This Old Mansion

By: John Bowling
(© 2013-2014 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 10
"Mike, Son of Self? And the BBQ."

Dateline: Thursday, July 4, 2013, Early Morning,
George narrating

Hi, George Galenhat here, the neighbor for whom Cliff used to work, before he got busy with the Maple Express Project. I woke up early to get more stuff from my shed for the humongous BBQ near the depot. My occasional programming jobs were fine, and I enjoyed them, along with the help I'm giving them on the project, but I also have a farm to run. Even with Cliff's help, it was a lot of work, so, through the Maple Express Project I'm hiring some guys to take over all the farming and ranching tasks at my farm and Manny and Cliff's. I would rather design and write new computer programs, working with Manny, and it looks like I'll be able to do some for the project along with training the new residents who want to dabble in electronics and programming. Also, this project is going to take a lot of time.

Also, living in a rural area as we all do, it's easy to go lose myself in the woods behind my house. I love living out here, close enough to town to get what I need, yet away from the crush of traffic and people in the cities.

Anyway, I was about to get items out of the shed in my back yard, to get what I need for the BBQ, primarily a spit for roast pig. Sure, it's mundane work, the kind that takes you away from the tough work that requires thinking. It needs to be done and it is relaxing. I am, after all, a stickler for being organized and prepared. And, I haven't cleaned the shed up for a while, so I'm going to toss out out-dated items, dust everything, etc. And often it is a good distraction from the routines of my jobs.

I put on my grubbiest, not dirty, but old and worn clothes. The shed rarely gets cleaned, and is often dusty. It is drafty. I grabbed the clipboard with the inventory list and the keys I keep hanging in the laundry room, or grabbed at them. They weren't there. 'Did I forget to put them back last time?' I asked myself. Yes, I do talk to myself, quietly, and often answer back, and no, I am not crazy — yet.

I looked around and didn't find them, including under the appliances and in the cupboards. Not in any dirty clothes pockets, either. No luck. OK, if they are not here, perhaps I left them in the shed. Strange, I'm not usually that disorganized. I went back to the kitchen's utility closet, and grabbed the spare set of keys which are there, including the spare shed key. So, out to the laundry room and then I reach out to unlock the back door. Wait - it was not locked. Did I forget that, too? Senility or Alzheimer's at my age? I am only thirty-two so it would be very early onset. 'Course, give them some time and some pharmaceutical company will invent a patented genetic modified minor memory loss as a new disease so they can sell a new prescription drug for it after which some lawyer will want you to sue due to the brain pain of remembering when (or was that 'Remember WENN'?), or some such nonsense. It's no wonder that medical costs are through the roof.

I walked up to and turned the knob on the back door. It turned easily so it sure wasn't locked. What gives, there? Guess I better take some new anti-forget drug! I went out the door and up to the shed, where the door was ajar. No, silly, this is not like the joke where the witch turns into a driveway (Author's note. It was last Halloween when I started writing this, geez!). The door is really a door, and it is hanging slightly askew, not mating properly with the frame, neither closed nor locked.

All that innuendo and idiocy aside, I opened it fully and walked into the shed and turned on the light. The shed is fairly large, with four sets of shelves across most of the width, and enough space to walk around on either end of each shelf. I notice that, strangely, there is no dust on any of the shelves. There is a noise of a crash in the far corner. Being careful, walking quietly, and watching, I look around the next shelf and see nothing. Then around the last shelf, huddled in the corner, obviously scared, and surrounded by broken glass and some home canned peaches scattered on the floor, I see what appears to be a young man. He looks to be about sixteen and is a somewhat slender, muscular blond.

"Hi." I say in a friendly voice. "Careful you don't get cut on the glass. I'll clean it up if you stay still for now, so you don't get hurt. It's only home canned peaches, and I have lots more. You are not in trouble!"

"But...but..."

"No 'but's! I'll make something for breakfast soon if you want to eat with me."

"But I broke it!"

"My coming in here surprised you."

"Un-hun."

"So, see, it was my fault, and you're OK if you didn't get cut." He looks like a mid-teen and his clothes are somewhat dirty. "I have no intention of hurting you. Just be careful you don't cut yourself."

"Kay."

"Then wait right there while I get some things to clean that up with that are over in that corner. Whatever you do, don't get cut on the glass. OK?' I walked over and grabbed a whisk broom and dust pan and then back towards him. He sort of cowered there as I stooped down and brushed the glass pieces back and then, down on my knees on a pad I had just placed there, and swept the broken jar pieces along with peach pieces into the dust pan, careful about how I did it. I made sure any loose bits of glass were picked up to be safely deposited in the trash can, then used a hand vac on the area. I am smiling at him when ever I look up and see him watching me intently, still leery of what I might do. With the sweeping done, I carried the dust pan back to a trash can and dumped it. I will come out later and finish the cleanup, and for now I put a hand out to help him up.

"Come on, let's go into the house and have some breakfast. I'm George Galenhat." I tell him, still smiling.

"UN.. OK." and he reached out to grab my hand, still looking somewhat scared, and squeezed my hand. I help him up, and walk with him towards the 'ajar' - I mean the door, I guess it changed when I wasn't looking (back into a witch?) Now, let's leave that innocent driveway she turned into out of this.

"Did you know that door was ajar when I first came in here, and now it's a door again?"

"You're silly, Mister."

"Yea, and you're a real hunk. What did I say my name is?"

"UN... George Gallon Hat?"

"Nope, it's Galenhat, not a gallon, besides that would be a ten gallon hat, or something cowboy like that. Now what's your name?"

"OK, Mr. Galenhat. I'm Mike Michelson."

"Call me George! Well, Mikey, I can see lots of humor there, son of self."

"No, please don't call me that, I get enough of that in school. I am not a mouse! Nor my own dad or grandpa."

"You do look like him, your dad."

"You knew him?"

"He was a few years ahead of me in high school, the football quarterback for four years, a real hunk. I met him, but never really got to know him. Can you imagine me, class nerd, being on the school paper and interviewing the best built and best looking man in the whole school? You are just as built as he was. How is he, and what are you doing here?"

"You sure ask a lot of questions! He was killed in a car crash last month, then I left home because my step-mother hated me and insisted I leave. She hated him also, just loved his money."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? He may have been good at sports, but he was never around enough to be a dad, which he promised after he retired from pro football."

"OK, What do you want for breakfast? And, by the way, you're going with me over to the Woodard Lake Depot to the BBQ about ten a.m. I had the butcher pick up a couple of steers to butcher and age. They will bring the best cuts over. Also, they prepared one of Manny's pigs to roast on a spit. The spit is what I went into the shed to get. And we will have chicken and tons of fresh vegetables, along with all the stuff neighbors are bringing for the potluck area."

"Do I have a choice for breakfast? Just fix what you want."

"I always fix what I want and I'm tired of the same things every week, so I want to try something new. So what new thing are we going to have?"

"Cereal for breakfast, and Burgers, chicken, and pizza are what I know, fast food, like most teens."

"OK, let's do Belgian Waffles with fresh blueberries I picked a few days ago, with real butter, and scrambled eggs. I also have genuine maple syrup, made right here. I only have them when I can get fresh fruit. And I'm doing two huge pans of vegetable lasagna for the BBQ potluck.

"I've never heard of them. She was a terrible cook."

"The lasagna has pasta, tomato sauce with spices, cheese, and veggies in it."

"Something like pizza? Are the spices hot?"

"Yea, but also a lot different. You eat it with a fork, not your hands. The spices are things like basil, oregano, etc. no hot peppers. And I make it from fresh, real ingredients rather than get the skimpy pre-made and preserved stuff.

"Do you have a problem sleeping in my spare bedroom in the house? It's a lot better than the shed. I am not going to hurt you. I am not gay so you don't have to worry about that. I have no problems with people who are gay, and you'll meet some of them at the BBQ."

He shook his head.

"Then, is there anything of yours here in the shed that you want to take into the house?"

He went and grabbed his pack. "Ready."

I locked up, and we went in the house, putting the keys where they belong. I showed him where his bedroom and bathroom were, suggesting he get cleaned up while I start the food.

After he finished cleaning up he asked me: "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"First, you are a nice kid. I admired your dad back in school even though I didn't get to know him well. And you cleaned up the shed."

"I didn't want to eat your food without paying you someway."

"That shows you are honest. I like that in someone who is or could be a friend. Would you be just as honest talking about your family life?"

"I'll try to be."

"You said your mother kicked you out?"

"She did, shortly after Dad died."

"How old are you, and did your dad leave a will?"

"Sixteen, and I don't know about a will."

"How about a lawyer?"

"He did mention one once. In an office in Traverse City, at Smith and Wesson."

"Now who's shooting up the comedy? Sorry, there actually are no streets in Traverse City named Smith or Wesson. Besides, S&W were famous for their old west six shooters."

"Here, I'll show you." And he pulled out a card from his wallet.

"Ah, not street names. I wonder ... nah. They wouldn't. I'll call them and leave a message if they are not there. Then we'll go there in a few days and find out.

I called, and got an answer. "Thomas Kline, Attorney."

"Oh, I thought it was Smyth and Weston. this is George Galenhat. Are you working on the Fourth?"

"Hi, George. We've met several times related to the WLS and JT's favorite name, the Maple Express Project. I bought and took over the law firm when they retired. And I had some details to finish before the BBQ this afternoon. How can I help you, George?"

"Apparently the old firm worked for Michael Michelson, Sr., the football player. Did Mr. Michelson leave a will?"

"How do we know it is really him?"

"I'm putting this on speaker. -click- Mike Michelson, Jr. is here with me. I went to high school with Mike, Sr., and Mike, Jr. is the spittin' image of him. I can bring him into your office once the holiday festivities are over. You can meet him at the BBQ, but may not be able to talk much privately. Mike handed me a card with the previous law firm names and no address. What time would be convenient?"

"Wonderful, we have been trying to find him to let him know about updates. Let me give you the new address, 2834 Old Mission Road. It's a large house surrounded by cherry trees. I, along with my clan, can be at the BBQ early. Make sure you bring ID for Michael."

"You guys are way out on the peninsula."

"Yes, our offices are near the Old Mission State Park, close to the lighthouse at the tip. We will arrange tours for the young people at the Maple Express Project."

"And thank you. We can at least get things started, but it will be noisy. We have it designed as a fun event, with lots of people. And probably politicians. We have a time set up for their speeches, not while we are eating, and limited to ten minutes each."

"And knowing the politicians you will be lucky to stop them after thirty minutes."

"OK, so you're not on the corner of Smith and Wesson, the way the card sort of implies?"

"I don't even know of a city with those streets, let alone a cross road corner. Maybe an old western ghost town somewhere. People did confuse their original name sometimes. I think the old coots did it deliberately as a gimmick, and I doubt if they had any relationship to the gun company. We redid the cards."

"That brings up another thing about guns. The WLS project, or Maple Express Project, as JT calls it, property has been posted for many years for no hunting. I, along with Manny and Cliff, want to stop any guns brought into the property. It is fenced, which is being replaced. The planned fencing is to be 6 foot high brick with a thick tree band outside of that. This is to protect the kids and all domestic and semi-wild animals inside, which included herds of deer, beaver, raccoons, squirrels, and a small pack of wolves. Joe and Grant have made sure the semi-wild animals were all fed properly over the years, so while the wolves may take down one on occasion to stay in practice, there was plenty of human cast off food for them. We did not want them to be fully tame or fully wild. The wolves, especially, were fond of the kids once they had the family pets run with them occasionally. They were more leery of the adults, but gradually came around.

"Even law enforcement will be required to leave their guns and tasers at the guard shack. There will be no weapons there, so they won't need them. We want the kids and all the animals protected, and they will have the best accommodations and the freedom to leave if they really want to. The semi-wild animals were also protected inside the fence, and there were places where they could wander out and return. They were monitored, and foreign packs of wolfs were barred from entering.

"Also continue the no hunting postings outside of the twenty feet thick tree barrier. Do we need any permits from the county, considering it is on private property."

"I'll look into that, and let you know."

We said our goodbys and hung up.

We sat down for breakfast, and Mike really enjoyed it. "Save some room for the BBQ."

I prepared and put two sheet cake pans of lasagna into the oven, turned to just warm, while we started over the first load of things to take to the BBQ area. Normally I would use of taller pans, but with all the other stuff, I figured that thin would go better. They could always take extra pieces.

We cleaned up the kitchen, and loaded up my van with stuff and took it over. Twenty minutes later we returned, and I sprinkled a little more sauce on top so it would not be dry, and turned the oven up to cook the lasagna, while we were reloading the van. We would be back for at least one trip more.

"This stuff smells good, something like pizza but even better with the stuff you put in it. But that pasta is rather wiggly."

"Wouldn't you wiggle if you knew a hungry teen was about to sink his teeth in to you? The pasta is made flat in the center with that wavy frill on the outside. The main difference is the cheese. It's Ricotta, not the cheaper cottage cheese some people use, and the sauce is not as sweet as pizza, with more basil and oregano."

"Can I have another waffle? My step-mother's cooking was never better than frozen dinners."

"Sure. No tribble a'tall."

"What?"

"No tribble a'tall. It's something Chief Engineer Scotty said on the original TV Star Trek series, in episode 44. The Tribbles were cute little, round, furry creatures that ate grains; in the show the grain was then a new variety, triticale. You'll have to watch the episode."

"Nah, but the show sounds like it would be fun to watch."

"Like most old TV shows, some of it is rather hokey, but it fostered a lot of better sci-fi shows. But, back to food: I don't do frozen dinners. So if you stay here, you'll get lots of real home cooking. I'll introduce you to my neighbors who grow organic foods. We get together for supper often. They are gay guys, married to each other, and the heads of the project which they inherited from their Great-Aunts, who are a married lesbian couple. You'll meet them all.

For now, we took the last load over, and met Mr. Kline.

He had some surprising news for Mike: "The pseudo-step mother, Ms. Linda Gosfelt, was never married to your father, and the will states that she is only to be given $5,000 per month, to act as caretaker for Mike, until he is 18. She was not named guardian of Mike, the law firm handles that, just as we handle our four adopted teens. She is allowed to live in the house until he is 18. Everything else went to Mike, investments, cash, and the house. The investments had been transferred to Michael Jr.'s name, and a bank account was set up and funds transferred right after his dad's death."

"Should she be getting the money if she is not even allowing Michael, Jr. to live in his own house? Should she even be there?"

"Only with Michael, Jr.'s permission. Which I would assume she no longer has, given the circumstances."

I told Mike: "Our neighbors, Manheim Darnell and Cliff Miles, who works part-time for me recently took in a twelve-year-old who was orphaned and being abused, and several others recently. They are converting this area, with an old hotel into a home for kids. I lease grazing land from them. They said, before I found out about Michael, that Mr. Klien is handling things for them that involves a home for kids who were abandoned by their parents or otherwise left stranded. Could I suggest that Mike stay there until he is at least 18?"

"Yes, and I'm sure they could use your help, and Michael Jr's, with that as well."

"Why don't we come over and visit tomorrow, after the festivities, and bring our four adoptees? We can bring in Ms. Linda Gosfelt. I was there yesterday with the legal team from Chicago and Ms. Helen Oskar Incarbo-Vermillion and Ms. Dorothy Manchester, Manny and Cliff's great-aunts. The home for kids is Helen and Dot's vision, along with their money to support it, all of which is being transferred to Manny and Cliff."

Mike said: "I want to let my mother stay in the house, rent free until I am 21, and continue the payments to her until then if the fund holds out. That is, provided I am able to live somewhere nice and continue school."

"OK, Mike, you can stay with me for a month or two, and then go into the care of Manny and Cliff if they agree. She was required to pay for all maintenance while she lived there, and was obligated to have everything in good condition, or pay for any repairs that needed doing until she moved out. Mr. Kline had a home inspector confirm the condition of everything shortly after Michael, Sr.'s death, and will do so again when she is scheduled to move.

We all met together, including Manny, Cliff, and JT.

JT here, taking over the moderation.

I met Mike when I went to camp at 8. My mother sent me with a group from school to see what Michigan was like. Mike was my assistant councilor, and he helped me learn some things like swimming and canoeing and showed me how to use the computer. He's nice, even if he is a big meanie sometimes. My new dad, Manny, asked him to come stay with us and help out when he found out what happened to Mike. Uncle George can't help him much, so that's how come he is living with us and working for Dad getting the new home ready. 'Sides, I like the big hunk. And Lucent sure is sticking close to him.

Mike is really something. I want to be that well built when I grow up — nah, better, like Jason. And he is also a great 'big brother', helping me with everything. He will be working for Dad and he is showing me how to do lots of stuff. I want to be just like him when I grow up. Cliff will become a temporary foster parent for him 'cause George had too much work with all his cattle.

That's enough about Mike. If you want to know more, talk to him yourself. He just walked into my room after knocking.

"OK, can I have my arm back? Na, na, na, that didn't even hurt! You big meanie! Now I'll have to add something bad about you."

"No you won't, 'cause ..." He made a fist and shook his arm at me, grinning. His muscles really look good when he's flexing them like that. He turned to go out. "Dinner is about ready, but you better take time to do something about that thing stretching your pants in front."

"Hay, I've seen your pants bulging too. And mine only gets like that when you are showing off your muscles, you big bully! 'Sides mine is bigger than yours. And Jason's got bigger muscles. "

"Sure, Twerp! Don't forget dinner after you spray the 'stink purty' stuff in the bathroom and clean up! I'll tell them you'll be down in fifteen, after you ... ah, clean up."

"Meanie! Us growing boys need our exercise."

"Just make sure you don't over-develop one arm with all the stroking."

I threw a pillow at Mike. "Get out of here!"

Author's Note: 'stink purty' is a term used by a previous neighbor of mine. He had cerebral palsy, and could not use his legs. I used to help him get from his bed to his wheelchair or scooter and later back into bed. The 'stink purty' was his term for a clothes odor-ant that covered what ever odors were bad, in the same way perfume does. A real de-odorant would remove the existing odor and not add any odor, but they do not make anything like that other than soap and water. That neighbor eventually moved to a decent assisted care center with more help than I could give him.

To be continued...

Author's note: A big "Thank You" to Gerry Young for his excellent editing. He eliminates a lot of hiccups my addled mind and misguided fingers smudge onto the page.