"What's all that racket out there, Jess?"


"Ole maam", that only those dad~blamed
cats n dogs afightin' agin"! "Got inta tha
gaabage cain, but I shooed 'em away right fast like."


"Well, you know I just cannot abide those
noisy critters" . . . ya know how frazzled my
nerves has been trying ta get this new
business agoin'."


"Yea, Maam . . . it been like a three~ring
circus round here since you came on tha
idee a openin' this here meetin' hall in yore house!"
You been busy as a one~armed cranberry
picker in tha rainy season, round here!"


Jess had been Miz Langley' helper for
years now, as she recalled. Let's see,
that must be bout 25 years now, she
recollected. He'd been a life~saver since
World War II started.


Service men and women seemed to enjoy
meetin' time at Miz Langley's. The town had
that air force base on the outskirts.
Jess thought it a purty brilliant idee of
Miz Langley to open this service club
where she and the volunteers could ply
their wares to hungry and thirsty military.


"ALMOST HEAVEN" brought 'em in by
the droves to play games, eat
that lip~smackin' fried chicken n other goodies
and drink that sparklin'
pink lemonade Miz Langley be well known fur.


Tha business was boomin' . . .
Miz Langley runnin' herself ragged tryin'
ta keep up with it.


Well, when he came ta thinka it all,
those extra dollars went fur ta pay tha
bills Ole Maam been strapped with fur so long.


Seemed to Jess like Ole Maam was killin'
two birds with one stone openin' this here
club what she called business; yet, bringing
some much needed R n R fur those so fur away
from home.


She watched over those fly~boys like theyuz
her very own. An ~ sure nuff no 'hanky~panky"
gonna get by Miz "proper" Langley's eyes:-)


"Look here, Jess, stop your day~dreamin'
an cut me some of those lilacs and lilies so's
I can make a pretty bouquet for the middle of
this table." "You know it's about time for
tha party I'm athrowin' for my guys n gals
this evenin'." "Mayswell cut somma that
greenery, too, while your at it."


Sounds of boogey~woogey could be
heard comin' outta every window at ALMOST HEAVEN
and Jess was amazed at tha way those kids
could dance. Ole Maam had a surprise for
the best couple in the dance off tonight.
"Why, she ALWAYS comin' up with sommin'
special for her "children" . . . she was a perfect
momma," thought Jess.


Ole Maam brought out a purty, shiny
trophy and curls of laughter could be heard
throughout ALMOST HEAVEN.


The volunteers cheered the winners
and patted the backs of the would~be winners,
as Miz Langley smiled.
"Bout time ta be closin' for tonight, younguns," . . .
don't be worryin' none though . . .
ALMOST HEAVEN be open round sundown
tomorrow." I'm thinkin' up a thriller
for youins and Miz Langley wants ta thank
ya from my heart for makin' my new business
a GREAT success!"


Jess and a couple other volunteers helped
get all the lights turned out while sayin their
farewells.


Kneeling by her bedside that night,
Miz Langley thank the good Lord for keeping
her spirits up and giving her the strength to
accomplish ALMOST HEAVEN'S duties.
She remembered to pray for all her fly~boys
and the young ladies she'd come to love, as well.
Miz Langley kissed the picture on the bedside
table, as she did each night before retiring.
The love of her life, who'd fought the good fight
at the battle of Guadalcanal and made heaven
his home now. God rest his soul.
"I'll Be Seeing You", my darlin'.

OPEN FOR BUSINESS

By Connie (CSThomas@aol.com)

What kind of business is it? It's a business of one who writes for a living. He's a very gifted and brilliant poet/writer sitting behind a desk in this nondescript little house pecking away at a keyboard writing another poem which flew into his mind or another book he wants to publish or writing for the daily newspaper. He doesn't have a constant flow of customers, but from time to time, people come in to buy a poem to give a loved one or someone wanting him to write an article for a magazine. He's traveled all over the world and has vast knowledge of places.

As you know, writers do not need a fancy office to work in. They can write any where - even on a napkin in a restaurant, on a bus, or sitting in a park. Their mind is always clicking as to the desires that govern their heart. His secretary only works part time so he has to answer a lot of the calls himself. Sometimes people often drop by to ask something about computers, which he has vast knowledge, although he does not work on them, but tells them how to fix it. He's very generous with his knowledge.

He works very hard to get his daily newspaper writings out, which makes those unaware of what he actually does. Who would ever guess by looking at the appearance of this house, such a person doth work and live, much less what he is capable of doing. His sign on the front door only says --- Welcome - Do Come In!

Little White House

By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)

Little white house, setting there,
sort of old, somewhat rundown.
Poppa built it after the war,
when Momma was his blushing bride.


Seven kids born and raise in the little white house,
there on a corner one acre lot.
When we grew up and went out on our own,
Momma and Poppa were left there alone.


Just two tired old folks, getting close to retirement,
Poppa got sick, Mary Ellen moved back,
nursed them both for a lot of years,
until they both passed on.


Mary Ellen’s children grew and went,
soon she was white-headed and so tired.
But she was not that worn out,
decided to open her own shop.


So the little worn-out woman in a worn-out house,
opened a sewing and knick-knack shop.
She made art type stuff from what she found on her walks,
my oh my, people began to talk.


Soon she had a busy tourist shop,
people paid a whole lot of money
for her hand-made knick-knacks,
soon she was rolling in the dough.


Then one day Mary Ellen was approached
by a rich lady from up in Maine.
With a smile she sold out.
Now it is known as “Marilyn of Maine’s Exquisite Gift Shoppe.”


So the little white house on the corner,
had a lot of happy evenings,
but now we all smile.
Heck we are all retired.

Love of the Old Sod

By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)

Mr. and Mrs. McTyver were first generation Scottish immigrants. Even so, they had shared their little home for 45 years before Mr. McTyver, who was mowing their acre of ground with an old-time push mower, keeled over with a heart attack and died. Old Mr. McTyver was typically tight as Scotsmen are said to be. But he was generous to a fault to each of his five boys. Trouble was Mr. McTyver taught his boys to be tight, too, left very little to Mrs. McTyver except their home and its sparse furnishings. In the old country way, Mrs. McTyver didn’t consider working in the world, but she had a passion for history and stories about her old sod. She had never stopped being homesick for its heather, its cliffs and lochs. How would she manage? She, too, was frugal and had spent the bit of money they had frugally. Her sons, it seems, were frugal, too.

An old Scotch clan flag - a bit ragged - hung in the corner of their little parlor. One day Mrs. Mac, as she was affectionately called, had tea with her neighbor, Jenny Stewart, and asked her if she happened to have any Scotch ancestry. The neighbor said she thought she did, and together, they looked up her clan plaid in some old history books treasured by our sweet Mrs. Mac. So pleased was her neighbor she asked Mrs. Mac if she could teach her to sew her plaid. Mrs. Mac was gleeful! She wanted to be helpful to this sweet young lady, and carefully ordered the materials they would need. The young lady was giddy beside herself! “Something especially mine!” she exclaimed. Then the young neighbor hatched an idea! Mrs. McTyver could search the plaids for custom orders and she would sew them, also in custom size and embellishments.

Jenny made some flyers for Mrs. Mac on her computer. Mrs. Mac rearranged her little house for one room for sewing and filling custom orders. When she received her first “commission,” Mrs. Mac proudly planted the Scottish clan flag from her living room at the corner of her cottage. These two oddly matched friends complimented each other’s skills. Mrs. Mac found her frugal ideas fit the business of a budding cottage industry, and Jenny found an outlet for her latent artistic talents.

They talked happily together - each satisfied with the other one’s company for several years. Filling orders, buzzing sewing machines, stocking fabrics in neat folded rows, and even entertaining customers in person who were curious about their roots. Always a cup of tea and Scottish shortbread. They also must be patient with Mrs. Mac’s memories and descriptions of her old land - embellished a bit, perhaps - but delightful nonetheless.

Mrs. Mac left her little house to Jenny when she went to her heavenly homeland. Jenny has put her own needles down, but did I tell you that she had two daughters along the way who are running the little business from the same little house surrounded by heather and lavender.