One Saint Patrick's Day

Last year for St. Patrick’s, my wife, my son, my youngest daughter and I went to a place in Shawnee Kansas called Waxy O’Shea’s, for lunch and to listen to some great Irish music. Our son is home from Missouri State, so we decided since we each enjoyed the outing so much last year, we’d do that again. My wife couldn’t find a calendar on their website, so we weren’t sure what music, if any, would be there. We decided we’d drive over and check it out anyway. If there wasn’t live music, or if the lines were too long, we’d make the decision – stay and wait our turn for supper, or go elsewhere. At the last minute before we left home, my wife found an Applebee’s gift card and put it in her purse, just in case.

That turned out to be a good idea.

We drove into the parking lot and immediately saw the sign on the building:

SPACE AVAILABLE.

Now if I understand those letters right, in that order, it means, “Nobody Home, We’re Closed Now”. Our other clue was all the plywood on the windows…The Shawnee location of Waxy O’Shea’s was no more.

My wife had noticed an Applebee’s when we passed it earlier, so we went there and were well treated. No Irish music, though.

On our way back to Missouri, I’d listen from time to time to the conversation between my wife and daughter in the back seat. I don’t always quite hear what’s being said and I’m not sure what it was about, but one thing I heard sounded like “butterbean”.

Hmmm…that could be a fun name for a story character.

“Dear, you had a call while you were out, a Mister Butterbean.”

“Was it Charles Butterbean?”

“No…that doesn’t sound right.”

“Was it George, then?”

“Yes, that’s it, George Butterbean. He said you’d know what it was about.”

“Okay, I’ll call him back.”

George Butterbean is the founder of Butterbean and Associates, importers of all kinds of hard to find items of value. I could say many of the items were impossible to find, but I’d have to leave it at that. It would be wise if I said no more.

George had recently turned over the daily operation of the business to his son Charles. One thing I learned early was to never, and I mean never, call him Charlie. He really hates that, so it’s Charles or C. W.

I had a pretty good idea of what the call was about, and I had been expecting and dreading it. I couldn’t ignore the call (business is business, after all), and while I was glad it was George rather than Charles who called, I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to become involved.

Call it a premonition, if you must. I’ve really got to start paying attention to those…