Just when you think you might have walked off a cliff…you realize you have a parachute.

By |

“Oh!  I’m sorry.  I thought you were someone else…someone I’m supposed to meet here…” 

Henry kept talking…almost as though he couldn’t stop.  But I took another step.

I really couldn’t help myself…he sounded so puzzled…so flummoxed…so un-Henry like…that I had to laugh…

Yes.  Yes.  The laugh he had been listening to and apparently loving for the past few months…my very “unique” laugh…

His head snapped around and he started to reach for my arm.

Suddenly.  It was ‘the perfect storm’.

Three little boisterous boys came racing down the aisle after a visit to the bathroom in the back of the restaurant…

I quickly moved to get out of their way…but I was not quick enough as one of them bumped into me…

So…as Henry turned away from the table, reaching for my arm…my cane got caught on one of the spokes of the wheel chair that I did not even know he used!

I let out a cry as I started to fall…but Henry caught me and I ended up in his lap.

I looked at him and then down at his chair…

His laughing eyes looked quizzically into my surprised ones…

“I bet you didn’t expect this…did you?  Vietnam…second tour…Bouncing Betty…”

“By the way…where the hell were you going, Karla?“

I was almost…but not quite speechless…

“You see…when I first saw you sitting here and you watched me walk in…I saw your eyes start to narrow and you tilted your head…”

“I thought perhaps you were disappointed at what you saw…”  I started to falter at this point.  I was feeling quite stupid.

“Or…: Henry interrupted patiently.

“Or…maybe the sun was in my eyes as I was trying to clearly see as well as desperately hoping that this beautiful woman walking toward me would be the incomparable “Annabelle”…the one with the sexy laugh.”

“Oh…”  I said quietly.  “I guess…”  I had no snappy return for that.

Henry looked over my shoulder and motioned for me to turn around.

“We have an audience who appear to have almost stopped breathing…” Henry said.

When I turned and looked, there was a small group of diners who had gone suddenly quiet when I had cried out as I had fallen into Henry’s lap.

I turned back and grinned at him.

“So…what’s our encore?” I asked.

And then he kissed me…on a brilliant fall afternoon in the Canal Park Cafe overlooking Lake Superior…

And everyone clapped.  Because…who doesn’t love a happy ending.

The End

By |

I could see through the restaurant’s floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Lake Superior that Henry had picked a table toward the back of the restaurant.

He had no idea what I looked like but of course I could recognize him.

I had seen countless ads in the local Rocky Point newspaper promoting his show.

He sported a shock of blonde hair and even though we had what seemed like about a month of summer in Rocky Point…he looked like he had just finished a 3-week vacation in the Cayman Islands. 

God, he was really good-looking.  He looked even better in person.  I suddenly felt very nervous.

I was glad I had put blonde streaks in my shoulder-length, brown hair and had taken advantage of the past two sunny days to extend my tan.  I knew I looked pretty damn good for an “older” woman…maybe a little on the thin side…but I was working on that.

This was like a date…right?  Oh hell…am I too old for this?

I hadn’t been to this restaurant before but I had visited here yesterday…to get the “lay of the land”.

I often did this when I was going to new places…to eliminate any surprises or potential parking problems.

As I entered the restaurant the hostess remembered me from yesterday’s visit.  She came over to me right away.

I told her I was meeting someone today and thanked her for her attention.

I started to walk towards Henry who was looking out the window.

As I got closer, he turned and saw me coming toward him…my trusty cane helping me along the way.  I stopped and took off my sunglasses.

My vision had improved in the last four months, so even though I still couldn’t read a book…I could see Henry’s face quite clearly.

I saw him tilt his head to the side…and I could see him knit his brow…ever so slightly.

It was not real obvious…but just enough for me to guess what he was thinking.

I had seen that look before.  It was that “Ohhh…” look.

As in…”Ohhh…she needs a cane to walk…I wonder what’s wrong with her?”

Was he wondering if I was Annabelle?

The sexy laugh he loved and the  conversations we had shared over the past few months probably did not match the woman he now saw or was expecting to see…walking in his direction.  

There was no doubt that I was definitely not what he had expected.  I’m sure he would have made the best of it…but I had been to that rodeo before…and did not plan to go again.

I continued to slowly walk down the aisle.  As I moved closer to him, I saw that he was smiling…but a little tentatively.

“Annabelle?”  he questioned.

I turned towards him and said, “Excuse me?”

“Oh…oh…” he said. “I don’t suppose your name is Annabelle by chance?”  Henry sounded unsure…how very odd. Henry never sounded unsure.

“My name is Karla.” I answered politely and continued to move on to the rear exit that I had discovered from my exploratory mission yesterday.

I would have been a perfect boy scout…had I been a boy.  I was always prepared.

 

By |

Of course…it wasn’t the program that was changing my life…it was Henry.

He was charming.  He was interesting.  He was comforting.  He was funny.  He could be outrageous.

I soon realized that I was really looking forward to calling in and talking with him…more each time.

Sometimes I purposely stayed awake for the whole show…until I heard the familiar strains of “In the Still of the Night” playing  in the background at the end.

I didn’t call in a lot…although there were some who did.  Some of Henry’s listeners called every night and Henry always talked to them.

It was as if he knew they were lonely…and just needed to say “hello”…

But… more importantly…I think Henry knew they just needed for him to say “hello” back.  And he did.  He always did.

One night…after a few months of occasionally calling in and talking with Henry…he asked me to stay on the line when he went to commercial break after my call.

What was this all about? I actually sat up in bed and glanced over at my dresser mirror to see how I looked…which was pretty crazy.  This was radio! 

It turned out that Henry had heard about an art and antique show this weekend in the Canal Park area by Lake Superior.

“It sounds like it might be interesting…” he had said.  I had learned that Henry liked antiques and that he collected antique Christmas ornaments.

“Would you be interested in going on Saturday?  We could meet at the Canal Park Cafe around noon, have lunch first and then just browse around.  My treat…of course,” he said.

And then he chuckled…and I wondered for a moment if he was just joking around…but then he quickly continued…

“Of course, if you want to pay for yourself…you surely can…”  Then he laughed again.  “You know…if you want or feel the need…you can pay for me too!”

Earlier that week he’d had a controversial author on his show.  She had written a new book about how women actually “enjoy” paying their way when going on dates with men. Some even feel insulted when men offered to pay for them.  

It had been a heated discussion with many listeners participating.  I had chosen not to call in that night.

“Yes.” I said…probably too quickly.  My pulse was racing.  What was going on?

I think I surprised Henry with my speedy reply.

“Oh!  Well…good then.  That’s great!  I’ll see you Saturday…at high noon!”

Then he paused and said more softly…

“I’m looking forward to meeting you…Annabelle from Rocky Point.”

I apparently had forgotten everything and anything I may have learned about social niceties…for all I managed to say once again was…

“Yes.”

 

 

 

 

By |

From that first night of talking with Henry…my life was just plain better.

I can’t really explain it…but I was happier…much happier than I had been in a long, long time. I didn’t dread going into my bedroom at night…I looked forward to it.

Maybe it was because I was looking more outward than inward.

I was connecting with the world and it didn’t natter that I couldn’t  see as well…or that now I had to use a cane once in a while…or that my husband had left me for a younger woman…even though her “dismissing him” had eased that shock.

It was fun to be able to wander through other’s people lives without even leaving my house…without even leaving my bedroom!

Henry would often share stories about his personal life.  He was a captivating story teller. I found out that he had been in Vietnam for two tours.  Many of the vets who called him were awake late at night because sleep didn’t always bring them sweet dreams.  Henry always made time for them.

I learned quickly that conversations with Henry ranged from outrageously funny to just plain outrageous.  He had his very own opinions but was almost always open to what everyone else had to say or think.

He always had “expert advice” for people who would call in with “love or relationship” questions.  Somehow everyone was laughing when he was done “advising” the lovelorn…including me.

After a while…I felt more comfortable calling in to talk with Henry…commenting and sharing ideas and feelings about different subjects.

What surprised me the most was hearing other people respond to what I had to say or how I felt. Even if they disagreed with me…it didn’t matter…I was having a good time.

I loved it all…even though there were many nights when I dropped off to sleep in the middle of the show…but that was just fine.

Who would have guessed that “talk radio” would become my salvation.

By |

It took me over three months to drum up the courage to call in to Henry’s show.  It was on July 4.

I became a “first-time caller”  choosing the moniker, “Annabelle from Rocky Point”.

My real name is Karla…but I have always loved the name Annabelle.  I wanted to give that name to our daughter when she was born but Chuck didn’t like it…not even for a middle name.  I bet there’s a story there…

Anyway…this seemed like a perfect time for a name-change.

I didn’t have to wait very long before my call was answered…it was a holiday and the subject was pretty intense.

Apparently, there were not too many people who wanted to talk about the movie “Born on the Fourth of July” a powerful and painful movie about a Vietnam veteran.

Henry said, “Let’s see what Annabelle from Rocky Point has to say.”

“Hey, Annabelle! What’s keeping you awake at…let’s see…1:12 in the morning?  Is it my sexy, melodious tones or my incredible insight into just about everything?”

I laughed at that…more of a deep, rumbling chuckle…I don’t know where it came from…I hadn’t laughed like that for a long time.

“Jesus! That’s one sexy laugh, Annabelle.  What do you think, Alex?”  He said to his producer.  “Is that the laugh of a single lady…or a married lady?”

Not giving Alex much of a chance to answer…which I had discovered was quite the norm…Henry continued.

“I’m betting ‘Annabelle from Rocky Point’ is a single lady.  So, what does that laugh mean Annabelle?  Am I right…as I usually am?  Are you single?”

I laughed again…only softer this time.  I suddenly got a little shy…but I was also finding that this was really fun and suddenly I found that I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I would be.

“Yes,”  I replied.  “Yes, I am single.  Divorced actually, for about a year.”

I couldn’t quite hear what his producer, Alex had just said but then Henry said rather reluctantly “Annabelle, I’m sorry.  I have to cut this short.”

“Alex tells me I have to go to break and then we have a scheduled guest that I can’t move…will you call back again?  If only so I can hear you laugh?” I could hear him smiling over the phone.

He paused then and said, “Please?”

Of course I said yes.  The next night I called and when I gave Alex my name he said, “Oh good!  You just made Henry’s night.  He’s been kind of cranky.  Hang on, Annabelle.”

I paused…it took me a second to remember that he was talking to me…not another caller.

It was now official…I was “Annabelle”.

By |

Later that night…I had a frustrating conversation with my daughter, Lizzie, who was currently being “played” by her father to get back in my good graces…for whatever reason I did not know…nor did I care…although I suspected it had somethin to do with money.

“I think he wants you guys to get back together!” Lizzie had said excitedly.  I could hear lots of “hope” in her voice.

She hadn’t been in favor of the divorce but…I hadn’t had the heart to tell her everything either.

I knew I should have told her about his “friend” Sally and how that little encounter had directed the inevitable end of our marriage.

She and Chuck had always had a good relationship and I didn’t want to spoil that…so I chose to remain silent…and use the standard “we just grew apart” excuse.  Chuck had followed my lead.

“Won’t you come to the barbecue this weekend?” she begged.  “It’s our first of the season!”

Lizzie and her husband, Fred, were huge fans of “the barbecue”.  I was not.  I did not like my food charred on the outside and raw on the inside…which was Fred’s specialty.

Every year they could barely wait for the snow to melt…which in Rocky Point is around April first…before they trekked out to the elaborate grill that Fred had constructed last year out of old red bricks he had salvaged from a closed fire station in Duluth.

“Let me think about it, Lizzie.  I’ve got to get going, honey.  I’ll call you later.”

“I think dad is coming!!” she cried out just before I hung up.  Oh brother…how can I get out of this?

It was just after midnight when I finally found myself in bed and settled.

I turned on the night light and then I turned on the little transistor radio.

I slowly moved the little ridged dial…stopping briefly at each AM station to discover what they offered.  The reception was crystal clear on each one.

Contemporary music, country music, a Twins game, a heated discussion on the future of the Duluth Canal Park area, a review of the play “A Streetcar Named Desire” at the Rocky Point Civic playhouse and…then I heard this…

“Look…say what you want.  But today was a beautiful day and I’m not going to spoil it by talking politics with an idiot like you!  Call me again, George! You’re one of my favorites!”

“Next up…Terry, Jane and Oscar.  But first…a little commercial message from the fine folks at…you know…I’m not sure.”

“Hey Alex!  Who’s paying for this 15-minute segment with Henry Dickson and his unbeatable charm?”

My mouth fell open and I smiled.  “Who the hell was this guy?”  And then I thought…I’ve always liked the name Henry.

I wondered for only a couple of minutes  if this was a syndicated program or a local one…before “Henry” launched into a conversation about the need for Vikings’ pre-season football games.

He also asked his listeners to call in and share their favorite hamburger joint.

He rattled off the phone number of the radio station.  Then a commercial for “End of the Road Bar & Grill” began…but not before Henry ordered…”Everyone go here!  Their double cheese burgers with sour cream are the best!!”

“End” was a popular local bar in Rocky Point!  I had been there just a few weeks ago…and I had loved it and their beer-battered onion rings.

I pulled the covers up around me and settled down to hear the results of his “hamburger hangout” poll.

I was asleep in less than 15 minutes but not before enjoying the interaction between Henry and his callers.

And…I’m pretty sure I had a smile on my face as I drifted off…

By |

I carefully removed the towel and there…nestled in some white tissue paper…was the little black transistor radio.  It was so small…maybe a little bigger than a deck of cards.

The box also held a relatively new-looking Timex watch (obviously still ticking) and a small black and white picture of my mom, taken when she was probably about twenty.  She was standing outside, next to a four-foot snowbank wearing only a bathing suit!!  I wasn’t surprised…my mom was legendary.

There was also an un-opened half-pint bottle of Jim Beam whiskey…

Oh my God! I don’t remember buying dad that!.

I took the radio, the whiskey and the photo of my mom out of the box and put it back on the shelf.

I don’t know where my dad had bought that radio but I remember him always bragging to everyone who would listen…that he could get every AM radio station for hundreds of miles around Rocky Point…with no static at all.

He loved the Minnesota Twins and in Rocky Point it had been really hard to receive the radio signal from Minneapolis.

But all that ended when he bought his “trusty transistor”.

I really had  little hope that the batteries were still good.

I was praying they hadn’t started to ooze acid…or whatever batteries do when they get old.

Groaning…I got up off my knees.  Getting “older” was hell.  I walked over and sat down on a white plastic patio chair.

I put the bottle of whiskey and the photo of my mom on the floor beside me and then I flipped the button the side of the radio to “ON”.

“…AND NO CLOUDS IN SIGHT!!  A GOOD DAY FOR PLANTING THOSE ROSE BUSHES!!”

Jesus H. Christ!!! I forgot how deaf my dad had been before he died.!

I was so startled I almost dropped the damn radio.  I quickly turned the volume down and then turned the power switch to “off”.

I carefully put the radio in the pocket of my cardigan sweater, grabbed the other stuff and headed upstairs.  I needed a break.

Actually…what I really needed was two of my freshly baked peanut butter cookies…maybe three…and some coffee.

I walked over to the ancient round, maple table in the kitchen and pulled the radio out of my pocket and put it on a placemat.  I also put the whiskey bottle on the table and propped my mom’s picture up against the sugar bowl.

I opened the “junk” drawer and found the tiniest screwdriver there was to open the radio up.  I was pleased to see the inside was clean and dry.  I did make a mental note to buy more AAA batteries at Clark’s grocery store tomorrow.

After my much needed coffee and cookie break, I carried the radio into my bedroom where I put it on my bedside table…wondering what station choices I would have tonight.

I didn’t want to scan the dial just yet…I had had enough excitement for one morning…plus I needed a nap.

I did, however, look over to that picture of my mom and dad hanging on the wall…

“Thanks, Dad!”

Maybe I should consider sending some cash to God after all…

By |

So…there I sat on the edge of my bed…pathetically holding my little pink radio…trying to think of how I could make it sound better…

I looked up at the wall across the room from me.  There was a blown-up photo of my mom and dad sitting in a couple of deck chairs on the back porch of this house.  Lake Superior was in the background.

It was my favorite picture of them.  They looked so relaxed and happy.

The sun was just starting to set behind them.  Between them on a little table was a  couple of martinis, a large ash try, a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, my dad’s Zippo lighter and a little black box.

Okay.  It wasn’t “just a little black box”.

It was a transistor radio.

In fact…it was my dad’s “famous” transistor radio…the one that he swore could get clear reception from anywhere for miles around…and he had been so right.

And in this particular photo…I knew that radio was picking up the Minnesota Twins baseball game from the WCCO radio station in Minneapolis, Minnesota…which was located about 180 miles away.

The two of them would often sit on that porch during the summer…cocktails at the ready…listening to the Twins…and get perfectly clear reception.

Eureka! My problem was solved…right?  Yeah…but only if I could find that radio…

I got up and put my little Sony back on the freshly dusted shelf and walked out to the kitchen. Where the hell was that radio?

I remembered that it was always by his bedside…because after mom had died, he would listen to the Twins when he went to sleep.

I also remember him being a little paranoid about it when he had entered the Shady Oak Care Center.

He was pretty sure someone would steal it because it was such a great radio.  Hey, what did I know…maybe he was right.

I certainly didn’t remember seeing it when I went to gather his belongings from Shady Oak after his death a couple of years ago.  Of course, I didn’t paw through all his stuff either.

I headed down to the basement to search through the many boxes of stuff I had “inherited” from my folks and their years of living.

They had blessedly tossed a lot of their accumulated junk/stuff  about ten years ago…”just planning for the future” my mom had gruesomely told me when she asked for my help.  “You’ll thank me someday for doing this.”

But she had kept a few boxes that contained old dishes, some old magazines, my school stuff, her mother’s fox stole and a couple of boxes of old greeting cards.

When she had died three years ago…my dad couldn’t bear to toss anything.  I hadn’t been ready to toss anything either.  Plus…I loved reading her little notes to me on the back of my old birthday cards. She wrote on each and every one…

I knew my dad’s stuff had been packed up by the staff at the care center, so that made the searching a little easier.  They had put everything into two plastic bags labeled  “Shady Oak Care Center”.

I quickly went through the stuff in the first bag…his clothes had been cleaned and nicely folded.  No radio.

But then…at the bottom of the second bag there was a plastic container with “Good Stuff” written on the lid.

This was very odd since the words “Good Stuff” wasn’t in my handwriting nor my dad’s…and there was no Shady Oak label on it.  It was just a plain white, plastic box.

I realized I was holding my breath as I lifted the lid.

There was a small, blue hand towel covering the contents.

And then I heard a ticking sound…what the hell?

By |

I  knew I should be grateful that I had not suffered any devastating side-effects from my stroke…and I truly was.

I didn’t even mind using a cane once in a while…if I felt I needed it for stability.  I was in a good place.

But honest to Pete…I needed something to replace the books I had gotten so used to reading every night before I went to sleep.

I had tried using the magnifying glass device that hangs around your neck but that didn’t work out very well for me.  Large print books were great…but the selection was limited.

I had also tried watching television but found that to be more stimulating than relaxing.

But one day as I was half-heartedly dusting my bedroom…the duster flicked on the shelf on which my ancient Sony clock-radio sat.  I paused…duster in mid-air…and if this were a cartoon…you would see a little light bulb snap on over my head.

I had never actually used this as a radio…just as a back-up alarm clock.  I turned it on and slowly started to scan through the FM stations.

The reception was pretty good…and the sound was not half bad.  But the program offerings were just plain awful.

Other than a couple of syndicated sports channels, I kept getting one religious channel after another.

Some were pretty aggressive in their desire to save my poor soul.  One guy actually promised…or at least he said “there was a pretty good chance”…to get a seat next to God on the day I died…if I would just send them $20.00…cash…right now.

Any delay and I could lose my “potential” spot.  “Didn’t have that cash laying around.?” he inquired.  How about your credit card…that would work just swell!”

Well.  I better get right on that!

I moved the dial further to the end…only to find pre-programmed music…with short breaks at the hour and half-hour for local weather and any “breaking news”.  I loved music…but not when I’m trying to fall asleep.

Then I flipped the switch to browse the AM stations.  I knew there were several in this area…they used to advertise in the Rocky Point Press.

Somewhere deep in my slightly damaged brain were vague memories of local stations with programs that ran from dawn to dusk and some even around the clock…covering a myriad of topics from how to make the perfect pancake to the wide-ranging field of politics, to current events, to discussions about movies, theater and book reviews.

I also remembered there were  a couple of very popular night-time radio programs where listeners followed the host every night and even called in to talk to him on a regular basis.

Things were looking up and I didn’t even have to send any money to God!

But…of course there’s a but…

The reception was terrible.  I caught just a brief scratchy voice of some woman talking about different ways to cook smelt…but the sound was so bad I could hardly hear her at all.

Even though I tried everything short of attaching a metal clothes hanger to the radio as a make-shift antenna…the static would not go away.  Besides…who has metal hangers anymore.

I moved the radio to various  areas of my bedroom but I still received poor reception.  Every AM station was almost totally blocked by static.

I was not discouraged.  I was pretty sure I could somehow make this work…if only I could get rid of that damn static.

I was also motivated by the woman cooking smelt…you can never have enough ways to cook that little beauty.

By |

The stroke…although minor…had affected my vision slightly…to the degree that I couldn’t read very well…at least not without high magnification.

I was advised that in cases like mine, my eyesight should return to…about 90%.  I somehow managed to find this reassuring.

I had “retired” from my job as assistant editor of  the Rocky Point Press a couple of years ago so there was no rush to “heal up quick” and get back to work.

Regarding my everyday life activities…I could set my own schedule.  Obviously money was not a problem…but quickly getting back to volunteering at the Rocky Point Lakeside Daycare center was the best medicine I could ever imagine.

My new “compromised sight” was often amusing to the little squirts that came there every day.

I had discovered that face recognition was also a problem for me.  So if a kid was more than 50 feet away…I had no clue as to who they were.  So, on their own, the kids  came up with a plan.

If they needed my help or just wanted my attention…they would call “Mrs. Anderson or Mrs. A!” and then add their own name. It worked perfectly.  

Many kids also found it funny when I would “ask them” for help to read something for me because the print was too small.

They would give me a blank look and then I would realize that even though they could “see” the words…they didn’t yet know how to “read” the words.

And then they would just about break my heart by saying, “I’m sorry I can’t read yet, Mrs. Anderson.”

If I had to have a “saving grace part” of my whole stroke experience…aside from Chuck getting tossed by his young tennis instructor…it would be the help and love I got from my kids at Lakeside.

Now if only they could come up with a solution to help me fall asleep at night. Before my stroke…reading had been as important to falling asleep as turning off the bedside lamp and closing my eyes. 

There was nothing like reading an exciting murder mystery to pleasantly send me off to dreamland.  Apparently now…I had a different mystery to solve.

By |

Time moves on…imagine a wavy screen that in movies and television often signal a time change…now journey ahead about 40 years…

Last year…after a four-hour session in the dental chair…I had a small stroke and a few months after that…I had a massive seizure…

This nonsense was followed by the not completely unexpected exit of Chuck,  a rather dull and narcissistic husband who couldn’t quite see his way to dealing with either…not that there was much for him to do…or not do.  I have always been rather self-sufficient.

But still…one does expect something during times like these.  Apparently “in sickness and in health” was a marriage vow to which he hadn’t paid much attention.

It is relevant here to also mention the tennis lessons Chuck had started taking a few months  before my stroke.  It is incredibly amusing that I had never known…after all these years of marriage…that Chuck was interested in learning how to play tennis…but apparently it was a “life-long” dream of his.

Enter Sally Merriweather…young, blonde and sporting a cute little pony-tail…was the new tennis instructor at North Shore Country Club.

This is the same club that Chuck had insisted we join a few years ago.  “I need the contacts I’ll make there for my job!” he had explained.  Chuck worked for Lake Superior Luxury Autos in Duluth…so I guess he had a point.

I wasn’t much into the “country club” scene…but I did enjoy the reciprocal play that allowed us to play other private golf courses in the state.  Chuck and I used to play together a lot…until I started beating him on a regular basis.   He soon decided he didn’t have that much free time anymore to spend on a golf course.

Apparently “playing tennis” was not such a time-consuming sport…whatever.

Now enter Rollie Moore, my devoted, long-time friend and brilliant lawyer, who had amazingly secured for me a financial settlement that ensured me more than half of our assets, a hefty monthly alimony check (which I didn’t really need, but which seemed appropriate nonetheless).

He also secured a clear deed to our home and also the luxury cabin further up the Gunflint Trail in northern Minnesota…both of which I had inherited from my parents…so that was essentially fair.

In a foolish hurry to move on with his ‘new and exciting life’…ding-bat husband Chuck quickly signed the divorce papers…dreaming only of the freedom and joys of a single life.

Remember Sally…the tennis instructor?  She was gone in less than four month…along with the keys and the title to a brand-new Mercedes Benz and several very glitzy and expensive jewelry items…all courtesy of the love-struck Chuck.

I had heard from Nancy, the owner of  “The Sweet Shop”…the best bakery you will ever walk into and the penultimate source for the latest gossip in Rocky Point… that Sally’s  “diamond tennis bracelet” was truly “blinding”.

Karma can be such a bitch…

By |

Annabelle

Just like Henry…I was also seventeen back in 1960…but for me there were no sandy beaches in my hometown of Rocky Point, Minnesota.  (Yes…the same one…)

Nor were there any  beachy-sand volleyball games in the summer sun.

If my friends and I had foolishly tried to surf the great waves of Lake Superior…the lake that defined our little town…we probably would have been cut to shreds by the huge, craggy boulders that hugged its shore.

But it didn’t really matter.  I didn’t need to have a golden tan to accentuate a beautiful  prom dress I had not needed to buy for my senior prom because…

On my prom night the year I was seventeen…I sadly had  no date.

Instead, I was at home in my parent’s massive Colonial that sat on a precipice overlooking the magnificent Lake Superior.

The back of our property ended in a sharp drop-off…maybe a hundred feet.   Every time I walked over and looked down…I got dizzy…and was glad there was a fence onto which I could hold.

My dad had built the fence years ago to keep my brother and me and all our friends from soaring over the edge as we raced around the yard playing whatever games kids played that involved “racing around while not thinking.”

I vaguely remember my parents having heated discussions about what kind of fence was needed to keep her beloved children from imminent death.

My mom wanted something similar to the impressive walls that surrounded Alcatraz prison…but she was willing to take a pass on the ‘gun towers’.

My dad was looking for something a little less intense and one that didn’t block the impressive lake view.

They compromised on a green chain-link fence with little spiky wires on top.  Perhaps it was a little over-kill with the wires but nonetheless… no I knew died in my backyard..

So there I sat…dressed in my favorite flannel pajamas because May in northern Minnesota is always chilly.

I was looking out the huge bay windows from our 4-season porch but the dense fog kept me from seeing further than a few feet.  This was typical Rocky Point weather and I loved it.

I was waving my hands in the air so my newly purchased nail polish, “Pink Lady”, could dry.

I was also listening to my favorite song “In the Still of the Night”…and trying desperately…yet failing…to be not too miserable.

 

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More Henry…

Henry’s inheritance and previous wise investments, now afforded him the freedom to travel down whatever paths he chose.

He had no family.  Neither of his parents had brothers or sisters.  And Henry’s grandparents had long since departed from this world.

Five years ago, he and his wife had parted on friendly terms after twelve years of a pleasant marriage. Even though Henry had wanted children…that never seemed to happen.  So now, any decisions were his and his alone.

He bought the rental cabin he had been living in and spent several months trying to be that “DIY” guy he always thought he could be…if ever there was an opportunity and he had the time. He had always lived in apartments in California.

However…after several costly plumbing mishaps and a small electrical fire that Henry quickly controlled…he soon found himself reaching out for professional help.

It was then he decided to become the next Ernest Hemingway but when his stories were either swiftly rejected or simply ignored by literally everyone, he abandoned that idea.

Apparently, Henry’s stories were not as captivating in print as they had been when he, himself, was recounting them on the radio.

So…when the small radio station in Rocky Point had an opening for a late-night host…Henry applied for the job.  He figured this would be a slam dunk…Henry was always very positive.  However, this time he figured wrong.

Even though he had a killer resume and a voice that melted butter…he was politely and very nicely told that they thought he was just a little too old for the job.

(Of course, that is not exactly what the owner had said…but that is exactly what the owner had meant.)

That didn’t stop Henry. He knew what he wanted and he wanted to be back on the radio air waves again…in Rocky Point.

Henry bought the little radio station with an offer the owner could not refuse.

(He also could not refuse nor could he afford a possible age-discrimination lawsuit either.)

Soon…Henry’s self-effacing charm and wit grew a devoted following.

As he had hoped, there was again an eager audience for his stories and observations on life..

Everyone loved Henry…except perhaps the owners of the bigger Duluth radio stations.

Because of the way the radio towers were placed, Henry’s melodic voice was reaching a lot of late-night Duluth listeners…and they began to follow him regularly.

The residents of Rocky Point soon treated him like he had lived there forever and that was just fine with Henry…he felt the same way.

He and Cisco couldn’t have been happier…and he hadn’t even met Annabelle…yet.

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By

Tina Nelson

Prologue

Every night…before he signed off from his nighttime radio show, Henry Dickson would say, “This…is for you.”

And then his faithful listeners would hear the beginning lyrics of the song “In the Still of the Night.”

Henry

That huge 1960 Billboard hit by the Five Satins was Henry’s favorite song when he was seventeen years old and a dashingly, good-looking senior attending his high school prom.

His bright white dinner jacket highlighted his sun-bleached hair and recently sun-burned face.

Back in the 60’s no one wore sun screen…why would you?

He and his friends had spent most of the day surfing and playing volleyball on the beach close to their homes in Santa Monica, California.

Later that night…and to no one’s surprise…the very popular Henry was named “Prom King”.  There had been a “Prom Queen as well..  Her name might have been Annie…but not many remembered.

As the years rolled by…and class reunions came and went…classmates  all remembered  the charming Henry…who had the endearing ability to remember all of them.

Henry was a gifted story teller and as he got older…that talent enabled him to become the most popular afternoon drive-time radio host in San Francisco.

His radio listeners especially loved it when he drifted back in time to share stories of his sometimes “sensational past”.

Occasionally, Henry’s stories seemed to push the boundaries of reality…but very few of his listeners minded.

“Sometimes a good story is just that,” he would say,  “a good story”.  And his fans most often agreed and eagerly anticipated more.

A perfect example of a “good story”  was his very own personal account of how he…a life-long resident of California…ended up in a sleepy little town in northern Minnesota… nestled on the edge of Lake Superior.

Henry’s parents had died much too young in a horrific car accident.  They had always told Henry…who was their only child…that they wanted their ashes to be sprinkled along the rocky shores of Lake Superior.

This is where they had spent their honeymoon many years ago…and this is where they had wanted to spend eternity.

The heart-broken Henry took a three-week leave of absence from his radio show and journeyed with his black and white calico cat, Cisco, to Rocky Point, Minnesota.

He dutifully and with tears falling freely from his eyes…slowly scattered his parent’s ashes along the shoreline as thunderous Lake Superior waves came crashing in around him and appropriate storm clouds gathered in the distance.

The next day Henry rented a rustic but definitely high-end cabin overlooking the magnificent Lake Superior.

He then stocked the cupboards with…among other things…Cisco’s favorite varieties of Fancy Feast cat food and filled the refrigerator/freezer with his favorite foods including rib-eye steaks, chicken filets and tomato juice.

He converted a closet into a pantry and loaded it with necessary staples and essential supplies.

He also made sure he had plenty of Jim Beam whiskey and cartons of Marlboro cigarettes…even though he planned to quite smoking…soon.

Finally, he bought two very comfortable patio chairs…one for him and one for Cisco.

The large, screened-in deck which faced the lake,  provided a spectacular view and when he and Cisco chose to get up early…which was never very often…they were treated to magnificent sunrises.

The intense beauty of Lake Superior was magical and soon began to ease his broken heart.

Henry and Cisco never left.