From an Unmarked Notebook on My Shelf

 Mr. Gimley was 64 years old, his mother peacefully passed away. Mr. Gimley mad ethe funeral arraignments, spoke at the eulogy and grieved the appropraite length of time.

Then he retired early from his high position at a successful insurance business, sold his house and his condo in Florida, and moved into the orphanage.

"Excuse me," said mean Mr. Stiles, the director of the orphanage, "you don't belong here."

"Excuse me," said Mr. Gimley, "I'm an orphan."

So Mr. Gimley ate gruel for breakfast .... and lunch.... and dinner.

He dressed in patched rags with torn hems.

He scrubbed the floors with a toothbrush.

He played stickball (but not as well as the other orphans)

He learned long division under kind Miss Stu and cheap walletmaking under mean Mr. Stiles.

When Christmas came, he savored every section of his orange, with was naturally his only present.

"Gee, Miss Stu," he said. "being an orphan sure is difficult."

"It is," said Miss Stu. "Everyone needs someone to take care of them."

"What if we just took care of each other?"

"That might work."

"I never thought of that when I was in my high position at a successful insurance business."

So Miss Stu and Mr. Gimley adopted each other (Miss Stu being an orphan herself) and the two of them adopted all of the other orphans and they all ate pizza instead of gruel & got pinatas every Friday and two puppies for Christmas and everyone was very happy, except Mr. Stiles, who did not get adopted, because he was not an orphan and so was sent home to his mother...

who made him eat gruel.