What Stories Have You Read that Make You Want to Write?

June 30, 1965

Jocie Brooke reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky on the last day of June. I hate June to end so soon. That means just one more full month before school starts again. Ugh! But Dad says I shouldn't be looking ahead, but enjoying each day that the Lord gives me. The present is like a gift. You know, present - gift. Anyway, each day is a gift to open. And one of the best things about summer is getting to read!!! I love books, don't you?

Not long ago, I read The Incredible Journey by Sheila Burnford. I think I told you that a couple of weeks ago. Have you read it? It's a story about two dogs and a cat and it's a movie too. Walt Disney made it into a movie about a year ago. They might have shown it on television on Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color, but we're always at church during that time. We might get to watch the show when it snows in the winter and they call off night church, but that's the only time. Of course, it won't be in color. We don't have a color television set. 

Besides, church is more important than television. But I wish that show was on Monday nights. That's okay though. I can read the books. And I loved The Incredible Journey. In fact, I liked it so much that it's made me want to write a story like it. A dog and a cat on an incredible journey. Where could they be going and why? It won't be like the story in the book. It will be my very own story. 

If you were writing a story about a dog and cat, what would you name them? Cat and Zeb? Zeb is a great dog, but I don't think I'm going to let him be in my story. This will have to be a different type of dog than Zeb. And Cat, well if I had Cat in my story, everything would go haywire. That might not be so bad. Things need to go haywire in a story. If nothing happens, nobody would want to read it. But my story cat will have to have a name better than Cat. Yeah, I know Cat has another name. Redspot. But Cat is so independent that he just seems to want to be called Cat. Like he's the only one of his kind in the world. 

He was on Zella's desk when I got to the office last week. She wasn't even chasing him off. She pretended not to know he was there. You know what? I think Zella likes him. But one thing sure, she won't like the cat I write into my story. He's going to be one interesting cat. But wonder what I'll name him.

Did you read The Incredible Journey or see the movie when it came out in 1963? Do you remember the cat's and dogs' names? I loved Bodger and Luath. Then there was Tao. My names will be more like something you'd hear here in Hollyhill. But then those names might be something you'd hear in Canada. The author based the animals on pets she'd had there. 

I love books and stories, don't you? What's one of your favorite stories?

Easter Hats on Parade

April 20, 1965

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Main Street, Hollyhill, Kentucky where if you went to church last Sunday on Easter, you'd better have been wearing a hat or something closely resembling a hat. At least that's what Aunt Love says. 

She even told Tabitha she'd have to wear a hat although I'm not sure she was happy when Tabitha found this big floppy hat that could work as an umbrella if it rained. That's Tabitha. Always flamboyant. But after all, she lived in California for a while. That's bound to do something to a person. 

Aunt Love used to only wear black or deep purple hats to church, but then after she told me and Wes about something that happened way back when, she started wearing this bright red hat to church all the time. Bright red! Something like this one. Who would have ever thought that? 

You can read all about that in the book, Scent of Lilacs. By the way, somewhere in the future that book is still free for download on e-readers.

Of course we did think Zella would have to have an Easter hat that beat everybody else's hat. And then she just went with a black pillbox hat something like President Kennedy's wife always wore. Looked great on Jackie Kennedy. But Zella looked like she was wearing half a painted oatmeal box with a hairnet on it. 

Dad did tell us that hats weren't a contest and that everybody looked great in their Easter hats, but you can bet the ladies at churches all around Holly County were checking out every hat that rode in on a head. I felt like a total nut wearing that white hat up top. I wanted to look good in it and all grown up, but I just looked like a butterfly net was stuck on my head. Sigh. Some people have style. Leigh, that's Dad's girlfriend, she says I'll get style, but somehow I doubt it.

Hats aren't the most important thing about Easter anyway. We need to quit worrying about who's wearing a hat and who isn't. The Lord rising from the grave. That's the important part of Easter. 

But since we're talking about hats, did you wear one on Easter? This year or any Easter?

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!

 

You Can't Trust Somebody Who Kicks Your Cat

October 28, 1964

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Main Street, Hollyhill.

As you can see in the photo here, not much going on Main Street on a Tuesday afternoon. There are days when I go out and stomp on the sidewalk just to see if I can wake up anybody in the town. But nobody ever rushes out of the stores to see what's going on. The street just sits there empty as ever. Empty might be good if Dad would let me bring my rollerskates to town, but he won't. Now, doesn't that look like the best place to skate you've ever seen, but Dad thinks I might run somebody over. I know how to stop. Now. That time I barreled into Mrs. Jeffries in front of newspaper office, well, she should have seen me coming. She could step to the side easier than I could. I was only beginning to learn to skate then. Besides, my scrapes were lots worse than hers. She hardly bled at all, and Dad made me break into my piggy bank to give her money to buy a new pair of hose. 

Did you ever rollerskate on the sidewalk? I bet you ran over somebody now and again too, didn't you? I sure do wish they'd let us take rollerskates to school. Then it would be easier to make it between classes. Can you imagine everybody on rollerskates? Even the teachers. Mrs. Watson would have to give up those spike heels. She'd probably wobble less on the skates. 

But back to running over things, that Mr. Whitlow is back to coming to sweet talk Zella. Good thing he never stays long or Zella would never get the ads typed up for the paper to come out. She hardly knows her name when he's around. But there's something about him. Something weird - something even more than him acting like he's struck on Zella. And that's weird enough.

He kicked Cat. He did. I saw him. Cat was being halfway friendly. Either that or Cat thought Mr. Whitlow might have a cat treat in his pants cuff. I'd go for the cat treat. Could be Mr. Whitlow had a tuna fish sandwich for lunch and dropped a bit of it in his cuff. Cats have good noses. And they do not like to be kicked! What kind of man kicks a cat just because said Cat is sniffing his pant cuffs and shoes? It's not like he couldn't move around Cat. Cat's very small. Poor thing's been up on the top of the fence ever since. Wes says he'll come down when he gets hungry. Unless he catches a bird. See what that Mr. Whitlow set in motion. I'm thinking he's ready to set something else in motion, but I have no idea what. But it can't be good. Just ask Cat.

So I'm back on the detective trail again. Maybe something will show up on Halloween night. That's when the goblins and ghosts come out, isn't it? Mr. Whitlow is some kind of strange for sure. 

Do you think Zella saw him kick Cat? She gets sort of blinded when that man is around. What would you do if you saw someone kicking your cat?

  

, .

A Night at the Hollyhill County Fair

July 1, 1964

Jocie Brooke here reporting from the Hollyhill County Fairgrounds. Once a year, the carnival comes to town and everybody goes to the fair. 

Dad says the fair is one of those good and bad happenings. Good because all the beauty contests and baby show pictures sell lots of papers. Bad because he has to be at the fair every night taking those pictures. The carnival is not my dad's favorite place to be. I tell him he can just drop me off at the gate with lots of film, but he says I'm not old enough to be totally unsupervised at the fair. He at least wants me to check in every hour or so. I guess he thinks I'll get stuck up on top of the ferris wheel or something.

Do you like to ride the ferris wheel? I think it is so neat to get stopped up on the tiptop of the wheel and get to see all around. Guess who I spotted while I was up there. Zella! I can't believe Zella was actually at the fair. Buying cotton candy! But there she was with a big cloud of pink spun sugar. I didn't see that Mr. Whitlow, but he must have been there. Chasing him would be the only reason I could imagine Zella coming to the fair. 

She usually makes a face when she even looks at the pictures we put in the paper of the fair. As far as I know, she has never even gone to the horse show even though that's quite the social event in Hollyhill. People rent boxes and sit right next to the ring where the horses show their paces. 

Once I gave the ribbon to the winner when I was younger. I had to dress up in church clothes and Aunt Love made me polish my shoes until they shone and for what? Stepped right into that dirt ring and the shine was gone. Now I just take the pictures of the other girls handing out the ribbons when Dad has to take a break for whatever reason. That suits me fine. 

Have you ever been to a county fair? What parts did you like best? Did you go fishing for one of those little plastic ducks and win a paper fan or a whistle? Maybe you tried to ring the bell with that big hammer. Or throw hoops over bottles to win a teddy bear. Or what about that game where people put money on different colored squares to bet on which color hole this mouse will run into once the carnival guy lets it out of its cage? Aunt Love says that's gambling and she better not hear that I was even watching that game. I wouldn't have done that anyway. I always save my extra quarters for candy apples. Those great caramel ones with nuts on them. Sticky but yummy! What's your favorite fair food?

Just wait until tomorrow when I ask Zella how she likes cotton candy. Wes wasn't there. He says Hollyhill on a regular day is plenty of carnival for him.

Eighteen Mile Binoculars and Other Mysteries

June 17, 1964

Jocie Brooke reporting from Hollyhill, Kentucky. 

How about this neat ad I found in an old comic book? The very thing I need if I'm going to keep an eye on what's going on. The ad says you can see up to eighteen miles. I guess that's if no buildings or trees get in the way. But for sure I might be able to see across the street to the bank or the barber shop. Maybe even up to the hotel where that Mr. Whitlow is staying. The comic book is an old one that I found when Aunt Love made me clean out my closet. I doubt I could still order the binoculars, but I could send fifty cents and see. That wouldn't be much to lose. 

Of course, Aunt Love would tell me that fifty cents is fifty cents and a person shouldn't be ready to throw money away after naught but foolishness. But binoculars that can help you see eighteen miles? That would have to be useful for the newspaper business. 

I could see what everybody in Hollyhill was doing - including that Mr. Whitlow. Lately I might not need binoculars for that. The man keeps showing up here at the newspaper. So I came up with a way to snap a picture of him today when he came in. Zella was practically preening when I suggested a photo of the two of them together. 

Obviously, their Saturday night date was a big success. At least Zella showed up at the office Monday morning with a smile all the way across her face. She didn't even fuss about Cat, I mean Red Spot, leaving a dead mouse on the floor beside her desk. She just said good kitty and then hollered at Wes to come get rid of the mouse remains. 

Wes took his sweet time coming in from the press room. He wasn't all that busy. I'd just been out there with him and he was settled down reading what we wrote for news last week and drinking coffee. But Wes never gets in a hurry to do whatever Zella wants. That sometimes makes Zella want to pull our her hair or at least, uncurl some of those sausage curls. If they uncurl. I've never seen them so much as shift. When I was a little girl, I used to try to come up with reasons to touch Zella's hair to see if it was real or not. But even after I touched it, I wasn't sure. I'm still not sure. Every curl stays exactly the same all day long. Exactly.

Anyway, Mr. Whitlow came in the office before Wes made his way in to take care of the mouse. Suddenly Zella was almost fainting at the sight of the mouse where a minute before it wasn't causing her a minute's concern. Mr. Whitlow grabbed a paper off the counter and scooted the mouse up on it. Red snarled at him from his perch on the shelves behind Zella's desk, but Mr. Whitlow didn't seem to notice as he carried the mouse out to the trashcan on the street. He threw the paper away with it. I kept waiting for Zella to tell him he owed us twenty cents for the paper, but she just oohed and aahed and acted like the man had killed a tiger or something. I thought I was going to be sick and looked around for the nearest trashcan without a dead mouse in it. 

But a good investigative reporter takes advantage of the opportunities given her. So that's when I figured it would be a great time to get a picture of the man. A photo record might come in handy someday. While I was focusing in on them and Zella's smile was getting bigger every second, I sneaked in a few questions for Mr. Whitlow.

"What brings you to Hollyhill?" Not exactly subtle, but direct is sometimes the best way.

"It seemed so peaceful when I was driving through that I decide to stop and tarry a while," Mr. Whitlow said.

Tarry! Who says tarry? Nobody from around Hollyhill, for sure. 

"Where are you from?" I looked at him over the camera. "Just in case Dad decides to run your picture for whatever reason, we can put where you're from."

It sounded reasonable except Dad wouldn't put a picture of the man and Zella in the paper. Now if I'd thought quickly enough, I could have got him carrying out the mouse. On a slow week here in Hollyhill, that might have made the front page.

The man smiled. Showed way too many teeth. "I'm from here and there. Been all around. But this little town of Hollyhill, there's something extra nice about it. Got some really friendly people."

I pushed the shutter button and the flashbulb popped. After that, I stayed a minute to eavesdrop on them, but they weren't saying anything that sounded the least bit interesting. 

It dawned on me that the man might have a twofold purpose in sweet talking Zella. I don't know what the first reason would be, but the second one would be that instead of Zella finding out about him, he had probably found out about everybody in Hollyhill. 

So you see, if I just had those binoculars, I could watch the man and tell the sheriff if he started doing anything the least bit suspicious.

Well, binoculars or no binoculars, I'm watching him. But eighteen miles. That would be like seeing almost to Frankfort. Wes laughed when I showed him the ad. He said they'd have to be Jupiter space-age binoculars to work that good. So guess I'll save my fifty cents.


  

Wanted Posters at the Post Office

(Photo from Saturday Evening Post)

June 3, 1964

Jocie Brooke reporting from Main Street, Hollyhill, Kentucky. Not much going on in Hollyhill this week except school's out for the summer. That's something, I guess. Gives me more time for helping Dad with the Banner and for trying to figure out what that Mr. Whitlow is up to at the Hollyhill Hotel. 

I checked out the wanted posters at the Post Office. Some kids from town were in there pretending to play cops and robbers. Mr. Smyth, the postmaster, laughed at them as he chased them out. I pretended to laugh at them too while I was buying stamps for the paper, but it gave me a good chance to study those posters without Mr. Smyth thinking anything about it. None of the pictures looked like Mr. Whitlow, but a man on the run who knows there are wanted posters out about him would be doing everything he could to change the way he looked, wouldn't he?

I didn't tell anybody I checked the posters to see if I could find Mr. Whitlow on one of them. Not even Wes. He would have just told me that on Jupiter my nose would be turning purple. That's how Mr. Jupiter makes sure people mind their own business. And Daddy would tell me to stop letting my imagination run away with me, but when I took some papers in to put on his desk while he was back in the pressroom, I saw where he'd written the man's name down on the back of an envelope. His whole name. Kurt Whitlow. Why would Dad write that down unless he was planning on doing some investigating of his own?

It is a mystery. First off, it's not like we have that much worth stealing in Hollyhill. He could be casing the banks, I guess, but he'd have bigger banks in Lexington. Lots bigger. And if he's planning something, the last person he'd want to get friendly with would be Zella. If he were to let anything slip to Zella, the whole town would know about it by sundown. I have all summer to gather more clues. I'll tell you what I find, but you'll have to keep quiet about it. At least be sure not to let anything slip to Zella or my goose will be cooked.

Meanwhile, I did get that story written up about the World War I veterans for last week's issue. The old guys had some pretty amazing stories. Did you know that they fought most of that war down in trenches? Mr. Johnson said there were times that a soldier would lose his boots in the mud in the bottom of those trenches. It would just suck them right off his feet. When it was raining, he had nightmares about the mud sucking him down in it and swallowing him whole. And the best he could recollect, it must have rained every day he was in France. He wanted to move to Arizona when he came home and live where it didn't rain but a few times a year, but Mrs. Johnson was happy here in Hollyhill. He got the saddest look on his face then when he talked about her going on ahead of him to heaven.

"Cancer," he said. "There's all kinds of wars. You remember that, Jocie. All kinds and some them we fight one on one and we don't win. At least we went over the top of those trenches in France and pushed those Germans back. Didn't last, but that wasn't our fault. We did our job."

I gave him a hug then even if he did have that musty old person smell. I guess that's better than what some of the smells are in the nursing home. But I'm used to it. I go with Dad visiting there every third Sunday. He reads some out of the Bible and then Dad and me and whoever shows up from the church sing a few hymns with the old folks. Most of them like getting hugs. As Wes is always telling me, if we keep breathing long enough, we all get old. But I can't imagine being as old as Daddy, much less Mr. Johnson. He told me he was almost eighty!

Maybe I'll ask Zella how old Mr. Whitlow is. She'll know. She probably asked him. Wonder what she told him if he asked how old she is! Not the truth, I'm betting.

A Stranger in Hollyhill

May 20, 1964

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

A stranger checked into the Hollyhill hotel last week. So what's so strange about that? The only person to check into that hotel in my lifetime is Bill Jackson who moved into one of the rooms ten years ago after his mother died. Bill's neck is too long for his head and he must have had polio or something because he sort of drags one of his feet. I know he can't help how he looks, but the man could star in a scary movie except that he knows everybody in town and is the nicest guy. 

He didn't rent but one room but Mr. Hastings, who owns the hotel and prefers Florida to Hollyhill, lets him have the run of the rest of the hotel as long as he keeps it clean. I guess he also has the job of desk clerk if any passer-throughs see the hotel sign and stop for the night since it turns out that it wasn't that you couldn't rent rooms there. It was that nobody wanted to rent a room there. People go to a fancy hotel in the next town or rent a room at the little motel out on the outskirts of Hollyhill.

Nobody knows why Mr. Whitlow is here. Not even Bill Jackson, but Bill's the kind of fellow who doesn't ask questions. He says if somebody wants you to know something, they'll tell you. But the stranger has been eating down at the Grill so Lorraine there will be knowing everything about him in nothing flat. She's already told people he puts ketchup on his scrambled eggs and likes his toast lightly browned, no jelly. When I bought a shake there Saturday, Lorraine went on and on about how nice looking Mr. Whitlow is. Compared to Bill Jackson maybe, I told her, but she just said I'm too young to know what I'm talking about. So I took a closer look next time I saw Mr. Whitlow. He's old, at least forty. He wears his hat pulled down low over his face like he doesn't want anybody looking too close. You think he might be hiding out here in Hollyhill? Maybe he's running from the law. I decided that the next time I was at the Post Office I'd check the wanted posters there. You never know.  

But if he's trying to hide out here, he doesn't know much about small towns. Folks here have got their eyes on him. And guess whose eyes are on him biggest of all? Zella's. I caught her the other day standing inside the front window peering through an old pair of binoculars up the street. She got all flustered when I asked what she was looking at. She sputtered something about Red being missing. We had to shorten Cat's name to Red. Red Spot is a great Jupiter name, but too hard to say. Red, what Wes says is Cat's first name anyway, works fine. He's a Red kind of cat. 

But Zella wasn't looking for Red any more than I was. She just said the first thing that popped into her head even though she's always onto me if I even try to pull the truth out into a more interesting shape. She just let out a little huff when Red came out from under her desk and began winding around her legs. Turns out Red must think Zella wears catnip for perfume. He's always hanging around her desk and Zella definitely wasn't looking for him through those binoculars. She was watching Mr. Whitlow. I peered around her out the window and saw him headed up the street to the Post Office. Probably to check the wanted posters there and figure a way to get rid of any with his picture on them. I should have been quicker checking them out.

Wes tells me to stop letting my imagination go wild. That folks looked at him the same way when he first came to Hollyhill from Jupiter and that Mr. Whitlow is probably just from Venus or Mars. Nothing at all to worry about. But there's something odd about the man. I'll be watching him. Between Zella, Lorraine and me, we'll know what he's up to soon enough.

Why do you think he's come to Hollyhill?

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? 

Turnip Headlines

February 24, 1964.

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Main Street, Hollyhill. I think I'm going to have to expand my reporting area. Main Street has been more than usually dull this week. Nothing, I mean nothing going on. Nobody even tried to park without putting nickels in the parking meters. The police chief had absolutely nothing to do but drink coffee with the mayor up at the Grill. I told Dad he ought to write an editorial about how Hollyhill should pay the mayor by the hour instead of a salary. And only the hours he actually works. But Dad says more work might be going on than I can see. That sometimes things happen over coffee that might never happen at a City Council meeting. Besides, he's not the kind of editor who stirs up trouble just for the sake of stirring up trouble. 

Wes told him it might sell a few more newspapers. I have to agree with that. Our headline story this week was some guy who brought in turnips that were big as bowling balls. Thank goodness, he wanted to take them home and didn't give them to Dad. The only thing worse than boiled cabbage is cooked turnips! 

See, I told you there was no news in Hollyhill this week. Definitely nothing strange. I've given up finding out who sent Zella flowers. She hasn't. She whips out her red lipstick every time she sees a possible candidate for her secret admirer coming through the newspaper office door, but so far nobody has given the first sign of being "the one." I've about decided Dad sent them to give her something to think about other than new reasons to fuss about me. I have to admit I don't make her think too hard. Wes and I are still laughing about that fit she had over the fake spider in her pencil drawer. 

Dad threatened to not let me come to the office for a week after that, but he relented after I wrote Zella an apology. I'm pretty good with words, so I didn't have any trouble sounding sincere. I hope Dad doesn't read this or I'll be in trouble all over again. He says the Bible is pretty plain on how we ought to tell the truth and be good to our neighbors. He'd tell me Zella was my neighbor, but she lives clear over on the other side of town. Thank goodness!

So things are the same old same old in Hollyhill this week. But it was a great day with lots of sunshine and the wind kept the flags flying pretty up at the post office. Dad says we should look for blessings every day. Guess they would be easier to find than something strange in Hollyhill. 

Remember, this is your last chance to throw your name in the giveaway hat. I'm drawing for the three winners this weekend. Can't wait to send you Scent of Lilacs. Then you'll understand about Zella and about me. And I've been told a newsletter is about to go out with more prizes to celebrate my book. Nothing too strange about any of that, but fun.

See you next week. I think I'll take a trip down to the bridge over the river. Not so strange, but Dad says it's got history. Hope that doesn't scare you off - me threatening to write about history. I wouldn't blame you. History in school puts me right to sleep. We have this teacher we call Round Brown. From what I can see, I don't think he likes history either.      

Mystery Flowers and Secret Admirers

February 17, 1964

Jocie Brooke here reporting from Main Street, Hollyhill. Strange goings on in the newspaper office this week. 

Valentine's Day was last Friday. The day when everybody goes bonkers for love. At least everybody but Wes and me. He says folks are just having "heart" trouble and it's trouble he intends to stay out of. I wouldn't mind having a box of chocolates but not if I have to put up with a boy to get them. Wes says I'll change my mind any day now about boys since I'm thirteen, but I'm doubting it. 

But somebody in Hollyhill must be having "head" trouble. Zella got flowers. On Valentine's Day. Zella! You know Zella. She's the woman who has been working at the newspaper office since forever. Dad says he couldn't get out the paper without her, but sometimes I think he should try. I admit that Zella is a whiz on the typewriter. Not only that, she can tell from the sound of the coins people drop in the dish on the counter when they come in to pick up a paper if they're paying the full twenty-five cents. It's on the honor system, but Zella's stares have a way of keeping everybody honorable.

I'd have thought Zella gave herself those flowers, but I was there when the flower shop owner brought them in. She was as flustered as I've seen her since a mouse made a nest in her bottom desk drawer. She blamed that on Wes. Said he left the back door open too much. And she didn't care how hot it got in the press room. Doors should be shut. I don't think she'll be blaming these flowers on Wes. She must have a secret admirer in Hollyhill. So I guess this proves Wes was right. There are strange things in Hollyhill. Zella having an admirer of any kind, secret or otherwise, is more than strange.

Maybe this is a mystery I need to get to the bottom of. Maybe you can help me out. Have you ever been surprised by something from a secret admirer?  

Oh, and remember to leave a comment so you can get your name in the drawing to win a copy of Scent of Lilacs. If you read that you'll understand why I'm so surprised Zella got flowers. On Valentine's Day!