Recorded on January 5, 2020, this episode finds storyteller Lyn Goffaux offering a late holiday greeting and reflecting on stepping into a new decade that faintly echoes the “roaring 20s” of a century before. She soon shifts from the present to vivid memories of her Arizona childhood in the 1940s, when she was nine years old and growing up on horseback among a lively stream of dude ranch guests.

Lyn recalls a family her father knew well, tied to a frightening moment years earlier when a baby swallowed ant poison and her parents rushed to help. By the time of this story, that baby has grown, and the family has welcomed another child—a brilliant 6 year old boy whose curiosity and love of science make him unforgettable.

This boy, always carrying a scientific magazine written for real scientists, bursts into the room again and again with his trademark question, “Do you know…?” before launching into excited explanations of atoms and new discoveries. Lyn and the others affectionately nickname him the “radioactive atomic brat,” a label that captures both his intelligence and the way he slightly annoys guests with his constant lectures.

His father, Tucker, is a gifted pianist who once told Lyn’s father that, with proper training, he too might have been a pianist. That musical legacy seems to touch the boy as well. Years later, Lyn hears that he auditions for his church choir by boldly singing “There Is Nothing Like a Dame,” performing every part himself and being accepted on the spot. She wonders whether he became a scientist, a musician, or something else entirely—one of many life stories she never gets to see completed.

As her memories unwind, Lyn turns gently toward her own mortality. She admits it is hard to believe she will one day die, yet she speaks without fear, imagining a future where every physical limitation is gone. In that life beyond this one, she pictures herself walking, floating, and moving anywhere she wishes without ever falling, perhaps watching over children, great-great-great-grandchildren, or other souls still making their way through this world.

Lyn reflects that she has “whizzed through” life on horseback and missed many of the smaller, fascinating moments in between. That realization opens into another favorite memory: the arrival of “the General,” one of the most unforgettable dude ranch guests of her youth.

The General, a large, imposing Englishman with a monocle and a booming voice, looks every bit the officer he once was. Lyn remembers how he loved to sing “Little Brown Jug,” belting out the lines with a hearty “ha ha ha” that she can still hear. His wife appears every inch the classic general’s lady—genteel, feminine, and gracious—while their son is preparing to serve as one of the silent guards who must stand immovable at a royal castle.

Lyn recalls staging a mock “hold up” of the General’s car, one of her father’s favorite dude ranch entertainments. He plays his part with flair, even keeping his wallet in his breast pocket for dramatic effect. The General loves the whole adventure so much that he insists on joining the next hold up—this time as the leader. Lyn paints the scene of horses galloping down a hill, riders charging together, and her father stopping the car right on cue.

These memories spark Lyn’s playful imagination as she jokes that someone should invent a back-pocket wallet zipper that screams “zing” when touched, maybe even delivering a tiny electric shock to startle would-be thieves. It is a light, humorous idea tucked inside a deeper meditation on time, aging, and the way certain people never fade from our minds.

Throughout the episode, Lyn’s voice moves between humor and longing, childhood mischief and spiritual hope. She honors the “radioactive atomic brat,” the dignified General, and her father’s theatrical flair, while acknowledging that many of those people are now gone—and that she is, as she says, “headed that way too,” still riding into one more story.