Hi everyone everywhere,
I’m working on getting used to my nephew taking over duties around the house and in a few months, take it over. And I’m good with that.

Even though it was done one hour before it started snowing, after three weeks he finally cut the lawn. The yard looks great and we, (probably more me), are happy.

I’m slowly starting to realize that he’s smarter than I gave him credit for. I mean, maybe forty years difference in age is a bit of a stretch, but he’s getting it all done. It’s just not my way. But his way seems to be working out just fine.  It seems as the days go on we have found common ground. I never wanted kids; I mean, they’re interesting, but I’m more of a watcher than a participant. So that’s all I’ve got for now.

And now it’s time to close our eyes and our thoughts…and rest. Until we meet again at Flemmer’s Fine China and Target Shooting Emporium on the corner of Arthur and Betcha Street.



Grey walls, grey day, thinks Sam Westcott. Oh Sam, he’s alone all right and has been for twenty years. Don’t look back, that’s what I always said, thought Sam.

Loss is felt in everyone’s luggage along the way. Though, you know, when it’s only two of you, and you’ve carved just a little space for two out of this big old world, that damn loss seems long. And it’s okay to have a tear or three.

Sam Westcott goes to sleep like always with a frown on his face and like always he says a fond goodnight to Molly.  “When I look in your eyes, old girl, I still smell the lilacs.”

But that night Sam Westcott had a dream. And in his dream he was seventeen again and dancing with his soon to be soul mate Molly by the bushes of lilacs. As he slept he did something that he had not done in, well, forever. Even though he was lost in sleep, that night Sam smiled.

We must dream.  Always…


By jamesghutcheson

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