Five Red Dwarfs, Thank You, Ambrose

Ambrose gave me five red dwarfs. Wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. Five red dwarfs to hang on my wall.

Ambrose also suggested that I stop writing while drinking. Stop drinking while writing. Easier said than done, Ambrose. Unlike most of my fictional characters, I stopped drinking years ago. Chateau Lynch-Bages does not mix with beta blockers. Yet I continue to write. Every day.

And I still know not

What beta blockers block.

According to Google, a red dwarf is the smallest and coolest kind of star. Small is good. Small is cool. Cool is where it's at. Daddy Cool. 'She's crazy like a fool.' (So said Boney M.)

But to begin at the beginning. To begin in the bible-black time before time really had a chance to get started. (Flown around the world in a plane. Settled revolutions in Spain. Downhearted. I can't get started. With you.) The bible-black time before the time of the big hand and the little hand.

When a star is born, a star is born. But when a star is borne, it's carried along. Perhaps on the wings of a dove. A dove from above. Perchance with an olive twig. Peace, brother. Carried from here to there and, sometimes, back to where here was but no longer is. (Einstein said here was but a point in time.) 'You are here,' the arrow declares. But where is here when you need it?

Here be dragons. And there be stars. And when the stars align the dragons dance. Dance by the light of the silvery moon. Sail on, Silv'ry Moon. Sail on, Billy Vaughn. Sail on, across the sea to island. An owl and a pussy cat, and a pea green goat. Walking backwards for Christmas. Across the sea to Ireland. Under a harvest moon.

You take the high road and I'll turn left at the old oak tree. Tie a yellow ribbon. A knot in the corner to remind me. To remind me of what I cannot recall. Perhaps to remind me of what I forgot. A white sportscoat and a pink carnation. (I'm all dressed up for the dance.) Tan shoes and pink shoelaces. And don't forget Rockin' Rod and The Small Faces. Does anyone know the way to San Jose? Someone must do. But first, dear reader: Look down, look down, that lonesome road, before you travel on.

From here to there and back again. The road to nowhere's closed today. You've arrived here far too soon. The doorman's still in his swimming pool, painting postcards of the moon. Such pretty postcards. Such a round moon. Having a lovely time and I wish you were here. Taking a turn on the front. Taking a chair on the pier. So far away, yet also so near.

Five red dwarfs. Do not forget the five red dwarfs. The coolest of all the stars.

While the red dwarfs are the coolest, The Sun -- 'whose rays are all ablaze' -- is the nearest. (We really know our worth, the sun and I.) The sun, a yellow dwarf that is not yellow. A yellow dwarf that is white and will one day be red. A red giant, a yellow ribbon, and, when the sun goes down, Moonlight in Vermont (a song without rhyme). Pennies in a stream. Ski trails on a mountainside. No rhyme but many a reason. Reasons and seasons. All in the aid of tourism. Reason aplenty and Moonlight in Vermont. Girls just want to have fun. Until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard.

Meanwhile, not a million miles away, it's a foggy day in London town. A nightingale sings in Barclay Square. And paradiddle, paradiddle, Piccadilly Lily plays the drums while, sarf of the muddy old river, Terry and Julie gaze on Waterloo sunset. And Waterloo sunset's fine. Kinked... but fine.

Pythagoras knew his onions and Newton knew his apples. Newton also recognised the gravity of the situation and knew how many beans made nine. Bob Marley shot the sheriff. But while you saw the crescent, The Waterboys saw the whole of the moon.

Catch a falling star. Put it in a jar. Tie it to an ox. Put it in a box. Wrap it in paper. Tie it with string. And never let it fade away. Love is love, and not fade away.

Thank you for the stars, Ambrose. Five red dwarfs. Hanging on my wall. And if one red dwarf should accidentally fall....

The smallest, coolest stars of all.