Goodbye to Doctor Fever

I am sad. My good friend Doctor Fever succumbed to cancer last week, and I find myself pining sorrowful. Doctor Fever was a fan of the Carbon Creek Chronicles long before they arrived on this site, before they had arrived on any internet site, before the internet, maybe.

He liked the stories. They didn't have to make sense, they didn't have anything to prove, and he liked that a lot. He made a map of the town of Carbon Creek, and I realized that the Author Friend had no sense of direction. He enjoyed the animal stories most, although, "Rupee, Look at the Stars" was a little sad for his liking.

He stayed upbeat. He wasn't a moper. He never complained about his pain, or his frustration at not being able to do the things in life he used to do. Right until the end, he wanted to go out, see people, watch a movie, even though his tired legs would not take him. He vowed once he'd rather die than sit in a wheelchair, but when the time came, he sat willingly in it because it meant he could get around.

Dr. Fever wanted for the longest time to write a story about the three legged dog. I sought and gained permission for him to do so, a decade past. He never got around to it, as they say. I think he figured if he did all of the things he was gonna, there would be no reason to keep going.
I'm working on the three legged dog story, based on the notes and conversations we had had together. It may not be exactly what he would have written, but at least he's got a front row seat to the writing of it.

Rest in peace, Dr. Fever. I miss you more than I would ever tell you to your face.

Carbon Creek Chronicles: An Ancient Institution Finds a New Home

This travel blog photo's source is TravelPod page: Alberta farmland, Calgary, Canada

Back in 1984, a friend of mine, marine biologist and univeristy lecturer Daryl Parkyn introduced me to a friend of his. The meeting was brief and to this day I do not know the author's identity. He was simply Daryl's Author Friend. I met him while Daryl and I passed the time in his family's cabin on Floating Stone Lake, near St. Paul Alberta. The Author Friend popped in on us one rainy, cold afternoon in August. We had a bundle of wood roasting away in the fireplace, and some Slinger's Grape Wine roasting away in our bellies. Of course, in those days, Daryl was not the professor that today he is, and I was not the great man that today I am; we were thirsty, poor students, and the two dollar magnum bottle trumped a better, more costly vintage.

In any event, the Author Friend as he was, and, due to circumstances of time and distance still is today known entered the toasty cabin of a rainy, cold day, and over a glass or six of the sweetest, cheapest wine urged out of a grape, told us the most fantastical tales we had ever heard.
I make no apologies for the rather controversial views of the Author Friend; I am a simple messenger. If you, dear reader, find any joy, any serendipity, any amusement in these tales, thank the Author Friend, whomever he is. If you find yourself offended, put off, upset, sad, or generally in malaise over them, it is to himself, not I, that you should direct your comments. Of course, I will be more than happy to pass them on.

Sincerely,
Todd Wandio