Harriman Nelson's Journal

The Creamsickle
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

The Creamsicle

Don’t get me wrong, I really do like Agent Catfish. However, lately she’s been in a kind of ‘domestic’ mode. Not that Chip or Lee mind. They both love her oatmeal raisin, chocolate chunk peanut butter, and chocolate chip cookies that she sends to ‘her boys’ every chance she gets. No wonder they usually  overlook some of  her irritating little habits, especially when we’re just offshore Daytona Beach and the cookies are warm out of the oven.

So what are these little irritations?

1.       She plays  matchmaker to Lee and Chip,  with herself included as one of the potential ‘dates’! Flirts like the devil she does. Of course she jokes about it, but once or twice I have seen her eyeing both boys with more than what a maiden aunt type ought to.

2.       I’m fortunate in that regard. No, she feels it’s her sacred duty to  ‘mother’ me instead. She’s not even old enough to be my mother, for goodness sake! But since we’re headed north and the weather is unseasonably cold in Boston (my personal destination this time), she insisted that I needed something more substantial to wear than my usual winter coat, notwithstanding the fact, that I can always break out our foul weather gear.

You could have heard a pin drop when she came aboard with, of all things an almost completed scarf she was crocheting herself, insisting I not let Seaview depart for the colder climate until she finished it for me.   

Oh, it was warm. Nobody could doubt that. It would melt a snowman. And it was soft. Baby soft. Luxurious to the skin. I could imagine how good it would feel against my craggy and cold face in a ‘Nor’easter.

There was just one problem, as she invited herself into my cabin (without permission), and hurriedly tried to complete  the damn thing with the 100 % Acrylic yarn. Pink yarn.  Pink! With strands of orange and green. Pink is a girl’s color! Call me old fashioned, but this is one thing I don’t believe I can ever change my mind about. And I couldn’t very well decline it or kick her off the boat. She’s...family, after all.

And so I waited. Lee and Chip, hell, the entire crew, were too busy stuffing their faces full of all those cookies to give it much thought after the initial shock wore off.

Of course, I thanked her very kindly, but as soon as we completed repairs to the rudder, and were  underway, I would have to figure out a way to dispose of it. No way could I simply fire it out of a torpedo tube. The current just might take it ashore and if Agent Catfish found out, well I didn't want to think about it.

I thought about sending it to my sister, but  she and Cat are friends, and what if they got to chatting....no, I would have to keep it aboard and wait until we returned to Santa Barbara to put it in the trash, or donate it to some charity.

It was a few days later when we reached Boston Harbor, and there was a full fledged Nor'easter in progress.

“Sir,” Lee smirked as I pulled on my coat and gloves, “aren’t you forgetting something?” he began to wrap the scarf around my neck and head.

“Stop that!” I hissed.

“It’s 17 below  out there, and blowing like hell,” Morton said, helping Lee, who was ignoring my protestation.

“I look like a Creamsicle* in this get up!”

“Better than feeling like one,” Lee smiled.


As I trudged through the howling blast toward the taxi, I was grateful, if embarrassed, that the scarf did offer me wonderful protection from the wind’s icy fingers.  Perhaps I’d been a bit too hasty in my ‘pink is for girls’ attitude. But as the cabbie tried to stifle his laughter, I knew it was going to be a long weekend.

I wondered if anyone aboard was even sympathetic. I knew they were all laughing at me behind my back. I wondered if Lee,  Chip, and the crew would enjoy an order of Creamsicles to be delivered to Seaview as a kind of retribution. No, they might actually enjoy the frozen treats. Then it struck me...I’d ask Agent Catfish to crochet everybody aboard the same scarf...a kind of uniform...after all my scarf did keep me toasty warm...and NIMR and Annapolis (one of the places I’m going to visit) certainly can’t argue with  functionality.  

I just wonder what old Jiggs Starke is going to say when he finds out about it. I think I’ll let Lee handle that issue.  Snicker Snicker.



Creamsicle is a frozen popsicle.