AuthorsDen.com   Join (Free!) | Login  

     Popular! Books, Stories, Articles, Poetry
   Services MarketPlace (Free to post!)
Where Authors and Readers come together!

SIGNED BOOKS    AUTHORS    eBOOKS new!     BOOKS    STORIES    ARTICLES    POETRY    BLOGS    NEWS    EVENTS    VIDEOS    GOLD    SUCCESS    TESTIMONIALS

Featured Authors:  Shervin Hojat, Ph.D., iA. Colin Wright, iPatrick Granfors, iDerek Flower, iBlak Rayne, iPinckney Rivers, iCraig Nagasugi, i

  Home > Blogs Popular: Books, Stories, Articles, Poetry     

Robert A. Mills

· Become a Fan
  Notify me of new titles
  added by this author.

· 7 titles
· 7 Reviews
· Share with Friends!
·
Member Since: Aug, 2001

   Sitemap
   My Blog
   Contact Author
   Message Board
   Read Reviews

Newsletter
Subscribe to the Robert A. Mills Newsletter. Enter your name and email below and click "sign me up!"
Name:
Email:


Books
· Wall !

· Tycoon!

· Well !

· Circles !

· 'Mate !

· The Better Angels


Articles
· Robert's Angels by Dani R. Bellflowers


News
· Well !

· Circles !

· 'Mate !

Robert A. Mills, click here to update your web pages on AuthorsDen.

Books by
Robert A. Mills



The Better Angels

Buy Options
Signed copy!
Kindle, Amazon, more..










Blogs by Robert A. Mills

ALEX'S FIRST CHRISTMAS
12/21/2009 6:17:30 AM

BONUS BLOG - ALEX’S FIRST CHRISTMAS
by Alexandra E. Faucette (Mills)
as told to her father many years later

I was ten months old just five days before my first Christmas in 1985, and my parents were determined to make as little as possible of the occasion.

“This year,” Dad said, bewildered as usual, “she has no idea what it’s all about—just a lot of bright lights and—stuff. But wait ‘til NEXT year!”

I think my father suspected I was more aware than I should have been at my age (I am sure Mom did—mothers know everything!), but Dad was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve or admit to the sentimentality of a holiday, particularly one with such wide appeal as Christmas. He probably preferred the abstract joys of Flag Day—but I think he knew that I knew something special was going on that late December.

Years later, it would bring to mind one of his favorite remarks: “The only difference between knowing and understanding is the size of your vocabulary.”
At ten months, my vocabulary, so they thought, was limited to such nuggets as “nite-nite, bottle, Chloe-the-dog, Nana, food, music, bath, birdy, kiss, patty-cake, no-no” (for the latter, they persisted with ‘please don’t’, which rarely stopped me), “flowers, pool, crib, beddie-bye,” and a few others I knew but couldn’t yet manipulate into sounds.
It was Christmas time. 1985. I was presented with a whole new thesaurus requiring very little mental dexterity to figure out.

CHRISTMAS TREE They brought the prickly bush into the solar room, placed it on a high table so I couldn’t get at it, hung twinkling lights and colorful doodads on it, and Dad held me up in front of it and said, “Tree! Tree! Christmas tree!” until I thought I would scream. . . .Actually, I enjoyed the glazed look of pride that came over his face when, for no reason, he would suddenly glance away from the TV screen and say “Christmas tree!” and I would turn knowingly in its direction.

SANTA CLAUS This took some figuring out. Thanks to my family’s addiction to TV, the connection was made about an hour after Halloween. Santa Claus suddenly fell into the same category as my stuffed animals, of which I had a superb collection.

Fact was, my stuffed animals consisted of three categories: the ones who shared my bed, the few in my playpen, and the ones I apparently was not supposed to play with—these were on a high shelf in my room, plainly visible and in their proper place, often referred to, occasionally hugged, but never put in a position where I might spit up or pour milk on them.

I didn’t really care. The ones in my crib were my true playmates; and as I was destined to be an only child, they would remain so for many, many years. All the others were like distant cousins who amused me during brief visits.
My favorite Number One stuffed animal was a large rabbit with ears as long and floppy as his entire body. He’d been a gift from a real cousin and had become my primary bed-partner, my best friend, my chief mentor and keenest critic, and without whom I would have had no vocabulary at all.
His name was Henry Wadsworth Longears.

“You see, kiddo, it’s this way” he said one night, talking as we always did in the language of stuffed animals. STUFFINESE, it was called, the universal language all children are born with and which their parents never hear nor could possibly understand. “Right now you’re not even a year old, an’ you’re gonna believe anything they tell you. ‘Santa’ sounds like a pretty good deal, as far as fairy tales go. ‘Be a good li’l girl an’ when you wake up Christmas morning, there’ll be this wonderland of delights under the ol’ Christmas tree’. Yeah, right! Take it from ol’ H.W.L., it don’t work that-a-way!”

I asked, “How long am I supposed to believe in this Santa Claus business?”

My PADDINGTON BEAR, a rather grumpy scrag Dad named Paddy Brewster, answered, “Forever.” And with that he put his head down and went to sleep.

A handmade yarn and cloth doll we called ELEANOR ROOSEVELT piped up in her high-pitched, scratchy voice, “You will always be required to believe in him, my dear, because he is unquestionably as real as you and I. You see, in my day . . . ”

MOPSY TOETWINKLE, a diminutive stuffed bunny remotely related to Henry, cut in, “In your day, you either believed in Santa or you got week-old pudding mush to eat, lumps of coal in your stocking, and locked in your room all Christmas day!”

That made Henry laugh out loud, and, forgetting that ‘Stuffinese’ was a silent communication, I was afraid momentarily that he might wake my parents. “Mopsy always reads too much Dickens this time of year,” he laughed, nudging me knowingly. “Ignore her.”

Mopsy Toetwinkle apparently could think of no suitable retort, so she made a “Hhhumpppfffftttt!” sound in the back of her throat.

I said, “Henry, tell me the truth; I don’t want to grow up pretending and never really knowing . . . is there really a Santa Claus—-like on TV?”

Henry flopped one of his ears over his left eye, his equivalent of pursing his lips in contemplation. “Kiddo, I don’t wanna steer you wrong, but you axed an honest question, I gotta give you a honest answer.”

“So?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

I heard Eleanor Roosevelt go “Tsk! Tsk!” Mopsy Toetwinkle went “Hhhhumpppffttt!” Paddy Brewster burped.

One of the shelf animals across the room, an eavesdropping stuffed seal, muttered, “Shame on you, Longears.”
“Wait a minute, you guys!” Henry protested. “Hold on!” He flipped his ear back over his head, and I could see both his eyes shining in the half-light from my partially closed door. “She axed me if there really was a Santa like she sees on TV, an’ I said No! Well, that’s right. An’ you guys know it!”

There was momentary grumbling among my stuffed friends.
“Look,” Henry went on, “of course there’s a real Santa---an’ he’s sorta like what everybody thinks—but he’s not some ol’ fat guy, an’ he doesn’t have a white beard, an’ he doesn’t come crashin’ down chimneys, an’ he doesn’t live at the North Pole—an’ he’d prob’ly have a heart attack if he ever saw a flyin’ reindeer with a red, glowin’ nose!”
I said, “But if he doesn’t live at the North Pole, where is he between Christmases?”

“Kiddo, he lives right here,” Henry said, poking me in the chest with one of his four Good Luck Charms. “Santa lives right there, in the heart of every boy an’ girl, every mom and dad, every gran’ma an’ gran’pa—everybody who ever did sumpthin’ nice for somebody without expectin’ anythin’ in return.”

Paddy Brewster clapped his claws. “Bravo!”

I wanted to know, “Has anybody ever seen the real Santa Claus?”

“Yeah.” Henry wrinkled his nose. “Some people have.”

“Have you?”

“Well . . . no.” He quickly added, “But I know some people have.”

“Could I?”

“Lemme think.” He put his head down on his chest and thought. Then: “In a few years, your ol’ dad is gonna tell you a story about something—something very special called ‘Transitory Planet Migration.’ Right now, you can’t even say it, let alone understand it. But it’s something he got a hold of when he was a kid, until he was maybe five or six.” Henry’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s something that permitted him to—well, to be in two places at the same time!”

“Wow!” I shuddered.

Henry shrugged. “Actually, it’s not such a big deal. Lotta li’l kids have it.”

“How,” I asked, “does it work?”

“Well, that’s the hard part,” Henry confided. “Lotta kids have it, but not too many of ‘em know what to do with it. Your ol’ dad did, though, an’ I think he used it maybe five or six times.”

“What’d he use it for?”

Henry tilted his head and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “To find out things.”

“What things?”

“Things—-he wanted to know.”

I gave Henry one of my best lip-puckering “Ooooooohhhhhhhhs. Do I have it?”

Henry shook his head, twisting his ears into a knot. “I dunno, kiddo. But I do know one thing.”

“What?”

“If you do have it,” his voice dropping even lower, “you mos’ likely can use it to see Santa Claus!”

“When?” I whispered back, the sound just a whoosh of air.

“When d’you think? Christmas Eve!”

* * *

Calendars, dates, days of the week and such were mysteries to me that year, but my stuffed animals knew that Christmas Eve was the night before Christmas Day. Together, mostly with Henry’s help, they figured it out, and one night, just as I was falling asleep, Eleanor Roosevelt snuggled against my cheek and said, softly, in my ear: “Tonight’s the night.”

My eyes flew open, and I saw Henry staring at me, his head hanging forward in concern. He said, “I don’t know if this is such a good idea or not, kiddo. Transitory Planet Migration is nothin’ to fool around with.”
“It didn’t hurt my daddy, did it?” I asked.

“Well . . . I don’t think it actually hurt him—-but he did grow up kinda weird.”

I felt a bit indignant. “What do you mean—-‘weird’?”

Henry squirmed under the covers. “Well, you know, I mean, look at the way he acts when he’s around you—like every time he picks you up it’s like he jus’ won the lottery. An’ like when he doesn’t even pick you up, he just sits and stares atcha like if he moves you’ll—pop!—vanish into thin air! And those songs he make up—I mean, well, really, kiddo: ‘I’d rather have Boston Baked Beans on my plate, Than all the money an’ oil in Kuwait, ‘Cause money in funny an’ oil will boil—but Boston Baked Beans will always be loyal!’ Come on! Is that weirdsville or what!?!?”

I said, “I think you’re the one who’s weird. Just tell me—how that thing works.”

“Transitory Planet Migration?”

“You know I can’t say it.”

Henry sighed in resignation. “Okay, kiddo, okay. It’s simple. All you gotta do is close your eyes and count to ten—-“

“I can’t count.”

“That’s okay; I’ll count for you. When I get to ten, if you really got it, you’re gonna automatically leave your body right here in your crib, but your spirit—an’ I dunno, maybe the whole bed—will just lift up an’ float outta the room, down the stairs, an’ into the solar room where the tree is. Then you jus’ gotta sit an’ play with some stuff, an’ when Santa comes you’ll . . . just see him.”

Paddy Brewster looked up and said, “I really don’t believe I’m actually listening to this nonsense.”

I asked Henry, “Will Santa be able to see me?”

“I dunno. I never did this before. One . . . two . . .”

I rolled over, got up to my knees, then sat up in the crib.

“You better lay down,” Henry warned. “If this thing works, an’ the bed takes off, you’re gonna topple over on Mopsy.”

Mopsy immediately scampered to the foot of the crib. I fell over on my back and closed my eyes.

“Three . . . four . . . five . . . six . . . ”

Jolt! I felt it! The crib began lifting slowly away from the floor, a little unsteadily at first . . .

“Seven . . . eight . . . nine . . . ten!”

We were off! Moving about a foot above the floor, slowly, smoothly now, the crib was gliding across the room toward the door! I opened my eyes.

“Holy Moley!” Henry, crying out, was at the foot of the crib, standing up and hanging on, like the captain at the bow of a ship, holding his arms out wide: “I’m the king of the world!” He was moving to and fro, as if trying to steer the crib through the door. “We’re gonna crash, kiddo! Your ol’ dad left the door shut too far!”

Paddy Brewster snuggled into the crook of my arm, and Mopsy Toetwinkle dove under the quilt. Eleanor Roosevelt sat stoically in the rear of the crib, shaking her head, muttering, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself . . . “

“No!” I cried. “Look! The door is opening all by itself; it’s letting us pass through!”

And, miraculously, it did swing open as my crib carried us into the hallway and toward the stairs, floating silently, gently swooping down the first flight, then turning right and down the second, into the main foyer, through the living room, across part of the dining room, and into the solar room where the Christmas tree glowed under the glass arches of the greenhouse wall.

The combined sensations of flight and fantasy made my arms and legs tingle with electric excitement, and my stomach fluttered, and my whole being shimmered with a feeling I somehow knew I would experience, like my dad, only a few more times before saying good-bye forever to the curious wonderment of childhood. But these were realizations I would come to many years later; right now the degree of enchantment all of us were enjoying overwhelmed me.

The crib to rest in a far corner of the solar room. Henry warned us to be very, very quiet. “When he comes—if he comes—I think it would be better if we didn’t call too much attention to ourselves over here. I think we should jus’ let him do his thing and . . . ”

There was a noise in the living room, a clanging of metal, a rough scraping, a voice: “Darn!”—and I jumped in fright, choking Paddy Brewster in a teddy bear hug.

We heard the voice again: “Shoulda left the dang fireplace doors open!”

And there was someone standing in the solar room archway!
Henry flipped both ears over his eyes, then pulled them
slowly away. Mopsy peeped out from under the quilt. Paddy Brewster squirmed his head under my arm and pushed his hat back from one eye. Eleanor Roosevelt stopped in mid-sentence, “ . . . a day that will live in infamy . . . ” and her mouth hung open. I sat mesmerized and made a silent “Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh!”

In the mellow glow from the Christmas tree lights I saw him for the first time—and the only time in my entire life. Santa Claus! Saint Nick! The jolly old elf! Father Christmas! There he was—and, oh, how wrong Henry was! He had come down the chimney!

True, though, he was not an elf. He was, in fact, remarkably tall—-at least, six feet tall. He was not exactly fat, either, but he was a bit overweight. And he did not have a beard; but his hair was long and curly and getting very white. I can’t say definitely he was wearing a red suit trimmed in fur, but in the colored haze from the tree lights, his long coat and heavy trousers did have a faded, russet aura. And he was wearing huge black boots.
A pipe? With smoke encircling his head like a wreath? Not at all! I think that part is a fairy tale.

Unaware of us huddled in my crib—or at least, paying no attention to us—the Grand Old Man went immediately to the tree and began arranging presents beneath, presents he took not from a sack thrown over his shoulder, but rather from under the folds of the long coat he wore. Some of them appeared to be somewhat large and cumbersome, and how he stored them all in his pockets and lining not even Henry could later explain.

After a few short moments he was done, and he began looking about the room for something. “Fireplace doors are bad enough,” he mumbled, under his breath, “but not even a Diet Coke or a Fig Newton! Ah, well, perhaps next door . . . ”
And then—he saw us!

“Hello! What have we here?” he said, crossing the room and leaning over the crib. All of us closed our eyes in terror and lay still as death itself. “Poor child! Don’t you have a room of your own that you have to sleep downstairs in this drafty solar room?”

I couldn’t stand it, but I resolved I would not start crying. I opened my eyes, expelling the greatest “Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh!” in ten months, and, as always upon waking, smiled up at whoever was there.

“Ah, you are a pretty one!” he said, touching the back of my hand with his gloved finger. “Let’s see . . . Alexandra, it ‘tis. Right? Of course! And whom do we have here? This must be Paddy. And Mopsy. Eleanor Roosevelt. And-—oh, yes!-—Henry Wadsworth Longears, you old rascal! Now, all of you, back to sleep—you must go back to sleep because Christmas morning is almost here. And I have a few other stops to make before going home to my own warm bed at the North Pole.”

I shot a squinting glance at Henry.

And then Santa did a most remarkable thing. He reached into the folds of his great coat, pulled out a crisp, fresh carrot, and gave it to Henry. “This is one of the few vegetables we can actually grow at the North Pole. The reindeer love ‘em; helps ‘em see their way down here in the dark, and that’s important since Rudolph retired last year. . . .Well, now, I really must be off!”

He nodded his head and turned with a jerk. “Careful!” he chuckled. “Don’t want to bang my head on the ceiling!”
At the solar room arch—-leading to the living room and the fireplace—he stopped and looked back.

“One thing more, young lady,” he admonished. “Just in case you ever tell this to anyone, and they say you were probably just dreaming, let me leave you with something original.” He paused and thought for a moment.

“How about-—Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

He hesitated and looked at me, our eyes locked for a private moment, his twinkling merrily, mine heavy with sleep; and he shrugged, chuckling softly.

And then he was gone—-with the scraping of metal as the fireplace doors clanged shut.

An instant later I awoke in my crib, in my room, daylight squeezing through the drawn blinds, Henry, Mopsy, Eleanor, and Paddy strewn about the bed, and my mom looking down at me, beaming, as always.

“Morning, little one, merry Christmas!” she sang out. “And did you have a good sleep-—?” She reached over the crib railing and picked up something on the quilt, calling to my daddy over her shoulder.

“Robert! Did you leave this in the bed with the baby?”

Dad poked his head into my room, yawning and running his hands through his curly, long white hair that wasn’t entirely white yet.

“Whaddya got there?” He took the partially chewed carrot from my mother’s hand. “Hmm. Who would leave a half-eaten carrot in the baby’s bed?” he shrugged, chuckling softly.

Copyright©1991 by Robert A. Mills

THE SERIALIZATION OF “AURA LEE” – PART TEN WILL CONTINUE WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 23

“ALEX’S SECOND CHRISTMAS” WILL BE A BONUS BLOG ON MONDAY, DECEMBER 28



Post a Comment

More Blogs by Robert A. Mills
• HOUSE - Wednesday, January 21, 2015
• POT - Sunday, January 18, 2015
• LINKLETTER - Wednesday, January 14, 2015
• ALS - Sunday, January 11, 2015
• GEORGIA 11 - Thursday, January 08, 2015
• GEORGIA - Wednesday, January 07, 2015
• SUPERMAN PT. 11 - Saturday, January 03, 2015
• SUPERMAN PT. 1 - Wednesday, December 31, 2014
• XMAS - Sunday, December 28, 2014
• PBS - Wednesday, December 24, 2014
• BICUSPIDS - Wednesday, December 17, 2014
• STEPS - Saturday, December 13, 2014
• MONDAY - Thursday, December 11, 2014
• MONDAY - Thursday, December 11, 2014
• WEEK - Sunday, December 07, 2014
• SBOW PT. 11-Thursday Dec, 4, 2014 - Friday, December 05, 2014
• COSHOCTON - Saturday, November 29, 2014
• SNOW - Wednesday, November 26, 2014
• 22nd - Saturday, November 22, 2014
• OLD - Wednesday, November 19, 2014
• PHILIP - Saturday, November 15, 2014
• OLD - Wednesday, November 12, 2014
• [POINTS - Saturday, November 08, 2014
• NORVIEW - Tuesday, November 04, 2014
• NORVIEW - Tuesday, November 04, 2014
• BALLOON - Saturday, November 01, 2014
• GENES - Wednesday, October 29, 2014
• CONCORDE ll - Saturday, October 25, 2014
• NEW JERSEY - Wednesday, October 22, 2014
• CLEAN - Saturday, October 18, 2014
• SOLUTION - Wednesday, October 15, 2014
• RUNNINGBACK – SAT – Oct 11 - Saturday, October 11, 2014
• PART TWO of FLORENTINE - Saturday, October 04, 2014
• CONCORDE - Saturday - Saturday, October 04, 2014
• FLORENTINE - Wed - Part One - Wednesday, October 01, 2014
• MEYHODITS - Saturday, September 27, 2014
• SPENCERPORT - Wednesday, September 24, 2014
• ELLIE - Saturday, September 20, 2014
• BLANK - Wednesday, September 17, 2014
• JOAN - Wednesday, September 10, 2014
• BIRDS - Saturday, September 06, 2014
• NAPOLEON - Wednesday, September 03, 2014
• NPR - Saturday, August 30, 2014
• ALS - Wednesday, August 27, 2014
• 2 - Saturday, August 23, 2014
• 70! - Wednesday, August 20, 2014
• USSR - Saturday, August 16, 2014
• MOSQUE - Wednesday, August 13, 2014
• HANDS - Saturday, August 09, 2014
• TEETH - Wednesday, August 06, 2014
• COVENTRY - Saturday, August 02, 2014
• BICHON - Wednesday, July 30, 2014
• PLS - Saturday, July 26, 2014
• HOCKEY - Saturday, July 19, 2014
• WXIA - Wednesday, July 16, 2014
• SAM - Saturday, July 12, 2014
• FOOTBALL - Wednesday, July 09, 2014
• AUNTIE - Saturday, July 05, 2014
• FAME - Wednesday, July 02, 2014
• JACKIE - Saturday, June 28, 2014
• WILL - Wednesday, June 25, 2014
• BRIT - Saturday, June 21, 2014
• HOLCOMB-Wed-June 18, 2014- - Wednesday, June 18, 2014
• PREMATURE - June 14, 2014 - Saturday, June 14, 2014
• MAYO - Saturday, June 07, 2014
• SHAW - Wednesday, June 04, 2014
• LEXOPHILES - May 31, 2014 - Saturday, May 31, 2014
• RED - Wednesday, May 28, 2014
• berle - Saturday, May 24, 2014
• HALO - Wednesday, May 21, 2014
• MINIE- May 17, 2014 - Saturday, May 17, 2014
• CHRISTMAS - MAY 14, 2014 (Wed)) - Wednesday, May 14, 2014
• BIRDS - May 10 - Saturday, May 10, 2014
• APRIL - May 7, 2014 - Wednesday, May 07, 2014
• FRANCES & FRIENDS - May 3 - Saturday, May 03, 2014
• TEAPOT - Saturday, April 26, 2014
• SKIERS - Saturday, April 19, 2014
• FDR - Tuesday, April 15, 2014
• WIZARD - Saturday, April 05, 2014
• ELEVEN – March 22, 2014 (edited) - Wednesday, April 02, 2014
• DUKE - Saturday, March 29, 2014
• ELEVEN - Saturday, March 22, 2014
• GOBBY - Sunday, March 16, 2014
• CONFESSION - Saturday, March 01, 2014
• DRAGON - Saturday, February 22, 2014
• KUERIG + FURTHERMORE II + FURTHERMORE III - Saturday, February 15, 2014
• CATHY - Saturday, February 08, 2014
• OMAHA + FURTHERMORE - Saturday, February 01, 2014
• LINCOLN - Saturday, January 25, 2014
• MATH - Saturday, January 18, 2014
• WHAT? - Saturday, January 11, 2014
• PIG - Saturday, January 04, 2014
• NANA - Saturday, December 28, 2013
• JEWS - Saturday, December 21, 2013
• LUCIFER - Saturday, December 14, 2013
• PEARL - Saturday, December 07, 2013
• CARILLON - Saturday, November 30, 2013
• ASSASSINATION - Sunday, November 24, 2013
• VETERANS - Saturday, November 16, 2013
• ABSCESSED - Saturday, November 09, 2013
• AGENDA & WHOLESALE - Saturday, November 02, 2013
• HEADLINES - Saturday, October 26, 2013
• OAHU - Saturday, October 12, 2013
• BAD - Saturday, October 05, 2013
• MATH - Saturday, September 28, 2013
• YARD - Saturday, September 21, 2013
• ENGLISH - Saturday, September 14, 2013
• ECSTACY - Saturday, September 07, 2013
• LABOR - Saturday, August 31, 2013
• SPORTS - Saturday, August 24, 2013
• FAIR - Sunday, August 18, 2013
• PANIC - Saturday, August 10, 2013
• JEFFERSON - Saturday, August 03, 2013
• GERTE - Saturday, July 27, 2013
• GRACE - Saturday, July 20, 2013
• PLS - Saturday, July 13, 2013
• BROOKS - Saturday, July 06, 2013
• DVDs - Saturday, June 29, 2013
• WEDDING & SCOTT - Saturday, June 22, 2013
• FREEZER - Saturday, June 15, 2013
• BASILIO - Saturday, June 08, 2013
• CARUSO - Saturday, June 01, 2013
• EXPERT - Saturday, May 25, 2013
• CANTANKEROUS - Saturday, May 18, 2013
• BOATS - Saturday, May 11, 2013
• BALANCE - Saturday, May 04, 2013
• USPS - Saturday, April 27, 2013
• TAXES - Saturday, April 20, 2013
• AUDITION - Saturday, April 13, 2013
• NASHVILLE - Saturday, April 06, 2013
• BOXER - Saturday, March 30, 2013
• COLUMNS - Monday, March 25, 2013
• VIETNAM - Saturday, March 16, 2013
• ΣAM - Saturday, March 09, 2013
• WHOA! - Saturday, March 02, 2013
• TWO - Saturday, February 23, 2013
• QUITTER - bonus - Tuesday, February 19, 2013
• GHOSTS - Saturday, February 16, 2013
• VALENTINE - Wednesday, February 13, 2013
• FBI - Saturday, February 09, 2013
• WOOLLEY - Saturday, February 02, 2013
• GRUMPY - Saturday, January 26, 2013
• FORMAL - Saturday, January 19, 2013
• PATTY - Saturday, January 12, 2013
• OFFENDED - Saturday, January 05, 2013
• LOVE - Saturday, December 29, 2012
• CHRISTMAS - Wednesday, December 26, 2012
• PEPE - Saturday, December 22, 2012
• TIME - Saturday, December 15, 2012
• TIME - Saturday, December 15, 2012
• UGA - Saturday, December 08, 2012
• MASS - Saturday, December 01, 2012
• SLF - Saturday, November 24, 2012
• THANKSGIVING- a bonus column - Wednesday, November 21, 2012
• ASSASSINATION - Saturday, November 17, 2012
• POLL - Saturday, November 10, 2012
• YOGI - Wednesday, November 07, 2012
• VOTE - Saturday, November 03, 2012
• REACH - Saturday, October 27, 2012
• WASTELAND - Saturday, October 20, 2012
• 58% - Saturday, October 13, 2012
• WACKO - Saturday, October 06, 2012
• REVIST - Thursday, October 04, 2012
• DEBATE - An addendum - Wednesday, October 03, 2012
• CRASH - Saturday, September 29, 2012
• VEEP - Saturday, September 22, 2012
• BUGLE - Saturday, September 15, 2012
• DELTA - Saturday, September 08, 2012
• ANNIVERSARY - Saturday, September 01, 2012
• INCA DINKA DO - Saturday, August 25, 2012
• METH - Saturday, August 18, 2012
• PHELPS - Saturday, August 11, 2012
• UPDATE EXTRA - Wednesday, August 08, 2012
• CHICKEN - Saturday, August 04, 2012
• OLYMPICS - a review - Tuesday, July 31, 2012
• SUMMERTIME - Saturday, July 28, 2012
• SHOOT! - Saturday, July 21, 2012
• PUN - Saturday, July 14, 2012
• DECISION - Saturday, July 07, 2012
• FREE - Saturday, June 30, 2012
• EXTRA! - Thursday, June 28, 2012
• ANNIVERSARY - Saturday, June 23, 2012
• REHEARSAL - Saturday, June 16, 2012
• BELMONT - Saturday, June 09, 2012
• 1% - Saturday, June 02, 2012
• DERIVATIVES - Saturday, May 26, 2012
• MEDICARE - Saturday, May 19, 2012
• CRIME! - Saturday, May 12, 2012
• POTTER - Saturday, May 05, 2012
• BUCKHOUSE - Saturday, April 28, 2012
• SOX! - Saturday, April 21, 2012
• SOL - Saturday, April 14, 2012
• CONTEST! - Saturday, April 07, 2012
• JUSTICE! - Saturday, March 31, 2012
• SUITS! - Saturday, March 24, 2012
• BOBBYS - Saturday, March 17, 2012
• NUNDA FUN DAYS – PT II - Saturday, March 10, 2012
• NUNDA FUN DAYS - PART 1 - Saturday, March 03, 2012
• HUTSON IS ONE! - Thursday, February 23, 2012
• TôT OU TARD! - Saturday, February 18, 2012
• MINE! - Saturday, February 11, 2012
• SOUP! - Saturday, February 04, 2012
• BUCK STOP - Saturday, January 28, 2012
• FOLLIES - Saturday, January 21, 2012
• MISFITS - Saturday, January 14, 2012
• MOHS - Saturday, January 07, 2012
• GOODBYE! - Saturday, December 31, 2011
• CITY SLICKERS -- Week of Dec 24 - Saturday, December 24, 2011
• HEADLINES - Saturday, December 17, 2011
• FIRE! - Saturday, December 10, 2011
• YEP, THE SKY IS FALLING! - Saturday, December 03, 2011
• HOBNAIL BOOTS - Saturday, November 26, 2011
• GIRL o’ WAR - Saturday, November 19, 2011
• CAIN IS NOT ABEL - Saturday, November 12, 2011
• JOHNNY CAN’T READ - Saturday, November 05, 2011
• HOLY SMOKE! - Saturday, October 29, 2011
• CELL PHONE - Saturday, October 22, 2011
• 60 MINUTES - Saturday, October 15, 2011
• BANKS CLOSED - Saturday, October 08, 2011
• ANNUAL PHYSICAL - Saturday, October 01, 2011
• A T W IN 80 MINUTES - Saturday, September 24, 2011
• HUTSON! - Saturday, September 17, 2011
• A TIME TO REMEMBER - Saturday, September 10, 2011
• TOMB AT ARLINGTON - Saturday, September 03, 2011
• GUNFIGHT AT DODGE CITY - Saturday, August 27, 2011
• NOTHNAGLE - Saturday, August 20, 2011
• A CLUTTERED BELFRY - Saturday, August 13, 2011
• CFS, FOR SHORT - Saturday, August 06, 2011
• THE MINSTREL SHOW - Saturday, July 30, 2011
•  BIRTHDAY BOY RIDES (MARTA) AGAIN - Saturday, July 23, 2011
• KNOCK, KNOCK! WHO’S THERE? DEATH! - Saturday, July 16, 2011
• COMMENCEMENT - Saturday, July 09, 2011
• 234th 4th OF JULY - Saturday, July 02, 2011
• MIDNIGHT RIDE OF BOORTZ/DUPREE - Saturday, June 25, 2011
• OH, MY PAPA (& MAMA, TOO) . . . - Saturday, June 18, 2011
• ROLLING STONES - Saturday, June 11, 2011
• I DOUBLE D’AIR YA! - Saturday, June 04, 2011
• WOW—SUM BEACH - Monday, May 30, 2011
• GRAMP ON THE TOWN - Saturday, May 21, 2011
• THE UNSOCIABLE NETWORK - Saturday, May 14, 2011
• DING DONG, THE WICKED SUMBITCH IS DEAD - Saturday, May 07, 2011
• KATE PLUS MATE - Saturday, April 30, 2011
• GOP IS TRUMPED - Monday, April 25, 2011
• SNIFFING JOCKS IN ATLANTA - Saturday, April 16, 2011
• BOEHNER BLINKED - Saturday, April 09, 2011
• ROY ROGERS - Saturday, April 02, 2011
• SWEAT MORE, BLEED LESS - Saturday, March 26, 2011
• HE STILL DESERVES BETTER - Saturday, March 19, 2011
• AFTRA & EARTHQUAKES - Saturday, March 12, 2011
• ALEX IN WONDERLAND - Saturday, March 05, 2011
• THE OSCARS - 2011 - Wednesday, March 02, 2011
• FIRST BIRTHDAY, PART THREE - Thursday, February 24, 2011
• FIRST BIRTHDAY, PART II - Tuesday, February 22, 2011
• MY FIRST BIRTHDAY - Saturday, February 19, 2011
• IDES OF FEB, MINUS ONE DAY - Saturday, February 12, 2011
• FUN AT THE ICE PALACE - Saturday, February 05, 2011
• VACATION FROM HELL - Saturday, January 29, 2011
• BARBERSTOWN CASTLE - Saturday, January 22, 2011
• TRYING TO TAKE TUCSON – a bonus blog - Wednesday, January 19, 2011
• THE “BOBBYS” - Saturday, January 15, 2011
• POLITICS 101 - Saturday, January 08, 2011
• THE SNOWS OF KILIMANGEORGIA - Saturday, January 01, 2011
• WRITER'S CRAMP - Saturday, December 25, 2010
• BELLS ON CHRISTMAS DAY - Saturday, December 18, 2010
• PATTY ROBERTS, Part Two - Wednesday, December 15, 2010
• SECRET SANTA - Saturday, December 11, 2010
• PATTY ROBERTS - Thursday, December 09, 2010
• GETTING MY GOAT(EE) - Saturday, December 04, 2010
• IN FLIMFLAMS FIELDS . . . - Saturday, November 27, 2010
• PLYMOUTH ROCKS - Saturday, November 20, 2010
• LACED FOR ACTION - Saturday, November 13, 2010
• PEER PRESSURE - Saturday, November 06, 2010
• POLL CATS - Saturday, October 30, 2010
• FRIENDS - Saturday, October 23, 2010
• MY COUSIN DOUGIE - Saturday, October 16, 2010
• LOBSTER POTTED - Sunday, October 10, 2010
• A PRECIOUS GOLDEN BOBBY - Thursday, September 30, 2010
• THE KING IS DEAD (or at least in his throes) - Saturday, September 25, 2010
• STAND PAT - Saturday, September 18, 2010
• EGGS ROSAKOVIA - Saturday, September 11, 2010
• POLL CATS - Saturday, September 04, 2010
• KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE - Saturday, August 28, 2010
• (Bonus Blog) BUT WHO’S COUNTING? - Wednesday, August 25, 2010
• PEANUTS AND CRACKER JACKS - Saturday, August 21, 2010
• LUCKY STRIKE GREEN - Saturday, August 14, 2010
• AMERICARE vs. OBAMACARE - Saturday, August 07, 2010
• THE MAN WHO WOULD (temporarily) BE PRESIDENT - Saturday, July 31, 2010
• THE WEDDING - Saturday, July 24, 2010
• BUTTERFLIES ARE HAPPY - Saturday, July 17, 2010
• HATTERS ARE MAD - Saturday, July 10, 2010
• WHAT DOES THE BOSTON TEA PARTY AND THE REPUBLICAN TEA PARTY HAVE IN COMMON? - Friday, July 02, 2010
• MILQUETOAST HEADLINES - Saturday, June 26, 2010
• JAMIE DUPREE DESERVES BETTER - Saturday, June 19, 2010
• WHAT BARACK OBAMA AND HELEN THOMAS HAVE IN COMMON - Saturday, June 12, 2010
• GRANDNIECE LEIGH IS OFF TO HONDURAS - Saturday, June 05, 2010
• MEMORIAL HOLE-IN-ONE - Saturday, May 29, 2010
• GRANDNIECE EMILY GRADUATES - Wednesday, May 26, 2010
• THE MOON IS ROQUEFORT - Saturday, May 22, 2010
• LENO VS. O’BRIEN – TEMPEST IN A TV POT - Saturday, May 15, 2010
• A SHOT IN THE DARK - Thursday, May 06, 2010


Authors alphabetically: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

Featured Authors | New to AuthorsDen? | Add AuthorsDen to your Site
Share AD with your friends | Need Help? | About us


Problem with this page?   Report it to AuthorsDen
© AuthorsDen, Inc. All rights reserved.