It's been quite a year....

 

This has been a year that probably couldn't have been predicted 

by anyone...a year of difficulty... challenge, disappointment, 

uncertainty etc.  I have been delinquent in my writings here for

a number of reasons...I will be physically moving in early October

to a nice little place in Cohocton, N.Y....and just trying to get 

ready for that has been a daunting task.  My books have done well

this year...maybe the lock down has had more people reading, am

not sure....however I haven't been able to reach my publisher and

that has me concerned to some degree.

So... how are you doing at this point in time? Many are feeling

totally isolated, disconnected and alone. If you have any of 

those feelings please drop me a note, I'd love to hear from you.

And I'll hopefully start spending a little more time on my blog 

here...so stop back soon. You can reach me at undertakings@

inbox.com      Promise I'll respond to you!  One on one, 

person to person is really how I think all of us will survive this

crazy year of 2020! SS 

A skate on strange ice....

It's story number 24, page 91 from 

Tales Unleashed.

A Skate on Strange Ice

At age nine, Julie van Buren loved playing in the shallow McHenry Creek, just behind her house in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. She would sit on the bank of the creek with her mother and toss stones into the water; on occasion they would launch a paper boat, set it in the water and watch intently it as it slowly made its way southward. 

Winter time was just as much fun. Her mom would let her skate unattended on the very shallow creek which had a few pools of water less than ten feet across and less than nine inches in depth. It was a safe and gleeful place that had entertained many families over the years. 

Today was a beautiful sunny day in February of 1954. Julie laced up her skates and shoved off from the bank onto the frozen surface of McHenry Creek, its ice lightly covered with fresh snow from the night before. Julie’s smile was ear to ear as she pushed herself around the frozen pool. The scarf wrapped around her neck barely kept the cold air from creeping under her collar. As Julie completed her fourth or fifth trip around the ice, she dropped a glove and quickly turned to retrieve it. She didn’t know why she even had the gloves with her today—it was cold, but the sun was warm, and they were tucked in her coat and out of the way. Julie arrived at the spot where the glove laid, and as she reached down to pick it up, something beneath the ice caught her attention.

She sat down, moved the glove, and brushed away the light snow with her left hand. As she peered down through the ice Julie was startled to see a young girl’s face just below the surface. It was a young face, perhaps about her same age: rounded, highlighted by chin-length blond hair with curls on the forehead. The eyes were closed, and Julie thought it resembled a Halloween mask. The face was pale with no color and no movement whatsoever.

Julie was startled and tried to get up quickly, but lost her balance and fell back to the ice. She struggled to get away from the face that she had just seen. She made her way quickly to the back door and went to the kitchen to report to her mom of her ghostly encounter. Her mother assured her that it was just her imagination, but she persisted and the two returned to the creek and the spot that Julie had told her about. They found nothing.

The next few days passed with little being said about the incident by Julie or her mother. On the fifth day, her mother’s curiosity had gotten the best of her, and while Julie was at school, she went to the local library to do some research.

Finding some Lancaster history books she started thumbing through the pages of gathered materials looking for anything out of the ordinary. One story in particular jumped off the page at her. The headline from 1928 read: Lancaster girl Ruth O’Brien still missing.

Reading on she discovered that the young gal had disappeared in February of that year while playing in light snow. A total search of the area, including local waterways, had shed no clue. Along with the article was a pencil sketch of what Ruth looked like at the time of her going missing. Julie’s mother copied the article and the sketch and took it home, it was something she wanted to study further as time allowed her. 

Three days later young Julie discovered the article and the pencil drawing at her mother’s desk. Picking up the picture and going to the kitchen, Julie said to her mother, “Mom, where did you get this drawing? This is the girl that I saw in the creek last week. Remember me telling you?”

“I’m sure it’s just coincidence, honey,” said her mother. “That little girl lived here a long time ago.”

Julie’s mom decided to call the sheriff the next day, just to report what Julie had seen. The sheriff, getting on in years, chuckled and said, “There have been numerous other sightings over the years of young Ruth, but nothing has ever come of them.”

And so, Julie’s sighting in McHenry Creek would be the latest to be lodged with the local authorities.   The girl Ruth, who had vanished almost three decades ago during the month of February, had just made another brief stop near Lancaster.   

A Beagle in church....

I haven't posted here very much in the last few weeks... things have been

way TOO crazy as you all know. The calamity which has been strangling

us for months on-end has been difficult for everyone...and we can all pray

that as the next weeks and months pass, we will be given some relief from

it all.

It is in such serious times as these, that we must take some time to smile,

frolic a bit...tell a funny story...anything to lighten up the atmosphere which

seems to smother us daily. With that in mind, I'd thought I'd re-post this

story from my first book Undertakings. Every time I think of the day this

even happened, I have to laugh out loud... it was a day I shall not forget..

and I hope you get a kick out of it as well.  So, prepare to smile, whether

or not you are a dog owner....it will make you smile.... and

do something this week for yourself.....something to mentally lift your

spirit. God wants us to enjoy our selves and those around us... no matter

how trying times may become. Stay strong.

A Beagle in Church (Day of the Beagle)

    My assistant and I arrived at the Methodist Church in plenty of time for the scheduled 1:00 pm memorial service.  We unloaded the five floral pieces and placed them appropriately around the alter and the riser in front of where I would be seating the family.

   The gentleman who had passed just three days earlier had been cremated, and his lovely wife, also getting on in years, had decided she would like his service at their church where they had been married some forty- five

years earlier.  This is truly the full circle of life, being baptized at a church, perhaps being married at the same altar a couple of decades later, and finally having your mortal remains taken to the same facility for a final goodbye.  What would transpire at that altar less than an hour from now was another of those “it will never happen again” moments, a moment indeed worth writing about.

   The church members started to arrive within twenty minutes of the appointed hour, and I briskly assisted them at the register book, handing them a service bulletin and directing them to a seat.  One elderly lady with a rough looking fox wrapped about her neck whispered in my ear as she passed, "Do you fellows have Mrs. Billings who passed away last night? She was a dear and I must know where she will be laid out."

   Having no knowledge of the woman's death, I remarked back to her, "I'm so sorry, but no, our firm has not been notified of her passing.  Perhaps one of the other firms in town has her."

   "Oh quite so" she uttered back.  "Although, your firm does such a lovely job, can't see anyone wanting to go elsewhere."

   Before I could suggest she look at the evening newspaper, she had quickly left my left ear and had made her way through the double doors at the back of the church.  She was heading for one of the nearby ancient wood pews, which had no padding, just a straight back and a most uncomfortable contour. I had figured out years ago why so many churches built a century ago configured them as such. It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to fall asleep in one of these pews.  Even if a man or woman of the cloth were to go on for an hour, or more, you most assuredly would have to be constantly manipulating your back and limbs to keep from seizing up.  This surely would keep you awake through the majority of the sermon delivery!

   Within twenty minutes , we had almost seventy people in church.  The pastor winked at me on his way in and said,"Good day young man. I'll try to be brief today."  Now when a Pastor says that, be prepared. What that means is that you will be there for the duration.  In fact, you might miss your first child’s birth.

    Soon, the pastor was at his post, and the organist had sounded the official opening with his rendition of “The Old Rugged Cross”. To my left, came two very young and distinguished looking members of the U.S. Navy. The deceased had been a Veteran of the Navy, and these folks were here to present the flag to his wife who now sat in the first pew on the right. I instructed them on where the wife was seated, what she was wearing etc..  They stretched their necks to make sure they had her in sight and nodded in the affirmative to me.  I thanked them in advance for their service and they said in return to me, "You're welcome Sir.  We are honored to be here today."

    The pastor had finished his sermon and from the pulpit announced that military honors would now be accorded before the final blessings given.  The two service people walked slowly in step up the middle aisle of the church.  Their actions together, almost forming one person.  Military honors were always moving, seeing the flag unfolded, refolded and handed to a loved one, thanking them for the veteran's service to the nation. But today, there would be a little icing on the cake.

    As the service attendants held the flag fully unfolded and prepared for the re-fold, out of a secondary parallel aisle to the left came running the unmistakable brown, black and white dog body of a small Beagle. He hit the main aisle, made a sharp left turn and bolted for the front of the church.  As he passed three rows of pews, several in attendance started to laugh, a sharp contrast to the seriousness of the two Navy personnel who looked on, trying to keep their composure.  As the Beagle passed the eighth and ninth aisles, a gentleman on the very inside reached down, grabbed the Beagle and gingerly pulled him up on the pew, putting to an end to his uninvited presence at this most solemn occasion.

   I believe the widow never knew what happened behind her, and the flag presentation was completed with all its dignity that could be mustered.  We never did find out who the dog belonged to, but everyone in attendance had a smile on their face as they left.  I’m sure many were thinking that this was not an accident, but rather planned by a "Higher Up" authority to lessen the pain of those in attendance. If it was HIS will, it worked.  After all, who couldn't love a Beagle in church. 

"Just the facts Ma'am"....

Friday and Gannon......

A few trivial facts about the famous duo...

Jack Webb would pay $25 to any L.A. police officer who submitted a story that was used for an episode of the TV show Dragnet.

Through all 100 episodes of the series, Friday is only seen wearing something other than his regular suit four times: three times for undercover work and once for a scene in his apartment.

Friday and Gannon used a 1967 Ford Fairlane 4dr. sedan as their squad car.

Gannon and Friday's car was known as unit 1K80

Bill Gannon was married and stated he had four children, while Joe Friday was a confirmed bachelor

When Jack Webb revived the show in 1966, it was in response to the growing tide of teen-age drug use, especially LSD.

For the sake of continuity, Friday and Gannon always wore the same outfits in every episode. According to Harry Morgan, he and Jack Webb decided to switch coats for one scene to see if anyone noticed. (Friday always wore the lighter shade of grey) Because only Morgan was in the scene, no one on the set realized it until the scene had been shot. In the next scene, Morgan has on the correct coat. This is the only incident of faulty continuity in the series' run.

It was a great series....simple...easy to watch, and will live in the re-run category

for more decades ahead. 

'Mishap on the Pennsy'

Welcome back to all my regulars...and a big hello for new readers

that may be joining for the first or second time. Hope you are all

getting some what back to some normalcy after this terrific year 

and a half we've experienced.  

This next tale was inspired by a friend I knew in the newspaper

business many years ago. The story is fictional, but if you are a

believer in luck, or bad luck, well, think this one will fit the bill.

It is not part of Tales Unleashed....this was a story published about

a year ago. 

‘Mishap on the Pennsy’     

 

     John Summer hadn’t traveled much by himself….living at 
home for the past fifteen years offered him little time to be
 adventurous.  His daily routine at the local newspaper office 
as a reporter kept him going to regular evening stops to gather, 
write and edit his stories for the next days’ 8:00 a.m. deadline.

   As John stood in the train station with his mother Martha…
he was most anxious….as much for her as for himself.

“Mom…do you really think this is a good idea? Traveling 
down to Scranton to see your sister Marge?”

“Oh I’ll be fine” she replied. “She’s not well you know…
and if I don’t make the trip today, well, every time the phone
 rings I worry about what news might be on the other end.”
 She continued with,  “You’re such a worry wart, I’ll be fine.”

     It was early in the day, just after eight, but Martha was always

the first to arrive for almost any event. “Mom…your train doesn’t

leave for another hour plus, let’s sit, get some coffee and relax

a bit.”  Martha closed her purse, shifted her hat slightly to the left

and responded, “Well, alright I guess…they wouldn’t dare leave

without me you know…my ticket number is 417 1313..and you know

that 13 is my lucky number!”

Giving a big chuckle John gently led her by the arm to the

coffee station, not far from her departing gate. For a woman

well into her seventies, Martha had kept her appearance up nicely

since her husband had passed many years ago.

As John and Martha enjoyed their morning coffee….John couldn’t

help but feeling very uncomfortable. “Mom…could you wait until

the weekend and then I could go down with you? I hate having you

on a train for two hours, alone, not knowing anyone.”

“Will you stop?” she said abruptly. “You’d think I was an

under-age child…or an invalid….I’ll be perfectly fine…and I won’t

talk to any strangers…unless of course they might be very

attractive older gentlemen and not wearing wedding rings.”

“Mother!” John quickly returned with, “What would dad say

if he heard you exclaim that?”

“He’d probably say go for it” which was accompanied by a

brisk and loud laugh that brought looks from two others

sitting close by.

As the pair enjoyed their morning coffee together, Johns’

feelings of uneasiness continued to nag him. He wrestled

with the newspaper in front of him, skimming quickly

through the sports section..and as always checking the

daily horoscopes.

Before reading his own for the day, he glanced at his

mothers’, she was a Gemini. John really didn’t believe in

all the mumbo-jumbo of astrology, but it was daily

entertainment…..just entertainment. Her horoscope

reading for this day said, ‘invest in oil today.’

John grinned and shook his head from left to right.

“What is it son?” his mother asked. “Oh nothing mom,

some things they put in papers every day to amuse you..

most of it is just a waste of ink.”

The time for Martha’s departure had arrived, and John walked

her to the gate, handed her the simple overnight bag

she had prepared. As he embraced her closely he said,

“Now give my best to Marge..and if you need anything..

just pick up the phone and call…you have the paper number

too right?”

“Love you son…talk to you in a few days” and with that

Martha took the three short steps up and into the railroad

coach.

 John returned to the office settling into the daily routine

 of the paper, making contacts on the phone for upcoming

stories he would be researching and writing. With almost

 fifteen years in, it just didn’t seem possible, but time has

a way of walking right by you.

It was well into the early afternoon when his boss walked into

his office and uttered, “John, you want to scoot down to the

Pennsy yard? Seems like there’s been an accident on the

southbound this morning heading into Pa….and there have been

fatalities.”

John’s quick deep breath and sudden jerk knocked over the

 stale coffee that sat near his note pad. Grabbing his hat

and jacket from the rack, John made a quick trip to the station

where just hours before had been his mothers’ departure point.

Several other members of the press, and some radio reporters

were all on hand… and had been shuffled into a meeting room

just twenty feet away from the main ticket windows.

As he and the others around him took seats, an elderly man

in his late seventies, looking very official, walked in and motioned

for everyone to be seated.

The silence in the room was deafening. The fifteen reporters,

photographers, broadcasters all straightened themselves with

bent ears for the news.

“At 1:13 p.m. this afternoon, the Pennsy train bound for Scranton

was T-boned by a Sinclair oil refinery truck which failed to

stop at a crossing near Groves Creek. I’m sorry to report that

there were thirteen casualties. We expect to have notification

to those families by nightfall. We’ll have more details to you

about the accident by ten p.m. tonight.”

And with that, the man at the podium adjusted his tie, did a

one eighty and left the room before any questions could be

brought.

John climbed into his station wagon and headed for the

newspaper offer…it was only a fifteen minute drive. His

boss, meeting him at the door started questioning him about

what he had discovered at the station.

John dropped his note book on his desk, looking up at his

boss and exclaiming, “I have to go home now…my mother…she

was on that Pennsy train today…and I know.. I know she

didn’t survive.”

Before his boss could reply with any comment at all, John

had left the building, heading home to receive the call that

he knew was coming.

His uneasiness that morning…her ticket number 1313…her

lucky number as she had reminded him. Then there was the

horoscope reading for her, ‘invest in oil today’… and the

accident itself at 1:13 p.m. Thirteen casualties.

Upon arriving at home, John hung up his jacket and put his

hat on the counter. Should he nap he thought? Maybe all

of this dizziness of the last few hours would just go away.

No, he wasn’t tired, he was just numb and limp. He knew the

 phone call would be coming before too long.

John knew that this was one story that he would not be

able to write for the paper.

John sat in his over-stuffed chair, put his feet up and flipped

on the television. He could see that there was a Yankees game

in progress and he turned up the volume as the announcer

said, “Can you believe it folks? We’re actually heading into

inning 13 here!”

John settled into his over- stuffed easy chair and waited.

The old AT&T rotary dial telephone was next to him…John

knew it would be ringing soon…bringing him the grim news

about today’s mishap on the Pennsy. 

Milk Money......

Hope this finds all of you well as we continue the unreal year of 2020.

I'm getting a lot of 'looks' at my site in the UK and in Australia,

thanks to a couple of people I have be-friended there.  The internet is an

amazing place...I also get lots of offers from people that want me to buy

something from them...but alas, I tell them I'm a retired guy, now a struggling

author...and that keeps most of them at bay.  My publisher in California is

still shut down right now...and I'm hoping he will be back up and running

before too many months pass.

For those of you who have read the book Undertakings of an Undertaker,

you'll recall the story which follows here...and for my new followers... enjoy

the story. It's odd, the number of unusual circumstances that funeral directors

find themselves in as the years go by. This story below occurred in the very

late 1970' in upper Wayne County of New York near lake Ontario.  I still

smile when I read it from time to time. It was a most unusual week when

I was just starting in 'the business'.

It's story number 19, found on page 87 of that book.

Milk Money

     This day wasn't unlike any other day during my residency. The day had started with the usual delivery of flowers from a previous day’s service. The cars were checked for fuel, the operating room given a quick overview for cleanliness and supplies in place.  That is one thing that is always foremost in the mind of a good undertaker: you always had to be ready for the next call as you did not know when the phone would ring or what circumstances the phone call would reflect.  And so, you were always ready, kind of like the firemen at the fire station, ready for the alarm to go off, and then you were off to the call, wherever it would take you, in a moment’s notice.

     And so it was on a typical day that the call came in from a local coroner who requested our presence at a home near Lake Ontario where a woman had died, unattended at her home.  An unattended death in New York State always summoned a coroner or medical examiner.  They would determine if and when an autopsy would be necessary, or, after talking to the person’s doctor, if the body would be released directly to the undertaker who was called. 

     So it was on such a lovely sunny day that we put our removal stretcher into our grey station wagon to head to the scene, about thirty minutes north of the funeral home.  Our wagon was always pristine, shined to the max, immaculate inside and out, window glass sparkling and bug free.  In the days when station wagons were used for removals, the rear windows had to be black or darkened to some degree so the public could not see in.  You couldn’t have people gazing in to see a stretcher, let alone a stretcher with a deceased contained therein!  The funeral business has always been, and still is, concerned with the sensitivities of those who watch what you do and how you perform both when you are out on a call and in the funeral home itself.           

     So the owner and I, dressed in short sleeved white shirts and narrow neckties, headed north to the scene, really not knowing what we would discover upon arriving. My boss, a skinny little guy at sixty, showed signs of the thirty plus years he had already invested in the business.  As he lit up his usual cigarette, I lowered my window for some air.  He smoked too much, especially when he got a death call. It calmed him, he said.

    In a short time, we had arrived at the house. It was a dilapidated old farm house, the mailbox half off its rustic fence post it was attached to, the name on the box not even identifiable.  As we drove to the front door, we saw the sheriff’s car and another vehicle, the coroner I presumed.  Both men stood on the front porch, it too showing signs of extreme age and wear. In its time, I am sure the house was magnificent, a huge old three story farm house, and in its shadow, two or three smaller out buildings.  Yes, in its time, this must have been a wondrous place with its long tall windows and weathered oak door with its iron knocker, now frozen in place from lack of use.

     My boss and I both recognized the coroner and the sheriff’s deputy, and we exchanged pleasantries as we entered the home with our stretcher in hand.

    "She's been living alone for years," said the coroner, "Husband’s been dead over forty years according to the daughter.  She's been kind of a hermit since he died." 

    The inside of the house was like a museum, furniture all appearing to be those pieces you see in an antique shop, including mantle clocks, not running but stilled by time and covered in dust. Most of the windows were draped, allowing little daylight into what must have been a very private life, a life now quietly ended in this cavernous house that felt so lonely. 

     We made our removal and took the deceased to the funeral home where she was embalmed, dressed, and made ready for burial. The daughter had made very simple arrangements, as she felt her mom had little money for anything elaborate. And so on a quiet day we returned the woman to a small cemetery not far from her home and buried her in with only three people in attendance. 

     About a week after the service and burial, we received a call from the coroner who had handled the case.  My boss was sitting at his desk in the back room near where we did our work.  He had a metal study light on an adjustable gooseneck that he could move around to illuminate his work.  Again, the smoke hovered near the lamp head as he took the coroners call.  After what seemed like only a minute or two of conversation, he put the black phone back in its cradle, shook his head and started laughing.

     "What?"  I said, wanting to know what I had just missed out on.

     "Do you remember Marian from last week? The lady we pretty much buried as a pauper?  Well, upon investigating the out buildings around the house, the coroner and the sheriff discovered an old milk can.  Upon opening the can, they found over one hundred thousand dollars in cash in bills of all denominations, covered in mold and dirt. I guess she wasn’t a ward of the county after all."

    We couldn’t believe it.  Evidently the lady had just continued to put more and more cash into the milk can, choosing to live a life of just barely getting by.  Her funeral had been a very meager one, but the final chapter was yet to be written.  Upon hearing of the discovery of her mother’s money, her daughter was moved to the extent that she purchased a very large and expensive grave marker to place upon the grave. 

    I revisited that grave site a few years later, and yes, there it was:  a marker that was a true testimony to a fine lady.  You can never judge what a person has on first discovery. Sometimes, you have to wait and see just how much milk money is saved for a rainy day.

Sound of Silence, final part 3

Below is part three, the final segment of the story Sound of Silence,

one man, one dog, one virus. It is as described, both conclusion and

confusion.  If you missed the first two parts of the story, they appear

below...just scroll down and you will find them. I hope you enjoyed

the story.

     Jacob put the bike back up on both wheels, retrieved the bag

with the radio and continued his way back home. The road home

was always much better…the decline was in his favor unless

an East wind would develop, but that was never very often.

A few minutes later Jacob turned the bike into the driveway and

started up the first yard road to the house. Looking up ahead he

spotted Rufus, laying down on the porch making his impression

of a tough guard dog. Ha, thought Jacob, a lab as a watch dog?

Jacob had only made ten feet or so up the drive when he was

spotted by his canine friend who leaped off the porch in his

direction. Moments later Jacob coasted to a stop as Rufus

started his ‘your home’ bark, all the while stretching on the

clothes line to which he was tethered.

Jacob placed the bag with the radio on the ground which

automatically started an inspection by Rufus. “Sorry boy,

nothin’ in there for you today…store was closed…the radio

is a borrowed gift from Ben up on High Street. He said it will

keep us in touch with what’s going on right now…the store will

be open again Wednesday…and then I’ll bring you home a treat.”

As he started to engage the kick stand, he had the feel of something

running down his arm, and he glanced quickly to see a new line of

 blood running down from the scrape. “Worse than I thought

it was” he said, as Rufus pushed into him, his tail now wagging

intently at his masters return. Jacob picked up the radio and

headed for the steps, Rufus leading the way in a furry.  Inside

Jacob pulled out the old medical kit which he had put together

years ago. Bandages, scissors, some insect repellent and his

all time remedy, Bag Balm. Used by farmers the world over,

and probably more moms, the balm was the best  for scrapes,

scratches, bites and even slight burns.  Jacob washed his injury

at the sink, applied the balm and then a two by two bandage

over the wound.

“Rufus, let’s go plug that radio in and see if we can hear what’s

goin’ on out there.”  Under the watchful eye of Rufus, Jacob

placed the radio on the bureau and plugged it in and watched

second hand starting it’s sweep just as a dim light inside the

front window illuminated ‘Western Auto.’

Jacob moved the tuning dial from left to right, at the same time

rotating up the volume. After a few seconds of crackle and static,

a deep voiced man came into the speaker announcing,

“We’ll have more on the virus in a few moments.”  Success

thought Jacob, and a smile stretched his thin lips as he uttered,

“How ‘bout that Rufus, we’re now connected to the world again.”

And with that success Jacob and Rufus made their way to the

kitchen. Time to brew some new coffee…and maybe even put

a few biscuits in the oven. Biscuits were a real treat for both of

them…Jacob remembering how his mom would mix up real

dough from scratch when he was a kid. Sitting in the kitchen

watching his mom work away and smelling that wonderful

aroma lofting from the oven. How long ago was that……

fifty, sixty or more years? Time is an odd commodity…you can’t

add to it, subtract it, you can’t alter it in any way, shape or

form, you just have to deal with it and what it delivers to you

on an hourly and daily basis.  Jacob thought immediately about

going to his journal and making some notes about what he had

experienced and felt this day. Maybe in the future someone would

read through his scraggly handwriting and try to feel the

sensations he had experienced in his ride to town and back.

    Jacob spend most of the day with Rufus doing their morning

chores and housekeeping, all the time contemplating what

would become of their town in the next week, month and beyond.

After a quick supper of eggs and toast, they had made their way

to the back porch to watch the daily ritual of seven or eight white

tails emerging from the woods at dark to feed in the new grass.

Rufus had always spotted their movement first, raising his head

and giving a slight whimper to let Jacob know the  deer were

again on the prowl. The deer would come within fifty or seventy

five yards of the them, lift their heads from time to time to keep

Jacob and Rufus in sight, then again go back to their browsing.

“Sure different then the view up Fifth Avenue uh Rufus?”

He had only been in the city once in his life, and although totally

amazed at it’s size and complexity, Jacob knew it was not a place

that he could ever live in. Too many people, too little space, too

little time to relax. It was indeed another world.

    As the sun began to set over the tall maples in the west, Jacob

summoned Rufus and  they were off to a good nights sleep.

He was tired, as much mentally as physically…and he was hoping

that sleep would come quickly. The big goal for him would be to

alleviate as much of the day from his mind as possible….often times

thinking of events of the past  would allow his mind to

release his body to much needed sleep.

    As usual, the next morning dawned, and Rufus was at his masters

bed…advancing the slight paw and pull action to arouse him for

the day.  As Jacob and Rufus moved around the dimly lit kitchen,

he thought about popping on the radio, but thought, well, there’s

all day to discover what happened overnight, no need to rush things.

Grabbing his coffee and heading for the front porch, he paused,

thinking he heard a car in the distance, approaching from town.

Yes! A quick glance to the left resulted his eyes seeing the

mail delivery car and it’s owner Mavis heading to his mailbox.

Mavis had delivered mail for years, taking over from her husband

Henry who had died twelve years before from a heart condition.

Jacob placed his coffee on the stoop and headed for the road,

his legs not what they used to be, but at least he was upright

and moving. He yelled at Mavis as she closed the box and was

within moments from pulling away.

“Mavis….Mavis…hold up!”  He was just a few yards from the

interception when he saw Mavis giving a nod, acknowledging

his request.

Out of breath from just the short run to the road, Jacob leaned

against the Mavis’s mail car. “Boy am I glad I caught you…mail

is early today isn’t it?  How’s everybody in town today? Andy

new word about the sickness?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about Jacob…sickness?

Whose been sick that you know?”

“Well you know… the virus….I was in town yesterday..pedaling

by seven new graves at rural…talking with Bill about the store

being closed down….”

Mavis cocked her head, her eyes squinting at his intent face,

trying to get a read on his demeanor.  “Jacob…everything in

town is fine…there’s few people moving on main street…all

looks quite normal to me. Are you feeling alright? I could come

back later, pick you up and take you to get looked at somewhere.”

Jacob stepped back, a look of confusion on his face…trying to

sort out the response that Mavis had given him.

“No , no, I’m fine. I’ll just go sit a bit and collect my thoughts…

good seeing you Mavis..thanks for the mail.”

Within moments Mavis had pulled away from Jacob and his

weathered mailbox….light dust trailing her car as she made

her way down the road.

Jacob returned to the house, not even checking the box to see

what had been delivered.  Grabbing his coffee cup and sitting

on the top step, he greeted Rufus who pushed his way between

his chest and upper left arm.

“I don’t know boy….for once in my life I’m…..well, I’m not sure

what I am right now.”

As he sipped his coffee Jacob thought to himself. Had all of

this happened in a dream?  No, he HAD been in town yesterday,

he had SEEN the graves, talked to two or three there and

returned home.

But Mavis said everything was normal there… no sickness…business

as usual.

Jacob gave more consideration to the dilemma now facing him.

The radio…. and the bike!  Turning around quickly and squinting

through the screen door… he could see the radio that Ben Shanks

had loaned  him..it WAS on the bureau where he had placed it.

Jacob quickly put down the coffee cup and ran to the bike….

hurriedly inspecting the rear bumper…..the dent, the scratch..

the paint missing….it DID happen yesterday…it wasn’t a dream.

Jacob returned to his seat on the porch, Rufus, his ever loyal

friend at his side.  Should he go back to town today to see

for himself…maybe another stop at Rural cemetery on the

way?  Perhaps.

As Jacob and Rufus sat on the porch, nothing was for sure.

Is it possible that somehow, Jacob was caught in some type

of time warp? Was he somehow halfway between today’s

reality and  some event in time that did, could or might

actually take place? All good questions. 

Jacob sipped the coffee.  Good coffee made all things a

 lot less stressful.

Jacob turned an ear to listen to the nature around him.

The sound of silence.  He……… his dog… and maybe a virus?

Here he was, stuck somewhere in a place and a time that

he could not define.

I hope you all enjoyed the story…stay safe, stay well. SS