Into the Moonlight

Into the Moonlight

Noel Laflin

12-24-18

On the night before Christmas, when all through the park,

Not a creature will stir, not even a lark.

But out of his tree, this fellow will streak,

Into the moonlight – with hardly a shriek.

So, watch out St. Nick, you jolly old elf,

As owls can be silent, masters of stealth.

They love to give chase to others who fly,

And snatch tiny reindeer right out of the sky.

The Sweetest Clients

The Sweetest Clients

Noel Laflin

December 2018

Years ago, we used to give out See’s Candy to our doctors and staff. Christmas was the one time of the year that sales reps were welcomed into offices with open arms.
 
Every year, months in advance of the holidays, we would be given a list of the current clients and asked to update.

Over the years some of the doctors had retired, left as clients, or died.

But somehow I always seemed to overlook those names.
My mother, father, lovers, co-workers, and friends never objected to receiving a pound or two of See’s Candy despite the label addressed to doctor and staff.

Ethel James

Ethel James

Noel Laflin

12-10-18

Ethel James was a petite woman who painfully shuffled across any room as she had contracted back in her youth.

She was our neighbor for many years, living with her sister and brother-in-law in the house next door.

Over the years, she gave us, the Laflin kids, ready access to her candy jar, the one always filled with chocolate covered peanut clusters – our first puppy - and her unyielding love, even after the time I made fun of her shuffle, showing off my version of it to my sister one afternoon. My mother caught me doing it and I have never forgotten the scolding. Children can be so stupid sometimes.

That puppy grew up and lived a long life even after Ethel, Janet, and Joe moved away.

The candy jar went with them too unfortunately.

But now, thanks to David and Susi, we have our own crystal glass candy dish - just like the one Ethel had some sixty years ago, and it has just been filled with chocolate covered peanut clusters – and memories of a lovely lady who inadvertently enlightened me to the gift of just being able to walk, and not shuffle across any room.

This first bite is for you, Ethel James.

Foolish Youth

Foolish Youth

Noel Laflin

12-5-18

I really struggled with the idea of when to give up a good night kiss to my father. I must have been around ten or so.

But it eventually happened as I felt it was not manly to continue on with the evening ritual, although I never stopped pecking my mother’s cheek each night.

My dad and I never discussed it. I wonder if he was hurt or relieved at the time. Wish I had thought to ask him in later life when I once again took up the practice of kissing him goodbye or goodnight.

But by then, he was an old man – mid eighties I suppose. I kept it up till his dying day – trying to make up for all of those lost years of foolish youthful pride.

To Remind Us of Days Long Ago

To Remind Us of Days Long Ago

Noel Laflin

12-2-18

When I was in sixth grade, we had to learn the Hanukkah song for that year’s Christmas pageant. It was Miss. Nakashian's nod to inclusiveness.

I loved the song and have never forgotten the words.

Testing my memory, I looked them up just now and see that our music instructor had made two small changes, however. One of the lines reads: “Gather round the table, we'll give you a treat - sevivonim to play with and latkes to eat.”

Apparently Miss. Nakashian thought that we’d never pronounce sevivonin correctly, so changed it to spinning tops. She also changed latkes to pancakes.

She was probably right about us kids screwing up the word sevivonim – I had to listen to it half a dozen times this morning in order to finally get it right.

But she should have left latkes, as it was, as the word is not tough to say – and they really are pretty tasty.

“And while we are playing
The candles are burning low
One for each night, they shed a sweet light
To remind us of days long ago
One for each night, they shed a sweet light
To remind us of days long ago.”

Quilts

Quilts

Noel Laflin

11-30-18

Tomorrow will mark the 30th anniversary of the first World AIDS Day.

Many years ago, I used to seek out quilt panels honoring friends who died from AIDS-related complications. The quilts would frequently be on display around the country on this day. When I would finally spot a familiar name, I would stop, marvel at the love that went into the making of the quilt, and give humble thanks for having known or loved the young fellow in question.

Over the years the quilt has grown to more than 48,000 individual panels, and weighs an estimated fifty-four tons. It is the largest piece of community folk art in the world.

There was a time when friends and I stood on a raised platform and signed the names of those who had died as they were read aloud from the podium. Many signers were on hand to relieve one another as there were so many names to be read.

I just went to the site where one can look for an individual's quilt, as there are several I would like to see once more - and in some cases, for the first time. A photograph will do for now.

The site was down due to unprecedented numbers of folks trying to do the same thing.

It's good to know that many are still remembering.

Irvine Park

Irvine Park

Noel Laflin

11-21-18

My very first memory of Irvine Park was probably sixty years ago when my brother made the family breakfast there one Saturday morning.

It must have been for a Scout cooking advancement of some sort as I distinctly recall the taste of Bisquick dumplings and the sweet aroma of burning wood.

I remember the drive to the park, the tree-lined roads, brilliant sun burning away the early morning mist, and due to the hour, having the place pretty much to ourselves that day.

The park has not changed all that much since then. You can wander and note wood grills heating up, smell the hot dogs sizzling, walk or bike the back roads, and marvel at how those old oaks still reach across a narrow lane and bring welcome shade to those who travel them.

I am lucky to live just minutes from the park and love every photo adventure while there. And there have been many. With any luck, there will be many more, as this is probably my favorite place to explore. It never gets old. The only thing getting older is me.

But, I will always be most nostalgic for that first visit - and the youngster who took it all in for the very first time.

So, wherever your travels take you this long holiday weekend, be it far or near - be safe – slow down - and if you are fortunate enough, take a back road or two, as nostalgia for just such a trip may be in your future too.

Family Plots

Family Plots

Noel Laflin

11-24-18

After my father died I came across paper work he’d kept regarding four cemetery plots he had purchased in November, 1959. He was always a stickler for record keeping - must have been the accountant in him, which he was.

He had put down a twenty-five dollar deposit and made twenty-five dollar monthly payments for the next two years. His final payment was submitted on October 31st, 1961 - Halloween.

And although he was an accountant by trade, he did have a great sense of humor, as well as an appreciation for irony no doubt.

Lied to as Children

Lied to as Children

Noel Laflin

11-23-18

Billy The Kid was born on November 23,1859. He would die at the hand of sheriff Pat Garrett in July of 1881.

Now, I mention this only because an old cousin-by-marriage claimed to have met The Kid as a child. In fact, he even claimed to have helped hide him in their New Mexico barn, shortly before he was killed.

I always believed his story while growing up. That is until we recently found out that this beloved old cousin was actually born in 1885, four years after the death of William H. Bonney - aka Billy The Kid.

Huh, our old cowboy cousin lied to us kids.

I’d call him out on this if he were still with us, but he’s been dead for forty-five years already.

As some stories just should have been true, I’m going to pretend that our old cousin merely lied about his age instead.

Mashed Potatoes

Mashed Potatoes

Noel Laflin

11-22-18

As it’s Thanksgiving Day, I have mashed potatoes on my mind - my mother’s version, in particular.

We as a family must have just taken those potatoes for granted, as it wasn’t until a friend of mine, Jim, joined us for the traditional feast some forty years ago and couldn’t get enough of those creamy, buttery spuds.  We all looked at him as if he were the young Walter Cunningham boy that Scout and Jem invited home for lunch in To Kill a Mockingbird.  Unlike Scout, however, we did not mock his indulgence. 

He must have had five or six helpings, and spoke fondly ever after of that meal, even if I do not recall him eating anything else that day.

My mother said afterward that Jim would be forever welcomed in our home.

In Passing

In Passing

Noel Laflin

11-17-18

In the mornings they sometimes rush along when late - but oftentimes they just walk- young mothers and wrinkly grandmothers, some stoically pushing a stroller over a rocky path, all the while keeping kids with backpacks in line - the kids kicking at stones, laughing as they go.

Hours later, the elders return - many bearing large umbrellas to ward off the afternoon sun.

And soon, those same children of the morning, escorted along by their parents, or uncles, or aunts, or older sibling, or grandparents, are retracing the steps home – many of the elders speaking in Spanish - the kids answering in both Spanish and English. Often, there is laughter and the holding of youngsters’ hands.

It’s a scene I witness time and again as I wander the pond, camera in hand, with hopes of capturing some new critter in passing.

I like these folks, my neighbors of thirty-five years, as they remind me of another era, where most did walk to and from school.

Maybe it’s our neighborhood, as the majority of both young and old live in modest, or less than modest circumstances. There is no extra car, let alone any car for many of them by which to be driven to and from school.

So, they walk, as I once did eons ago, as it was just expected of us.

And sometimes I catch them in passing too.

Notes of Apology

Notes of Apology

Noel Laflin

11-16-18

I had the money for dinner, but on his dare we left without paying. Dine and Dash - I had never even heard the term before, let alone found the nerve to do so until that night.

On the way home we staged a phony fight in a convenience market and stole two bottles of cheap wine in the chaos.

And somehow, we got away with that too.

In teenage fashion, we later drank the wine.

And that is when he stole a kiss from me.

I had never been kissed by another boy before but did not mind the theft.  Consequently, I returned it with newfound passion.

With dawn came the task of driving my fellow thief from my home to his.

There was no mention of the kiss.

But it was all I could think of.

Later that week, I stopped by the restaurant we’d stiffed and slipped a ten dollar bill on the counter with a note of apology.

I left four dollars near the register of a neighborhood convenience market.  There was another apology note attached as well.

The stolen kiss was eventually discussed and then sloughed off by the other as a drunken episode that would never be revisited.

And although I was sorry about several things in regard to my behavior that night, and tried to make amends, the return of his kiss was never one of them.

But here would never be a note of apology on that issue.

Sky High

Sky High

Noel Laflin

11-13-18

I’ve been trying to imagine the first Homo sapiens and just how long ago they lived. I don’t even know what took me down this rabbit hole this morning. But, as often happens, one article leads to another.

Then I came across this reference by Wisconsin professor John Hawkes who says to imagine you’re holding your mother’s hand, your mother is holding her mother’s hand, and the chain continues all the way back 300,000 years. “What we’re talking about is about 10,000 to 15,000 [people] in a row — the population of a small town is what connects you to that time frame,” he says.

I like when someone paints me a picture like this. Ronald Reagan did so once when he was trying to explain just how much a trillion dollars is. I was watching that 1981 broadcast when he said:

“A few weeks ago I called such a figure, a trillion dollars, incomprehensible, and I’ve been trying ever since to think of a way to illustrate how big a trillion really is. And the best I could come up with is that if you had a stack of thousand-dollar bills in your hand only 4 inches high, you’d be a millionaire. A trillion dollars would be a stack of thousand-dollar bills 67 miles high.”

So now I’m wondering just how high in the sky ten-to-fifteen thousand hand-holding Homo sapiens might reach.

If I find a good illustration, I’ll let you know

Sister Susi

Sister Susi

Noel Laflin

11-11-18

Sister Susi just left, and I am already missing her.

We had her with us here in the Southland for eleven days, but the time flew by much too quickly, of course.

Siblings can be either a torment or a blessing. Susi has always been the latter.

We spoke and joked and would sometimes mention a memory that the other did not recall which made for new and interesting family lore – usually something to smile about and stick away in the family memory treasure trunk.

We spent more than a few hours reviewing family ancestry, pulling out two old books filled with photos and detailed information. We moved to laptops and followed family lines all the way back to the year 1425. We Norwegians come from hardy stock and baptismal records have stayed intact apparently.

We stumbled over the recall of a few lost relatives, their faces remembered, but their exact relationship to us still a mystery. It will give us something else to research – Susi in Oklahoma, and me here at home. We are always up for just such a challenge and love the detective work that lies ahead.

As expected, it was a wonderful time together, but as I said, gone too quickly.

Susi always cries when she leaves. She always has, and God willing, she always will.

Me too.

They Built a Cabin In the Woods

They Built a Cabin In the Woods

Noel Laflin

11-8-18

Photo taken by Tom David, Summer 1974

They built a cabin in the woods,
Those lads of yesteryear,
And when they saw what they had done,
They gave a mighty cheer.

I Like This Bird Quite Well

I Like This Bird

Noel Laflin

11-8-18

I like this bird quite well you know, 
Perhaps because it's small,
And fast and smart and sharply dressed,
Okay, I like it all.

Civic Lessons

Civic Lessons

Noel Laflin

11-7-18

Class took place every Saturday morning as I pushed an old hand mower across his front yard.

They continued for the required hour as I edged the sidewalk, weeded rose beds, and eventually swept up.

Erik would stand close as I worked, quizzing me on state capitols, amendments, preambles to the constitution and what it meant to live in this land.

He would frequently bring out a folded copy of our local newspaper and point out the numerous spelling errors which he had circled in red ink. He would often swear, in German, at the ineptitude of proofreaders, before moving on to the editorial section of the paper, asking my opinion on one political stand or another. As I was only ten and frequently had no opinion on such subjects, he promptly gave me his.

At the end of my session he would nod at my finished work, lay a shiny silver half dollar in my hand - sometimes a Franklin and later a Kennedy - and make me promise not to spend it.

Paper money was for spending, he would say, but silver was for keeping.

And there were other lessons learned as well.

Erik would sometimes remove his cap and tap his bald head so that I could hear the metal plate placed there by British doctors in 1917. He’d been a fifteen-year-old cabin boy aboard a German merchant marine vessel when it was blown out of the water by the English during the Great War. He was no sailor, merely a kid trying to stay alive during a hellish time. He was fished out of the sea by his captors, treated for injuries, and spent the rest of the war learning English. When the armistice was signed, he returned to Germany, fell in love, married, and immigrated to the United States with his wife during the height of the depression that swept through Germany in the twenties. He worked in a US defense plant during the Second World War, and eventually settled in as our neighbor in 1951.

I became his gardener when I was strong enough to push a lawn mower. I became a captive student of history on that same day too apparently.

I am not sure what is taught on front lawns nowadays. And there is probably no push mower involved either.

But I still quietly celebrate the lessons of one old neighbor who had once been a boy fished out of the sea during a war that he wanted no part of.

And I never spent a single one of those shiny half dollars either.

Paper money is another issue altogether, however. But a promise is a promise.

Flags

Flags

Noel Laflin

11-3-18

They were found rummaging through the old warehouse one Friday afternoon, looking for the right flag to sacrifice later that night.

“That one looks too new,” one staff man said, even though it only bore forty-eight stars in the field of blue.

“And this one is way too big,” said his buddy. “It would take ten guys to hold it in place.”

“Along with a giant fire to boot,” his friend replied.

And so the two searched on, pulling triangulated-folded flags off the wooden backroom shelf, reading a tag - if one were attached, stating from whence it came - reverently unfolding each one, examining, refolding and returning it to the dusty shelf, until the perfect candidate was selected.

Their final choice was the first one after all. The tag said it had flown over the U.S Capitol in 1957. The giant would be saved for some special occasion.

“I wish we had more ratty-looking choices,” said the first friend, as they headed back to their cabin, the perfectly folded flag tucked under his left arm. “Folks would understand its need for retirement more easily if they could see the tears and rips.”

“Well, we’ll just have to leave it to Freddy to come up with a good reason,” replied his friend, as they strode into staff hill.

“Do you ever really understand his speeches before we burn a flag?” asked his buddy.

His friend stopped and thought for a moment.

“No, not really. But he’s really good at it. I guess that’s all that counts.”

Waltzing Matilda

Waltzing Matilda

Noel Laflin

10-31-18

A far away ice cream truck was playing “Waltzing Matilda” about an hour ago.” Wispy strains of the tune were drifting throughout the neighborhood and into our open windows on this fine, perfectly nice Halloween afternoon.

Normally the trucks are spewing out nursery rhymed themes or inappropriately timed Christmas carols.
Noting the day, I should be envisioning witches and pumpkins.

Instead I am whistling Australia’s unofficial national anthem and looking up words like billabong, swagman, and coolibah tree.

But thanks to Wikipedia and posted lyrics to the original poem and song, I learned that there is a ghost calling from the billabong, so maybe the song fits the day after all.

Bank Robbery

Bank Robbery

Noel Laflin

10-12-18

I saw a bank robbery once.

It happened when three guys in black ski masks and gloves, with guns drawn, raced out of the credit union that shared a common parking lot with our laboratory. The getaway driver had the car parked directly in front of its entrance. He too wore a black ski mask. Black gloves gripped the steering wheel.

The only other two businesses in our complex were a sweatshop that produced cheap women's apparel, and a flooring store. I never had reason to enter the sweatshop, but I did buy wall-to-wall carpet once from Abdul. Our one unifying factor was that we all did business with the credit union. In fact, I had just deposited my paycheck there that very morning.

So there we were, four of us from the lab, standing about gabbing, smack dab in the middle of the parking lot when the thieves barreled out of the credit union, hopped into the waiting car and sped our way in order to make a U-Turn and exit onto Harbor Boulevard.

That's when the passenger's back door swung open and a sack of money spilled out. Banded stacks of hundreds landed our way. There must have been fifty thousand dollars scattered about our feet. The car kept going.

Within seconds, the credit union manager and every teller rushed out the doors, each one standing by a stack of bills. They must have trained for just such a scenario.

We later learned that the robbers switched cars nearby but were apprehended a short time later.

I, for one, was happy, as I figured that some of that loot was mine.

Giving Thanks to the Ladies

Giving Thanks to the Ladies

Noel Laflin

10-7-18

I was not aware of the fire that destroyed Seattle back in 1889 until today.

The only person with enough funds to lend to the city father's for the rebuilding was a madame who ran a popular brothel.

I have been to three other great cities where fire destroyed the town: London, Chicago, and San Francisco, but this rebuilding story is the one I'm most likely to remember.

Alaska At Last

Alaska At Last

Noel Laflin

Oct. 6, 2018

As I mentioned to a friend who recently asked if I'd ever been to Alaska before, I said, 'No, but it's been on my bucket list since it was a territory' - and long before I even knew what a bucket list was.

As a kid, I would stare at a giant map of our forty-eight states. The colossal map covered nearly the entire length of one of the walls in my bedroom. And in the bottom left corner were smaller inserts of two U.S. territories, Hawaii and Alaska.

As it turned out, every state west of the Mississippi was eventually visited by the time I left home for good. Hawaii was explored, not long after. But touching upon Alaskan soil just had to wait several decades.

And so it was, with long-awaited anticipation, that David and I finally set sail last Sunday for the Inside Passage. Every call at port was a last for the season, as ours was the final ship to see the likes of Juneau, Skagway, Glacier Bay, and Ketchikan till next May. Turned out it was the Pearl's last trip to Alaska as well.

And though we expected rain and gray skies, we were rewarded with sun as well as sunny human dispositions everywhere we went.

And in that week I learned much. I witnessed much. I marveled much.

But finally touching upon Alaskan soil was the finest much of all.

National Comic Book Day

National Comic Book Day

Noel Laflin

9-25-18

Here’s a nod to National Comic Book Day, as it was those flimsy, inexpensive, and colorful rags that first made me want to read.

Yes, Mrs. Paden had much to do with it too I suppose. That is what first grade is all about after all.

But Dick and Jane paled in comparison to the likes of Archie, Scrooge McDuck, Superman, Green Lantern, and the like.

Even Classic Comics held my attention. It’s how I got my first glimpse into the world of Dickens’ “A Tale of Two Cities.” I especially liked that guillotine and the evil looking knitting women.

When we traveled east each summer, my brother and I took all of the comic books we owned and traded them with cousins along the way. They were fine barter for those our age.

I understand that one who collects comic books is known as a pannapictagraphist.

Although it was long ago, it’s comforting to know that I once might have qualified for such a magnificent sounding moniker.

I am just glad the word was never used in any of the comic books I once treasured and traded away, as it never would have fit into any villain’s conversation bubble.

Nor would I have been able to pronounce it.

Memorial Board

Memorial Board

Noel Laflin

9-23-18

I saw a fellow’s picture on a memorial board buried in some photos posted by a friend who had just attended a recent school reunion.

And although I vaguely recall being told of his passing by a former instructor from that era, it still came as a small pang in remembering him.

We were not intimate friends by any means, as he was older and two grades ahead of me back then, but I remember his dramatic abilities quite well – especially his role in a junior high production of ‘Our Town.’

He played the part of Simon Stimson, the drunken church choir director and organist. All of the roles were memorable to the twelve-year old me in the audience that evening. But I thought he stole the show.

As the small choir practiced the hymn, ‘Blest Be The Tie That Binds,’ the surly director/organist would berate and chastise his fellow Congregationalists with drunken witticism. “Now look here, everybody, get it out of your head that music’s only good when it’s loud. You leave loudness to the Methodists. You couldn’t beat ‘em even if you wanted to. Now again, tenors!’ The role called for dramatic flair, and our former schoolmate delivered in like measure.

It was my first introduction to the play as well as the song. Both remain a favorite to this day.

Whenever I hear the old hymn, I recall the fellow whose picture is now on a memorial board. And I smile at the memory of a well-played role.

The Shoe Box

The Shoe Box

Noel Laflin

9-21-18

I knew a woman who, once upon a time – and long ago – drove over to my house and handed me a beat up shoe box containing a loaded .22 revolver.

“That son-of-a-bitch husband of mine has waved this damn thing at me for the last time. After he passed out, I took it, and drove straight here. Do with it what you will. I’m divorcing the bastard.”

True to her word, she did.

The son-of-a-bitch husband died of cirrhosis of the liver a few short years later.

The woman is long dead too now. She simply died of old age.

The weapon was emptied, cleaned, disassembled, and hidden well away from small children – or anyone else for that matter.

The next time someone shows up unexpectedly with a beat up shoe box, I hope it just contains something nicer – like a kitten or homemade cookies perhaps.  The only thing loaded that I would want to see in that box would be brownies.

The hummingbird who claimed the balcony as his own years ago just heard me reading this aloud before posting and added his two cents worth. He is hoping the hypothetical box contains cookies - sugar cookies to be exact - and not a kitten.

He's ambivalent about the brownies. 

Regardless, he's got a point.

Vote Canceling

Vote Canceling

Noel Laflin

9-20-18

“Come, mother, let’s go cancel each other’s vote.”

These were the words my grandfather would say to my grandmother, as he would gently take her hand before heading out the door to vote every four years, as he was a republican and she, a democrat.

As my grandfather died six months before I was born, I learned of the oft repeated exchange through my mother years later.

Doing the math, I guess those patriotic strolls out the door took place back in the Roosevelt era – probably going all the way back to Harding/Cox actually, as that would have been the first election my grandmother, a woman, would have had the chance in which to vote. I bet she voted for Cox, the democrat.

I’m inclined to think that it was a kinder time back then.

Hot Lunch

Hot Lunch

Noel Laflin

9-10-18

There was one benefit to my father being laid-off long ago – and that was coming home to a hot lunch every day.

As it only took ten minutes to ride my bike from school to home, and then another ten minutes back to beat the bell, this meant that I had forty minutes to chow down with my dad at the kitchen table.

He did a lot of odd jobs during the lay-off, but always made time to be home in time to fix me a meal.

It was frequently left-over’s doctored up in some dad-fashion. I remember my mother’s enchiladas being a favorite re-heat. When all else failed, there were always Sloppy Joes or grilled cheese sandwiches to fill the bill. He was also a fan of soup.

Then it was a hurried ‘thank you,’ a peck on the cheek, and a mad dash back to fifth grade. And it was frequently my mother blowing the whistle at me as I skidded willy-nilly, one-legged into the bike stands. She had become a teacher’s aide at our school to help supplement the family income and patrolled the playground like a hawk, looking for rule-breakers like me. I never failed her in that regard.

Looking back on it now, I realize that my father needed some order and purpose to his life during that time. He needed a regimen to fill those days while searching for a new job. I would know the drill several times over later in life.

But my being ten-years old and hungry – and willing to ride home for a hot lunch every day, gave him just one more reason to get up and face each new day.

By sixth grade, I was back to sack lunches.

Autumn Leaves

Autumn Leaves

Noel Laflin

9-9-18

With autumn in the air and leaves falling about, I am reminded of Catherine. We met when she was already a nonagenarian.

When she died, she left behind a vast collection of books neatly lining the shelves of her spare room. As a devoted reader to her dying day, she always referred to it as her treasure room.

“Better than money,” she was fond of saying.

“Well, almost,” she would amend with a sly smile.

It fell to her daughter, who was no spring chicken herself by then, to clean up the place and sort through her mother’s possessions. After ninety-five years of living, however, Catherine had very few, other than some old pieces of furniture and lots of books. Perhaps it was the memory of traveling with so few possessions from a century past that led her to a life devoid of clutter – other than her treasured books of course.

Catherine had come out west with her family when she was just five. They joined one of last wagon trains and followed the Oregon Trail. And although very young, and perhaps one of the last to do so by horse-drawn wagon, she recalled memories of the journey – high mountains, dusty trails, star-filled nights, campfires, the falling of leaves as autumn set in once they reached their destination. It was always a pleasure to be in her company when she began to reminisce about such things.

The reminiscing was over following her death unfortunately. There was just the practical now at hand. Thus, furniture was either saved or donated and the books were placed in cardboard boxes.

One of the novels, a Western, according to her daughter, was knocked off the shelf accidentally. As it landed, a hundred dollar bill poked its head out of the middle of the pages.

Soon, every book was retrieved from its box and shook vigorously, along with those still on the shelf.

By the time the dust settled and the bills counted, more than six thousand dollars went floating about Catherine’s treasure room – just like leaves falling in autumn.

See's Candy

See's Candy

Noel Laflin

9-8-18

I’ve been thinking about See’s Candy as I just saw a video on how they make it. There was even a few seconds dedicated to the making of their Victoria Toffee.

It may only be seven in the morning, but my mouth is already watering. It’s probably genetic as this reminds me of the time, long ago, that I brought a pound of See's Victoria Toffee over to my folks to note their wedding anniversary.
 
I dropped it off one early evening, had a chat with my parents, wished them both a very happy anniversary, and headed off for a business meeting.

I called my mom the next morning regarding something else, and at the close of the conversation asked if she had a chance to sample the candy as yet.

There was a pause, and she said yes, she had had a bite.

That was all she got, she explained, as she too had left shortly after I had the evening before, heading off to a church function of some sort.

When she returned, two hours later, my father had opened the box in her absence and eaten all but one small chunk, which he thoughtfully left for her.

I eventually went to work for a company that gave out See's Candy at Christmastime. When placing my order each year for just how many boxes I would need to hand out to clients, I always padded the order by at least two pounds: one for dad, and a separate one for mom. 

Oh, and maybe just a couple more for me too.