Hello folks, jus’ click on me ol’ story book.

Mr. Grumby’s New Shoes

One morning he opened his door to feed the peacocks and there they were, a pair of beautiful brown shoes! Mr. Grumby looked up and down the little mountain road but he could not see anyone. For days he waited to see if the shoes would disappear. Every morning he excitedly opened his door, peeked out, and the shoes were still there. Finally, on the fourth day, he decided to see if they fit. It was a perfect match!

The Magic Buick

The old Buick delivered Mr. Grumby to the center of the universe. With his foot on the throttle, he watched the music unfold around him. Mr. Grumby sighed and remembered something that he had known for a long time. He always was and always will be alone, and that is just fine. "What a beautiful drive", sighed Mr. Grumby as he slid off the seat springs. It had been a very long time since he truly saw the crystal blue sky and the magnificent red mountains. Mr. Grumby’s shiny head bobbed up and down as he stepped lightly around the next bend of the mountain road.

The Floating Cabin of Lenado

"Is he building a wall?" asked one mountain man who looked like a cartoon of a lumberjack. "I'll bet he's gonna' plant a garden", remarked a big woman with long black hair. They were all wrong, and all of the stumped mountain folk didn't notice that slowly and magically, the shack began to shake and quiver. "It's floating!" shouted one of the astonished woodsmen. Every eye was fixed on the amazing site of the shack, which pitched and rolled as if drifting on top of a lazy ocean. The spring now ran like a silver ribbon along the side of the cabin. Everyone cheered as Mr. Grumby beamed triumphant, and a bit surprised, next to his boathouse.

A Visit To The Top Of The Edge Of The World

The long walk back to his shack seemed to take no time at all. Mr. Grumby marveled at the fallen trees that covered the trail, and could not remember why he was so angry on his way up the mountain. It seemed so long ago and not important. Joy and contentment had replaced the monsters in his head.

Fish Creek

Stacks of firewood next to the kettles announce that preparations have begun for the evening’s fish boil. In a short time, hungry vacationers will be swarming the place like moths to a flame. It’s not the crumbly, butter soaked lumps of fetid white fish that draws the crowds. It is the primitive fascination with the ceremony of fire. A kerosene blast furnace belching black smoke, brought to a roiling, steamy climax that you can eat. Nobody understands this more than Crandy and Mr. Grumby and they work it to the hilt. At the final boil over, the magic show begins. Kerosene is flung carelessly onto the glowing coals, and the enraged water jumps out of the kettle to smother the fire, while two clowns in tennis shoes do some crazy jig while balancing hot lava baskets of fish and potatoes. With paper plates held obediently in front of them, the lines of wide-eyed worshipers extend all the way to the horizon.

Smoothened Glass

Mr. Grumby gazed across the green mirror of Lake Michigan. He had rowed for hours, pushing off from the empty beach toward sunrise, with the intense desire to clear the accumulating debris that filled his head. A foggy haze lifted from the cold water as the lake gave birth to the daily ball of fire on the red horizon. After carefully securing the oars on the bottom of the boat, Mr. Grumby turned to the east. He sat very still with the heat of the young sun warming his face, filling his skull with the gentle radiation that blazed golden through his closed eyelids. Smiling with each deep breath, he relished the familiar aroma of rotting algae and fish.

Straight Six In A Dodge Dart

With his feet flapping on the high side of the wave behind him, I watched Mr. Grumby rise with the sea, arms flailing wildly to match its momentum. He caught the wave. Stretching his torso straight out and with both arms thrust forward into the air, he hurtled down the wave maintaining his forward gravity. As his body shot down the face of the wave one hand rode the wall of water beneath him like a foil, lifting his entire body from the surface drag. The other hand grasped the upper wall as if holding hands with a partner. He was flying. What a gorgeous and beautiful site. With the wave collapsing around him, he was suddenly shot out towards the beach like a human cannonball. In disbelief, I sat there in my morning stupor as he landed on his feet directly in front of me.

The Whistler From The Edge Of The World

He pushed the foliage aside to unveil his boat, and just as Kendra said, it was an unearthly looking craft, beautifully wrought from the primeval trees surrounding it. The ancient twisted limbs were meticulously joined without using nails or fasteners to form an open framework. I realized that it was not intended to float, at least not on water. It was designed to hold only one person, the sides crafted to encapsulate the pilot like a roll cage in an alien race car. There was a seat, of sorts, and what appeared to be handholds. I also noticed a large torch assembled from the same weird wood, artfully secured in the cabin. Structurally, it had that look of functional beauty and it did resemble a boat, a very imaginative science fiction style boat.

Pleased to Meet 'Cha

Mr. Grumby and I thank you for taking a peak at this little book. Years ago, in a tiny cabin on the top of a mountain in Colorado, I discovered my creative soul mate; Mr. Grumby. All of the art works revealed in this book serve as illustrations for my stories and performances about my old friend, and he serves as the medium through which all of my work is to be perceived. Most of the excerpts in the book are from my novel, “The Whistler at the Edge of the World”, while a few are from a collection of short stories written for children of all ages. Please contact me with any interest or comments at mr.grumby@comcast.net