Ralph Twigger

Dear Ralphy

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“Dear Ralphy” is like a “Dear Abby” page for you to use on the Ralph Twigger Blog. Ralph would love to communicate with you. If you have a question, or a comment, or some advice for Ralph, feel free to leave it. Ralph will do his best to respond. He’s still learning to use the computer, but he is 70-something! For example: Dear Ralph, what do you do with Josh and Jeremy after their homework is finished? From, Sidney   Dear Sidney, I appreciate your question as it’s a good one. Sometimes we run an errand for Debra, their mom, or we play cards, watch cartoons, make the salad for dinner, or visit Mrs. Batesole’ who broke her hip. How about you, Sidney, what do you do after you finish your homework? Have a great day! Ralph Twigger Read the first story “Ralph Twigger” Read “Ralph Twigger, Ghost Buster”     Send him your questions on the “comments” section...

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Ralph Twigger -the first story-

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“Watch and Clock Repair…If your ticker’s not ticking, Ralph Twigger’s your ticket!” Ralph was rather proud of the signs. They were printed in a bright color with a grandfather clock, pocket watch and wrist watch at the bottom. It was his habit, on Mondays, to pick up two bear claws at Dorothy’s Donuts, tape up a few fliers and head back to the apartment. But this Monday when he climbed the stairs, he saw the owner of the building inside the apartment next door to his. There was a young woman with two children in tow. “Great,” Ralph winced, “I knew it was too good to last.” Ralph had had peace and quiet for two months. No one on the other side of #7. And now it looked like two small rockets complete with toys, bicycles, questions and high-pitched voices would be moving next door. “What’s that in your hand?” said a little voice, startling Ralph so that he spilled some of the orange juice he’d just carefully poured. Standing right in the middle of his living room was a little red-haired five-year-old. “What’s a matter? Cat got your tongue?” “How did you get in here?” asked Ralph. “The door.” “Little boy, I think your mommy’s calling you.” “What’s your name?”   -2- “Excuse me, but have you seen a little boy, about this tall, red hair?” “He’s right here, lady.” “Hi, Mommy. This is our neighbor. He eats bear claws too. Look at all his clocks!” Just then, two cuckoo clocks, three Westminster clocks, and a grandfather clock chimed the half hour. The little boy jumped up and down. “Do it again! Do it again!” “Sweetheart, the nice man can’t do it again.” She turned to Ralph and added, “I’m sorry. My son’s very friendly.” Ralph didn’t’ say a word, didn’t have a chance to say a word as the woman scooped up her son and headed out the door. There was no need for formal introductions at this point. Maybe she’d move in, maybe not. In the last week, he’d seen several people go in and out of the apartment next door, but not a family. There was only one other family in the whole building, and they were downstairs. A good place for families—downstairs—not upstairs next to #7. This was going to change everything. For two weeks Ralph wondered if apartment #6 had been rented. Then the weekend of March 4th arrived along with a truck full of furniture, boxes, two bicycles, toys and two high-pitched voices. The racket of furniture scooting, hammering, conversation, laughter, and country western music—which Ralph hated—went on for hours. He didn’t get a thing done that day. There was just no way to concentrate with all that noise. About nine o’clock, though, it stopped. Ralph fell into bed exhausted and worried. This was never going to work. His clock repair business was going to suffer, those two kids -3- would drive him crazy, and this seemingly nice woman would probably have...

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