I was reading a great book called “Swimsuit” by James Patterson. Have you read it?
One of the fastest reads ever.
Mr. Patterson really knows how to keep the chapters and events moving ahead like a speeding locomotive.
The way in which he has written this book, reminds me of sharks in a feeding frenzy.
Wish I could write like that. But I can’t.
At least I don’t think I can.
So, there I sat in my favourite chair clutching the paperback in both hands- totally immersed in the dialogue and plot, when the phone rang. It was on the side table right next to me.
I must have jumped three feet out of my skin!
It was a murder mystery after all…
Once my heart started beating normally again and I was able to pick up the phone on the last ring and mutter-
“Hhhello?”
“Sho what are you up to today my schpeshial buddy?”
Oh no. It was Hank.
“Nothing much.”- I countered. “You?”
I was almost afraid to ask the question.
“Oh I wash jushht shinking?”- says Hank. He sounded so philosophical. “You know I had shuch fun lashht year doing that Chrishtmuss Scho, that I got to shinking..”
“Uh Oh Hank. You know your Mother hates it when you get to thinking. It always costs her money!”
Hank sputtered. “Oh for peetsh shake Rob. Schee’s the farshest thing from being poor that I’ve ever sheen. Cripshes. Shee winshs big at bingo all the time.”
“OK. if you say so.”- I said, “What can I do for you Hank?”
“Ash I shed, I wash shinking and I started shinking about doing a new Chrishmuss Scho and best of all Rob, I want you to write the scho for me!”
I grasped the chair-tightly, with my free right hand. I’m sure the veins in my forehead were popping out all over the place. “Hank, are you sure. It’ll cost you?”
Hank was straight-forward in his response. “Schucks Rob, you know Mother is flusch and schee’d do anything to schutt me up.”
“I can understand.”- I say.
“What was schatt, Rob”- Hank asks- although I am sure he heard me.
I grovelled- “I said…. I can stand to make some money.”
“Dats what I scought you said old Buddy. old pal. Can you have me schumthing in a few weeksh.”
“I paused for a moment so as not to sound too needy- “Three weeks? Oh, I believe so.”
“Dats great, scho, I’ll be talking to you Rob.”
He hung up.
Now three weeks later I have a script before me called “A Chatty HANKmuss” in which Hank is the host of a talk show and presents a bevy of guest stars on stage. Some of the bevy are quite “normal”. Some are quite “quirky”.
The show plays at the Stubley Auditorium on December 11 and 12.
The committee at Couchiching Jubilee House has stepped up to the mistletoe and promises to shower Hank with warm Christmassy thank you’s if he can help them raise some much-needed funds.
Tickets will go on shale….er, sale shortly.
