Free Mighty Old Bones by Mary Saums Page A

those terrible days, the importance of keeping myself in tiptop shape became a priority. I hoped no more confrontations of a dangerous nature would ever occur again. Yet I knew the possibility was there. I needed to stay strong for that, just in case.
    We raced the last hundred yards or so to the house. As always, I finished second. We caught our breath on the patio then walked to the right boundary of the yard to a small clearing between several tall oaks. It had become a ritual to do a tai chi routine there where the ground was flat. It was a place of great serenity. The vista of rolling green mountains and morning clouds streaked with the sun’s first rays was a lovely way to start each morning. I breathed in the cool air with gratitude.
    Once done, Homer and I made our way inside for our breakfast. I started a pot of coffee. Homer walked to the center of the room to inspect a bit of dirt or perhaps a bug. While the coffee brewed, I gathered eggs and cheese from the refrigerator for an omelet then walked across the kitchen floor to the pantry closet where I kept potatoes and onions, with the thought of making hash browns.
    I stopped. Homer sat in the middle of the floor, his front legs stretched out as far as they would go. He was staring at me and, now that he had my attention, he gave a soft woof, moved his head downward, and touched his nose to the floor a few inches from a small dark object that lay there. He raised his head and gave another softer woof. He sat still, continuing to stare at me as if waiting for orders.
    “Good boy,” I said. I stroked the wide stretch between his ears. “Now, what have we here?”
    Just beyond the black ends of his claws, the small gift glinted on the kitchen floor. I picked it up. And smiled.
    “How lovely. I wonder what it is.” I bounced the little blue piece of glass in my palm. It weighed hardly anything.
    There was no doubt that my housemate had left it for me. I looked all around, though I didn’t actually expect to see my benefactor. “Thank you, Boo,” I said to the air. “You’re a dear.”
    Boo, my resident ghost, is a shy teenage boy who died in the house many years earlier. I frequently find lightweight gifts from him here in the kitchen.
    I turned the blue object this way and that in the light. It most resembled a button in the shape of a flower, only it had no holes for thread. I placed it in the center of the kitchen table where the low-hanging overhead light cast a circle around it. From there, I could frequently ponder its use and where it might have come from. I resumed my plan for hash browns and made our breakfast, much to Homer’s relief.
    I used my cell phone to try Phoebe again when I thought she would be awake. Her home phone was still out as well. I called her cell number and was relieved to hear her say the storm caused no major damage there. She and Rowdy came through it unscathed.
    “Are we still on for a walk later?” I said. “I’ve found another of Cal’s maps. I’d like to follow it to see what he was on about.”
    “Sure,” Phoebe said. “I’ll bring an apple danish ring. I baked four yesterday. Actually, I baked quite a bit of other stuff to take around this morning, too. I’ll make my rounds and then come over. So don’t fix anything much to eat, okay?”
    We agreed on a time and I hung up without telling her not to bother with the pastry. I couldn’t. She takes such pleasure in her baking and in giving her creations to everyone. I hadn’t the heart to tell her I rarely eat sweets. I only indulged when she brought me something on such an occasion as this. It would hurt her feelings so, if I refused on any grounds.
    She doesn’t particularly care for nature. I sense that she only tolerates my ramblings about this or that historical connection on my land. I’m afraid she doesn’t share my enthusiasm for the unique plants and other natural wonders of the woods. She walks with me out of friendship, accompanying me in the