An Evening with Charlotte

It has been a while. There was really no spring this year, and ever since Daylight Savings Time began, there has been no evening worthy of consideration. Finally the rain stopped, and summer arrived quite suddenly. Ironically, for those who were around in June of 1972, the first real dry promising day occurred on the 31st anniversary of the Great Agnes Flood. And so I went to the Lake. Not to my usual haunt, but to the Doc's dock. (Thanks, Doc.)

Now the angle here is a little different, but that doesn't really matter. The sun and the water are very much the same.

And so I sat on this strange new bench, prepared for a delightful hour of reading before the sun told me it was time to go home.

I hadn't been sitting for long, when I heard an odd, squeaky sort of voice over my shoulder say, "Hello, Mr. White. Is that book about my 23rd great grandmother?"

Naturally I was a bit confused, and oddly, the only thing that occurred to me to say was, "I'm not Mr. White." I didn't even see anyone!

"But you look like him. At least I think you do. And you always come here to read and write. Why are you coming to this dock now instead of that one. Is Wilbur in that book?"

With this lengthy narrative, I was able to identify the speaker - a rather largish but not unpleasant looking spider, reading over my shoulder!

Well, you can imagine I was somehat surprised and wondered if some strange substance had been slipped into my pipe tobacco, but I decided to play along. "Why hello! What's your name?"

"Charlotte. But you can call me Charlie."

"Charlotte! But you're not... No, you can't be!"

"Well of course not, Mr. White. That Charlotte was my 19th great grandmother."

"You have 19 great grandmothers?" I asked skeptically.

"No, silly. But it's easier than saying 'great, great, great,' 19 times. My real name is Charlotte the 23rd, but like I said, you can call me Charlie."

"Ah yes, I see. Well, Charlie, I'm afraid Wilbur's not in this book, and as to why I've moved to this dock, that's a rather long story."

"Is it a story like the one about my 23rd great grandmother and Wilbur?"

I thought for a moment, and then said, "Well, yes it is in a way, when I think about it."

"Good. I like that story."

"So do I, Charlie. Very much."

"But I'm not Mr. White."

"Well, we could pretend couldn't we? You sit here and write and I'll help and it will be like Mr. White and my 23rd great grandmother."

"Charlie, I think I'm begining to like you."

"What's not to like?"

"There you have a point. But you know, I should be going. Look, the sun has gone."

"Will you come back?"

"Of course! I love it here!"

"Good. But you should stay for a while yet," she said. "It gets better, you know."

"All right, Charlie, I'll stay for a little while."

And of course, she was right.

"Good night, Charlie. It was a pleasure meeting you! I shall enjoy your company of an evening."

"Good night, Mr. White. And the very same to you."