Floating on Clouds

February 23, 1966

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill. Not much happening around here. The snow melted. We went back to school. I guess I'm glad. Nobody wants to go to school all summer. Better to just get it over with in the winter. And school's not all that bad. One of those necessary things and I like learning stuff. 

I like the winter skies too. Those great looking clouds in the extra blue sky. Did you ever wonder how it might be to float around on one of those clouds? Maybe like being in a hot air balloon. Free to float wherever. Nothing holding you down. You'd have a bird's eye view. 

Of course, Wes says he knows all about that from when he was on that Jupiter spaceship. He says they were up pretty high because it's not good to let the earth people see those flying saucers. They get all excited when that happens. Wes is so funny. Sometimes I think he floats around on a cloud. 

But I do like his Jupiter stories. I like stories period. That's the kind of class I'd like at school. One where you could just read and read and read. Without having to write book reports or look for hidden meanings behind every words. Just a class where you got to enjoy the story for the story. I guess that would be more like a school recess than a class. But I do like to read. Don't you?

Time to see what's going on with Bailey.

BAILEY'S BUG by Jocie Brooke
(Continued from last week. The whole story so far is under the Bailey's Bug link up top.)

   Bailey pulled his tongue all the way into his mouth to sniff the air in the barn. Coyotes had been there, but not for a while. He told Lucinda that and then added, "And I do smell mice."
   "Then you catch them," she said crossly. "Cats can't hunt when they're wet."
   With that she climbed higher in the barn. Bailey sniffed around in the hay, but he couldn't concentrate on the smells. He wasn't any good at catching mice anyway. He couldn't creep up on them the way Lucinda could even when the thunder wasn't making his legs all trembly.
   Bailey looked up at Lucinda, but she was hunched in a ball with her eyes closed. Maybe sleeping would make her feel better and then she could catch some mice. 
   Bailey scratched out a hole in the hay close to Skelley. The old dog was already asleep with his nose on the painted stick. Bailey lay down with his head on his paws. He wished he had the plastic toy with him. That might help him hear the hum again.
   Beside him Skelley gave a shiver. Bailey stood up and brushed some of the hay over on the old dog.
   Skelley opened one eye. "Thank ye, lad." Then he went back to sleep.
   But Bailey couldn't sleep. So instead he tried to work the cockleburs out of his fur. Still, he was sort of glad he had the cockleburs to pull and bite on. And when he finished with them, he could worry with the thorn in his foot. That might keep him from thinking about how hungry he was or how the hum wasn't humming in his ears.
   Maybe the hum hadn't really left him. Maybe it was just the noise of the rain and the roar of the stream racing by outside that was keeping him from hearing it. The thunder was fading away, but the rain beat down harder than ever.
   Even if the hum didn't come back, he could just keep walking toward the sunrise. He wouldn't have to tell Lucinda. Sooner or later they would have gone enough miles and Reid would be there waiting for them.
   With that thought, Bailey quit worrying the thorn in his foot and put his head back down on his paws. Water was seeping in around the edges of the barn to join with the rain leaking through the roof. But it was dry where he and Skelley were and very quiet other than the pounding rain.
   For a minute before Bailey closed his eyes, he wondered if it wasn't too quiet. No birds. No owls. No raccoons. Nothing moving anywhere. Everything was probably just holed up sleeping through the storm the way they were.

(To be continued)

Can You Give Me a Name?

August 4, 1965

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. It's hot. Really hot. In the nineties. Aunt Love says it's supposed to be hot like this in August. I guess she should know. She's been around for a lot of Augusts. Wes, on the other hand, says it's never this hot on Jupiter - too far from the sun, he claims. Says if it wasn't for all the moons they have up there that there would be icicles everywhere. Green icicles. 

Seems snow is green on Jupiter. Sometimes Wes gets carried away with his Jupiter stories. Like as not, snow will be pink on Jupiter next week. But I love listening to his stories. One thing sure, he didn't disagree that it was hot down here on good old Earth. It's always especially hot in the press room, but the paper has to be printed and folded and delivered. Folks in Hollyhill want to know the news, what little there is each week in Hollyhill.

Do you like the dog? Did you ever see such eyes? I think they are at least four colors. Blue and brown and black and white. Amazing eyes. You remember I'm writing that story about Bailey the dog, and Lucinda the cat. Well, I might add another dog and if I do it might look like this guy. 

Tell me. If you were writing a story about a dog that looked like this one, what would you name him? It is a him. But we could maybe make it a her. That's the great thing about writing a story. You can change things and make things up. Now if I could just change the temperature to a little cooler. 

I took my notebook out under the oak tree out back and wrote the next scene. I'm finding out it takes a long time and a lot of words to write a book. 

All right two questions for you - 
What would you name the dog? 
And have you ever wanted to write a book?

Now here's the next scene of Bailey's Bug. (Remember, we left him hiding under the bed after Lucinda made him think about storms and thunder. And also, if you haven't read the first parts of the story, you can click on the link above to the page about Bailey's Bug. I have no idea what any of that means, but maybe you do.)

BAILEY'S BUG by Jocie Brooke

As Bailey cowered there in the dusky darkness, all the awful things Lucinda had told him might happen marched through his head.

     He wished he could believe none of it was true, that Lucinda was just trying to scare him into not going, but he had been out beyond the fence with Reid. He’d seen things.

     There was the time two dogs were fighting the park, all gnashing teeth and growls. Reid had held Bailey’s collar as if to keep him from joining the fight, but Bailey had wanted no part of it. He’d been relieved when someone had doused the dogs with water. That had made them forget their fight soon enough.

     Those kind of dogs were out there beyond the fence. Dogs ready to fight any other dog. Even Bailey whether Baily wanted to fight of not. Bailey shivered and thought about how fast he could run. Not very fast because he had a way of stumbling over his own feet. The faster he tried to go the more his feet got tangled up.

       And what about that time he was chasing the red toy, and a car making a terrible screeching, honking noise had bumped against him? It hadn’t hurt all that bad, but Bailey’s ears had rung for days. 

     It was not safe beyond the fence. Lucinda was right about that.

     Worst of all was that last warning? What would he eat? Bailey liked to eat. People put food in his dish. First Reid and sometimes Reid’s mother and now Mrs. Robinson. Somebody filled his dish every day. But if he left the Robinsons, he wouldn’t even have a dish until he found Reid. That might take days. 

     Just thinking about it made his stomach rumble and had Bailey trembling just like a real storm was shaking the windows of the house. But the hum didn’t get lost in his trembles. Instead it got louder until it was almost as if Reid were just on the other side of the bed’s dust ruffle, trying to coax Bailey out of hiding.

     Bailey jerked up and banged his head on the bedsprings, but he barely noticed as he crawled out from under the bed. Reid wasn’t there, but he was somewhere. Bailey could find him if he only had the courage.

     Courage. He’d never needed courage before. He didn’t know whether he had any or not. He wanted to have some. At least a little bit. But would a little bit be enough?

     He padded back into the living room and sat down in front of Lucinda’s window seat. He was ready to stay there as long as it took for her to open her eyes.

     Slowly one of her eyelids went up. “What now?” she asked.

     “I’m going.” He turned without waiting to hear what she might say and went to the door to wait for Mr. Robinson to let him out.

     Lucinda raised her head and whispered, “Best wait until after supper. It might be a very long time before your next meal.”

     “Even if it is, I’m going.” Bailey pulled up to his highest height. But he did decide to wait until after eating time. When Mrs. Robinson filled his dish, he ate every chunk of food and nosed around on the floor to make sure he hadn’t missed even the smallest crumb.

     Then Bailey went out in the yard. He would find a way through or over or under the fence. He would. That night!
 

 (to be continued next week.)

   

April Fools Day in Hollyhill

April 1, 1965

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. It's April Fools Day. That means I've got to be on the lookout all day for people ready to pull pranks. Especially Wes. 

Wes says they invented April Fools Day up on Jupiter and the first Jupiterian who visited earth started it up here back in the 14th Century by issuing a warning about these creepy looking Jupiter bugs that were invading from outer space. Wes said nobody expected this fellow of being one of those outer space invaders himself but that they went around examining bugs all day, especially weird ones like that one in the picture. People started thinking they'd never seen that particular bug before and that it was going to poison the water and eat up all the plants. A lot of bugs that didn't scurry under a rock got stepped on as April Fool panic broke out. That Jupiter prankster had to make a fast exit out of there. But he forgot to take his Jupiter bug and so its antennae have grown really long as it tries to find the spaceship to go home. 

Wes says not to worry. The bug lives on air so the earth is not really in danger or anything, but then he'll tell me I have one of them in my hair. I know I don't. I know he's pulling a joke, but I always feel little feet walking around on my head. Wes thinks it's extra funny when I start hitting at my head. I always have to laugh too. That's the fun of April Fools Day. As long as the joke isn't mean. I don't like mean jokes, do you?

Dad hunted one of the pranks from the past years up to report on in the Banner. I helped him look through old newspapers and magazines. We found this one about the Yenom Tree in the VIEW magazine from a couple of years ago, 1963. The story reveals the existence of the Yenom Tree, a "rare perennial" owned by Mrs. Loo Flirpa (better check that out backwards) of Appleton, Wisconsin, which sprouted "Bright, green one-dollar bills with uniformly high serial numbers." In an unusual mutation, this year the Yenom Tree had also sprouted a "flawless five-dollar bill." Mrs. Flirpa had entered into "an exclusive arrangement with the United States Mint to sell Yenom tree seedlings through a system of greenhouses to be operated through local offices of the Federal Reserve System." 

Dad said that sounded like a handy tree to have around and so he's running the story today in the Banner. He says nobody in Hollyhill will believe it, but Zella says we'll get a ton of telephone calls of people wanting to know how to get their own Yenom Tree. She says she's not answering the phone all day and that if Dad thinks that's an April Fools joke, he'd better think again.

Do you know any good April Fools gags? Have you ever had any pulled on you? Well, watch out for that Jupiter bug crawling around on your head. 

Oh, and by the way, somebody says Scent of Lilacs is free if you have an e-reader. I have no idea what that means. I think it must be a message from the future. But they say it's no April Fools joke. Whatever they're talking about, free sound good!

 

The Staying Power of Jupiterian Fropples

February 24, 1965

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. Things have been pretty calm in Hollyhill. That's the way it is in the winter around here. If we don't have a big snowstorm, then nothing really happens in February. Just cold winds and days you think spring will never get here. School is extra trouble in February. Teachers must look at the calendar and decide we need to do twice the work since there are only 28 days in the month. Reports and more reports. All on boring true stuff like why Shakespeare poisoned Romeo and Juliet. Well, not really. That might be interesting. Not as interesting as one of Wes's Jupiter stories, but not as boring as drawing the digestive track for health. Eww!

So how about another bit from that book, Summer of Joy. Last week I told you how I figured out love could be shared without it getting lost when I told Robert why I love Wes. I was still a little worried about how what Wes would do when he met his grandson. I mean, I knew he wouldn't stop loving me, but I sort of needed to hear him tell me that. 

   I was already over being jealous of Robert. I'd lost that even before We told me that Jupiter love is stronger than ten grizzly bears, stickier than bubblegum in hair, and has the staying power of a Jupiterian fropple.

    When I laughed and asked what in the world a Jupiterian fropple was, he grinned at me and said, "Nothing in this world, for sure. A fropple is sort of like the frogs you have down here but some bigger with longer jumping legs. Fropples can hop all the way around Jupiter after eating two teeny little bugs. Never get tired. Never wear down. Never quit. Just keep hopping. Around and around."

   "But why are they hopping around Jupiter?" Seemed like something that would be good to know.

    "Now that's something nobody knows. Mr. Jupiter, he's had the scientists up there on Jupiter working on it for years. They can't figure it out. Of course, they did figure out that they could make rocket fuel from those little bugs. That's how come I'm down here on earth. Bug juice fuel."

    That makes me giggle thinking about it. Bug juice fuel. I'm glad that Wes loves me enough to keep telling me crazy Jupiter stories. Did you have a granddaddy or granny who told you silly stories?

     Remember about those giveaways. If you leave a comment here you might win one of the Heart of Hollyhill books. And you can visit that writer's website to find out about her book celebration giveaway. The deadline to enter is Friday at midnight. I love the prizes. A charm bracelet and a cute little dish with a bicycle and the saying "Take Joy in the Journey." Wow, that's I want to do.  That's what Wes does. All the way from Jupiter.

Jocie Shares a Scene from Summer of Joy

February 17, 1965

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky three days after Valentine's Day. It's been snowing and snowing. That's given me lots of time to think about all the different kinds of love and back to some of the things that happened in those Heart of Hollyhill books I'm in. 
 
You know it's funny that last Hollyhill book is named Summer of Joy because most of it happened in the winter time. We had a bunch of snow then too. And during one of those snows, Robert showed up out of nowhere. I didn't like him much. You know how I love Wes. I mean, Wes is my best friend and my grandfather all wrapped up in one. But he's not really my grandfather, not in any kind of real family kin. He's from Jupiter. I know. He's not really from Jupiter. I've known that forever, but that's what he's always told me. Then Robert shows up - his real grandson in the family kin way. That sort of worried me. I was afraid Wes wouldn't love me the same if he had Robert to love. Here's the scene out of the book where I go out to walk in the snow to think that through, and Robert hunts me down to talk about Wes.

    We walked along without talking for a little ways. I was thinking about claiming I was cold and saying we needed to go back to the house when Robert said, "Your father told me you and my grandfather are real close."
    I wasn't sure what he wanted me to say to that, so I just nodded a little and kept walking. We were almost to the end of the apple orchard, but Mr. Crutcher doesn't mind me walking in his pasture fields next door. Dad walks there all the time when he's praying through something for a sermon or whatever. 
    I thought maybe I should be praying through something. I just wasn't sure what. I wasn't sure why I had that spider crawly feeling inside and tears in my eyes that weren't there just because of the cold wind blowing in my face. Just because proof that Wes wasn't from Jupiter was walking along beside me didn't mean Wes had to stop telling me Jupiter stories. And even if he did, so what? I was too old for Jupiter stories anyway.
     "Tell me about him," Robert said.
     "What about him?"
     "I don't know. Tell me why you love him."
    "Why do you want to know that?"
    "So I can love him the way you do. Like a real grandson would."
    It seemed only fair, so I told him about the spaceship from Jupiter. And about the motorcycle and how Wes talked to the press to keep it running. I told him about the tornado and the tree falling on Wes. I didn't tell him why we were out in the tornado. I figured that would just confuse things. Last I told him about Wes being baptized in the river even though it almost made his ears freeze and fall off. We both laughed about that.
    By the time we walked back to the house, I'd passed some of my love for Wes over to Robert, but the funny thing was I didn't have a bit less inside me. Maybe love really is like a candle flame that keeps burning just as brightly no matter how many other candles are lit from the flame.

Is that how you think love is? 


By the way, I've heard there are some giveaways going on. You can check it out here. And there's a Goodreads giveaway too. Leave a comment here and be in a special drawing for a copy of one of the Heart of Hollyhill books. That sounds like fun, doesn't it?

  

Jupiter Watermelons and Carbon Paper

September 16, 1964

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. Thank goodness, I managed to stay out of trouble at school this week so that I could write this report. Did you like Dad filling in for me last week? He wouldn't let me read it. Said that was part of my punishment for getting in trouble with Mrs. Jackson. 

I can't believe that of all the English teachers in the world, I had to get Mrs. Jackson. You won't believe what she did this week. She told us we could write a story about whatever we wanted. She said we had to make carbon copies. That it would be good practice. I hate making carbon copies. I put two pieces of paper together with the carbon paper in the middle and immediately I mess up. It's guaranteed. Then you're supposed to somehow correct it and that makes a bigger mess. Then you've got black on your fingers and you touch the top page and well, you get the idea. 

And Aunt Love says paper doesn't grow on trees, but she's meaning money, not paper. Paper actually does grow on trees, doesn't it? Anyway, I'm no good at carbon copies. Zella can type three copies at once and never make mistake one. She and Mrs. Jackson must be best friends. Maybe that's it. Maybe Zella has asked Mrs. Jackson to make my life miserable. 

Anyway, I wrote the story, made the carbon copy, turned it in. She said my story was too unbelievable. She also said I needed to learn to spell occasional/ocassional. Who can ever remember if it's two c's or two s's? Neither one of them look right. Then she wrote in red on my paper that just because a writer knows a word with four syllables doesn't mean she has to use that word instead of one with one syllable. She was just being too picky on that one. I only used inordinately once. Well, maybe twice. Indiscriminately.  

So what was this story about that I was supposed to be able to write about whatever I wanted? Wes, of course. I just wrote some of his Jupiter truths, like if you tell lies on Jupiter you break out in purple spots or how Mr. Jupiter gives all the space travelers up there three buttons to press if they get in trouble on other planets. And how my dog, Zeb, might really be Harlan from Jupiter if Wes can be believed. Zeb didn't mind me writing that, but Mrs. Jackson did. She said it was time I wrote something somebody could believe. You believe me, don't you? So see, I already have. Written something somebody believes. Thank you very much!

Wes says Mr. Jupiter sends people like Mrs. Jackson to one

of the Jupiter moons to raise Jupiter melons. He says folks on Jupiter love Jupiter melons. That they're like our watermelons only blue instead of red and without seeds. Real tasty, he says. I can go for the blue, but whoever heard of watermelons without seeds? Now if I'd written about that, Mrs. Jackson might have been right to say it was unbelievable. 

So now I've got to write something else. By tomorrow. Something boring. Something Mrs. Jackson can believe. Maybe I'll write about Mr. Whitlow and how the man can't be trusted. Of course, I'll have to change his name and pretend he's in Chicago or somewhere. Anywhere except Jupiter. Mrs. Jackson has a problem with anything Jupiter. 

If you could write a story about anything, what would you write about? And did you ever have to make carbon copies of what you wrote? How did you keep the paper from shifting and making shadowy letters? 

Wes Takes a Turn With the Book of the Strange

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Main Street, Hollyhill. Well, I would be reporting except I have to do this science report for school about plant stamens and pistils. I know. Boring!! But Dad says grades are important and I can't just make something up. Pistils sounds like something made up to me. Anyway, since the report is due Monday, I'm turning over this week's search for the strange to Wes. He says he's no good at writing stuff, that his job is to help my father get the papers printed, not put the words on the papers. But I told him this "Book of the Strange" was mostly his idea and so it's his turn. You'll like Wes. Most everybody does, except Zella. But then, Zella doesn't like anybody.  

So here's Wes. I've got to go figure out what pistils are. Only thing I know for sure so far is that you don't shoot with them. That was supposed to make you smile. I need something to make me smile because science reports sure don't. See you next week if I get caught up on my homework.

Wesley Green here. I'm no reporter, no writer either, but I did pester Jo into trying her hand at this. Maybe I'd better tell you a little about myself before you go to thinking I'm a young whippersnapper like Jo. I could be her old uncle. She's hollering "grandfather" back at me, but I'm not about to admit grandfather age to nobody. So what if my hair seems to have lost its color. That could have happened when I fell out of that Jupiter spaceship. Orange Jupiter hair would've made me stand out too much down here on Earth. Folks might have figured out I was worse than what they call a "furriner" here in Hollyhill. Orange hair might be a dead giveaway that I might be an alien from Jupiter just like I've always told Jo. <wink wink> The one thing you can be sure of is that when you start figuring out strange in Hollyhill, old Wesley Green fits right in the number one spot on the list. 

You see, I wasn't born here like most everybody else. Nary a person anywhere for miles around can call me cousin. I figure I'm the only one in Hollyhill what can say that. Folks here are kin to each other on every side of the family. Even old Zella has a pile of cousins scattered around the county. Of  course, she picks and chooses the ones she claims. A person has to qualify to be kin to Zella. 

So you're probably asking how a strange old guy like me ended up here in Hollyhill. First off, I might be old, but I don't know that I've "ended up" anywhere yet. Second off, I rode that old motorcycle up in that picture right into Hollyhill back about nine years ago. Or maybe it was ten years. I lose count. Numbers up on Jupiter aren't all that important. We gave up keeping count of anything on account of all those moons up there. We'd think we had them counted and another one would pop up out of nowhere. Then being sensible folk, we decided not to worry about it. What difference does it make if you have sixty-seven or fifty-seven moons? Folks down here on Earth seem fixated on counting everything. Words in a book. Toes on a foot. Hairs on a head. Oh, wait. That's just the good Lord that numbers that last. 

Anyhow, I never planned on staying here. Just planned to work a few days to make some money to put gas in my old motorcycle and go on down the road. But that Jo was a cute little tyke at three or four and every time I said anything about leaving, her little lip would tremble. Besides she liked my Jupiter stories. Somebody liking your stories isn't something to take too lightly. 

So that's how I got here. Fell right out of that Jupiter spaceship going over Hollyhill and turned into a beatnik on a motorcycle. Now is that strange enough for you? 


(Remember, leave a comment and tell me and Jocie what's strange about your town or just say hi and your name will go in a hat for a March 1 drawing to get Scent of Lilacs.  It's got all kinds of my Jupiter stories in it.)


 

Hunting Strange on Main Street

Hunting Strange on Main Street in Hollyhill

Hello. Jocie Brooke here reporting from Main Street, Hollyhill, Kentucky where everything seems pretty ordinary the same as every day. My fellow reporter, Wesley Green, thinks I’ll spot something strange to report on here in our new venture, the Hollyhill Book of the Strange. But I’m still thinking the Book of the Ordinary would suit our little town better. He shakes his head at me and says everything seems pretty strange here to him, seeing as how he landed here from Jupiter. 

I can’t argue with that. I’m sure if I was up on Jupiter, I’d think things were strange. That’s the one that has all the moons. Wes says over sixty of them, but only four that look much like our earth moon. Think about looking up at the sky and seeing four moons shining down on you with dozens of others popping out here and there like bouncing balls. Wes says folks going out at night on Jupiter have to wear hats to keep from getting moonburnt. That could definitely make a book of the strange.

But here in Hollyhill we only have one moon to shine down on our Main Street. So come on and we’ll walk down it together. You can poke me if you notice something strange that I’ve looked at all my life and think is ordinary as can be. Of course, then I may just think you’re strange. 

First we’ll go down Main Street where the stores are lined up on either side, snuggled edge to edge. We have two stoplights – one in front of the courthouse and another up by the post office on the north end of town. The post office was built during the Great Depression by the WPA. That was the government giving people jobs and our little town got a great big post office out of it. That’s kind of interesting but not exactly strange since it happened in towns all across the country. Then again it might be strange that they built it up so high off the street. The workers must have had a fondness for building steps or maybe it was just to make the job last longer. 

We have two grocery stores, two ten cent stores, two banks, two drugstores, two ladies’ dress shops, two lawyer offices, two hardware stores, two furniture stores, two Laundromats, and two grills. Notice a trend here? Well, before you decide Hollyhill has two of everything which might be decidedly strange, I’ll point out we only have one newspaper office, one barbershop, one defunct hotel, one chiropractor’s office. There are three poolrooms that are off limits to kids like me. To make up for whatever mischief might go on in them, four churches anchor both ends of Main Street – First Baptist, Presbyterian, Christian and Methodist. The Pentecostal and Second Baptist churches are on back streets behind Main. Oh, I forgot the jewelry stores – two of them too. But only one men’s store. There used to be a movie house, but it went out of business years ago. Dad tells me when he was a kid there was a bowling alley in the upstairs rooms over where the wallpaper store is now. That’s strange enough to think about. Somebody bowling over top your head. There used to be an Opera House and hotel too, right across from the train depot, but that’s on a side street up from Main.  Oh, and I forgot the car dealerships, Ford and Chevrolet, that are right on Main Street. And there’s two gas stations at the end of town past that courthouse stoplight going south.

Whew, I’m beginning to wonder how all of these buildings can be squeezed along one Main Street. The churches and the post office do spill on down the street from the two and a half block center of town. And that most important building, the library is on another side street up from the Post Office. We have Andrew Carnegie to thank for that. I looked him up in the encyclopedia and he gave building grants to start over 1,600 libraries in America and Hollyhill’s was one of them. Thank you, Mr. Carnegie! 

So we’ve walked down Main and taken a side trip up to the library, but I’ve not spotted much strange. Did you? If so let me know so I can take another look. And meet me again next Monday. By then something exciting might have happened. Don’t hold your breath, but I suppose anything is possible. Even in Hollyhill. 

(Remember, if you leave a comment here or on One Writer's Journal, you'll be entered in a giveaway for an autographed copy of Scent of Lilacs. Each comment gives you an extra entry. Drawing March 1.)

Hollyhill Book of the Ordinary

Hollyhill Book of the Strangely Ordinary – 1964

Jocie Brooke here reporting that it’s been another ordinary day here in Hollyhill. More of the same. That’s how it is in Hollyhill. People get up with the sun, go to work, come home to supper and sit on their couches until bedtime watching whatever channel might be coming in best on their television sets.

               Wes tells me all the time that we should write the Hollyhill Book of the Strange. I say if we did, it would be a mighty short book. But he just smiles his Jupiter smile and says maybe it’s time I opened my eyes wider and looked around. That strange is bubbling up all around me. There is Zella, I suppose. She’s been working for my dad at the newspaper office since forever and strange could definitely be her middle name! Wes thought I was making a good start when I told him that. Zella and Wes don’t exactly see eye to eye. She’s been wishing Wes would leave town for years, and it’s no secret she thinks the first day of school is the best day of the year since it means I won’t be underfoot at the newspaper every hour of the day.

But then Wes tells me not to forget about him when it comes to strange. He is a little different. So different that for years I almost believed him when he said he fell out of a Jupiter spaceship and that’s how he got stuck here in Hollyhill. He claimed to just be killing time until another spaceship showed up to rescue him. But now that I’m thirteen, I know when Wes is pulling my leg. At least I think I do.

Still, his Jupiter stories can be pretty convincing. Like how Jupiterians don’t dare comb their hair down flat because if they do it grows back into their scalp and tickles their brains and nobody likes their brains tickled. Wes says that can cause all sorts of complications like making you want to run for mayor or eating sugar on your cereal instead of salt.

“You don’t eat salt on your cereal,” I told him the first time he came out with that story.

“I don’t? Uh-oh.” Wes pushed his hand through his gray hair to jerk it up away from his head. “Next thing you know I’ll be handing out combs that say Wesley Green for Mayor. Green combs.”

“Not a bad idea.” I laughed.

“Mayor Green.” Wes kept a straight face. “Does have a catchy sound to it.”

“So what will be your first official act after you get in office, Mayor Green?” I pulled out my little notebook to jot down notes. I keep it handy for any good stories I stumble across. Wes being mayor would be a story and half.

“Suspend all city council meetings indefinitely. Eliminate library fines on overdue books and give every kid in town a bicycle.”

I scribbled a few words before I said, “You’ve got my vote.” Wes knew I’d been wanting a new bicycle forever, but that’s what politicians do. Figure out what to promise to get votes. Doesn’t matter all that much if the promises are kept. Folks like to hope.

Wes finally grinned. “Now if that ever happens, you’ve got a fine entry into that book of the strange you’re thinking about writing. Mayor Green.”

“But it hasn’t happened.”

“Yet,” Wes said. “And I got to admit it ain’t likely to no matter how tickled my Jupiter brain gets, but you open your eyes up a little and you’re liable to find strange on every corner of Hollyhill.”

So here I am. Jocie Brooke with eyes wide open and looking but all I’m seeing is everyday ordinary. But maybe with a little help from you, I can start seeing things in Hollyhill that if they aren’t strange, at least they might almost be interesting. Let me look around a while and I’ll get back to you next week. Maybe it takes time to spot strange in a little town like Hollyhill. 

Oh, and if strange things are going on in your little towns, be sure to share them here. Maybe something the same might just happen in Hollyhill.