June 23, 2014: Delay or Delays.

“Uh, Trixie?”

“Yeah, Brian.  What is it?”,

“Uh, you know that I love Nellie Bean and think she is wonderful, right?”

“Yeah, you do your own fair share of spoiling her rotten.”

“Well...uhm  how do I say this without totally freaking you out?  Trixie, have you ever considered that Nellie Bean might have a speech delay?”

Trixie looked at Brian in shock.  “Speech delay?  What are you talking about, Brian.  Nellie Bean speaks very well for a two year old.”

“Now Trixie, don’t get upset with me.  I just think, well I wonder if she might have some sort of cognitive issue.   

While we were downtown today, we saw the busses.  But instead of saying, bus,  she was saying buzz, buzz.  Later, she kept pointing out more busses, but it really sounded like she was calling them magical school bus.  I kept repeating that to her, but she just shouted ‘No’ and said it all over again.”

Trixie started laughing.  She laughed so hard she cried, and then sat down heavily on the floor.

“Brian!  For a doctor, you sure don’t understand ‘little kid’ very well.

“What is the name of the bus that travels through Westchester County?”

Brian replied, “It is called the Bee-line bus, of course.”

“Uh huh.  And how to they spell the name?”

“B-E-E  L-I-N-E.  So?”

“B-E-E as in bumble bee.  And what do bumble bee’s say?

“Come on Brian.  Your face is turning a very pretty shade of red, so I think you know the answer.”

Brian wore an embarrassed grin as he said, “Buzz.  Bee’s say Buzz”

“Yes, they do.  I have been doing a lot of traveling with Nellie Bean by bus and rail.  For me, it is a lot easier to get around, when I don’t have to worry about finding a parking spot.  For Nellie Bean, it is a grand adventure.  Personally, I think my daughter is very smart to be saying, ‘buzz buzz’ for Buzz Bus or even Bee Bus.”

Brian laughed and then said, “But Trixie, what about ‘Magical School Bus’?  How could she have ever seen that program.  It went off the air years and years ago.”

Trixie answered, “Well, I happen to think that is even more brilliant.  ‘Magical School Bus, is actually Nellie speak for Metro Road bus.  She hears the announcements on both the bus and the train about ‘Metro Bus’ or ‘Metro Rail’. So now, anytime we are driving on the road through town, she will tell me when she sees the metro road bus.

“It was even more surprising the other day.  I told her we were driving to the grocery store for shopping.  When we got there, she announced, ‘Stop Requested’.

“No Brian.  Nellie Bean doesn’t have any speech delay, she is taking after Mart with the words, and after me with the clue associations, and after Honey with the confusing speech patterns.  Instead of Honey Speak,  we are now going to have to get used to Nellie Speak.”

Prompt: Will the BWG’s ever want to live in the Arizona Desert?

Trixie walked in to the study to see Mart sitting in front of the family computer, grumbling to himself.

“Desert or desert.  You would think that the internet which is supposed to know everything would point out to the user that there is a difference between desert the noun,   desert the adjective, and  desert the verb, and don’t even get me started on desert!”

Trixie couldn’t help  breaking in to Marts’ musings.  “I can’t believe that I just heard you say not to get you started on dessert.”  She reached out the back of her hand to touch his forehead. “Are you feeling alright?  You don’t feel like you have a fever”

Mart batted Trixies’ hand away.  “Leave me alone and let me grump in peace.  I am supposed to write a piece on the Arizona deserts and why I might want to live there some day.  

“You know, desert the noun.  But when I google the word, I don’t just get pictures of those types of deserts.  Oh no!   Even worse, because our IP address is in New York, there was a picture of a quote by Isreal Zangwill that said, ‘NEW YORK IS THE GREAT STONE DESERT.  Then there was a discussion of desert as in abandonment, and another of desert as the adjective like ‘overgrazing has created desert conditions’ and the last one was deserts as in a person being punished and getting their just deserts.”

“It is enough to make a person want to burn up their dictionary”, Mart sighed.

Trixie left Mart to his grumbling only to return with a tray loaded with dishes, scoops, ice-cream, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream. She set the tray down in front of Mart

“You know Mart.  You are the only walking dictionary that I know.  So many people spell desert when they mean something else entirely.  What you need is an ice-cream sundae with chocolate fudge and whipped cream with cherry on top.  You won’t feel parched like a desert or abandoned and forced to desert when you get your just deserts and have a proper dessert.

“Enjoy!”

06/05/2014 Prompt: Deadlines

He spoke sotto voce. “We have a dead line.”

Trixie turned and gave Dan a look that clearly said, ‘you don’t have all the intelligence that I thought you had.’  She stuck out her lower lip and huffed to move that aggravating curl out of her way and with more than a hint of exasperation, replied.  “I know we have a deadline.  We have been….”

She was stopped by Dan lunging at her and placing his palm over her mouth.  “Will you be quiet?” He whispered. “Not a deadline.  A dead line!  The phone is dead.”  He picked up the old-fashioned handset and held it against her ear.  Her blue eyes widened as she realized that there was no dial tone.

Dan continued. “Look.  I have known you for eight years.  I know what you can do.  I know that you are studying criminal justice. You just earned your license to carry a weapon, and I know that you are taking self defense courses, but please, PLEASE, don’t try to be the heroine of the hour.  You are the most naturally gifted crime solver that I know, but you are still in school, and you don't have anything to prove to me.

“We must be in way over our heads.  I am not sure that the Chief, would have allowed you to work with me on organizing these cold case files, if he had had any idea that something would turn up that resulted in the phone line being cut.”

“I think it is worse than just that, Dan.  We have barely gotten started.  We haven’t even started asking questions.  So whoever cut the line, must know that the Chief handed over the files.  Do you think it is some rat on the force?  Who else would know about this project?

Suddenly, a door slammed down stairs.  They heard a lot of crashing and thumping.  It sounded like someone was having a heck of a fight.  They prepared to barricade the door but gradually, the sounds quieted and then they heard one last thump that seemed to rattle the walls.  Cautiously, they went downstairs and searched the stable.  They found Regan in the tack room, feverishly working on a leather bridle.

Dan looked around the room.  “Uncle Bill?  What’s going on?  It sounded like you were having a barroom brawl down here.”

Regan grumbled under his breath. “She is lucky she is a mouse and not a rat.”  

Then he looked at both Dan and Trixie and said, “I am as much of an animal lover as anybody.  But this is too much.  There is a nest of mice in the phone box and they have chewed through the phone line.  Again!  This is the second time this week.  I hoped that after the first time, when we moved the babies, that Mama Mouse would move on.  But apparently she thinks the phone box is like the Mouse Taj Mahal, because they are back.  Mama and all ten babies.

“Well I have news for Mama Mouse. I am giving her a deadline.  I don’t know where, but she is moving, permanently, as of this afternoon.”

We are not alone.

The other day, I had the idea to try writing a snippet where my main character and I kept breaking the fourth wall by talking to each other.    I am sure you have heard about the fourth wall.  It is the imaginary "fourth" wall in front of an audience whether it is for a play, a television show, or in this case, the written word.  Hmm.  Now I am breaking the fourth wall again, but this time it is with you.

Then,  just after I completed my first draft, Jix announced the prompt for July 3rd as, "We are not alone."  So my story became a prompt response, instead of a stand alone snippet.

Thanks to Vivian for editing (and re-editing).  However, since I went back and added more after editing, all mistakes are and always will be, my own.

Edited and re-posted on 06/07/2014 to fix errors in verb tense.

Hello.  My name is GenE and I live in the real world, not the world of fiction which includes Mart and Trixie Belden.  I am having fun right now because I am  pestering Mart to tell us about the birthday cake Moms made for his fifteenth birthday last week.

Mart is currently pacing the living room. I have him so upset, he isn’t even using very many of the thousand dollar words for which he is so infamous.  

At fifteen years of age, he is confident in his demeanor, but he would much rather have discourse with his girlfriend, Diana, than by breaking the fourth wall to talk to me, Bonnie, or Chey.  He hates to say it, but he is uncomfortable with the thought of admitting, ‘we are not alone.’

“GenE, you can’t let Chey in on this story.  All those J words that she wrote the other day. What is she trying to do?  You do realize, don’t you, that she had 68 words that began with the letter J?   I mean, after all, thanks to Bonnie’s habit of having me spout all those multisyllable words,  I have a reputation to protect.   My lexicon is what I am all about, whether it is with or without Bonnie’s help.”

I demand, “People want to know about how you reacted to that birthday cake.  Leave the wall alone, and tell us about your birthday!”

“Oh, all right.”

Mart turns to Trixie who is looking at him with great confusion.  “Mart, are you okay?  Who in the heck are you talking to?”

I watch Mart shrug.  Then he turns to me and says,  “If Trixie can’t see the wall,  then it isn’t an idea that can be easily explained.  It’s more than invisibility or ghosts or aliens. It’s like talking to another, um, another space time continuum or something.  Isn’t it bad enough that the jixers had that poll about the time traveler survey? This fourth wall stuff seems like it would be as bad as traveling back and forth in time.”

“Trixie, what on earth gave you the idea to have everyone make a list of words  that had fifteen letters?  And, then, to have Moms print all those words on my birthday cake?!  It’s bad enough I have the two individual reputations of having an insatiable appetite and being a blowhard wordsmith but to have….”

I call out to Mart from the ether.  “Sorry, Mart, but I don’t think that you would use the words blowhard wordsmith.  That is something that Trixie would say.  You’re famous for your words, now use them.”  

Mart sends me a sour look and says, “I can’t!  You have me too upset.”  He turns back to Trixie and tries again.  “Everybody is always complaining about my being a skilled user of words.  In fact”.  Here, Mart glares again at the fourth wall, “someone, I don’t remember who,  recently used you to call me a blowhard.  No, I’m wrong.  They had you call me a windbag.”

Trixie sputters.  “Mart, you are really acting weird.  Who used me to call you a windbag?”

“Oh, never mind.”  Mart is so annoyed he pulls his hair.  “Let’s get back to the subject.  It was bad enough when Dad said he hoped that, finally, Moms had baked a cake that would satisfy all my sustenance requirements.  But then I had to prove that I knew the definition of acknowledgement, cardiopulmonary, contemporaneous, entrepreneurial, extracurricular. individualistic, lexicographical, misapprehension, neoconservative, parliamentarian, noncommunicable, prognosticators, totalitarianism, straightforward, and unsportsmanlike.  

“The only good thing to come out of this fit of merriment is that Moms acknowledged it was pointless for Brian, Jim, and Dan to try and give me the traditional birthday spanking.  Instead I had to find the word that represented ‘one to grow on.’ Thank goodness, even as much as you dislike math, that with your own usual discourteousness,  you solved the mystery for me.  Otherwise, we might still be waiting to eat cake.”

Trixie grins. “Wow,  a compliment.  I’m still not sure that you’re acting right.  You’re usually talking everybody else’s ear off, not talking to yourself.  I can’t quite put my finger on it.   But give me some time, and I will solve this mystery, too.”

Mart exhales in frustration.  “The only mystery left to solve here, is why on earth you gave me a dictionary that weighs as much as a 25 pound sack of flour. Couldn’t you have just downloaded a dictionary app?

“Dad always says he told Moms that she would rue the day she taught me about words, definitions, and homophones.  

“But I think I am the one  who is beginning to wish that this really will all turn out to be just a figment of someone’s imagination.”

Updated 08/12/2015

Vivian, Chey and Bonnie are fan fiction authors on jixemitri.net which is a message board about all things Trixie.

Jixers: other participants on the above named message board. There was a discussion about time-travel shortly before this story was written. There was also a reference to Mart being a blow-hard or a windbag. Sorry, I don't remember more to give proper credit.

Happy Birthday Mart and his Mart words.

Peter Belden let the screen door slam behind him as he entered the kitchen.

Helen turned to scold the insubordination of one of her children for continueing to let the door slam.  When she saw that the culprit was her husband, she lifted her face for a kiss instead.  As Peter released her, he caught a look at the piece of paper in her hands.  

“Acknowledgment, cardiopulmonary, totalitarianism…  Isn’t it a little late in the school year for spelling lists?”  Then he got a really good look at the project she was working on.  “Whoa, Helen.  That cake is huge, even for Mart’s infamous appetite.”

“Yes, well.  Trixie challenged all the other Bob-Whites to find words with fifteen letters in them for Mart’s birthday.  Then she convinced me to decorate the cake with the words the kids found.  So the cake has to be big.”  Helen gave Peter a conspiratorial wink and continued,  “I think the plan is that before Mart will be allowed to blow out his candles and eat, he will be expected to define each word on the cake.”

She finished the last word with a neat flourish.  “There!  I am done.  The last word to go on the cake is discourteousness.”

“Uh, Helen?  Discourteousness has sixteen letters, not fifteen.”

“Oh crab apples!  Hmm.  Oh, I know.  No matter how hard the boys try, Mart is way to big to be given a birthday spanking.  So discourteousness will have to be the one to ‘grow-on’.”

Peter put his arms around Helen again, and looked over her shoulder at the cake.  “Remember ten years ago, on his fifth birthday, when you caught Mart trying to peek at his presents to find out what he was getting?

“You told him, ‘Mart, you have made me reach the peak of my pique because you chose to peek at your presents.’  I told you then that you would rue the day that you introduced him to words and definitions, not to mention homophones.”

Helen laughed.  “Well, it is usually Trixie who suffers the most.  I wonder how big  the dictionary is that she got him?  It must be really big, because Brian got him a dictionary podium.  My curiosity was almost piqued enough to peek at the present and see what peak of weight and of pages she managed to get  this year.”

This piece had no independent editors. All mistakes are mine.

Freedom Because of Memorial Day

Trixie breathed a deep sigh as she watched the mailman fill her mailbox. As she heard him drive away, she looked down at her sleeping daughter and assured herself that Nellie Bean was fast asleep.

“At least if I have a letter from Danny, she won’t be awake to see me cry over his words.”

She went outside and down the short driveway to the mailbox.  When she opened the lid of the mailbox, she saw several envelopes.  She hoped at least one of them was from Daniel, but any of them might also be from her brother Brian or from her cousin Hallie.  

As she shuffled through the mail, she saw an envelope with her husband’s distinctive handwriting.  She puckered her face in curiosity because she saw many small doodles of stick figures decorating the envelope as if it were an interesting piece of stationary.  

Trixie opened the letter and saw that there were not many redaction cutouts in today’s letter; however, the stationary, like the envelope, was decorated with doodles of stick figures.  The letter was a simple missive.  It told her of his love for both his wife and child.  He thanked her for the most recent pictures, expressing regret that he was unable to see so many of the important milestones that had changed so much of Danielle’s life since he last saw her as a small baby, and he teased her for recently coming up with the nickname of Nellie Bean.  He asked after all the family, but especially Uncle Bill and Jedidiah Maypenny, with a special request that she look in on both men often.  Finally, he made mention of the many memories they had made as teenagers when solving the riddles of the mysteries that she seemed to attract so effortlessly.  However, he never made mention of the mysterious code the Bob-Whites  found while working on the antique show.  That wasn’t so unusual, since he wasn’t even in Sleepyside when they found the code.

 

But of course, later, all the Bob-Whites memorized the whole code just in case they ever needed to use it again.  And now he had decorated the envelope and paper with the code doodles.

As an FBI agent herself, she knew that due to security issues, there was much that Danny was not allowed to tell her.  But his doodles intrigued her.  She wanted to see if, by chance, he had written a message to her in the doodles decorating the page.  Even though she had memorized the code so many years ago, she decided to find her old copy of the code found in the St. Nicholas magazine at the time of the antique show to make sure she decoded any message correctly.

Before Trixie could start working on solving her new puzzle, she received a telephone call from her cousin Hallie.  Hallie was a military chaplain, assigned to Picatinny Arsenal in New Jersey.

“Trixie, can I lean on you and vent a minute?”

“Sure, Hallie.  What’s up?”

“I was out at a local store today, making arrangements for a food basket for a new widow.  I was standing behind two ladies who had full baskets of food, soda, and beer.  One of them turned to me and said, ‘The weather is looking really good.  Monday ought to be a spectacular Memorial Day.  I imagine the parks will be full to over-flowing with picnickers.  Looks like you are planning a celebration for a small platoon.  I hope you have a happy Memorial Day.'

“Trixie, I wanted so badly to tell that lady that Memorial Day isn’t a day of celebration!  It is a day of remembrance of all the men and women who have served this country, sometimes by paying with their very lives.  I probably would have  told her this, too, if I hadn’t been in uniform.”

Trixie broke in to stop her cousins rant. “Hallie, I understand your sentiment, but it is a day of celebration also.

“One of the most moving Memorial Day Presentations, was the one I attended with Dan shortly after he joined the service.  The service was held at 11.00 a.m.  During the presentation, the Base Commander explained that on the morning of Memorial Day, the United States flag is raised briskly to the top of the flag pole, and then solemnly lowered to half staff in memory of all the lives that have been lost.  It remains at half staff until noon, when it is raised to full staff to signify that those lost will always be remembered, but those who remain resolve not to let their sacrifice be in vain.  We celebrate that we are able to continue the fight for liberty and justice for all.”

Hallie sighed.  “That sounds like a wonderful presentation.  However, after getting the basket of food, when I got back to my quarters, I had a message from the Sleepyside Cemetery Caretaker.   He said that he was having trouble getting permission from the mayor to have a Memorial Day service at the city cemetery.”

Trixie sputtered, “What?”

Hallie continued.  “Don’t worry,  I have already fixed that glitch.  Thanks to all your mysteries when you were growing up, I have established contacts with Chief Molinson and Matt Wheeler.  I called both of them for help, and before I could finish unloading my car, the mayor was on the phone assuring me that, of course, Sleepyside will conduct a Memorial Day service.

“Trix, I do have a favor to ask, though.  Since Dan is so far away, it is unlikely that he will get leave to come home for the weekend.  I know you, and you are probably planning a very private weekend where  you and Nellie Bean will look at pictures and home movies of Dan, doing everything you can to make sure she will recognize him when he does come home.

“But, Trix, this new widow has no family anywhere nearby, and the funeral for her husband is scheduled at the National Cemetery in Albany.  I promised that I would be there with her and her children.  

“I was calling to ask you to represent me at the Sleepyside service.  Now, after hearing your explanation of that other Memorial Day service, I want you to be there more than ever, and incorporate the explanation of the flag ceremony.  Will you do this for me, please, Trixie?”

“Hallie, of course Danielle and I will be honored to represent both you and Dan at the services.  And I will do everything I can to make certain that the people of Sleepyside know what Memorial Day is supposed to mean.”

Later that evening, Trixie found her copy of the code and settled down to complete her transcription.  She was disappointed to discover that Dan had been sent on a temporary duty assignment.  He didn’t tell her where, of course, and she was proud that he had been selected, as it meant that his work would be beneficial to the troops, but she was frustrated that there was an element of risk, no matter how small.  

Then she remembered a poem by Kelly Strong that she had memorized years ago in school.

I watched the flag pass by one day.

It fluttered in the breeze…

...I wondered just how many times

That TAPS had meant "Amen,"

When a flag had draped a coffin

Of a brother or a friend…

Trixie thought of that poem and realized that everyone has to do their part, not only to remember the fallen of the past, but to also remember the servicemen and women who still fight today.

Because, of course, freedom isn’t free.

Thank you to my editors, Vivian and K.  They tried to teach me, really they did. However, any errors are, and always will remain, my own.

Also, parts of the poem by Kelly Strong, were used without permission but with great respect. Please read the poem in its entirety. Freedom Isn't Free

06/09/2014 re-write to add information about Memorial Day service.

05/21/2014 Yorick

Prompt was a picture of a scull.

Alas Poor Yorick!

It was a warm May afternoon, and since Mother’s Day had come and gone, Mart was busy preparing the ground to plant his first garden at the house that he and Diana had recently bought.  Well, if the truth be known, the bank still owned most of it,  but it was a fairly safe bet that he truly owned the square of ground that he was now prepping as a garden.

The house was well built.  There would be no major energy problems for either heat or cold, and there were plenty of windows for cross ventilation, which would be very helpful in the summer when the heat would inevitably rise to the highest point of the two story house.

But the house was also old. The property boundary was even older because, according to the survey papers and the land history, after years and years of crop rotation, the land had been fallow pasture for many decades.  Mart hoped that with this history, he could produce a good garden.

Mart grabbed a shovel and stepped off the boundary of the garden.  He knew that he would have to borrow a small lawn tractor or a tiller, but he also figured that he could dig post holes at the four corners to be ready to build a fence.  He dug three holes, finding no obstructions. But on the fourth hole, after the first two loads of dirt were tossed over his shoulder, the shovel bit into an object with no give.  He knelt down and brushed dirt away to reveal a bit of bone.  He got a spade and, holding the bone carefully with one hand, dug around the object until it popped from its muddy hold.  When Mart looked at it, he dropped it in surprise, for it was obviously an elongated skull.

He couldn’t help letting a famous quote pass his lips.  

“Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio;

a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy;

he hath borne me on his back a thousand times;

and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is!”

Mart sighed and thought, “Well, it is obviously not my Yorick,  but it was someone’s family pet, sometime.  This fellow probably carried toddlers on his back or pulled a wagon full of laughing children.”  

Suddenly, Mart’s reverie  was interrupted by a flying bit of red fur followed by the squeals of his own young son.  He remembered that Diana and Joseph had gone to pick up their new puppy this afternoon.  He watched as the puppy chased its tail, and the young boy turned around in circles, imitating the dog’s actions.   

“Daddy, what are we going to name the puppy?  You said you had already had one Reddy, and we need to name this one something different.”

“Well, Joseph, let me tell you.  There was a character in one of the plays by William Shakespeare named Yorick.  Now Yorick was a court jester.  That means his job was to entertain the king and make him laugh.  He was also sort of a playmate to the young Hamlet.  There is a painting of Hamlet as a child riding on Yoricks' back as if he is riding a horse.  

“Since this puppy will be your first playmate,  I think we should call him Yorick, because he is already your playmate and making you laugh.“

“Yorick.  Here, Yorick, chase me!”

Mart watched as boy and dog ran off to play.

Mart looked at the skull on the ground.  “I think I will try to find all the bones and re-bury them somewhere, maybe along the fence line.  

“The poor fellow can be king of the hill and rest in peace until other pets follow him across the rainbow bridge and come to keep him company for the rest of time.”

Thank you to my editors, Vivian and K.  They tried to teach me, really they did.

However, any errors are, and always will remain, my own.