Two dollar windfall for Arleen ...

[Jerry Freeman]

OK, so Arleen and I are sitting at the kitchen table when we notice that Chucky from across the street is mowing our lawn.

It's a big lawn, a vacant lot, actually, that adjoins our house lot. Chucky and Aaron live with their parents across the street from it.

Chucky and Aaron are in their fifties, I would guess, never married, and something of a legend around here. They're two of the most cheerful people I've ever encountered. I suspect they're here on loan from another dimension, the abode of clowns, leprechauns and angels. That's the only way I can explain them.

As we watch Chucky mowing our lawn, I speculate that he might be trying out a lawn tractor he's been working on. (Chucky and Aaron's front yard is full of old cars, lawnmowers and such, that they've dragged in from somewhere, put aright and then displayed for sale. This is something of a tradition around here. Chucky and Aaron do cars, lawn tractors, etc.; Dane, a couple of doors down, does snowmobiles, motorbikes, lawn tractors, etc.; and I, as you know, do house trailers.)

On the other hand, the lawn needed mowing, and some of the neighbors have mowed that field occasionally during Arleen's convalescence. I figure maybe I should offer Chucky a few dollars for gas if it turns out he's doing it as a favor.

This must be done with a certain amount of care. If I give him enough money to make it worth his while, I may find him mowing the lawn when we don't want it mowed, expecting payment.

Arleen and I agree that three dollars is the correct amount. I determine that I have a five and a ten, but no ones. Arleen looks in her purse and finds three ones, which I take, giving her the five in exchange.

As we're conducting this transaction, I notice a plume of smoke coming from the lawn tractor. Equipped with the three dollars, I walk out to greet Chucky.

Looking towards where he had been mowing, I see that the lawn is only half mowed, but he and the lawn tractor have disappeared. Then, in their usual manner, Chucky and Aaron rematerialize on the spot by the time I get there. (They don't come and go like normal humans. They materialize and dematerialize out of nowhere.)

Chucky and Aaron couldn't be happier to see me. "Hi, Jerry!" "Hi, Jerry!" "Hi, Chucky. Hi, Aaron. Whatcha doin'?"

"Aw, I just rebuilt the engine on that tractor there and wanted to give it a try." (I congratulate myself for having guessed correctly.) "I coulda' mowed Van Ry's yard there, but it's pretty small, so I figured I'd do this one."

"I saw some smoke. What happened?"

"Burned a belt."

"So I guess it won't work without a belt, then?"

"Three belts," Aaron says, grinning.

Chucky and Aaron seem perfectly delighted with the afternoon's events. This, in fact, is the only mood I've ever seen them in, no matter what the situation.

Anyway, with the three dollars still in my pocket, I say goodbye to Chucky and Aaron and return to the house, smiling. It's impossible to leave Chucky and Aaron without a smile.

"Well, Hon. It looks like you made two dollars," I tell Arleen.

Best wishes,
Jerry

[IDAwHOa]

Jerry, you tell the best tales. Thanks. The people where I live are basically hermits. They only come out when they have to or are someplace else. I hope to have more interaction with the neighbors when we get settled in Idaho.

[justinham01]

Great story Jerry!

PS- Thanks for tweaking whistles! I just picked up a JF Tweaked Shaw D at Elderly in Lansing MI last weekend. My whistle teacher said she has never heared a wooden fipple sound so good!

[anniemcu]

Great story... thanks for sharing it!

[Jack]

[jsluder]

Chucky and Aaron are in their fifties, I would guess, never married, and something of a legend around here. They're two of the most cheerful people I've ever encountered. I suspect they're here on loan from another dimension, the abode of clowns, leprechauns and angels. That's the only way I can explain them.

The world would be a much less interesting place if we could explain everyone and everything in it. Thanks for sharing this story!

John

[Jerry Freeman]

Chapter 2 ...

Just now, I walk out to do some work on the house trailers and see Aaron on a green lawn tractor, mowing the rest of the lot Chucky started day before yesterday on a red one.

I walk over, and he shuts off the motor.

"Hi, Aaron."

"Hi, Jerry!"

"That's a different tractor, isn't it? The other one was red."

"This one's mine. The red one's Chucky's. I put new rings in, but it still isn't right."

"Will you sell it when it's fixed?"

"No. It's for me."

"That red one Chucky had, that's not the same red one I saw him with last fall, right?"

"Right."

"How many lawn tractors do you have?"

"I've got two. Chucky's got seven. He likes lawn tractors. This one still isn't right, though. It should have more power. Maybe if I took the motor off Kirk's new snowmobile over there."

"I don't think Kirk would like that."

"No. I reckon he'd be really mad if I took his snowmobile motor. But I bet it'd run good on this lawn tractor."

I make farewell noises and start to leave, but Aaron isn't done with me.

"Did you see the muffler I made?"

"No. Where?"

"Right here. See?" He points to some welded pipes at the front of the tractor.

"Wow. You did that? It's not loud at all."

"Nope." Then Aaron proceeds to tell me exactly how he made the muffler.

"OK, then. I'll see you, Aaron. Take care."

Aaron tries to start the lawn tractor, but it refuses.

"Uh oh," Aaron says, grinning broadly. "It won't start."

I feel slightly guilty, since he stopped the engine because I walked up to him, but I figure there's nothing I can do, and I don't want to spend the entire afternoon talking to Aaron. So I continue my retreat.

"Maybe vapor lock," I hear him say enthusiastically.

I go about my business at the trailers. When I return, I see the mowing is complete. Aaron and the lawn tractor have vanished.

Best wishes,
Jerry

[jsluder]

Jerry, these stories remind me of the writing of Charles de Lint. His characters are always somewhat magical. (BTW, this is intended to be a huge complement; de Lint is my favorite living author.) Thanks again!

John

[Jerry Freeman]

Thanks for the kind words, John.

I'll have to get some of De Lint's writing. I did a Google search and read some reviews. I think I would like him.

Best wishes,
Jerry

[jen f]

Jerry, your stories are absolutely delightful. Keep 'em coming!

[Jerry Freeman]

This stuff isn't made up, you know.

We'll have to see what happens next.

Best wishes,
Jerry

[jen f]

This stuff isn't made up, you know.

We'll have to see what happens next.

Best wishes,
Jerry

Oh, I know--I'm sorry if I implied that you were making it up.

Interesting things happen to everybody, but you are one of the few who can capture those events in a magical way that grabs and holds other people's attention and makes them smile. You have the gift of storytelling!

[Jerry Freeman]

My father was a great storyteller.

He was a professional writer, started as a newspaper reporter, and he had a gift for seeing stories that others might miss.

He once wrote me a series of letters that began with his recounting a visit to his barber in Libertyville, a tiny town in Iowa. He wrote:

"I asked Mike, 'How are things in Libertyville?'

'Normal,' he said.

But things are far from normal in Libertyville. ..."

Then he proceeded to tell me, continuing the story over several months' time as events evolved, about a battle between the only pizza parlor and the only bar in Libertyville as they tried to outdo each other, culminating in advertising for a "Real Texas Stomp."

Before WWII, he was reporting a political event where there was a long wait before the formalities.

As was his habit, he chatted up various of the people he encountered there, including a painter who was working on the premises. This was before the advent of paint rollers, and the painter was painting the walls of the place with a paintbrush. Back and forth, back and forth, into the bucket for more paint. Back and forth, back and forth, into the bucket for more paint.

He asked my father what kind of work he did. My father answered, "I'm a news reporter." The painter responded, "Isn't that kind of monotonous?"

Best wishes,
Jerry

[jsluder]

I'll have to get some of De Lint's writing. I did a Google search and read some reviews. I think I would like him.

Music plays a big part in de Lint's writing (he's a musician himself). I enjoy the way he weaves music, mythology, magic and complex characters into a modern setting. Many of his books share the same setting (a fictional city) and sometimes characters. For a good stand-alone introduction, I would recommend The Little Country, which is set in Cornwall.

Cheers,
John