Thoughts from Mark "Hat" Rackley

I’m Pink Lady Apple Yeggs and my friend, and brother-in-law, Deviled Yeggs suggested that I record each project that I set up in the hopes of reforming the people who continue to work for Lily the Pink Enterprises.  If for no other reason, it would show how God is at work.

Yesterday’s story covered the wedding and reception of a 60+ widower with a 50+ woman who had never been married, now known as Babs and Harold Dykstra.  They are not residents of Lily the Pink nor are they family.  They are friends, and Harold is good when writing a review.

Before the wedding began, Amy’s pilots took Harold’s keys and transferred the luggage to their car and went to the airport.  They had everything set except for departure and arrival times.  The flight would be about five hours and one time zone crossed losing an hour.  But the pilots had no idea how long the reception would take.

The Newmans were sneaky.  They each drove an unmarked car – nothing identifying it as Dala Enterprises, and not a luxury car or clunker.  They also had a chauffeur drive their limo to the wedding.  Since Babs and Harold came in two separate cars at two different times, with the groom seeing the bride ahead of time being supposedly bad luck, there were five cars in the parking lot and none of them had the luggage.  So, whoever was in charge of tying shoes, tin cans, etc. to the bumper of the car would not know which to sabotage, and Amy was counting on one of the cars going unnoticed.

She did not count on Blaise Yeggs, my nephew and the head designer of Design by Tensie.  Blaise rigged all five cars, but the car that Ralph E. Newman had driven to the wedding looked to be untouched.  That was Blaise’s counter plan to Amy’s plan.  The cans, with cords attached, would be released from beneath the car when the car left the circle drive and started into the street in front of the Big House.  The sensors for the release were aligned with an invisible signal that stretched across the driveway at the curb.  Releasing the cans that late would provide maximum impact – higher speeds, in the street so not as easy to pull over and cut the cans free.

But Amy’s counter plan to Blaise’s counter plan, was that while the four of them got into Ralph E’s car and started to drive, the limo driver would cut the noise makers free from his limo and then follow his bosses.  Ralph E. heard the racket and pulled over as soon as he found a spot.  The limo pulled up beside them, and they transferred to the limo, and the driver took them to the airport.  The driver could deal with the well-wishes painted on four cars and get each detailed while the two couples spent a week in southern Georgia, USA.

Next time, Blaise will have a counter to the counter to the original plan.  I am sure of that.

I received this report from Harold this morning.  It is a first-person account.

We arrived at the airplane, the female pilot welcomed us and made sure we were comfortable.

I asked Amy, “This is a rather large jet for only four first class seats and a trundle bed.”

Amy laughed, “Trundle!  I like that and it is a trundle bed.  We can roll it out and lock it down, and then the table that the trundle is under now will serve as offices for Ralphie and me.  If you notice, people from Lily the Pink call my Ralphie, Ralph E.  Ralphie is my pet name for him, but they don’t want to slip up and become too familiar when we might have customers around.  But as for this room’s setup, it is roughly the way Ralphie and I fly these days, but the back half of the aircraft is for you.  After we take off, and they turn off the fasten seatbelt sign, we want you to go through the door and enjoy wedded bliss.  There are not a lot of people who can say they even had the opportunity to join the mile high club.  Please, do not pass it up.  The flight is five hours.  We lose an hour along the way.  It will be tomorrow morning by the time we land, at least past midnight.  Your limo ride to Vidalia is a little over an hour if they do not have to stop.  I have no idea what a hillbilly limo is.  If it is drawn by mules, you may not get there until the next day.  But that is why you two are the guinea pigs, to test out everything, but I would hate to know that Ralphie’s and my business meeting kept you from consummating your marriage on your wedding day.”

I looked at Babs and she was the reddest I have ever seen her, but she reached over and held my hand.

Amelia, the co-pilot, came in to personally explain the flight.  She did the safety briefing.  She got each of us a drink.  No one had anything alcoholic.  No one wanted anything to eat.  The pilots could quickly heat something.  Anything from a sandwich to steaks.  We had all just had a big meal at the reception, but the flight was five hours.

We had idle chitchat while we waited.  Ralph E. had called as soon as we left, but they had just gotten their flight plan approved when we arrived.  We had to wait our time before getting in line to take off.  Once near cruising altitude, Amelia turned off the fasten seatbelt sign.  Babs and I excused ourselves to our private cabin.  There was a nice bed in the center of the cabin.  The room had been decorated in white, with some leftover green, purple, and gold in the corners.  On the bed, there were rose petals.  We each had our own changing room, larger than a standard airplane restroom.

When I emerged, Babs was waiting for me to be in the room when she came into the room from her side.  I saw what she was wearing, and I suddenly had tears in my eyes.  The poseable action figure that was made to look like her had come wearing naughty red lingerie.  Willie had bought a set of clothing to wear over the lingerie.  When the angel indwelled the action figure, she had put washcloths to hide the naughty bits.  Babs was wearing the original lingerie that was copied for the action figures.  She had placed washcloths as the young Babs had done.

“Harold,” Babs smiled, “I am yours.  Only you can remove the washcloths.  It’s okay.  We are now husband and wife.”

I approached and we hugged and kissed for a while.  Then I took a step back and carefully, with shaking hands, removed the three washcloths.  She giggled each time, and I sighed each time.  It was glorious not seeing this until our wedding night.  Then we kissed some more.  For nearly an hour, we got to know each other’s bodies before we tried in earnest to do any major exertion.  But within two hours we had consummated our marriage.  We had first class seats in our room if we wanted to watch a movie.  Ralph E. said that we could ring their cabin with a button on our seats.  They were surprised that we were finished in only two hours, but they invited us back to their cabin for a light supper.  We opted for a simple sandwich.

As we dined, Babs noticed that their bed was rolled out and the sheets were tousled.  Babs smiled, “Were we the only ones to join the mile high club?  Pink Lady hinted that you have a thing about the mile high club.”

Amy nodded, “Yes, Ralphie was not my first lover.  I forced myself on my professor.  My name on my birth certificate was not Amy G. Dala.  When I started developing software worthy of sales, my parents suggested the name since it spells “amygdala,” meaning that I had uncontrolled emotions – that is before I discovered love making calms me down.  The professor got Ralphie and I together, since making love to the professor was not appropriate.  But Ralphie was temperamental, especially when he was focused on writing his own code.  So, I escaped the computer dungeon and found guys to sleep with to calm me down.  But then, Ralphie complained that I was his girl.  So, during our senior year, I would hack into his computer and put porn videos on his screen to let him know that I was coming into his area, and he better find a stopping place.  I found that porn videos of Bountiful Babs worked the best.  Yeah, Ralphie and I have known from the first time we saw you.”  I gasped, but Amy smiled.  “We have not been Christians for long, so we understand.  And we both love you.  But now to the mile high club.  I sold a lot of software my senior year of college, becoming a multimillionaire on the day of graduation.  I bought my building, hired Ralphie, and then I went crazy.  I bought a jet and I would fly customers or celebrities around in circles so that I could be a mile high club member with each of them.  That, everyone knows.  I did that with Ralphie the most, but usually going to and coming back from conventions.  But then, we both became Christians.  We married each other, and Ralphie said that the mile high thing was what hurt his feelings the most.  But we fixed that on this trip.  We entered the mile high club for women who are pregnant.  I have not done that with anyone else, since this is the first time I have been pregnant.  Not much baby bump yet, but it qualifies.  And the pilot and co-pilot are married too.  When they have honeymooners on board, they put the plane on autopilot for a little while.  It’s their tradition as long as they are in smooth air.”

I laughed, “Thank you for the testimony, of sorts.  And thank you for your discretion.  Babs is afraid that if anyone knows who is not polite about it, her past may become a problem, especially with the charity work that we do.”

Amy said, “I am open about it.  People laugh it off.  It is important in my testimony to let them know that God works miracles.  I wrestle with Pink Lady to see who is the wealthiest woman in Tracy, among those that started their own companies.  And we compete for who can give away more.  She has me beat at philanthropy, and sadly that may be the reason I am ahead on the wealth part of it.  But Jesus said it is impossible for a rich person to enter the kingdom of Heaven, but anything was possible with God.  And have you ever noticed that no one takes their toys with them to Heaven?”

We laughed.  We had an animated conversation for the rest of the trip and Ralph E actually said something on occasion.

We landed in Savannah, GA past midnight, but our hostess welcomed us at the bottom of the steps.

The woman was wearing a white suit with a white bowtie.  “Félicitations ! Vous êtes magnifiques ! Tous mes vœux de bonheur pour votre union !”

Then she said in English, “Congratulations! You look wonderful!  All my best wishes for your union! My name is Françoise Franks.  My husband is the uncle of Gordon Franks.  I hope to meet Gordon this summer.”

I said, “I am Harold Dykstra and this is my bride, Babs.  I thought Gordon’s uncle was a widower with a large family near Gordon’s farm.”

Françoise nodded, “Yes, much has changed, and much very recently.  François called Gordon a few hours ago so that he would know about me before you had a chance to tell anyone.  Let us go to the hillbilly limousine and I can explain, and you can explain the words ‘Babs’ and ‘Sknarf.’”

When we walked around the corner, we were shocked by the hillbilly limo.  It was a school bus, painted white.  The door opened and the driver looked to be older than me.  He said, “Never mind what Françoise said, I am Francis Franks.  I am Gordon’s uncle.  Welcome to your limousine ride.  Come aboard, and I will get you settled in, and then Françoise can get your luggage.”

He guided us up the steps and past a partition.  He said, “If you want privacy, we have a sliding door, and Françoise can sit in a seat outside this luxury suite on wheels.”

What we saw was not what I would call a luxury suite, but it was unique.  There was a bed in the back with silk sheets.  He said it was memory foam.  But in front there were seats made from bales of hay.  They were standard car seats made to look like bales of hay.  There was a table in front of those seats.  On the other side, there were two seats that were just like the first-class seats on the airplane.  If we wanted to sleep, they suggested those seats.  If we wanted privacy, the bed was an option.  If we wanted a meal, Françoise would cook them anything they desired.  That’s when we noticed a barbeque grill that exhausted outside.  Francis said that Françoise has been practicing cooking on the grill while he drove her around the county.  She was an excellent cook, but she was a novice at barbeque.  She was more of a French chef.  Babs said something about needing something to settle her stomach.  All the excitement of the day was getting her stomach to complain a little.  Francis flipped open one cabinet to reveal a fully stocked medicine cabinet.  Then he opened a small freezer and suggested a scoop of ice cream.  Since we would be staying at a pecan farm, the best ice cream was butter pecan, but they had vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, and every kind of syrup or addition that we might consider reasonable.  Babs asked if they had any nuts other than pecans, and he laughed.  But then he nodded.  She opted for a single scoop of butter pecan.  It looked so good, I joined her.  Oh, and over the bed in the back there was a banner welcoming us.  Everything was white.

The drive was over an hour, but we were so intrigued by a young wife and her much older husband, with roughly the same name, and only married for a couple of weeks.  We enjoyed having Françoise sit with us while Francis drove us to the farm.

When we were on the way, Françoise sat in a chair that faced the two reclining chairs.  Babs explained that ‘Babs’ was just a nickname that some women named Barbara like to be called.  We told her about how Gordon Franks introduced himself as ‘Sknarf’, an alien from far, far away due to several things causing a bit of hallucination, one being the death of his parents.  No one at Lily the Pink knew about Gordon’s aunt being gone.  Gordon had such high praise for his uncle.

Françoise then gave us her life story, what little life she had.

Françoise said, “I grew up in Paris, the daughter of a Jewish businessman.  We lived near a hotel, a large hotel.  I would walk the halls and help the cleaning ladies.  Everyone on the staff knew me because my mother worked there.  When I was old enough to get a job, they hired me.  I was also going to school, and I completed my courses in hospitality.  We lived only three blocks from the hotel, so I walked to work.  I had worked throughout the hotel, and I was promoted to night manager.  But last year, my father was beaten and killed.  My mother sold the business, and with the cash she had, she set up this trip for me.  I had been beaten twice, but I was able to escape.  Jews are in danger in some communities in France at the moment, and we lived in one.  My mother is still there.  I obtained a tourist visa and came to the USA, but I was intent on finding a job.  I went by bus from town to town, starting in New York and traveling south along the coast.  I was running out of time.  I had spent a great deal of time and money in New York and Philadelphia.  When I arrived in Savannah, GA, I saw an advertisement in the local newspaper for someone with hospitality experience.  The company was a start-up, and they needed someone experienced to make it get off the ground.  I had no idea where Vidalia, GA was, but I had heard of the onions.  I called and François answered.  He explained that his nephew was wanting his home turned into a honeymoon destination.  François was hoping that he could find someone experienced.  I told him that I was only 25 years old, but I had experience in every job in a hotel.  Maintaining a house with only two guests would be interesting, but could he afford a fulltime employee?  François said that Gordon had some strong financial backing, but the property already made a profit off the pecan product.  He was thinking we could grow peanuts.  We might have some cattle.  But the hospitality venture might need a few additional cottages to be built.  The job would be safe for a few years, and I would get more experience to add to my resume.”

Babs smiled, “And you came out here on your own with such doubts?”

Françoise smiled, “Oui, I was running out of time and money.  My mother could send me more money, but then she might be in danger of losing her residence, and François had a nice voice.  Something drew me to this place.  You will arrive at night.  I want you to see the house in the daytime.  It is a perfect honeymoon destination for someone who wants a quiet retreat.  A lovely white house at the end of a long road with pecan trees on either side.  I have traveled on similar roads in the French countryside.  It reminded me of home, but I am still getting used to the country way of life.  I took the job and François let me stay in his spare bedroom.  I was in charge of the final redecoration inside the house.  A farmer’s home is not always laid out as a honeymooner might like.  But then I was reminded that I had about one month left on my B-2 visa.  I asked François what to do, and he said that I could get another six-months if they approve the extension, or I could marry him.  I did not wish to go back to France.  I might not survive the next beating.  My mother was not born Jewish, but she became one to marry my father.  She is afraid.  I want this business to work so that I can have her move here.  She could help me part-time.  I do not think at first that François loved me.  He just saw that I was the employee he needed.  His sons just shook their heads.  They thought their father was going crazy trying to grant a wish for one of their cousins.  The farm was doing well just in production of pecans.  We spent a couple of days at the courthouse, but we got our license, and the paperwork was filed.  I have not gotten anything saying that I am an American citizen yet, but I have not gotten anyone telling me that I have to leave.”

Babs sighed, “There is an expression.  ‘I might know someone who knows someone.’  I am not completely sure who that someone is, but I suspect one couple.  They are good friends of Pink Lady, the woman who is funding this venture.  These people can get paperwork pushed through in the nation’s capital in record time.  But I am saddened.  I have been with many men in my life, but I did not know love until I met Jesus.  I did not know love on this earth until I met Harold.  You have married only for citizenship.  Have you even consummated the marriage?”

Françoise smiled, “Oui. When we got home after getting the paperwork done, and then we had witnesses see us go through the wedding vows, we came back to his farmhouse.  I went back to the guest room.  About four or five days later, I stopped at his bedroom door.  I asked him what would happen if the government sent someone to check on us.  I asked him if he would grant me permission to sleep with him.  François said that he had cried when I walked past his room to mine.  He wanted us to really be husband and wife.  I am much younger.  He has sons that are older than I am.  I am suddenly a grandmother, but my husband was not just doing me a favor, he was lonely.  Well, sleeping in the same bed for a while and one thing leads to another.  …  Oh, am I interrupting your one thing leading to another?”

I smiled, “No, we were given the opportunity on the flight.  At my age, it takes longer to recharge my batteries.”

Babs scrunched her nose, “No dear, your batteries are probably recharged, but we both would be in bed and sound asleep by now if we were home.  Getting a thirty-minute nap on that very inviting bed might wreck our sleep for the rest of the night.  And Françoise, we do not wish to go anywhere tomorrow.  We can walk around the property and have a long talk with you about what we might do the next day.  We are thinking about Thursday in Charleston, SC, Saturday in Savannah, GA, Sunday at a local church, and Monday in St. Augustine, FL.  Do you have any ideas about what we should do?”

Françoise smiled, “Oui, I have not been to the cities yet, but I have studied the activities, and I have talked to the local chambers of commerce.  They have sent me a variety of brochures.  I apologize for not having physically gone to those places, but François has and he will drive you.  We could rent a car for you, but with us going, we can see what interests a newly wedded couple.  As for your idea of a church, there is a rural church near here.  It is very interesting.  I left France as a secular Jew, and now about six months later, I am a Bab-Teest.”

François said over the intercom, “You are a Southern Baptist, immersed in the nearby creek.  You can work out in your own time if you are a Baptist or a Messianic Jew.  But if you want the conversation private, Françoise needs to close the partition.”

We were nearly asleep when we got to the house, but the house is not very large, but Françoise is right.  You come to the house through a tunnel of pecan trees with the house at the far end.  The barn is offset and depending on what the wedded couple wants, the Franks have fashioned Gordon’s old bedroom into a servant’s quarters, but they also have a nice apartment in the barn.  Presently, there are only chickens.

Do not think this report is keeping us from doing any usual honeymoon things.  The sun or the rooster awakened me at sunrise, even with only a half night’s sleep.  I left Babs in bed, a heart shaped bed, custom-made by local Mennonites, and absolutely the most comfortable bed that I have ever slept in.  They told me that the sheets are normal king-sized sheets, but they have devised modified hospital corners.  My wife just brushed past me in one of Gwen’s especially naughty lingerie with a sheer robe covering it, as if that covers anything…

We’ll write again, but this is looking like one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences.  I feel disappointed that I never learned how to play golf.  Hilton Head Island is right across the river from Savannah, but I doubt if honeymooners would spend four hours playing golf, unless they both played.  We are going to do the historical things and the crafty gifts.  Sweetgrass baskets from Charleston.  Beggar beads from Savannah.  St. Augustine has a lot of stuff.  But tomorrow, she-crab soup for lunch and, for the evening meal before the ride home, a seafood extravaganza on Shem Creek, with a horse-drawn carriage ride in there somewhere with a craft extravaganza up and down the market.

I think my wife has something in mind for us to do, but she wants to say something.  Let me try taking dictation.  Maybe that is one of those things that is a sign of true love, the dictation thing.  I hope it works.

Babs says, “Harold, be sure to tell Pink Lady about Francis and Françoise Franks and how wonderful they are. (Already done).  Tell her to get word to her contact with government paperwork.  See about the citizenship for Françoise Franks.  And if it is at all possible to arrange asylum for Françoise’s mother.  It seems that she has means, but she needs assurance that Françoise is here to stay.  Oh, and I was talking to Tommie Tat Kutz the other day.  She was telling me that you have a large property a couple of states south of Tracy that is owned by little Michael Rowe Casey.  She says it has been completely rebuilt as a outdoors activities destination.  You want to give trips to mission people and your employees.  Tommie Tat says that you have gotten volunteers to go to the sight to be trained in the outdoor activities and Joseline Johnson has looked at everything to develop safety rules, but so that while the honeymoon destination is gearing up to full-time occupancy, you might use Françoise Franks as a teacher in hospitality.  You will need hotel style accommodations for your guests, and from how this house looks, she knows how to make a place hospitable.  And the hospital corners are almost too well made.  It was hard getting into the heart-shaped bed, but we had an incentive.  Or something like that.”

And now that Babs has finished her message to you, I think she has something else in mind.  I see in her eyes that it is not a Bible study.

Credits

For those who do not read the Babs and Harold conversations that come out on Friday mornings, they are designed to be a conversational Bible Study, just two people talking.  But sometimes, they have guests and more people get involved.  But sometimes, they have guests and more people get involved.  Until now, Babs has rented the upstairs apartment, and the thought was that she would be Harold’s caregiver when the time came for that.