Still busy days here in the west. Full days, where I limp around like a Festus Haggen wannabe because of a sciatica nerve that is driving me crazy. You know the nerve - that big one that makes its move by literally being a pain in the ass. And you know Festus, even if you think you don’t. - that no-account hillbilly deputy that follows Matt Dillion around like a loyal pup on Gunsmoke. I know, no one watches Gunsmoke anymore, but they should. James Arness played a tough but fair lawman, which I contribute to the babysitting he received at the hands of my very own Grandma. I kid you not. Grandma Viola, a tough and fair Norwegian woman herself, enduring the hardships of early twentieth century rural Minnesota life, her then young hand gently guiding a then even younger man.
I’d like to say there’s more to the story, which I’m sure there is. But I don’t know it. But someday, when there’s more time, I’ll at least imagine it.
There is also rumor that one of my oldest friends has finally found his way to these words. We both spent time growing up in Minnesota, where we followed each other around loyally like Matt Dillion and Festus. I’m not sure who was who. I think we took turns.
But an email this morning clearly stated that he has something to say. Something that he thought should move straight onto these pages, with no editing, for everyone to see. Naturally, in true Gunsmoke style, I agreed. It’s called friendship and playing nicely. If it was 1928 and we were being babysat by my Grandma, she would nod approvingly and hand us a freshly baked cookie. Or maybe she would make us muck out the barn, I don’t know. But something character building, I’m sure.
What I’m not sure about is what my friend, the mystery guest writer, will have to say.