hippywife Mrs. Alfred Packer comes for Memorial Day

[franksolich]

As it was pretty late, I went to bed--or rather, went to the couch to sleep--and it wasn’t until morning that my visitor, who’d slept in the bedroom, could illuminate me about the camp meeting.

“Reverend Lamond and the rest got there really late, and he was so sorry he’d missed you.

“I told him you’d probably be over today, but that he might miss you again.

“You know, your habit of being as inobtrusive, inconspicuous, and wallflowerish as possible, blending into the background.

“He said he didn’t think so; ‘I’ll bet franksolich is surrounded by a shining aura of goodness and decency, the Light of God emanating from his mere being, and so I’ll know who he is right away, even if others don’t.’”

“What’s he like in person?” I asked; “does he strike you as the con-man sort?”

“No, not at all, and besides that, his appearance would work against him.  He’s kind of funny-looking.

“But he has a very good voice; it rivets.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

It being Friday morning, near the beginning of the weekend--and hence the garage sales--hippywife asked hippyhubby Wild Bill for her shoes, so that she and Judy could go to town, to look over the offerings.

Wild Bill, who was patching the holes in the overturned boat, grunted, sure, “But you don’t have any money to spend, woman.”

Yes I do, Mrs. Alfred Packer quickly responded; “I still have the $10-bill you gave me last week.”

hippywife, Judy, and the brother born without a chin hopped into the converted Snap-On Tool Van, WILD BILL & BROS. WHOLESALE UNDERTAKERS DISCOUNT FOR QUANTITY, the brother driving and going along to keep his eye on hippywife, so she wouldn’t run away, and so other men wouldn’t cast covetous eyes on her.

“Are you hoping to find anything in particular?” hippywife asked Judy.

“An atomic ice-cube tray; I’ve always wanted to find one of those but never could.”

“What’s an atomic ice-cube tray?” Mrs. Alfred Packer asked.

Judy described it, but it wasn’t anything hippywife had ever heard of.

They stopped at the convenience store at the edge of town to get soda, as the day was going to be hot and sunny.  Judy offered to pay, pulling from her bodice a handful of $10 bills, offering one to the cashier, getting $7.28 in change.

The big sale was a rummage-sale at the local Unitarian church, but they didn’t dare go to that one, given Wild Bill’s malediction on “Christer holy-roller fundies.”

At a three-family sale on the other end of town, Judy spied a little red wagon, nearly new, and snapped it up, paying for it with two $10 bills.  As they went along, she also bought various assortments of pie-pans, some tin, some aluminum, some glass, some stainless-steel, some cast-iron.

They picked up other junk, but as it was very hot, they decided to call it a day in mid-morning.

At the last sale, where Mrs. Alfred Packer finally found four muu-muus large enough to cover her--for $10, total--they overheard some other shoppers talking about a “pot-luck” dinner to be held out in the country on Saturday afternoon, that was to be opened to any and all who wished to come.

“They’d wanted to do it today, but the weather looks better for tomorrow.

“It’s some people from Detroit, and they’re out at that place next to franksolich.”

“Oh, so he finally opened up Meyer and Alberto’s pasture to the public; he’s always been so adamant that nobody, but nobody, was to use the place, as it isn’t his.”

Mrs. Alfred Packer was confused; she wasn’t aware of anything being out there other than the camp site in franksolich’s back yard.  She was illuminated that it was around the curve of the river, past a thick grove of trees hugging the riverside.

“It’s open to everybody and anybody who wishes to go,” she was told; “and you folks being strangers around here, it’d be a good chance to meet people, as there’ll be locals there too.”

“Oh, I’d like to go,” hippywife said, “but I don’t have anything to take for it.”

“I can make pies,” Judy said.

So they stopped at the grocery store on their way out, buying boxloads of pie-making ingredients, Judy paying for them with crisp clean new $10-bills pulled out of her upper personal parts.

“Bill was right,” she said happily; “it’s a lot easier to keep track of the money if it’s all $10 bills.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

“What are they doing in my kitchen?” I asked my visitor when I returned here Friday evening.

“They’re making pies to take to the pot-luck picnic tomorrow,” she said.

“They can’t very well make them at the campground, and so I suggested here.”

I groused a little bit, but as there wasn’t anything I could do about--I’ve never put a woman out of my house, no matter how despicable--I accepted it with good graces, although I didn’t go in there.

Instead, I went out to the front porch.  It being evening, it was cooler out there than on the back porch.

“How did they get permission from hippyhubby Wild Bill to go to a church affair?” I asked.

“They didn’t; they didn’t even ask.”

Uh oh, I said.  “There’s going to be fireworks.”

“Not only that,” I was told; “but all of hippyhubby’s brothers are going, too.”

In the meantime, down at the river, the country sheriff approached Wild Bill, who was almost done patching the bottom of the boat.

“That woman,” he announced, “that great-great-grandmother who I brought out to you, is she around?  I need to talk to her.”

hippyhubby, whose second nature was to clam up when confronted with law enforcement, simply grunted no, she’s not around right now.

“Well, when she shows up, I need to talk to her.  I suppose I could go out further looking for her, but given her ancient age and decrepitude, it’s not like she can run away, so I’ll bide my time.”

“What do you want to talk to her about?” Wild Bill asked.

The sheriff pulled out a sheaf of $10-bills, all of them nice crisp new bills, and all of them with exactly the same serial number on them.

“These were passed all over town this morning, at the convenience store, at garage sales, at the grocery store, at the gasoline station, and so help me, at the benefit at the VFW Club for widow Olsen and her children.

“The last was especially outrageous; widow Olsen lost her husband in a grain-elevator accident two months ago, and even though he had life-insurance and the elevator paid something, he’d had so many debts that once those were paid off, she was left with just the clothes on her back and her children, 15, 13, 11, 9, 7, 5, 3 years old, and an infant.

“Ole Olsen had a bad habit of gambling, and he gambled poorly; lost the farm, the livestock, the house, the car, everything.

“If the three older boys weren’t delivering the Omaha World-Herald every morning, the family would’ve starved, even with what the grocer was giving them out the back door.

“So your friend and your wife show up at this benefit, and the ga-ga old lady grandly announced she was going to help, and gave ten $10-bills, which brought tears to the eyes of widow Olsen and the children, who didn’t even have shoes for the summer.

“A heart-wrenching scene, but a joyous one too.

“And then the money turned out fake.

“What kind of monster would treat a poor widow like that?”

to be continued

[franksolich]

Saturday morning, the neighbor’s wife stopped here, along with their children the 12-year-old twin daughters, the 11-year-old eager young lad, the 4-year-old mama’s boy, and the 2-year-old daughter.

They were on their way to Meyer and Alberto’s pasture, to participate in the pot-luck picnic and the old-time camp meeting.  I dunno what she was taking to it; it was in a large wicker basket.

The neighbor’s going too, but like me, not until the evening.

“It’s remarkable,” I said; “in fact, it’s rather awesome.

“There’s going to be about as many Catholics, Lutherans, Methodists, Presbyterians, Congregationalists, Episcopalians, Baptists, Mormons, Seventh-Day Adventists, Christian Scientists, and Unitarians there, as there’ll be the African Methodist Episcopalians and our local Assembly of God.

“These old-time camp meetings and mass baptism aren’t our sort of thing, but because they’re something none of us have ever seen before, it’s all good.  It opens the mind, expands the consciousness, seeing things one’s never seen before.

“It’ll be better than television.

“We’re not primitives, after all, who’re are afraid of seeing, and doing, new things.”

“It’s too bad you’re not going earlier,” the neighbor’s wife said; “I heard Reverend Lamond really really wants to meet you.  He’s talked of little else since getting here.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he asked for your autograph.”

“Well, I’d like to, but it has to wait, because I got other concerns.  The whole Packer clan minus hippyhubby, who doesn’t know about it, is going to the pot-luck picnic, and if he found out about it, he’d go beserk, maybe even applying his cadaver-carvers to all of them.

“So I got to hang around here, to keep Wild Bill preoccupied, so he doesn’t know.

“But at any rate, I’ll make it there this evening, for the mass baptism.  For sure.  Give Reverend Lamond my good wishes, and tell him to be patient; I’ll make it.”

About this same time, my visitor came back from town, where she’d gone to get some things.

And then arrived the wife of the retired banker, and her nosy four-eyed grandson.

The kid gives me the creeps; he’s heard that I was alas born without ears (microtia), and is always trying to see what it looks like, a sight my long hair denies him.

Grumpy, the husband of the wife of the retired banker, wasn’t with them; it was too hot.

She as usual was tastefully dressed, looking no older than 50 although she’s nearly three decades past that; lithe and graceful, wearing a modest dress that accentuated her slimness, plain unostentatious jewelry and a big floppy hat, looking very much like the late H.R.H. Princess Alice, Duchess of Gloucester.

She was bringing along a massive old wicker picnic basket full of chicken Kiev.

As they were getting ready to leave for Meyer and Alberto’s pasture, the eager young lad, the neighbor’s son, said, “I want to stay here.  I want to watch you and Wild Bill.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

Barely had the party left the eager young lad and myself on the front porch, when the county sheriff drove up into the front yard.

“Do you happen to know where Judy’s at?” he asked; “I need to talk to her, but maybe not right now.”

Sure, I said; “she’s over in Meyer and Alberto’s pasture, at the pot-luck picnic.”

“Well, if you can, keep track of her movements, but I’m pretty sure I won’t have to deal with her at all; it might discombobulate her overmuch, and given her age and condition, she might end up in less-than-presentable shape when her guardian comes to pick her up.”

After which he explained the passed-off counterfeit $10-bills.

“It’s obvious she doesn’t know what she’s doing,” he continued; “when she was first inspected, she had $1514 in currency on her, proceeds from selling junk on eBay, and it was all good, valid currency, although crumpled up, torn, and dirty.

“And she couldn’t have hidden it anywhere else on her.

“She’s not it; there’s a missing link here.”

As he turned to walk down the steps, he commented, “You know, it’s really sad.  She’s an old lady, and she’s in charge of a ‘challenged’ relative, an adult great-grandson or something, and she up and left him all alone to come here.

“The reason her guardians discovered her absence was that the poor guy got all upset and bent out of shape that she wasn’t there, and he really needs her oversight.  Apparently he’s a wreck, wondering why she did what she did, abandoning him like that.

“The sad thing being, that while he thinks she takes very good care of him, loves him, she really doesn’t.  She doesn’t spend much time with him, and usually just fries sliced carrots on the stove for him for supper.

“She’s ‘too busy’ going around picking up junk she always says she‘s going to re-sell but never does, and hanging around on the internet, where she alleges herself to be an ‘online investigator.’  The poor guy’s lucky if he gets five minutes of her time every day.

“She may be a frail little old lady inspiring pity, but she’s pretty selfish, always thinking only of herself.”

- - - - - - - - - -

As we stood on the porch, we saw others driving past, on the other side of the William Rivers Pitt; people who were likely to stop here before going on to Meyer and Alberto’s pasture, but because they saw me conversing with law-enforcement, simply honked and waved and went on their way.

The femme with two friends, the property caretaker and his wife, the retired property caretaker, his wife and slug of grandchildren, the wife of the neighbor’s older brother (like his younger brother, he was coming for the evening service) and their offspring, the choir from the local Assembly of God church, the widow of the guy who used to scoop grain at the local elevator, and some people who were strangers to me; those sorts of people.

- - - - - - - - - -

The camp meeting had taken on a festive, carnival-like atmosphere; children romping around doing those things children do when unrestrained by adult supervision, people tossing horse-shoes and rolling hoops, an organ-grinder obviously not of Italianate derivation and his dancing dog, women greeting each other and hugging each other, old folks fanning themselves in the shade.

Sometimes at random a bunch grabbed hands and weaved through the crowds, joyously singing things such as “I’m Happy In Jesus Today,” “Just a Closer Walk With Thee,” “Raise His Praise,” “Rock of Ages,” “Amazing Grace,” “The Old Rugged Cross,” “All God’s Children Got Wings,” “Roll, Jordan, Roll,” “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen,” “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands,” “We’re Climbing Jacob’s Ladder,” and “Down by the Riverside.”

The femme and my visitor inspected the array of cuisine as it was laid out, chicken enchilladas,  chicken picatta, chicken salad, chicken cacciatore, chicken parmesan, chicken tortilla casserole, chicken marsala, chicken quesadillas, chicken spaghetti, chicken and dumplings, chicken cordon bleu, chicken alfredo.

“This is great,” the neighbor’s wife said; “it looks as if everybody brought stuff they thought Reverend Lamond’s group would like.”

The femme noticed Reverend Lamond standing under some trees, attired in his ministerial robes, with a mitre atop his head, and a golden crozier in one hand, talking with a local pastor.

‘They tell me a revival is only temporary; so is a bath, but it does you good,” the shepherd mentioned to his fellow worker in the vineyards.

Upon spying the femme approaching them, the reverend broke out in a great big grin, “Well--hel-loh girl,” he said.

“Where’s franksolich?”

to be continued

[franksolich]

http://conservativecave.com/index.php?topic=96424.0

[franksolich]

After the sheriff left, the eager young lad and I walked down to the hippycamp on the river, finding hippyhubby Wild Bill patching up the last holes on the bottom of the boat.

hippywife Mrs. Alfred Packer, Judy grasswire, and Wild Bill’s brothers of course were at the pot-luck picnic around the bend of the river, but Wild Bill didn’t know that; he’d been told they were “going for a stroll.”

The eager young lad meant to sit down at one of the picnic tables, but upon seeing an array of newly-sharpened cadaver-carvers laid out on it, decided instead to stand by me as I chitchatted with hippyhubby.

“Your friend,” Wild Bill mentioned, “is he here yet?”

No, he’s not, I said, “But he’ll be here.”

Again, I carefully omitted to point out that the business partner would be here from his horse-buying expedition down to northeastern Oklahoma…..about the same time the Packer clan would be on their way back home to northeastern Oklahoma.

Wild Bill grunted, and turning the boat over, shoved it into the water.  He attached the old motor, but needed my help, as it wouldn’t quite fall into the slots.  He tried to start it by pulling the cable, but it wouldn’t start, even with the choke wide open.

He checked something, and said, “Damn, I need to get some oil.”

No problem, I said; “I have plenty of 10W-40 up at the house.”

hippyhubby looked at me as if I were Bozo from Outer Space.

“It doesn’t use that sort of oil,” he said, as if explaining something simple to an idiot.

Of course I knew that, but I rather liked playing the role of the cretin with Wild Bill.

“Well, we can go to town, but we’ll have to hurry.  It’s Saturday afternoon, and the auto-supply store closes at three.  And it’s nearly three now,” I said. 

hippyhubby started up the converted Snap-On Tool van, now emblazoned with WILD BILL & BROS. WHOLESALE UNDERTAKERS DISCOUNT FOR QUANITY on its side.  The eager young lad and I got in, the eager young lad taking care to sit on the other side of me.

As Wild Bill was coasting to town, he remarked, “There must be something else going on there, as I keep hearing lots of voices and shouting and singing.”

My hair stood up on end.

Oh, excresence; I’d forgotten all about that.  Having put the old-time camp meeting where it wasn’t visible from the hippycamp, I’d assumed that’s all I’d needed to do.

I’d forgotten there’d be noise.

Recovering, I assured him, “Yeah, it’s just a bunch of people.

“Camping on the property next to mine; camping on the property that’s not mine, but they’re quite a ways down.  That‘s not part of my property.”

I was hoping he’d get what I meant for him to misunderstand; that the property not being mine, I had nothing to do with who was down there.  He did, and I heaved a sigh of relief.

We got to town, but not soon enough, as the auto-supply store was closed.  The alternative was to go to the big city forty-two miles away, but that’d hardly be worth it.

Then I remembered something.  “This is the weekend of the community-wide garage sales; let’s go look around, and we might find some boat-motor oil at one of them.”

Wild Bill looked at me as if I were Bozo from Outer Space.

“No, really,” I insisted; “these garage sales, you can find the most unexpected things at the most unexpected places, like the time I found an old spinning wheel for ten bucks.  It was a genuine antiquity, but one leg was busted.

“It was a rarity,” I continued, “because it was New England colonial, and ready-made, ready-to-wear clothing had already been invented and was in common use--like the telephone, indoor plumbing, and other stuff--by the time Nebraska was being settled.  Our pioneers didn’t have to make their own cloth; nobody had spinning wheels out here.

“There’s just all sorts of things that can be found at garage sales around here.  And fortunately because we’re so sparsely populated, flea market dealers and eBay re-sellers don’t bother coming way out here; only decent and civilized people.”

hippyhubby didn’t look as if he believed me, but as there was no other choice, we scouted the garage sales.

At the second one, I bought four homemade rhubarb pies.

“I dunno why you want that,” Wild Bill remarked; “Judy grasswire made plenty of pies yesterday, although they seem to be gone now.  I wonder where they went.”

“She didn’t make rhubarb pies, though,” I pointed out; “and I’m a glutton for rhubarb pies.”

At the fifth sale we checked out, I bought two more homemade rhubarb pies, but square ones instead of round ones.

“I put them in the freezer,” I explained.

Inbetweentimes, myself bankrolling him, the eager young lad picked up miscellaneous paraphernalia, those sorts of things interesting to an eleven-year-old, including some antique horse-shoes and a nearly-new croquet set.

Wild Bill picked up various lengths of chain and rope; for what, I had no idea.

He also purchased a bunch of M-80 firecrackers.

I always held my breath every time he pulled out his wallet, but what he spent were used bills, hardly any of them ten-dollar bills.  And no crisp new ten-dollar bills.  This was probably from Judy grasswire’s stash, which he’d exchanged with her for his funny money, as the sheriff had speculated.

It was at the eleventh sale, where someone had apparently cleaned out his garage, that hippyhubby found what he needed, several small bottles of boat-motor oil, some of them opened and part of their contents used, a few of them full and unopened.

He also bought some rubber straps; for what, I had no idea.

The eager young lad picked up an old book, published in 1913, about raising goats, as I’d long ago pointed out to him the advantage of old books--many of them have information in them that’s not to be found in new books.

I bought two trays--all she had left--of rhubarb muffins, and the last remaining rhubarb pie, this one with a latticed top-crust, after which the three of us came back here.

to be continued

[franksolich]

As the sun began dipping below the top of the trees, Reverend Lamond, looking very much like the sunglassesed Ray Charles as the Archbishop of Canterbury, attired in his vestments and head-topping mitre, and a golden crozier in his hand as if a shepherd’s staff, stepped forward to begin his after-dinner preaching.

Because of his voice, he didn’t need to stand on a pedestal or in back of a pulpit; nor did he need a loudspeaker, as he walked among the hordes hungering for his message.

“We are told to let our light shine, and if it does, we won't need to tell anybody it does. Lighthouses don't fire cannons to call attention to their shining--they just shine,” he said.

“Come to the Light of Jesus,” he beseeched; “come to Jesus.”

His congregants began singing, “Come to Jesus,” after which the locals, hearing Reverend Lamond for the first time, joined in.

“The Blood of the Lamb,” he suddenly shouted, waving his crozier in the air, “redeems all, no matter how low, how base, how depraved.”

His congregants began singing, “Saved by the Blood of the Lamb,” after which the locals joined in.

“Jesus loves you.  Oh yes, He loves you,” said the reverend, his eyes scanning the crowd.

His congregants began singing, “Jesus Loves Me, Yes, He Does,” after which the locals joined in.

“All one has to do is ask for it,” Lamond reminded them.

He walked around in a circle, contemplating something, and then burst autobiographical.

“You know, when I came out of my mama, as the midwife was washing me up, she said to my mama, ‘This is a bad one, Beulah; this one’s going to be really bad, the baddest of the bad.’

“My grandma agreed; ‘He’s gonna be so bad he’s gonna make “bad” look good.’

“And so it was,” the right reverend continued; “the Devil, Who had me in His ironclad grasp, considered me His finest work, the baddest of the bad.”

After which Lamond recited his life.  His congregation, who’d heard the story many times before, sat back and relaxed, munching on picnic leftovers.  The locals, who’d never heard it before, were spellbound.

“I was so bad, s-o-o-o-o-o-o bad, even the baddest of the bad feared me.

“Even the Forces of Darkness fled from me as I strutted around.

“Even the Democrat machine bosses of Detroit, until then considered one of the most powerful evil forces in this world of Mammon, took care to not violate my sensibilities,” he boasted.

“I was the King of Bad,” he shouted, again waving his crozier in the air.

“I was s-o-o-o-o-o-o-o bad.”

He wiped sweat off his brow, as his congregants began singing “The Old Rugged Cross.,” after which the locals joined in.

“But one day, I, the King of Bad, the baddest of the bad, went to Jesus, with the idea of taunting and cursing Him, but before I could open my mouth, Jesus said, ‘I love you; come to Me.’"

- - - - - - - - - -

It was by then late afternoon, and so the eager young lad and I left hippyhubby Wild Bill up to his own devices, whatever they might be, at the hippycamp and came back to the house, where we waited for his father, the neighbor, and his uncle, the neighbor’s older brother, to show up, after which we would head to Lamond’s old-time camp meeting.

to be continued

[franksolich]

When we arrived at Reverend Lamond’s camp meeting, it was starting to get dark, and the reverend was standing knee-deep in the water, summoning those who wished baptized, to come forward.

From the back of the crowd, I hurriedly jammed a slice of apple pie into my mouth--I hadn’t eaten all day--and tried to squeeze myself to the front, so as to behold the Great Bad One.

But being recognized as the host, various of Lamond’s congregation and locals greeted me, and surrounded me, hugging and kissing me.  I was uncomfortable, and looked around for the femme.

Finding her, and badly needing her body to bolster my confidence, I took her around the waist--it wasn’t much, but it was enough--as the two of us wiggled our way to the front.

“Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand,” Lamond reminded the crowd.

My eyes met his, and his eyes met mine, at the same moment.

“That’s it,” I said; “I gotta get baptized.”

“What are you talking about?” the femme asked; “you were baptized when you were six days old.”

“I know, I know,” I said; “but it doesn’t hurt to get re-baptized.”

“Prepare the Way of the Lord,” Lamond admonished, still looking at me and no one else; “make His Path straight.”

“That’s sacrilegious,” the femme insisted.

“No, it’s not,” I replied, letting loose of her and wading out into the water.

“He that cometh after me is mightier than I, whose shoes I am not worthy to bear: He shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost, and with fire,” Lamond continued.

“Whose fan is in His hand, and He will thoroughly purge His floor, and gather His wheat into the garner; but He will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.”

I waded forward.

Lamond looked at me.

“I need to be baptized of you, and you're coming to me?” he asked, puzzled.

to be continued

[franksolich]

The day had threatened rain since morning, but the low-laying clouds had withheld until about this time, when it began sprinkling heavily.

As I approached him, Lamond’s eyes grew as big as saucers, much as John the Baptist‘s had seemed two millennia before.  I waded cautiously in the water, not sure of my balance.

“I can’t baptize you,” he whispered hoarsely; “you‘re--you‘re--”

Never mind, I whispered back; “It’s only a formality.”

Lamond hesitated, as he looked for a hem on some garment I was wearing, to kiss.

“Go ahead, go ahead,” I whispered.  “It’s nothing.”

As I stood there, Lamond hesitantly put his hand on the back of my neck, asking, “Do you coming willingly, to accept the life-giving and life-cleansing waters of Christ?”

“Of course,” I said.

The rain began downpouring.

“Do you abjure Satan, crafty and cunning Serpent Who brought disobedience under the guise of friendship, the Creator and Accomplice of all that is Evil?”

“Oh, absolutely,” I said.

“Do you accept, with true humility and gratitude, the Gift of Life of the Most Merciful, the Most Magnanimous, the One and Only God, through His Son our Lord Jesus Christ?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said; “I’m in.”

As Lamond began pushing my head down so as to dip it into the water, there was a sudden flash of day-brightening lightning, and around the bend of the river hove into sight the hippyboat, looking very much like a barge on the ancient Nile.

hippyhubby Wild Bill’s brother, the one born with his hands the wrong way, was tending the engine.  In the center regally sat Judy grasswire, daintily holding a parasol above her head.  And there was hippyhubby, standing on the prow.

to be continued

[franksolich]

“That was the last thing I saw, before all Hell broke loose,” I explained to the business partner a few days later, after he’d returned from hippywife country down in northeastern Oklahoma, while hippyhubby Wild Bill’d been up here, looking for him.

“It was Judy grasswire, sitting right smack in the middle of the boat, with her several layers of winter coats covering her, making her look very much like a pyramidic Buddha, excepting that she was s-o-o-o-o-o-o elegantly holding a parasol over her head.”

I looked at the business partner.  “You don’t want to hear the whole thing, I hope?”

“Yeah, I want to hear all about it,” the business partner said.  “I got time, and it‘s gotta be good.”

I sighed.

“Well, actually there’s four endings, none of them felicious.  There’s Judy grasswire, the precipitous departure of hippyhubby Wild Bill and the whole Packer clan, my own misfortunes, and the sad, melancholy, drear, unhappy fate of Lamond.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

“You know, I dunno what Judy grasswire was doing here,” I commented to the business partner; “she just took it upon herself to join hippywife Mrs. Alfred Packer, and left home in Oregon without telling anybody.

“And I have no idea why she was on the boat with hippyhubby Wild Bill when he began his water-borne assault on the old time camp-meeting, which I’ll get to in a bit.

“As far as I know, she’s got nothing against God, like the hippycouple do, but maybe she does, given her conduct on Skins’s island, and if that’s the case, it’s unfortunate, because she’s shutting off the only source of solace and comfort to her in her declining, ever-lessening, days.

“But there she was, and when the boat tipped over, weighed down by all those coats, she sank clear to the bottom.

“I was trying--and failing--to rescue hippyhubby Wild Bill, who couldn’t swim, which I’ll get to in a bit, and Lamond was raising a ruckus, which I’ll get to in a bit, so I didn’t see when five or six locals and a couple of Lamond’s congregants jumped into the water to pull Judy grasswire back up and out.

“Once they got her up and out--and it took all of them, given the sheer weight of her coats--because she’s not a young woman, they rushed her to the medical clinic at the nursing home in town, for inspection.

“They should’ve kept her there to be picked up by her guardian coming from Oregon, but they decided no, they’d bring her back here and restore her to the Packer clan for safe-keeping.

“But when they got back, they discovered hippyhubby Wild Bill had jammed his whole party into the Snap-On Tool van converted into a funeral hearse, and high-tailed for points south, probably back to Oklahoma, which I‘ll get to in a bit. 

“They left everything here but themselves and the van; all their gear, all their supplies, the tents, the food, even the clothes hanging on lines to dry.

“In case you’re curious, hippywife’s white cotton underdrawers, according to their labels, boast a waistline of 56”.

“So then [my visitor], who didn’t know Judy grasswire, decided she could stay here until her guardian arrived.

“When I showed up some hours later--I’ll get to that in a bit--I got bent out of shape.

“’Look,’ I said, ‘this woman’s afraid of me, scared to death of me.  It’s a good thing that she hasn’t seen me yet.  I don’t care to scare little old ladies.’

“[my visitor] said I was nuts, that she was such a darling, sweet little old lady, and I’m such a nice guy.

“I got into a truck and drove to town to spend the night at somebody else’s house.

“I got back here about noon, to find that Judy grasswire’s guardian, one of her great-grandsons, had already been here and picked her up, and they were now on their way to Omaha, to get aboard Amtrak back to Oregon.

“The great-grandson’s in his mid-thirties, and pretty nice, according to [my visitor], although she thought him sort of a girly-man, as if he’d grown up without a male role model to emulate.

“He told [my visitor] that her guardians--her children, her grandchildren, her adult great-grandchildren--had been trying to put Judy grasswire into a nursing home where she could be watched over so she couldn’t make herself look silly--but they hadn’t yet succeeded because of bureaucratic red tape.

“[my visitor] also commented that she’d changed her mind about Judy grasswire; ‘That woman’s nuts, ga-ga, out of it.  She kept me up half the night rambling on and on about some red round guy, and how he’d been murdered by “freepers.”’

“Well, that takes care of Judy grasswire, which was a mess.

“But then there’s hippyhubby Wild Bill--I’ll get to him next--my own misfortunes, and the sad story of Lamond, which were even bigger messes.  It was a catastrophe.

“I hope never to see the like of it again.”

to be continued

[franksolich]

“Well, that takes care of Judy grasswire,” I told the business partner.  “Are you sure you want to hear the rest, about the running-away of hippyhubby Wild Bill, my own misfortunes, and the sorry fate of Lamond?  Are you sure?  It’s a lot of trouble for me, to dwell on such unpleasant matters, and so I’d rather not.

“It causes me unimaginable distress.”

Yeah I do, he smiled; “go ahead.”

to be continued Monday

[franksolich]

“So,” I resumed, “about the time Lamond was getting ready to duck my head under the water, baptizing me--he was acting really weird with me, but I’ll get to that later--around the bend of the river comes hippyhubby Wild Bill standing at the prow of the boat.

“Judy grasswire, as already mentioned, was seated in the center, looking very much like a many-coated Buddha.  Wild Bill’s brother, the one born with his hands wrong side out, was manning the motor.

“It was lightly raining, which is probably why Judy grasswire was holding a parasol over her head.

“Wild Bill was yelling, cursing up a storm, but I dunno what he was saying.

“Lamond paused, the crowd of his congregants and the locals on the riverbank paused, and I paused, to watch.

“Lamond, looking very much the sunglassesed Ray Charles in the robes and mitre of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and holding onto his crozier, his staff, and I, looking as I always do, were standing about one-third of the way into the river, about waist-high in water.

“This was enough space--the river’s certainly wide enough--for hippyhubby to direct his brother to circle the two of us with the boat, as he continued ranting and raving.  When facing the crowd on the bank, apparently he was calling them “Christers” and “Jesus freaks” and “fundies” and “rednecks” and “yokels” and some such. 

“When facing Lamond and me, he called us something else, but I was so stunned I couldn’t figure out what he was yelling.

“His face was so full of hate and fury it was indescribable; no passion I’d ever seen before.

“He started throwing lighted M-180 firecrackers into the air; he wasn’t aiming them to hit anybody, only to scare them.  And it did; the crowd on the bank retreated back, out of range in case he really lost it, and tried to hit someone.

“His face was especially ugly when yelling directly at me.

“It looked as if his head’d explode from the rage and hate.”

I lit another cigarette, sighing.  “I have no idea why I was so loathesome to him; after all, I’m a nice guy, one of the nicest guys one can ever hope to meet, and besides had always accommodated him and his family when they came up here.

“And then it happened.

“During one of the circlings of the boat, they got closer and closer to Lamond and myself, until they were just a few feet from us.  Wild Bill was looking directly at me, no one else, his eyes burning, when he clutched a whole handful of M-180 firecrackers and began lighting them.

“And then he aimed to throw them in my face.

“The rain was coming down harder.

“Right as hippyhubby swung his arm back to pitch, there was a loud clap of thunder and zig-zag of lightning; it was so close one could actually feel it.

“That startled Wild Bill, who fell off the boat, and in falling off the boat, he unbalanced it, meaning Judy grasswire and hippyhubby’s brother were dumped into the water too.  Judy grasswire, because of all the coats she was wearing, immediately sank to the bottom.  Wild Bill’s brother flailed around, yelling, “Help, help, help, I can’t swim.”

“As some of the stronger of Lamond’s congregants, and some locals, dove into the river to rescue the two, I noticed hippyhubby wasn’t moving.  His 350 pounds of lard enabled him to float for a while, but he looked unconscious.

“This was serious; he could drown.

“But nobody else was paying attention.  I waded into the water up to my neck, and than swam towards him.

“I can swim, but I’m no expert at it, and wasn’t quite sure how I was to wrestle with an old hippie twice my own weight, to tug him ashore, but somebody had to do it, and I guess random chance and accident decided that ‘somebody’ was me.

“I reached the inert half-submerged body and grappled with it, and suddenly Wild Bill came alive, but whether consciously or unconsciously, I dunno.

“It was a pain, a real pain,” I said, lighting another cigarette.  “He was bigger than me, and stronger than me, and fought with me, consciously or unconsciously, trying to drag me under with him.

“Inevitably, I went under; disappeared.

“Some on the riverbank had finally seen us, and two locals and one of Lamond’s congregants dived in, to rescue Wild Bill.  He fought with them too, but they managed to bring him under control, and got him on land.

“In all the excitement--and it was getting pretty dark too--as far as everybody was concerned, all the rescuing was done, and they all walked back through the trees to the camp-meeting grounds.”

to be continued Tuesday

[franksolich]

“The crowd more or less let hippyhubby Wild Bill and Lamond lay on the riverbank a while, to collect their breath and their wits, as they both were panting rather heavily, and for some reason excited out of their minds.

“When Wild Bill finally came to, he sat up and looked around him, a confused expression on his face.

“Seeing Lamond still out of it, laying there as if a sunglassesed Ray Charles posing as an effigy on the tomb of a long-ago Archbishop of Canterbury, hippyhubby’s expression changed to fear and panic.

“He got up, and before anybody could restrain him, took off running up the riverbank towards the hippiecamp, hollering, ‘I got the Jesus germ!  They gave me the Jesus germ!  Let’s get the Hell out of here before it gets any worse!  They gave me the Jesus germ!  I’m doomed!’”

The business partner looked at me quizzically.

“I dunno,” I said; “remember, I wasn’t there, and so didn’t see the whole thing. 

“I suspect what happened was this; you know, when I cuss, I use a lot of ‘Gawd’s and ‘Geezuz’es and ‘Chre-ist’s, and when I was trying to keep him above water, I was cussing a lot.

“Maybe the fat squalid old pony-tailed God-hater thought I was baptizing him.

“Anyway,” I continued, lighting another cigarette, “the whole Packer clan dropped everything packed into the converted Snap-On Tool van, WILD BILL & BROS., WHOLESALE UNDERTAKERS, DISCOUNT FOR QUANTITY, and roared off, up to the highway, and probably all the way back down to northeastern Oklahoma.

“Because hippyhubby was in no shape to drive, the brother born with both eyes on the same side of his nose, did.

“They left everything; their tents, their gear, hippywife’s cooking implements, their food, newly-washed clothes hanging on a couple of lines strung in between trees, the boat, the trailer, the stash of stuff Wild Bill’d picked up at garage sales earlier in the day, and even his cold-blooded cutlery.

“They left it all.  They even left the campfire lit.

“They even left Judy grasswire.

I rubbed my forehead and sighed.

Resuming, I said, “And in the meantime, because I was all tuckered out from the struggle with hippyhubby, I’d quit fighting and just let myself drift down the river.  I was really weak, and waiting until the river shoved me towards a shallower place, towards the bank.

“The problem was, it was the riverbank opposite, and I didn’t have the energy to swim across the river to the other side.  So I just laid there on dry land, waiting for some of the crowd to miss me, and come looking for me.

“The rain let up, the early-evening sun came out again, but no one came.

“My choices were two, as I really didn’t care to get back in the water and swim across.  I could walk five miles south to the county road with a rickety bridge that crosses the river, and then walk another six miles north up to here.  Or I could walk three miles north to the highway and cross there, with a chance someone might pass by, and give me a lift two miles south, back home.

“I took the second option.

“When I got to the highway, I sat down again, to wait near the bridge.  I was really tired.

“But luck was with me; some minutes later someone approached, slowed down, and even though he meant to go the opposite direction, he kindly picked me up to bring me home.

“’Good God, man,’ he said; ‘you look like you’ve seen the devil.’

“’And speaking of,’ he continued, ‘that bishop, or minister, or preacher, at the camp-meeting south of your place; well, they had to call the county sheriff and an ambulance--’”

“I shrugged.  I didn’t want to hear about it.  I could hear about it later.

“Instead, I brought up the question foremost on my mind; ‘Why do you suppose no one missed me, and went around to look for me?  It was as if I didn’t count.’

“’I mean, my God, at least the femme should’ve noticed I was missing.’”

to be concluded

[franksolich]

“By the time I got back here, everybody was gone excepting [my visitor], who then told me what’d happened with Judy grasswire, who was still in the house somewhere.

“’You should hear what happened to Lamond,’ she also said.

“’I can hear what happened to Lamond, and anybody else, later,’ I said, rather hotly; ‘what I’m interested in knowing is why nobody thought of me, why nobody noticed I was missing.’”

“’Everybody noticed you were missing,’ she told me; ‘but nobody made any big deal about it, because you’re who you are--’

“I looked at her, my mouth agape.

“’You know,’ she went on; ‘you’re always getting into one fix or another, but before anybody else can do anything, you’ve weaseled out of it. 

“’It always happens, never misses.  So there’s no point in worrying about it.’”

I lit another cigarette.

“So,” I went on, “what with Judy grasswire being in the house--somewhere--and what with this, I decided I didn’t want to hear any more, and went to town to spend the night. 

“When I came back here late the next afternoon, Judy grasswire had already been taken away by her guardian, and [my visitor] was getting ready to leave.

“’I had an interesting--as usual--time, and thank you, but before I go, you need to know about Lamond.’

“’No,’ I said; ‘I can hear about Lamond later.’”

- - - - - - - - - -

“Early the next morning, a great big fancy luxury sedan drove up into the front yard, out from which emerged two great big hulking black guys, both of them wearing suits and sunglasses.

“One of them was armed; maybe the other one too, but I didn’t notice.”

to be.....finally.....concluded

[franksolich]

“I went to the door, armed with an S/K adjustable wrench with the 17” handle, because as I said, these guys were strangers, and one was armed.

“However, the one who was armed set my mind at ease right away, saying they’d come to pick up Lamond, and wanted to know where he was at.

“I put the wrench down and offered to guide them there. 

“We went to their car, got in, and as we were headed to the site of the camp-meeting, I asked, ‘What’s wrong with Lamond?  I’ve been preoccupied with so many other matters, all I know is that something’s wrong.’

“Neither sunglassesed guy made any comment to illuminate me, instead just saying they’d been summoned from Detroit to take Lamond back there, for the ‘authorities’ to deal with.

“When we turned on to the Italianate real-estate and drove through the first row of trees, suddenly George and Jamaal, who’d been the advance men for the party, apparently saw us approaching, and they came running towards us, waving at us to stop.

“Which we did, and they tumbled into the car, suggesting we drive back to this place to ‘talk.’

“’Okay now, what’s going to happen next?’ George asked the suit-wearing guys.

“’When we get him back, he’ll be examined by the ecclesiastical authorities,’ we were told, ‘and then by state medical personnel, to determine if he’s competent.

“’Which he probably isn’t, and so his next home’s bound to be one of those big buildings with small rooms and soft walls.’

“’My God,’ I said; ‘what happened to Lamond?  What’s his problem?’

“George looked at me, sadly.  ‘You’re the problem.’

I looked at George as if he were Bozo from Outer Space.

“’You see,’ George explained, ‘when you showed up, and were walking through the crowd to get baptized, Lamond saw you, and something snapped in him.

“’We don’t know what it is, but he surely snapped.

“’You didn’t see any of it, because you were busy looking at other things.

“But he snapped, and snapped good, and got way out of control.

“’That’s why we didn’t want you to come see him; he’d snap again, bellowing and roaring about ‘mine eyes have seen the Glory of the Coming of the Lord…..

“’Lamond thinks franksolich is God.’”

the end, finally

[franksolich]

Okay, my sincerest apologies, especially to MrsCorpio, for having taken so long to complete this story, but certain vexacious problems in real life stunted the imagination.

But at any rate, I hope it was worth the read.

Next up: "BainsBane spends the night with franksolich."

Gimme twenty-four business hours to do it, though.

[BlueStateSaint]

Next up: "BainsBane spends the night with franksolich."

Gimme twenty-four business hours to do it, though.

I see what you did there . . .