The Magic of Our Back Porch View

I've notice on this blog that we tell you a great deal about the adventures of my dear cousin and myself, sometimes accompanied by Chelsae. We've been all over the world, from Nashville to Ireland, Torronto to the Beach and back. And when we're not regaling these escapades, we're telling you about the various antics which happen on a seemingly daily basis here at The Station. 

It's true, we live some particularly awesome lives, but the in-betweens, our merely-hinted-at moments of repose, should be noted and that is what I'm going to do here. Why? Because while dangling from cliffs and battling carnivorous potatoes is exciting and can certainly build character, the moments I pocket in my denim memory are the quiet ones when we're just sitting. Those moments when you're pleasantly aware of the air entering and exiting your lungs, and you breathe it like a slow dance. And where do these moments take place?

Oh, have we not told you about our porch?

At the back of the Station, on the second floor and with its very own secret door, there is a porch outside, overlooking a green expanse of forgotten fields. The railing is such that we can sit on the floor and have a clear view of the field through its oaken spokes. We sit with our backs against the Station wall and gaze out in peaceful wonder. We've used the fields before to play games, show horses, and wage wars, but it somehow looks different from the porch, as if looking down upon it reveals something ancient and magical about the fiords. So, we just observe and enjoy. Sometimes Hannah smokes her pipe, sometimes I smoke mine. 

I'm sorry it's not a story this time, but porches rarely are. They're just great places to sit, and we have an especially exceptional one in our little world. You should come try it out sometime. Maybe you'll have a quiet moment of your own. 

Johnny & June

Dragons were far beyond the worst we could have imagined. And for there to be more than one was unspeakable. For we three had heard our share of woeful tales. Or at least the tail end of them anyways. So Kevan looked at me and I looked at Chelsea who then looked back at me and I said,
"Quite right Kev. Maybe this is for another day." So Kevan and I retired to the station for tea and lemon jelly tarts. (with lemon jelly that we collected from the cavernous falls discovered last autumn on a previous potato zoo expedition.) Chelsea would have joined us, but had been invited to go on a soul adventure with her beloved father to Mexico.
Over tea I noticed Kevan giving me a curious look.
"What is it love?" I asked with a mouth full of lemon jelly.
"I've been thinking. No, not that kind of thinking, but the kind where I thought it might be nice to go on a holiday. Well not so much of a holiday as an expedition, you know the sort. Just that we should go see a bit of the world. Meet some new friends. Eat some new food." Kevan paused for a small sip of his tea.
"You know. I don't think I've ever met anyone as wise as you." I replied as I put a hand on his arm. Kevan gave my hand a pat and we began to pack our things. Sweaters and socks flew through the air as we picked up speed as the cusp of adventure lay bunched around our throats ready to throw caution to the wind. We made a mad dash to the airport as soon as we possibly could, dropped off by sir madness Monday himself, and ran up to the front desk. We breathed heavily and set our bags down.
"Two tickets please." Kevan wheezed.
"Where to sir?" The woman asked as she checked our passports.
"Wherever you think we should go." I replied. 

"In that case," she said as she madly ticked away at her computer keys, "here are two tickets to Nashville, Tennessee." We took our tickets and looked at each other. Somehow she had known that was exactly where we needed to be heading. It wasn't the most glamorous or the most exciting place the world had to offer, but there was a certain something about Nashville that called to us every once in a while. Something about it's sticky sweet tea and soulful country twang spoke to our souls. I knew we were hoping that this time it would be our souls that spoke to it. 

"It's a good thing I packed my harmonicas!" Kevan exclaimed as we boarded the plane. I silently nodded. Somehow harmonicas and Nashville always needed to be together. 

"Kevan, I have a surprise for you." I said while I settled myself facing him. "A few weeks ago I was talking with my good friend Andy, who's pretty connected in the music scene, and he said he had an opening at this pub down in Nashville because the band he'd booked all came down with dysmetropsia and cancelled. So I said to him I knew of a group called Too Hips who just happened to be free that weekend so he scheduled them, but they weren't willing to cover the whole night so he still needed an opening act and I told him you and I had been working on some of our own music. So essentially what I'm saying is that you and I are playing at Wildhorse Saloon tonight. Oh, and I also bribed that flight hostess to send us to Nashville." Kevan started laughing so hard that every time he tried to stop he would just put his hand on my arm and then start laughing all over again, which he continued to do for the duration of the flight. It became very unnerving, but I still took it as a positive sign. We arrived at our friend Ben's house in a flurry and whisked in and out of the house faster than you could say 'grits.' Which is pretty fast since it's such a short word. 

The night had fallen and the twinkling lights of the city dotted the skyline as we rushed towards our musical venue. Our hearts were full of all the greats that had walked these sidewalks and sung tales of sadness and love like no other town I'd ever been to before. We walked out there bold as Johnny and June in the prime of their lives and sang our songs like we had everything to live for. It was glorious. But the lights faded out and our adventure had come to a close. Kevan and I were back in our hovel snuggled up with some leftover bbq pork sandwiches, slaw on the side of course. He just took his hand in mine as we smiled at a mysterious polaroid that had made its way into our bags. At first it may have just looked like two dark figures silhouetted by a bright stage light, but to us, it was Johnny and June.

The Rumble

"Those were the days when the gang was together."

My eyes trailed off the page, hoping to find more of the story in midair just right of the paper. There was nothing. My cousin had drawn me into this world of hers and then left me hanging, pining for more. I looked at her across the room, watching me with a wicked grin. She knew all too well what she'd done, for she'd done it a hundred times over before. She had started a story - a very good story! - and handed it to me unfinished. 

I folded the piece of paper quietly, trying to decide how to proceed. I wish I could say two can play at this game, and maybe that is the case, but I'm not nearly as good at it as she. 

"So," I said at last, "you're a dude."

"Yep," she answered readily. "The character is, anyway. Boys are so much more fun to write about, I think. They don't mind it so much when you throw them into mud pits and dragon's lairs."

"You wouldn't mind," I pointed out. 

"True," she responded proudly. "Me and Chelsea wouldn't mind at all. In fact..." - and lightning struck us both then and there. Not actual lightning, of course, but something much worse; an idea!

Without further ado, we leapt to our feet, strapped on our shovels and headed for the Potato Zoo. Chelsea met us there, suited up and ready to go. She looked like she'd been waiting a while, though it'd only been five minutes since we had the idea. Before we entered the Zoo, Hannah covered our faces with war paint. Everyone knows, after all, you can't enter wild potato habitats without war paint - or, you really shouldn't, anyway. Once we had our paint applied, it was into the darkness with us, we three unafraid and ready for anything. 

But why the Zoo? Because the Zoo is the gateway to catacombs (where Hannah found our Lemon Jelly river) and catacombs lead to lairs and where there are lairs dragons must be with. This is pretty common knowledge in the typography world, which Hannah is an expert in (being a gardener and all), so we were venturing deep with great assumption and shovels, just in case. 

I'm sad to say, due to my neglect, Chelsea nearly lost an arm when a volary of spuds caught us off guard. Our shovels came in handy then, and our dear Chelsea still has two arms to this day, as far as I know. Besides this brief scare, our trek through the Potato Zoo was filled with uneventful suspense.

It took us a good afternoon to find satisfactory catacombs (Hannah knew what she was looking for), and down we went into a deeper darkness. 

"How far down do you think the lair will be?" I asked in a tremulous whisper. 

"A few years," answered my cousin. 

"At least three days," added her friend. 

Then we heard the rumble. Pillars fell from high above and we rolled to dodge them. Dust, too, fell and stung our eyes but there was no need or use in rolling to dodge it all for its blanketing effect. We took off running, not toward our exit - there were only arm-eating potatoes back there - but straight ahead into darkness upon darkness upon darkness, etc. As we ran, we argued about what the rumble was. Cannon fire up topside. Giants finally come to claim our sheep and cattle. Elephants close on our very heels. But we all knew in our souls what it was. 

A dragon.

The Shakes

"Come on Shakey! Climb faster!" The boys scrambled up ahead of me flicking dirty rocks and moss up from their heels. It wasn't like I was in any danger, but it always felt like it when I got looped in with the Largen's identical triplets. There was hardly any decipherable difference between the three of them save that each one had freckles on their faces and if you studied them hard enough you could tell that the dots clustered around a different part of each of their noses. Jack had freckles around the bridge of his nose, whereas Jesse had them more on the tip of his nose and Johann had what I'd consider an even smattering. Anyways, we were moving as fast as our tiny legs could carry us to the middle of the dark and ominous forest glades. Sometimes if you were quiet you could see all sorts of wild things busily making their homes or scurrying along in the dense sword ferns. My favourites were the fox family who lived close to our secret tree fort. "The Fort" as we called it. Looking back I'd say we probably just picked the first thing that came to our minds.
"AH!" I shouted as I tripped headlong over an extended root. My palms hit the soft forest floor as I tried to barrel roll over a cluster of rocks. Now, I don't want to write a tome about how many times I have tripped over that very root, but let's just say it's been a lot.
(We have run that exact route to that exact place probably every day of our lives up until we turned 16 and it changed to every other day, which probably totals to be more than 4,000 times that I have tripped in that exact spot. It's not that it didn't cross my mind to take a different way every time it's that we had forbidden each other to come any other way than that exact way. Nor would I say I forgot about trying to anticipate when that root was going to come so that I could lift my feet a little higher than I normally would, it just became tradition and members of The Fort were VERY traditional. Obsessive some might even say, but it suited us just fine. Well I should say it suited the triplets just fine.)
In The Fort we had a rather large sign, written in red pencil crayon and all capital letters depicting all matters from how to woo a girl all the way to wry description of my once very descriptive ode to my cat, Shakey. Hence why I have been mocked since they day that song was discovered. Apparently real men don't write poetry to their cats, which I now realize to be an utter falsehood. Needless to say the girls came in droves after that was posted all over the school halls. They came to throw things at me and post cat pictures on my locker that is. I didn't mind the latter so much.
"Shakey! To the Hub you beggarly toilet-minder!" yelled jesse through scrunched up angry eyebrows while he vigorously pointed towards the open and worn area that looked much like a crow's nest from a pirate ship. My knees were a little bit wet from my fall in the woods and my green corduroy shorts stuck to my legs in odd places. We all assembled in a tight circle, pulling tuna sandwiches from our back pockets. Jack had pulled out our crudely drawn map that we'd pasted onto a flat piece of scrap wood that had been salvaged from the dump-yard we so often visited in search of treasure.
"Now, the trees at the south end protect us from being spied by the Crows from most angles, but we're all open at the back where them Yellow Snakes (our sworn enemies) could waltz right in and robs us whenever they feels like it!" Johann yelled, even though we were all sitting quite close. His speech launched us into an afternoon of fort protection planning that passed by in the blink of an eye as we sat in the hot sun drawing out plans and collecting pieces for our inelaborate conjunctions, first and foremost a moss and rock gilded tole depicting the very rested assurance that this was property of The Fort and if Gus or any of his men decided to even set foot in our area they would be attacked by droves of wild pigeons and dragged into the ocean by the soles of their feet.
Those were they days when the gang was together.

Chelsea and Other Worlds

It'd been a while since I'd seen Hannah. Oh, we were both around, busy as ever in the Station. There are no halls in the Station (halls are the worst), but if there were halls, it would be an appropriate thing to say that we passed one another in the hall all the time. But we hadn't sat down, just the two of us and some tea, in ages. This was an issue for two great reasons. First, I only drank tea with Hannah, as a general rule, and I was very much in withdrawal. Second, and more importantly, our souls needed to chat with one another, and while post-it notes and high-fives are great, some things just need to be done in person. So, I finally put my foot down and went a'hunting with bow and arrow for my deer cousin. 

"So, what's new?" I asked, once I'd found her and we were safe in our hovel with tea. 

Hannah gave me a silly smirk and shrug. She sipped her drink and I waited for words. She took her time, not to choose her words wisely, but maybe just to play jumbling games with them in her head before spilling them out. But eventually, she licked her lips and spoke. 

"I have a new friend," she said. 

"Really?" I chimed at the news. "Is she real?"

"Of course she's real," she retorted with the high pitch of playful offense. "I made her up just this morning!"

"Fair enough," I said. "Tell me about her."

"That's only right, I suppose," Hannah agreed, "Because I've told her all about you. Let's see here. Her name is Chelsea, and I think you guys would get along. She has a great sense of humor, like me."

"Well, that's a good start. What kind of accent does she have?"

Hannah wrinkled her nose. "You mean, where is she from? I dunno, ask her yourself!"

Just as I was about to ask where she was, I looked down and found her. Chelsea, it turned out, was climbing out of my tea cup, and doing so without a hitch. My instinct was to drop the cup, but I worried what that would to her, so I held fast until she was out and grounded. She dusted herself off and then gave me a curious glare. 

"Where I'm from is of little or no consequence," she said emphatically. "What matters is where I'm going from here."

She then fell into a dramatic soliloquy about other worlds, other timelines, other dimensions. Places of mystery and intrigue that I'd heard in my heart but never out loud. Chicago, Indianapolis, Columbus, Fort Wayne. As she went on, my jaw slowly dropped and Hannah's eyes widened as best they could. Finally, the monologue slowed and eventually ended, and there was silence. We were in the midst of a wizard. That was certain. 

I girded myself with wit and spoke up at last, asking her if she's seen our lemon jelly park in the catacombs. She was familiar, but she was interested in taking a swim in it. We'd never thought of that. Oh, we'd played in it, waded in it even, but never swam. So we did just that, complete with snorkels and goggles, of course, so we could see. What we found there was beyond our imaginations. Fish and fauna unlike the known world had ever seen. Who knew this could all be just below our floorboards the whole time! We were inspired, then. Inspired to explore further the bowls of our little The Station, and explore the walls and eves and bookshelves alike, to find worlds and timelines galore until tea time came around again. 

Best Of All, A Festival!

    One minute I'd been with Kevan wandering the Potato Zoo and then the next I'd found myself in a strange hallway with the path behind me closed off. I could barely hear Kevan's muffled cry.
"KEVAAAAN!!! CAN YOU HEAR ME?" I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted at the top of my lungs, but my voice just reverberated off the dark walls, bouncing about like a drunken bouncy ball.

I was stuck. 

My eyes gently adjusting to the dimness of the room and I saw a sliver of light to my right so I began to shuffle my feet carefully towards it. A light scent of lemon caressed my sensitive nose as I moved closer. The glow was a vibrant yellow and shimmered as though it was reflecting off some sort of water. I heard a gentle trickle and it tickled my ear with inviting dribbles, drawing me forward for it seemed I had no where to go but onwards and upwards. The light cast a watery shadow as I reached up to push aside a white curtain, eager to be out of the damp darkness. As I pulled it aside I nearly tumbled straight down a monstrous cavern filled with some sort of yellowy sticky substance thrust betwixt by a gigantuous raging waterfall. I dipped my finger into the substance and brought it to my nose. Lemon. 

"Lemon jelly!" I exclaimed aloud. Just then, across the way, Kevan burst through a corresponding tunnel. 

"Lemon jelly!" He laughed right back. "By Jove we've found a subterranian-lemon-jelly-fall!" I quickly scaled the edge of the cavern to join Kevan on the other side. I quietly grasped his hand and we grinned in silence at the glorious luminescent goodness that poured from some unseen source and both agreed that the Station was a magical place. There are many rooms left undiscovered, nooks and crannies full of adventure, and it was all ours to explore. Kevan turned to me and patted my head and said,

"There are a great many things to be thankful for in life, but this is one of the best and I'm glad to share it with you." I let one small tear escape from the corner of my eye.

The rest of that day was a blur, but let's just say that we celebrated with the first ever annual Station-wide Festival of Lemon Jelly and there was so much laughter and joy that I swear I could hear the windows and doors creaking in wondrous agreement that we were living a fine life indeed. 

Focus and Potatoes

"I can't do thiiiiiiis," I wailed, and Hannah heard me from across the Station. 

Within seconds, she flew into the room, courtesy of our newly installed slide system. She landed brilliantly on her feet and struck a pose with fists on hips. I half-expected her to crow next, but she just furrowed her brow and awaited my explanation. 

"I can't focus," I said with a lowered head. 

My beloved cousin hmmmed to herself. She squinted and positioned her hands before her, twisting them as if adjusting a camera lense. After a minute, she paused, shook her head, and tried again. Finally, she gave up and screwed her smile in thought. 

"It's worse than I thought," she said. "What's on your mind?"

I shuffled my feet. She knew the answer already. 

"It's the Woman, isn't it?"

I didn't have to nod to confirm it. That Watson of mine, she knew and she also knew the cure. Find potatoes, mash potatoes, eat potatoes while watching a Jimmy Stewart movie. Everything is gonna be alright. Especially since we had a Potato Zoo in the basement of the Station. 

"To the Zoo," Hannah cried, a common call to adventure in the Station. 

We gathered the troops, prepped the arsenal, and packed PB&J's. Of course, we painted our faces as well, which is a must-do when hunting wild spuds. Hannah drew an arrow across my forehead and I put a to-scale grizzly bear over her left cheek and eye. Our machetes were sharpened by Knack, who was settling nicely into our way of life. Hannah had taken a fancy to him last time he sharpened our blades, so she escaped to another room this time to avoid further such sentiments. Once everything was ready, we set our feet into the basement, into certain danger. 

It was dark, for starters. There was a funny smell, reminiscent of the great lemon pipe burst of last year and that had entailed. There was also a sound, the sound of potatoes, and they sounded ready to take on the world. 

I unsheathed my machete and turned to where I assumed Hannah was, it was so dark. 

"What's on your mind now?" she asked, her sweet voice emerging from the blackness. 

As a potato bumped my foot, I sidestepped it and examined my thoughts. Potatoes, machetes, an army at my back, certain danger before us. What was on my mind?

"The Woman," I confessed. 

"Well, I guess we'll just have to--" came Hannah's voice, then nothing. 

Silence. 

Where was she? Was she alive? Had the potatoes gotten her? 

That Watson of mine, she knew the cure.

Urban Spelunking

Though some may commonly confuse urban spelunking with urban exploration for history purposes, it is not to be so. Especially not on this warm spring day, verging on the cusp of the summer-hood that it so longed to become. It sprouted new shoots and early flowers out every avenue, encouraging the world to bloom into what it was meant to be.
Kevan and I sat by our favourite window in The Station, which overlooked the valley below to reveal a lush forest of trees and a cool stream winding away into the east. Steam rose from our teacups and up our curly straws as we sipped carefully, minding the heated liquid as I have burned my tongue a number of times drinking tea with a straw. I can never remember why we started doing it in the first place.
      "Well I suppose we should get ready." Kevan murmured, still focused on the valley below. We were already dressed in our spelunking gear; sturdy khakis, black turtlenecks, and of course our trusty black Chucks. I glanced at my watch.
      "I'll get the car started, you grab the packs." I motioned wildly to the far corner of the kitchen and I started towards the garage. We swiftly boarded the van, fondly named "The Pirate Ship", and headed to the meeting place to pick up the other members of today's crew; Luke, Phillip, & Tom. No three men were as trustworthy to us as they, for our history goes back farther than I care to say. Back when Kevan and I had a life that was not as humanistic as owning a creative cavern; an artists asylum; craftpersons cloister.
Nevertheless we sped away to pick up the gents, pausing only briefly as they threw themselves in the back seats before we raced towards the old factories that lay just on the outskirts of town. Tom stepped out of the van, dust billowing from beneath his feet and wind blowing through his black beard. He squinted his eyes against the sun before strapping Kevan securely on his back. Sweat beaded on my forehead and I felt vomit bubbling at the back of my throat as I quaked beside him. Somehow in two minutes flat we had entered the building and taken the unforgiving cement stairs all the way to the basement of the fortress. Shadows lurked in every corner, tempting me to turn back, but we had a job to do. We had been commissioned to find out what was really living down here. I took a step forward and hissed as cold water seeped into my shoes.
    "We should have gone with the rubber boots!" Kevan quipped from behind me.
    "Inconceivable!" I scoffed.
    "You keep using that word, but I do no think you know what it means." Luke said with skeptical a raise of his brow. I rolled my eyes and continued forward. Just then a giant mass of writhing water snakes leapt up and bit Phillip right in the neck! Naturally we all fled and took Phillip home. It was a good thing Kevan was on good standing with the town doctor and called him right away. It was several days before Phillip awakened. He slowly opened his right eye, and then the other before looking quite confused.
     "Why won't be arms move?" He asked.
     "You've been mostly dead for the past three days." Kevan answered from his side.
     "Alright," Phillip replied as he closed his eyes again and promptly fell asleep.
We never really did find out what was down there. Other than the obvious of course, but we decided that was enough adventure for one week and resigned to drinking our tea and staring out the window once again.

House-Sitting

"Hey, cous," I began, as I sometimes do.
Hannah looked up from the mop she was dancing with and smiled. "Yes, love?"
"You know how you used to house-sit for folks all the time?"
"Ah," she sighed, "those were the days."
"Do you ever miss it?" I asked carefully, hoping she'd just say no and return to her funny dancing. But Hannah is more thoughtful than that, so she leaned hard on her mop and pondered the question. When she ponders, which is a very particular kind of thinking and not to be taken lightly, this cousin of mine squints her eyes and hums. And eventually, she will give an answer, as she did now.
"Let me preface it by saying," she insisted, "that I haven't drunk real milk in over three years."
"Noted," I noted, and she continued.
"I do miss it in some ways," said my thoughtful dear, "but" - and here, she looked around at our strange abode - "now that we live in The Station, and we have folks coming and going all the time and making themselves at home, I feel like I'm actually house-sitting for the whole world. So, I can't really miss what I'm still doing, right?"
I agreed, so glad to be house-sitting with her in this place of ours-and-everyone-else's. She went back to her dancing with the mop, who had two left feet, and I returned to my whittling. A new arrival came shuffling in from the rain and introduced himself as Knack. We gave him a cup of tea and a pen to sign his name somewhere. Smee popped by to help the newcomer with his bags, but realized upon sight that this was a long-lost nemesis of his. Without anymore warning than was absolutely necessary, swords flashed and bags were utterly forgotten in the tumult of war. I dropped my whittling and Hannah raised her mop high. We were part of this fight now, whether we wanted to be or not. Fortunately, we did.
"Hey cous," Hannah asked me, then, in the throws of battle.
"Yes, love?"
"Do you ever miss... whatever it is you did before?"
"Not at all," I answered swiftly, howling at the top of my lungs, for this was not the time to ponder and I had no mop to lean on, anyway.

Second Valenchristmas

Things have been quiet lately.

Too quiet.

Sometimes the lull of February can seem grey and lifeless. Especially when Valentine's Day rolls around. Most of your friends are out on the town with their significant other and you find yourself with a box full of chocolates and your favourite rom com. At least, you would if you didn't live at the Station. At the Station we celebrate the only other holiday so full of happiness and cheer, that it overshadows any thoughts you might have had about some thing that happens on some day some time. Thus Second Christmas was born. Second Christmas is even better than its former competitors in Kevan's humble opinion, for instead of what any other north american family would do at Christmas time, the Station has its own traditions. We took Second Christmas to be a portal back into the 1900's where the trees are real, light was brought to the home by candles, and everyone made their gifts. Especially at the Station. The whole point of us being together in one home is to create something, beautiful or not has nothing to do with it, but just to create. Music, art, musical art; the works. On the night of Second Christmas we were all gathered in the commons, basking in the candlelit glow of our magnificent live tree. A few brave souls had protested at even the thought of cutting down a tree for our own selfish pleasures of enjoying its beauty for a few weeks before it died and was thrown away. A popcorn and cranberry garland was sown, a dark satin tree skirt draped about the trunk. It was magnificent.
Kevan cleared his throat and every voice died down in an instant.
"Dearest friends and family, there are many things from which I might have derived good by which I have not profited, I dare say. Second Christmas is among the rest. I am sure I have always thought of Second-Christmas-time, when it has come round-apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that-as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, friends, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!"
As he finished a huge shout of celebration filled the room, almost blowing out the candles in its vigour. Kevan turned to me, raised his steaming hot mug of hot chocolate and smiled.
"God bless it everyone!" I finished.

Wedding

Hannah and I really don't like to leave The Station too often. It just has everything we need - wide open space, hot tea, and a constant flow of interesting folk coming and going. What else is there? I wish we could say we don't leave because the place would fall apart without us, but the truth is, we just don't want to miss the experience when things go wrong. So, we typically stay nearby. But every once in a very blue moon, you know someone across the way who's getting married and you're invited. And if it's one of your favorite people in the world, such as was the case for us, you accept this invitation and go.
It was our dearest cousin Samantha and her union to a Mr. Spencer Adams. So, without a moments hesitation, we walked out our front door and headed toward wedding bells, leaving The Station unlocked and a Swedish pianist named Skügen in charge.
The ceremony was a glorious occasion, with song and tears galore. The groomsmen wore cardigans, as did I, and Hannah tried her best to sneak me into the processional as one of the party. I would have done so gladly with her on my arm, but the bridesmaids wore peach while Hannah donned a more traditional royal blue. Thusly, we resigned to comply as simple audience members, giving our blessing from the pews. Our attempts did not go unnoticed, however, and we were invited to dine at the King's Table during the reception. We traded veggies when no one was looking, and insisted the water was cherry flavored until everyone had to either play along or be accused of judging an Asian and a cripple. Then came the dancing! For once, Hannah danced to Taylor Swift (her arch rival for my affections), and we even provided a song ourselves - the tax of the bride and groom to see them kiss. It's true, we sang an acapella rendition of Moulin Rouge's "Elephant Love Medley" and scarred many of the elderly for the rest of their lives.
What a wonderful evening of celebrating one of our favorite people (and now we add Spencer to that short list)! Little did we know, the reception hall was magical - we should've guessed, being Sam's wedding and all. It is impossible to explain, as all magic is and especially when it has to do with time, but when we finally returned to The Station, we realized all the world was just slightly different. An hour different, to be exact, and our three hour gap - the bane of our existence - was now only two hours wide.
"Well," sighed Hannah as we sat down for tea, "this is nice."
"Yes," I agreed. "And to think, just two more weddings to go and that pesky gap will be history."
"Or nothing at all," suggested Hannah with a smirk.
I wanted to say how nice that would be but she'd already said something was nice, so I had to find a different response.
"Only time will tell."

Pancakes

It was every so often that late in the night Kevan and I would find ourselves still awake. Sometimes you simply cannot sleep, especially if that is what you wish for most in the world. The Station tends to be a little bit of a restless animal some might say. I felt my stomach grumble its bubbly moan and decided to creep out quietly to the kitchen to find something to munch on. I have a horrible weakness for midnight picnics. My bare feet shuffled across the cold cement floor as I made my way over to the fridge and peered inside.
"Care for a walk?" I heard beside me. I cautiously peeked one eye over the refrigerator door and then the other to fully view Kevan already wrapped up tightly in his dark wool overcoat. I shrugged and crammed the remainder of my leftover pancake in my mouth.
"How was that pancake?" Kevan smirked as we slid into the cool night air.
"Alright. There was a bit too much cake, not enough pan." I replied nonchalantly. Kevan chuckled softly in reply. The stars hung in the dark sky as tiny bits of mirror speckled across a dark secret corner. We breathed in the frosty air and walked slowly along, each lost in a world of different thoughts.
"Do you ever worry that you'll meet someone in a book and the more you read, the more you prefer their company to the real world? I know stories tend to end so suddenly, but you can keep them alive just by writing them new ones can't you? I get worried sometimes. That that will happen to me." I burst out suddenly. Kevan paused for a moment and looked out at the sea. He squinted his eyes and wiggled his nose to push his glasses back up on his face, as he so often does.
"Hannah, I wonder that almost as often as you do. I am more easily enticed by a character who is already fabricated to be charming and likeable for all their quirks and differences. I feel that if I look too hard I can fall right in. That is how the greats all did it. I'm convinced. They just fell right in. The characters simply become people and we play narrator to however they choose to live their lives."
"Do you think we're interesting enough to be someone's characters? I did just put an entire pancake in my mouth." I giggled.
"How could we not be? Two people who own an abandoned train station for the sole purpose of cultivating creative freedoms? I'd say we're at least worth a newspaper article or something." Kevan replied while flinging his arms in the air.
"A blog maybe?" I suggested.
"I'd settle for a blog." He replied. Suddenly we'd arrived back at our doorstep again. So we said goodnight and I headed off to bed. My eyelids grew heavy and as I smiled to myself, well I suppose I just decided that it was alright to lean in a little bit. How else could we go on all those impossible adventures?

Snow on the Beach

"Snow cones," I asked. "What's your take on them?"

Hannah did that thing with her eyebrow that silently tells me I'm crazy. She gives me that look at least twice a day. But she also follows it up by entertaining my weird questions.

"Sure," she replied, "I'm alright with them, though I'm more of a long-walks-on-the-beach kinda girl."

"Yeah," I sighed, "I guess they're not really the type to do that, are they?"

"No, I suppose not," Hannah said sadly.

"Because they'd melt," I added, "and then someone would be bound to drown."

"Yeah."

A pause. I took a moment to think through this.

"What about the Abominable Snowman?" I asked at last. 

I was onto something. I knew it because Hannah raised her other eyebrow, which silently tells me I'm onto something. But just as she gave that affirming look, there came a knock on the door. That's the lovely thing (one of many, anyway) about The Station. You never have to go looking for Adventure - it always comes to your door. Sure, from there, you might go out for pizza with it, maybe a long walk on the beach or a game of chess in the park, light an abandoned building on fire or save a group of orphans from a sinking ship. But it always begins (at The Station, anyway) with a knock on the door.

I'm sorry to say this is not a continuation of our series on Madness. That will come further on down the road, as Hannah implied. You see, my dear cousin has this ability to see into the future, and she sometimes mixes it up with the present. So she says things in passing, like "Years passed until one day..." and we are all left hanging in the balance until either we reach that point in time naturally or she accidentally slips into that vision again and gives us more to go with. So, all that to say, the story of Madness will continue someday, and I wish I could confidently say when, but the truth is we are all at the mercy of Hannah's little quirk. 

Madness Indeed

I put my coat on hurriedly and turned up its collar at the sudden icy wind that swept up the streets like a great invisible serpent. Kevan was as close on my heels as one might get in the event of a chase. Of course we knew that Sir Madness Tuesday was leading us on a wild goose chase. He was far too clever for us to trail him this way, but still, chasing geese may bring some point into fruition. We kept our ears open for signs of disruption in the stony streets, following any flapping of fabric or tap of a boot heel; chasing shadows in the windows. I suddenly stopped and Kevan nearly toppled into me as I stood there. He peaked around my shoulders to see we had come to a dead end. Quite literally as Sir Madness Monday's hat sat on a wooden crate before us. I couldn't move. Kevan stepped towards the box and gingerly picked up the tweed dearstalker to reveal a metal thimble, an ace of diamonds, and two wooden matches beneath its brim.
"He tends to do that," came a voice out of the shadows. We whipped our heads around in two shakes of a lambs tale to reveal a petite blonde woman dressed in a smart navy blue pantsuit. She quirked her head to the side and revealed two perfectly deep dimples on either side of her pink ribbon lips.
"He likes to play games and as it would seem, you two are his newest conquest. I'd hold onto those if I were you," she continued as she gestured to the items which lay exposed against the rough wood. "You will probably need them." With that she turned on her heel and got into a black car which had been waiting silently just off the curb. I can only assume she'd been following Sir Madness Tuesday as well and simply bumped into us on her way. We stood silent for a few more moments before Kevan gently took my elbow and guided me back to our once comfortable abode. We splayed out the items on our kitchen table and stared at them for hours. I pulled my knees up to my chest and rocked back and forth while staring at those uninvited objects for hours on end.
Days, weeks, months passed with no sign of a breakthrough, no odd changes in the weather, no strangers at our door. Well, other than our usual tenants. Eventually Kevan and I began to move on with our lives. Put the hat and its belongings up on a shelf where we only occasionally gazed at it during an absent minded meal. Until one day...

Sir Madness Tuesday

I was glad to be nearby when Hannah finally came to. She'd been unconscious for several hours and, though a great deal happened while she was out, none of it is really worth regaling since she wasn't involved. But my poor cousin was in a fit of hysteria when she awoke, cursing herself for being such a klutz around the handsome beau. It took some time, but I eventually calmed her down. She sat up in her bed and took the tea I offered. I also handed her the morning paper. 

"No thanks," she said. "I already read it."

"It's Tuesday," I responded, meaning two things.

She furrowed her brow and took the paper. The front page had the scene we saw the day before. Police cars and yellow tape surrounding an area on the beach. The headline said it all. Hannah stared in disbelief. 

"This says," she realized, "this says Sir Madness is dead."

I nodded. She folded the paper and placed it on her lap.

"Then who greeted us on the shoreline?" she asked slowly.

"Well," I began, not sure how to explain, "Sir Madness, the one we knew, is dead. He was Sir Madness Monday, but he had a twin. Tuesday."

Hannah had trouble processing this. She repeated the name. I couldn't blame her, after all. I was only convinced by the outrageous events that transpired after she passed out. Sir Madness Tuesday had proven himself, not only to be who he said he was, but to be just as much trouble as his twin brother (younger by only fifty-three seconds).

"So, why was he there?" she asked after another cup of tea. "And why did he say it was good to see us again?"

"Because I thought it'd be funny," came a familiar voice. Sir Madness Tuesday stepped into the room with a bow. "That answers one of your questions. But which one? That is for you to decide. And as for the other, well that's simple - Because I killed him."

And with that, he broke the window with a chair he pulled from his coat, and leapt dramatically out of sight. I looked to Hannah for a queue, but she was watching the window, glaring at it. She rose from her bed and tossed me my coat, always keeping her eyes on the window. 

"We have to go after him," she said at last. "There's no other way."

Sir Madness Monday

Today was the dreaded day; Monday. As I lay in bed and the frosty air bit my nose and cheeks, I was in a complete state of nothingness. Until a great loud BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG sounded from upstairs. I flinched with each gun shot and sighed to myself. How many times have I told Kevan NOT to shoot his pistol inside the house? I rolled out of bed and onto the carpeted floor. I knew it was probably dirty as heck down there, but there's something satisfying about stretching in the sunbeams on a Monday morning. Obviously I'd prefer a Sunday, but beggars can't be choosers. 

"Kevan-dear, what's the matter this time?" I said as I pushed my reading glasses up my nose and peered at him over the morning paper when he flounced down across the table from me. 

"Bored," he grumbled. I sat still for a moment, lost in thought and wondered how I might cheer him up. 

"Kevan. I was hoping we might go for a walk by the seaside at the breakwater. It's quite windy out and the waves will be nice and high. Maybe we'll hear from Sir Madness later," I said quite earnestly. 

"As you wish," Kevan conceded with a smile peaking out of the corner of his russet moustache. I hid my own smile beneath the rustling newspaper. Whenever Kevan quoted Princess Bride I always knew things were on the up and up. It was a sure sign. After we bought The Station we'd met a curious individual who taught us many things about the science of deduction. We never did catch his name, but I must say he was one handsome individual. We simply refer to him as Sir Madness. Kevan pulled on his flannel jacket as I laced up my boots and scavenged for a scarf amongst the coat hooks lined against the wall. Once we reached the gate Kevan turned to me with a somber look on his face and said, "Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. Because they were holding on to something... There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it's worth fighting for.” And with that he strode onto the great stone wall that stood out in the middle of the shore line, waves breaking and spraying heavenwards. It was one of those moments when the natural elements of the world coincided perfectly with a movie scene which could be conjured up with a few simple lines. I chuckled to myself as I hurried to catch up with him. However, halfway down the wall there was yellow tape and a crowd of police officers we hadn't been able to see from the shore.

"Kevan, Hannah, how good to see you again." Said a tall man in a black trenchcoat. He had his back to us and his collar turned up against the wind.

"Oh hello again!" Kevan replied, surprised to see Sir Madness out here on this blustery day in November. I was again struck speechless at the site of his magnificent face. Kevan elbowed me gently knowing how very little tact I had when it came to attractive people and most of all Sir Madness. 

"Um, Yes. Hello!" I stammered as I took a step forward to shake his hand, which he held out to me. Or I would have had I not then tripped. Everything went cold and dark.

To be continued...

Plumbing

It was one morning, we were sitting at the breakfast table and considering the busy day ahead. I'd complained of needing an adventure and Hannah, of course, had something in mind. Now, toast and tea were done and we took our time, as with most mornings, to let our breakfast settle slowly. The only thing worse than adventure on an empty stomach is adventure on an improperly settled stomach. So, Hannah knitted a sock and I guessed aloud at our day's events, her responses never betraying the secret. You never know what Hannah has in store for a day until it happens, and in this case, no one would ever know, for our guessing "game" was soon interrupted by news from a resident. A pipe had burst in The Station, and it was reported that lemon jelly was leaking out everywhere. We knew this particular pipe was on the fritz, but the news of the sugary flooding was fresh and unsettling.

"I suppose we should call a candyman," I sighed.

"Or a plumber," the resident said.

We both looked to Hannah for word. I wondered how this would impact, if at all, her secret plan for the day. Perhaps in the ruckus, she would slip up and I would learn what it was. But even now, in the midst of dilemma, she refrained. Darn her Chandler reserve and Christo eyes of China! She is an impervious fortitude!

"There's no time," she said simply and with deliberation, never looking up from her stitch-work nor pausing in those loops.

Before I could ask about a fix, or come up with one myself, she tied off the last stitch of the sock and slipped it on. Then she beckoned me to dash with her to the scene of the crime, to which she glided in her newfound sock upon our hardwood floors. The resident who'd borne the news followed. By the time we got there, we were up to our knees in lemon jelly and it only continued to rise. The hole in the pipe was a gaping one and glared at us from across the room as we entered.

"We need pie crusts," Hannah said to the resident and his artsy friends, "lots of them."

"And what do I do?" I asked eagerly.

"You and I have a pipe to mend," she said with a wink.

"But the others," I wondered. "Shouldn't we get them to higher ground?"

"Oh Kevan," laughed Hannah over the loud rush of torrential jelly, "it's lemon curd! They'll be fine! More than fine, even!"

We did consider at this point, admittedly, why exactly we should mend the pipe. Free flowing lemon jelly isn't such a bad thing, after all. But it is a sad and unavoidable fact that it would ruin the furniture in due time, so it had to be seen to.

Hannah had some hefty yarn left over from her sock project (she does like thick socks) and we used this to close up the hole. By the time the resident and his artsy friends returned with pie crusts, lots of them, the pipe was good as new and we were all quite ready for lunch.

Lemon meringue pies for everyone!

The Station

"You know what," began Kevan "I saw an old abandoned train station just on the outskirts of town today."

"Did you now?" I replied as I continued crocheting my granny squares and raising an eyebrow in his general direction. 

"I did. I think it's a pity something so useful should go to waste. Do you think maybe we could buy it?" Kevan said, with an all too mischievous look of innocence about him, scuffing the toe of his chucks against the floor. I paused for a moment.

"What would we do with it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe do that sort of club for vagrant artists and musicians we're always talking about. Yea, like a hostile. And we could live there too! Can't you see it?"

"It's perfect Kevan. But is it for sale?" I queried. Kevan bit back a grin as his eyes sparkled and his entire body tensed with excitement. 

"Yep! And guess what? I already got the deed!" He exclaimed. My eyes almost popped out of my head as I stared at him, all giddy and flushed. All of a sudden we both burst out laughing. We laughed until we had tears coming out of our eyes.

"You are without a doubt the craziest ginger I know! I can't believe you bought it already! How did you even know I would agree?" I exclaimed as I grabbed him by the shoulders. 

"Cause I know you're always up for a good adventure" he replied. 

"Well lucky for you I think I am. Let's move in tomorrow." 

A few months later Kevan held a large wooden sign in his hands. He held it up against the front of the building while I hammered in the final nails and we stepped back to admire our hard work. There it stood as proud as if it were our own child; "The Station". Tomorrow was opening day. All of our dreams had come to be so quickly. I couldn't wait to meet the people who would stop on in on our place, dreaming new dreams, creating masterpieces, and believing in all sorts of crazy aspirations. They would come here, to our place; to The Station. 

"C'mon." Kevan said as he headed inside. "The work has just begun." 

The Beast

Stay indoors. Doc's orders. They said the pneumonia'd gotten into my chest, and the elements - wintry as they are this time of year - would only agitate the devil further. So indoors I stayed, and dear Hannah could see my misery clear as day.
She slid a cup of tea under my downtrodden face and sat quietly beside me with her own cup in hand. I sniffed - chamomile? Why, Hannah, it's 11:00 in the morning! "It's exactly what you need," she insisted, and I took to drinking it, because I am prone to do whatever she says.
Soon, I was asleep, and when I woke, I was outside. The elements! O God save us from the elements! But I quickly realized, as I came to, that it was not so. I awoke in the same spot where I had fallen asleep, but up around me, taking root in the carpet, grew trees of cardboard and dusty boulders of my favorite books. Overhead, newspaper birds flew, and squirrels (real ones, of course) skipped in the eaves.
There came then, a rustling in the brush, and out leapt Hannah in the most authentic jungle-explorer togs I'd ever beheld. She brandished a machete in one hand, and an unconscious baby alligator in the other. A look of danger flashed in her eye - not fear, of course, but thrill. Adventure was nigh.
"We have a problem," she whispered. "It's loose in the jungle!"
I asked what, but she would only refer to it as "the beast," always followed by a shiver. She took me by the wrist and yanked me across the room. The whole house was a menagerie of foliage and critters, and we duck and wove through it, ever-wary of the beast in the wings. The more we trekked along secretly through the half-shadows, the more noises I heard of creatures I couldn't see, and the more I could feel the wicked presence of the beast, whatever he was. Then, I saw him.
He loomed, head and stories above us. A hulking monster, his laughter roared down upon us and nearly knocked Hannah's hat clean off. She held it tight, though, and turned to me with confidence.
"The only way to beat him," she said, "is to yell and sing and make all the many noises that require the deepest of breaths."
And so that is what we did. We shouted, screamed, laughed and sang until the great pneumonia beast had dwindled to nothing more than a sniffle. He was soon gone entirely, and we celebrated with another cup of tea. Chamomile, again? And when I woke, the house was back to normal.

Hallows

This week had been a rough blur if I'm being honest, but when Thursday night rolled around I was ready for an adventure. So I turned to Kevan and said,
      "It's time."And all he said to me was,
       "will I need a sweater?" before putting down his book and heading for the door. Once we were in the van we drove to Value Village and loaded up on anything bright and shiny, including a big black tent. Then we packed everything up and went to the nearest pumpkin patch. Soon we had everything set up right next to the haunted house. People started asking questions, but we just pretended we didn't speak English; works every time. Finally, Kevan and I looked at each other and decided it was time. We painted an 'open' sign and stuck it outside the flaps to our giant black tent. From the outside it may have looked just as scary as the haunted house next door, but as soon as you stepped inside it was luminous. Each shiny bit of mirror or plastic jewels moved on a different string, reflecting more colours and shades than one can possibly have names for across the white interior. The illustrious incandescence was breathtaking. It felt like nothing bad could ever happen here. And soon people began to filter through, the light igniting in their eyes one after the other. Kevan and I just sat there, transfixed. Then, at the end of the night, no one seemed to be questioning us anymore so we packed up and went home again.