From: Merle Pettibone <merle@hollowline.bbs>
To: hollowline-l@hollowline.bbs (38 fine listeners)
Subj: WELL HELLO THERE FOLKS — and what a Tuesday it is

Well hello there, folks! Merle Pettibone here, broadcasting once again from the back office of the LITTLE MUSEUM OF DOORKNOBS up here in lovely Bannerman Hollow, Pennsylvania — population eight hundred and ninety-three, eight hundred and ninety-four if you count the heron that lives on the spillway, and I do, I absolutely do.

If you're tuning in for the very first time — and bless you, we got three new subscribers this week, that's a Hollowline record — what we do here is simple. Every Tuesday evening, after I close up the gift counter and Audra has put a dishtowel over the parakeet, I sit down at the little Kaypro your subscription dollars helped us buy, and I type up everything that happened at the museum that nobody saw happen, because nobody was here to see it.

That's the museum's whole deal, friend. Nobody comes. And that's alright! That just means there's more to go around.

This week we got a doozy of an exhibit, a letter from a fellow in Saskatoon, a very small mystery involving the kettle, and — I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's pour something warm and take the long way around.

═════ THIS WEEK'S FEATURED EXHIBIT ═════

CASE 4-B · "THE SUNDAY KNOB"

              ___________
             /           \
            /   .-----.   \
           |   ( () () )   |
           |    `-----'    |
            \    \___/    /
             \___________/
              |||     |||
              |||     |||
              |||_____|||
             [_________]
        a porcelain doorknob,
        circa 1911, Wheeling WV,
        slightly chipped at six o'clock.

Folks, I want you to picture a doorknob about the size of a small navel orange, glazed in a cream that's gone almost butter-yellow where the light hits it, with a hairline crack at the bottom you'd never notice unless somebody — namely me — pointed it out. That's our girl. That is the SUNDAY KNOB.

She was donated to us last October by a Mrs. Joelle Ruttinger of Bunkertown, who pried her off the linen closet of a house she was clearing out for her late mother-in-law's estate. Joelle said — and I'm reading from the donation card right now — she said, "I couldn't throw it away. It had a way of looking at you."

Now I'm not gonna tell you a doorknob looked at Mrs. Ruttinger, because I respect you and you have a porch to mow. But I will tell you this: when you stand in Case 4-B's spot in the East Hall, which gets the afternoon sun through the wavy old glass we couldn't afford to replace, that doorknob does appear to be considering you. It does. Audra says it's a friendly consideration. I am undecided.

If you find yourself within forty miles of Bannerman this weekend — and the dogwoods are out, I'm telling you, the dogwoods are out — come pay her a visit. She is in the East Hall, second case from the radiator. The radiator clangs. Don't be alarmed. The radiator clangs because it loves you.

═════ NEW ACQUISITIONS · MAY ═════

we got room for about fourteen more before we have to start a barn annex. Audra has opinions about the barn annex.

═════ THE MAILBAG ═════

This is the part where I read your letters out loud to the parakeet. Vesper has thoughts. They are mostly chirps.

═════ KETTLE WATCH '85 ═════

Last digest I mentioned, in passing, that the kettle in the back office had been found on twice this month without a witness to its having been turned on. Several of you wrote in. I have to tell you, the leading theories are:

1. Audra (denies it; possible)
2. Merle (in a fugue state; concerning)
3. Vesper the parakeet (anatomically implausible but I love the idea)
4. the radiator (sympathetic vibration; this is what Earl from the hardware store thinks and Earl is usually right)
5. a visitor (we'll come back to this)

Hollowline subscriber Doreen Plinker of Altoona wrote in with theory #6, which is that the museum has, all this time, been getting one (1) visitor a week who lets themselves in through the rear porch, makes tea, looks at the knobs for an hour and forty minutes, washes the mug, and leaves before we open. Doreen, if that's you: leave a note. We'll leave the good biscuits out.

═════ A SHORT WALKING TOUR (for the at-home subscriber) ═════

Some of you have written in, kindly, to say you cannot come in person — too far, too poor, too tired, too dead (one letter, from a relative; counts). So let's take the tour together, right now, from where you are.

STEP 1. Pick a door in the room you're in. Any door. The closet counts.

STEP 2. Walk over there. Don't open it yet.

STEP 3. Put your hand on the knob.

STEP 4. Don't turn it. Just hold it for a second.

STEP 5. Notice: it is warmer than the air. That's you, friend. That's the heat of every hand that's ever held that knob, and now there's a little more of it, because of you. That knob is now slightly warmer than it was a second ago and it will stay that way for about four minutes. You changed it. You did that.

STEP 6. Now you may turn the knob, or not, as you like. We don't tell anybody what to do at the Little Museum.

(thank you for visiting.)

═════ GUESTBOOK / SIGN ON ═════

If you've made it this far, sign the book. It stays in your terminal — won't go anywhere, we don't have the storage — but I promise Vesper and I imagine your signature being there. We do. We sit by the lamp and we imagine it.

visitor counter (this terminal): 000000

═════ A SMALL CONFESSION FROM THE GIFT SHOP ═════

We sell three things at the Little Museum: postcards (15¢), a xeroxed pamphlet I wrote called "What a Doorknob Wants From You" (25¢), and a single coffee mug that says HOLLOWLINE on it in a font Audra picked out (two dollars, and I'll throw in a refill).

I am here to confess that last month I sold negative one mug. A nice young couple from Ohio came in, browsed politely, and on their way out the husband — and I am not naming names because I do not know them — picked up a mug, looked me in the eye, and put it down again so firmly that I felt it in my chest. I went home and lay on the couch for forty minutes. Audra brought me a sandwich. I am alright now. The mug is fine.

I am telling you this because the digest is for telling you things. That is the whole arrangement.

═════ COMING UP IN VOL. II NO. 8 ═════

• the CHILD-SIZED OAK KNOB WITH THE TOOTH MARK: an investigation
• guest column from Earl at the hardware store: "why your storm door slams and what it's trying to tell you"
• a recipe for the cookies we put out on the gift counter (Audra is finally giving it up)
• kettle watch '85 update — we have A LEAD
• the wednesday knob gets her own segment, by reader demand, fine, FINE