The first piece is good news: Tom Bouton, raconteur, bon vivant, and owner of the Fly Creek General Store, is himself now a Fly Creeker. He’s bought and moved into the Aufmuth home, right next door to the store.

When Tom first reopened the store 10 years ago, he was living in Gilbertsville. To reduce his commute, he bought a house right across from the store. (It’s now Jim Ferrari’s law office.) But the pull of his original hometown finally was too much for Tom, and so he moved down to Oneonta. He’s been driving up from there to Fly Creek every day.

Not so now. Tom, clever man, has reduced the car commute to almost zero. He comes out of his house, slides behind the wheel, and closes the door. Then he slides across the seat, opens the passenger door, and steps out.

Voila, he’s at work! That man’s always thinking, you see. That’s why his store is such a success. No wonder he’s constantly fighting off South American and Asian store magnates who lust for a foothold in lucrative Fly Creek.

Anyway, glad to have you in Fly Creek, Tom. Further, as you often say to us customers, "Your money is always welcome here!"

The second fragment I want to share follows on last week’s column, which dealt in part with pig karma. My complaint at the end was that, if I had to share in Blue’s skunk ordeal because of porcine revenge (for turning hog’s heads into scrapple), then why wasn’t my partner in crime, Pastor Pullyblank, punished, too? Tom, I said, got off, scot free.

I still don’t have an answer for that inequity; metaphysics is out of my reach. But in rereading the column, I did realize that I’ve been hearing and saying "scot free" for years_without any sure sense of what it means. The realization pulled me up short. (Which means, I think, a sharp tug on my reins.)

I think of such occasions as "Savoy moments," named for the area’s renowned bicyclist and author, respected doctor, and obsessive explorer of word origins. Dennis loves words and usage, and I know that sometime before Christmas, he will catch my eye in a holiday party crowd. He’ll work his way across the room, eyes glinting, and inflict on me some arcane word or phrase that I’d better be able to explain.

Well, here’s one for you, good doctor. It was turned up by my bride in her genealogy research. What does "sess" mean? _ and no fair running for your Oxford Unabridged! (I’ll tell the rest of you next week. Or, if you run into Dr. Savoy, ask him. He’ll know.)

Anyway, I did run to my Oxford English Dictionary to check out "scot." It means, or used to mean, "a price, penalty, or tax." And so to get something, or to get away with something, "scot free," is to pay nothing, nothing at all. I’ll count on your using the expression three times in sentences today. And let me know, please, if some other reader uses it on you.

One of the delights of speech is, of course, people who blunder along in their talk, taking a hit-or-miss approach at the right word of phrase.

A favorite example of mine was a Maryland State legislator now long dead. For years the Maryland Legislature was home base for that perennially re-elected Eastern Shore senator. He did love to orate, and his near misses in word usage entertained his colleagues across decades.

One of his flights of oratory ended in a crash landing that became a legend in the statehouse.

The good ole boy, florid of face, had huffed and puffed through a long harangue attacking the then-governor’s plan to sell some valuable state-owned land for a ridiculously low price. The good ole boy was outraged, or pretended to be.

From his Sunday School days, he dredged a vague recollection of the story of Esau and Jacob. You remember it. Coming in from the hunt and desperately hungry, Esau found his brother Jacob about to enjoy a meal of thick lentil stew; an introduction to the 16th-century King James Bible called it a "mess of pottage." Clever Jacob told his salivating brother that he’d trade the stew for his birthright, i.e. his inheritance. And impulsive Esau bought the colossally one-sided deal. One hopes he enjoyed his pottage.

Well, in attacking the Governor’s proposed sale, the Eastern Shore senator hyperventilated through his long speech, building toward to the Bible story, at least as he remembered it. Waving his arms, he finished his stem-winder by shouting, "This man is trading our birthright for a bunch of pots and pans!"

The story became a byword in the Maryland Senate, and for years on dull days one Senator or another would stand and fill some time with a pointless harangue, building up to an impassioned, "We will not trade away our birthright for ..." And at that point the whole Senate would shout, "A BUNCH OF POTS AND PANS!"

No harm in the fun, I guess. At least it distracted them from making more laws.

Oh, and that same good ole boy is also remembered for a speech commending a retiring legislator for years of service. His colleagues were hugely entertained by his oratory, but especially by a near-miss malapropism at the very end. Breathless but gratified, the senator sat down to wild applause after declaiming, "I will not hold back in praising this man! For, unlike some, I believe in giving condemnation where condemnation is due!"

Me, too. Don’t we all?

Read about Jim Atwell’s new book, ``From Fly Creek--Celebrating Life in Leatherstocking Country’’ at JimAtwell.com.