Words in a Jam

 July 28, 1965

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. You remember those blackberries I talked about picking last week. Well, they're in a jam now. (Ha. Ha.) Wes says I'm getting to be a regular comedian. I tell him that's only because I hang around with him so much. He laughs about that. Says a Jupiterian has to have a sense of humor if he's going to come check out things down here on Earth. He claims he had to take a humor test before he could get on the Jupiter spaceship to make sure he could laugh at the dumbest things. 

I guess he's meaning he runs into a lot of dumb things to laugh about down here. And boy, can he in Hollyhill. But anyway, I love making plays on words. Like those blackberries in a jam! After all, if I'm going to be a writer, I better know all about how to use words for whatever I want to use them for. Dad says that's real important in a newspaper story. That one word left out or in the wrong place can change the whole meaning of a piece in the paper and get us into trouble with readers. Like what if we were writing about a trial verdict and left out not and reported the defendant was found guilty when they were not guilty. Big time mistake. One we can't afford to make.

He says the same thing is true when he's preaching. That he needs to be even more careful with his words. He has to make sure the words he picks are the ones the Lord wants him to say. Words have power. For good. For fun. For entertainment. But they can also hurt. Who was it that said the pen is mightier than the sword? I'll have to look that up sometime. Meanwhile, I'm still trying to learn a new word every day. When I have time.

I didn't have much time last week with the berry picking and the jam making. Dad said I had to stay in the kitchen with Aunt Love to make sure she didn't wander off and forget she had jam on the stove. So I did and she did. Then I was in a JAM. I had to stir the stuff so it wouldn't boil over.

Did you know that stuff spits bubbles at you while it cooks? Hot bubbles. The stove had purple spots and so did my shirt, but I kept stirring until thank goodness, Aunt Love came back and said it was ready to put in the jars. We did have those ready and she let me fill them up. But she screwed on the lids. You should have heard the lids popping when they sealed. 

After she went out on the porch to cool off, I headed up to my room to finish another few pages of Bailey's Bug. Here it is. The whole story is on a link up at the top of this report. Whatever a link is. I think that must be one of those words from the future. Links are just part of a chain or how something connects, aren't they? But sometimes it's better to just not ask about those futuristic things.

Bailey's Bug by Jocie Brooke - Chapter 2

       Lucinda stopped washing her face when Bailey asked her if she wanted to go with him. “Go beyond the fence?” She stared at him, her green eyes wide and dark. “Have you lost what little mind you have?”

            Bailey held his head high. “I’m going to find Reid.”

            Lucinda’s lip stretched in a little smile. Then she began licking her paw again for another swipe across her face. “You can’t even find your bones if they scoot under a chair.”

            “I can find Reid.”

            “You don’t say. I didn’t know you were a bloodhound.” Lucinda sounded bored.

       Bailey held his head to the side and thought about that. “Maybe I am,” he said after a moment. “Mrs. Alexander used to say I must be a mix of a dozen dogs. One of them could have been a bloodhound.”

            “It could have been, but it wasn’t.” Lucinda swatted at him. “You’d best get this nonsense out of your head and learn to like it here.”

            “I am going to find Reid. And that’s that.” When Lucinda gave him that look, he told her about the hum inside his head. “That’s Reid calling me.”

            “Don't be silly. It’s just a bug that’s crawled in your ear.”

      Bailey almost lifted his foot to scratch his ear, but instead he pressed his foot hard against the floor and sat up as tall as he could. “So you won’t go with me?” 

     “I’m not going anywhere.” Lucinda moved to the edge of the window seat to stare down directly into Bailey’s eyes. “And neither are you. Heaven only knows, you’re a worrisome sort even for a dog, but I can’t be letting you go off who knows where. You have no idea what’s out there.”

          “You don't either.” Bailey met her eyes and didn’t back down.

          “But I do. I knew this cat once who told me all about it. Poor old Sanders.”

     “What did he tell you?” Bailey was curious in spite of himself.

          “Lots of things.” Lucinda’s green eyes narrowed on Bailey. “He said cars mashed poor animals like you and there were men who put dogs in cages. Worst of all, he said there are all sorts of cats and dogs out there who care nothing about the rules of civilization. If tough old Sanders had a hard time out beyond the fence, a dog like you wouldn't last an hour.”

            Bailey pulled his tongue all the way into his mouth and shut his jaws together tightly. He thought about the monster cars and strange dogs beyond the fence and a tremble ran through him. But the hum was still there, steady, unchanged by Lucinda’s fearsome words. So he said, “I’m going.”

            “What will you do if it storms? It will, you know. You won’t have any place to get in out of the rain, nowhere to hide from the thunder.”

            The tremble got stronger inside him. He did hate the way thunder banged against his ears. Just the thought of it was enough to make him look around for something to hide under.

    “Just as I thought.” Lucinda sat back. “You’re not going anywhere.”    

        Bailey’s ears drooped, and his tail dragged on the floor as he crept off to the bedroom where the cat couldn't see him. He got down on his belly and crawled under the bed, stirring up bits of dust that tickled his nose.            

That's all so far. Do you like Bailey? I do.

 

From Under the Lilac Bush

April 28, 1965

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill. Actually, I'm reporting from under the lilac bush in our front yard. Can you smell them? Ahhh. They're wonderful. The butterflies like them too, but I couldn't get the butterflies to pose for my camera. They kept flitting away and film isn't cheap as Dad is continually telling me. But Dad likes the lilac bush too. He says he doesn't know how old the bush is but that it's been in that corner of the yard ever since he can remember. He thinks maybe his grandmother planted it, but he doesn't know for sure. Whoever did, I thank them!

My dad and I, we have roots that go deep. He grew up in this house that now I'm growing up in. His daddy grew up in the house before him. A room or two has been added on since then, but the front two rooms are the same. Well, we've

painted and papered it a few times. The living room is great. That wallpaper has bunches of flowers from the floor to the ceiling. You should have been here when I was helping Aunt Love put that on. That was a riot. Maybe I'll write about that sometime.

Anyway, sometimes I feel the walls watching me and maybe comparing me to the Brooke people who came before. I probably don't compare too good with them. Then, a few times, I hear something. You know stuff like footsteps upstairs when nobody's upstairs. That can give you the heebie-jeebies, let me tell you. But Dad says that old houses just do a little creaking and that sometimes creaking can sound like footsteps. Wes tells me not to worry about it. It's probably just somebody from Jupiter who got lost trying to get back to his spaceship. Aunt Love claims it's only Jezebel, her cat. Of course, she doesn't say Jezebel. She calls the cat Sugar. But trust me, there's nothing sweet about Jezebel.

But there's plenty sweet about the scent of lilacs. Ahhh! Love sitting under the bush and having the lilac scent fall around me. Makes me remember God's blessings. Dad says anything can do that. A new baby. A table full of food. A church full of people. A Bible story. He's been preaching about Noah and the flood. Last Sunday was about Noah sending out a dove after the rain stopped. First time it came back with nothing, but the second time Noah sent it out, it brought back an olive leaf. 

Now I know you're not supposed to add or take away anything from the Scripture, but I don't think the Lord minds when I sometimes like to imagine the dove brought back a lilac bloom instead of that olive leaf. Now, wouldn't a lilac bloom have been a fresh bit of hope for Noah and his family after being stuck in the ark so long? Can't you just imagine how that place had to smell with all those animals on board? Eww! I mean, I've been in a barn with nothing but pigs and cows and chickens. And it was plenty stinky. But then I guess Noah's sons had plenty of water to wash the ark out when they needed to. Do you suppose they just reached their buckets out the ark windows and dipped some up?

Dad says it can be interesting to wonder about the nitty gritty details of a Bible story, but that the important part is the lesson. With the Noah story, it was about how he was faithful, and because of that, he and his family got to start the world over. 

Even so, if you end up somewhere stinky, I hope you'll have a lilac bloom to sniff on. Or can pull it up from your memory. And remember that book, Scent of Lilacs, is still free as a download from Amazon, Christianbook.com, or Barnes & Noble. 

That's all I know about that except the cover has lilacs on it. You have to read the whole story to find out how important lilacs are to me in that book.

Do you love lilacs? Do you have a bush that's blooming in your yard right now? Has the bush been there ever since you can remember? If not, I'll share mine with you. Just remember...

Do Not Disturb - Tax Form Headache

April 7, 1965

Jocie Brooke reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. Do not, I repeat, do not get close to my father today. He is in the middle of doing taxes. The door on his office at the paper is closed and I don't think even Zella would have the nerve to knock on it. 

"Not even if the press breaks down," Wes says. 

"Not even if the building catches on fire," I say. 

"Not even if gypsies come in the office and steal all the papers off the counter without throwing the first dime in the dish," Zella says. 

That sounds a little crazy even for Zella. What would a gypsy want with a copy of the Hollyhill Banner? But she says when she was a girl, her parents were always warning her about gypsies. Then she looks at Wes like she thinks he might be from wherever gypsies come from instead of Jupiter and at me like she hopes it they do come in the offices, they'll grab me instead of a copy of the Banner.

It was wild enough here last week without any gypsies showing up, after Dad put that piece in the paper about a Yenom Tree. You'd think people would figure out all that was a joke since it was April 1, but Zella says that some people think if it's printed on paper, it has to be true. 

She refused to answer the phones all that day and there were plenty of calls. Even those who knew it was just an April Fools joke called. Some to complain that a newspaper shouldn't print foolishness and others to tell Dad how much fun they had with the story. 

You truly cannot please all the people all the time. And old Abe was right that you can't please some people any of the time. I know a certain woman whose name starts with "Z" that falls in that category. But Yenom. Hold it up in front of mirror. That's money spelled backwards. And even if you didn't figure that you, you surely could figure out that money does not grow on trees.

If it did, we'd try to raise one so that Dad wouldn't have to worry about April 15 and taxes. He says he just can't figure out why we owe taxes when money is scarce as hen's teeth around here. He doesn't want us to answer that and we've learned to keep quiet and leave that door shut until he has the tax form in the envelope, stamped and ready. Then he'll be smiling again and saying how it's a blessing to make enough money to need to pay taxes. But his smile will get bigger when Wes speaks up to ask, "Did you ever notice how you can put the and IRS and it spells theirs?"

Dad will laugh about that tomorrow. Today he has a tax form headache.    

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!

 

To Be or Not To Be a Princess

March 10, 1965

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Main Street, Hollyhill, Kentucky.  

Did you ever want to be a princess? Like in the fairytales. A Cinderella or Snow White. But you know, when you think about it, those two had a pretty rough time. Cinderella had to sleep in the ashes and talk to mice, and Snow White had to run away and hide out with the seven dwarfs to keep the wicked queen from getting her. (Quick question - can you name them all? Sleepy, Dopey, Doc, Grumpy, Happy. Oops, I'm stuck. Do you know the others?) 

But forget the missing dwarfs. Back to princesses. Then there was Sleeping Beauty. So okay, beauty in your name has to be good, but not sleeping a hundred years. What's wrong with having a princess who is just that? A princess who doesn't have to have the unhappy before the happy ever after. Oh, I guess that doesn't make much of a story for ordinary folks to read. 

But Dad was telling me about a real story he saw today about a Princess Margriet of the Netherlands. She got engaged. Dad showed me a picture of her. She's very pretty and looks happy and so maybe her happy ever after started the day she was born to a King and Queen. A real princess.

I'll bet she doesn't stumble over her own feet or get chocolate ice cream all down the front of her blouse when she's eating an ice cream cone. She's probably never said something she shouldn't have said or lost her diamond bracelet. 

That's something I haven't done either - the losing the diamond bracelet part. Okay, so what if I don't have a diamond bracelet to lose. I've got other things I bet she doesn't have like a dog with a cock-eyed ear like Zeb or a crazy Aunt Love or a "granddaddy" from Jupiter. 

Wes says I could be a princess on Jupiter. That they need princesses up there, but hardly anybody wants the job because princess dresses are full of starch and jeweled crowns might look all glittery but they're heavy and a girl has to sit like a statue to keep it from falling off. He says no way could a princess ride a bicycle or on the back of a motorcycle. 

He didn't have to tell me all that. I already knew I didn't want to be a princess. I like being who I am. Jocie Brooke.  

How about you? Did you ever wish you were a princess? What do you think you'd enjoy most about being a princess? What do you think would be the worst part?

Oh, and I still haven't heard from Sharon who won my giveaway here. I'll try to contact her one more time and then if I don't hear back from her, I'll pick a new winner. So Sharon, if you see this, check your messages.

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?

  

What Dad Believes

January 20, 1965

Jocie Brooke here reporting from downtown Hollyhill, Kentucky. Exciting news today. Dad got contacted by somebody to do an interview. It's usually Dad interviewing other folks for a piece in the Banner, but this time the tables were turned and somebody interviewed him all about what went on last fall here in Hollyhill. You remember, don't you? Well maybe if you don't, you should read those Heart of Hollyhill books. You can find out a lot about Hollyhill and all of us in those books.

Dad was interviewed about the book Orchard of Hope. It's a good thing that writer person wrote all that down, else we might have forgotten it. Not yet, but someday. Like in fifty years or so. Dad says he thinks someday people won't pay attention to the color of a person's skin. He thinks that anybody will be able to go anywhere and do whatever they want as long as it's legal. If that person wants to eat at the lunch counter instead of in the back booth, that will be fine and there won't have to be sit-ins and Freedom Trains and so much trouble. 

I guess because Dad can see how things should be instead of how they are is why Miss Lamb decided to ask him about what he believes. One thing for sure, Dad doesn't mind talking about that. He says that every Christian should be that way and ready to share what the Lord has done for them. He studies the Bible to try to get answers out of God's Word. He talks about some of those answers over with Ms. Lamb.

Here's one of the questions Dad answered. 

(Her Question) Orchard of Hope is about hope in the midst of a turbulent era in the South. I’d love to hear what you think about what was going on around you at that time. Do you believe that the tensions that caused such strife could have been handled in a different manner?
(Dad's answer) Things have been wrong in the South for a long time before now, 1964. A man should never be judged by the color of his skin or his religion. The Lord loves us all and in our great country, we claim to believe all men are created equal. If we truly believe that, we should live that truth. So things did need to change, but change can be difficult and as you say, turbulent. Sometimes it’s easier to not stir up trouble, to just let things drift along the way they always have been. But the Lord can poke our consciences to open our eyes and see that changes need to be made however hard that is to do. He empowers a man like Martin Luther King Jr. with a gift of words to find a peaceful way to make people see that all men have the right to equal opportunities. I’m a peaceful man, as is Martin Luther King Jr., but there are times when a man has to stand up for what is right no matter the consequences. Sadly, I think the strife was bound to happen because there are so many people who cling to the old prejudices. That’s sad but too true. Being human is a messy condition. We are not puppets on a string. The Lord gives us freedom of choice even when those choices lead to sorrowful and sinful decisions and outcomes.

Now doesn't that sound just like Dad? Wise and thoughtful, I guess that's why the Lord called him to preach. So he could share some of that. You can read more of what Dad thinks at Fay Lamb's Inner Source. 

Don't ask me exactly what that is. I think I must have stepped forward into the future. Funny, huh. I mean funny odd. Not funny ha ha. Anyway if you leave a comment on Dad's interview and on that author's interview on Wednesday and her guest post on Friday, you'll have a chance to win a copy

of Orchard of Hope. If you already have the book, I hope you enjoy the story. But if you win a new copy, you can always give it to someone as a gift or maybe donate it to your church library. 

Pretty soon that last book will be back out. You know, the one where Dad is getting all mushy over Leigh in Summer of Joy. I caught them kissing out of the porch last week. Leigh turned red as a tomato, but Dad just laughed. He laughs a lot since he started seeing Leigh. I wish I had a picture of him to show you. Maybe I'll hunt one up. 

Anyway, right now there's not much summer. Winter grabs hold and hangs on with more cold and snow coming. If we keep missing school, we won't get more than a week's worth of summer vacation. But that doesn't matter. I'm not going to be gloomy. I don't care if it is January. Good things can happen in January, can't they?

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? 

Locust Bloom Winter

May 13, 1964
Jocie Brooke here reporting for the Banner. It's been a cool day here in Hollyhill. Way too cool. Last Friday it was 80 degrees and so hot that when I got home from school, I broke out my pedal pushers and wore a sleeveless shirt to the Banner office. Wes wanted me to help him clean up the press room. Cleaning up isn't anything Wes thinks is fun. You can look at his hands and see that. Anyway, Zella took one look at me and said I was pushing the season. 

Could be she was right, because the season pushed back today. The temperature didn't even climb all the way to 60 degrees. Aunt Love kept looking at the thermometer on our porch and saying the thing was surely broken. But then Dad came in talking about the locust trees being in full bloom, and Aunt Love said well, that was it. Locust winter. She has a winter for every cool snap from redbud winter to blackberry winter and a dozen in between. She even talks about linen britches winter. I guess Zella might say it was pedal pusher winter. 

I put on a sweater and went outside to see if I could smell the locust blooms. The trees are loaded down this year and the air was full of their perfume. Locust blooms smell wonderful. Dad says it's the best fragrance ever. He even smelled it once while he was on the submarine during World War II. No way there could have been any locust blooms on the submarine, but Dad says he smelled them. Dad thought maybe that meant the enemy's torpedoes were going to sink them. That the Lord was giving him a last gift and memory of the farm back here in Holly County. But then instead of dying, the Lord called him to preach. It's a pretty crazy story, but Dad says the Lord can use whatever he wants to send us a message. It all belongs to him. 
 
I like the locust blooms fine, but I have to admit that I think lilac blooms have them beat on the fragrance front. The lilacs are gone, the last blooms knocked off by that hard rain we had last week. But I did bury my nose in some blooms before that happened. A person does need to be careful not to share the bloom with a bee when doing all that sniffing. 

But now the yard is fragrant from the locust trees growing along the edge of the yard. It's a good thing the trees have these sweet blooms. Else every one of them would be cut for firewood. They drop thorny branches down to stick in unwary bare feet in the summer and they have little old leaves that barely make a shade. Worse than that, Aunt Love is absolutely sure they draw lightning. She could be right since lightning in a storm last summer made a blaze down one of the tree trunks. 

But Dad says to give the trees a break, that every time he sees them or smells their blooms, he remembers why he's a preacher. You can get the whole story in that book, Scent of Lilacs. And also find out how the Lord used lilacs to send a message to me. Not to preach. Heavens, no. Wouldn't that set a few church people on their ears if the Lord called a girl to preach? It would scare me to death too. I'm hoping he'll just call me to be a kid for a while longer and then when the time comes, he can poke some ideas in my head on what I can do when I grow up.

What flower fragrance do you like best?

An Out of the Ordinary Cat

April 29, 1964

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. As always, things have been pretty boring (Dad says I should say calm, not boring) here on Main Street, Hollyhill. Dad says boring is better than stores getting robbed or wrecks happening. That might make the Banner headlines more exciting, but at the same time, somebody might be getting hurt. I wouldn't want that to happen. So I suppose I should embrace the ordinary and not wish for the strange. But I should have named my blog the Hollyhill Book of the Ordinary. Or the Hollyhill Book of Everything Boring. 

Dad reminds me how I was wishing for something to happen last year and how we got slammed with everything at once. But that was last year. This is this year and boring is settling down on Main Street like a smoke cloud on our yard after we burn our trash. 

Then something happened on Thursday last week. A cat showed up at the back door of the newspaper offices. A bandit looking cat with a touch of black on his chin and eyes that stare straight at you as if he's daring you to tell him to scat. So Wes didn't tell him to scat and now we have a cat here at the Banner offices. 

Zella had a conniption fit about the cat. She is of the opinion that newspaper offices are NOT a place to have a cat. So Wes offered to let her take it home with her. That made Zella have a bigger conniption fit and offered the next opinion that no way was she going to take a stray, flea-infested cat into her house. The cat was so relieved that it wound in and out of Zella's legs, purring all the while. Zella did an odd little dance to get away from it. Wes says Cat must be from Jupiter like he is. It appears Jupiter cats have a special instinct about irritating people who don't like cats. So the cat got a bed in the press room and West told Zella she should put it on payroll as pest exterminator. Zella muttered something under her breath about hoping it got rid of Jupiter pests. 

Yesterday morning, Zella found a dead mouse on her desk. I still don't know if the cat caught it and decided to offer it to Zella as a peace offering or if Wes put it there to make sure no peace was happening. I'm leaning toward Wes. What do you think? 

We've been calling the cat Cat. Not much of a name. So we're giving cat names consideration. What name do you pick for a cat that knows its way around? Got any suggestions?

Taxes and the Jack Benny Hour

April 15, 1964

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. Today's tax deadline day. Daddy had to get his tax forms filled out and in the mail before the end of the day. In time for the postmaster to stamp it sent. He figured and refigured and added up numbers all day. I overheard him telling Wes that he didn't see how in the world a person who didn't make much money could have such problems with taxes. Wes just smiled and patted Dad's shoulder before he escaped out to the pressroom to tinker with the press. 

Zella touched her sausage curls to be sure they were properly stiff before she shook her head at Dad and informed him he should have filled out the forms weeks ago the way she did. Daddy almost growled at her before he went in his office and shut the door. Dad hardly ever shuts his office door, but when he does, it's best to leave it shut until he opens it. 

Zella glared at the shut door and then began muttering under her breath about how pathetic Daddy was at paperwork. Even if his work was the paper. She banged on her typewriter so hard that I peeked over her shoulder to see if the type keys were making holes in her paper. That made her hit the keys even harder as she told me to stop making a shadow on her paper. Like I was getting in the way of her sun.

But thank goodness Dad did open his door and bring out the envelope all sealed, signed and stamped for government delivery. Then thank goodness, Aunt Love had the Jack Benny Hour on TV when we got home. Jack Benny was, of course, complaining about paying taxes. And thank goodness, Dad dropped down in his easy chair and laughed until he almost fell out of it. I don't like Jack Benny. I can't imagine what was so tickling Dad's funny bone. Adults are beyond understanding sometimes. But if Jack Benny's silly jokes got Daddy to forget about being cranky about those taxes then I was willing to smile and pretend I thought the show was funny too. At least this one time. 

Do you ever watch the Jack Benny show? Then maybe you can tell me what's so funny about holding onto the first dollar a person ever made?