![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/03\/unnamed.png\")
\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\tTHE VILLAGE TIMES<\/h1>\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/1.jpg\")
\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/2-scaled.jpg\")
\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/3.jpg\")
\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tThe First American Tycoon-by Richard Smalto<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0Who was the first American tycoon? Many people familiar with the growth of the American continent say John Jacob Astor. That is incorrect. He was the first tycoon but he was not American. That honor goes to Cornelius Vanderbilt the illiterate boatman from Staten Island or the Commodore Mark Twain called a man without a soul.\u00a0 Astor, a German furrier, bought and sold Manhattan real estate. Vanderbilt built ships and bought railroad cars that transported people all around the world. Vanderbilt was feared, he was envied, he was idolized. Poorly educated a man who could not spell his own name but knew how to make change before he died became the richest man in America.\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Vanderbilt quit school when he was eleven and went to work when he was sixteen ferrying passengers between Staten Island and Manhattan in New York harbor. His mother not only taught him how to make change she taught him frugality and the value of hard work. By the end of the war of 1812 he had amassed a small fleet of ships and was ferrying passengers and freight between Boston and the Delaware Bay. Although Vanderbilt kept expanding his shipping business wealth did not buy him respectability. ![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/4-300x180.jpg\")
Uncouth and illiterate he shunned society.\u00a0 At the age of 70 despising ostentation and living a simple life the shipping baron turned his attention to railroads. Integrating fragmented lines he made transportation cost effective. In 1871 before he died, he built a monument to his railroad empire. Among the top ten places visited in the world, it is called GRAND CENTRAL STATION.<\/p>
(First published in the Village Times – April 2019, this article bears repeating.)<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>Eevee\u2019s Story\u00a0\u2013 by Phyllis Woolley<\/strong><\/p>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/5-169x300.jpg\")
\u00a0 \u00a0Hello my peoples! It\u2019s been a while since I have talked to you! I have been busy taking care of mom. She\u2019s getting old, you know, and she isn\u2019t accepting old age gracefully. \u00a0I am having to remind her to give me my treats. Thank goodness my kibble feeder puts out my meals or I would probably starve to death. The other day I did everything I knew of to get her to give me a treat. I sat by her chair and stared at her, then I slow blinked with both eyes. She said \u201cNo!\u201d. Then I gave her a one eyed wink. She said, \u201cAll gone!\u201d \u00a0I knew that was a lie because I could see the treat jar. Then I went into the bathroom and knocked the hand soap into the sink. She said, \u201cNo Eevee! I\u2019m going to spank your butt!\u201d \u00a0By that point, I was getting a little angry. So, I gave her one more chance. I tapped her arm gently and gave her my most loving look. \u201cEevee, it\u2019s almost time for your lunch! You cannot have a treat!\u201d \u00a0She had a cup of coffee sitting beside her, so I got in her lap and stood up. Then I put my dirty paw right in her coffee!! \u201cEevee Michelle\u201d, she screamed! \u201cI cannot believe you did that!\u201d Before she could spank my butt, I ran under the bed where I would be safe. Sure hope that old age thing starts working before my lunch kibble comes out. Maybe she\u2019ll forget!!<\/p>
\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>Fishbait \u2013 by Frank Howes<\/strong><\/p>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/6-300x150.jpg\")
\u00a0 \u00a0My grandfather was fond of fishing with a cane pole. I grew up following him around to little ponds and creeks around Shoe Heel, North Carolina. One thing that I remember is that it was almost as much fun going after the fishbait as it was to actually catch fish. My grandfather used four different types of fishbait: crickets, worms, wasp grubs, and Catalpa worms. Each required a strenuous effort to procure them.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0We got the crickets by rolling over watermelons in my grandfather’s field. Underneath we found crickets along with the black widow spiders that fed on them. When my grandfather saw the black widow spiders,![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/7-274x300.jpg\")
he would say “hold on a minute son,” and he would kill the black widow spiders with his thumb. Once they were dead, he would allow us to scramble after the crickets.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0 We dug worms from the place where an old outhouse used to be. There are many things that consider a pile of s\u2026.. a good environment. Among them are politicians and fishing worms.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0We robbed wasp nests for their grubs. My grandfather would knock down a wasp nest with a cane pole. Then he would wait for the wasps to leave and pick up the nest. Inside where the juicy white grubs that fish love so much.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Finally, there were the Catalpa worms. These were the least hazardous to acquire. You simply pulled down the branches on a Catalpa tree, and picked the worms off.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Yes, it was an adventure acquiring fishbait. Almost as much fun as catching the fish!<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tSummer Vacations I have Taken<\/span><\/h4>The Coldest I\u2019ve ever been<\/span><\/h4>\u00a0– by Pat Simpson<\/h6>
\u00a0 \u00a0The coldest I\u2019ve ever been was during summer vacation on the beach, of all places \u2013 in North Carolina\u2019s Outer Banks, to be specific \u2013 springtime 1992.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0I had been retired from IBM for only a few months and decided to enjoy my freedom by taking a long hike \u2013 a really<\/em> long hike. I would hike south from Nags Head, North Carolina to Ocracoke, a distance of about 86 miles (including the Hatteras \u2013 Ocracoke ferry ride).<\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0My plan was to take a bus to Nags Head and then hike southwest for about four days on the beach to Ocracoke. I figured that even though I was hiking alone I would be relatively safe because the beach was close to and paralleled by the highway (route 12). Meanwhile, my wife Anne would drive the car and meet me in Ocracoke just in time for an Easter weekend together.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Easter Sunday was April 19 so I left home by bus on April 15. (Timing is everything!) The bus took me east to Greenville and Elizabeth City but I was on my own after that. In those days there was no bus to Nags Head so I took a local taxi service that made regular trips and got there late in the afternoon. It was good to at last find a place to stay overnight and something to eat!<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0The next morning started out sunny and cheerful. I said a little prayer of thanks and \u2013\u2013 with my small backpack \u2013 began my trek south. Life was good!<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0I was still trekking when \u2013 after 16 miles \u2013 I arrived at the 2.7-mile-long Bonner Bridge, named after politician Herbert C. Bonner. The bridge (now replaced by the new Marc Basnight Bridge, another politician) was a two-lane automobile bridge spanning the Oregon Inlet to Pea Island, my first stop on the Cape Hatteras National Seashore.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0I didn\u2019t cross alone\u2026<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0I was suddenly joined by an unwelcome companion \u2013 a powerful rainstorm. The wind began whipping my clothes violently and there was no place to hide from the rain. Even the bridge began to sway ever so slightly.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Where to go? Where to get out of the storm? I hurried to the other side as quickly as I could. There was no town, no gas station. Nothing.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Then I saw a sign.<\/p>
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/8-300x210.jpg\")
\u00a0 \u00a0No. Literally. A sign. A real sign. An informational park sign.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0And it had a rooftop.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0So I laid down under the sign \u2013 and to some extent I kept relatively dry.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0It was getting dark. So I broke out my backpacker\u2019s emergency \u201cspace blanket\u201d, a giant sheet of tinfoil or aluminum designed to keep me warm by its very design. First, I wrapped myself in my sleeping bag, then I used the space blanket as the outermost layer to block wind and trap body heat. I became a giant burrito, if you will.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0Then I went to sleep.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0But not for long.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0The wind only grew stronger. It found its way under the sign and continually ripped and tore at my space blanket all night long. I began to shiver \u2013 violently. I began to worry that I wouldn\u2019t make it to dawn. But I kept on praying.<\/p>
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/9.jpg\")
\u00a0 \u00a0I was shaking all over by the time the sun came up. At dawn\u2019s first light I struggled to my feet, put the sleeping bag and now-shredded space blanket into my backpack with my cold, shaking hands and started walking \u2013 fast along the nearby highway \u2013 the only way I could think of to warm up.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0The first thing I saw were snowplows. They were plowing sand off the road. The winds last night had fueled massive waves that demolished dunes, exposing homes to the brutal surf. I was lucky to be not only warm, but alive.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0So for the next couple of days, I continued my trek. After eating and sleeping my way through quaint villages like Rodanthe, Avon, Buxton and Frisco I took the passenger ferry from Hatteras to Ocracoke \u2013 and into the welcoming arms of my wife Anne.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0We stayed at the very quaint and old-timey Atlantic Inn and early Sunday went to sunrise services on the beach.<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0I am so thankful that I didn\u2019t suffer bad side-effects from my stay under the road sign. Later I read that death from the cold can happen even if the body isn’t literally frozen. I was VERY fortunate!<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tThe Last Leaf<\/strong> \u2013 by Pat Simpson<\/strong><\/h4>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/10-250x300.jpg\")
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/11-1024x450.jpg\")
<\/p>
\u00a0 \u00a0One day, as our cooking club (left) met to create some spinach dip, we heard the sounds of beautiful music; a group of young musicians had come by to brighten our smiles and raise our hopes of joy. It was early September, with so much to be thankful for: no more hurts, no more illness, no more 9\/11 events \u2013 indeed, our faces already<\/em> <\/strong>glowed with hopes of joy.<\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0Just outside the window stood a tree \u2013 a barren tree, stripped of all its leaves save one. And one leaf was enough to inspire this ode\u2026.<\/p>
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/12-255x300.jpg\")
We’ve traveled together since way last spring:<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 And now we begin a new period in our lives.<\/strong><\/p>We are at the parting of the ways, O leaf.<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 And soon we\u2019ll travel different paths<\/strong><\/p>As we move into different worlds. <\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 I don’t want to see the last leaf fall<\/strong><\/p>Don’t lose touch, dear leaf,<\/strong><\/p>\u00a0 Don’t lose touch. <\/strong><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tMy Friend Irma: Jane sees a Ghost<\/em><\/strong><\/h4>On Wednesday afternoon, September 4, the Independence Village of Olde Raleigh Drama Club held a captive audience of nearly100! My Friend Irma: Jane sees a Ghost<\/em><\/strong> included acting AND sound effects!\u00a0 Congratulations on a fantastic production!<\/h6>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/13-scaled.jpg\")
<\/p>
\u00a0<\/p>
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/15-300x272.jpg\")
<\/span><\/b>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/booksbypatricksimpson.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/14-150x150.jpg\")
<\/span><\/b>My Friend Irma was a situation comedy that was so popular that it inspired movies, comic books, <\/span><\/b>and a television program. Marie Wilson was the star of the series in all of its media formats.<\/span><\/b><\/b><\/p>Irma was a pretty and clueless office worker & stenographer attempting to make it on her own in New York with her friend Jane. Each show started with Jane explaining the trouble that Irma had just gotten herself into.<\/span><\/b><\/p>\u00a0<\/p>
\u00a0<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t
\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\tThe First American Tycoon-by Richard Smalto<\/strong><\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Who was the first American tycoon? Many people familiar with the growth of the American continent say John Jacob Astor. That is incorrect. He was the first tycoon but he was not American. That honor goes to Cornelius Vanderbilt the illiterate boatman from Staten Island or the Commodore Mark Twain called a man without a soul.\u00a0 Astor, a German furrier, bought and sold Manhattan real estate. Vanderbilt built ships and bought railroad cars that transported people all around the world. Vanderbilt was feared, he was envied, he was idolized. Poorly educated a man who could not spell his own name but knew how to make change before he died became the richest man in America.\u00a0\u00a0<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Vanderbilt quit school when he was eleven and went to work when he was sixteen ferrying passengers between Staten Island and Manhattan in New York harbor. His mother not only taught him how to make change she taught him frugality and the value of hard work. By the end of the war of 1812 he had amassed a small fleet of ships and was ferrying passengers and freight between Boston and the Delaware Bay. Although Vanderbilt kept expanding his shipping business wealth did not buy him respectability. (First published in the Village Times – April 2019, this article bears repeating.)<\/strong><\/p> \u00a0<\/strong><\/p> Eevee\u2019s Story\u00a0\u2013 by Phyllis Woolley<\/strong><\/p> \u00a0<\/strong><\/p> Fishbait \u2013 by Frank Howes<\/strong><\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0We got the crickets by rolling over watermelons in my grandfather’s field. Underneath we found crickets along with the black widow spiders that fed on them. When my grandfather saw the black widow spiders, \u00a0 \u00a0 We dug worms from the place where an old outhouse used to be. There are many things that consider a pile of s\u2026.. a good environment. Among them are politicians and fishing worms.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0We robbed wasp nests for their grubs. My grandfather would knock down a wasp nest with a cane pole. Then he would wait for the wasps to leave and pick up the nest. Inside where the juicy white grubs that fish love so much.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Finally, there were the Catalpa worms. These were the least hazardous to acquire. You simply pulled down the branches on a Catalpa tree, and picked the worms off.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Yes, it was an adventure acquiring fishbait. Almost as much fun as catching the fish!<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t \u00a0 \u00a0The coldest I\u2019ve ever been was during summer vacation on the beach, of all places \u2013 in North Carolina\u2019s Outer Banks, to be specific \u2013 springtime 1992.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0I had been retired from IBM for only a few months and decided to enjoy my freedom by taking a long hike \u2013 a really<\/em> long hike. I would hike south from Nags Head, North Carolina to Ocracoke, a distance of about 86 miles (including the Hatteras \u2013 Ocracoke ferry ride).<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0My plan was to take a bus to Nags Head and then hike southwest for about four days on the beach to Ocracoke. I figured that even though I was hiking alone I would be relatively safe because the beach was close to and paralleled by the highway (route 12). Meanwhile, my wife Anne would drive the car and meet me in Ocracoke just in time for an Easter weekend together.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Easter Sunday was April 19 so I left home by bus on April 15. (Timing is everything!) The bus took me east to Greenville and Elizabeth City but I was on my own after that. In those days there was no bus to Nags Head so I took a local taxi service that made regular trips and got there late in the afternoon. It was good to at last find a place to stay overnight and something to eat!<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0The next morning started out sunny and cheerful. I said a little prayer of thanks and \u2013\u2013 with my small backpack \u2013 began my trek south. Life was good!<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0I was still trekking when \u2013 after 16 miles \u2013 I arrived at the 2.7-mile-long Bonner Bridge, named after politician Herbert C. Bonner. The bridge (now replaced by the new Marc Basnight Bridge, another politician) was a two-lane automobile bridge spanning the Oregon Inlet to Pea Island, my first stop on the Cape Hatteras National Seashore.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0I didn\u2019t cross alone\u2026<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0I was suddenly joined by an unwelcome companion \u2013 a powerful rainstorm. The wind began whipping my clothes violently and there was no place to hide from the rain. Even the bridge began to sway ever so slightly.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Where to go? Where to get out of the storm? I hurried to the other side as quickly as I could. There was no town, no gas station. Nothing.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Then I saw a sign.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0And it had a rooftop.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0So I laid down under the sign \u2013 and to some extent I kept relatively dry.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0It was getting dark. So I broke out my backpacker\u2019s emergency \u201cspace blanket\u201d, a giant sheet of tinfoil or aluminum designed to keep me warm by its very design. First, I wrapped myself in my sleeping bag, then I used the space blanket as the outermost layer to block wind and trap body heat. I became a giant burrito, if you will.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Then I went to sleep.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0But not for long.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0The wind only grew stronger. It found its way under the sign and continually ripped and tore at my space blanket all night long. I began to shiver \u2013 violently. I began to worry that I wouldn\u2019t make it to dawn. But I kept on praying.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0The first thing I saw were snowplows. They were plowing sand off the road. The winds last night had fueled massive waves that demolished dunes, exposing homes to the brutal surf. I was lucky to be not only warm, but alive.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0So for the next couple of days, I continued my trek. After eating and sleeping my way through quaint villages like Rodanthe, Avon, Buxton and Frisco I took the passenger ferry from Hatteras to Ocracoke \u2013 and into the welcoming arms of my wife Anne.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0We stayed at the very quaint and old-timey Atlantic Inn and early Sunday went to sunrise services on the beach.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0I am so thankful that I didn\u2019t suffer bad side-effects from my stay under the road sign. Later I read that death from the cold can happen even if the body isn’t literally frozen. I was VERY fortunate!<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t \u00a0 \u00a0One day, as our cooking club (left) met to create some spinach dip, we heard the sounds of beautiful music; a group of young musicians had come by to brighten our smiles and raise our hopes of joy. It was early September, with so much to be thankful for: no more hurts, no more illness, no more 9\/11 events \u2013 indeed, our faces already<\/em> <\/strong>glowed with hopes of joy.<\/p> \u00a0 \u00a0Just outside the window stood a tree \u2013 a barren tree, stripped of all its leaves save one. And one leaf was enough to inspire this ode\u2026.<\/p> \u00a0 And now we begin a new period in our lives.<\/strong><\/p> We are at the parting of the ways, O leaf.<\/strong><\/p> \u00a0 And soon we\u2019ll travel different paths<\/strong><\/p> As we move into different worlds. <\/strong><\/p> \u00a0 I don’t want to see the last leaf fall<\/strong><\/p> Don’t lose touch, dear leaf,<\/strong><\/p> \u00a0 Don’t lose touch. <\/strong><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t \u00a0<\/p> Irma was a pretty and clueless office worker & stenographer attempting to make it on her own in New York with her friend Jane. Each show started with Jane explaining the trouble that Irma had just gotten herself into.<\/span><\/b><\/p> \u00a0<\/p> \u00a0<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t Uncouth and illiterate he shunned society.\u00a0 At the age of 70 despising ostentation and living a simple life the shipping baron turned his attention to railroads. Integrating fragmented lines he made transportation cost effective. In 1871 before he died, he built a monument to his railroad empire. Among the top ten places visited in the world, it is called GRAND CENTRAL STATION.<\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0Hello my peoples! It\u2019s been a while since I have talked to you! I have been busy taking care of mom. She\u2019s getting old, you know, and she isn\u2019t accepting old age gracefully. \u00a0I am having to remind her to give me my treats. Thank goodness my kibble feeder puts out my meals or I would probably starve to death. The other day I did everything I knew of to get her to give me a treat. I sat by her chair and stared at her, then I slow blinked with both eyes. She said \u201cNo!\u201d. Then I gave her a one eyed wink. She said, \u201cAll gone!\u201d \u00a0I knew that was a lie because I could see the treat jar. Then I went into the bathroom and knocked the hand soap into the sink. She said, \u201cNo Eevee! I\u2019m going to spank your butt!\u201d \u00a0By that point, I was getting a little angry. So, I gave her one more chance. I tapped her arm gently and gave her my most loving look. \u201cEevee, it\u2019s almost time for your lunch! You cannot have a treat!\u201d \u00a0She had a cup of coffee sitting beside her, so I got in her lap and stood up. Then I put my dirty paw right in her coffee!! \u201cEevee Michelle\u201d, she screamed! \u201cI cannot believe you did that!\u201d Before she could spank my butt, I ran under the bed where I would be safe. Sure hope that old age thing starts working before my lunch kibble comes out. Maybe she\u2019ll forget!!<\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0My grandfather was fond of fishing with a cane pole. I grew up following him around to little ponds and creeks around Shoe Heel, North Carolina. One thing that I remember is that it was almost as much fun going after the fishbait as it was to actually catch fish. My grandfather used four different types of fishbait: crickets, worms, wasp grubs, and Catalpa worms. Each required a strenuous effort to procure them.<\/p> he would say “hold on a minute son,” and he would kill the black widow spiders with his thumb. Once they were dead, he would allow us to scramble after the crickets.<\/p>Summer Vacations I have Taken<\/span><\/h4>
The Coldest I\u2019ve ever been<\/span><\/h4>
\u00a0– by Pat Simpson<\/h6>
\u00a0 \u00a0No. Literally. A sign. A real sign. An informational park sign.<\/p>\u00a0 \u00a0I was shaking all over by the time the sun came up. At dawn\u2019s first light I struggled to my feet, put the sleeping bag and now-shredded space blanket into my backpack with my cold, shaking hands and started walking \u2013 fast along the nearby highway \u2013 the only way I could think of to warm up.<\/p>The Last Leaf<\/strong> \u2013 by Pat Simpson<\/strong><\/h4>
<\/p> We’ve traveled together since way last spring:<\/strong><\/p>My Friend Irma: Jane sees a Ghost<\/em><\/strong><\/h4>
On Wednesday afternoon, September 4, the Independence Village of Olde Raleigh Drama Club held a captive audience of nearly100! My Friend Irma: Jane sees a Ghost<\/em><\/strong> included acting AND sound effects!\u00a0 Congratulations on a fantastic production!<\/h6>
<\/p><\/span><\/b><\/span><\/b>My Friend Irma was a situation comedy that was so popular that it inspired movies, comic books, <\/span><\/b>and a television program. Marie Wilson was the star of the series in all of its media formats.<\/span><\/b><\/b><\/p>