Click Here to Listen to
the theme from "Cheers"

(cause this is partially set in a bar, get it?  :-)
This contest has expired. Congrats to our winner!

Hi all!  As promised here’s the contest.  The object is to find as many TBAA episode titles hidden in the following story as you can.  First some guidelines:

1.  The episode titles used are as listed on  Punctuation and capitalization have been altered, however.

2.  Each title counts only once.  If one’s repeated, it doesn’t count twice.

3.  Please send in your answers no later than March 23rd to be eligible for a prize.  There is no bonus for being the first to respond so take your time.

4.  In the event of a tie, each person in the running will be sent a tie-breaker.  Once we get it narrowed down to one winner, that winner gets the prize.

5.  Send your answers to this email address ONLY.  So basically just hit Reply.

6.  I cannot give any hints on the total number of titles in this or the like in the interest of fairness.

7.  Please check out for further information or email Jenni at this address.

We’d also like you to know that March 20th is Past Assignments’ Day when we recall Andrew’s past assignments.  In honor of the day we’d like to share with you a couple things from Andrew’s past assignments that he allowed us to borrow from his scrap book.  You can view them here:

And now… 

St. Patrick’s Day in Dyeland!

“I hate St. Patrick’s Day!  It gives the Irish such a bad reputation!”  JenniAnn mumbled as she sat down, ironically enough, at the pub in Idlewild, Dyeland.  A few of the occupants heard her and laughed.

Margherita, the barkeep, smirked.  “And so what’ll you be having then?”

“Shirley Temple, on the rocks,” the woman answered back.

Margherita set about preparing it but continued chatting with her.  “So what’s with this anti-St. Paddy’s day attitude?”

“I don’t know.  Just… it seems like once you hit 21 people expect you to go out and get royally smashed.  If you don’t, you look a bit… well, boring.  It’s so bizarre,”  JenniAnn explained.  “Thanks,” she added once she had her drink.

“Ah so you didn’t always harbor such feelings?  Cause I seem to remember you quite enjoying March 17, 2000.”  Margherita smiled.

“2000... What happened that…  Oh…”  JenniAnn blushed and then glanced over to a photograph on the wall.


Glen of Goodness, Asteri, Dyeland on March 17, 2000

St. Patrick’s Day in Dyeland that year found a merry party of 20 or so gathered in the Fields of Gold.  An old man sat telling Irish folktales while his wife, Sibyll, sat beside him, singing along as befitted the tales.  Minute by minute, the couple was getting their audience more and more enthralled.  Their sons and daughters sat on either side of them, flutes, pipes, and more ready.

“And so she wanders the Orkney Isles still, forever young, forever looking for her lost love, forever singing to him,” the Storyteller finished and glanced out at his audience.  They stared at him, captivated, a few brushing tears from their eyes in sympathy for the sad fate of the heroine of the story.  “Kids, give us a reel to cheer the girls up a bit?” he asked his sons and daughters. 

And they played a merry reel and everyone danced until they were quite content again.  Then one woman pushed a girl towards the family, whispering something into the blushing girl’s ear.

“Anything I can do for you, JenniAnn?” Sibyll asked kindly.

“Well, I, umm… wrote this song.  And Janie there wants to hear but my voice… well, it ain’t the voice of an angel.  Could you?  It’s about Andrew,” the teen-ager asked, holding out the leaf of paper on which her labor of love was written.

“She thinks he’s real,” someone snickered.

“He is!” the girl declared.  “I saw him on TV!”

There was some sympathetic laughter all around.

“Well, I mean yeah obviously on ‘Touched’ but this was different.  There was this reporter doing an interview with an angel who turned out to be a demon and Andrew really appeared!  On the news!”  JenniAnn insisted.
“Dear God, the poor girl…” Sibyll thought but only smiled, took the piece of paper JenniAnn held out and began to sing. 

“There is a fellow most dear to me
And it's sweet Andrew I long to see
His eyes more green than Erin's fields
And it’s to him my fool heart yields.”


Unbeknownst to the St. Paddy’s revelers, a figure walked only a few yards off, among the trees and forget-me-nots, wild roses, and daisies.  He was a melancholy soul, a bit on edge having finished a hard day’s work.  He’d been to the Glen before and remembered its quiet peacefulness.  In fact, except for two or three families the entire world seemed unoccupied.  That’s why he was surprised when he heard a voice.  And not just a voice.  One singing a song, with his name in it!  No… it couldn’t be.

“Andrew’s hair’s more golden than the Irish sun
His heart is gracious, befitting an angelic one.
His bonny voice speaks words forever true
As he tells of God’s enduring love for you.”

Hearing it again, Andrew was sure he’d heard it speak his name.  The blue angel forgot his distress, blushed, and then laughed.  He’d told Monica of this place and was now sure his friend had had the song sung as a joke to cheer him.  He knew better than to think it was her singing!  So he moved out of the darkness of the trees and into the fields.


The Storyteller looked up as Sibyll sang and squinted.  There was something blue approaching their group.  At first his aged eyes couldn’t make the figure out but as it came closer he thought it a man, clad in jeans and a blue shirt.  He thought it odd since Dyeland’s male population was very small, he and his sons making up a good portion of it.  The rest of the company was still focusing on Sibyll and her lovely voice when he gasped and jumped up from his seat.  This was no man.  He was staring at the approaching figure of the angel of death!

Everyone turned around and saw Andrew approaching.  Several hearts soared, others seemed to stop beating entirely for a brief moment.  One poor girl saw the ground rushing at her as she began to faint. 

“It’s John!!!” Margherita, who was first to recover her voice, screamed.  This led to an onslaught of autograph requests and Janie, the journalist of the group, hurried to grab her camera and began flashing photos.

“Oh!  No!  My name’s not John.  Nor Dye,” Andrew managed to get out.

“I suppose it’s Andrew then?”  Jess asked, bemused.

“Well yes,” he answered.

Silence fell on the group then. 

“I heard that song and my name in it and I thought it was a friend so I came to see what she was up to.  But I guess it wasn’t Monica’s doing at all,” Andrew explained, looking a bit ill-at-ease seeing the shock his appearance had caused.  “Can I ask your names?” he asked politely.

There were introductions all around.  The group was torn on whether to believe the stranger or not but saw no harm in simply divulging their names.

“You seem honest but… it’s kinda hard to buy.  So tell us, Andrew, who was your first assignment as an angel of death?”  Jess asked after the introductions had ended.

“Abraham Lincoln!” Andrew answered proudly.

“He only needs to have watched ‘Beautiful Dreamer’ to know that.  Ask something more difficult,” Felicia suggested.

“Okay, umm, what’s your least favorite holiday?” Jess tried.

“Halloween!” Andrew and several of the girls cried all at once.  At that Felicia produced some photos of Chiwawa dressed up as Andrew that previous Halloween.  Andrew looked at them with a curious expression.

“Try again Jess,” Karen suggested.

“I am an angel, I promise you that.” Andrew insisted and gave his most angelic look.

“Oh…  It’s him, it’s him.  I know it!”  JenniAnn called, for the first time peeking out from behind Sibyll’s shoulder where she’d dashed after seeing Andrew approaching.  Margherita had winked at her and JenniAnn knew the woman meant to tell Andrew it was her who had written the song.  So she’d been determined to slink away before the angel found out.  But she felt Andrew was at risk of being subjected to an all out interrogation if she didn’t speak.  “I told you he was real.  Trust him,” she added shyly making eye contact with the latest arrival.

He smiled kindly at her.  “Thank you, uhh… I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.”

“Cause she didn’t give it.  This is JenniAnn, she wrote the words to the song you heard me sing,” Sibyll informed causing JenniAnn to turn bright red. 

“It was lovely, thank you.  To both of you.”  Andrew answered graciously, blushing a bit at the girl’s obvious appreciation as her gaze flitted about but repeatedly came back to him.

The group began talking excitedly, astounded that the fictional character they loved was not only real but there among them.  Andrew readily accepted the invitations to return for many other Dyeland (he was amused to learn what the country had been dubbed) functions.  Then the Storyteller, Sibyll, and their family struck up with another song for the last dance of the day.  Then the revelers left, excited to share the news with those not among them that Andrew was real.


“And that’s how it all began with us and Andrew,” Margherita looked fondly at the photograph that Janie had taken that day of the group in the fields. 

“Yeah, maybe St. Patrick’s Day can be quite nice,” JenniAnn admitted.

“Did you ever tell Andrew that there was more to the song you wrote?”

JenniAnn blushed again.  “No and I think I’ve told Andrew enough, he can do with out it I’m sure.”  She laughed a bit then.

“Ah so he doesn’t know…” and the barkeep began to sing quietly. 

“His tears are more heart-rending than a banshee’s wail
But through it all his spirit doth, with strength, prevail.
And if Andrew were here I’d but one thing to say
That I shall ne’er cease to love him til my last day.”

“Yep, that’d be it.”  JenniAnn gave a small smile, remembering the enamored 17 year old hurriedly penning it during her study hall.

“I won’t tell him,” Margherita promised.


“What are friends for?” she replied with a smile and pat on the hand before refilling JenniAnn’s glass.

“To Andrew,” JenniAnn toasted.


~Your humble author would like to apologize for some errant schmaltziness in this story.  This is what happens when one watches Irish romantic comedies I guess!  Also thanks to Jess and Felicia for giving me ideas of how people may react to meeting the real Andrew.  However, I do want it made clear I, Jenni, alone wrote the story.  Karen and I alone had advance knowledge concerning the answers to this contest and how it would be written.  So except for us two, all JABBers are eligible to win!


Newsletter 160

Click here for answers

Special thanks again to Jess who took the snapshots that will begin to appear on JABB newsletter pages.

(Photo Credits: The photographs used on this page are from "Touched by an Angel" and owned by CBS Productions, Caroline Productions, and Moon Water Productions.  They are not being used to seek profit.)