Hello everyone, everywhere,

Well, what a week. I got new glasses but I’m not quite sure about them. They’re very different from the look I’ve had for a long time: they’re not round. Michelle says they make me look mature. I told Dean, “I’m mature now.” Michelle said, “No you’re not mature, you just look mature.” And then she fed me cookies.  I hope I’ll get some to take home, but Michelle and Dean have banded against me so I may not get any. And about these bloody cats, Barb(ie)….

Anyways, moving on. Had a few days off from music but we’re back on Wednesday, and I can’t wait. Oh yeah by the way I’ve also signed up to get myself back in shape: swimming twice a week and sitting in the steam room. That’s my plan. But I have to walk there and back from home which is about…I don’t know…a thousand yards, or maybe 500. It’s a bit of walk. Michelle’s pooped now, so I’ve got to go.

Tonight may I present a little tale I’d like to call….



What seems to be but another day is not to be. Frederick Spandel is going through the motions that he goes through every day. Nothing special.

He’s a funny little guy. He stands very tall for a man of shorter stature. Frederick has nice eyes (so he’s been told), and a kind, yet scarred old face; a face that has seen a lot of days and nights. First it was just days, then most nights. He’s getting long in the tooth and now he sees it all.

He seems to be a happy fellow. No one is sure, because he keeps to himself.

During a good rain on a dark night, or when the sun comes stretching and dancing like a ballerina, that’s when Frederick seems to smile the most. (And he sways with his ghosts to the music long forgotten, until time brings it home).

To some, being alone is a sad turn of events. To others, it’s like winning the lottery. To most it is only what it is. Frederick Spandel knows all that stuff. Some matters, some, well…the rest is somebody else’s business. (Or so you would suppose).

Today, Frederick Spandel turns 70. Oh, this happy occassion will be shared with family and friends.

Frederick doesn’t care much for folks. He feels he ran out of things to say a long time ago. For the last four or five years, Frederick Spandel hasn’t even make an appearance. Tsk tsk tick tock.

Rather than be with all those happy people, family, (you know what I mean), Frederick would rather be alone, sitting by a lake, listening to the beautiful sounds, watching people from a distance, smiling at them and about them. Odd as he may seem to others, in his mind it all seems right.

Being the different sort of fellow that Frederick Spandel is, he talks to himself with great ease. He finds himself at seventy, a bit eccentric to others perhaps, but to him, his last thought of the day is and always will be…how fragile the light of darkness is in us all.

That’s it.


By jamesghutcheson

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