Allen the Alien, Chapter 4

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Our story thus far: Allen, an emissary from somewhere else out there, has been making friends with a tribe of rubber ducks here on Earth. Young Tommy, son of Cupcake and a very observant and forward lad, has unraveled Allen’s secret. Instead of further deflecting Tommy, Allen has requested a meeting with their leader.

The leader had a big smile that made Allen immediately uncomfortable. He didn’t trust people who smiled too much.

“It is a great honor to meet someone from beyond the stars,” the leader said.

“It’s not that far away,” Allen said.

“Well, it’s farther away than Osaka,” said the leader. “Oh yes, I’ve heard about your little white lies.”

“Ask him why he’s here,” said little Tommy, which earned him a “shush now” from his mother, Cupcake.

“Well, yes, as I understand it you’re some kind of emissary,” said the leader. “By the way, people call me Ellie. You might say I’m the president of our little tribe.”

“Tribe? It was our understanding that a group of ducks is called a flock, or a waddling,” Allen said. “Is tribe a more proper term?”

“Your understanding is correct, sir. When we’re flying, ‘flock’ will do nicely, and on the ground we are indeed a-waddling.”

“Oh, enough of this!” Cupcake cried. “Allen, my son believes you are here to conquer the world.”

“Tommy has a vivid imagination,” Allen said. “I come in peace, representing a federation of planets that are ready for space travel. Your forays to your moon have attracted some attention.”

“Well, yes,” said Ellie, “although I must admit our species has made only a few modest contributions to the space program.”

“Really?”

There was an awkward silence.

“Ducks don’t fly to the moon!” Tommy blurted.

“Are you here to offer us a seat in your federation?” Ellie said.

“I wonder if I should be speaking with the species in charge of your space program.”

“I’m not sure they would take you seriously,” said Count Duckula, who stood by Ellie’s side.

“Why is that?”

“The humans don’t think of us as an advanced species,” Duckzilla said ruefully.

“You seem advanced enough for me,” Allen said.

“Well, then,” said Ellie. “How do we begin?”

There was general cheering and applause, but Allen noticed that Tommy looked skeptical.

Visiting with old friends

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God’s Country, the 22nd novel by William Kent Krueger featuring Corcoran “Cork” O’Connor, arrived in my “smart” phone Tuesday morning, and I dove right in. This is a review of the first three and half chapters, which left me in tears and smiling.

The book begins with a family reunion that includes a trip to the cemetery, and so in that first half-hour of the audiobook we are reintroduced to all of the most important people in Cork O’Connor’s life, including lost loved ones. It is a brilliant way to bring the reader/listener back into a beloved world we have visited 21 times before — but it’s also a brilliant way to introduce that world to a reader/listener who decides to start with the 22nd book.

Best of all, when I got home from my morning errands, the second half of Chapter 4 was about to (re)introduce us to Henry Meloux, the ancient Ojibwe who I would argue is the real hero of the O’Connor books and at the very least their spiritual center. I always love it when the story brings us to Crow Point.

As a wannabe professional author, I found these chapters as good as any master class. As a reader, I am hooked and eager to keep following the story. (And as a reader/listener, I would be remiss in not acknowledging the work of narrator David Chandler, who brings these characters fully to life time and again.)

If you are already a fan of Krueger and Cork O’Connor, let me alert you to the arrival of a new book. If you’re unfamiliar, let me heartily recommend you check out this series, which begins with Iron Lake — or you could test my theory and start with God’s Country. I very much believe either option will get you hooked.

Still not done

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Six months after Carol Jean crossed to the next plane of existence, I felt a surge of emotion — grief, yes; anger, no, more frustration; determination, yes; and hope.

I poured it all into a poem that proclaimed I had sustained the worst body blow a man can take and emerged shaken, but not defeated. The emotion felt so stark that I took a selfie and drained all of the color from the picture as I shared the poem.

I’m not done.
I still have things to say.
I don’t know what they are,
And I don’t know how I’ll say them,
But sure as I feel, I feel that
I’m not done.

I’m still here.
I didn’t want to lose you,
And I’m not the same without you,
But there has to be a reason
I’m still here.

Let’s find out
What those things I have to say are
And the reason to go on is.
Let’s find out.

Not long afterward, I set the poem to music, and when I recorded the song for my first album in 15 years, New Dog Old Tricks, I added two things—a sixties-style “psychedelic” passage in the middle, and a different opening and closing line when I reprised the first verse: “God’s not done.”

I don’t think any creative people are done until their earthly vessel finally gives out. Oh, and have I mentioned my belief that all of us are creative people?

And our influence doesn’t necessarily end then, either. How many of us have found an old card or letter — or a bit of arts and crafts — from a lost loved one and been moved all over again?

If you’ve checked out the latest album by Willie Nelson, Paul McCartney, or Bob Dylan, you know that it’s true. When I was a little kid, I wrote a silly song called “Never Say Die Until You’re Dead.” Pretty good advice for a little kid.

If you think you’re too old, or your time has passed, or opportunity is lost, think again. You’re not done, either.