Merkin

Thank you, Cole. I must have missed Mr. Patterson somewhere along the way and he will serve as an inspiration to me to have greater confidence in the nursing staff the next time I land in the hospital. A jolly tale indeed. I finally had a moment of inspiration and looked through old email files, thinking if I liked a story that much, still vaguely remembered as “Morning Coffee”, I might have written its author. And I had. The story I’m searching for is indeed named “Morning Coffee” and Nexis Pas, of fond memory, wrote it circa 2008. Unfortunately I still can’t locate the story—most of the sites that hosted him are either defunct or his wonderful tales were removed upon his demise. If anyone has access to a copy I’d love to hear about it. James

It is near impossible to single out any of Cole’s fine stories as a favorite, but “Dinner for One” would certainly be on my short list of those I’d take with me to read again if I became a castaway on some tropical island. Trouble is that short list keeps getting longer and longer (“When He Was Five”! , “Duck, Duck, Goose”!, “Courage”!, “On the High Plains of Wyoming”!... you see the problem). “Dinner for One”, however, is especially heartrending for an old geezer like me. It also reminds me of a somewhat similar tale that I’ve lost track of and can no longer find on any list of stories, either here on AD or on IOMfAtS or elsewhere, and if you recognize my vague description I’d appreciate your help in locating it. The story involves an old man, gay, who makes his way to the same café every morning to break his fast, and a young waiter who responds to him, learns the story of his lost love, and—my memory is really dim on this—walks him home. Ring any bells? The tale, like Cole’s, is about one box of tissues in length and I think its title might be something like “Morning Coffee”. It, too, would be on my short list, but by now all the manuscript pages I’d be loathe to leave behind would pack a large suitcase and probably wouldn’t survive the plane crash. I’ll just have to sit it out on that deserted island and write poems in the sand.

A brief poem fit for Boxers Day.

Idaho is justly famous for its potatoes, grown in volcanic soil which because of its lightness permits the growing spuds to expand and achieve great size.

All we see is his nose, but if you ever glimpse his other end you'll know why he's known as Rudy the Red.

What a lovely premise, Bruin--and I hope it is a premise, with more to come. Can't waste such a grand scheme!

Well said! Here's wishing.

Chapter XXIV and the end has come. Quite an accomplishment: Ben Franklin and angels together in the same story! Plus interplanetary travel. Plus numerous challenges to students of human biology. This has fast become one of my favorite Rothenian tales from the hand of masterwriter Mike Arram, who achieves a grand tie-off of loose ends and gives us a tantalizing glimpse of Henry the seraph, about whom it all began. Will there be more to come? Something to hope for, indeed.

A lovely poem that's right on the money and for bonus, too, it's really quite funny!

Thank you, Mike, for this month's Awesome collection of Christmas Picks from the Past. Familiar or not, they're all worth rereading while the snow is flying and the wind is howling around the chimney. Keep a box of tissues handy, for Christmas isn't always merry.

It's well worth the effort, Root. Cole put me onto the Chief Inspector Gamache series and I'm up to around #7 or so. I think Cole gets residuals from ebook sales.

I, too, am a member of the three-digit phone number club. We called them 'crank-and-holler' phones. It was a party line, with at least four or six homes hooked up to a common feed, and that meant you could listen in on conversations among your neighbors--and they could listen in on yours. That was the way small villages kept abreast of ongoing scandal and local news. It was not uncommon, upon hearing the village fire siren, for everyone to rush to their phones to ask the operator where the fire was; she usually had the answer and kept everyone posted on the progress of the response. If your kids were late for dinner a twirl of the crank made the phone bell tinkle and you could ask your neighborhood to keep an eye out for your child. I think the party line telephone was the basis for 'it takes a village to raise a child'.

Very good news, indeed. Best wishes, Mike. James Merkin

Typical New York City street: surrounded by construction sledges, staring at the ass-end of a taxi that failed to respond to your frantic waving...

You are very welcome, Camy. Seems to me you've ridden the Magical Mystery Tour bus a few times yourself.

A worthy pursuit.

Thanks, guys. It's always fun to revisit that era. James

Driver's next-to-last chapter 58 is up, and he promises the final chapter to "Jack in the Box" before Christmas: https://storiesbydriver.net/jitb/jitb58.htm

That is not a cat, Ivor. I believe it may be an ocelot.

Don't miss this great smooth-haired shaggy dog story: http://www.awesomedude.com/pedro/the-challenge-that-is-tony/the-challenge-that-is-tony-27.htm Best line: 'Don't let him pick up speed.' Loved the Churchill video. Don't try teaching this trick to cats. Merkin

Another enormously satisfying story from Cole: http://www.awesomedude.com/cole-parker/high-school-dither/high-school-dither.htm What I’d really like is a peek at Cole’s secret manual entitled “Unique Plots and Prompts for Successful Writers”. It must be at least as thick as the old L.A. phone directory.

How about 'Swede' for a big male tomcat? With battered ears, of course.

Wonderful news. Stick with those rehab exercises, Mike. I know they can be a pain in the ass but they make all the difference.

The mark of a true fan, Nigel, is that he always wants more.

I agree with Rutabaga that these are serious loose ends. It is difficult to tear oneself away from this saga after all these weeks.