Harriman Nelson's Journal

My Friend Lee-Page 28
The Creamsickle
The Invitation
Bike Week
The Java Connection
Lee's Tattoo
My Friend Lee-page 33
My Friend Lee-page 34
My Friend Lee-page 35
My Friend Lee-Page 36
My Friend Lee-page 37
My Friend Lee-page 38
My Friend Lee-page 39
My Friend Lee-page 40
My Friend Lee-page 41
My Friend Lee page 42
My Friend Lee-page 43
My Friend Lee -page 44
My Friend Lee-page 25
My Friend Lee-Page 26
My Friend Lee-Page 27
My Friend Lee-Page 28
My Friend Lee -page 29
My Friend Lee -page 30
My Friend Lee-page 31
My Friend Lee-page 32
My Friend Lee-page 24
My Friend Lee-page 23
My Friend Lee- page22
My Friend Lee-page 21
My Friend Lee-page 20
My Friend Lee- Page 19
My Friend Lee-page 18
My Friend Lee page 17
My Friend Lee-page 16
A Short Story
A 'Harry Halloween'
My Friend Lee-page 15
My Friend Lee-page 14
My Friend Lee-page 13
My Friend Lee-page 12
My Friend Lee-page 11
My Friend Lee-page 10
My Friend Lee-page 9
My Friend Lee-Page 8
My Friend Lee-page 7
My Friend Lee-page 6
My Friend Lee-Page 5
Life With Lee-page 4
Life with Lee- page 2
Life with Lee-page 3
Reflections-the 'In Between Years'
My photo-scrapbook album
About Me

Mission Accomplished

There’s an old saying about the best laid plans. I’d hoped I could get Lee to relax a bit after our last mission, take his mind off of Seaview and his increasingly hen pecked relationship with Miss Hale. (My words, not his, but I’d be blind not to see it.) Frankly, I was surprised he’d agreed to my suggestion that he stay the night after Seaview docked at 0430 and watch the big game on TV with me later that day. The fact that my current abode was ‘above the shop’ and he was closer to Seaview had nothing to do with his accepting my invite.  Or at least that’s what I told myself.

Saturday dawned-well had already dawned, by the time I arose and confirmed with security that I was up and could someone bring me the morning paper, I found  Lee, at 1030, hair tousled, unshaven,  still in pj’s and robe, laying on the living room carpet, flipping channels on TV while guzzeling down what had to have been his seventh cup of coffee if the percolator’s level indicator was to be believed. I swear the boy lives on the stuff alone, and I’m sure there has to be study someplace about the dangers of excessive caffeine use, especially on an empty stomach. I really have to talk to Will about that. Maybe a word from the Surgeon General to help the active fleet decaffeinate would help,  Lee’s such a stickler for duty even as a Reservist.

Anyway, the buzzer rang before I could even say ‘good morning’ and upon opening the door, who was there but Cookie, giving me a wink and rolling in a cart bearing all sorts of covered dishes. “Excuse me Admiral, Security was passing by with your paper, and since  I had  some breakfast leftovers the clean-up crew didn’t finish and thought you and the Skipper might like some, I said I’d bring it along.”  

“Well, what do we have here?” I asked as I lifted one domed lid after another.  “Lee, get your butt off the floor and come see this…”

“Can’t it wait?” Lee asked, not bothering to turn away from the TV, “you know, there has to be a psychological reason why the writers of this show have a squirrel living at the bottom of the sea with a fry cook sponge and a pink starfish…”

“You’d better hurry, Lee or there won’t be any pancakes left.”

Pancakes?” Lee turned.  If there’s any food on the face of the earth that Lee has a passion for, and trust me, there aren’t  many; I can’t count how often his lack of appetite has Doc threatening to force feed him, it’s pancakes. Especially his mother’s pancakes.  He’s adamant that as good as any diner or restaurant’s  might be, nobody but nobody’s can even come close to hers.

“My Grandma’s recipe, “  Cookie said proudly, using his almost never fail ‘you’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t at least try them, Skipper’  look. “Had a bit of cake flour left and I had to  use it up ‘cause Mr. Morton said it was more economical to just get some new stores stowed than save a few cups of the stuff that’ll go rancid by the time we get Seaview all ready for her next cruise. What with the refit and all. “

“Refit? What refit? ” Lee asked, half rising,  instantly on the alert, like a jungle cat ready to pounce.

“That’s what he said, sir.”

“There’s no refit! Oh,  I don’t care if you made pancakes!” he said angrily, “Morton put you up to this, didn’t  he? Or maybe Doc, ” Lee stood, his arms across his chest, menacing,  “Wouldn’t be surprised if you had a hand in this too!” he glared at me. “I wish everybody would just leave me and my stomach alone!”

“I had nothing to do with this, but I’m glad they did!” I argued, “You’re not just thin, Lee, you’re skinny. Underweight. Malnourished. It’s not healthy. And no matter what you say, it was nice of Chip to leave us some breakfast, even if I’m the only one to appreciate it. I thought you liked pancakes. These really look good, Cookie.”

“Yessir, Admiral. It was hard for him not to finish the lot. Real hard. A lot of grannies and moms used to use  cake flour instead of the ordinary stuff like they do nowadays.   Makes the fluffiest, thickest, most mouthwatering pancakes you ever had…only…er…I don’t think you ever had any of this recipe, Skipper.  You  musta’ been off on one of your special assignments when I made these last…”

“I..I’m sorry I flew off the handle Cookie,” Lee decided it wasn’t a good idea to aggravate the cook, “it’s not your fault you’re a pawn for everybody trying to fatten me up…I do admit that they look good,” Lee sighed, the scent of the freshly made disks having drawn him closer, despite his sulking,  “that’s not sugar free syrup on them, is it? Lola tried that sugar free stuff on me. She used fake butter too. Can’t say I liked any of it. ”

“She musta’ used a box mix,” Cookie said, “if you want, I can teach her how to do it from scratch. Here, ”Cookie took a pristine fork and seduced Lee as he used it to cut through one of the stacks, twirled the forkful  in more syrup and handed it to Crane. “Not as  good as your Mom’s, I’m sure but….”

Lee hesitated but took the offered forkful, expecting a tasty yet usual disappointment, but quickly followed it by a look upwards and licking the little trail of buttery syrup running down his chin with his tongue. He looked all of ten years old, I thought, even with five o’ clock or rather ten o’clock shadow, that is.

“Well, what are waiting for, Harry?” Lee took the plate and headed back toward the TV, placing it on the coffee table and sitting on the floor to resume watching cartoons. “Er…”he looked at Cookie as if he was missing something.

“Yessir,” Cookie read his mind, “I got some nice bacon to go with it,” Cookie picked up two more lidded plates and sat them down next to Lee’s. ‘And this is  pure Maple Syrup, straight from Vermont. Here’s some extra pancakes for you too.”

“I think I’ve died and gone to Heaven,” Lee tried to say, his mouth full, as I wondered if Cookie had another plate of them hidden on the cart for me too. He didn’t. But then…I didn’t need the extra pounds. Lee did.

“So, son,” I took my own plate to the coffee table and sat down next to Lee, which wasn’t easy,  being on the floor. “These good as your Mom’s?”

 “Better… er…you’re not going to tell her, are you?” he looked up, like a little boy caught doing something naughty.

“Who me?  Never.  You, Cookie?”

“My lips are sealed,” Cookie opened the door to leave, his mission accomplished.

“Thanks…er…Cookie?” Lee asked.

“Yes sir, Skipper?”

“You’re not going to tell Lola, I mean Miss Hale what I …er..well…what I said either?”

“Far as I know, Skip,  you love her pancakes, sir. Even better than mine.”


It wasn’t long before Lee and I soon settled down to a day of relaxed laziness after our pancake breakfast. Now if I could only think of something to feed him during the big game.