Hello everyone everywhere,

Hey, this week has  been great. The band is getting ready for our February 6 concert, and we are so looking forward to it.  Last night was a great night for me because I had Michelle and her husband Dean over for supper. I made a roast beef dinner, and it was beautiful. I really enjoyed cooking a meal for them. The weather has  been cooperating somewhat, although finds it Michelle and me in great pain sometimes because of the dampness.

Because of the weather and the fact that we’re both in pain, this post is published on Tuesday.  This story is a rather bizarre tale, but it has a good ending. Read it all.

And now it’s time, if only for a moment to close our eyes and our thoughts…and rest. Until me meet again at Sam and Sassy Lampun’s Home of Exotic Plants and Fireworks Emporium on the corner of  Kleenex Road and Sleeveit Street, down the road from Lizzie and Jim’s place. Oops, I meant Harold and Lizzie’s place. Sorry Lizzie.



1964. Summer. Cool wind. (You might think this is unnecessary but these facts light the tale).

Buddy Henshaw was 10 years old. Despite his age, Buddy was already his own man. He lived in a house that, at the time, seemed large. Buddy was always searching for something that would spell…he didn’t know… maybe…safe. Different. Not sure if he should really settle. You following this? Of course you are.

That cool summer’s day’s breeze turned Buddy’s attention indoors. It was 10 or 11 a.m. (that means morning, just checking), and Buddy was standing there, all five foot five of him, wearing a green sweater, brown pants, a yellow shirt, and brown shoes. Buddy was a smart dresser. His thoughts were on exploring this house. Not really the whole house. The basement. Wait, he thought! The subbasement!

And Buddy went down to that subbasement equipped with nothing more than wonder.

In that concrete room, no windows, no sink, nothing but a beautiful old wardrobe chest. The chest was on the back wall, almost shadowed by lack of light.

Buddy could smell the wood. The dark brown of the chest pulled him closer.  He looked at the chest, old and beautiful, and pulled the lid. To his amazement, it opened.  As Buddy, barely ten years old, gazed into the chest he thought, yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. He was staring at his grandfather’s World War I medals. Buddy had known his grandfather when he was just a kid and he was full of love and pride.

Without thinking, Buddy leaned in to grab the medals. He fell in, and the top shut. (Oh, did I mention that Buddy was alone in the house? Well, he was).

Buddy landed on a stack of blankets that were piled high and firm. There were little nails sticking out from the inside of the lid. Buddy didn’t know that at first, because obviously he couldn’t see. After punching his knuckles on the lid and getting nothing more than holes in his hands, he stopped punching.

Somehow Buddy knew he must stay calm. So he listened for a sound, a voice. But for minutes, nothing.

So, Buddy thought, at least I’m dressed well. And then he thought of the sky and the wind. He closed his eyes, and he could almost, not quite, but almost, feel it.

Wait! Sound! Mind already playing tricks. Very tired. Buddy made one last attempt to call out for help.

It was mom. She heard Buddy calling. Desperately, she called, “Where are you?”

Buddy kept saying, “I’m down in the basement. I’m here!”

After what seemed like an eternity, his mother’s anguished cries were rewarded.

When Buddy’s mom opened the lid of that box, she was spent. She grabbed little Buddy, and pulled and yanked to get him out. Buddy’s face was blue as his mom (let’s call her Ellen), dragged him outside. Back then, nobody had ever heard of mouth to mouth or anything that would have helped.

After Buddy’s face started to come to life, his mom phoned the doctor. About an hour later the doctor showed up. Buddy was laying on the couch.  The doctor put his light in Buddy’s eyes. Buddy blinked. The doctor looked at Ellen , and said, “Don’t let him fall asleep for at east an hour. After that he’ll be right as rain.” And he left.

Kids. If you are listening, (and you know you should be, right? Right). If you’re alone in the house and you want to go exploring…stop. Think. Walk away. In retrospect, it would have been a dumb idea anyways.

That was Buddy’s lucky day all right. But if you aren’t smart, your day might not be as lucky.

That’s all.


By jamesghutcheson

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