CHEWIE NUMBER 35,  PAGE 1                                                                    so chewie 2 is page 2 of this the July edition                                                                    chewie 3 is page 3 and so on...   A SPECIAL FOR JULY 2009: THRILLING PAGES OF LEAFY LOVE AND DREAMS  CONTRIBUTIONS FROM THE AMAZING, THE WONDERFUL AND THE BEST EVER, PLUS SOME. BUT NOTHING FROM PARIS HILTON? MISTER CHEWIE HAS TO GUESS THAT PARIS MUST BE JUST SO BUSY... POOR DARLING    STILL AND YET THERE IS THE COMPENSATION OF MISTER CHEWIE'S INCLUSION OF THE THRILLING AND MORALLY IMPROVING THREE PAGE STORY - IN WORDS AND PICTURES - CONTRIBUTED BY THAT VERY CLEVER, THE SO VERY TALKED ABOUT, OUR PRINCESS OF SOCIAL CONSCIENCE, PATTI JESSOPI        photo by mary baker        ACTUALLY, THE PICTURES ARE REDRAWN FROM PATTI'S INSPIRED BUT INEPT SKETCHES BY A CHEWIE HACK. OF COURSE, PATTI BEING PATTI, SHE FOUGHT TO KEEP HER ORIGINALS ON THE PAGE, BUT SHE LOST, HA HA!     Oh, it is so long ago now - before many of you were born, after so many had already died - that a winged seed, daughter of the Great Acer Negundo, was blown free of a box elder’s uppermost branch and carried off to wherever the fates might determine or chance decree. Free among the clouds she flew, apprehensive, singular, perfect, transporting the message of herself.       Eventually she entered the smoggy and acidic cloud above a great city where a sudden unexplainable stillness caused her to spin, a cosmic ballerina, down to the earth. Well, not so much to earth as towards concrete, tar and paving stones. There she ducked, dived, bounced and slewed around until, as luck would have it, becoming stuck between two cracked paving stones while all around the careless feet of busy bipeds squeaked, thumped, clipped and clattered.       Miraculously - it might be thought watched over by the Great Acer Negundo itself - she took root. And grew into a perfect seedling, her root strands having sought and found sustenance beneath the pavers. Meanwhile the feet of passing pedestrians, weirdly, albeit unconsciously, though frequently much too close for comfort, succeeded in not trampling her to death. Even street cleaners and weed sprayers knowingly or otherwise let her be.       She grew some more, and at the same time the number of feet passing her increased as the great city in which fate had elected that she must live experienced an economic boom. Yes indeed, even this daughter of the Great Acer Negundo, her consciousness principally concerned with altogether other matters, sensed that the cut and quality of the shoes that came, time and again, within a rat’s whisker of breaking her off at pavement level was improving with each day that passed. And so, day by day she came more and more to accept her fate of not living midst a crowd of cousins in a box elder forest, and day by day she came to relax as only a lonely seedling possibly destined for great things might do.       Until that fateful day, that terrible minute in the early morning when nobody was around, that all-transforming second when a purple suede moccasin came to rest beside where she grew. Next thing a hand wielding scissors stretched down and, snip, off came her main branch.     Oh no! All alone, wounded, her sap not knowing which way to flow, her very roots in shock, oh dear but how long and uncontrollably she wept. And wept and wept and wept. So hurt, so very much alone, never in that strange world had she felt quite as alone as this.    ... continued on next page