Alice & Coonie

Crooner Robert Humboldt, alias Mr. Coonie, is more than a little upset. "I really don't care my dear Alice, I need to lose weight and lower my blood glucose. Please understand? Or as Dickens said somewhere, but who the hell cares about Dickens anymore except at Christmas. ways. The kitchen was under Alice's control and as she made clear, only her control. I, the Coonie, arrived in this situation driving my old classic sedan, at least a classic in my mind, and in a snow storm. I am retired with a sizable old money family trust fund to rely on and no relations to share it or leave it to. The family trust is the power behind my debit card, also known as a check card. When I arrived I was wearing what I usually wore my work clothes, long sleeved solid color shirt and denim pants, probably needed a haircut, if anybody cared. I smiled, after all, maybe Alice was right but I rather doubted it. I had moved here to Burke, this small village in the mountains, because I had contracted to buy this house, to be left alone and not have to move to Florida. The house was in foreclosure and based on a color brochure of the house, was the basis of my offer to buy. The bank had accepted my contract offer, written by the local lawyer, Davis D. Dunn. Who furnished me with the keys, most of which I didn't know what they were for. Dave was tall, thin and not given to working, but listened well and could write good tight documents including real estate contracts that the local bank accepted. He looked like Peter Lorrie from the early thirties, when Mr. Lorrie was still thin. Dave wore old style clothes that looked well worn and he seemed to always need a haircut, as if anybody cared about him either. So I picked up yesterday's newspaper and ignored the all right blue light toast and sipped my hot black coffee which was excellent. The newspaper was local, that is it was published about a hundred miles away, and didn't have much news, local or otherwise, to read that had local meaning. It did cover the snow that seemed to want to bury us daily. I spoke to the kitchen door. "Alice, did somebody push the snow out of the drive last night and clean off the front porch? Don't forget putting food out on the porch for the brooding birds and squirrels in this snow." I knew they had but it was a way to talk about something else than blue and light toast. Alice came back in through the swing door into the dining room and then into my library and frowned. A long trip just to holler and glare at me. Not to mention that the library shelves were empty as the books had been taken also. "Mr. Coonie, you'r trying to be a smart ass! I seen you study the drive and the snow everywhere, including the porch. There must be ten feet deep of it laying in the yard by now. It's drifted up against the windows in the kitchen. Besides I talked to the snow pusher. Says he's making a large fortune this winter pushing snow, as long as he can get diesel for his truck. He's suppose to widen main street again today so that parking is available, at least on the bank's side. He's hired two dump trucks and a bucket loader on the city's budget to get rid of all that trash filled snow." Alice, who is Alice Conroy End-Right, has an attitude that was gracious when she first talked with me, Mr. Coonie. In fact I think she was here before I got here. At least she greeted me when I unlocked the front door with keys provided by my lawyer, a local named Dunn. Alice started our first conversation after I asked for toasted toast and coffee. "That's crap Mr. Coonie and you know it, The enjoyment of fresh toast with blueberry jam and coffee won't hurt you, believe you me!" She stomped back threw the dining room and through the kitchen door which swung both ways.