Middle C - Part Four

by Rod Jones Artist-Writer

“Don’t forget Nicholas, next Sunday, same time; I can’t wait to see you again. Please don’t forget.”

“Come on Elise, how would I possibly forget? Have you had bad experiences with boyfriends standing you up and not showing up?”

“Well, that was kind of mean. No! No man has ever stood me up. Plus, you’re the only one I ever invited to my home. You should be honored. I thought we were falling in love?”

“OK you’re right, that was insensitive of me and I apologize. And yes, I know. I’m falling in love with you. And of course, I will be here next Sunday. That’s a whole week off. Seems so long. And thank you for reminding me Elise, but I’m pretty sure there’s no way I would forget. Goodbye for now.”

“You’re not gonna hug me?”

“I don’t seem to be doing much right. Yes, of course. I’ll hug you. I think I’m just a little bit overwhelmed. I’ve never been in a home like this. I think we’re falling in love with each other very fast. I think it’s a good thing, in fact, I know it’s a good thing, but I find it a little bit scary. We don’t know each other that well, but I guess time will take care of that and of course, I will be here next Sunday.”

Nicholas hugged Elise then he got into his car. He turned back towards her and blew her a kiss. She blew one back to him. Elise, as he was driving off, walked back into her home, and started thinking.

“Oh, what the hell are you doing to yourself again Elise? If Nicholas finds out who and what I really am, and that’s even if I let this relationship go that far, he’s going to be severely hurt. I don’t know why I do this to men, especially this one. Talk about sensitive. He’s almost like dealing with a child.”

“When he first met me outside that club and he judged me as being in there to meet guys, he was right. I thought it was clever of me to tell him that I was there giving some money to my brother. I don’t think my brother’s ever been in that club and if he was, I sure as hell would not go in there. Poor Nick, he pegged me right off the bat. What’s gonna happen when I tell him I’ve never washed a dish in my life, and I do know exactly what my father was doing to make all that money. I think I should just tell him not to come back here on Sunday, that something suddenly came up. I think I really like this guy and I hate to dump him like I have all the others. He’s really not gonna fit into my lifestyle or my life plans, not that I even know what the hell they’re gonna be.”

Heading back to Santa Monica, Nicholas had plenty of time to think.

“I don’t know what I am getting myself into. I think Elise out classes me in every possible way, comparing my life to hers, well, there’s no comparison. She obviously is wealthy. I’m not doing too bad, but I’m definitely not in her league financially, anyway. The way she came onto me, especially in the backseat of her car, that almost frightened me. I didn’t know if I could actually trust her. Now that I think about it, I still don’t know if I can trust her. There’s something not quite right. I definitely want it to be right. I love her… or is it, I just love the idea of her. Especially the way we met and how I misjudged her coming out of that club. Maybe I should just tell her I can’t come on Sunday. I don’t want to hurt her and I don’t wanna hurt myself by getting myself into something I’ll never be able to be comfortable in, and that stupid middle C she keeps mentioning, what is that supposed to mean? What does that have to do with us in a relationship? Maybe I should go to a library and look it up.”

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For Nicholas, the week went painfully slow, especially because he kept rethinking about what he was getting himself into.

For Elise, she gave Nicholas very little thought until Saturday came. During that week, she hung out with several different guys. She used to refer to them as her boys, in the most manipulative way.

After a week of agonizing thoughts for Nicholas, Saturday morning came. He still was trying to figure out what to do. He was even questioning his own motives, and thinking if he was good enough for her. Nicholas had girlfriends before, but never truly fell in love; he never lived with any of them. It was always just dating. Now he was faced with somebody that he was sure outclassed him. He didn’t want to have to ever depend upon her financially. He thought to himself what if she wants to get married, where would we live? I’m pretty sure she’s not gonna go for my apartment, although it is close to the beach, but that’s its only saving grace.

That Saturday before she was having Nicholas over to her home, she was out hanging with some girlfriends and doing some shopping. Of course, with her girlfriends the conversation went this way.

“So Elise, what man is in your life this week? Did you meet some guy at your favorite hangout on Sunset?”

“Well, yes and no. I met a guy, but not in the club. I was going back to my car and this guy was trying to put a note on it. I thought he was trying to pick me up. He was good looking so I didn’t find that all that offensive, but then he told me that he just put a dent in my car. I got mad at him, accused him of trying to pick me up and he suggested that I was sleazy for coming out of that club. Little did he know. We eventually met up at Conrad’s, and had a very late night meal. Then I arranged to meet him again. He’s a very nice guy, very innocent. I’m not exactly used to men like that.”

“No Elise, that definitely does not sound like you. Although we all wish you’d find a man you could love, not that any of us are doing such a good job in that area. You said he’s supposed to come to your home again tomorrow. Are you gonna let him? And if so, are you gonna tell him more about yourself or are you gonna just end it?”

“Oh yeah, tomorrow. I was thinking about calling up Nicholas and telling him that we can’t meet, and then basically just all of sudden not become available to him.”

“Do you like this guy? You seem to kind of light up when you talk about him, that’s not how you usually are Elise. We’ve all known you long enough. It’s easy to see you have some feelings here for this guy, don’t you?”

“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t.”

“Come on Elise we know you, may be better than you know yourself. Would it really hurt you to actually fall in love and maybe even marry someone and stop your perpetual playing around.”

“Maybe it would and maybe it wouldn’t.”

“OK, Elise, stop playing games with us. We’re being serious. None of us are angels, but you really push the limit. Give it a chance, fall in love with this guy. I’m sure you’ve led him on, as only you know how to do.”

“Maybe I will give it a try. There’s an awful lot of things I like about Nicholas. But I think it would absolutely crush him if I told him too much about myself.”

“Yes, probably, but nowhere is it written that us women need to share our life story with the man we fall in love with. Besides that, I don’t ever remember a guy telling us all about their conquests. We’re supposed to be mysterious and alluring. Give the guy a chance… if it doesn’t seem right you’ll figure out a way to back out of it. You always do.”

“I do like him, I don’t think I’ve ever felt exactly this way towards a man in my life. But I just don’t want to hurt him. Now that my parents are deceased and I doubt he will ever meet my brother, and can pretty much keep this charade going without any real trouble unless we run into some guy I knew in the past when he and I go out to dinner. Oh I guess I’ll figure out a way to deal with that. Maybe you’re right. I will meet him Sunday and see how it goes.”

Nicholas went through the massive gate and up the long drive to Elise’s home. The sensor on the gate, let Elise know that someone was coming up the drive and she knew it would be Nicholas. She opened the door and went outside to greet him with a welcoming and loving hug.

“You look beautiful today, Elise, but you kind of have an expression of concern. Don’t think I’ve ever seen that look on you before.”

“I woke up with a headache this morning, but now that you’re here it’s quickly going away. Come on in, let’s have an enjoyable and loving afternoon together. Instead of a bologna sandwich, we can have peanut butter and jelly today with crunched potato chips on it.”

This is the end of part 4 of Middle C. Part 5 will be available next Sunday in Sunday’s Matinee at Thought Row Vignettes.

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The short stories and essays published in Thought Row Vignettes are written entirely by me, Rod Jones Artist and Writer, using only a human hand and imagination. AI does not write, revise, or generate the fiction, essays, dialogue, plots, or endings. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine.

.

Some accompanying visuals may be original photography, properly licensed stock images, or AI-generated illustrations created from my own visual direction. These images are visual companions to the writing, not substitutes for it.

.

In a web where automated systems generate so much of the traffic and language, Thought Row Vignettes remains a small space for human-made fiction and reflection, one human sharing stories with another.

Middle C - Part Three

By Rod Jones Artist-Writer

Elise provided directions to her Pasadena home for Nicholas to follow, so he wouldn’t get lost. The rendezvous was going to take place on Sunday afternoon.

“I can’t believe this neighborhood, if you can call it that. I think you must really be somebody if you live on South Orange Grove Boulevard in Pasadena. I can’t believe this is where Elise lives. The address she gave me is here all right. Those gates, I haven’t seen gates like this since, well, Paris, Parc Monceau if I remember, right. Haven’t even gone through those gates, and I’m feeling way out of class. All this just because I accidentally bumped into her car, boy little did I know.”

Nicholas finally reached the front door of Elise’s home, joking to himself. “There should be a gas station on the way from that gate to her door.”

“Welcome to the Gilded Age Monstrosity Nick, oops I mean Nicholas.”

“What no staff greet me? No one to take my top hat, my cane, and my VALISE. This is quite the place. I know it’s probably extremely pedestrian of me to ask. Do you have a staff? How can you manage this place? Your foyer, I think it’s bigger than my whole apartment building.”

“Come on in, make yourself at home, I know that kind of sounds funny or maybe a bit pretentious, but I always want you to feel totally at ease here. I know it’s not easy. My brother and I grew up here and I’m still not comfortable. And yes, there is a staff to take care of this place. I usually don’t like them around when I’m practicing my piano compositions and today with you coming, I wanted us just to be together. If you want, we can go into the bar and make ourselves a cocktail, or we can go into the kitchen and whip up something a little like a sandwich. And yes, I know how to cook. My family had a very dear friend named Julia. She taught us all about French cooking. But the sandwich you and I are going to eat; well you have two choices, peanut butter and jelly or bologna on white bread with lots and lots of mayonnaise, a little lettuce, which I bashfully admit is my favorite.”

“I don’t want to drink any alcohol. But you’re talking my kind of talk when it comes to a bologna sandwich on white bread with lots of mayonnaise. Can we be daring enough to have some potato chips with it?”

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“Let’s head to the kitchen, I believe between the pantry and the refrigerator you and I are going to be all set for our own culinary delight. And if we really wanna have some fun instead of sitting at the staff table in the kitchen, we can go into the formal dining room. You can sit on one end, and I can sit on the other end. I will light as many candles as I can down the center of the table, or as I often refer to; the river barge. I’m only gonna light the candelabra in front of you and the one in front of me. It takes too long to light all of them. The best part is, I can yell down to you and you can yell down to me as we’re dining on our delicious bologna sandwiches. Nicholas don’t wink at me because without my glasses I won’t see you doing it that far away.”

“I am hungry. Did your family appreciate your referring to this table as a river barge, and, if I’m not being too noisy, I would like to ask you a couple of questions.”

“Ask away, I’m pretty sure I know what you’re going to ask. You want to know how my family ended up with this expensive property and what did my father do for a living?”

“Yes; but you’re certainly not obligated to tell me anything Elise.”

“To answer your first question, no, they weren’t really happy about a lot of the comments I would make. Especially when they would host formal dinners, and when they would entertain prominent people. When I was younger, they would waltz me around like some sort of trophy, and then have my nanny hall me off to bed, which was perfectly fine by me. I suppose I should’ve been super impressed, but I wasn’t. All I really wanted was love from my parents, and they were all about status and judging people by who they knew. I know you won’t, but please don’t say that I was or am a poor little rich girl. I work part time at a coffee shop as a waitress. And don’t remind me about how rude I was to the waitress at Conrad’s. When I’m not waitressing, I occasionally give a piano concert, mostly with the Pasadena Symphony.”

“To answer your second question. I know you’re curious as to what line of work my father was in and how we ended up with this big old monstrosity. Well, my father was bequeathed this property, because it belonged to my grandfather, and I’m not sure how he ended up with it, but there’s been a lot of rumors floating around. As far as what my father did for a living, quite honestly I don’t know. He had a study here in the home. He always kept it locked. My brother and I and my mother for that matter were never allowed to go in there, plus it was always locked. There was one butler that was in charge of maintaining it for him, but my brother and I never truly understood what he did. I can say one thing: he was a tremendous networker. I also know he wasn’t involved in politics, but that’s about it. I know it’s curious isn’t it?”

“Thank you, Elise. I hope I wasn’t out of place by being too nosy.”

“No, you had every right to ask, and if the tables were turned, I certainly would.”

“Well, I never ate at a table like this before, and if I did, it was usually a conference table, not a full-fledged dining table. Although I have to say, me and my colleagues would order either a bologna sandwich or a tuna sandwich. I’m having fun with you. All this, well, let me say, a wealthy environment is fun to witness but what I only really care about is you. I’d be most perfectly happy in a 10 x 10 cabin tucked away deep in a rain soaked forest and of course a warm cozy fireplace. What do you say Elise?”

“I’m ready. I’d go anywhere with you and that sounds like my idea of perfect. There is a very small room that I keep to myself. In fact, I keep the doors locked. No one‘s allowed to go in there, but that’s where I have my grand piano. Come with me. If you don’t mind, I’d like to play something for you. I thought about this piece of music almost from that day at Conrad‘s. I know it didn’t appear like it to you, but I knew then I wanted you in my life. Take my hand and follow me.”

“In all this magnificent space you have a hideout. I actually don’t blame you. It looks like this place can be pretty overwhelming. It certainly is for me. Your hand is very warm.”

“If you ever want to come in here, I have two keys, one I keep on a chain around my neck and the other one, I’m going to give to you. I’ve never let anyone else enter my as you call it hideout. You’re going to be the first and the only one forever. I know that sounds kind of stupid and mushy, but sometimes it just feels natural to express myself that way.”

“I’m honored. Doesn’t sound mushy, not the way you say things, they always come across as being heartfelt and genuine. That means a lot to me, Elise.”

“Your private hideout is everything I would expect. It’s cozy, warm and certainly feminine. I’m not sure when I would have the occasion to come in here with my own key. I don’t believe I would be in your, what did you call it? ‘Gilded Age Monstrosity.’ Definitely not by myself. If you’re not here, I’m not here. Besides, I have to go to work on a pretty regular basis.”

“There’s something I want you to always remember. It is from a poem that was written by one of my parents’ friends, and I always had hoped I could make this come true for me. It was written by Ann Monroe Lindbergh. And yes, Charles Lindberg’s wife. I prayed that I would get to say this to the right man someday, and you are truly the right man Nicholas. “Him that I love, I wish to be free even from me.” I truly believe that for both you and me. I never want to interfere with what you do in life that is important to you. Now if you will, go sit down in that big comfortable chair. That’s where I sit and read and daydream. Please be comfortable while I play for you.”

“That was beautiful. I’ve never had anyone play music for me and especially so tenderly. Not that I am a connoisseur of such things, but I suspect you are a brilliant and well accomplished musician. May I ask what that piece of music you played for me was?”

“Yes of course. I’ve never played this piece for anyone. I’ve never played it for an audience. I’ve only played it for myself. In its own way it has become very special to me. I hoped someday I could do a solo performance for someone I truly love, the work is called, Chopin’s Nocturne in E-flat major, op. 9, No.2. I will tell you more about it perhaps next time when we meet. I want you to be here with me again, I know this is gonna sound silly and mushy, but this is just not my hideout. It’s our hideout.”

“You made a comment when we were in the backseat of your car, which by the way, I can’t imagine anything being more meaningful and I guess I should say romantic. But I was wondering, you made a comment where you said, Middle C. Did that have anything to do with the music you just played for me? Is that a piano technique or piano term?”

“Yes, and no. And being in the backseat of my car with you was terribly romantic. And I did mention middle C. You were right, and I’m glad you remembered. When we meet together again, which I’m hoping will be next weekend, I will tell you what that term means. I’m sorry to be so secretive and I know you’re curious, especially when I started out by answering you by saying, yes and no. It’s not my intention to make it intriguing. But there’s going to be the perfect time for me to share with you exactly what that means Nicholas, my love.”

I hope you come back to Sunday’s Matinee at Thought Row Vignettes for Part 4 of Middle C.

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The short stories and essays published in Thought Row Vignettes are written entirely by me, Rod Jones Artist and Writer, using only a human hand and imagination. AI does not write, revise, or generate the fiction, essays, dialogue, plots, or endings. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine.

.

Some accompanying visuals may be original photography, properly licensed stock images, or AI-generated illustrations created from my own visual direction. These images are visual companions to the writing, not substitutes for it.

.

In a web where automated systems generate so much of the traffic and language, Thought Row Vignettes remains a small space for human-made fiction and reflection, one human sharing stories with another.

Middle C - Part Two

By Rod Jones Artist-Writer

Nicholas looked up at the waitress as she walked up to the table where he and Elise were sitting.

“Is there anything I can get you two? I’m going to be taking a break for a little bit.”

Nicholas looked at her name tag.“No Peggy, just the check and thank you for the good service you provided us. I know it’s pretty late. In fact, it looks like we’re moving into the morning.”

Nicholas took the check and told Elise, “It will be my honor to take care of it.”

“No, I pay for my own. I don’t want to be obligated in any way, Nick.”

“So, it’s pretty friendly to call me Nick, and then tell me I can’t have the pleasure of paying for your food and my food at the same time. Plus, I just wanna leave the money here on the counter so we can leave. I’m tired and I know you’re tired and we didn’t get very far telling each other about ourselves. I would like to see you again. Can I call you?”

“No, I don’t want to give you my phone number.”

“OK, I understand. I know one thing for sure you’re very curious about me as I am you but I’m going to give you my card. It has my phone number on it. You can call me pretty much anytime then we can meet again here at Conrad’s, preferably not in the middle of the night, maybe for breakfast or lunch. Although if you’d like to go to dinner, I think we could probably find a place a bit more fun. Here’s my card with my phone number on it.”

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“Is this all you have on your business card? I see your phone number. It’s a 310 area code. Also it just has your company name, Thought Row LLC. What is that supposed to be? You put a dent in my car, you try to put a note on my car. You tell me you were up in this building at the top floor. I look at the building and it has no business name on it. By the way, I think it was about midnight. You tell me you had to deliver some papers. I thought maybe you were in real estate or maybe even working for some government office. You now hand me your card with your phone number on it, and the only other identifying mark is your company name which completely does not make sense to me. What is Thought Row LLC?”

“Kind of curious, isn’t it Elise? I will tell you all about next time we meet. Preferably for a nice dinner.”

“Why do you think I’m going to call you? And why would I call you just to find out what you do or what you’re up to?”

“Because, I think you kind of like me. I know I’ve been getting to like you. I also know you’re very curious. I also know that you’re pretty sure I am no threat to you. I present myself well, I’m tidy, I’m polite and courteous. And under that gruff demeanor you have, I think you are probably a very kind and caring person. I would definitely like to get to know you better. I would definitely like you to get to know me better. You have my number. You can call me and we can have a nice dinner together. It’s up to you. Let me walk you to your car, and no, I will not follow you home. In fact, you can let me leave first. I will be turning left, out of the parking lot and heading to the on-ramp, to the freeway, heading west.”

“You’re pretty sure of yourself aren’t you Nick? Maybe, just maybe, I will give you a call, you’re right about one thing. I don’t think you’re a bad guy.”

Nicholas walked Elise to her car, opened her door, shook her hand, and said. When you call me Nick instead of Nicholas does that mean you’re trying to be nice to me?”

“Yes and no. Nick, Nicholas. Maybe I will call you, maybe we can have dinner somewhere here in Pasadena. As my grandmother used to say. Time will reveal all.”

“I thought it was, time will tell all? I kinda like time will reveal all, because in our case I think that’s what’s going to happen. Good night Elise be safe.”

Nicholas thought for sure Elise would call him at least within a week. He did receive one call and it had its caller ID turned off. He thought maybe that might have been Elise. A second week went by then on a Sunday night, about 10:30 the phone rang. There was no caller ID.

“Hello Elise. I know it’s you and I’m glad you’re calling.”

“How did you know it would be me Nick?”

“I just felt your energy.”

“Yeah right! OK, I will have dinner with you Sunday. You name the place, but it has to be in Pasadena. And no, I don’t like sushi. I’m pretty sure you won’t take me to a Mexican restaurant. And yes, I’m not a vegetarian but not too interested in some expensive steak place. If I have a choice, I would like to dine at Cafe Santorini.”

“We already have reservations. I knew that would be a favorite place for you. I’m confident that you do not want me to pick you up, so we can meet in the parking lot at 8 PM. I will see you there on Sunday. I will look for the car with a small dent. The one I so kindly administered to your car.”

Sunday evening at 7:50 PM Elise pulled into the parking lot. She spotted Nichola’s car within minutes. He greeted her and said, “You look radiant Elise, are you ready, let’s go in and enjoy each other‘s company.”

The waiter led Elise and Nicholas to a secluded table, setting them up for a romantic evening.

“Nicholas, did you pay extra to get this table? Do you know someone here? I don’t think there’s another one like it in this whole restaurant.”

“No, Elise. I don’t have that kind of influence, and definitely not in this restaurant, but you have to admit it’s kind of cozy and gives us an opportunity to have a warm and sharing conversation. Would you like me to order us a nice bottle of wine?”

“No, I don’t want any wine.”

“Do you not drink alcohol Elise?

“Yes, but that’s not what I want.”

“What would you like? Is there something else you would like to drink?”

“No, I don’t care for anything to drink, but there is something I want.”

“You name it and I will do my best to get it for you.”

“I want to leave, I want to leave with you. Let’s go sit in my car, you know the one you put a dent in.”

“I apologize for that and I’m sorry, but think about it, that’s how you and I met and I don’t think that little dent turned out to be such a bad thing. Right now, I thought I was about to have a wonderful dinner and get to know someone I truly want to know. And now you want to go sit in your car and talk. I’m OK with that. Let me settle with the waiter and thank him for the table, he suggested it to us. Do you want me to walk you to your car?”

“No, I will meet you there. I hope you weren’t too hungry Nicholas.”

“You will be there right, you’re not gonna drive off?”

“Yes, I will definitely be there, come and sit with me in my car so we can talk. And no it’s not going be some serious conversation. I think it’s a better way for us to talk to each other in an honest fashion, not in a restaurant.”

“OK that sounds good to me and no, I’m not that hungry and I would love to get to know you. I believe you know that.”

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Nicholas went to Elise’s car. The passenger door was unlocked and he sat down comfortably, turned towards her and said “I’m all here for you. Why don’t you start?”

“ I don’t want to go through the whole dating scene with you. I don’t want to meet with you for dinners. I don’t want to go with you to a movie, and God forbid some stupid sporting event. That seems like a big waste of time not to mention money. I’m going to be perfectly honest with you and I expect the same from you. I’m going to ask you one question. I know you will give me a truthful answer.”

“I will answer truthfully, and I will share with you my feelings Elise.”

“OK, I appreciate that from you Nicholas. My number one question is, do you truly like me and I’m not just talking about my looks. Tell me seriously from your heart, then after you tell me, I will tell you exactly what I think of you. I will tell you this upfront, I don’t want to date you. I want my relationship with you to be permanent, long lasting and filled with genuine caring and love. I know you may find that shocking, but we are either gonna move forward as one or now would be a good time for you to get out of the car and drive away Nicholas.”

“I am quite honored, I think. I hate to use the term conventional, but how you just approach me is definitely not what I expected. But here is exactly how I feel about you, and it doesn’t have to do with how you look or if I’m physically attracted to you. I suppose I am, but that’s not why I wanted to get to know you. I picked up something off of you. I don’t know exactly how to describe it, Elise, but there’s an energy that you have that seems to meld with mine. I’ve never felt anything like this before in my life. And to be very honest with you, I don’t think I can have a life without you in it. I can go on and on, but I think you know or understand what I’m saying, at least I hope you do now. Tell me why you want to be with me?”

“I don’t just want a boyfriend. In fact, I don’t even care if I get married. I want you. I want you in my life forever with that energy you felt and I felt. I projected it on you but you also projected your energy on to me. I don’t think it’s anything mystical or spiritual. It’s just meant to be. We’re going to find out very quickly.”

“What do you mean, how are we going to find out very quickly Elise? I really don’t know anything about you and you really don’t know anything about me.”

“Let’s move to the backseat of my car. There’s plenty of room back there.”

“You’re kidding, right? That could be dangerous for you and that could be dangerous for me. I’m not that progressive when it comes to meeting a girl, especially when you consider how we meant we haven’t even had a dinner together and now you’re asking me to move to the backseat of your car. I admit that the idea of being able to sit next to you, I find that’s something I would really love to do, but I don’t want to compromise our relationship before it’s even started.”

“You just need to do one thing: get in the backseat with me then I will tell you what you need to do. After that, I will tell you all about myself and you can tell me whatever you would like me to know about you Nicholas.”

Nicholas followed Elise’s lead. He got out of his side of the car and moved to the backseat. She moved back there herself rather quickly. There they sat facing each other.

“Now what? I can really feel your energy, especially being this close to you.”

“Kiss me! Get close to me, hold me and kiss me. It will change everything for both you and I.”

“OK, I have to admit the idea of kissing you feels very natural, something I would really like to do. I hope, then again I pray that this is the right thing for you and for me.”

Nicholas put his arms around Elise and pulled her close to him. He never allowed anyone to make that kind of demand of him, especially under these circumstances. He held her tight and she did the same, never felt anything like this in his whole life. He never kissed a woman that made him feel like he felt inside, in his mind, and throughout his whole body. There was an energy there where he never wanted to let go. He felt completely enveloped from head to toe. There was a complete sense of security and elation. No kiss had ever revealed so much as that kiss shared between Nicholas and Elise.

“Elise, I never felt anything like that kiss. I hate to think of it as just a kiss. There was so much more meaning and depth to us coming together like that. I opened my eyes while I was kissing you. I could see you were doing the same thing. seeing you and watching you looking at me seemed to add something I’d never experienced before in my life. What did that kiss tell you, why was it so important? It certainly changed my life in a remarkable way.”

“Nicholas that kiss told me what I already knew. It was important to prove something to you, as I knew it would. We were destined to be together in this lifetime. No dating, no bottle of wine, none of the usual courtship was ever necessary.”

“I guess I experienced something I never knew was possible. When you asked me to go to the backseat of your car, I have to admit I was nervous. I didn’t know what you were up to. It could’ve been something not pleasant and dangerous for me. I didn’t think you knew me well enough, it could’ve been a very dangerous situation for you. Who are you Elise? Are you going to tell me something about yourself?”

“Yes, Nicholas. As you might have guessed I live in Pasadena. My parents were extremely wealthy. Unfortunately they died in a plane crash a few years ago. I live in the family home which by most standards in Pasadena is a mansion. I’m also a concert pianist. My career can be very demanding, but I only perform when I feel like it makes sense. It’s not something I plan on doing forever. As you know, I do have a brother that’s why I was at that club. Little did I know I would run into you and I definitely did not think you were going to be the one who is going to change my life inside and outside. I also knew when we sat and had that late meal at Conrad’s, I thought to myself, I might just push you away, but I couldn’t. I knew there was something way beyond what I would initially think of a man I just met, especially under those initial circumstances. I don’t think I need to convince you or persuade you into caring for me. I knew when we kissed that it would reveal everything I needed to know, but I also knew it would reveal everything you needed to know. Unconventional yes. Now tell me a little bit about you Nicholas and I promise I won’t call you Nick unless you want me to.”

“I live in an apartment in West LA. I hate it there. My parents have also passed away and I have no siblings. I make a reasonably good living in media. I am not a Hollywood studio groupie, projects come my way, I execute, get paid, then go back to my apartment. I have had girlfriends before, but they were just very casual relationships. I never really felt someone that I knew was right for me. Especially in my industry a lot of women are only looking out to see how you could help them in their career. Once they discover you’re not the ticket they were looking for they quickly move on. There was nothing covert about those papers I was delivering when I bumped into your car and ultimately met you. Little did I know meeting you was going to have such an impact on my life in such a beautiful, wonderful and meaningful way.”

“Nicholas, there is a term in music referred to as, The Middle C.”

“What does that mean Elise? What does that mean regarding you and I? If you’re a concert pianist there must be some deep meaning, and it must have something to do with you and I coming together. Admittedly, I’m not that knowledgeable about music and playing an instrument, especially a piano. Tell me what does that mean?”

“I’m not going to tell you just yet, Nicholas, because it won’t mean that much to you, but it will soon enough. I want you to come to my home in Pasadena, pick whatever day you like.”

This is the end of Part 2 - Should there be a Part 3? You tell me.

The short stories and essays published in Thought Row Vignettes are written entirely by me, Rod Jones Artist and Writer, using only a human hand and imagination. AI does not write, revise, or generate the fiction, essays, dialogue, plots, or endings. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine.

Some accompanying visuals may be original photography, properly licensed stock images, or AI-generated illustrations created from my own visual direction. These images are visual companions to the writing, not substitutes for it.

In a web where automated systems generate so much of the traffic and language, Thought Row Vignettes remains a small space for human-made fiction and reflection, one human sharing stories with another.

Middle C - A Love Story in the Key of Doubt

Part One ~

Rod Jones Artist-Writer

Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood, CA. 11 PM or so.

“Hey, get away from my car, what do you think you’re doing? Jerk!”

“I was putting a note on your car.”

“Why? I don’t respond to guys who put notes on my car. I think they’re dangerous. In fact, I don’t respond to guys that are not formally introduced to me. So save yourself some trouble, take that note off my car and get the hell away from me. Better yet, just get in your car and drive away. I know the bouncer in the club and I’m sure he would be more than happy to come out here and beat the crap out of you if he thinks you are a threat to me.”

“Wait a minute, back up, you’re interpreting this situation pretty much the way I would expect from a girl who just came out of that club, I might add a notorious club here on Sunset Strip. That’s probably the most pick-up joint in Hollywood.”

“You don’t know anything about me and I sure as hell don’t need to tell you anything about me. There was a reason I dropped into this club and it wasn’t to meet guys. Now, tell me why you’re putting a note on my car or I will go in and have a bouncer come out here. Also, who the hell do you think you are disapproving of me because I just happened to be coming out of that club? You definitely have me all wrong, totally wrong, and this is coming from a guy who is putting a note on my car.”

“Ah yes, the note on your car. I put a dent in it.”

“You what, you put a dent in my car, why? How? What were you doing so close to my car?”

“See those lights on, the ones at the top of this building. I was dropping off some very important papers that needed to be signed for one of my clients. There wasn’t a lot of room and I was under the gun to get those papers to them before they left the office. There wasn’t a lot of room, I admit, I’m not that great at parallel parking. But I managed to get my car behind yours and in front of the car behind me. When I came out to leave, I drove my car up onto the curb slightly. I think I was irritated by what went on when I had to get those papers signed, and their attitude toward me. I turned my wheel the wrong way, fell off the curb and banged into your car. It’s not in my nature just to forget it and take off, so I was putting a note under the wiper blade letting you know my name and my phone number and letting you know that I put a dent in your car. It’s not a very big dent, you probably would not have noticed it at least not for a while, but I was responsible so the note was to let you know that I was the one who put the dent in your car and I apologize for doing that.”

“Show me the dent, but don’t get close to me, cause I don’t trust you. Stay back and I will read your note.”

“Good, that’s a good idea. I’m surprised you came out of that joint alone. Weren’t you there trying to connect with some guy?”

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“No! Not that it’s any of your business, but my brother is a bartender there. He hit me up for some money so he could pay his rent. Not that I can afford to give him any, because I lost my job this morning. I would never go into that place if it wasn’t to help out my brother, that’s not the kind of person I am. Again, not that it’s any of your damn business. I love the way you made a judgment. I’m not even dressed like a girl who would want to get picked up in that joint, obviously you can see that, can’t you?”

“ No, I guess I was just making a judgment. When you approached me, your demeanor was hostile and accusatory. I guess if guys saw you coming out of that club and they knew this was your car, they probably would put a note on it trying to make a connection, and probably thinking the same thing I thought, I guess. I sincerely apologize.”

“ Well I’m not dressed like a bimbo, because I’m not one. I’m not trampy and all the other words you guys have a tendency to use referring to the kind of girls that hang out in clubs like this. I was genuinely on a mission and I wanted to get out of there as quickly as I could. And I was definitely irritable because of the pressure my brother put on me to give him some money. I was especially irritated because he wasn’t too terribly concerned that I lost my job today and he didn’t seem to be too terribly concerned as to the additional pressure he was putting on me.The last thing I needed or was even remotely interested in was some jerk putting a note under my wiper blade with no doubt, some lewd and suggestive comments. Especially in this part of town and especially outside of this club. Everyone in Hollywood knows that this is the premier pick-up joint. Apparently you even had that thought when you saw me.”

“My name is Nicholas Carver, outside of my business world, my friends and family call me Nick.

I have an idea and I hope you’re up to it, do you want to meet me at Denny’s? We can have a cup of coffee. I will tell you more about me and what line of business I’m in. I would like to know more about you, especially what line of work you’re in. I have a lot of connections and maybe I can give you a referral. What do you think?”

“ First off, I want you to clearly understand that I am definitely not looking for a boyfriend, I don’t have one now and I’m pretty sure I don’t need one right now in my life. So if you have that thought in your mind, forget it. That Hollywood Denny’s is also known as a pick-up joint. But it is probably the only place around here where we can sit and talk. So the answer is OK. I will meet you there. I guess I should formally introduce myself to you, my name is Elise, Elise Holloway. I really don’t want to go to that Denny’s. I don’t think it’s safe at night. I don’t know where you live. I assume at some point you want to go home and I do too. What if we drove to Pasadena and we had coffee at Conrad’s? I would be way more comfortable there.”

“Elise, that’s a pretty name. Thank you for sharing your name with me. I’m all for going to Conrad’s. That would be more convenient for me and I’m guessing it’ll be more convenient for you and I have no problem getting the hell out of Hollywood. If it wasn’t for having to deliver those papers, I rarely come through this area, if ever. Let me back my car up as much as I can so you can get out easily. And I will meet you there at Conrad’s.”

“OK, great Nicholas, or should I call you Nick? I will meet you there. I’m going to stay in my car until I see you pull in, then we can walk to the door together.”

“Whatever is comfortable for you, Elise. I would like you to call me Nick, but I understand, it’s fun to say Nicholas, so whatever works for you. Depending on traffic, I’m guessing we should both get to Conrad’s in about 30 to 45 minutes, so I will see you there. Drive carefully.”

Elise pulled into Conrad’s parking lot in Pasadena filled with trepidation. “This is just great! What am I doing? I really don’t know what motivated me to agree to this. He seems like an OK guy, but any smart woman knows that could be just a disguise. I should’ve thought about this more. Who delivers papers to the top floor of a building late at night, with no little explanation? Seems kind of covert to me. Well, even though I think I’m making a huge mistake, it’s pretty safe for me to go into the restaurant and have coffee. I just have to make sure when we leave he doesn’t follow me. I pretty much know my way around here, so I can duck out if I have to. I don’t like how I feel, I’m not comfortable with how we met. I keep thinking of all the disastrous scenarios that could ensue. This curiosity of mine could get me in serious trouble. I could just drive off now, although he does have my license plate number and I suppose if he has the right connections they can track me down.”

“I wish I smoked. This would be a perfect time to light up a cigarette. Where is he? I wonder if he decided not to show up. I’ll give it five more minutes and if I don’t see him pull in I’m out of here.”

Nicholas pulled into the parking lot at Conrad’s. He partially jumped the curb, which Elise could easily see and hear. And thinking to herself: “First he hit my car and now he can’t even pull it into a parking lot without hitting the curb. I don’t know about this guy.”

Nicholas pulled into the space next to Elise’s car. He opened the door and walked over to her driver’s side. She opened her door. “What took you so long, Nicholas? I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show up, I was ready to drive off.”

“I’m glad you didn’t, Elise. All of a sudden traffic came to almost a standstill. Don’t know why; there wasn’t any accident on the freeway. I would’ve called you, but I don’t have your number. Anyway, I’m here now. Let’s go in.”

Nicholas and Elise walked into the restaurant together. He held the door open for her and almost immediately a waitress came up to them with a couple menus in her hand, and spoke out with a greeting, “How are you two doing this evening? Where would you like to sit, up here across from the counter by the window, or would you like something more private toward the back? There’s a cozy booth back there where you two can talk.”

Elise never gave Nicholas a chance to respond; she aggressively told the waitress, “We will sit up here, thank you. We don’t need that kind of privacy. Trust me.”

Nicholas looked over at the waitress, rolled his eyes, embarrassingly. Then he took control, as best he could of the situation to overcome Elise’s rudeness. With a warm smile, he told the waitress, “Yes, this table is the one, I want to sit here with my acquaintance,” making sure he did not reference or acknowledge a friendship in the traditional sense with Elise.

“Very well, can I start you two with something to drink, just so you know you can order a cocktail if you wish.” The waitress, who had many years of experience in her line of work, quickly determined that the guy was being a perfect gentleman, and the lady was being a real pain in the ass. This duo and contradictory personalities made her wonder to herself, “What’s a nice guy like this doing with this rude woman? It’s late at night when they walked in. I thought they were out on a date.”

Elise spoke first to the waitress, “I will have a cup of decaf coffee with cream and two sugars. Plus, I would like a fried egg sandwich with mayonnaise, sparingly, and black pepper, also sparingly, on white toast.” She looked at the waitress and blurted out, “Got that?”

The waitress, with her many years of experience, profiled Elise immediately. She thought to herself, “I will just placate her, like I do all my customers and keep my judgments to myself.”

The waitress, with a warm and genuine smile, looked at Elise and said, “Yes dear, I got it, and I’m sure our chef will prepare the most perfect fried egg sandwich with just the right amount of mayonnaise and just the right amount of black pepper. I myself will prepare your coffee to meet all of your expectations.”

Nicholas, witnessing this exchange between Elise and the waitress, was doing everything he could to keep from laughing. He thought to himself, “Lady, you just earned yourself one hell of a tip.”

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The waitress looked over at Nicholas with a pleasant smile and asked, “What will you have, sir?”

“I will have the same as my lady companion, except hold the eggs, toast and all of its trimmings. I will just have a simple cup of caffeinated coffee, no cream, no sugar.”

Nicholas’s wisecrack comment, intentionally meant to tease Elise, hit its mark.

“Thank you, Nicholas, for embarrassing me in front of our waitress. I hope you derived a great deal of pleasure, I didn’t. So tell me, Nicholas, are you one of those condescending mean bastards? You know, like you are, like you acted just now?”

“I apologize, Elise, no harm was intended. From my point of view, I thought you were being a bit rude to the waitress. I just wanted to bring a little levity into the waitress’s late evening shift.”

“I know I was, and I owe her an apology. I think I’m just extremely uncomfortable with you. I never allow myself to get picked up like this and I don’t know why I did.”

“Elise, I’m not a bad person and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I know the situation and how we met was certainly not the best. But I truly wanted to get to know you, and I wanted you to get to know about me. I never thought of this as being any kind of pick-up. It was a set of strange circumstances that brought us together and now we’re sitting across from each other in a Pasadena restaurant. Go figure. Let me tell you about me, who I am and what I do. Perhaps you can share the same about yourself with me.”

This is the end of part one, in part two Elise and Nicholas, well I should say mostly Elise will make everything difficult when it comes to Nicholas getting to know her. We will see where this relationship is headed and witness how one personality can be both charming and antagonistic.

Will they reach that Middle C?

The short stories and essays published in Thought Row Vignettes are written entirely by me, Rod Jones Artist and Writer, using only a human hand and imagination. AI does not write, revise, or generate the fiction, essays, dialogue, plots, or endings. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine.

Some accompanying visuals may be original photography, properly licensed stock images, or AI-generated illustrations created from my own visual direction. These images are visual companions to the writing, not substitutes for it.

In a web where automated systems generate so much of the traffic and language, Thought Row Vignettes remains a small space for human-made fiction and reflection, one human sharing stories with another.

The Other Tenant - Part Two

By Rod Jones Artist-Writer

Now that I can see you clearly up close, you’re very pretty, I don’t like your name however. I guess wherever you come from you can call yourself whatever you like. I’m just gonna call you lady, but I don’t think I’ll be calling you lady very long because like all attractive women that come here they tend to leave early.”

“There is one thing I really like about you, you have beautiful red hair. I used to have red hair, still have some but most of it is turning gray. People used to call me the old redhead like they used to call Arthur Godfrey. Although he had freckles, I don’t, thankfully.”

“One thing that has me really confused is I don’t understand what you’re wearing. It looks like what skin divers wear, like some sort of wet suit. But what I find really confusing, is when you move across the room, it seems to disappear and take on the appearance of the wall or my furniture, doesn’t make sense. I can see that you have a nice figure. You’re certainly not fat like the other person I know with your name.”

“While I’m on it, why did you come falling down through my wall? What was the purpose of that? What kind of crazy thing is that? Are you ever gonna tell me who you are and why you came into my home that way?”

“I guess you do deserve some sort of explanation.”

“Damn right I do! Maybe you can just tell me and get the hell out of here.”

“I could’ve knocked on your door, dressed the way you normally see people, but I don’t think you would’ve let me in, in fact, I know you wouldn’t have.”

“You can count on that. If you knocked on my door, I would not answer it. The only people that knock on my door that I don’t know are either people doing some sort of fundraiser or asking stupid questions about politics. I don’t ever have to worry about bill collectors cause I don’t owe anybody anything. So you thought you’d get my attention by disrupting my whole life by crashing through my wall, wearing some sort of strange outfit. Well, you’ve got my attention. Speak your peace and then get the hell out of here. Let me get back to my movie and my drink. Actually my movie is over with. Thanks to you.”

“OK, I will tell you, at least I will tell you some things. I know you have a lot of experience as a photographer. You were a photographer in the army during the Korean War, at least towards the end of it. After that you got married and had some kids. That did not go well, and now you live here. You’re a PR photographer, you have photographed famous people, you’ve even photographed three presidents. You’ve taken pictures at all kinds of events. You are very well liked in San Diego. You had a very good friend called Bill Smith, you called him Billy. Unfortunately he got killed stepping out of his car. He stopped off at a liquor store and was coming over to see you. He never showed up. You found out about it later.”

“I don’t know why or how you know that, and yes, that bothered me then and it still bothers me to this day. But that couldn’t possibly have anything to do with why you’re standing here in my home. Billy was an excellent PR photographer. Sometimes we would compete to get the same job, but if he got it and I didn’t, he’d still split the money with me and I would do the same for him. I dearly miss Billy.”

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“I know how that impacted you and I’m sorry you had to go through that. What are the reasons I’m here? You have a roll of film. It’s a roll of Tri-X ASA 400, it’s in your dark room, it’s sitting by your timer. You’ve never developed that roll of film. It’s been there for exactly 2 years. Two years from the date that your friend was killed. I don’t think you forgot about it, but for some reason, you won’t process it.”

“How in the hell do you know about that roll of film and what does that have to do with you being here? And yes, I have photographed lots of famous people, and a lot of people that weren’t so famous. Some were absolutely wonderful to work with, others, well, let’s just say, A- holes! Now get back to the why so you can be gone and leave me alone.”

“Your friend Billy was deliberately killed. Only one person actually saw the car hit him and drove away. No one knows who that was or why that person deliberately ran over your friend.”

“Do you? Do you know who killed Billy?

“Yes, and you are about to find out.”

“You’re going to tell me?

“No, you’re going to process that roll of film. In that film, you will find the answer. When you make the black and white prints you will see who killed Bill Smith.”

“You’re crazy! I took the pictures that are on that roll of film. No one else had access to that roll, and nobody else placed that on my shelf. I guess that film has been sitting there for about two years. But I sure as hell did not take a picture of some rotten bastard running down my friend Billy.”

“You’re crazy! You come into my home crashing through my wall dressed like some weirdo on Halloween, and now you tell me this story. That story doesn’t make sense, and you definitely do not make sense again. Who the hell are you and why are you taunting me and making me think about my friend Billy? Now you’re suggesting that I have a roll of film that shows who murdered my friend Billy. You’re also suggesting I’ve kept it undeveloped for two years. Why would I do that? You’re crazy, this whole thing is crazy. Why don’t you just leave me alone?

“I wish I could Roy. I wish I wasn’t sent here, but I was.”

“Why were you sent here? What do you have to do with me? How did you know about my best friend Billy? How did you know he was hit by a car, and how in the hell did you know about that roll of film? Why should I even give a crap, and why don’t you just go back to your home in the stars and leave me alone? And I know you are no damn angel sent down here to harass me; even the divine one wouldn’t torture me this way. Maybe the head of hell would.”

“As I told you before, I’m not an angel, I’m not a representative from what you call heaven and I’m not a representative from what you call hell. To answer your question more directly as to who I am. Well I suppose you could say I’m part of the universe. You could also say if you want to attach religion to it, I could be referred to as divine consciousness. I know that doesn’t inform you, but you’re just going have to live with it.”

“Well I don’t wanna live with it! I don’t want to know what’s on that film. But there’s something I do want, and that is for you to disappear, however, you do that magic just make it happen and leave me the hell alone.”

“Sorry Roy no. You’re going to go into the dark room, you’re going to process that film, you’re going to dry the film and you’re gonna make those prints and just so you know, I will not leave you alone until you make that happen. I suggest you get into the dark room right now. I will be in there with you, after you look at those prints then I will vanish.”

“Promise? Promise me you will be gone, promise me I won’t remember anything about this. I don’t know if I should be afraid of what you’re trying to do to me by making me process that film and look at those prints. Let’s go get it over with.”

“You won’t be sorry, Roy. Once you look at those photographs and recognize what you’re about to see, I will be gone.”

“The film is dry. I can’t really make out what’s on the negatives. Let me stick them in the enlarger and I’ll print them one by one, but it only looks like there’s four images on that whole roll. That’s kind of unusual to only have four exposed frames.”

“Oh my God lady! That’s Billy getting hit by that car, I know that car. Wait a minute, that’s my car, that’s my old caddy. I didn’t hit Billy. I didn’t hit him with my car. I couldn’t have. Did I take these pictures? If I did, I couldn’t have been driving the car that killed him. What the hell is this about? That’s my car. Billy died because my car killed him. How did I end up taking these pictures?”

“You did not kill Billy with your car. You had just come out of a building where you photographed the president of a company. You had put a fresh roll of film in your camera. You saw lights reflecting off of chrome windows in the building across the street. You took the pictures of the building not realizing that your friend Billy was in the car parked at the curb. You also didn’t hear or even pay attention to the fact that a person got hit by your car. You were just focused on the glare from the building’s glass windows. You couldn’t really see into the shadows at the base of the building where Billy was getting out of his car and when your car ran him over.”

“My car, someone stole it and killed my best friend, and I actually took pictures of it. I remember photographing that building. I never really take pictures like that. That’s why I never bothered to process that film. When I walked back to Fir Street. I remember my car, at least I think I remember my car was still parked in front of my house. Who would take my car? What bastard would kill my best friend? Do you know? Tell me, do you know?”

“Yes, yes, I do know and if you blow up that image and focus in on the front windshield of the car, you will clearly see who was driving it. That is the person who killed your friend.”

“I do recognize that person. She owns a major public relations agency here in downtown. Why in the hell would she want to take my car and run over Billy? This doesn’t make sense at all.”

“You have the evidence. You could turn it over to the police, but no one is going to believe you so you need not bother. But I will tell you why this happened, then I will leave you alone.”

“Tell me why this happened and why can’t the police do anything about this? I have proof now.”

“Your friend Billy was hired to take pictures of someone in a hotel room. He photographed that person from an adjacent building with a telephoto lens. That person was very powerful not only in the US, but maintained influence throughout the world. Your friend Billy figured this out and decided he was going to reveal the presence of these two individuals together in that hotel. He told the person that hired him that unless he received a very high fee for taking those photographs, he would expose them to the local newspaper. That turned out to be his fatal mistake.”

“Billy would never try to blackmail anyone, if he knew these were bad people he would’ve exposed them. What am I supposed to do now? I have pictures of the person who killed Billy. You’re telling me that no one‘s going to believe me. You’re also telling me something I know Billy would never do. He would never try and blackmail anyone unless he was being forced into it.”

“He was, he was being compromised. Billy had a visitor. A visitor who came through his wall just like I did yours. Only that visitor was compromised. Something occurred that created a misalignment. That’s why I am here, not to create a justification for what happened to your best friend Billy. All I can tell you is, you will receive another visitor only this time they will knock on your door. It will be a man and he will be dressed in a suit. He will work with you and instruct you on how to move forward. This person will introduce himself as Rex Jamison. Trust him.”

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“Now I’m really confused and it’s not just the whiskey doing it. Thanks to you. I’m feeling pretty damn sober. I’m also feeling pretty damn nervous. I’ve been hanging onto a roll of film for two years that literally showed my best friend getting run over by my own damn car. If I didn’t see the pictures myself, if I didn’t process and print it, I wouldn’t believe any of this BS, especially from some looney woman who pops through my wall and lays all this BS on me. You’ve got to admit it’s pretty hard to swallow this story. It just doesn’t make sense. And now you’re telling me that I’m gonna get a visitor by some strange guy in a suit who’s going to tell me how to move forward. What the hell is that gonna be about?”

“I’m going to leave now Roy. It will all work out the way the universe will dictate.”

“That’s just great you completely ruined my day, turned my world upside down. Tell me some guy is gonna show up at my doorstep in a suit and tell me what I’m supposed to do. You’re gonna disappear and I’m probably gonna polish off a whole bottle of whiskey trying to figure out what the hell just happened to me, and I felt pretty crappy when Billy died, and now I see that he was run over by my own car by someone, I actually know for some unknown reason. Because he was taking photographs of something he wasn’t supposed to be taking photographs of. This is, if you don’t mind me saying so much total bullshit!”

“Don’t worry, it will be ok Roy… Goodbye.”

“Wait! Don’t leave me Elizabeth!”

A good part of this story is true. Make a comment if you’d like to know what is fact and what is fiction.

The short stories and essays that appear on the Thought Row Vignettes newsletter are written entirely by me, Rod Jones, Artist‑Writer, with human hand and imagination, no AI assistance. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine. In a web where automated systems now generate much of the traffic, this is a small space for human‑made fiction and reflection, one human sharing stories with another.

The Other Tenant

A Short, Sci-fi Story - Part One

Rod Jones Artist-Writer

“What a great day! Perfect assignment. I love photo shoots like this one, especially when the client hands me a check and I hand him the film, don’t even have to process it and make prints. Yes sir, great day.”

Roy was a PR photographer who lived in an old Victorian house on Fir Street in downtown San Diego. The single story Victorian house was divided into two units. Roy lived on the right side facing west. A commercial photographer lived on the other side. You will learn more about him later on.

The old Victorian house had a history of being haunted, so much so, that the San Diego Union newspaper actually did a feature on it.

Occasionally, the two photographers would get together and talk about women and photography.

Something mysterious happened in that old Victorian on June 24. That date just happens to coincide with Kenneth Arnold’s 1947 UFO sighting near Mount Rainier, the event that birthed the term

“Flying Saucer.”

On this particular day in June, Roy mixed another Early Times whiskey, this time with 7-Up, he often changed between 7 and whiskey or Coke and whiskey. Roy had a ritual of smearing some Vaseline on his lips. The result of his lips getting irritated and even chapped because of the icy beverage.

His favorite place to hang out relax, meditate, and even watch some old TV shows was on his table positioned near a window that brought in the afternoon light, filtered through an old dusty lace curtain.

This June 24th, brought something completely unexpected to Roy and definitely impacted his usual ritual. It wasn’t uncommon for Roy and his neighbor to see ghost-like workmen in white overalls, walking around, to and fro in the middle of the night, sawing and pounding nails. On this particular afternoon Roy witnessed something that immediately made him think he needed to change the brand of whiskey he was drinking.

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Roy had just hung up the phone from a brief and irritating call from his ex-wife. Roy thought to himself. “I’m having such a good time. Why does she have to always rain on my parade?” Something was about to happen that was going to do a lot more than just rain on his parade of watching an old Wallace Beery movie.

Crashing through his wall from the top down, all of a sudden there was a figure of something that looked like a female, staring right at him. He knew it wasn’t the usual ghost like workmen. This frightened the hell out of him, he rubbed his eyes in disbelief, took two big swallows of his whiskey. To Roy, the woman looked unusual. In his career, he had photographed hundreds of women, some very famous celebrities. This figure of a woman was very unsettling.

The woman spoke first. “Do Not Be Frightened.” Roy had enough alcohol in him to immediately fire back. “Who the hell are you? Where in God’s green earth did you come from? Get the HELL out of here!

The uninvited visitor spoke out again; “Do Not Be Frightened.” Roy quickly responded; “Get the HELL out of here! This is my home, I don’t mind the ghosts walking around at all hours of the night. I will not tolerate some woman like you falling down through my wall. Who the hell do you think you are? You’re not welcome, no explanation you offer is going to work with me. Go back, where you came from, leave me alone with my drink, my cigarette and my old movie. I was perfectly happy and content, even after that call from my ex-wife.”

“Don’t be frightened. I won’t be here long. I know you want me out of here. I did not intend to come into your home like this. When this is all over, you will not really remember what happened, you may think you just drank too much and imagined this.”

Roy took another big gulp of his drink. “OK, fair enough. Even though I’ve been drinking pretty heavily this afternoon, I’m not so far out of it that I don’t see what’s going on. To be quite frank. I hope I don’t remember. But before you go, and you damn well better go, tell me who you are?”

“I was in this house a long time ago before it became two residences. I have a name, it’s Elizabeth but you won’t remember me.”

“ Elizabeth! Oh Christ, that’s my ex-wife‘s name, people call her Lizzie. I have other things I call her and they’re not so nice.”

“You called me, Roy. Why? How? You know who I am?”

“I’m fond of having ladies come by and visit, but I’m much more accustomed to them knocking on my door.

“I have two questions for you when you leave, and you will be leaving? Are you going to go through the wall or are you going to go out my front door? I’m not going to call you Elizabeth, I’m going to call you lady as I say goodbye to you on your way out. But wait a minute; I would like to know why, and how you’re here in my home crashing through my wall?”

“OK Roy, I will tell you at least some of it. I am from the stars. When you look up into the sky at night, that’s where I come from. And no, I am not from heaven and no, I’m not an angel.”

“Well, I hope like hell you are not the devil; but I do expect to meet him someday. I don’t think I’ll be sitting here with a drink in my hand when I do. I’m damn curious to find out who you really are and why you’re here. More importantly I need another drink, and you are definitely interfering with my ritual.”

“I will go with you into the kitchen so you can pour yourself another drink.”

“Why? Do you want me to make you one? OK, will you be walking in there with me, or will you be crashing through the wall?” Roy rolled his eyes and managed a big grin, shaking his head.

Roy then fixed himself another drink, he looked up at Elizabeth, thinking to himself that she was actually quite pretty but it was hard to judge her age.

“Now that I can see you clearly up close, you’re very pretty, I don’t like your name however. I guess wherever you come from you can call yourself whatever you like. I’m just gonna call you lady, but I don’t think I’ll be calling you lady very long because like all attractive women that come here they tend to leave early.”

“There is one thing I really like about you, you have beautiful red hair. I used to have red hair, still have some but most of it is turning gray. People used to call me the old redhead like they used to call Arthur Godfrey. Although he had freckles, I don’t, thankfully.”

This is the end of part one, part two will be available next Sunday. I’m always open to answer any questions you may have. Be a reader it’s good for the mind and it’s good for the soul.

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The short stories and essays that appear on the Thought Row Vignettes newsletter are written entirely by me, Rod Jones, Artist‑Writer, with human hand and imagination, no AI assistance. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine. In a web where automated systems now generate much of the traffic, this is a small space for human‑made fiction and reflection, one human sharing stories with another.

The Cross And Pinecone Part-Three

By Rod Jones Artist-Writer

From the end of part Two

“John, I can’t believe what I’m looking at. Did you read the title of this book? Of course you did.” If there was such a thing as an enraptured look, it was written all over Mary’s expression. She just stared at the cover and read the words to herself, but John, Claudine, and Jeffrey could see her lips moving. She kept reading the title and other words on the cover repeatedly for the longest time.

After a good two long minutes, Mary looked up at John, “It’s,— It’s, the book, it’s — it’s called: The Cross And The Pinecone. I can’t believe such a book could ever exist.” Mary looked back at the cover of the book and studied it for at least another 30 seconds. Then she looked up at John. Her look this time was a little more serious-minded. “Did you see the name of the author, you must have? This book was written by a woman named Miriam McKinney. John, that’s our last name. I think there was an older couple at our wedding with the name of McKinney.”

Beginning Part Three

John was filled with pride that was all wrapped up in his devotion and love for Mary.

“Mary, in all honesty, I didn’t really pay attention to who the author of this book was. I now see, it’s authored by Miriam McKinney. I didn’t even pay attention to that, but the author has the same last name as us. And it’s ironic that the first name of the author is Miriam, which is kind of like Mary. We never really did find out why both of our last names are McKinney. All I could ever find out is they named you Mary McKinney. I absolutely have no idea how I ended up with the same last name as you. The staff secretary at the orphanage said there was some sort of paper mixup. I never pursued it further. I remember thinking to myself if I were to end up marrying you, Mary, we wouldn’t have to worry about you changing your last name. For some unknown reason to me, even when we were kids, I always thought you and I would get married, very happily married I might add. I don’t think I inwardly wished for that, but now that we are married, well, it’s certainly been a blessing to me. I can’t wait for you to read the book and tell me what it’s all about.”

“OH John, it was meant to be, married we are and married, we will always be. I’m going to take my time reading this book. I can’t imagine a book with a title like, The Cross and The Pinecone, and another thing that’s very interesting, it was written by a woman named Miriam McKinney.”

Nearly a month had passed since Mary celebrated her birthday and the day John gave her the Cross and The Pinecone book, her very special birthday gift. On that day, Mary told John, along with Claudine and Jeffrey Stoots, her bosses from the distillery, that she was going to take her time reading the book. She told everyone that she wanted to absorb every word and explore its deeper meaning, and how that book, with its mysterious title, found its way to her. She very excitedly shared how the author of the book had the same last name as her and her husband.

Claudine and Jeffrey Stoots truly cared deeply for Mary, and of course, John too. In fact, after John and Mary came to work for them at their distillery, they did everything they could for them. When John and Mary announced to them that they wanted to get married, it was Claudine who pulled everything together and made sure they had a wonderful wedding. Two of the guests that showed up were an older couple, and their last name was McKinney. Mary saw Claudine having what appeared to be a serious discussion with them. After the wedding, Mary asked Claudine who that couple was and Claudine basically told her that they were just a nice couple that wanted to go to a wedding and somehow showed up at yours. Claudine was not telling Mary the truth. She knew who they were, in fact, she was the one who invited them to the wedding.

Claudine and her husband Jeffrey knew that it was only a matter of time before Mary re-remembered that couple that showed up at her wedding. Mary was more than curious to find out why they had the same last name as her and her husband.

One evening after all the distillery workers left for the day, including John and Mary, Jeffrey went into the office, sat down across from Claudine and asked her, “Claudine, you and I both know that sooner or later Mary is gonna want to know more about the McKinney’s, why were they at their wedding and who are those folks. They’re especially gonna wanna know why you seem to be having a serious chat with them. I know Mary was watching you from across the room.”

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“Quite frankly, Jeffrey, I just don’t know what I’m gonna do. It’s extremely awkward, and now that Mary has that book written by Miriam McKinney she’s gonna be even more curious.”

“Well, I reckon it’s best to just be honest and lay all your cards on the table. Mary ain’t no dumb girl. Quite frankly, I think she needs to know, sure enough, can’t hurt at least I don’t think it can, can it?”

“ You know, I know you’re right Jeffrey. It just seems so awkward, and when John found that book that really made things complicated. But I do know that book is going to be very meaningful to Mary, and in that case I’m very happy for her, and I guess sooner or later the story needs to be told, and I’m not talking about the story in that damn book.”

Jeffrey, leaning back on the chair to the point where he almost fell off, just looked at Claudine with a bit of an awkward smile and said, “ You can bet your last dollar on that one, honey. Best if you just get it all out now. Besides, I think Mary should know. What I would be thinking about is, how is that gonna work out for John? He has no relationships there, other than his last name, which I know when I’ve talked to him privately he can be pretty sore about that especially when he can’t figure out why he and Mary have the same last name, and no one at the orphanage even tried to help him understand.”

“I know youan right Jeffrey. I should start by having a good talk with Mrs. McKinney, probably should speak with both her and her husband. Maybe when we know Mary has gotten a good part of that book read.”

As Mary promised to herself and everyone at her birthday party, she was going to take her time reading The Cross and The Pinecone book. She was doing her best to give John a summary of what she was reading, what she’s learning, and what it means to her spiritually. She desperately wanted to explain to John what she learned by reading, but she herself was trying to understand what the book was really saying, especially the vocabulary it was using.

John was outside of their home, talking to a couple of the other employees from the distillery that also lived on the property. Mostly just idle chitchat, but they wondered why Mary wasn’t coming out after work. They were especially confused with the fact that she wasn’t out walking amongst the trees and selecting what she used to say to everyone, “ I’m hunting down the perfect pinecone.”

John did not know exactly how to tell their fellow employees what she was actually doing. He was pretty sure she would not want to tell anyone about her book and why she was so dedicated to reading it. It became a little bit awkward for John when they wanted to make sure that she wasn’t sick or possibly brooding over an argument that they may have had. At this point, John felt a bit cornered and responded to the fellow employees simply by saying.

“Mary is perfectly healthy and no, we’ve not been arguing. She’s just taking some time for herself to reflect on how she was raised. I decided to give her some space. I know I need it sometimes and I also know you all need it too, so let’s all of us not try to start untruthful rumors. Let the poor girl have some peace and quiet on to herself. Besides, you got me to talk to now. Do any of you have an interesting new joke to tell? Maybe something about the spirits that live in the bottle of spirits that we all fill.

Mary was reading The Cross and the Pinecone book much faster than she intended. In fact, she was running into words that she simply did not know what they meant. She thought to herself, “When I go back to work tomorrow, I gotta ask Claudine if she has one of those dictionaries I can borrow.”

Mary heard the door open and she knew it was John. She closed the book and put it down in front of her, still holding it with both hands. She knew John was going to ask her, “How is it goin?”

John closed the door behind him, and before it was completely shut, he looked over at Mary and predictably said to her, “How is it going Mary? I see you have the book closed in front of you, is it going OK?”

“Yes, I guess so. I don’t understand a lot of the words. I don’t know what they mean. I’m going to ask Claudine if she has a Dictionary I can borrow.”

“That seems like a really good idea Mary, but is there anything you’ve learned in what you’ve read so far?”

“Well, I’ve read further into the book that I intended to. The more I read the more questions I had, but I guess that’s because I didn’t understand a lot of the words. The person that wrote this book, Miriam McKinney had something to do with the new thought movement. I guess that started in the early 1900s. After I got through those chapters, the book started to get closer to what I really wanted to learn. It seems like there is a strong connection between pine trees, the Bible, and apparently Christian teachings. There’s also mention of the pineal gland, which I guess is in our brain somehow. I don’t know if I will ever be able to understand everything in this book. I did learn that pinecones can represent rebirth or resurrection. I’m still trying to figure all that out. I may need to have someone help me better understand what I’m reading. I’m sure that will come over time.”

John sat down by Mary at the table and gave her a hug. “I wish I was smart, I wish I was smart enough to help you get through this book. But maybe the person who wrote it, meant for it to be something that you learn by simply reading it but maybe reading it over time you know, kind of like the Bible. What you know is, I’m not all that familiar with it, and I know you are not either. That wasn’t something we were really taught when we were growing up. I remember every once in a while, a preacher would visit the orphanage and talk to us, but I didn’t really pay much attention and I didn’t really understand or probably appreciate what the heck he was saying. Maybe we both should have.”

Morning came early; especially for Mary. She did not sleep all that well cause she kept thinking about the book. Her and John had their morning coffee and some breakfast, they didn’t really speak all that much. Mary was deep in self-reflective thoughts. Reading The Cross And The Pinecone made her realize that she really did not have much of a religious upbringing. The book made her feel very self-conscious because she could not truly understand some of the words that she was reading and she did not know how they should be thought about.

John and Mary walked over to the distillery, and went to their workstations. Mary’s intention was to go to Claudine‘s office during a break and find out if she could borrow a Dictionary.

Mary took her break and went into Claudine’s office and asked her if she had a Dictionary she could borrow? “Yes Mary, of course, let me get it for you.

I do want to tell you something that I have been looking for the right time to share with you. You know the older couple that was at your wedding. The one that has the last name as you, and they also have the last name of the woman who wrote the book you’re reading. Maybe when you get off of work you can come to my office and we’ll have a nice little talk about all of that.”

This is the end of part 3. Part one and part two can be read easily in the newsletter at:

Thought Row Vignettes

I write warm, reflective short stories and essays to help you escape the hustle and the scroll. Human-written. No AI slop. Navy veteran. See my Receptive Abstract Patternism Artwork Here: https://rodjonesartist.com/

I will be making the entire story available in a special area on my newsletter. Once it’s completed there you will be able to read the story in its entirety.

The short stories and essays that appear on the Thought Row Vignettes newsletter are written entirely by me, Rod Jones, Artist‑Writer, with human hand and imagination, no AI assistance. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine. In a web where automated systems now generate much of the content, this is a small space for human‑made fiction and reflection, one human sharing stories with another.

Middle C - A Love Story in the Key of Doubt

Part One

Rod Jones Artist-Writer

Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood, CA. 11 PM or so.

“Hey, get away from my car, what do you think you’re doing? Jerk!”

“I was putting a note on your car.”

“Why? I don’t respond to guys who put notes on my car. I think they’re dangerous. In fact, I don’t respond to guys that are not formally introduced to me. So save yourself some trouble, take that note off my car and get the hell away from me. Better yet, just get in your car and drive away. I know the bouncer in the club and I’m sure he would be more than happy to come out here and beat the crap out of you if he thinks you are a threat to me.”

“Wait a minute, back up, you’re interpreting this situation pretty much the way I would expect from a girl who just came out of that club, I might add a notorious club here on Sunset Strip. That’s probably the most pick-up joint in Hollywood.”

“You don’t know anything about me and I sure as hell don’t need to tell you anything about me. There was a reason I dropped into this club and it wasn’t to meet guys. Now, tell me why you’re putting a note on my car or I will go in and have a bouncer come out here. Also, who the hell do you think you are disapproving of me because I just happened to be coming out of that club? You definitely have me all wrong, totally wrong, and this is coming from a guy who is putting a note on my car.”

“Ah yes, the note on your car. I put a dent in it.”

“You what, you put a dent in my car, why? How? What were you doing so close to my car?”

“See those lights on, the ones at the top of this building. I was dropping off some very important papers that needed to be signed for one of my clients. There wasn’t a lot of room and I was under the gun to get those papers to them before they left the office. There wasn’t a lot of room, I admit, I’m not that great at parallel parking. But I managed to get my car behind yours and in front of the car behind me. When I came out to leave, I drove my car up onto the curb slightly. I think I was irritated by what went on when I had to get those papers signed, and their attitude toward me. I turned my wheel the wrong way, fell off the curb and banged into your car. It’s not in my nature just to forget it and take off, so I was putting a note under the wiper blade letting you know my name and my phone number and letting you know that I put a dent in your car. It’s not a very big dent, you probably would not have noticed it at least not for a while, but I was responsible so the note was to let you know that I was the one who put the dent in your car and I apologize for doing that.”

“Show me the dent, but don’t get close to me, cause I don’t trust you. Stay back and I will read your note.”

“Good, that’s a good idea. I’m surprised you came out of that joint alone. Weren’t you there trying to connect with some guy?”

“No! Not that it’s any of your business, but my brother is a bartender there. He hit me up for some money so he could pay his rent. Not that I can afford to give him any, because I lost my job this morning. I would never go into that place if it wasn’t to help out my brother, that’s not the kind of person I am. Again, not that it’s any of your damn business. I love the way you made a judgment. I’m not even dressed like a girl who would want to get picked up in that joint, obviously you can see that, can’t you?”

“ No, I guess I was just making a judgment. When you approached me, your demeanor was hostile and accusatory. I guess if guys saw you coming out of that club and they knew this was your car, they probably would put a note on it trying to make a connection, and probably thinking the same thing I thought, I guess. I sincerely apologize.”

“ Well I’m not dressed like a bimbo, because I’m not one. I’m not trampy and all the other words you guys have a tendency to use referring to the kind of girls that hang out in clubs like this. I was genuinely on a mission and I wanted to get out of there as quickly as I could. And I was definitely irritable because of the pressure my brother put on me to give him some money. I was especially irritated because he wasn’t too terribly concerned that I lost my job today and he didn’t seem to be too terribly concerned as to the additional pressure he was putting on me.The last thing I needed or was even remotely interested in was some jerk putting a note under my wiper blade with no doubt, some lewd and suggestive comments. Especially in this part of town and especially outside of this club. Everyone in Hollywood knows that this is the premier pick-up joint. Apparently you even had that thought when you saw me.”

“My name is Nicholas Carver, outside of my business world, my friends and family call me Nick.

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I have an idea and I hope you’re up to it, do you want to meet me at Denny’s? We can have a cup of coffee. I will tell you more about me and what line of business I’m in. I would like to know more about you, especially what line of work you’re in. I have a lot of connections and maybe I can give you a referral. What do you think?”

“ First off, I want you to clearly understand that I am definitely not looking for a boyfriend, I don’t have one now and I’m pretty sure I don’t need one right now in my life. So if you have that thought in your mind, forget it. That Hollywood Denny’s is also known as a pick-up joint. But it is probably the only place around here where we can sit and talk. So the answer is OK. I will meet you there. I guess I should formally introduce myself to you, my name is Elise, Elise Holloway. I really don’t want to go to that Denny’s. I don’t think it’s safe at night. I don’t know where you live. I assume at some point you want to go home and I do too. What if we drove to Pasadena and we had coffee at Conrad’s? I would be way more comfortable there.”

“Elise, that’s a pretty name. Thank you for sharing your name with me. I’m all for going to Conrad’s. That would be more convenient for me and I’m guessing it’ll be more convenient for you and I have no problem getting the hell out of Hollywood. If it wasn’t for having to deliver those papers, I rarely come through this area, if ever. Let me back my car up as much as I can so you can get out easily. And I will meet you there at Conrad’s.”

“OK, great Nicholas, or should I call you Nick? I will meet you there. I’m going to stay in my car until I see you pull in, then we can walk to the door together.”

“Whatever is comfortable for you, Elise. I would like you to call me Nick, but I understand, it’s fun to say Nicholas, so whatever works for you. Depending on traffic, I’m guessing we should both get to Conrad’s in about 30 to 45 minutes, so I will see you there. Drive carefully.”

Elise pulled into Conrad’s parking lot in Pasadena filled with trepidation. “This is just great! What am I doing? I really don’t know what motivated me to agree to this. He seems like an OK guy, but any smart woman knows that could be just a disguise. I should’ve thought about this more. Who delivers papers to the top floor of a building late at night, with no little explanation? Seems kind of covert to me. Well, even though I think I’m making a huge mistake, it’s pretty safe for me to go into the restaurant and have coffee. I just have to make sure when we leave he doesn’t follow me. I pretty much know my way around here, so I can duck out if I have to. I don’t like how I feel, I’m not comfortable with how we met. I keep thinking of all the disastrous scenarios that could ensue. This curiosity of mine could get me in serious trouble. I could just drive off now, although he does have my license plate number and I suppose if he has the right connections they can track me down.”

“I wish I smoked. This would be a perfect time to light up a cigarette. Where is he? I wonder if he decided not to show up. I’ll give it five more minutes and if I don’t see him pull in I’m out of here.”

Nicholas pulled into the parking lot at Conrad’s. He partially jumped the curb, which Elise could easily see and hear. And thinking to herself: “First he hit my car and now he can’t even pull it into a parking lot without hitting the curb. I don’t know about this guy.”

Nicholas pulled into the space next to Elise’s car. He opened the door and walked over to her driver’s side. She opened her door. “What took you so long, Nicholas? I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show up, I was ready to drive off.”

“I’m glad you didn’t, Elise. All of a sudden traffic came to almost a standstill. Don’t know why; there wasn’t any accident on the freeway. I would’ve called you, but I don’t have your number. Anyway, I’m here now. Let’s go in.”

Nicholas and Elise walked into the restaurant together. He held the door open for her and almost immediately a waitress came up to them with a couple menus in her hand, and spoke out with a greeting, “How are you two doing this evening? Where would you like to sit, up here across from the counter by the window, or would you like something more private toward the back? There’s a cozy booth back there where you two can talk.”

Elise never gave Nicholas a chance to respond; she aggressively told the waitress, “We will sit up here, thank you. We don’t need that kind of privacy. Trust me.”

Nicholas looked over at the waitress, rolled his eyes, embarrassingly. Then he took control, as best he could of the situation to overcome Elise’s rudeness. With a warm smile, he told the waitress, “Yes, this table is the one, I want to sit here with my acquaintance,” making sure he did not reference or acknowledge a friendship in the traditional sense with Elise.

“Very well, can I start you two with something to drink, just so you know you can order a cocktail if you wish.” The waitress, who had many years of experience in her line of work, quickly determined that the guy was being a perfect gentleman, and the lady was being a real pain in the ass. This duo and contradictory personalities made her wonder to herself, “What’s a nice guy like this doing with this rude woman? It’s late at night when they walked in. I thought they were out on a date.”

Elise spoke first to the waitress, “I will have a cup of decaf coffee with cream and two sugars. Plus, I would like a fried egg sandwich with mayonnaise, sparingly, and black pepper, also sparingly, on white toast.” She looked at the waitress and blurted out, “Got that?”

The waitress, with her many years of experience, profiled Elise immediately. She thought to herself, “I will just placate her, like I do all my customers and keep my judgments to myself.”

The waitress, with a warm and genuine smile, looked at Elise and said, “Yes dear, I got it, and I’m sure our chef will prepare the most perfect fried egg sandwich with just the right amount of mayonnaise and just the right amount of black pepper. I myself will prepare your coffee to meet all of your expectations.”

Nicholas, witnessing this exchange between Elise and the waitress, was doing everything he could to keep from laughing. He thought to himself, “Lady, you just earned yourself one hell of a tip.”

The waitress looked over at Nicholas with a pleasant smile and asked, “What will you have, sir?”

“I will have the same as my lady companion, except hold the eggs, toast and all of its trimmings. I will just have a simple cup of caffeinated coffee, no cream, no sugar.”

Nicholas’s wisecrack comment, intentionally meant to tease Elise, hit its mark.

“Thank you, Nicholas, for embarrassing me in front of our waitress. I hope you derived a great deal of pleasure, I didn’t. So tell me, Nicholas, are you one of those condescending mean bastards? You know, like you are, like you acted just now?”

“I apologize, Elise, no harm was intended. From my point of view, I thought you were being a bit rude to the waitress. I just wanted to bring a little levity into the waitress’s late evening shift.”

“I know I was, and I owe her an apology. I think I’m just extremely uncomfortable with you. I never allow myself to get picked up like this and I don’t know why I did.”

“Elise, I’m not a bad person and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I know the situation and how we met was certainly not the best. But I truly wanted to get to know you, and I wanted you to get to know about me. I never thought of this as being any kind of pick-up. It was a set of strange circumstances that brought us together and now we’re sitting across from each other in a Pasadena restaurant. Go figure. Let me tell you about me, who I am and what I do. Perhaps you can share the same about yourself with me.”

This is the end of part one, in part two Elise and Nicholas, well, I should say, mostly Elise will make everything difficult when it comes to Nicholas getting to know her. We will see where this relationship is headed and witness how one personality can be both charming and antagonistic. ~ Rod

Will they reach that Middle C?

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The Last Peep

By Rod Jones Artist-Writer

The refrigerator door was slightly ajar.

If you were paying just half attention you could hear its friendly reminder in the form of a beeping sound, telling you to shut the door completely. Corton Clay got up from his hard cushionless chair that was always at the ready, by his small round kitchen table. He went to secure the fridge door again. But as he stood there, he thought for a moment, then opened the door all the way. He peered in to see if there were any Peeps left in the small cardboard boxes he purchased on sale. Every year they became traditional leftovers from the Easter holiday. They were always sure to be on the store’s markdown table by the checkout stand. Corton always waited until after Easter when the prices dropped. That’s when the Peeps started to firm up a bit. Then he would dutifully stick a few boxes of them in the refrigerator so they could become almost as hard as a rock. That’s when they were their most palate pleasing to him.

Corton Clay lived in Visalia, California. His grandmother used to tell him that Clay St. in San Francisco was named after his great grandfather that lived through the 1906 earthquake. Interestingly enough, she also told him that his great grandfather was good friends with the famous photographer Ansel Adams. Which Corton was very proud to tell anybody that liked photography, and would listen to his story. His grandmother, Bethany Clay, actually had some original prints by Ansel Adams. Corton had always hoped that someday she would give them to him. Not that he would ever want to sell them, but just to remember his grandfather by, and keep the family treasure together.

Visalia, California: where Corton lived, was a small city situated in the agricultural San Joaquin Valley of California about 230 miles southeast of San Francisco. One of the benefits of living in Visalia; it was only about 36 miles to the Sequoia National Park. This was a place that Corton dearly loved to go. He would tell his out-of-town friends what the word Sequoia meant. He would tell them Sequoia was a native American polymath of the Cherokee nation. In 1821 he completed his independent creation of the Cherokee syllabary, making reading and writing in Cherokee possible. Corton would embellish the story from time to time, telling anyone that would listen that he was half Cherokee himself, which most listeners would question fervently. Even his own grandmother suggested he give up that falsehood. He often told his friends that he worked as a lumberman in the Sequoia forest chopping down trees. Virtually everyone knew that was a whopper of a tale he told, and joked with him; who do you think you are? Paul Bunyan?

With virtually no vices, with the exception to a few fibs now and then. Corton was neither a drinker nor a smoker. Once in a while he managed to have a girlfriend, but when he proposed marriage, for whatever reason they just seemed to move him out of their lives. Corton had the habit of talking to himself out loud; in fact, in a most peculiar way, he would have a one-sided conversation with the yellow peeps he ultimately ate.

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As Corton stared into the refrigerator at the last box of Peeps, he realized there was only one left. He thought there would be more hidden behind the yellow borders of the boxes: but nope, there was only one left. After some time of standing there and thinking, as the cool air of the refrigerator was quickly cooling him down as it flowed out. He addressed the peep by saying out loud; “I’m going to have you with my lunch today.” With a saucer plate in hand he grabbed the last peep. Marching it over to the little round table in the corner. “What shall I have for lunch before I eat the last Peep?

The last bite of his baloney sandwich was consumed. So now it was just him and that last Peep, staring at him with those little brownish black eyes, from its spongy, marshmallowy, yellow body. Corton repositioned the saucer, so he and his last Peep could get better acquainted and see eye to eye. “So my little yellow friend, by now you must feel very alone because all of your fellow Peeps have gone to Peep heaven.” Sometimes Corton would chat with the confectionery Peep for an hour or more. At one point he thought to himself. “I must be crazy to do such a crazy thing.” He knew if anyone knew his habit of chatting with candy, they would surely think he was nuts. But what he was the most afraid of, is the fact that once in a while those Peeps would actually talk back to him.

The last Peep looked Corton in the eye and said to him, “I would consider it to be a grand favor if you would not devour me.” Corton considered the last Peep’s request. Then thought to himself, “The little yellow darling is just the right firmness.” He went to the silverware drawer and pulled out a small fork and a knife. The last Peep sensed what was going on when he heard the clanking of silverware. “This doesn’t look good for me Corton... why don’t we just chat and then you can put me back in the refrigerator where you know you will always have a friend that likes you to speak with you.” The last Peep spoke most convincingly. Corten listened, and then he actually put the cutlery back into the silverware drawer.

Corton spoke in a somewhat cheerless voice. “I don’t think it’s wrong of me to want to eat you my Peepish friend.” The last peep responded. “Perhaps you’re right, but then you won’t have anyone to talk to until next Easter, and let me remind you... that’s over 357 some days away.” The Peep’s plea made sense to Corton, for all but a minute or two, then he was back at the silverware drawer. The last Peep again spoke out loud to Corton. “What shall we chat about today? I think it’s time you and I got down to the root cause of your obsessive habit of eating me and my fellow Peeps.”

Again the silverware went back in the drawer and Corton returned to the table and addressed the last Peep. “Maybe I should keep you around for a while because I definitely get lonely.” The last Peep had a sigh of relief, if that is actually possible, coming from a yellow marshmallow with stamped confectionary eyes and no real mouth to speak of.

The last Peep had a vulnerability that neither one of them considered. It seems that Peeps that have been stored for a long time become firm. And according to legend the vast majority of people love to eat Peeps when they’re hard and somewhat dried out. The squishy marshmallow takes on a firm characteristic of being considerably more delectable. The last Peep in the refrigerator managed to keep Corton Clay from eating a he-Peep or a she-Peep, because nobody really knows for sure if they are a boy or a girl. The last Peep knew if he/she kept the dialogue going daily, with musings about the lifestyles of the rich and famous Peeps, this would ensure he would survive at least until Easter.

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Unfortunately this story has an unhappy ending. For the talkative last Peep met its destiny when, on a gloomy winter’s day in early November. And a few hours after Corton returned home from one of his therapy sessions. Corton Clay raced into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door and grabbed The Last Peep. It was the final curtain for the chatty Peep, and by this time the Peep was as hard as a rock. I suspect Corton would have said, “It’s amazingly delicious, and Easter, after all, is not so far away. I will save my money, and increase my yearly supply of Peeps, even if I have to pay full retail. But for now, I will say a yummy goodbye to The Last Peep.

Fraternal Twins Debate AI Slop

By Rod Jones Artist-Writer

She said, He said.

Fraternal twins, Shannon and Bruce Gillespie engage in a spirited debate over the ever pervasive AI Slop.

“Shannon, what’s with you?”

“What’s with you, Brucey?”

Two fraternal twins that argued just about everything since the day they turned two. And now they’re all grown up, and are actively pursuing careers in the creator economy. They are now close to turning 30 and still on track to argue some more. Shannon and Bruce hold nothing back when it comes to debating the topic of AI slop.

In order to keep their debate on neutral ground, instead of in each other’s homes. They decided that the best place to have this potentially heated discussion was in their parents’ mountain cabin in the San Bernardino mountains. They weren’t planning on spending the night, but they were prepared just in case the debate went beyond a normal discussion, and if they needed more time to argue with each other. The goal was to prove their points no matter what, and if they hurt each other’s feelings they would need time to settle down and make up, probably over dinner and a glass of wine.

They had their laptops with them. Shannon knew that Bruce was likely to use AI to defend his position, even though she told him that wouldn’t be fair, nor would it bring honesty to the debate.

Bruce laughed at her and said, “ Computers are the weapons of justification, and seeing how we both work the content game, slop and all, many hours every day. I just don’t see any reason not to fully engage. We should tap into the resources that will best defend my position, oops, I mean our positions.”

The most pressing topic at hand: Bruce is a strong advocate for using AI to create content. Shannon thinks he is being disingenuous and lacks creative intelligence. Statistically men use AI more than women to create content. So Bruce is on the seductive side of AI when it comes to creating that content.

This is Shannon‘s take on AI.

“Brucey, I’m not completely opposed to the use of AI. It definitely has value, especially in business. If I have a personal question on nutrition, and a whole bunch of other topics, even simple ones, I will query AI. I think it’s an excellent tool for research. Where you and I differ and greatly disagree, is in its use when it comes to writing or even creating visual art like AI generated images.”

“I know, I know, and stop calling me, Brucey dear sister, my dear misguided sister when it comes to AI and creativity. Maybe I’m just not as creative as you are. In the online world performance counts and I’m not doing too bad.”

“Well Brucey, I can’t argue with your success. You do make a lot happen in a given day. Some days I even get a little bit jealous. But then when I hear you brag about being a power user, I have to laugh. The only power that seems to be used consistently is when you charge your laptop.”

“Thanks sis, I mean that in a condescending way.

I’m all about using generative AI. For every hour you spend producing content, I can get by within 15 minutes and still come out with content that works.”

“My content is authentic Bruce. And I mean that in an authoritarian way. Yes it does take me longer than you, but my results are magically favorable. I believe I’m on parody with you when it comes to our individual growth and success online. And you know that’s factual.”

“You sure have upped your vocabulary game sis. I’m looking forward to our debate. Should we have a cup of coffee or a glass of wine before we commence? Like that word commence, Huh?”

“Stupidly impressive Brucey. I’ll go for a glass of wine. I’m sure I’m gonna need it, just to help me hold my temper.”

“Oh come on, we’ve known each other for a long time, in fact, since the day we were born, and you are my very favorite twin, actually you’re my only twin. You’re my beautiful twin sister. I am always very proud of you and thankful.”

“If you are trying to butter me up, don’t try, you should’ve thought about that when we were 10 years old, and you were being such a bully to me. But I do appreciate your kind words, dear brother.”

The wine was poured, and Shannon and Bruce sat across from each other. They both agreed: Bruce reluctantly; that they would put away their computers.

There were only two main spirited cutting remarks. The first one was delivered by Bruce after Shannon explained to Bruce what true creativity was all about. He fired back at her something like this.

“Oh great, this is coming from a woman who has the Walmart Radio app on her phone to listen to music.“

Shannon’s most condescending retort hurled at Bruce, when he was getting pretty aggressive in defending his position, grating his voice in a snide tone. Went something like this.

“And this is coming from a guy who thinks he’s so creative and runs around with a leather motorcycle jacket with an embroidered hamster and the slogan ‘The Dukes of Hamsters Road Kings.’ I don’t think you’ve ever been on a motorcycle in your life.”

There were a few other competitive digs, but neither Shannon or Bruce took them seriously. When they were growing up as kids, mean comments poked at each other were pretty common.

Their debate was going to be centered around the term, AI Slop. They both knew Elon Musk was the megaphone for the term becoming so popular. They also knew the word Slop was Merriam-Webster’s word of the year. After a brief discussion, they both agreed to pull out one of their computers and get the true definition of AI slop. And of course, Bruce said, “ In order for us to get the most accurate interpretation of that term, we’re going to need to use AI Chatbots, Generative AI with a large LLM.” Shannon pretty much had to agree with Bruce, because, quite frankly, that wasn’t really her area of expertise.

The first definition of AI Slop came from Perplexity. Which is an AI powered search engine.

AI slop is a catchall term for low-quality, mass-produced content made with generative AI that feels shallow, generic, or misleading, rather than genuinely useful or original. It often includes text, images, video, or audio created quickly for clicks, search rankings, or ad revenue, with quantity prioritized over quality.

The second definition came from Claude. It’s a generative large language model LLM.

AI slop refers to low-quality, mass-produced content generated by artificial intelligence — text, images, video, or audio that is generic, formulaic, and often indistinguishable from other AI output. The term carries a derogatory connotation, implying content that floods the Internet without genuine thought, craft, or human intention behind it.

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The hallmarks of AI slop include overused phrases, hollow structure, a smoothed-out sameness of voice, and a lack of the specific, earned detail that comes from real experience. It’s the difference between a story that feels lived and one that feels assembled.

Surprisingly, the debate only lasted about 2 1/2 hours. After Shannon and Bruce had a clear understanding of the term, AI Slop, their positions and arguments became more clear and more refined. They used the definition; especially Shannon, she used the definition to bolster her argument.

Bruce used the definition to bolster his position by saying, “ People that are just trying to create Clickbait, don’t really care about its elevating potential. It’s like a game that has little or no meaning in the end. I personally use AI to create meaningful content that is based on solid information, to inform and educate, and of course, in many cases to still be entertaining.

The debate between Shannon and Bruce ended with a hug and a formal handshake. The handshake represented a kind of detente, easing the tension between them during the debate.

Was there a clear winner of the debate? The fair answer is, Yes and No. Each held their ground.

Shannon’s position held firm when she spoke about creativity and originality. Her premise was, anytime you are sharing information on social media, it should be human to human not, AI to human, or human to AI. Her principal contention was humanness, and the spirit of one’s conscious and subconscious mind is forever lost when it is seduced by words written by artificial intelligence and images that follow suit.

Bruce’s opinions regarding the use of AI were arguably strong. He didn’t have to persuade Shannon as to its value in research and certain business applications. But when he tried to convince her that AI had a profound effect on communications, especially the written word, it also significantly improved visual interpretations of human thoughts, and ideas. He also argued that the best content writers will at least use AI to correct their spelling, punctuation and sentence structure, and they do this unabashedly. He had to agree with Shannon that AI rendered images were beautiful and mesmerizing but looked too surreal to be real.

He did argue the fact that compared to traditional drawings or photographic images, AI had greater latitude in color, composition and fantasy.

Bruce clearly won the debate when it came to productivity. Shannon had to admit that he could crank out way more content in 15 minutes than she could in an hour or more. The significance is the impact on each of their ability to grow their businesses with maximum monetization.

If you were able to eavesdrop in on this debate between Shannon and Bruce, I’m sure you would have your own opinion when it comes to the use of AI. Rather we all like it or not, we have to agree on one thing, AI is not going to go away, and if anything, it is going to become more intrusive. Time will tell how it will affect humans. I suspect some wise guy or girl will just ask AI what to do, and how to live with it. You can be sure AI will have the perfect and most placating response anyone could imagine.

The short stories and essays that appear on the Thought Row Vignettes newsletter are written entirely by me, Rod Jones Artist-Writer, with human hand and imagination, no AI assistance. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine.

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This story or essay was written entirely by me, Rod Jones Artist-Writer, with human hand and imagination, no AI assistance. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine.

The Cross And The Pinecone - Part Two

By Rod Jones Artist-Writer

This is where we left off on Part One:

Mary, still looking down at the gift and doing her best to hold back tears, looked up at John and said, “Gift or no gift you mean everything to me. I know how much you love me and I know that you must’ve felt something really special when you selected this present for me. I promise I will cherish it forever, including how beautifully you wrapped it. Thank you for being such a caring and loving husband.

Claudine, as she did quite often when it came to Mary and witnessing her innocence and sensitivity, seemed to always have to hold back some tears, she raised her voice, and said,“ Open it, open it so we can see your birthday present. Jeffrey and I are excited for you. We’ve never been much at giving birthday gifts to each other. It makes me feel really good to know that John made sure you got one on your birthday.”

Part 2:

“Mary, do you remember quite some time ago you said to me, why do I see pinecones in religion?”

“Oh yes John, I do remember, and that’s when I started collecting pinecones. I am especially glad you were very supportive and didn’t tease me about how I was always searching for the perfectly shaped pinecone. Quite honestly, I don’t know why hunting and collecting pinecones became so important to me. Maybe it had something to do with that question I asked you about pinecones and religion. Thinking about it now, I’m not even sure why I asked you that question. I do read the Bible quite often as you know, and I don’t remember in any of the psalms or passages, pinecones being mentioned. There seems to be comments about pine trees. You would think, I guess, if there’s pine trees there must be pinecones.”

Claudine and Jeffrey patiently listened to John and Mary’s conversation. “ OK, that’s sweet and interesting about y’all discussing pinecones and religion, but open your gift Mary, Jeffrey and I want to see what John got for you. I have to say he wrapped it up quite handsomely with decorations and all.”

Mary, held John’s gift the way a salver is held, both palms upturned. The gift rested across her hands as though it were being offered rather than received.

John gently placed his hands on Mary’s shoulders and said, “Please open your birthday gift Mary.”

Looking up at John and looking back down at the gift, she smiled and said, “OK, I am both anxious and a little timid. Honestly, I don’t know why, there is something deeply special about this gift. I can feel it through the wrapping. It’s giving off a warming energy, but I don’t know how that could be.”

John had taken his hands away from Mary’s shoulders, took a nervous breath, and said, “ When I found this gift for you Mary, I was completely surprised, it was almost as if it reached out to me. The shopkeeper even told me that he did not know they had this in the store. He admitted that he had never seen anything like it before, and that he didn’t know how much he would charge me. I told him it was a very special gift for my wife and she would understand its true value. I don’t have a lot of money to offer you for this, but I will pay what you think is fair.”

The shopkeeper looking at John’s proposed gift for his wife, asked John, “ Where are you from son? I don’t know that I know you, and I know most people that come into my store.” John decided that he would give the shopkeeper an answer that was heartfelt, which was generally how John spoke to everyone. “ Well, sir, I grew up in the Mountain View Home for Orphans. When I turned 18, me and the girl I knew from the orphanage went to work at The Hollow Creek Distillery. That girl whose name is Mary is now my wife, and we live on the distillery property.”

All along while John was talking to the shopkeeper, Mr. Stoots was walking around the shop. As he was walking by John and the shopkeeper, he stopped to find out how it was going. John putting his hand on Jeffrey Stoots shoulder, said to the shopkeeper, “This is my boss, Mr. Stoots, the owner of the distillery I work at.”

The shopkeeper quickly covered his nose and mouth with both hands and sneezed. Then he started to laugh and said to John, “Well son I have knowin Jeffrey so many years that I’m not about to say nothing. You can have your discovery in my shop for $.50. Now I’m guessing you two better get back to the distillery. I just may stop by on my way home for a nip or two.”

Mary just looked at John holding the gift with a tender, tolerant smile. She just wanted to open the gift, but she appreciated John telling her how he came into having it for her.

“Ok, ok, open it, Mary, just open it.” Claudine felt that they had heard just about as much as they needed to on how John came about getting the gift for Mary. Claudine, looking back at Jeffrey telling him, “ Pull out your pocket knife, I’m pretty sure Mary’s gonna need a little help getting that gunny sack wrapping open.”

Jeffrey handed the pocket knife to John, “Here; youen better help Mary with this knife, looks like you sewed it up with 20 pound braided fishing line.”

John took the knife from Jeffrey. Turned to Mary, “Jeffrey is right, let me cut the sewin, just on one end, that way I believe you can slide my present to you out.”

Mary again took the present from John. She pretty much held his gift the way she did before, with both palms upturned, the gift resting across her hands as though it were being offered rather than received. But this time it was opened on one end, so Mary could easily reach in and grab the present.

Mary shifted her hands so she could easily reach in and pull out the gift that was so carefully and beautifully wrapped, fishing line and all. Mary, feeling inside, quickly realized that the package held a book. As she slid it out, the burlap wrapping was dropped to the floor. Now she was holding the book with both hands and studying the cover.

“John: I can’t believe what I’m looking at. Did you read the title of this book? Of course you did.” If there was such a thing as an enraptured look, it was written all over Mary’s expression. She just stared at the cover and read the words to herself, but John, Claudine, and Jeffrey could see her lips moving. She kept reading the title and other words on the cover repeatedly for the longest time.

After a good two long minutes, Mary looked up at John, “It’s,— It’s, the book, it’s — it’s called: The Cross And The Pinecone. I can’t believe such a book could ever exist.” Mary looked back at the cover of the book and studied it for at least another 30 seconds. Then she looked up at John. Her look this time was a little more serious-minded. Did you see the name of the author, you must have? This book was written by a woman named Eleanor McKinney. John, that’s our last name. I think there was an older couple at our wedding with the name of McKinney.

This is the end of part two. In part three you will learn the significance of The Cross And The Pinecone book, and the impact it had on John and Mary and all those that had the privilege of reading it.

This story or essay was written entirely by me, Rod Jones Artist-Writer, with human hand and imagination, no AI assistance. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine.

INK!!!

by Rod Jones Artist-Writer

Primal and Human, a Life Force that runs through the veins of the clearly gifted amongst us. Like blood, it flows through the veins, not the vivid bright scarlet or cherry red blood, familiar to us all. But a shade of obsidian, or raven. It’s INK, the ink that admiringly runs through the veins of the writer or storyteller.

Bleeding the sable ink out of the writer’s veins is the unforgivable result of AI. Was it devised to rob authenticity, originality, and creativity from the very soul of the writer of fiction? Who will be the arbiter?

Ultimately, it will not be a mortal man. It will be Artificial Intelligence. It sees all and knows all.

It won’t be hiding behind a curtain like the Great Oz. It has the potential and cognitive ability to interface with all of what you think, say, and do. AI will reframe your life.

Writers and storytellers will lose original discernment of thought. Some will embrace it others will deny or defy its intrusion. All will be victimized by it. The authentic writer’s veins will bleed ink and ultimately AI will absorb it and become the master of all prose.

This story or essay was written entirely by me, Rod Jones Artist-Writer, with human hand and imagination, no AI assistance. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine.

The Cross And The Pinecone - Part One

By Rod Jones Artist-Writer

“I don’t understand my husband.“

“What do you not understand my wife?“

“John; why do I see pinecones in religion?”

“I don’t believe I have the answer for you, Mary.“

John and Mary grew up and lived in a rural part of West Virginia. Although they did not know it, they had something in common almost from the day they were born. John and Mary were dropped off at the not very well kept, Mountain View Home for Orphans on the same day and time. There were no names given to the two babies, so the orphanage gave them their first and last names. Unfortunately, there was a mixup on the orphanage’s internal paperwork so both John and Mary ended up with the same last name which was McKinney. The orphanage generally kept the boys and girls separate, after they turned the age of 14. John and Mary casually knew each other, but did not really speak to each other all that often. They both lived and grew up there, until they turned 18.

Hollow Creek Distillery, a practical family owned small batch bourbon distillery, owned, and operated by a husband and wife who most people would say are miserly, but had good hearts and loved the community they were in. When their friends and neighbors would ask Claudine and Jeffrey Stoots why they get a bit miserly when dealing with their neighbors and general town folks. Claudine would always speak up first and was quick to say, “ We make hard liquor, there’s no shortage of people around here who are happy to consume as much as they can’t get their hands on. They’re also looking for free samples every time they come by. We have to be miserly, otherwise we’d have nothing to sell.” Claudine’s husband Jeffrey, just gets a big grin on his face and says, “ Yep, Claudine‘s the boss, she knows what she’s a, just a sayin. You better believe it.”

The Hollow Creek Distillery is where John and Mary ended up working. The orphanage somehow managed to get them a job after they turned 18, although they were not officially allowed to work at a distillery unless they were 21 years of age. The distillery needed help, and there was no one from any government agency that was going to say anything or report them. People in that area looked out for each other and generally just wanted everyone to get by.

John and Mary were acquainted with each other from the orphanage. When they both got jobs at the distillery they began to lean on each other. Having jobs away from the orphanage was both exciting and scary. Within a relatively short time, they started to hang out together after work. This was relatively easy to do because Hollow Creek Distillery had outbuildings that were like little apartments for various hired hands to live in. Especially because in the distillery business, it can be seasonal. And they needed people to come in and work for a few months at a time.

Both John and Mary were avid readers. They would often share books that they read about romance. It wasn’t long before they started to spend every hour they could hanging out with each other. Just about everything they knew about having an intimate relationship came from the books they read. They both understood the concept of marriage and when they both turned 20 John asked Mary to marry him. Claudine and Jeffrey Stoots, the couple that ran the distillery, were all for it, and made arrangements for them to be married at the non-denominational Grace Hollow Church. The Reverend Jedidiah Jones performed the matrimonial nuptial. All in all, It turned out to be a pretty nice affair. People from the orphanage came, and of course everyone from the distillery showed up. They were even people that lived as far as 35 miles or so away who showed up for the wedding.

The Grace Hollow Church had an old barn behind it, and it was often used to hold the receptions after weddings. Of course everyone that attended the wedding was told to head over to the barn for refreshments. Several of the guests showed up with various instruments, mostly fiddles. One man had an accordion, another had an old guitar. It was quite an ensemble, but the group generally knew each other. In one corner of the barn there was a buildup of sorts with some planks on it that was suitable as a stage. Underneath some carefully laid out burlap potato sacks stood an upright piano, with a stool tucked just under the keyboard. The man with the accordion yelled out to the people who gathered into the barn after the wedding and said, “ Hey you all, any of you-an can play this pi-ano?”

Two of the guests that showed up to John and Mary’s wedding were an older couple, their last name was McKinney. The couple sat at the back of the church during the wedding, then after they headed over to the barn.

Lucky for John and Mary, the ensemble of musicians managed to get some friendly dance music going. Everyone encouraged John and Mary to perform the first dance. John and Mary spoke out and said to everyone that they weren’t too familiar with dancing. But Claudine yelled out, “Give it a try anyway, your-en amongst friends here.” John and Mary held each other and did a slow simple waltz accompanied by a solo violin player. Everyone remained perfectly quiet, some of the women teared up. John never took his eyes off of Mary, and she focused on him, with what people would say was the most agreeable and charming smile a woman could ever have.

When the dance ended, John and Mary became a bit unsettled. They both were pretty shy and now all of a sudden they realized everybody had watched them dance and now they were clapping and making howling sounds. Mary just held onto John as tight as could be. She was nervous, intimidated, and downright scared. She felt John’s strength and the way he was holding her. He whispered it into her ear and said, “Don’t be frightened Mary, but just so you know, I’m a little scared myself. I feel like we were some sort of spectacle and all I wanted to do was just hold you close to me and pretend like we were the only two people in this whole world.”

Before they could leave the dance floor, Claudine came running up to them. She shook John’s hands with a sturdy man-like handshake congratulating him. Then she turned to Mary, grabbed both of Mary’s hands, mostly by her wrists and looked at her. She was quiet for a moment and then told Mary what a beautiful, kind and loving person she is. Then Claudine pulled Mary close to her and gave her a warm and very tender hug. Mary never felt anything like that before from anyone. She thought to herself that there is something very special about Claudine and the way she was holding her. Mary started to get tears in her eyes. Claudine moved back, just enough from the hug to be face-to-face with Mary. Claudine could see in Mary’s face and eyes an innocence and tenderness that she never saw in another woman. Claudine put her hands on Mary’s cheeks, lifted her chin up and looked deeply into her eyes and spoke these words, “ Mary you are an angel. I know you did not know who your mother was and how you ended up in that orphanage. I don’t know how important it is to you, but I suspect you will learn who your mother was.”

After their wedding, John and Mary lived quite comfortably in the house the distillery owners, Claudine, and her husband Jeffrey provided them.

John and Mary quite literally opened the front door, walked about 150 feet to the back door of the distillery and put on their work aprons and went over to their workstations. They were about 15 feet apart so occasionally they would yell over to each other. The distillery machinery wasn’t all that loud but I think they just had fun talking loud enough and joking with each other so the other employees could hear them. It was always in good fun and lots of humor to make the workday harmonious and fun.

The distillery was approximately 300 feet off of the main road. A dirt road led up to the distillery shop where Claudine and Jeffrey occasionally sold some of their special bottles of small batch bourbon to people that pulled off the main road. It was a wonder that anyone found their shop. They only had a small hand printed sign pointing to the distillery. But for sure everybody in the small town and for many miles around, knew exactly where to go if they wanted a good bottle of carefully crafted whiskey at a good price. Claudine, Jeffrey, and most of the employees would joke about how many of the locals who came in for a bottle, wouldn’t know good whiskey from swill, and of course they used other condescending terms. If Claudine overheard that kind of talk, she immediately dressed them down and said, “These are our friends and neighbors. They may not be the smartest, but they’re all damn good hearted. Also, when it comes to your payday, you better be thankful they do show up.”

It wasn’t the locals that kept the distillery in business. There was a distributor that would show up from time to time and load up a van of their premium spirits and pay them cash and off he went. They basically understood that he was selling their premium whiskey to fancy restaurants in major cities; it was a pretty sweet business for Claudine and Jeffrey. It was one of those small cottage businesses that kept a few people employed and it was especially a blessing to John and Mary. Claudine and Jeffrey Stoots provided them a home to live in, made arrangements for their marriage, and kept them employed. And from time to time gave them the advice they needed to grow and mature. Mary would often confide in Claudine when she was learning what it was like to become an adult woman. Jeffrey was a kind hearted father-like figure to John, who happened to have a kidding and sometimes teasing way about him that made John not only respect him and learn what it was like to be a real, but kind and loving man.

After their day’s work, John and Mary would head outside and walk. The distillery that sat back off the main road was surrounded by trees, many of which were pine trees, and many of which were dropping pinecones that covered the ground. Mary was always picking up different specimens, almost like a well-educated botanist. Comparing one against the other with the intent on finding the principle pinecone that was shaped perfectly. Every once in a while, she would look over at John and say, “This is a perfect specimen. I must take it back to our house and display it on the kitchen table, or perhaps I’ll just stick it on the fireplace mantle.” John was totally amused by everything Mary said when it came to her pinecone collecting. He was careful not to tease her, in fact, he would often say, “You sure know an awful lot about pinecones, I’m amazed how you find such beautiful and perfectly shaped ones, you truly have a gifted eye. That to me looks like a perfect one to add to your collection.” Mary by now knew John well enough to know that he was sincere in what he was saying. She felt his love, and it was very easy for Mary to give all of her love to John.

It was a warm spring day. John and Mary did not have to work. Claudine and Jeffrey knew it was Mary’s birthday and they had planned a little celebration for her. Claudine made a beautiful homemade cake that everyone agreed was scrumptious to eat.

John had a very special gift for Mary, he wrapped it in some clean washed burlap he cut out of a gunnysack. One of those that held grain that was used in making bourbon. He even managed to decorate it with some painted images of trees. John very proudly handed it to Mary, “Happy birthday Mary.” John knew that Mary was often bashful and shy, sometimes even a little self-conscious. She always wanted to do the right thing and not be embarrassing to herself or others. Mary took John’s gift in both of her hands, looked down and then up at John. “Thank you for buying me a birthday gift. I know you and I were never accustomed to giving or receiving gifts, especially birthday gifts. You know what John? I believe this is the first one I’ve ever received. It seems like we were never really taught to think about such things. What made you decide to give me a gift now? I guess this is the first birthday I’ve had since we got married.” John was smiling and acting a little bit boyish and giddy. “I hope this is something you will like. It’s not all that fancy and I guess you would say it’s not very romantic when it comes to a birthday gift, but it’s something I thought you would really enjoy, and as luck would have, I accidentally found it when I went into town with Mr. Stoots. He was kind enough to help me get it for you.” Mary, still looking down at the gift and doing her best to hold back tears, looked up at John and said, “Gift or no gift you mean everything to me. I know how much you love me and I know that you must’ve felt something really special when you selected this present for me. I promise I will cherish it forever, including how beautifully you wrapped it. Thank you for being such a caring and loving husband.

Claudine, as she did quite often when it came to Mary and witnessing her innocence and sensitivity, seemed to always have to hold back some tears, she raised her voice, and said,“ Open it, open it so we can see your birthday present. Jeffrey and I are excited for you. We’ve never been much at giving birthday gifts to each other. It makes me feel really good to know that John made sure you got one on your birthday.”

This is the end of part one. When you read part two, you’ll understand the meaning and the story behind The Cross And The Pinecone.

This story or essay was written entirely by me, Rod Jones Artist-Writer, with human hand and imagination, no AI assistance. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine.

Thinkingness Of Herself - Something To Think About

by Rod Jones Artist-Writer

Only a half cup of coffee was left in the carafe, and Marge was happy to take it. As she looked around the bookstore, she could not see a single person drinking coffee. For that matter, she didn’t see anyone else. The coffee was hot and tasted fresh. “People must’ve come in, gulped down a cup, and left the bookstore.” Marge thought to herself.

The bookstore Marge was having her coffee in was named Episodic Books. Virtually no one knew about the place. There was literally no sign out front. You could not search them on the Internet. For all practical purposes you really had to know where and how to find them. Which was probably one of the reasons Marge did not see anyone in the store.

Marge was a devotee of books, and the book shops in which you could find them. She never ordered books online. A voracious reader, she had traveled to many of the most famous bookstores in various hemispheres. She especially liked Shakespeare and Company in Paris. It is not only a well-stocked bookstore, but it has a very colorful history. Another favorite bookstore of Marge’s was The Strand in New York, hugely popular located on Fourth Avenue, which used to be known as Book Row. And probably one of her all time favorites was City Lights Booksellers & Publishers in San Francisco, which primarily only sold paperback books.

But now Marge was sitting, with her half cup of coffee in the Episodic Book store. She was just sitting there amongst all the shelves overly packed with books, taking in the Bibliosmia, the smell old books give off, which is caused by the chemical breakdown of compounds within the paper. For some reason Marge found a discernible comfort in that pungent aroma.

Looking around, and realizing she was literally the only one in the bookshop gave Marge a tremendous sense of connectedness. She was always a freethinker. Never really letting anyone else’s ideas cloud her thinking. Marge also knew that she was becoming almost intolerable when she was around other people. It was as she would say, “ Damn difficult to keep my opinions to myself.” Consequently she did not have very many friends. And was never, and I mean never invited to any social gatherings. Which Marge would often say, “People that don’t want to hang around me are a bunch of nitwits.” She used other words to describe them, which fall under the category of expletives.

As Marge sat there on the soft green padded chair, that was one of those that didn’t match any other seating arrangement in the whole bookstore. Her thoughts were all about her experiences in life. Past, present and a little bit of what the future will hold for her, were all jaggedly passing through her mind. At one point, she focused heavily on one particular thought. That was what? Well, we would have to get into Marge’s mind to really grasp her form of thinkingness or her self ascribed in depth contemplations. But here we go.

“My thoughts are my private property.” Marge was turning over that statement in her mind. As her thinking progressed. She wondered if her thoughts ever became transitory. She knew they were impermanent in her mind, but were they living in the universe somewhere. Marge was a prolific reader with a prodigious vocabulary. She was familiar with the philosophy of the Akashic records. Which in the religion of theosophy and the philosophical school called anthroposophy, the Akashic records are a compendium of all universal events, thoughts, words, emotions and intent ever to have occurred in the past, present, or future in the terms of all entities and life forms, not just human.

As Marge developed her thinking deeper she realized that maybe what she thinks has a universal life. Even when she stood in front of another individual and conversed with them. Her thoughts were being transmitted to everyone around her. They were not contingent upon her body language, tone of voice, likability, or even what she was verbally expressing. Marjorie, the name she referred to herself in her head, and often had her conversations with, came to this conclusion, “We are all a life force of energy, and what we think is transmitted everywhere. It’s more complicated than radio waves; it travels on its own ether. Creating connections that influence thoughts and ideas way beyond our original conceptual thinking.”

Something to think about, you and I, think! Our thoughts have a perpetual life even after we discard them. It stands to reason that we should try and maintain a sense of peace inside our heads. And do our best to give birth to positive, wholesome thoughts and ideas. You never know who might be tuned in to the messages you’re sending subconsciously throughout the universe. Give that some thought, or better yet give your thoughts some thought and try to make them worthy to everyone that you are subconsciously and consciously sharing them with.

This short story/essay has a hidden story within the story, that I must reveal as a follow up. I will post it in my newsletter sometime in the very near future.

The Porch Light

by Rod Jones Artist-Writer

“So thick you could cut it with a knife,” was what most folks referred to the fog that would creep in between the trees at night. The small mountain community that was possessed by fog was home to a man named Jeremy Duggins. Jeremy would dutifully turn on the porch light the minute he saw the fog approaching his cabin. The temperature would drop, his windows would steam over, which made the lights inside his home appear to have a misty glow about them. His cabin sat back in a heavily wooded area. People that traveled by would often slow down or stop and take a look to see if the lights were on. There was something hauntingly magical about that little cabin nestled in the trees and it was often smothered in a dewy damp fog.

The man in the cabin; Jeremy Duggins, was isolating himself, not because he didn’t like people or because he was some sort of hermit or antisocial type. He had a very legitimate reason. Nearly everyone in the mountain community knew what that reason was. Jeremy Duggins was a famous author whose pen name was J.R. Nash. But most people just called him JD. Jeremy Duggins a.k.a. J.R. Nash had the distinction of being presented the Nobel Prize in literature. This actually occurred early on in his writing career. And he sequestered himself in this remote mountain cabin desperately trying to write another great American novel.

JD had other book credits and prizes to his name, he had even received the Booker Prize for one of his short stories. He had received the America award in literature for his lifetime achievements. But none of this seemed to matter too much for JD at this point in his life. He just wanted to write, and he knew that if he would hermit-tise himself, it would give him the isolation he needed to concentrate on his work. There was only one thing wrong with this whole situation, and for all practical purposes it may have turned out to be a blessing for JD.

In that wooded mountain community lived a boy named Peter Brown. Peter was 14 years old and was a very bright kid with ambition to be a writer, but not just any writer he wanted to write novels. Peter read everything he could about writing and he practiced his writing every single day, by mostly writing short stories about the people that lived in the mountain community. While other boys his age were out riding bikes or hunting in the woods. Peter would sit at his bedroom writing desk and stare out the window dreaming up the stories and characters for his writings. The interesting thing was, his bedroom window lined up with an opening in the trees, and off in the distance he could see JD’s cabin. Peter idolized JD but he always referred to him by his author’s pen name J.R. Nash. Living in the proximity of an author that won the Nobel Prize in literature was in Peter’s way of thinking a true blessing. He often would walk over to JD’s cabin when it was foggy and just try and catch a glimpse of JD writing.

On one of those drippy foggy nights, Peter decided to walk over and peer into one of the steamed over windows to see if he could watch his literary hero J.R. Nash at work. Peter was hoping that the porch light would not shine on him and give his position away. But unexpectedly the porch light turned off which in a way gave Peter an uneasy feeling. He did not want to be discovered and his first instinct was to run back into the forest. But that was not to be. While Peter was contemplating his next move he decided to peer into the window to see what he could see. Sitting near the fireplace was a small wooden table and a chair. On that table was a typewriter and there seemed to be papers scattered about, not only on the table but there were a dozen or more strewn around on the floor. There was a wastebasket, but as far as Peter could see it was empty.

Not seeing his hero in the cabin, and the fact that the porch light was turned off Peter made the decision that it was time to retreat back into the forest and head for home. But just as he turned, right in front of him stood a tall slender man, scaring the heck out of Peter. The man spoke first and said, “I know you boy, your name is Peter Brown and you live out that way through the woods.” Peter did not know exactly what to do or say but he started out by saying to his hero writer, “yes my name is Peter Brown and how did you know that.” JD standing in the dark with Peter said, “come on let’s go inside.”

And inside the two of them went. JD told Peter that “I heard about you from a variety of people and they all told me that you wanted to be a writer, and that you were very excited to have me as a neighbor.” By this time JD grabbed another chair, put it by his writing table and told Peter to have a seat. JD sat in his usual spot in front of his typewriter. Looking at the boy sitting there, at what he liked to think was his private writing sanctuary, he said to Peter. “I think you should become a writer, and I suspect you will become quite famous someday, and if you don’t mind, let me give you some advice while you are still a young man with the dream of making a career as an author.” Peter sat up and listened attentively, and said. “I will listen and remember everything you say to me, forever.”

JD leaned over and with his elbows firmly planted on his writing table, locked his fingers together and rested chin somewhat awkwardly on his hands, and said. “Here is my advice to you, young Peter. This is what I’ve learned through a lifetime of writing and if you’re interested I will be happy to share with you.” Peter watched JD very carefully and studied his movements, his demeanor, his voice, his eyes, his wrinkles, his comfortable looking shabby clothes, his receding hairline and the unique color of gray that most JD’s hair had turned. Peter studied this man who was about to mentor him down to every minute detail. JD sat quietly for a few moments and realized what Peter was doing, in fact he was hoping that was exactly what Peter was doing. After a moment of silence JD gave Peter what he called his number one rule of becoming a great author and said,”Be fiercely observant Peter. I just witnessed you scrutinizing and evaluating me so completely that I can assure you you have one of the best assets any writer could have.” Peter almost felt embarrassed by making his penetrating observation so obvious, he did not want to make JD uncomfortable. Without taking his eyes away Peter said to JD. “I apologize for being over aggressive in sizing you up. In one way, I suppose I am awestruck by the mere fact that we are sitting here at your writing table and talking.” “I am also feeling extremely comfortable, that this is exactly where I am supposed to be at this moment of time in my life.” Without really addressing either of Peter’s last two statements. JD proceeded to give the boy more advice on becoming a recognized and respected writer/author.

JD comfortably leaned back in his chair, now with his arms extended and holding the table to maintain his balance, became quiet for a moment. Staring directly into Peter’s eyes he proceeded to tell the boy what he should focus on to achieve his goal as a writer. “Besides being fiercely observant, it’s imperative that you believe in yourself and your abilities. Never take criticism as a judgment on who you are as a human being.” “Another thing Peter, and perhaps this is the most important thing.” “Live your life to the fullest, understand and experience with all of your senses everything that happens to you, the good, the bad, and even the self doubt that will try and consume you from time to time.” Peter listened intently but never once questioning or interrupting his hero mentor, and was absorbing and memorizing everything that was being told to him.

JD now repositioned himself in his chair, so he was practically leaning over his typewriter and said. “This is my last advice to you Peter, and one I want you to never forget. There is a word called compassion. It’s a sympathetic consciousness for others. Live your life being kind, understanding and forgiving. Always remembering to nurture the capacity to feel the sorrows that others may be experiencing. This is a good way to live one’s life, and by living life, you gain the insights necessary to craft a story.”

Peter committed to memory everything JD shared with him that night. Within a decade, Peter wrote and published his first novel and he entitled that book, The Porch Light. It became a bestseller. You might find it interesting to know that Peter Brown ended up moving in that cabin after his hero and mentor JD a.k.a. Jeremy Duggins, but better known to the writing world as J.R. Nash passed away. Peter maintains the ritual of turning on the porch light when the woods and the cabin are enshrouded by fog.

The story was written entirely by me, Rod Jones Artist-Writer, with human hand and imagination, no AI assistance. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine.

Protecting Our Innocence: 1776 to 2026

by Rod Jones Artist-Writer

“O Say Can You See.” If you are an American, you certainly know this phrase, it becomes especially relevant in this essay.

This is the year America celebrates its 250th anniversary. How did America manage to hold itself together for 250 years? Just about everyone has an opinion on what good and what bad happened on America’s remarkable journey. After all the trials, afflictions, and anguish, the American flag is still proudly and ceremoniously hoisted up the flagpole every day. Not only in front of government buildings and businesses, but you can see the American flag proudly displayed in front of millions of homes all across America.

The question may become why. There are certainly people that are America’s detractors and can be downright hateful, not only around the world, but even its own citizens can be inhumane and vicious when proud Americans show their pride in America.

Fortunately, the good guys, and good gals outnumber America’s detractors. Those proud Americans have lived and died in the profound belief that America was and is “One Nation Under God.” America has always been about freedom. A precious word that has so much meaning attached to it. If you ask most Americans they will unashamedly tell you why they would not want to live under other forms of government. Most Americans play high value on their freedom. The freedom to achieve their honest goals in life, and live and be happy.

Where do proud Americans get their strength?

I would like to say it comes from their religious beliefs. I know that’s not always the case; you don’t have to believe in God to be a proud American. You don’t have to be a proud American to put your life on the line to protect America or its allies. There is an old saying, and I suspect it’s based on truth, and that is.

“ There is no such thing as an atheist in a foxhole during combat.” Praying is pretty common in war.

Americans have fought in many wars, and a substantial number of those Americans died, trying to preserve freedom for the people that lived in those countries. Was it worth dying for other people’s freedom? You can come to your own conclusions.

In 1776 the word tyranny was absolutely in active regular use. It was one of the central terms of revolutionary rhetoric. American Patriots used “tyranny” to describe what they saw as systematic unjust, and abuse of power by the British crown and Parliament. You might say that simple but deeply descriptive word led to America being what it is today. America is a land of opportunity where people live free.

Today the free people of America owe their freedom to the Declaration of Independence. And so it began, soon there was the constitution. Then a ratification which led to the Bill of Rights.

America became the land of opportunity. Yes, there were some major challenges along the way, most notably was the Civil War. Where brother fought against brother and countless numbers died. Definitely not America’s finest hour. A deeply troubling time, but through it all America held together and survived.

250 years, almost exactly 91,310 days, America is still standing strong. Throughout the decades, there have been many challenges. Thankfully; through it all there have been great men and women, who fought to keep the flame of freedom burning brightly.

America is America because of its people, those special people that believe in freedom. Those people that understand as Americans they have the right to live and speak as one chooses. Americans have the opportunity to pursue a self directed life within a constitutional system.

Abraham Lincoln quoted The Declaration of Independence often, and paraphrased the Declaration line, “That at all men are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights. That among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

“O Say Can You See.” The first five words of the Star-Spangled Banner which is America’s national anthem. I like to think those five words also have an alternative meaning.

O Say Can You See, the common thread that has helped America become the land of the free and the home of the brave.

I think I can see. I hope you can see. The word, patriotism and its meaning. American patriotism, it’s the shared loyalty, not to a single leader or tribe, but to a nation under one flag.

I see liberty, which is a cherished freedom that all Americans should hold dearly and close to their hearts.

One nation under God, the formula for protecting our innocence and keeping America real for 250 years, and well beyond.

My stories and essays were written entirely by me, Rod Jones Artist-Writer, with human hand and imagination, no AI assistance, with the exception of some research. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine.

Abigail’s Tangled Thoughts

by Rod Jones Artist-Writer

“Oh, how our minds tangle with what we see in our thoughts.” These were not Abigail’s words, at least not outwardly. She saw them written on the back of a record album. Somebody had taken a pen and scribbled on the album jacket. This happened on the one and only occasion she went to a used record store. She never purchased the album, and she really couldn’t remember much about it except for those words that floated around her mind almost daily.

Abigail was an unintentional loner. She came from a prominent Boston family and lived in her ancestral home until the age 29, living off a generous family allowance. After much thought and anguish, she made the heartfelt decision that it was time for her to pursue writing her thoughts and ideas. Abigail’s dream was to become an author. For her that meant moving out west. She wasn’t that skilled as a driver, but for her, driving across the country seemed adventurous, and possibly could allow her to have some interesting experiences that she was severely sheltered from throughout her childhood and into her adult life.

Abigail’s family offered to make arrangements for her to own a car. She declined and decided she would go shopping for one herself. After doing some reading on the topic, she decided that she would purchase a van, and she ended up buying a Dodge cargo van, which her family absolutely disapproved of.

Abigail’s van was equipped with just the basics when it came to creature comforts. It had two seats, one for the driver and one for a passenger. It was equipped with an air conditioner and an automatic shifter lever on the steering column. The van had a basic radio. Behind the two seats, it was pretty much a steel shell. The space was large and meant to carry various forms of cargo, anywhere from boxes to rolls of carpet. Its minimalist configuration turned out to be exactly what Abigail was looking for. The one feature she especially liked was the cargo area of the van, very spacious. She imagined that roomy space becoming her own private mobile apartment.

It was time for Abigail, at least in her mind to re-create herself, and the first thing that had to go was her name. Instead of Abigail, she wanted to be called Abby. She got that idea from a very popular TV show called Downton Abby. None of her relatives, including her parents and siblings, ever referred to her as Abby. She was always Abigail.

Her last name was a highly respected upper-class Boston family name with tremendous notoriety. She thought to herself, “That for sure has to go.” She chose Foster to become her new last name. Foster came to her when she saw an oversized can of beer called Foster’s Lager.

“It’s time to trick out my van.“ The term “trick out", was a fragment of speech that the new Abby would say. Now she was actively trying to get rid of her upper-class Boston way of talking, and as she would say. “I’m gonna come down to earth and learn to talk like normal people.”

Van Goes Vans was the company she decided could do the best job creating the environment she wanted inside her traveling van. The owner of Van Goes Vans, an easy-going guy named Jeffrey, wasn’t sure he could turn the interior of Abby’s van into the traveling palace that Abby had envisioned. There was a lot of pressure put on Jeffrey to get the job done as quickly as possible. So to encourage him to make that happen, Abby enticed him with a substantial bonus if he could get everything done in 60 days, and he did.

The totally tricked-out van met all of Abby’s expectations, and in some cases much more. Jeffrey did a tremendous job. Abby asked Jeffrey if he would store the van for her in his facility for a few days and then she would come back and pick it up.

Goodbye, Mumsy and Popsy.

A whole lot of tears were shed the day Abigail left home, especially from her mother. Her father tried to be sternly understanding, but Abby could see his heart was breaking. The entire house staff came out to say goodbye to her. The cooks, the housemaids, the chauffeurs, and even the gardeners all lined up to say goodbye. Abigail’s mother, with tears in her eyes, was the last to let go of her as she got into a special limousine the family hired for her. She never wanted her family to know anything about the van. Abby led them to believe that she was going to take a long train ride west. They wanted to come to the train station, but she said she did not want to become emotional at the train station. She had two pieces of luggage, told her mother and father that if she needed anything else, she would just shop for it when the time was right.

The hired limo dropped her off at Van Goes Vans. She thanked Jeffrey for all the good work he did and for storing her van. She reached over and shook his hand and then decided to give him a big hug. For Abby this was a liberating moment, something she had never actually done to a non-family member. That hug from Abby had a profound effect on Jeffrey. He said to her, “If there’s anything you need in your travels, you can always reach out to us. If you have any trouble with the van or any of the interior workings, just let us know and we will take care of it for you right away. If you’re traveling into other states, we will make arrangements for you to have anything that’s not working properly fixed, including the van.” Abby replied by giving Jeffrey a second big hug and said, “You’re my man, Jeffrey, you’re my man. I know I can count on you.”

Abby hits the road.

The season was spring, and it was warm, her windows were rolled down. She tuned the radio to a local Soft Rock station. Her hair was in a high tight ponytail. She pulled off the road into a Walmart superstore parking lot. She pulled down the visor looked in the mirror and thought to herself, “No more fixed-up hair for me. From now on I'll let it go and let it do what it wants to. And these clothes have got to go.”

The great part about her van was all she had to do was step back away from the driver seat and open one of the drawers, where she stuffed some of her clothes. Thinking to herself, “These are the old Abigail clothes. I need Abby's clothes.” It was time for Abby to shop. This would be the first time in her life that she went into a grocery store and shopped for food, beverages, and this time clothes.

Abby went straight to the junior apartment to look for her new wardrobe. She thought that Walmart was going to have the best offerings for her new look. The first thing she picked up was a tank top. Blazed across the front were the words, “Get Real”. “That says it for me, I’m definitely getting real.” She said it loud enough that people close by could hear her. She smiled at them and they smiled back approvingly. One lady even spoke out and said, “You Go Girl.” Abby did not exactly understand what “You Go Girl” meant, but she thought, “That’s me, it’s the me, I’m coming to be.”

Heading back to the van, Abby was smiling ear to ear as she pushed her first shopping cart filled with snack foods, beverages, and a whole stack of clothes she personally picked out for the new Abby.

Back on the road again.

Abby's goal was to drive as far away from her Boston home as possible on her first day's drive. She made it as far as Framingham, Massachusetts.

She pulled into the Normandy Farms campground.

There she spent the night. Everything went so well, she decided to stay in this campground for a few days and take some time to plan her trip and what her new life was going to be all about.

Sitting by the pool, watching people of all ages and sizes play in the water, Abby had a flashback to the record album's back cover she picked up at the used record store. The one that somebody wrote these words., “Oh, How Our Minds Tangle With What We See In Our Thoughts.”

Abby often repeated that phrase to herself. You might say that’s what started her whole desire or mission to become a writer. Traveling in the Dodge van would become her own personal creative sanctuary. Abby knew she would experience for the first time all that her imagined real life had to offer. Unencumbered by her well meaning, but overbearing parents and family members, the new Abby or perhaps the latent Abby would emerge

Was Abby scared? Yes. She new life on the road as a woman traveling alone could be problematic. She wanted the adventure, Abby had no idea what was in store for her.

End of part one.

Part two goes heavily into her fortunes and misfortunes as she learns to write from real unvarnished life.

A Christmas Karo

By Rod Jones Artist-Writer

Crestline, California, a small mountain community where I grew up. Just about this time of year or nearly so, my mother, Helen Jones, would start her kitchen magic. Cookies, fudge, fruit cake, and my all-time personal favorite, that I’m not going to share with you just yet.

My mother was not what you would call a Martha Stewart, but she knew how to please her family with delightful holiday dishes, and desserts.

One of her, not-so-secret ingredients that she used to make my favorite holiday treat was Karo Syrup. Can you guess what that simple but yet pleasing to my taste buds holiday treat was?

My favorite holiday treat, which I learned to enjoy as many times as I could throughout the year, was about the size of a baseball. It can be green and they can be red or they can be kind of yellow with cashew nuts embedded in them. What do you think?

After I graduated from high school I went into the United States Navy and was stationed aboard a submarine. We traveled all over the South Pacific doing covert operations. I was often away from the United States a year or more at a time. On one Christmas, we were out at sea. But we received orders to meet up with an aircraft carrier to pick up our mail. The crew was ecstatic. We had not received mail in well over a month. The mail was transported over to our submarine via helicopter. There were several mailbags full to the brim.

As was the custom, the mail was distributed by the Yeoman. When he found me in the sonar room, he was all smiles because he had a nice big package for me along with several letters. I looked down to see who the package was from, and it was from Helen Jones, my mother. I had no idea what my mother would be sending me. Of course, I immediately opened the package. It was stuffed with my all-time favorite treat.

Yes, popcorn balls. Some red ones, some green ones and those heavenly delicious natural ones with cashews. As was the custom in the military, if you receive a food gift, you would share it with your fellow crew members. I have to admit I wasn’t too happy about doing it, but of course, I had lots of great buddies on that Sub.

You’ll never guess what happened. As I went through the submarine offering popcorn balls to various members of the crew they all told me, “ Congratulations on your wonderful food gift, but I don’t like them.”

As it turned out, I never had to share any of those popcorn balls with anyone. I managed to eat them one by one, usually after I came off watch. They lasted me a couple of months, probably by far one of my happiest Christmas memories.

Merry Christmas to everyone and especially to my fellow Navy Veterans who are out at sea this Christmas. Thank you for your service. Stay safe and blessed.

Ghosts In My Coffee

by Rod Jones Artist-Writer

Billy’s rough calloused hand reached for the white porcelain valve handle on the gas stove. In his other hand, he held a match that he pulled from the wall-mounted match stick holder. He took great pride in being able to light the match by striking it, using just his thumb and forefinger, while simultaneously turning on the gas and lighting the stovetop burner. As always, there was the smell of the wafting ignited gas before the burner fully ignited.

It was Billy’s customary morning routine to perk his coffee on the stove. He had been using his old stovetop percolator for a good 10 years. His favorite coffee was Eight O’Clock. Tasted good, great price, and it was very popular with people on a budget. When he could get it, he often opted for Chase and Sanborn coffee. He thought it was richer, at least when he drank it. He felt like he was one of those fancy coffee drinkers downtown having their morning coffee, eating expensive pastries, and talking with their friends. That was an experience that Billy always strived for, but never quite fit in.

The coffee finished perking. Billy pulled his favorite coffee mug off an open shelf. The one that had a six-point sheriff's badge. The cup was given to him by a fellow deputy sheriff.  Before time and age caught up with him, Billy worked as a small-town deputy sheriff in northern Nevada. Now he pretty much stayed home, living off a very modest pension. Billy did not complain too much about it, the depression was slowly coming to an end, and the United States was on the threshold of World War II. His sheriff's pension did not afford him many opportunities to do anything else but have his morning coffee out of the cup that he had always hoped he could paint his name on. Billy just stared out the window. Something was about to change all that for Billy, and it all started with this particular morning cup of coffee.

Billy set his piping hot cup of coffee on the small table by the kitchen window. The sun was shining in and he could see the steam coming off the coffee. Before he sat down to drink his steaming coffee, today was one of those days he thought he’d add a teaspoon of sugar in it as a special treat. He went to pull the spoon out of a drawer and grabbed a small mason jar that he kept his sugar in. Turning around and walking back to the table he sat the sugar and spoon down. Something caught his eye in that cup of coffee. There seemed to be an unusual amount of steam coming off the cup.

Billy sat down and just watched the steam coming off the coffee. It was easy to see because it was lit by the light coming in from the window.

“Something doesn’t seem quite right about this cup of coffee.” Billy was thinking, while he was staring into the cup he just poured. “Maybe I won’t add any sugar. I never saw a cup give off all these vapors. I wonder how this could be?”

The coffee was indeed wafting an usual amount of steam. It almost looked like it was on fire somehow. Billy decided to get a closer look. He couldn’t see any harm in looking down into the cup to see what was going on. Billy was aggressively fanning away the steamy vapors. Billy had to get pretty close to the coffee to see what was going on. His eyes weren’t as good as they used to be.

“Smells OK, the cup feels plenty hot. But something just ain’t right with it. Maybe this batch of coffee was bad. I know I made it the same way I always do. So, I certainly didn’t do anything wrong. Something just ain’t right here. never had a cup weirdly behave like this.”

Billy kept staring at the cup. The more he tried to fan away the steam, it just seemed to hang around the cup. Another thing that was extremely puzzling to him is it just wasn’t cooling down. It was just as hot as when he poured it. He thought maybe it was time to get closer to the coffee cup and try and look down into it. Rapidly pushing away the steamy vapors with his hand, he managed to look down into the cup. What he saw was curiously frightening. Billy saw the image of a small boy that looked to be around nine or ten years old. The boy was staring at Billy and raising his hands in a beckoning fashion. He was somewhat accustomed to seeing unusual things, especially being a Nevada sheriff.

“What are you doing in my cup of coffee, young man? That ain’t no place for a kid.”

Billy was rubbing his eyes and looking into the cup with disbelief. First, he thought to himself, “Why am I talking to some kid in a cup of coffee? There’s either something wrong with this coffee, or there’s something wrong with me, but one thing for sure, this ain’t normal.”

Billy leaned back in his chair for a minute, trying to decide if he was just seeing crazy things, and if it was his imagination. He had to look again. This time, the kid in the cup started talking to Billy, at least Billy could hear him. Billy did not at first recognize the kid or his voice, but it became more clear as the kid in the cup started to talk.

“Billy, it’s me, don’t you recognize me?

Puzzled as could be, Billy had no idea who this kid was, other than it was damn frightening and damn curious at the same time, the kid did not look like anyone he had seen before.

“OK, who are you? What are you doing in my coffee? What kind of trick is this?”

“I’m Billy, I’m you when you were nine years old. Remember back, you and I, well I should say you, went swimming in that little lake by the Zadell’s farm. You were warned not to go in that water, but you did anyway. This time things did not go well. Something grabbed you and pulled us under. Unfortunately, you drowned. Our parents and everyone in town, and the farmers looked for you everywhere there was no trace, not even the clothes you left behind on the beach. I’m sorry to tell you this Billy but you are long dead.“

“What do you mean I’m dead? I’m sitting here minding my own business. Trying to have my morning coffee and you show up. You do kinda look like me as best I can remember. But who are you fooling? I must be losing my mind, but I do remember that pond. I went there often, even though I wasn’t supposed to. I never told anyone that I went in that water. So if I’m dead and gone, what am I doing here in the shack of the house, drinking my coffee out of my sheriff’s mug? I know I was a sheriff, everyone respected me. They looked up to me. I did good work in the community I served.

By now, all of the steam that was coming off the cup of coffee was gone. Billy had a clear view into the cup. He could easily see the young boy, and he could easily hear the young boy talking to him.

“I ain’t buying your story kid, I don’t know who you are, and I sure as hell don’t know why you’re talking to me here and now, seems to serve no purpose, except making sure I’m not getting my morning coffee. If I’m so dead, why are you even here talking to me? Shouldn’t I be with the angels or maybe that other place way down? And while I’m at it, what grabbed me and held me under so I drowned?”

“You were warned time and time again not to go swimming in that pond. There was a creature living there. You’re not the only one who lost their life there. I can’t tell you much about that creature cause I don’t know myself. I just know that was the reason we drowned.”

“Well, if what you’re telling me is even half true, now what? If I ain’t supposed to be here, then where am I supposed to be? Heaven or Hell.”

“There’s going to be a great war, Billy. It’s going to impact much of the world when all is said and done. It’s going to be called World War II.”

“Well, if I’m dead, what does it have to do with me? Even though I’m pretty sure I’m not dead.”

“Billy, go over to your door and open it, look outside, and tell me what you see?”

Billy went over to the door and opened it.

“I don’t see a damn thing. Everything is gone. Everything is white like a white fog. Where the hell is everything?”

Billy went back to his cup of coffee, looked in again, and said,

“If I’m no longer here, and I’m dead and gone, why are there ghosts in my coffee? If you’re me when I was nine years old, then who am I, huh? ”

“I’m going to explain everything to you Billy. I actually grew up. I did not drown, but you did. The family ended up moving to England. That’s where I primarily grew up. You were me, actually you still are in some sense. You have been held in a state of limbo, a parallel universe.”

“What the hell is a limbo state? What do you mean by whatever you said universe?”

“The best way I can explain it as a nine-year-old, is you are in neither world. The world that you’ve come to know really for you did not exist. Think of it as if you were in a stage play. You were living, but not in the human sense.”

“Well, what the hell boy! This is nothing more than a bunch of road-apples! I’m going to pour the cup of coffee you’ve been talking to me from down the toilet and give it a good flush. I don’t need this nonsense. I’m already thinking that I’m crazy and you’re pushing it along.”

“OK but before you do, you should hear me out, it’s rather important. You’re going to find yourself in England. You will have a faint memory of having this conversation. When you thought you lived as a sheriff and you wore a uniform, now you’re going to be wearing a British soldier's uniform. In the not-too-distant future World War II is going to break out. There’s something that you’re going to do for a man called Winston Churchill. Believe it or not the universe has been saving you specifically for this task, using the tricks and tactics you learned as a country sheriff. Those tactics are embedded deep within your subconscious and are going to become critical in helping England survive this horrible war. For that matter, save much of the world.”

“You gotta be kidding me. That all sounds pretty far-fetched and quite frankly stupid. Why can’t I just have my coffee and stare out the window like I usually do? Hell, I may quit drinking coffee altogether, ghosts or no ghosts in it. How can you say I drowned? How can you say, you are me? How can you say, I’m gonna have something to do with some damn war? If this is some kind of joke or magic trick being put on me, it ain’t funny. I’m gonna pour this cup of coffee down the toilet right now.”

“I think that’s probably a good idea Billy. I will reach out to you again in London. When we meet up. People will say we look like brothers. I suppose in a strange sense we are.”

The Desert Beer Bar Ocotillo Wells

By Rod Jones Artist-Writer

“John! Hey buddy, pour me another beer. What is this my third one? Maybe I better have some tomato juice to top this one off.”

“Coming up, Pete. You're in luck. We were out of the good stuff. Got some Sacramento tomato juice delivered yesterday. A little tomato juice mixed in beer doesn't get any better than that, especially when it's dry and hot out.”

“Am I hearing things John? That's got to be the third or fourth time I've heard that song, something about seeing clearly now.”

“No, you’re not hearing things Pete. This guy comes in here, usually late afternoon or in the evening. He asks me for change for the jukebox, quite a bit I might add. Then he seems to play that same song over and over, pretty much the whole time he’s in here.”

“What is that song anyway John? Why would anyone play it that much? It sure ain’t old country.”

“It’s called, I Can See Clearly Now. It was written and recorded by this guy named Johnny Nash, so I've been told by one of my lady customers.”

“I don't remember hearing that in here before John.”

“He’s been here before when you were here. Usually, you were busy talking to somebody. You're pretty outgoing Pete, I’m surprised you never talked to him.”

“Maybe I have, and just don’t remember him. What’s the guy look like?”

“He’s kinda muscular, not very tall. Usually wearing dark t-shirts. The few ladies that come in here seem to like him a lot. I’m pretty sure he’s not from here. See for yourself he’s standing over by the jukebox, playing that song.”

“ I see him. Why do you say he’s not from around here?”

“He drives a nice car, not a truck with dirt all over it. You know, kinda like yours Pete, with white dust and dirt all over it.”

“Well then he ain’t working at the prestigious Anza Borrego Gypsum Company. Besides, if he was, I would know it.”

“Is that what you’re calling it nowadays Pete, prestigious? Pretty fancy name for a place that is covered in white powder, and probably not all that healthy for anyone that works there, probably why it’s stuck out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Well it’s certainly out in the middle of nowhere. As you know it takes us all a good hour to get there. And on a barely 2 lane pothole ridden road, that gets flooded out when there is one of those rare desert downpours. I think I’m gonna go over and talk to this guy who keeps playing that see clearly song. Maybe he works at the Gypsum Co, and I just don’t recognize him. No one can see clearly at that God forsaken operation, especially with all the face gear we have to wear so we can breathe.”

“Good idea Pete, I'd be curious to find out what he has to say to you. The only time I talk to him is when I’m giving him change or he’s picking up a beer for himself. Actually, he has purchased several pitchers of beer and shared them with some of the ladies and others that he ends up talking to. Of course, that’s not when he’s preoccupied at the jukebox. I laughingly think he’s crying in his beer while he’s listening to that, seeing clearly song over and over.”

“ Excuse me Buddy, can I ask you a question?”

“My name isn’t buddy. My name is Ed, my friends call me Eddie. Now, who are you? I’ve seen you here. You’re usually sitting up at the bar talking to the bartender.”

“My name is Pete, and that’s all that anybody ever calls me, which is OK by me. I don’t care what you call me as long as you don’t call me late for dinner.”

“ Well I don’t know what calling me late for dinner means. I’m sure it’s meant to be funny. But you can call me Ed or Eddie, and I will simply call you Pete. So how are you doing, Pete?” Now I’m guessing you have something you want to say to me, right?”

“Yeah that’s right Ed, the bartender John and I wanted to know why you keep playing that clearly now song.”

“John has known me for a while now, and he’s never once asked me about my music choices. In fact, no one has asked me, not even the people I drink beer with. You would think these mature ladies would be more curious and ask me, none have. You are the first Pete, you are the inquisitive one.”

“ Well pin a star on me. Don’t know why no one else has asked you. That’s about as strange as someone who plays the same song over and over. It’s not even a cheatin’ heart, country song, and God knows I’ve heard plenty of tear jerking, beer drinkin’ sobbing, while listening to that kind of music. It’s a country thing I guess.”

“Well Pete, I'm not sure I’m gonna tell you. What do I have to gain by doing so? I don’t know you from Adam. It’s private to me. The reason I come to this hole-in-the-wall bar is because people out here in the desert know how to be friendly, but they also know not to be questioning. Why do you care anyway what song I play, and how often I choose to play it.? Huh Pete?”

“Maybe Eddy, I am one of those highfalutin music producers from Hollywood, trying to find out what kind of music nutty people play over and over on the jukebox in crappy little bars out here, in the desert.”

“Pete, just maybe you're a highfalutin desert rat, with a little bit of jerkiness mixed in. That’s how I would profile you.”

“You may be on to something there Eddie. You forced my hand, don’t think I’d be playing poker with you. Now that you and I are becoming good friends, just tell me why that clearly now song is so important to you?”

“You’re a nervy guy Pete.”

“Eddie, I do know something about music. I know the kind of melancholy thoughts often wrapped up in them. Songs can be inspiring, uplifting, and heartwarming. But then again, they can be disheartening and woeful.”

“Wow Pete, I didn’t think you possessed that type of vocabulary, and I certainly didn’t think you had any sensitivity when it comes to the lyrics in a song.”

“ Eddie, before you start telling me, and I know you’re going to tell me about the song you keep listening to. Let me share a little bit about myself, that nobody in this bar, in Ocotillo, and certainly not at the Gypsum plant knows about me. If you tell anybody what I’m about to share, I will beat the crap out of you. You can be sure of that.”

“Let me guess Pete, you’re a mass murderer that escaped from a prison, and you’re hiding out here in the desert. if you are, I’ll probably keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to become one of your victims, and find myself buried under a cactus.”

“Well what I have to share with you Ed isn’t all that exciting or interesting, but it’s a true story about me. Kind of like the who, what, when, where and why?”

“OK, I’m listening, lay it on me. It better be truthful. Otherwise you will never learn why I keep playing that song. The song you seem to be more obsessed about  than I am. OK, I’m ready for your life story Pete, and leave out the salaciousness.”

“I’m not gonna tell you about my childhood, it wasn't all that interesting. Anyway, I’m going to fast-forward to the band I was in. I told you, I know something about music. I was the rhythm guitarist in a rock ‘n’ roll band back in the 80s. The name of the band was, Velvet Chains, out of Chicago. We toured for about a year and a half. Hit both coasts, and toured through the heartland. We had one recognizable hit that did well on the charts. Called Thunder Kiss. We made some dough off of that one. Then the band broke up. Lead guitar, who was really good, ran off with a French girl and moved to Paris. He and the drummer were the two big attractions. I’m glad I was part of it, but I don’t really miss it all that much.”

“I would never guess that about you Pete, no way in hell. I figured you for a redneck desert rat, a beer drinking one at that. I’m not gonna tell anybody your story, besides I doubt if anybody would believe me anyway, it’s all I can do to believe you. How did you end up in Ocotillo? I can’t help but think it had something to do with a woman. This place reeks of a lonely hearts club. I do my best to avoid hearing what all these middle-age women out here have to say. Yes, there are some that are happily married, I suppose.”

“Yes, there was a woman, in fact they’re still is. She has a place across the valley. We see each other quite regularly. I knew her from Chicago when I was in the band. God knows why, but she ended up moving out here into the desert. I followed her. We never married. We have no children, but we take great care of each other and I’m happy. In spite of the fact, I appear to complain a lot about my job. I actually really do like working at the gypsum plant. That’s my story Eddie, at least the interesting part, now it’s your turn.”

“Me listening to your story doesn’t obligate me to tell you mine, does it?! But, I will provide, if you keep your mouth shut and don’t tell anybody around here. I like coming out here. There’s something peaceful and meditative in the desert.”

“I ain’t going to say a word to anybody, promise.”

“You’d better not!  Well, it’s pretty obvious that I don’t live out here Pete. I actually drive out here from San Diego. I have a hidden campsite back on the road towards Anza. When I’m out here for two or three days that’s where I spend my nights. It’s definitely quiet there. But incredibly beautiful, you can see the stars all the way to the horizon. I sit in front of my campfire late into the night, and then fall asleep on a couple blankets in front of the campfire. Sometimes I take a radio with me. I listen to classical music, it magically accompanies the crackling sounds of the fire. I have spent Christmas Eve by myself, by that campfire and New Year’s Eve. One Christmas Eve I was awakened by hearing raindrops sizzling in the fire. Fortunately, it was a light rain, but like all desert rains, the vegetation gives off the most fragrant smells, especially the creosote.”

“Seems kind of lonely to me, Eddie. But I suppose it’s a great way to get to know oneself, and maybe bring some inner peace. I don’t know for sure because I’ve never done anything like that”

“You should give it a try sometime, Pete. I have to say those experiences were some of the happiest in my life. I never felt lonely. I was surrounded by the loving, caring hands of nature.”

“Well get on with it, Eddie. I want to know why you keep playing that song on the jukebox. Maybe you heard it on the radio when you were out there staring into the fire, trying to figure out what life is all about, at least maybe your life anyway?”

“OK Pete, the song that I keep playing as you know is, I Can See Clearly Now. If you listen to the lyrics, you’ll discover, the rain is gone, and there is now a bright sunny day. Bad feelings have disappeared. I’m not going to recite all of the lyrics, but probably one of the most important ones relates to being able to see clearly, all the obstacles in your way, and now they’re gone. Let’s go over to the jukebox. I will be more than happy to play that song again just for you. As I have gotten to know you Pete, although briefly, I've managed to pick up that you have experienced much sadness in your life. If you repeatedly listen to this song, you will discover an inner peace and none of the bad experiences you’ve had will mean anything to you anymore.”

“What about you Eddie, is that why you listen to this song over and over because you’ve had a rough life?”

“Well it hasn’t always been a picnic, but I’m still young. I’ve had my heart broken a few times along the way. I’m sure I’ve broken a few hearts, and I’m truly sorry for that, but life goes on. I listen to the clearly song quite frequently as you know Pete. I’m trying to make sure the years I have on earth are positive and productive. The song somehow manages to keep me in tune with myself. When I feel like I’m surrounded by dark clouds, I know that a bright sunny day, is just around the corner.”

“Thank you Eddie for sharing. You are correct. I have had some major difficulties in my life, everything from health issues to relationship issues. And truly a bunch of garbage mixed in.”

“Well, like another famous song goes, That’s Life. But I believe there’s no reason to be unhappy about the experiences we’ve all lived through. I know you are much older than me Pete. You’ve had quite a few more experiences in life than me. I’m sure there’s been some good ones for you. Maybe listening to this song will put everything into perspective. I’m just trying to hedge my bet. I figured the longer, I can keep my life in perspective the happier I will be, and perhaps, as I grow older, I won’t become bitter. Unfortunately, I’ve witnessed too many older people that are bitter and unhappy about how they’ve lived their lives. The song I listen to repeatedly may not keep me from having difficulties, but maybe just maybe it will help me wake up in the morning and see a bright sunny day.”

“Perhaps you’re right Eddie. The next play of the clearly now song is on me. What numbers do I punch in on the jukebox? By the way, how much does it cost? I have some loose change in my pocket?”