A Bedtime Fable

 

            I was tired. I was so tired it felt like an out of body experience. In my mind’s eye I could see myself flopped out on the bed sideways, fully dressed. Man, that woman looked pooped with her arms flung out in full surrender.
            It had been a couple of days, and a half. Tis the season, right? Jolly with undernotes of fraught. Today had been the big day. There was the roast. Then there were the potatoes, the salad, finger foods, drinkables, fruitcake, those things. There were the dishes. The flowers sat in center stage, a signal.
            Roses in December!
            There had been tears, and reconciliation, but as wonderful as that was, it takes a lot out of a woman to be the facilitator. Her mind wandered, hinting at sleep. I could see that I was losing focus there on the bed. Anybody could have seen it.
            I had instructed all of my various relations that I wanted nothing. Please. The stuff of a lifetime surrounded me. No more!
            What did this woman want for Christmas, she asked herself with a laugh, alone there in the dark bedroom. Performing some combination of wish and dream, she told herself that she wanted someone to put her to bed. Let someone else do the heavy lifting for once! She was too tired.
            The tired woman wished to be tended by tigers. It was, admittedly, odd, but then she might have been dreaming. Tiger lady’s maids. Helpful tigers. Beautiful tigers…
            “I wish that tigers would put me to bed and let me sleep!” she whispered. “I can’t do it.”
            The closet door was standing open, as it usually was. In the dark recesses, at the back, under the hanging clothing, there was an alien sound. A light windiness. Some rustling, and after that quiet padded footsteps.
            Heavy footsteps coming nearer.
            An impossible, huge striped face popped out of the closet opening and paused. Her golden eyes scanned the room then seized on the woman lying sideways on top of the bed. The rest of the impossibility followed its face into the room. Another followed. They glanced at each other, nearly nodded and approached the bed.
            The first tiger, who shall be named Myrna, rumbled deeply in her chest. She knew her work. Such tigers are very wise.
            The following tiger, Philina, rumbled her agreement.
            Each tiger took one of the sleeper’s hands in her gentle mouth, as she would have picked up a kitten, and pulled the lady to a sitting position. Her head flopped forward and her hair, falling out of its clip, hung down nearly to her lap.
            The lady wore a long sleeved red sweater. Myrna and Philina each gripped a side of the sweater at its hem and pulled it forward until it popped clear of the woman’s form. The sleeves cleared her last. She wore a sport bra. A one piece thing. They dealt with it in the same fashion.
            Then Myrna, with a little wuff, gave her a soft push, allowing her to lie back down across her bed. She lay there without motion. Her dark hair was fanned out around her head in tangles.
            Myrna looked around the room. She seemed to know what she wanted. At last she found the nightgown hanging on a hook behind the bedroom door. She rose up on her hind feet, taller than the door, so that she could unhook it, then she carried it over to the bed.
            The woman wore sandals. Philina, using her teeth gently, pulled them off of the woman’s feet and set them together neatly under the bed. They wouldn’t be lost in the morning.
            Getting her out of her jeans was harder. But they did it inch by inch, rolling her from side to side and tugging.
            Myrna hung the jeans on the hook on the back of the door first. Then she hung the sweater over it, so as not to leave any untidiness for morning.
            Then they set to work putting her nightgown over her head. First they had to sit her up again. Working together using their teeth they settled it over her head.
            “Stand up, please,” said Myrna in a voice like butterscotch. And like an obedient sleepy child the woman stood, and the nightgown’s hem fell down around her feet. But her arms still weren’t in the sleeves.
            “Sally,” whispered Philina, “Put your arms into your sleeves, please.”
            And Sally did as she was bidden.
            Philina’s golden eyes looked on in fond approval. Her whiskers were wonderful to behold when she was pleased.
            While Sally was still standing, Myrna climbed up on the bed like the tiger in some old painting, and carefully pulled the covers back.
            Sally still stood there in her long white nightgown, dreaming perhaps.
            Myna and Philina each put her head under one of Sally’s arms and guided her to bed. Myrna pulled the covers up to Sally’s chest level and then she hopped back down to the floor.
            Sally looked just about right lying there.
            But, being tigers, there was one more thing. As tenderly as the mothers they were, they scrubbed her face and hands with their rough tongues until they felt she was clean enough to be allowed to sleep.
            Some wind could be hear softly sighing in the back of the closet. Myrna looked at Philina and then at the closet.
            First Myrna, then Philina padded softly to the open closet door. One large striped body after the other disappeared into its depths. Nothing remained, not even a whisper of wind. The hanging clothing shifted a bit and then was still.
            In the bed, Sally smiled and rolled over onto her left side. Sleepily, she pulled her pillow down into a better position. She placed her hands just so. She felt as if she might sleep until noon the next day. Not a doubt about it. None at all.

Northbound I-5 by the Fogline

            Since I was driving my daughter back to Seattle anyhow, we decide to take a look at some of the flooded areas around the town of Snohomish. This involved taking old Broadway south out of Everett, and turning left on the Lowell-Larimer road which goes down to the level of the Snohomish River and follow it along into the small city of Snohomish. All of these shots were take by Navigator.

            We had the window down and it was very chilly and wet out there. 

            These photographs are taken of the area across the road from the actual river.

            In town, we saw that the river was back down into its bed, but the fields all around were still full of water.

            We checked to see if it was possible to drive across the valley shown in the video yesterday. But it was still closed, thought was obvious that the water level across the valley was going down.

            The best way to get out of the area was to take Highway 9 southward, so that's what I did. We visited Woodinville on the way to Bothell and then on to Seattle proper.

            It was a very dim, grey, rainy trip.

            Not much of a day for photos!

Notice the tractor up to its engine in water?

 

            One of those houses along that road where it has flooded many times. The wise man built his house with a big flow through basement level!

            Unfortunately, this is the tweaker camp. The city lets them stay.

            Bound for home finally. This is the intersection of 65th and Roosevelt Way in Seattle's University district. The sun was trying to get through the clouds a little. It was nice, not raining there. But on I-5 about when I got to Shoreline it started raining. It was a thick rainfall. It was like that all the way to Everett. I really did have to keep my eye on the fogline!

            So, that's my December 26th report. Glad to be out of the rain!

💦

Just A Word From Our Sponsor

 

            

            Hey, greetings everybody! I thought I'd just stop by and say "Hi!" I also had another great idea! You know, great ideas are how I roll!

            I'm here to issue a standing invitation for you to come on up and visit the Great Forest. I'll be here. We might even bump into each other, if we're both lucky at the same time.

            Sometimes it looks dark and gloomy here, but it's not really like that.

             It's grey, soft, obscure...a dreamy landscape where anything is possible.

            While I'm at it, does anybody have anything you'd like to ask me? If I'm not around just whistle up Maeve and she'll bring me the message on mighty black wings. 

            It's been a heck of a great year. 

            Love, RALPH

🌿

Merry Christmas Dear Friends

 

Happiest of Christmas Days to You!
All Cats and Kitties,
Bunnies, Doggies and Mice,

All Winged Things,

All of Creation!
May GOD bestow all of His Blessings upon You!

Today and Always!

🤍

How Can It Be? It's Christmas Eve Already!

 

We're wishing you happiness this Christmas Eve.
It's been wonderful sharing 2025 with you all!
Peace & Love,
P and LoneStar

🤍

So, What Do Girls Want For Christmas?

 

            It was a funny time of year for it, but Twigg had been working on something. He had been thinking about the little house of living saplings that he had made for Bernadette and all the B’s. He knew that it could be done full size and he was thinking that a Basket House of his own, near his family would be a fine thing and that it would un-crowd the family cave to have him sleeping in his own place.
            So he picked a spot at the edge of the meadow where tall alder saplings grew in a convenient pattern. It wasn’t too far from the Gifting Stump where he and Marge had first met and made friends. He wasn’t in a big hurry, he was mostly planning and thinking of how best to make it.
            There was some snow out there, but snow doesn’t concern such as Twigg very much, in fact they enjoy the nice cold stuff. Forest People are very warm blooded.
            The morning after the night that he had walked into the campground to Marge’s camp host mobile, Twigg got up early. He wanted to talk to Ramona. He knew she was out there working around her fire, stirring up something for the first meal of their day.
            She was frying a great quantity of grated potatoes and onions, courtesy of Ooog’s winter storage of those two items. There would be warmed over venison too. And coffee.
            Twigg stepped out into the cold morning air, with his breath flying out before him. He closed the green door quietly, and said, “Mom?”
            “Yes, my beloved son?” said Ramona.
            “I wanted to ask you something about girls,” said he.
            “Oh! Ask away. You have come to an expert. Why, I myself, was a girl at one time,” said his mother.
            “I thought so,” said Twigg. “What I want to know is what do you think I can give Marge for this Christmas time that the humans have? What do girls want?”
            She flipped her potatoes and onions over thoughtfully. He didn’t see that her eyebrows were up while she thought. Then she said, “Well, the answer to that comes in two parts. The first part is that if she cares about you, anything that you give her will be precious to her. In a way it doesn’t matter.
            “However, it will matter to you. I think that you must make her something that represents you. Something not too large. Something that will last. Because she will keep it forever and you want it to be well made. But, what, I can’t tell you,” said Ramona at last, turning back to him.
            “Do you remember what I said to you a while ago, Twigg?” she said.
            “Yes, Mom, I do remember,” he said, a little sadly, because his heart was a very sweet and tender heart. Ramona knew this.
            “Some sort of keepsake, Twigg. Maybe a place to keep her hopes and dreams in,” said the mother.
            They heard the door to the cave open then and Ralph came out blowing steam in the cold air and yawning. He was followed by Cherry and Blue in a moment. Cats don’t care for potatoes and onions, so they stayed abed for a while. They do like venison though, so eventually they came out too.    
            So, the family ate and the day began.
            Twigg went out to his chosen building site. He had an idea of what he wanted to make for the gift. It would be made of small twigs. So he gathered an armful of the smaller branches off of the alder saplings. He carried these back home.
            He worked all day, sitting by the fire where the light was good. The cave was dim inside.
            When he was done, he had made an oval shaped shallow basket about 12 inches long with a recessed lid. He decorated the lid with some Oregon grape leaves, which look a lot like holly, though he knew nothing of the tradition of holly at Christmas. He put a layer of small Douglas fir branch tips inside it in a soft layer.
            Next, he made his way to the river. He was losing the light, since the days were so short, but he had time to search among the gravel just at the edge of the stream where he found a handful of small agates and a few other pretty rocks.
            Back at the Home Clearing, Twigg arranged the rocks inside the basket. At last he was pretty pleased with the effect.
            He was eager to take the basket to Marge immediately, so basket in arm, Twigg walked back to the deserted campground, heading to Marge’s little place. As he approached, he thought that it looked so pretty with its string of multi-colored lights arranged around the front of the mobile. The lights framed her kitchen window where the small Christmas tree shone out into the darkness. He could see why the Hairless loved those lights. They weren’t able to make the little lights like he and his people could, which Twigg thought was a little sad.
            Making brand new big footprints in the snow, he walked straight to her door and knocked. Then he waited.
            She opened the door just a crack to see who was knocking on her door in the dark of the campground.
            “Twigg! Come in,” Marge said. “Can you fit through this little door?”
            He ducked his head and stepped in. “I guess so,” he said.
            “What brings you here tonight, Twigg?”
            “I couldn’t wait. I made you a present for your Christmas, Marge, look!” said Twigg.
            And look she did, slowly and carefully. She lifted the lid after examining its décor, and touched the rocks inside.
            “Twigg, this is the most beautiful thing I have ever had in my life. You are a true artist. It’s too wonderful!” she said. She just looked at the basket for a few silent moments.
            “You know what? I have something for you too!” laughed Marge. “Hang on, it’s in the other room.”
            “Let me explain,” she said. “I got you a Swiss Army knife, a red one so it’s easier to find if you drop it somewhere. But then I thought, oh no, Twigg doesn’t exactly have pockets. So, I bought you a crossbody bag to put it in! And here it is!”
            She handed him the knife, after demonstrating how it worked. He handled it as if it were the most precious thing he had ever seen. Then she showed him how to wear the bag and that it had a zipper.
            “Thank you, Margie,” Twigg whispered. “It’s beautiful and I will always and always keep it forever. I could have used a knife today!”
            “Are you hungry?” said Marge, knowing that a Squatch is always hungry. “Let’s make some sandwiches and tea. I have corned beef, Swiss cheese and rye bread. You’ll love it!”
            She made room on her table for the beautiful basket, then gathered supplies for the sandwiches, and started water for tea.
            Twigg watched while she made three big thick sandwiches. Two were for him and one for her. He did love the sandwiches and thought the tea was very nice too, especially since she put quite a lot of sugar in it.
            They talked and laughed for an hour or so, then Twigg said, “I’ll go home now.”
            When he stood to go, Marge hugged him, which was kind of comical because he was about 7 feet tall and she was about 5’7”. So basically she kind of hugged his middle. But they didn’t care.
            They said their goodnights and he left the same way he had come, making even more big footprints in the snow.
            Marge locked the little metal door. Then she sat on her kitchen chair looking at the basket. She wept a bit because she was a girl and that’s what girls do, sometimes. She knew she would keep the twig basket as long as she lived.

🎁

The Crowds At Christmas Time

🎄 Merry Christmas!🎅

Three Shopping Days to Christmas!

Seattle, in more colorful recent days!

🌟

In 1954 Northgate Mall had the world's tallest Christmas tree.

The whole story about that.

            Do you remember the countdown before Christmas? First there were months of shopping days, then there were 20 something days. Then there would be a week, or less than a week? This was serious business! You sure didn’t want to be out trying to get some shopping done before the stores closed on Christmas Eve. And yet, some people did that very thing.
            I think back to before Amazon, or catalog shopping. You had to show up in person, with your checkbook in hand. This was before the internet ruled life.
            And yet, though it sounds strange now, there was a cheerful busyness to it. It was part of the season, part of the celebration of Christmas was being out there on the hunt for the best gifts you could find at your local stores.
            There was even a time before shopping malls! Do you remember?
            If you lived downtown there were usually some department stores, and that’s where most people did their Christmas shopping.
            Now, as it happens, I remember the 1950s from a child’s point of view. The first place I remember being brought along to while my mother shopped was Seattle’s Northgate Mall, which happens to have been the first mall in the sense we think of a mall in the whole United States. It was built in 1950 and it was a new thing. To a small girl it was quite an experience. Crowded. Everyone either in a sort of Christmas state of mind, or else not so much.
            We used to go out in the world and be among one another. Amazing. Just as if we were social creatures, and even recognized each other as fellow people on a mission.
            Even non-Christmas shopping and other business was done in person, out in the open around other people. It sounds maybe a little quaint now. Heck, the grocery shopping used to be a social experience. You were forced to deal with other humans face to face, more or less. There's nothing wrong with a little anonymous sociabilty.
            I’m thinking it might be good to do some of that again.
            So, back to the countdown, we have today, tomorrow, and maybe Christmas Eve left for Christmas prep.
            I hope that all of your shopping and mailing are done already and you are having a relaxed and cheerful holiday time!

🌟

Suzy's Latest Take on Philosophy

🎄 Meowee Christmas!🎄

4 days!

  

          Sometimes it’s very instructive to just let your cats talk amongst themselves and listen to them. You can learn a lot that way. You really have to pay close attention.

            For instance, last night Suzy was reclining, Odalisque style, on the old gas heater and she looked thoughtful as she often does. Willie, the built-in masculine gainsayer was on the green chair just in front of the heater. They were talking about a workable philosophy of life. Cats are past masters at this because they have nothing else to do really.

            “I think I have it figured out,” said Suzy.

            Willie’s eyes flew open in alarm. “What!”

            “How life works. I’ve got it this time,” said she.

            “That’s a little sinister coming from you,” Willie laughed.

            “No, listen, Willie. You know how they’re always talking about all different kinds of living creatures as if each type is a totally unique entity? Well, that can’t be true.

            “I have come to the conclusion that each species is a different form of cat. Some possessing great feline virtue have a close appearance to a literal cat, such as we are.

            “Some, perhaps having really messed up in a former life, come in forms such as bugs, snakes, fish and all those, or even, shudder, as dogs. It’s hard to imagine what a cat could do to come back in the form of a dog!” said Suzy in wonderment.

            “In fact, upon consideration, I have determined that the UR form of life, the original template is that of cat. Erring past lives have to account for the apparent variety!” she said.

            “I find myself quite speechless,” said Willie. This was, of course, not true.

            “Suzy, what about humans?” inquired Willie. I listened very closely then!

            “What I think is this. Those who come back as human were very silly cats, doing things no cat should do,” said Suzy. “Like building things and organizing large groups of cats. That’s not catlike, is it?”

            “What about mice?” said Willie. “Are you sure there isn’t a whole ‘nother order of creation there that you haven’t wedged into your philosophy?” said Willie.

            “No. Mice fit too. They must have been cringing, Scardycats™. Thus they deserve to be mice this time ‘round!” asserted Suzy.

            “Hold up, Suzy. Do you remember what Toots said the last time you got carried away?” said Willie, stifling his guffaws.

            Suzy seemed to be wracking her brain for a few quiet seconds.

            “Not sure,” she said.

            “I’m probably paraphrasing, but what she said was that cat heads are too little for philosophy. It’s not our specialty. We’re made for love, comfort, and napping. And eating, of course! “Just Purr™, Suzy! It’s all ya gotta do!” insisted Willie, rearranging himself to go back to sleep. “Like, take a nap!”

            “Well, if Toots says so, I’ll consider it,” purred Suzy, as she drifted off to sleep.

            And I was left alone there, at my desk, to consider the merits of her assertions!

😻

December 20, The Mt. Baker Snoqualmie National Forest

           It had been a rainy sloppy fall, with floods in the lowlands, but now there was snow in the forest park where Marge did camp host duty. It wasn’t a great deal of snow, and it melted during the daytime, leaving drifts in the shadows. A few hardy types still came up, in campers to spend the night or a few hours in the forest. No tent campers had come lately.

            Marge had helped her mom, Enid, decorate for Christmas at her house over on the dirt road near Ooog and Thaga’s place. That done, she brought a string of multi-colored outdoor lights to the park and arranged them on the outside of her tiny mobile. Then, when she was in town, she went to the Walmart store and bought a very small artificial Christmas tree and set it up in her window where anyone could see it, which was the idea, after all. It came with small white lights attached, but she added some trinkets, shiny balls and a string of glittery stuff.
            She went outside when she was done to have a look. The light was fading, it being 4PM. It looked great in the dim light she thought. Her own Christmas décor. She wished that Twigg would wander over and slip into the park to have a look at her work.
            The next day dawned, colder than the one before, and with a fresh six inches of snow on the ground. Marge dressed warmly, parka and all, and put on her boots. She thought she would just walk around the campground to make sure everything looked OK.
            When she got outside she found big bare footprints around her mobile. So, maybe Twigg had seen her handiwork. She had to assume it was he, because who else would come into the park and walk straight to her home?
            But why didn’t he knock or something, she wondered. While she was wondering she messed up a lot of the prints by stomping around. This involved leaving the campground and walking clear to the ranger station and through the parking lot and over to the area of the dumpster where the tracks went on into the forest. She quit there.
            Right as she was about to go back to her place, an old gray Honda Civic pulled in and parked. She knew the driver alright, but they hadn’t talked. It was Dexter, the National Forest trainee coming to work.
            “Hi,” said Dexter when he got out of the Honda. Then he blushed and walked quickly to the station door and went inside. Rick was already there; his truck was parked in its usual spot. All was quiet again in the parking lot.
            “Hi!” Marge had said to his retreating back.
            “Funny guy,” Marge said to the silent air. Then she forgot about Dexter. It was so pretty outside, so crispy and cold. Clumps of snow fell out of some of the firs making soft landings on the snow covered ground.
            Inside the office, Dexter watched at the window as she walked away. He felt like a total clown.
            Rick walked out of the kitchen nook with a coffee mug in his hand.
            “Good morning,” he said absently and plopped down at his desk. “I made the coffee. Help yourself.”
            Dexter did help himself. With his coffee, he took a seat silently.
            Rick glanced up at him, and then down to his laptop, which he was fiddling with.
            “I want you to go up and tell Marge that I’m going to close the camp for January and February. Her mom lives close. We’ll play March by ear depending on the weather,” said Rick.
            To tell the truth, Marge kind of scared Dexter. He hadn’t ever been good at conversing with girls, even at school. But, he manfully got up to follow directions.
            Ranger Rick smiled a little after Dexter left the office.
            On the way up to see Marge, he noticed a whole string of scuffed out foot prints leading from the edge of the forest. It seemed odd. The strange trail continued all the way to the camp mobile.
            As Dexter approached he saw that the mobile had been decorated for Christmas. All his memories of Christmas past crowded into his mind. He loved the lights. He loved how it transformed the world, just by putting up those colored lights. He saw her little fake tree in the window, shining bravely. He stopped and looked for a moment, then walked on.
            Dexter knocked on her door and waited.
            The door opened and there she was. Hair pinned up, Carhartt overalls, a long sleeved black t-shirt with the sleeves shoved up to her elbows. Sharp blue eyes asking a question.
            “Hi, Dexter. Do you want to come in? Are you here on business?” she laughed.
            “Yeah. Both. I’ll come in and I’m here on business,” he said.
            There were two kitchen chairs beside a truly tiny table, the one with the little tree on it. So they sat there by the Christmas tree.
            “When I walked up I thought what you did looked really pretty,” said Dexter.
            “Thank you,” said Marge.
            “The business is that Rick wanted me to tell you that he’s going to close the campground for January and February, and maybe March if the snow is too deep for campers,” said Dexter.
            “I wondered. I was going to go talk to him about winter. I guess, I’ll go stay with mom and her husband for the winter. I guess I’ll still be around in the spring. I think,” she said.
            “I thought you might be upset,” said Dexter. “Hey, I followed some really weird tracks up here. I bet you know something about them. Looked like somebody was obscuring someone’s trail.”
            “Well, yeah. You remember Twigg? I guess he came up here to see me in the middle of the night and I was already asleep,” she said. “So, I messed up his footprints, just in case anyone but one of you guys saw them. There aren’t any Forest People here, by definition, and I mean to help keep it that way.”
            “Can I ask you a question,” said Dexter.
            “I guess so, how bad can it be?” said Marge.
            “Are you and Twigg together, you know?” he blurted out.
            She looked at him for a count or two and then said, “Nah! Me and Twigg are like we had the same mommy and daddy!” Then she giggled like it was a pretty funny idea.
            “I just wondered!” said Dexter. Then he laughed.
            “Alright, I’ll go tell Rick you’ve got the message,” said Dexter. “See ya!”
            And off he went!

🎄

Out Of The Mists Of The Everett Past

   

It vas a black and vhite vorld back den...

  

       As it happens, I was preparing to write a short open thread type post about a guy who wrote and performed a funny PNW Christmas song. 
            When I did my little bit of research on this character, I was surprised to learn that he had been born in Everett, WA in 1925 to Norwegian, of course, parents, who parents were Norwegian immigrants. 
            This town used to be kind of Norski/Native central. That's still here, but less so.
            Anyhow, this funny guy was Stan Boreson. He used to do a kid's live TV show that sibs and I watched pretty faithfully. There were several of these TV shows in those days. I think we put up with his jokes and songs to get to the cartoon. There was always a cartoon tucked into kid's TV shows, the prize in the box of grownup's attempts to entertain children.
            Stan was a Seattle fixture. The kind of guy with a low level public persona. You knew who he was if you saw him around Seattle.
            He did a whole Christmas album, but this song is the one I always think of around Christmas.  

Boreson, Stan (1925-2017)

A nice history by History Link

Musician, recording artist, humorist, and pioneering '50s kiddie-TV show star -- Stan Boreson was Everett's king of Scandinavian humor. He has brought joy to generations in his native Northwest, across America, and around the globe. In his six decades of recording and performing, Boreson became a regional icon, an American treasure via sales of his 15 albums and a half-dozen appearances on Garrison Keillor's radio show A Prairie Home Companion, and an in-demand act who once accepted a direct concert request by King Olav of Norway, and later in 2005, was further honored by Norway's King Harald V with the St. Olav Medal of Honor -- one step shy of full knighthood....

 

🎼

❄

The Christmas Puppy for Purrsday!

 

🤍🐶🤎

            On the occasion of Christmas 2023, we presented a reading of The Christmas Puppy, written by Kathryn Jackson, who wrote many of the Golden Books of days of yore. It was illustrated by Richard Scarry, whose pictures are also well know to all readers of children's books.
            I went hunting for information about the book, The Animal's Merry Christmas, which includes The Christmas Puppy. It's out of print since the 1950s. There is a newer printing with Scarry's name predominate. It was hard to find except on Etsy or Ebay. 
            It is offered again this year in an appeal to simpler days, childhood, and the child's love of Christmas. Included here is the recording I made of me reading it back then. I hope it's loud enough!

            PS, there are any number of stories out in the wild called The Christmas Puppy! I had to search carefully.

🎄

The Night Louis Went To Payson

 

 
            Louis had been thirteen years old for as long as anyone could remember.
            Louis liked to hang around in town, cloaked of course. He was largely unsupervised.
            Mr. and Mrs. Ferard Feather were harmless retirees. They ate dinner at 5PM and turned out the lights before the evening news. They had two cats, who slept with them. Frank and Jesse.
            Louis had heard an oogah horn somewhere. Maybe it was a generational knowing. Or he had been listening outside some house and heard a TV program about the old days. He thought it was an excellent sound bite.
            It was a beautiful Arizona night. The sky was deep with stars. The Saguaro stood silently, rapt. One owl mentioned a thing to another owl. Then it was as silent as silent can be.
            There was frost on the ground, but Louis doesn’t get cold. He had slept the day away and he was awake now.
            He took a little stroll into the residential part of town. It was that time of year when people put colored lights on the outside of their houses and on trees in their yards. Most of the houses had lights on inside and the inhabitants were doing whatever humans do all the time in those closed wooden boxes. It confused Louis. There was nothing of interest in those boxes as far as he was concerned. He knew because he had looked.
            He chose the house with darkened windows. Those were the best.
            He went to the window next to the bedroom. He could hear them sleeping in there.
            So, he sent out into the night a series of antique horn honks to the very best of his ability and as loudly as he could.
            Frank and Jesse left the bed for safer climes.
            Francie elbowed Ferard. “Ferd, wake up! Can you hear that?” she said.
            “Yes, Francie, I hear it. Rather stunning, isn’t it?” said sleepy Ferard.
            “Are you going to do something about it? Or shall I?” the wife inquired.
            Mr. Feather got out of bed, put on his heavy robe and some slippers and clumped off to the back door and went outside to see what all the racket was about. He had forgotten his glasses on the beside table, so he wasn’t seeing a whole lot.
            He went around to the side of the house where the bedroom window was.
            “OK, funny guy. Are you still out here?” he said.
            Louis was very happy. Someone had come outside. He sent a cloud of tiny orbs the size of peas out for the nice old man.
            “Very good,” said Ferard. “I wish I could do that.” And he really did wish he could do that.
            The tiny lights flew out into the desert. Louis giggled.
            “So you are still here. Why don’t you show yourself,” said Ferard.
            “You’ll probably scream. They all do,” said Louis.
            “I doubt it,” said the old man. “Go ahead, I’ve already seen everything else.”
            Louis cautiously uncloaked, waiting for the shocked intake of breath and maybe a throaty shriek. Nothing happened.
            There he stood. Over six feet tall, heavily built. Covered in soft brown hair, brown eyed, with a joker’s smirk on his young kisser. He was a good 8 inches taller than Mr. Feather.
            “Hi,” said Mr. Feather. “You woke my wife up and scared my cats.”
            “I wanted to see if I could get somebody to come out of their box,” said Louis.
            “Well, I did. What’s next? Do you have a name?” said the old guy in slippers and robe.
            “I don’t know what’s next,” said Louis. “Usually people run away. My name is Louis.”
            “Nice to meet you, Louis. You seem like a nice kid. Mostly. Tell you what. I’d like to go back to bed and sleep the rest of the night. That OK with you? My name is Feather, by the way.”
            “Sure. That’s OK with me, Feather,” said Louis.
            “Hey, kiddo. Could you make me one of those little lights to take in and show Francie?” said Ferard.
            “Yeah! Hey, cool, Feather! Yeah, I’ll do that!” said Louis. And he did. He made a pink one about as big as a Clementine orange. He made it shimmer, and told it to last all night before going poof.
            “Thanks, Louis. Francie is really going to like this!” said Mr. Ferard Feather. “Goodnight, Son!”
            “Goodnight, Feather. I won’t do it again!” said Louis. “Sleep tight!”
            Ferard went on around the corner of the house to the back door and let himself in. He carried the pink orb carefully in his left hand.
            Louis went on home.
            Of course, what Louis meant was that he wouldn’t do it to the Feather’s house again.

🌵

Happy Tootsday All!

🤍

 Ten Ways To Tell If Ralph Is Secretly Visiting You

1. You hear strange noises, but no one is around and nothing is happening. Such as Jingle Bells, the song or the jingling.

2. You smell wonderful things, and no one is in the kitchen doing anything interesting. Perhaps something like peppermint, or chocolate, or pumpkin pie spice.

3. You hear people outside your house singing songs? Are they songs you know? Or are they songs in a strange sibilant and unfamiliar tongue, but sound very merry? Better run outside and see!

4. Is your cat or your dog acting strangely for no reason? Is she sitting alone and looking around with happy eyes and purring at an empty space? Did he say, “wuff!” a couple of times and then face the window and look back at you and practically nudge you?

5. You suddenly remember happy days of childhood, things you haven’t thought of in decades, things you had forgotten. Tears of joy come unbidden?

6. All of a sudden you feel as if you could run forever? You have astounding strength? Yes?

7. You begin to count your blessings and you lose count! It’s too much! There are so many, and again you weep tender tears.

8. Suddenly you suspect that you are surrounded by angels! Maybe if you try you can see them!

9. Confidence, hope, and love fill your chest, crowding out ennui and weariness.

10. Do you literally feel a big invisible warm hairy hand pulling one of your legs by the foot? Yeah. It’s him. Ralph has come to share some joy with you.  

👣

Water Changes Things!

 

            When the people and their familiar beasts came back down out of the mountain, they found a changed world.
            A rather tentative sun shone above them as they trooped back down the same way they had climbed up two days before. The great Raven flew overhead. Her eye was on all below. From time to time the girl-child looked up to see black wings block the sun. She raised her hand toward the bird.
            Ralph led them into the forest. His feet sank deeply into the sodden soil, then the followers had the same experience. The column of travelers with muddy feet descended further, nearer home.
            A mist came up from the ground, smelling of forest loam and resinous plant life.
            An inquisitive wind came up the path, blowing the mist away.
            There were signs of heavy rain on the way down, but not flood as such.
            Ramona held Cherry tightly in her arms. Blue stayed beside Ramona’s feet. Berry and Bob walked on either side of Twigg behind Ramona. They looked solemnly left and right, staying right with the young man.
            Aunt Suzy, she who had been a queen in some time, whether past or future, no one knew, walked behind Twigg and the cats. Her step was measured, even stately. Last of all was Uncle Bob, short in stature, but earnestly taking care on the trail.
            “Oh, Ralphie, look at it,” he said when they walked out into the open meadow.
            Small pools of water still lay on the ground here and there. But the sun was shining as if to encourage the grasses and flowers to stand again, and the grass was indeed reaching up to the sky.
            “It’ll be alright, Bob,” said Ralph. “Let’s go see how your Stump House made it through the flood.”  
            There was enough standing water to clean the walkers' feet as they traveled on.
            At last everyone stood before the Stump House. Its door still held. The fire pit was gone and would have to be rebuilt, but no great harm was done. In fact, the meadow was higher than the Home Clearing. Uncle Bob and Suzy stayed there, and Ralph led his family on.
            “Birdie!” called Ralph, “Will you go see Thaga and Ooog? Tell them that we are back down from the mountain. Ask them if they are also well.”
            “Yes, I will,” Maeve said, and she left them walking home.
            The path left the meadow and went down the familiar way into the forest. Here the ground cover looked ravaged. It was a solemn homecoming.
            Ralph’s favorite log was there of course, being much too heavy for even a flood to carry away. However, the flood had carried away his stash of cigars and beer. The cigar box and both sixpacks of Heineken were gone without a trace left behind.
            “Could be worse,” said Ralph. Ramona nodded, holding on to Cherry tightly.
            More mist rose from the ground. Water dripped from the firs.
            Maeve returned. She silently lit on Ralph’s shoulder as he walked.
            “Well, Birdie, what did they say?” said Ralph.
            “They are well. Their house was not damaged. The garden will need some work,” said Maeve. “They are grateful to hear that your people and yourself are well and back home.”
            “Thank you, Maeve,” said Ralph.
            The Home Clearing looked washed, as if some gigantic hand had scrubbed it with an impossible amount of water and left it to dry in the sunlight.
            “Ralph, will you open the door. I’m a little afraid to look,” said Ramona. She stood beside her circle of river boulders. There was no trace of a fire ever having burnt there. Nothing was left but the stones.
            The seating logs had rolled a little, but were there.
            “Yes, Mona, I will,” he said and undid the latch and pulled the green painted wooden door, the door made by Ooog, open.
            “The door did its job, Mona. There is just a little water behind the it. Not much at all,” said Ralph.           
            “I was afraid,” she said quietly.
            “We need fire. Twigg and I will go find some wood, then we’ll go get some fish, and life will go on,” said Ralph, looking more like himself.
            And so, after the flood in the Great Forest, life did go on as it always does.
            The river was back in its bed as before.
            The fish were handy and obedient, and the wind helped things dry up nicely.

🐟