Sybil Bruncheon's "What's Cookin'?"...... A Midnight Snack from The Land Of Midnight Sun!

                                               NORWEGIAN SWEDISH MEATBALLS!!                        

          Dear Sybil, I’m always trying to throw little impromptu get-togethers at the beach and come up with cute themes for the parties and just the right menu!...but I find Sandra Lee’s “tablescapes and cocktails” profoundly UNsatisfying….especially because some of my guests are sober, and if your party depends totally on booze, napkin folds, and some citronella candles, you’re a loser…(no offence!) Have you got something that might be fun and a novelty? Sincerely, Bjørnstjerne “Skippy” Bjørnson

          Well…..um… Skippy! I may have just the thing for you!...and for any other hosts and hostesses who feel stranded…  Out at the seashore for vacation??? Planning a soiree on the patio??  Need a great and quick treat for company dropping by for cocktails at sunset??  In-laws checking up on you with NO warning???  Well, Darlings, Mummy went to her super-secret recipe library, (which looks like Severus Snape's personal storeroom at Hogwarts!! I dated him in Junior High School!...but that’s another story for another time!), and pulled out a simple recipe just perfect for a buffet, or passed hors d'oeuvres, or a midnight snack....in broad daylight!!!!!  It's NORWEGIAN SWEDISH MEATBALLS!!  I got it from my old friend, Hedda Gabler, shortly before her unfortunate …um… “accident”! ...so, in a way...you could say..."These are a dead woman's treats!!".  They're absolutely perfect for a FJORD FIESTA, and who doesn’t want a new theme like that for their deck party?!?!  Make them ahead of time, and let their wonderful flavor develop for a day or two...and of course they're great as leftovers for that midnight snack!!... If there ARE any!  You know, with all the Summer Stock Theatre and Plays-In-The-Park-type-things ....we could do a whole Ibsen menu....WILD DUCK as the entree, and of course, Nora Helmer's DOLL HOUSE Macaroons for dessert!!!  Enjoi, mes amis!!!!

Norwegian Swedish Meatballs: Serves 4 to 6
INGREDIENTS:
For the meatballs-
• 1/2 cup fine dry bread crumbs
• 1/4 cup heavy cream
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 medium red onion, finely chopped
• 1/2 pound ground chuck or sirloin                                                             • 1/2 pound ground veal
• 1/2 pound ground pork
• 2 tablespoons honey
• 1 large egg
• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 3 tablespoons unsalted butter

For the sauce-
• 1 cup chicken stock
• 1/2 cup heavy cream
• 2 tablespoons juice from quick pickled cucumbers (optional)
• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper                                         • nutmeg (optional)

DIRECTIONS:
Prepare the meatballs: In a large bowl, combine the ground beef, veal, pork, breadcrumbs, onion, honey, and egg, and mix well with your hands.  Season with salt and pepper to taste. Add in the heavy cream, and mix thoroughly. Set aside. Heat the oil in a small skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and sauté for about 5 minutes, until softened.  Remove from the heat.  With wet hands (to keep the mixture from sticking), (or better yet, use an ice cream scoop!) shape the mixture into meatballs the size of a golf ball, but no larger!!  Swedish meatballs are much more elegant when they're small enough to be popped in the mouth without smearing your lipstick!  Tres chic!! Place them on a plate lightly moistened with water.  You should have about 24 meatballs.  Melt the butter and a small amount of olive oil (to keep the butter from burning!) in a large skillet over medium-high heat.  Add the meatballs, in batches if necessary, and cook, turning frequently, for about 7 minutes, until browned on all sides and cooked through.  Transfer the meatballs to a plate, and discard all but 1 tablespoon of fat from the skillet. (Well, girls! We have to count a FEW calories!)

Prepare the sauce: Return the skillet to the heat, whisk in the stock, cream, and pickle juice, and bring to a simmer.  Season to taste with salt and pepper.  Add the meatballs to the sauce, reduce the heat to medium, and simmer for about 5 minutes, until the sauce thickens slightly and the meatballs are heated through. Add a dash or two of nutmeg if you like! Serve hot with the mashed potatoes, lingonberry preserves, and pickled cucumbers!  Pickled cucumbers…the perfect Summer treat!  Oops!  Mummy didn't include those recipes, did she?  Oh well... here goes!!

Quick-Pickled Cucumbers and Red Onion                                                   INGREDIENTS:
• 1 seedless cucumber
• ½ medium sized red onion
• 1 ½ cups of white vinegar
• 1 cup of sugar
• 2 tbsp. of dill                                                                                                     • 6 allspice berries
• ¼ teaspoon kosher salt
• a pinch or two of freshly ground pepper

DIRECTIONS: Using a mandoline or a very sharp knife, finely slice the cucumbers and red onion….really fine… as in “see-through”! It’ll make the salad look ever so much more sophisticated for the recipe-snobs that might be there! But certainly be careful… the tip of finger is such an appetite depressant, don’t you think?! (When handling slicing or poking tools in the kitchen, it’s best not to be chatting on the cell phone or watching All My Children!) Put in a mixing bowl with the dill and a pinch of salt while you prepare the pickling solution. 

In a small pot over medium heat, combine white vinegar, sugar, allspice and salt. Stir well until the liquid is simmering and the sugar has completely dissolved. Pour pickling liquid over red onion and cucumbers and stir to ensure everything is evenly coated. Allow to cool to room temperature, then cover with plastic wrap (press the plastic wrap down onto the cucumbers so there is no air) and refrigerate. Chill for at least 4 hours to cool completely before serving. Reserve two tablespoons of the juice for your meatball sauce! It adds just the right tang and serves as a counterpoint to the lush sweetness of the lingonberry preserves. Speaking of which, the best way to get good lingonberry preserves is to just buy them at the store, but make sure they’re high-end. You can get them at any fine gourmet shop or even at IKEA if you happen to be buying a bookcase! There are two ways of serving the preserves according to personal preference; warmed up and with a bit of ginger beer and lime to compliment the heated meatballs… or chilled to contrast with the hot meatballs….your choice!

Smashed Potatoes                                                                                            INGREDIENTS:
• 1 lb. baby new potatoes
• 6 tablespoons milk
• 1/4 cup of crème fraîche or sour cream
• kosher salt and pepper to taste
• 2 tablespoons chopped flat leaf parsely

DIRECTIONS: Put the potatoes in a stockpot, and cover by an inch of water. Season with salt and boil until tender, about 10 minutes. Drain the potatoes, and return back to their hot pot. Add 6 tablespoons milk and 1/4 cup of crème fraîche or sour cream, and season with salt and pepper. Add half the parsley chopped very fine, if using, and smash the potatoes. Plate the potatoes, and pour the meatballs and sauce over the top. Top with the remaining parsley!...and voilà! …er, um…. här är!

          You know, Darlings!.. When I think of how those long Winters in Scandinavia with no sun, and then Summers where the sun never sets, I’m not surprised that those beautiful blondes get so down in the mouth… if only we’d popped a few of these sumptuous Swedish meatballs in Hedda’s mouth, she might not have gotten so grumpy! Ah well… As I said before, Enjoi, mes amis!!.... ooops!  I mean, Enjoi, mine venner!!!! ...and let me know how you like them! There’s absolutely nothing Smörgasbor-ing about them!

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Sybil Bruncheon’s “THE WEES AND THEIR IRISH WAYS”.....

        Ah, me Dairlins, did I ever tell ye the time I was visitin’ me loovly ancestors in dear old Ireland, when I was bewitched, BEWITCHED I tell ye, by a band of the Wee-Peeple and their mischiefs??... well, one misty morn, I was out for a stroll and some quiet time by myself. I was whistlin’ a tune and feelin pensive-like about the beautiful landscape and the quiet surroundins, when suddenly, out pops a little fellow dressed all in green (what else!?). His duds were all mixed patterns and prints with stripes butted up against polka-dots, chevrons, curly-cues, paisleys, checks, harlequinades, skeetlebarts, floopsie-loos and embellished with sequins, rhinestones, ric-rac, and all manner of gew-gaws, pasties, ribbons, ruffles, frills, and sillies.

         I knew instantly by his ridiculous togs that not only was he a Leprechaun, but quite possibly a "Mary-Maker" as well.... (you know, the kind of Leprechaun who lures young lads away on drunken weekends and likes to re-do a woman's home or hair when she's fast asleep, sometimes in a very naughty way!!). Though he was only 20 polpits high or so, he gave a sweepin bow, flourishin his befeathered cap and introducin himself as "Breehan O'Really", a respectable enough name for so cheeky a fellow, but I checked my purse and pockets immediately out of habit, for I have met his like many o'time oer the years in all sorts of disreputable places like Bingo halls and emergency rooms in Doll Hospitals. Mr. O'Really wished me “a gracious goo'day” and asked me where I was bein off to, and I dished him some blarney about lookin for a cappuccino and croissant in the vicinity which brought him (and me!) to loud laughter and shared winks! ....and then, after a slight and pregnant pause, Breehan drew my attention to the huge tunnel that was right beside me, but that I hadn't noticed before!

        How had that suddenly come into view? Even in reverie, or recoverin from a “tipsy”, I'm an observant soul, and I couldn't imagine how I had missed that great a vision so near to my path??? Little Breehan's eyes shone brightly as he beckoned me close...much more brightly than your usual Wee-lette, and as he spoke, those deep green eyes shone bigger, and brighter....with a bit o’ menace in them, if truth be told. I bent low to see into them more clearly, and to show wee Breehan that I wasn’t a-feared of him, though he had a tad o’ the Devil himself in those twinklers! He asked me if I liked wearing pretties, “bein a loovly lass myself”. Well I gave him my best askance and told him to “go on!”, but I was glad for the compliment (for a lady of any age likes to be told and not have to pay for it at a local pub or in an alleyway). And then, right there, I heard them! Breehan’s fellow-magicals, singin their plaintive tune, their sweet harmonies a-driftin out o’ the tunnel’s great mouth. I could na see ‘em, but their angels’ voices rose and rose more and more as if they were gettin close to comin into view! And angels’ voices they had too! For never have ye heard a sound so close to dyin and wakin in the clouds with St. Peter’s hand on yer heart welcoming ye home! I confess, I was lured by their sweet song, almost a prayer-like, and then, as if through a mist, the first of ‘em began to come out into the grey morning light. In procession, but not formal, just amblin along, smiling at me with their faces open and friendly, and one of ‘em was holdin a huge cushion in his outstretched hands. It was beautiful, dark green velvet with trims and braids and tassels all on it fit for a king’s coronation, and I wondered if Breehan and his pranksters had stolen it!... and when I saw what was nestled down inside the lushness, I was very sure there had been some thievery… or at least a wee bit o’ finger-friskiness. For there, as delicious as candy, was the most gloriously green arc o’ emeralds ye’ve ever seen, arranged in a tiara-crown.

        Even in the dull grey of the mornin mist, it twinkled and nearly danced on its pilla, the light in it as merry and laughin as that dangerous spark in the eyes o’ the Wees that brought it towards me. Oh yes… for that is how green fire can be, and indeed the color green itself, doncha know? Green is the color of the Lord’s own trees and every leaf upon ‘em in His good world, God bless ye, but it also can be the color o’ Envy and Jealousy… and Coveting… and Money… and green can be the sickly color of somethin’ deadly or dyin and left in a dark place to rot and corrupt. But, oh, how I stared at that beautiful crown and its laughin emeralds, even as I remembered my catechism and all the lessons that nuns and nicer folks had taught me well through love and ruler whacks….

        And then, wee Breehan whispered ever so gently and lovin-like, “Would ye care, dear Lass, to try it on? I daresay it looks just yer size, and the twinklettes match yer eyes so!”… and… well... I knew in my heart ‘o hearts it might be wrong, or at least it might be what Sister Mary Bernice had warned me against at my eighth birthday party when I gave Johnny Brannigan an extra piece of my cake if he’d show me why boys were different than girls… It might be like that. Tryin on that tiara and lookin at Johnny behind the church in all his glory… they might be the same thing. …and I thought of Sister Mary Bernice! But I couldna resist! Neither when I was eight!... nor when I was a grown lady and had seen many glories in the passin years. We’re mortal, aren’t we, made of flesh and bone, and prone to mischiefs, and temptations, and bruises, and beauty. God protect us, Beauty!...maybe the most dangerous injury of all on this fretful journey. And when we are first born and set sail in each our own fragile vessel on the great sea of life, to be buffeted about as whim will have it, how guilty of wrong are we when our crewmen include the Breehan O’Reallys of the world? They stow away in the hold, and jump out at all the wrong times to vex our better natures and set our destinies at odds with what our stars and souls would better like. But there it is!

       ...and so, as the glorious cushion with its fantastic cargo was held before me, and I stared into the invitin eyes of each of the little minions that ringed me, I took a deep and quiet breath. I smiled back, as sweetly and deeply as I ever have, finally settlin on Breehan’s upturned face. I slowly reached out for the tiara with both my tremblin hands, and lifted its surprising weight up… and towards my brow, all feverish now with expectation. I lowered the crown of gold and diamonds and emeralds upon myself, and Yes! It fit perfectly!... I felt it there, substantial and filled with glory, but not encumbering or hurtful. Almost like a loved-one who had come home after a long absence, and was now sittin exactly where he was meant to be. I slowly rose up and stood before the gathered magicals around me, their eyes watchful, waitin… AND I RAN! RAN with my treasure clutched tight to my head so as not to lose it on the rocky path that I tore down like a meteor shootin through the night!... and the last thing I heard as I rounded a stone wall was the yowled rage of the Wees as they realized that sometimes, on rare occasions, the world that holds the teachins of Mary Bernice, and ruler whacks, and croissants and cappuccinos, and Johnny Brannigan, and the likes of a lass like me… That world sometimes gets the better of THEM for a change! And the Wees and the Magicals and the Tricksters have to dance the same jig as the rest of us… in front of the Great Maker.

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A New Sybil's "WHO'Z DAT?"... ALLEN JENKINS (April 9, 1900 - July 24, 1974)

Darlings! Mummy has made a decision! After reading dozens of posts and having hundreds of conversations with well-meaning folks who just don't know about the great CHARACTER actors who gave films the depth and genius that surrounded and supported the so-called "stars", I am going to post a regular, special entry called SYBIL'S "WHO'Z DAT??"....there'll be photos and a mini-bio, and the next time you see one of those familiar, fabulous faces that you just "can't quite place".......well, maybe these posts will help. Some of these actors worked more, had longer and broader careers, and ended up happier, more loved, and even wealthier than the "stars" that the public "worships"......I think there may be a metaphor in that! What do you think??? ….well, here’s one of those faces that you can’t miss or forget!...as a matter of fact, just to see his face automatically triggers the sound of his voice in many film fans! He’s Allen Jenkins (April 9, 1900 – July 20, 1974).

Born David Allen Curtis Jenkins in Staten Island, New York on April 9, 1900. Both of Allen Jenkins' parents were musical comedy performers, and he entered the theater as a stage mechanic after World War I, after having spent time working in the Brooklyn Navy Yard. He studied at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. In his first stage appearance, he danced next to James Cagney in a chorus line for an off-Broadway musical called PITTER-PATTER (1920), earning five dollars a week. He also appeared in Broadway plays between 1923 and 1962, including THE FRONT PAGE (1928). His big break came when he replaced Spencer Tracy for three weeks in the Broadway play THE LAST MILE (1930).

Jenkins was called to Hollywood by Darryl F. Zanuck and signed first to Paramount Pictures and shortly afterward to Warner Bros. His first role in films came in 1931, when he appeared as an ex-convict in the short STRAIGHT AND NARROW. He had originated the character of Frankie Wells in the Broadway production of BLESSED EVENT and reprised the role in its film adaptation, both in 1932. With the advent of talking pictures, he made a career out of playing comic henchmen, stooges, policemen, taxi drivers, and other 'tough guys' in numerous films of the 1930s and 1940s, especially for Warner Bros. where the actor made so many pictures that he was sometimes referred to as "the fifth Warner Brother." As outspoken and pugnacious off screen as on, Jenkins was a member in good standing of Hollywood's so-called "Irish Mafia," a rotating band of Hibernian actors (including James Cagney, Pat O'Brien, Frank McHugh and James Gleason) who palled around incessantly. Vivid in even the smallest walk-ons roles, Jenkins was labeled the "greatest scene-stealer of the 1930s" by The New York Times. Some of his most iconic films include heavy “message dramas” like I AM A FUGITIVE FROM A CHAIN GANG (1932) with Paul Muni and classic Art Deco Busby Berkeley musicals like 42ND STREET (1933).

Popular but undisciplined and profligate with his money, Jenkins was reduced to "B" films by the 1940s and 1950s, including occasional appearances in RKO's Falcon films and the Bowery Boys epics at Monogram; still, he was as game as ever, and capable of taking any sort of physical punishment meted out to his characters. TV offered several opportunities for Jenkins in the 1950s and 1960s, notably his supporting role on 1956's HEY JEANNIE, a sitcom starring Scottish songstress Jeannie Carson, and 30 weeks' worth of voice-over work as Officer Dibble on the 1961 animated series Top Cat. Going the dinner theater and summer stock route in the 1960s, Jenkins was as wiry as ever onstage, but his eyesight had deteriorated to the point that he had to memorize where the furniture was set. Making ends meet between acting jobs, Jenkins took on work as varied as tool-and-die making for Douglas Aircraft and selling cars for a Santa Monica dealer. Asked in 1965 how he felt about "moonlighting", Jenkins (who in his heyday had commanded $4000 per week) growled, "I go where the work is and do what the work is! Moonlighting's a fact. The rest is for the birds." Towards the end of his life, Jenkins was hired for cameo roles by directors who fondly remembered the frail but still feisty actor from his glory days; one of Jenkins' last appearances was as a telegrapher in the final scene of Billy Wilder's THE FRONT PAGE (1974). Being a great character actor, he aged gracefully as his roles did moving smoothly through the years while the films and their subjects evolved. In 1959 Jenkins played the role of elevator operator Harry in the comedy PILLOW TALK with Doris Day and Rock Hudson.

Jenkins even voiced the character of Officer Charlie Dibble on the Hanna-Barbera TV cartoon, TOP CAT (1961–62). He was a regular on the television sitcom HEY, JEANNIE! (1956–57), starring Jeannie Carson and he often portrayed Muggsy on the 1950s-1970s CBS series THE RED SKELTON SHOW. He was also a guest star on many other television programs, such as THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E., MR. & MRS. NORTH, I LOVE LUCY, PLAYHOUSE 90, THE ERNIE KOVACS SHOW, ZANE GREY THEATER, and YOUR SHOW OF SHOWS. He had a cameo appearance in IT'S A MAD, MAD, MAD, MAD WORLD (1963). Eleven days before his death, he made his final appearance, at the end of Billy Wilder's remake of THE FRONT PAGE (1974); it was released posthumously.

Jenkins was married to Mary Landee from 1931 to 1962 when they divorced. They had three children. He went public with his alcoholism and was the first actor to speak in the U.S. House of Representatives and the Senate about it. He helped start the first Alcoholics Anonymous programs in California prisons for women. He was the seventh member of the Screen Actors Guild. Jenkins died of lung cancer early on July 20, 1974. He was 74 years old.

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Sybil Bruncheon's "Christmases Past!".... Prudholme's Falls, Kansas... The Home of Gaston Cruller:

       The home of Gaston Cruller. Gaston was born blind but had a wide circle of friends at the university where he taught Comparative Anthropological Historiography in a Geo-Literal Matrix...101. His colleagues felt that he always missed out on the immense beauty of the Christmas tradition because of his handicap and so they decided to surprise him by putting up a Christmas tree fully decorated and lit with tapers by the time he got home from evening classes.... His best friend, Ricardo Farabont, professor of Romance Linguistics & Limericks had invited everyone over...There was Phillip Coffey from the Archaeology of Housewares Department, his fiancee, Miss Gwedolyn Linkeny from Advanced Calculus & Cuisine, Dr. Klaybourne Fench of the Department of Particle (and Larger Pieces) Physics, and Edith Shmedski of the Doctoral Program of Home Ec. What a charming circle of loyal and loving friends they were, and more were expected within the hour.... 

      Sadly, one Christmas, while all of them went to the kitchen to begin assembling the refreshments and buffet supper to be served, Gaston wandered away to enjoy the tree with the only senses left to him.... smell, taste, hearing, and touch. While plucking various branches of the fresh evergreen to smell, and possibly eat, he accidentally ignited one of the nice angels in the branches that promptly plummeted down to “Bethlehem” and into the middle of the stable in the creche below... within seconds, most of the barnyard animals were incinerated along with two of the wise men (possibly Melchior and Balthazar according to investigators later.) The innkeeper and his wife were also badly burned along with various villagers who had come to see what was happening in the stable. The villagers were indeed “sore afraid”! 

     Fortunately, Mary, Joseph, and the Blessed Savior were thrown completely clear when the barn exploded.... two camels were lost, an ox and lamb, a small drummer boy, neighbouring hovels and cottages...all lost. ….Indeed, if Edith Smedski hadn't run in with a seltzer bottle, all of Bethlehem and the Holy Star itself might have been consumed! (Thankfully, her father had been a clown!) The place smelled of charred wood with a hint of myrrh, papier-mâché, and Elmer’s glue. Gaston was miraculously uninjured although the lime green plaid cravat he always insisted on wearing with his tangerine polka-dot waistcoat and purple elephant suspenders was singed beyond repair. His friends used it all as an excuse to buy him a new wardrobe to THEIR specifications.... and they decided a menorah might be a better choice for the next year... but, oh, how wrong they were.....

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Sybil Bruncheon's "Christmases Past!".... Little Cyrus At Christmas Time....

...Little Cyrus felt so grown up since he'd decided not to go trick-or-treating with the other neighborhood children at Halloween. Dressing up as a vampire, a werewolf, or a mummy were "kid's stuff" in his sober opinion. But passing out candy to the kids that came to his own home still elicited screams of horror and panic in the street. He retreated to his room to study biology with his microscope… or to look through his telescope. At Thanksgiving, as "the man of the house", he offered to help carve the turkey, but his mother thought that might be dangerous... because of his slight ...um… “depth-perception problem” while holding a knife.

    ...And then at Christmas time, Cyrus began to feel sad. None of the neighbor kids would go sledding with him, or build a snow fort, and his snow man would always end up with one lump of coal in the middle of its forehead in the morning. On the day his mother put up the tree in the parlor window, Cyrus would spend the whole afternoon by himself. It was his job to carefully unwrap all the lights and ornaments and tinsel... he would string the cranberries and popcorn, and untangle the garlands, and after working several hours, his Christmas tree would be the loveliest and most famous in town!!.

    ...Then, as the darkness would gather, and the lighted tree would take on its magic, he would make his own special secret Christmas wish... for the present he wanted more than anything! ....He wished that he was a grown-up, and distinguished, and respected. Like a professor! Or a scientist! Or a senator! Or a President! Or even a King!!! ...with his very own monocle.

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Sybil Bruncheon's "Christmas Tales From The World Of Mystery!"....

       Mr. Lester Pinchitt owned most of the property on the rundown East end of Custer City, Arkansas. His family had made their money in petroleum and natural gas...and also in the diamonds from their "Stars Of The Ozarks Mine" in Murfreesboro! Of all the family though, Lester was the most business-like and practical. When folks would meet him and find out that he came from the Pinchitts who produced all those beautiful engagement rings and diamond bracelets and necklaces, he would shrug, "harrumphh", and return to the buffet table muttering sourly. He wanted no part of the sentimental mush or folly of romance, love, and marriage. His life was "business", and as he got older, people began comparing his manner and appearance to that of Ebenezer Scrooge. And so, in 1926, during a particularly brittle Winter, when he was stingy with the heating fuel for the apartment houses of the poor that he owned over in the East end, a tragedy unfolded that stunned and infuriated the city. 

       It was on Christmas Eve that the temperature outside plummeted to 13 degrees below zero. And, at the same time, 58" of snow blowing in 45 mph wind buried the entire area!... Because of the Holiday, most people stayed where they were on Christmas morning, and indeed through the next day or so. It wasn't until December 27th that people wandered out, and over to neighbors’ homes, and then the gruesome discovery was made... dozens!… Literally scores of people had frozen to death huddled around their Christmas trees! Some had awakened enough to try attempting to burn the trees in their fireplaces, (if they had a fireplace!), but it was mostly too late even for them as well... In the end, 123 people were found frozen to death in Pinchitt's shanties and tenements, and 82 of them were children!

       Back in that time, the poor didn't really have the means or the wherewithal to sue negligent landlords. And so, after a few weeks of scathing editorials and some tut-tutting at the country club or in the boardrooms of the banks, the scandal died down, and the grim Winter of 1927 plodded on while Lester Pinchitt continued on without any inconvenience to his schedule. The cold weather gradually subsided, March turned into April, the Spring gave way to Summer, and the great wheel of the seasons turned in its cycle. Life indeed did go on... and people forgot... or perhaps some people. By October, the only mention of the tragedy was a notice from the local courthouse and the police reminding him to be more vigilant in the coming Winter about heating fuel for the most vulnerable. 

       The police, in particular, did not want a repeat of the horrendous discoveries and the removal and processing of the bodies through the morgue which had taken them weeks, and required them to stack the dead in the few holding drawers in the coroner's building and finally out in a shed in the back of the courthouse. The Chief of Police reportedly paid a "private visit" to Lester Pinchitt. According to the much-beloved Sgt. Noah Flaherty, the Chief "slammed" Pinchitt up against the wall of his office and banged him around the desks, charts and adding-machines in his accounting room. He was given a "friendly reminder" by the Chief who slapped him around and managed to tear one of the lapels off Pinchitt's sad flannel waistcoat before leaving him crumpled on the floor, furious but silent. Nothing more was said, and October turned to November… and then December... 

       Finally, on Christmas Eve, Lester Pinchitt, who no one had invited to any celebration, trudged home after a long day in his office. He unlocked the door of his dour manse in a remote corner of Headley Heights, and settled in for the night. It had not even occurred to him that it was the anniversary of so terrible an event... an event in which he had played so terrible a part. It may have been just after midnight when his radiators began clanking. He was sound asleep curled up in the big canopied mahogany bed that had come down the generations to him. He heard the clanking, but dreamed that it was church bells on a Sunday morning in the Spring. He remembered later that, in his dream, it was the most beautiful day he had ever seen, but the bells began to jangle and clank out-of-tune and finally as a loud and almost terrifying cacophony. He stirred from the dream, and thought to himself that he had hired Norris Blanchard, the plumber, only six weeks earlier, to "bleed" the pipes free of any air that would cause the racket. "God damn it!", Pinchitt cried aloud! How could that stupid lout have screwed up the heating system of his house? Blanchard did it perfectly every other year! He hadn't heard steam pipes bang and crash since he was a child in school!! "DAMN IT!! GOD DAMN IT!!" Pinchitt cried, turning in bed and sitting up in fury!

   ...and then... oh, God... no! NO... hideous! Too HIDEOUS!!... in the corner, just beginning to glow in the blackness... was it?...was it possible? .... a small figure glowing slightly and walking… or floating out of the radiator... almost like steam, but taking a shape.. the shape of... yes! A child!... smiling and floating into the room... and… towards him. Towards HIM!… LESTER PINCHITT!!… and another... and another... oh God!… Dear God!!!!.... more… and more of them ...smiling, and beginning to lift their arms as they neared... palms open, and smiling... and..... reaching, reaching out ..to...

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Sybil Bruncheon’s Holiday Tales: A HUMMINGBIRD AT CHRISTMASTIME.....

….no one was sure when or even where it came from. And once people were honest, it turned out that very few people had actually seen it with their own eyes. Witnesses, such as they were, were either braggarts in taverns, fish-story-fable-ists on the docks, or mystics and fortune tellers on the carnival circuits. 

     But there were a few folks whose reputations were beyond reproach; who could be relied on to be almost modest when asked about strange or miraculous happenings! None of the flashing, darting eyes, the too-loud laughter or wild gesticulating that often accompanies outlandish claims of the “whimsical” and “given-to-notions” among us!...you know the type, don’t you? 

    Anyway, it was always near the Winter solstice, when the chill weather had really set in, and the frost had settled on the last roses of the Fall; when Nature had begun its deep yearly sleep in the gardens, fields, and forests. It was then that the sightings would begin again. The great quiet would have settled on the land, and then, when one went walking home at dusk after work, or in the silence of a grey Sunday morning through the woods, the only sound would be the muffled crunching of one’s own footsteps through new-fallen snow on dry brush…..and perhaps the occasional cheep of a hardy little sparrow, or the rustle of a squirrel burrowing for his remembered stash of treats. 

     It was in these still and somehow comforting times of solitude that some of the folks who reported what they had seen told of the vision. …at first, it didn’t seem possible. A flash in the corner of your eye! Flitting just there! To the left…or now, in a branch?...No! just to the right!...and then there it would be hovering for a moment…a precious moment or two! Sparkling like “silver lightning”, “broken glass”, “a lover’s eyes”, “a shooting star”, “the full moon on rippling river water”….. those were the words that the serious witnesses had used… the ones that others believed by the fireside when you could get them to tell…perhaps over that second cup of mulled wine, and they trusted your discretion and your friendship. 

     It was definitely a bird! A HUMMINGBIRD…. “No!.. not a bat, Uncle Harry. It hovered…no! Floated!! Even more beautiful than a real hummingbird!”…. and so the stories would be whispered within the lucky families who had a member who had actually witnessed the little creature!...Not the louts who bragged about it in loud public places, and were more often than not NOT believed anyway by their leering and mocking listeners! …and “Lucky” was exactly the word that described the rare families who had been told of the true sightings…by people like old Mrs. Grace Fairley, by wise Dr. Levi Carpenter, by Miss Helga Hibbard the 3rd grade teacher, by funny cousin Stefan, and by sweet Michael Moore, only eight years old, but wise beyond his years. 

    They all told their loved ones their stories, and within a few days their households began… to lift. A feeling of quiet joy began to spread inside even the humblest home. The simplest meal tasted more delicious than ever, warm bread from the oven and melting butter became a feast out of a child’s fable. Candlelight could fill an entire room, no brighter than before and certainly not glaring, but full and golden in a new and loving glow. People found themselves humming while doing their most tedious chores, and, realizing they were all humming, would begin to sing remembered family songs from the past, children and grandparents joining in together, laughing and amazed. 

     At first, no one associated the sighting of the little hummingbird with the lovely change in the households! As a matter of fact, it was the neighbors of the witnesses’ families who actually noticed. To be in the household was to just feel lovely, increasingly lovely as if a weight, long borne and resigned to, was melting away, day by day…moment by moment. The oldest folks, bent from the wear and worries of life, began to straighten in their stance…rising ever more briskly from bed in the morning with none of the usual and expected grunts that “old people do!”….Neighbors would finally comment to their friends saying how fresh and lively they would be looking, even as the thickening Winter would weigh heavier on the world around them.

     The crisp night air, the glinting light on ice and snow, the whistling wind seemed to be refreshing and invigorating the witnesses and their families! How was it possible? Their cheeks glowed! Their eyes twinkled!...even the oldest among them had complexions that looked like their own newborn great-grandchildren! Where they walked, they seemed surrounded by laughter and music… Their homes smelled of simple but hearty dinners, gravy and butter and roasted potatoes, freshly sliced oranges, punch made with apples, nutmeg, cinnamon. Pine-needle garlands hanging from the eaves!... and crisp cotton sheets and warm, cozy blankets.

     How lucky! How very, very lucky the witnesses were. And knowing them, being near them, and perhaps sharing a meal with them, or joining them for a cup of wine and some songs by the fire spread the luck and the gladness… the witnesses were each made to tell their different little stories, over and over again….where they had seen the hummingbird. What day? …and time of day? Was it early at dawn? Or was it at dusk with the first star coming out? What was the weather like? Where in the woods? By the creek?...Or was it behind the house?... What were they thinking when it happened?...What were they feeling??... Was there a voice?...a voice that told them to look? 

      Each told the story that was theirs and theirs alone….and the listeners, the listeners of the TRUE stories, sat very still, leaning a little forward, barely breathing but at great peace. And their eyes. Oh, the witnesses couldn’t look away from their eyes..just as the listeners couldn’t look away from theirs… and the only other sound in the room would be the merry little crackle from the fireplace….. chuckling …and glad, so very glad for all of them… and their good fortune.……. 

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Halloween Update: Sybil and Bela.....

True Story!..... Yes, Darlings! You know Mummie had many opportunities in Hollywood, especially after her tremendous successes in the silent era! I worked with the best directors and co-stars...and at the best studios. And then when the "talkies" started, my career really took off. I had none of the vocal challenges that so many silent stars had; no nasality, unpleasant tones or accent! I even helped coach Garbo and Crawford (Jeesh! Was she a pain in the ass! Especially when she decided she wanted to actually SING!..thank God her dancing distracted the audience from her singing!). Anyway, I had always been willing to act in every genre; romances, musicals, adventures, historical dramas, broad and sophisticated comedies, and even suspense and horror! Many of you remember my performances in the CHEST OF DRAWERS OF DR. CALIGARI (1923) and GOLLY, MR. GOLEM (1924), and NOSEY- FERATRESS (1925). So when Universal approached me for DRACULA with that new arrival Bela Lugosi, I said "YES!".... sadly, I got a near-fatal rash from the wolfsbane they hung over my bed. The studio doctors discovered that I actually had some Carpathian blood in my ancestry…. Oh well…. And to think it would have been so much fun playing “wahn ob dee own-dade”…….. and I heard that Lugosi was a great kisser too!... especially in his trailer!!! (poster art by Lawrence Hunter)

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Sybil Bruncheon’s Halloween Update: Clowns Like Halloween Too!.....

One of Chompo's favorite things about visiting orphanages as a clown was the delicious snack treats he could buy from the vendor-man's tray... but sometimes they wriggled so... and tried to get away....

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Halloween Update: Mr. Potato Head... The True Story…

The Playskool Company spent months and millions of dollars in research, surveys, and prototypes trying to perfect their final idea for Mr. Potato Head... but they never got discouraged... never!... ...Seen here are (standing in the back row left to right) Mr. Radioactive Radish, Drunky the Senator from Texas, Smiley the Obstetrician, Mr. Fong, David Koch at The Opera, and (seated left to right) Ed Koch at The Gaiety, Cole Porter Winning Strip Poker, Rush Limbaugh on Oxycontin, Count Licky, and Dead Mahatma Gandhi!

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