Do you like a story about murder around the holidays?

I was sitting in the back seat of our station wagon, behind my father who was behind the wheel. My mother, riding shotgun, flipped through a magazine. My two older brothers sat beside me in the back seat.

We’d been on the road for an hour and it wasn’t nine yet, one of the rare times we’d all gotten up, packed the car, and left when we hoped to leave. In fact, my brothers and I were anxious to arrive.

The sky was thick with haze, but we all hoped the July sun would break through. The road was a two-lane county road, lined by trees on either side. Finally, I saw the top of the Ferris wheel above the tree line. My excitement grew as next I saw the first hill of the Big Dipper. My brothers and I began to chatter in anticipation. We knew we arrived when we joined the line of cars waiting to get inside Geauga Lake Park.

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Summertime and the Living’s Easy

I awoke to that memory today, the jolt of electricity I felt fifty years ago still palpable in my gut. I loved going to Geauga Lake, and we only went once a year, when the company my father worked for hosted the employees. (That is, my father didn’t have to spring for the tickets.)

My mother had been packing food since the day before because my father sure as shit wasn’t going to buy us food at the park. We lugged a cooler and bags of picnic stuff to the pavilion, claimed a table with our stuff, and then covered it all with a blanket. I guess it was a security blanket because that’s all we needed to keep our stuff safe.

I realized this morning that my parents were in the prime of their prime at that moment. They were in their early forties, healthy, with jobs and a house. Us kids were past the nuttiness of childhood, but not yet in the insanity of our teen years. Nothing is ever “easy,” but it probably was never easier for them than that moment, arriving at an amusement park that would distract us for the next twelve hours, followed by a sleepy drive home.

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The Golden Years

I hope they enjoyed those trips, too. People generally work their asses off looking forward to retirement, and risk missing some of the best moments. (I know I didn’t fully appreciate the ones for me that have come and gone.)

If I had a chance to ask them what was the best time in their life, they’d probably say it was the first years after retirement when they bummed around the country, camping and sight-seeing.

I’d ask them about these excursions, before the lives of their three boys spun out in different directions. They might not agree, but I’d love that chance to talk to them about it.

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I think I’m between my two “primes…”

It’s been a long pandemic. The other day, as I neared the bottom of a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats (among my favorite cereals) I uncovered a small, black bug, drowned in the milk.

There probably was a time when that would have turned my stomach and sent me to WebMD to see what disease I might contract from this little black bug. Instead, I scooped it out of there and finished my cereal.

It turned out a forgotten box of Bisquick was the source of the infestation, and I spent a good two hours cleaning out the pantry, throwing away the “spoiled” stuff, and wiping down the shelves.

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Is Christmas really this weekend?

No, not for us. We have COVID in the family, and one of our adult children is in isolation at a hotel, unable to travel. The so-called Christmas celebration is postponed until we can be together.

All we really want is for her quick recovery. That we have to delay our gathering is a bug in the bottom of the bowl of cereal: we’re not going to let it ruin the Honey Bunches of Oats that is our family.

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Meanwhile, at My Writing Desk…

The big project this past week has been recording an audiobook edition of Welcome to Willieville. I’ve had audiobooks on my todo list all year, but they take an awful amount of time. (Yeah, I know I can outsource a lot of it, but I like to make things, so…).

It’s taken me about eight hours so far, for an hour and fifteen minute recording.

Anyway, if you’re a fan of audiobooks, I’ll let you know once it’s released.

Maybe You’d Like

This is the time of year we celebrate A Christmas Carol, everyone’s favorite story about a rich guy who, after a lifetime of greed and cruel selfishness, is hailed a saint after making some bare minimum concessions to his employees, and inviting his family over for tea or something.

But what happened after Scrooge’s conversion? To answer that, I offer:

Ebenezer Scrooge And The Boxing Day Murders

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Recommended Reading

Get Out of My Dreams by Allan J. Lewis

imageIt’s the story of a hypnotist using his powers to compel people to do his evil bidding, which is a hoot of a premise. He probably started small, and hypnotized his wife to make him breakfast each morning. But, as they say, absolute power corrupts absolutely, and breakfast is just the beginning.

It has the fun angle of the reader not being able to trust exactly what’s happening, so you try to guess what’s real, and what might happen next.

Next Picayune

I’ll be back in January with news about reviews for Ruthless, the audiobook, and what’s coming next. Until then, I hope you have a safe, happy, and bug-free holiday with friends, or family, or by yourself if that’s how it works out.

Wherever you are and whatever your situation, I’m hoping that you’re hanging in there.

Thanks for reading the Mickey Picayune.

All the best,

–mickey

P.S. If you know someone who would enjoy this newsletter, Get Out of My Dreams, or to hear about Ebenezer’s murder, please forward this to them so they can join the fun at http://sendfox.com/Mickey