it, Lily. This spot is exactly over the MP's head."

            "Yeah. This is where the breathing is the loudest. MP sounds like a hibernating bear. Like he knew that he had to be asleep for a long time so he slowed down his body system so he would last longer."

            "Let's dig!" Slone shouted.

            "Whoo, whoo," said the owl. "I can get Mr. Woodchuck to dig faster than you can. We call him Chuck."

            Hoot screeched and Chuck came out of the bushes. "I was wondering when you'd think of me. I can dig fast. Watch me."

            Chuck dug fast, then faster than he’d ever dug before. In seconds he had dug a deep hole. He stopped when he saw something white. It was one of MP’s ears. Then Chuck used his tail to brush the dirt off of Mr. Pooka's face.

            Now they could all see that Mr. Pooka was alive, but he didn't wake up, even when Lily and Slone called his name and poked at him.

            Lily had an idea. She got a little of the magic power and dropped it over MP’s eyes and nose. It worked. Soon MP’s eyes opened, he shook his head to get the remainder of the dirt out of his face, then coughed and spit some dirt out. Then he smiled as he looked up at Lily, Slone, Hoot and Chuck.

            Suddenly MP looked serious and asked Chuck, “Who are you.”

            “I’m so glad to meet you MP. My name is Chuck.”

            “Well Chuck,” MP said as he squinted his eyes, “you sat on my face and you have a stinky butt. But I forgive you since you helped save me.” Then looking at Lily and Slone he stated, “OK my friends. Grab my hands and pull me out.”

            “It was those witches that did this,” MP said as Lily and Slone each grabbed a hand and almost had MP out of the hole but couldn’t get him out of the last few inches. Then MP squealed and jumped out the rest of the way. He put his hand on his butt and said, “Yikes. That hurt.”

            Lily, Slone and Hoot had no idea what he meant, until they noticed that Chuck was now peeking out of the hole and had a big smile across his face. “Sorry MP. I had to bite your butt to make you jump out.”

            “One day I’ll bite your arse and see how you like it. But, again, I thank you for the help. And Hoot. I’m sorry I didn’t thank you. Been kind of busy.”

            As MP was talking, Lily and Slone looked at each other and mouthed the word, “Arse?”

            MP let out a big breath of relief. "I knew my best friends would come and get me out of the tunnel after it exploded. I was under a pile of dirt and rocks so I dug another little tunnel into the side of the collapsed main tunnel. And now my friends have saved me from the worst danger that I’ve ever been in. The lack of air made me faint and that actually helped me stay alive longer, like a hibernating bear. That way I wouldn’t need as much oxygen and it worked."

            "Lily and Slone, you look really funny with those big ears. But I think you should leave them like that. They’ll come in handy on Halloween. Ha, ha, ha," MP laughed.

            "Oh no," Lily and Slone complained. “The other kids will make fun of us."

            "Oh all right." Mr. Pooka blew magic powder on them and their ears returned to their normal shape. Then MP said, "Thank you very much, Hoot and Butt-Biting -Chuck. I really appreciate your help. You may leave now."

            After MP changed Hoot back to a normal size, he flew away to find Shelly and explain what had happened, and Chuck ran back to his own family.

            Mr. Pooka picked up Lily and Slone, put them on his shoulders, then ran back to his house like a bolt of lightning.

            Back at the house, he said, "We can't let those witches get away with trying to kill me. Do you want to help me?"

            "Oh, yes," Lily said, eagerly.

            “You bet your arse,” stated Slone with a mischievous giggle.

            Lily bumped into her brother and whispered, “Stop that.”

            MP said, “Sorry. Arse means ass, but don’t say it anymore.”

            “OK,” Slone said. Then added, “We have to go home for dinner.”

            “OK. Then come to my house next Saturday and we will make a plan to get back at those witches. Go home now. It’s getting late and your Momma and Poppa will worry about you.

            When Lily and Slone got home, dinner was on the table and their Mom said, "You’re just in time."

            Poppa said, "Did you have a good time with Harvey . . . I mean Mr. Pooka?"

            “You bet we did. Lily and I saved .....” Then Slone felt the pain of being kicked from under the table by Lily.

            “What were you going to say, Slone?” his Mom asked.

            Slone rubbed his shin, looked angrily at Lily, then said, “Oh. Nothing. It wasn’t important.”

            “We always have a good time with him,” Lily added.

            Then Lily and Slone looked at each other and smiled. As they ate they were thinking about next Saturday.

THE END