Marco Meets Speedy

Marco Meets Speedy 

 

Marco was a little mouse who lived a hole at the base of an oaks tree by a small stream. He lived with his father and mother and two younger brothers.

Because Marco was the oldest, he was allowed to go outside the hole by himself if it was sunny outside. On this sunny day, Marco was being a little careless and didn’t stay as close to home as he was supposed to. In fact, he wandered as far as the little stream.

It wouldn’t seem like much of a stream to a human child, but Marco was a very small mouse, so it seemed quite deep to him.

When he heard the slither of snake scales on the sand, he knew he was in trouble. He looked behind, and sure enough, there was a snake coming straight at him. The snake was between him and his house so he couldn’t run home. And he didn’t know how to swim well.

The only thing he could do was climb in a bush and try to hide. The snake saw him, and started to climb the bush after him. Marco scrambled out onto the tiny branches, hoping the snake was too heavy to follow. But the snake kept coming.

Marco had no choice. He had to jump into the water.  He started to swim as soon as he hit the water. He heard the snake land in the water behind him. The snake was swimming after Marco.

Suddenly Marco felt something come up under him and lift him out of the water. He felt a bump and rolled onto the shore near his house.

“Run,” a voice said, and he jumped up and ran home as fast as he could. He turned around once to see if the snake was still chasing him, but only saw a strange rock on the shore.

He was afraid  if he told his parents, they wouldn’t let him play outside again. So he didn’t tell anyone what happened.

The next day he went out to the creek again. He wanted to find who saved him. This time he was more careful and kept watching for snakes or large frogs.

All he saw was the strange rock. He was looking into the water when he heard the voice that helped him the day before.

“Hi. No snakes today. That’s good”

Marco jumped and looked all around. “Who’s that?”

“It’s me, Speedy.” Said the voice. Then the most marvelous thing happened. A small head came out of the rock. “I’m a turtle.”

Marco was amazed. “I thought you were a rock.”

“That’s a pretty good trick, huh?” Said the turtle. “And when I crawl into my shell and close it, I am like a rock, and the predators can’t eat me.”

Marco walked around the turtle and looked at him carefully.” Your name is Speedy? I guess that means you move fast.”

“Very fast.” Agreed the little turtle. “Watch me.” He stuck out four short legs. They seemed barely able to lift his heavy shell. He took one step and then another. His shell was so heavy that he could barely walk. He galumphed instead.

Marco wanted to laugh at the little turtle, but he remembered that Speedy saved him from the snake the day before. He was secretly proud of how fast and graceful his movements were compared to the heavy, clumsy turtle.

The little turtle had walked in a small circle so he was facing the water again. “Here I go.” Speedy said, and he pushed off into the stream.

It seemed to take hardly a minute and the turtle stuck his head out of the water on the other side of the stream. “See, I swim fast.!” Then his head went underwater and he was on the bank near Marco again.

“Wow,” said Marco. “That was fast.” He thought about how hard it had been for him to swim the day before. “I wish I could swim like that.”

“Oh, no. You move so fast on land, and I can’t do that. I wish I could run like you do.”

Marco secretly thought Speedy had the best deal because he could hide in his shell if a snake came. He thought it would be worth it to be clumsy and have to galumph on land if it meant he could have a shell and move so fast in the water.

They spent a lot of time together that summer. Speedy loved giving Marco rides in the water, and Marco would scratch the turtle where his feet wouldn’t reach. When Marco’s brothers left the nest, he introduced them to Speedy. The four of them played lots of games and were great friends forever.

Becky’s Birthday

Becky’s Birthday

Becky stomped into her bedroom and slammed the door.  She was the unluckiest person in the world. Today was her birthday, and no one remembered.  Besides that, she had forgotten to hand in her homework, and her teacher called home and told her stepmother.  So she came home to the news that she was in trouble, and had to go to her room to catch up on her school work.

It wasn’t fair!  She was eleven years old today, and no one cared.  It would have been different if her mother had still been alive.  She thought of earlier birthdays, of candles and balloons and presents and the special strawberry cake her mother made each year.  She choked back a sob, but she couldn’t stop the tears that escaped her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.  She threw her book pack on the floor and stretched herself on her bed and let the tears flow.

She hadn’t expected her family to celebrate her birthday before the weekend.  Her father was out of town on business until then, and she knew her stepmother would wait until he came back to have a party.  But she expected someone to wish her a happy birthday and maybe give her a small gift.

“You better have your homework done when I come up there!”  Her stepmother called out.

Becky sat up and wiped the tears from her eyes.  Her stepmother was okay, but she was strict.  Becky wanted to avoid more trouble until her father came home.  She moved over to her desk and pulled her homework out.

She heard the pounding of her brother’s feet running up the stairs.  He stopped long enough to bang several times on her door before going on.

“Dork- head!”  She shouted.

“Dung brain!” He shouted back.

Even he had forgotten her birthday. 

She was looking for her math book when she found the scrap of paper that had wrapped the package Sarah slipped her in class this morning.  She smiled a moment as she remembered hiding it from the teacher as she unwrapped it in her desk, revealing a bag of Skittles. She had managed to eat them, and even pass some to those sitting near her without getting caught.  Sarah had remembered her birthday.

She was finishing the last of her homework when she heard her stepmother calling her.  She went down to the kitchen, hoping to smell a cake baking.  All she could smell was the roast cooking for that night’s dinner.

“Becky, I’m afraid I have to ask you to feed the horses tonight.  I had to go to town and didn’t have time.”

“Why can’t Steve do it?”  She looked over at her younger brother.  He grinned and made a rude gesture.

“He’s not quite big enough to carry the grain bucket.  It will only take you a few moments.”

Becky grumbled to herself as she trudged out to the barn.  It irritated her to see her brother following her.  She turned around and yelled at him to get lost.  He just stuck his tongue out at her, and kept following.

The horses seemed excited to see her when she reached the barn.  In spite of her bad mood, she was glad to see them.  She got the bucket and filled it with grain.  Each horse got one measure of grain each day.  They greeted her with soft knickers and she stroked them and scratched behind their ears. 

She was getting ready to leave the barn when she heard her brother calling.

“Becky!  Come here.”

“Not today, Steve. I’m busy.”

“I’m stuck.  I need help.”

Becky sighed as she turned around to help him.  He must be in real trouble if he wasn’t calling her names.  “Where are you?”

“Down at the end in the empty stall.  My clothes are caught on a nail.”

Becky trudged past the horses to the empty stall they used when the goats had babies.  Why had her brother gone there?  The door must have closed behind him.  She opened the large door, then stepped into the stall.

“Surprise!”

“Surprise!”

“Happy Birthday!”

She was astounded to see the smiling faces of her friends from school.  Behind them was a decorated table with punch and a birthday cake.  A smaller table held presents.  Sarah ran up to her.

“Were you surprised, Becky?  We all kept the secret.”

“Wow!  I never suspected. You knew today? And you never told me?”  Becky’s heart filled with joy.  She looked up to see her stepmother, and she felt ashamed of how angry she had been earlier.

 “Happy Birthday, Becky.”  Her stepmother said.  “I have another surprise for you.”

 Becky heard the barn door open, and turned to see her father walking in the door.  “Daddy!  You’re home!”  She ran to him.  He wrapped his strong arms around her and lifted her off her feet, twirling her around.

 “I finished early, so I hurried home to be here in time for your party.”

 Becky had never had a party in a barn before, but it was the best birthday she’d ever had.

The Computer Expert

This story was printed in our local newspaper.

The Computer Expert

It was accepted by everyone at the bar that Lance was a computer expert. He had the latest technology, and all the latest programs installed. He bought only the best in virus protection. He used his computer for work and to play games. He could watch movies or TV or listen to music on his machine.

Lance understood terms some of us could barely pronounce. He could rattle off the specifications of his computer so fast no one could follow. He knew what temperature his chip ran at, and how fast his clock speed was. We all knew Lance was the master, and all of us admired him.

It was an honor when Lance started telling stories of how he designed his computer or fixed a problem. We all gathered in respectful silence. He would lecture like a teacher, and I never failed to learn something.

Then one day it happened. Pete, the owner of the bar came out of his office swearing. The computer wasn’t working. He wondered if Lance would look at it.

We filed into the office behind Lance, thrilled to finally see the master at work. I saw what was wrong immediately, but I had no intention of taking away from Lance’s glory. It was only right that he should get the credit for discovering the problem and fixing it.

Lance flicked the switch and nothing happened. He checked the power supply switch on the back. Still nothing. He detached the monitor, then reattached it. No change. Then he traced the power cord back to the power strip. He unplugged everything from the power strip and plugged each cord back carefully. He made sure the toggle on the power switch was on.

Lance was beginning to sweat now. He went to the back of the computer and made sure each cord was connected properly. When nothing he tried worked, he announced it was obviously something wrong inside the computer, and he called for a screwdriver. In spite of his vaunted abilities, he had missed the obvious.

I had watched his incompetence as long as I cared to. While everyone waited for Pete to bring a screwdriver, I walked over to the desk. I picked up the power strip and showed everyone how Pete’s chair had caught on it and unplugged it from the wall. I plugged it in and pressed the button. Lights flashed, the computer beeped, and words began flashing across the screen.

Lance is still considered a great computer expert, and we still enjoy gathering around him at the bar to listen to his stories. But now, if anyone needs their computer fixed, they call me.

Intruders in the Night

This incident really happened. My daughter was only about 7 ot 8 at the time.

Intruders in the Night

     Sometimes life takes us where we don’t want to be.  My husband’s disability did that to me.  His union had no nearby jobs, so he worked for a small contractor who was struggling to get by.  When my husband was injured, we discovered his new boss didn’t have him insured.  The contractor owned nothing and was on the verge of bankruptcy, so we didn’t bother to sue.

      We went from doing okay to barely scraping by.  My husband’s solution to this was to move to a property my mother had bought sight unseen. There he tried to support us by raising a garden and keeping goats and other small animals for meat.  We hoped that, combined with his Social Security would provide enough for us to raise our daughter.

      Suddenly we lived on an abandoned mercury mine in the middle of nowhere.  We were over twenty miles from the nearest town, and fifteen miles from the nearest power pole.  Seven miles of unbelievable dirt roads separated us from our nearest neighbor.

        Just driving to our house was an adventure.  The paved road ended five miles from town, along with everything else.  The dirt road that replaced it was filled with ruts and potholes.  You couldn’t drive more than twenty or thirty miles per hour. 

      Almost twenty miles out of town, the road to our house came off the main road.  First you needed to drive through the creek, then go three miles on a road so rocky and rugged that you stood a good chance of popping a tire if you went over five miles per hour. 

      A fire had gone through the area about ten years earlier, so either side of the road had four foot high brush stretching as far as the eye could see.  Then you came to our driveway.  After opening a gate, you found a nicer dirt road that wound and curved a mile down the mountainside to our house.  Long before you reached the house, you saw the mine.  It was a sandy open pit with piles of tailings, looking like an open wound in the earth.

      The soil was barren and our garden produced small misshapen things that looked nothing like what the seed catalog showed.  So my husband was glad when June came around each year and he could go work in a friend’s cherry orchard.  He came home with a wallet full of money and a few boxes of cherries for me to can.

      While he was gone, my daughter and I would stay busy trying to keep our pitiful garden alive, milking goats and making cheese.  At night, we would listen to drama on public radio while I washed dishes.

      One night, while washing the dishes, I looked up the road and saw light appear on the driveway.  I immediately assumed my husband had returned early, and had car trouble -a normal occurrence for our harsh road.  I ran outside, my eight year old daughter close behind. Sure enough, two flashlights were coming down the driveway, bobbing along as the people carrying them walked over the rough road.  My husband must have brought a friend home.

      I shouted a greeting and the lights went out.  I realized immediately this wasn’t my husband coming home, but strangers trying to reach our house unseen.

      I led my daughter back into the house where we quickly blew out the kerosene lamp.  We didn’t want the strangers to find the cabin too easily, or to be able to see inside.  A full moon lit the landscape and the silvery glow spilled in the windows, giving me plenty of light to see the scared eyes of my child.  I was as scared as she was, but I was the only one there to protect her. 

     I made her hide while I got the shotgun off the wall.  It was always kept loaded for emergencies like this, so I didn’t need to waste time searching for shells.  I left the radio on to keep my daughter company.

     “I’m going to scare them off.”  I told her.  Then I slipped out into the night.

       The full moon gave too much light.  I would be an easy target.  I did my best to stay in the shadows, not an easy task, since there were so few trees. I tried to move randomly, in a ragged pattern so I wouldn’t look human in the pale light.   The strangers had been about a third of a mile from the house when they doused their lights.  I figured they were moving carefully now.  A small clump of trees about a tenth of a mile from the house would give me the cover I needed, so I crept quietly until I reached the concealing shadows. 

     I had a good view and I was well hidden.  I knew the steep walls of the mountains that surrounded the little glen that held our house would echo and disguise the source of my voice.  My heart was pounding in my ears, and my throat was dry.  I had to work up some saliva so I could shout.

     “Who’s there?”  I shouted.  No answer.  “I know you are there. Answer me or I’ll shoot!”  Only silence.  At that point, the part of my mind that questions everything I do asked me if I really saw flashlights, or if my mind was playing tricks.  I thought it over a few seconds.  Those were definitely flashlights I saw.  I shouted again, pretending my husband was out in the dark with me.  “Jay, do you see them?”

     I took careful aim at a pinecone silhouetted near the top of a nearby tree.  I was taking no chances on injuring someone this far from medical help.  “Last chance!”  I shot at the pinecone and missed.  The sound of the gun echoed in the small valley.  I immediately turned and shot at the top of another tree.  The sound echoed from a completely different direction.  I knew from experience that the shape of the surrounding mountains would make the echoes sound like the shots were coming from two separate directions.  The trespassers would think my husband was shooting with me. 

       I waited in the shadows, watching for about twenty minutes.  When I was certain the intruders were gone, I returned to the house to comfort my daughter and relight our kerosene lamp.  I made her sleep with me that night. My husband came home three days later.

       It was four months before I learned what happened that night.  Some people from a government agency wanted to run some tests on the old mine.  Concerned that we might not be eager to have the tests done, they decide to come at night to take their samples. They left their truck at our gate, and walked down our road.   My attempts to scare them were effective, because in their report, they declared there wasn’t enough money in the world to get them to go back to our property.  Their report crossed the desk of someone who grew up in my mother’s neighborhood, and he recognized the name.  He contacted her, and she acquired the samples for them.

 ~

      The funny part is that I was incredibly lonely living so far in the wilderness.  Anyone who came to the house during the day was given the royal welcome because I was so glad to have someone to talk to.  I only shot at people who were sneaking around in the dark.

Choosing a Dog

This story was fun to write.

Choosing a Dog

Penny glanced over her shoulder for one last look before she completed her purchase. She would have to live with this choice for ten or fifteen years, so she needed to make a wise selection.

Five adorable puppy faces watched her, their eyes shining and their tails wagging. All the puppies were pure black, but they would turn silver by the time they were six months old. They weren’t in a proper cage, but were in a corner of a room that had been blocked off with a toddler gate. All of them were at the gate now, standing on their hind legs with their front feet leaning against the gateway.

She appreciated the fact that the owner let her climb over the railing and sit in the enclosure where the puppies could reach her. She wanted to watch the dogs and interact with them before she made her decision.

Penny was pleased when the mother came over to her, asking for attention. That meant the babies were likely to be friendly when they grew up. The father had greeted her when she rang the doorbell, and he had been friendly as well. Penny was pretty confident she would choose a puppy from this litter after she saw the personality and health of the parents.

Penny had been around dogs all of her life. He mother bred Black Labs, and her childhood was filled with litters of puppies. She’d watched them being born, and held them while they were still blind and helpless. She never lost her joy at watching the eyes open. First she would see just a tiny slit, then the eyes would slowly open, staring at her with wide eyed wonder. Once the puppies could see, they would watch for her to come visit them. She loved to watch the sausage-shaped bodies as they tried to walk on legs that were almost too small to hold their fat little bellies off of the floor. As she grew older, her mother allowed her to feed them little bits of puppy food, getting them ready for the day their mother would wean them.

All too soon the day came that her mother would put the notice in the paper. Penny would hope and pray that one puppy would be left unwanted. She longed to have one that was just her dog instead of belonging to the whole family. But each time every puppy was bought.

Now she had a job and a house of her own, so she decided it was time to get a dog. She didn’t want a big dog, like the ones her mother raised. After careful though, she decided to get a small poodle that could sleep on her bed and learn tricks.

When Penny sat in the enclosure, she watched the puppies carefully. She didn’t want the shyest little one, or the runt. She needed a dog confident enough to be secure when she went to work. She didn’t want the first one to come out and greet her either. She was concerned it might be too aggressive.

One puppy pranced over and started nibbling at her fingers.

“Ouch! Too rough.” She said. She knew the dog could be trained to be gentler, but this dog was too adventurous. She picked it up and handed it to the owner, who put it in a box. Since all the puppies looked alike to her, she didn’t know any other way to know which dog was which.

All of them were looking at her now, so she reached over to pet them. One of them cringed and tried to back away. She carefully picked it up, and handed it to the owner. There were now four dogs to choose from.

One of them came over and grabbed her shoelace, growling as it tugged. Another one came over and tried to climb on her lap. She helped it up, and it climbed up to lick her face. One puppy came and tried to jump on the dog that was tugging on her lace. It couldn’t jump high enough, so it grabbed her other lace. She checked the sex of the dogs. She wanted a female, so she handed the two males over the toddler fence for the owner to put in the box with the other pups she’d rejected. She was left with the one that licked her face and one of the ones tugging her shoelace.

Watching them play, she was finding it hard to pick one. If she’d had the money, she would have gladly taken them both, but her budget wouldn’t allow that. She had to make a choice. She held one in each hand and realized one was heavier than the other. If she was breeding, she would want the larger female. But she wasn’t planning on breeding dogs like her mother. She looked carefully at their feet. One of them grabbed her finger and tried to nurse. The soft feel of its mouth on her finger, the trust and love it showed made her decision for her. She stood up, holding her choice carefully while the owner returned the other puppies to the enclosure.

The puppy wriggled as she pulled out her money to pay.

“Have you chosen a name for her yet?”

Penny glanced over her shoulder for one last look at the rest of the litter. In her heart she was sure she’d made the right choice.

“Yes. I was planning on calling her Cuddles.”

That’s a cute name.” The owner said as she walked Penny to the door. “I’m sure Cuddles will make you happy.”

A warm glow filled Penny’s heart as she realized this dog was hers. She would be able to train it and watch it grow. She smiled at the previous owner as she hugged little Cuddles. “I know we’ll be very happy.”

A Day to Paint

This is a departure from my normal stories. It was nice to write about a person painting a picture and the thoughts that went through her head.

 

A Day to Paint

Marnie was excited. She had the whole afternoon off. That gave her time to paint the dead tree in the empty lot across from her house. The owner of the lot was bringing bulldozers next Monday to clear the area for a new office building. She regretted the loss of the picturesque tree, but it would be good to see that trashy lot cleaned and turned into an attractive building.

It took only a few minutes to set up her easel and oil paints, and start working. She began by painting a quick green background that suggested thick forest. The large tree sprouted long before people built the city. The beauty of the tree deserved a beautiful background instead of the garbage that surrounded it

Marnie knew people like that. You could almost see the wild countryside when you were with them, even though they lived in a tiny city apartment. It was like the harsh city life couldn’t erase the wholesomeness of their spirits.

She took her knife and placed thick layers of paint to show the shape and colors of the tree. Passing people were starting to watch her work now, and they could recognize the tree on her canvas. The shape and color were what everyone saw. Most people looked no further, just a quick glimpse. She had friends who knew her the same way. They knew enough to recognize her, but never looked for the details that revealed her soul.

She took her brush and started working in the details that told of the tree’s life, the secrets that defined its essence. Near the top was a large hollow that would have been perfect for an owl or squirrel to nest in. White streaks down the side of the tree near the hole showed that a bird nested in that hole last spring.

Closer to the ground a branch was broken, its splintered end hanging, still attached to the main trunk. The storm that broke it proved too weak to tear it completely away. She thought of the storms she’d gone through with her children. Difficulties tore at her relationships, but like the tree with its branch, were never able to completely severe them.

Further down she saw where a couple had carved their names–Samuel and Beth. She remembered when she and her husband carved their initials in a tree, many years before. She wondered how long ago these names had been carved. Was it before they built the city, when the tree was part of the countryside?

She tried to imagine what it looked like when this was the edge of a small town instead of a run-down neighborhood of a city. Was it a lovely wooded area where lovers met? Or was the tree next to a road where the lovers wanted everyone who went by to see their names?

Barbed wire stuck out of the tree. Long before the city founders divided this area into blocks, the tree had been part of a fence. The tree grew around the wire so that years later, when the time came to tear the fence down, it couldn’t be removed from the tree. The worker cut it, leaving a tail to show where the wire entered the tree. Was the fence there to keep cattle from roaming, or did it once protect a family home?

Garbage was scattered around the tree, old tires and broken glass. Marnie painted attractive bushes to cover the unattractive area around the base of the tree. She wished she could cover the garbage in her life that easily. She realized she had her own ways of hiding the unattractive parts of her life.

She went to the background and detailed a few of the trees to represent the woods that once grew here. She wondered if the trees had died off gradually or if someone had cut them all at once. That was like life, too. Sometimes friends left your life one or two at a time. When you moved, you lost them all at once.

She sketched in a large office building behind the old tree and off to the side. The eventual fate, Bulldozers would knock it down to make room for that building. The picture encompassed the woods of its birth and the end of its existence. Did trees worry about their eternal fate the way people did? Would the tree see the building as a good end or a bad one?

She looked at the finished picture. She liked how it showed the beauty and essence of the old tree and its fortunes. Would her destiny be like the tree’s fate? Would she lose friends slowly? Would she be a vision of strength, encouraging others not to lose hope? Would she outlive everyone she knew and stand alone, waiting for the future to roll over her? She knew the tree’s end. Hers was still unknown.

Rosh Hashanah

This story is about a teacher. Having been a teacher myself, I like to write about the fixes they can get in.

Rosh Hashanah

Margaret Crawford wanted to finish cleaning the bedrooms before her daughter, Brianna, got home from school. The bus would be at the corner in fifteen minutes, and she needed to change the sheets and gather laundry from Brianna’s room. She was tucking the sheet around the mattress when the phone rang. She ran to answer it.

“Hello?” Margaret grabbed the wireless phone and took a laundry basket to Brianna’s room. She could gather laundry while she talked.

“Hello, is this Mrs. Crawford?”

“May I ask who is calling?” Margaret spoke carefully. Most callers asking for Mrs. Crawford were telemarketers.

“This is Mrs. Snow, Brianna’s teacher.”

“Oh, yes Mrs. Snow. I’m Margaret Crawford. Is anything wrong?” Margaret’s heart was in her throat as she thought of Brianna hurt. She stopped walking as she waited for the teacher’s answer.

“No, everything is fine. Brianna is getting along well with her classmates, and doing well on her assignments. I’m calling about next week.”

“Next week?” Margaret grunted as she reached under the bed to grab a dirty sock while using her shoulder to keep the phone by her ear.

“Yes, next week is your turn to bring snacks for the class.”

“Yes, I remember. I bought some extra cookie dough and some fruit juice. I plan to bake some banana bread, too.” All the laundry was in the basket, so she started pulling the fresh pillow-case on Brianna’s pillow. She might finish in time.

“Mrs. Crawford, there’s a holiday involved.”

“I know Halloween is later this month, so I bought cookies with pumpkins and black cats.”

“I was referring to the Jewish New year, Rosh Hashanah. We have a few Jewish students and I wanted you to bring some traditional dishes for their holiday.”

Margaret dropped the pillow, her housework forgotten as she realized what the teacher expected her to do. “We aren’t Jewish, and I don’t know their traditional dishes. Why don’t you ask one of the Jewish families to bring snacks? I could switch weeks with one of them”

“This is the week you were assigned. You had plenty of time to complain or change plans. The Friday before your week is too late for you to be asking to switch with another parent. You should have told me you had a problem before today.”

Margaret took a deep breath. She needed to keep her temper and not let this officious woman throw her off balance. “I don’t have a problem with bringing snacks next week. I have a problem being told at the last minute that you want me to bring traditional Jewish food instead of the perfectly good food I have already bought.”

“Mrs. Crawford, I don’t know why you’re being difficult.” Mrs. Snow felt bad about the way she was treating Brianna’s mother. But this morning’s memo from the school district insisted she do something for the Jewish holiday next week. She wished time allowed her to be polite and gracious. Instead she felt pressured, and resorted to manipulation.

“I’m sure your family will eat those cookies. I know you want your daughter exposed to the holidays and traditions of other cultures. This is your chance to support your daughter and show that you care about her education. I’ll see you Monday morning.” She took Margaret’s silence to mean agreement and thankfully hung up.

While Margaret finished making the bed, she imagined several actions she could do to force the teacher to be reasonable- like tying her nose in a knot or hanging her over a lake full of alligators. She was mentally setting fire to the rope when Brianna came into the house, bubbling over about how wonderful her day had been.

Brianna was a motormouth, and she idolized her teacher. Normally Margaret didn’t notice how much her daughter talked about her teacher, however today she was sensitive to every mention of Mrs. Snow’s name.

Margaret had a good imagination. So when her daughter gushed about how wonderful it had been when Mrs. Snow read a story, Margaret imagined slipping a snake in her desk. And when Brianna talked about how Mrs. Snow said she was a good speller, Margaret smiled as she thought about dumping a jar of ants in the teacher’s pants- fire ants. These thoughts helped the afternoon pass pleasantly.

Later, Margaret called her sister. “Ann, didn’t you used to date a Jew? Well, I need to know about this Rosh Hashanah.”

“That’s the Jewish New Year. Jews think about their mistakes of the previous year and ask God’s forgiveness. It’s also the day of Remembrance, Jacob would go on and on about Jewish history. Then we would go to the river and he would throw his sins in the water- kind of like when we would write our problems on a piece of paper and throw it in the fire. And he blew a ram’s horn.”

“I need to know the traditional foods.”

“Oh, that’s easy. Honey”

“Honey?”

“Yeah, honey. To guarantee a sweet new year. They dip apples and carrots and challah bread in honey.”

“Challah bread? That braided bread with Easter eggs in it?”

“Yeah, only don’t braid it. And leave out the colored eggs. Make it smooth to stand for no difficulties.”

“Thanks, sis.”

Sweets to wish everyone a sweet new year. Her cookies would fit right in. It would be a lot like that Candy Overload Party her neighbor threw a few weeks ago- with that joke candy she tricked everyone into eating. Margaret smiled as she remembered how she laughed when the secret ingredients hidden in the chocolate were revealed. She wondered if Mrs. Snow liked chocolate.

She arrived at the school Monday morning with one plate of cookies and another with pieces of bread and apple drizzled with honey. She explained the tradition of eating something sweet to show hope for a sweet new year. Then she turned to Mrs. Snow.

“To wish you a very sweet new year, I brought you a piece of special chocolate.” She handed the teacher a small paper plate with a round piece of chocolate candy. The teacher set it aside as if she wanted to leave it for later. “We are all eating our sweets now, Mrs. Snow. I’m sure the children want to see you have something sweet for your sweet new year.”

“Oh yes, Mrs. Snow. Eat your sweet with us.” Brianna said.

Mrs. Snow ate the chocolate with a smile. “Chocolate crunch. Thank you. Mrs. Crawford. Children, what do we say when someone gives us something?”

“Thank you Mrs. Crawford,” the class said. Margaret waved at the children and left, her heart light.

Margaret sat in her car, looking at the wrapper from Mrs. Snow’s candy. “Cricket Chocolate,” she read. “We use only the highest quality ingredients. Each candy guaranteed to contain one whole cricket.” She laughed when she remembered how she felt at the party when she discovered she’d eaten bugs in her candy. She hoped Mrs. Snow enjoyed the joke. She carefully put the wrapper away to give Mrs. Snow at the end of the week. 

Maybe tomorrow she’d bring Mrs. Snow some chocolate covered ants. Revenge really was sweet.

I Remember Uncle Sinclair

This is another story that showcases an interesting vocabulary word. This one is very uncommon–nepheloccygia.

 I Remember Uncle Sinclair

Uncle Sinclair was my great uncle. He was my grandmother’s brother and everyone was careful not to upset him when he showed up at family functions like Christmas or Easter. We children were always warned not to bother him or get him angry.

He was a big man with shaggy black hair and a long black beard. He was loud, and his laugh sounded scary to me. He had big black eyebrows, and my cousins and I wondered if he was a pirate, or a wild man or even a murderer. We would discuss it at night in the dark long after we were supposed to be asleep.

When I was six years old, we visited my grandmother for Easter like normal. Uncle Sinclair came late, after we came home from church, after we had the Easter egg hunt, and after dinner. I was in the yard sitting under a tree when I heard his booming voice. I was thinking of going into the house to see if there was more candy in my basket, but when I heard that voice, I decided to stay where I was. Maybe he wouldn’t see me if I stayed real still.

He did see me, and he came right over. He was carrying the nicest chocolate bunny I had ever seen. As soon as I saw that silky brown bunny with the little candy flowers around its neck and the jellybean eyes, I wanted it. So instead of running away like usual, I stayed to see what he would do,

“What are you doing here, little Angel?”

I didn’t like him to call me Angel. That was Grandma and Grandpa’s special name for me. But maybe he didn’t know. I would forgive a lot if it meant a chance to get a piece of that bunny. So I answered him politely. “I’m watching the sky.”

He glanced up at the blue sky with its fleecy white clouds, then he looked back at me. “Do you like chocolate bunnies?”

“Yes, very much.”

“I will give you this bunny if you can show me a nepheloccygia.”

I didn’t have any idea what he was asking for, but I wanted that bunny. “Maybe I should go in the house and get one.” I was sure Grandma or Grandpa had whatever it was in the house somewhere.

“You don’t have to go anywhere to show me one. You can point to one right here.”

I looked around carefully. “Is one of those flowers a neefelusiga?”

He smiled at me and his eyes twinkled in a friendly way, just like Grandma’s. “Nepheloccygia.” He repeated carefully, making sure I hear the ‘gia’ sound at the end. No it’s not a flower, guess again.”

He stretched out under the tree and watched the clouds while I guessed everything I could see, the grass, the bark of the tree, the caterpillars eating the leaves and the spider I saw hiding in the bark.

Then he pointed to something in the sky. “What’s that?”

I looked up and saw a big fluffy cloud. “That’s a cloud. Is that a nepheloccygia?”

“Not exactly.” He said. “What does it look like?”

That was a harder question. I looked at it a few moments and then told him it had a head something like a puppy with a piece that looked something like a crocodile mouth at the other end.

“That’s a good imagination you have there.” He said as he gave me the bunny.

“So the cloud was the nepheloccygia, after all.” I said as I started to lick the chocolate ear.

“No. It was the things you saw in the cloud. Clouds are simply clouds until someone with imagination looks at them. Then, like magic they become something special and deserve a special name. Your imagination is the most valuable thing you own.”

I never saw Uncle Sinclair again. He was killed in a car wreck later that year. But I never forgot what he said about the magic that happens when a person with imagination looks at something ordinary–like a cloud.

Squeaks Goes Fishing

We have a large koi pond near our house. One day I wrote this little story about what it would be like to be a small mouse living there.

Squeaks Goes Fishing

      Squeaks, Squawk and Squiggle were three little brown mice with shiny black eyes. They lived with their parents in a hidden place behind the waterfall. Squeaks was the oldest, and he liked to go exploring. There were many exciting holes between the rocks of the waterfall, and Squeaks never knew what adventure he would have.

      One hot day he went down to the pond below the fall. There were large plants there and water lily pads so big he could walk out on them and look into the dark water. A red dragonfly perched on a reed above him, munching on a mosquito. Minnows swam close to the surface. They were just the right size to make a good meal. So Squeaks made a fishing pole from a stick and a thread from his jeans. He used a blackberry thorn for a hook.

      While he fished, he watched the dragonflies as they hunted above the water. They would arrange their feet in the shape of a net, then chase small bugs. Squeaks picked some grass and wove it into a net the same shape as the dragonfly legs. He saw a small gnat, and he threw his net over it. He caught it just like the dragonflies trapped little bugs as they flew.

      He used his gnat for bait, and in a few moments he caught a minnow. He used his net to catch more bait.

      Water skaters danced on the pond, their long legs gliding on top of the water, but not breaking through. Squeaks teased them by splashing his hand in the water. The skaters thought the splashing was caused by a trapped bug and raced over to try to catch it. They were mad when they realized the mouse was playing a trick on them.

      Squeaks caught three minnows and was about to take them home to his mother when a shadow went across the pond. Squeaks remembered what his dad told him, and hid right away. He jumped to the side of the pond and hid between a plant and a rock. Peeking out, he saw a big black bird close to his hiding place. It had a large powerful beak, and looked strong enough to eat a little mouse like him.

      The bird took a drink. Then it had a long bath. It seemed contented sitting there by the pond. Squeaks felt the bird would never leave. He didn’t enjoy hiding behind that plant.

      Suddenly something moved deep in the water. It moved again. It was something big. Squeaks leaned over to get a better look, and found himself face-to-face with the largest fish he had ever seen. The fish was white with big orange and black spots. It had two whiskers and a huge mouth. Squeaks jumped back behind the bush so the bigmouthed fish couldn’t eat him.

       The big fish stuck his head out of the water. “Hi, little mouse. My name is Beauty, what’s yours?”

      “My name is Squeaks.” He pulled back farther behind the weed. This fish was scary looking.

       “Are you hiding from that bird? You should. He is a good hunter.”

      “Is he any danger to you?” Squeaks stayed as far from Beauty as he could.

      “Oh no, I’m way too big for him. I forgot, you probably didn’t get a good look at me. Don’t be scared. I’ll jump for you and let you see me. Stay back so I don’t splash water all over you.”

      Beauty disappeared under the water for a moment. Then she came up quickly and leaped clear out of the water. Squeaks had never seen such a beautiful fish before. Her colors were bright and her scales were as shiny as jewels. She was big- bigger than the house where his family lived.  For a second it looked like the giant fish hung suspended in midair. Then she fell back into the pond, splashing water in all directions. The large bird flew off, complaining loudly about the unexpected shower.

      Squeaks had planned on running for home as soon as the bird was gone.  Now he forgot everything except how stunning Beauty was.

      “Wow!” He said when she came back near him. “You’re incredible! I’ve never seen a fish like you.”

      “I’m a Koi. My family came from Japan long ago. I’m only three feet long- but some of my family has grown to four feet.”

      “Do you eat the little minnows that live in the water?”

      “No. I eat plants. The green stuff in the water tastes good, and so do the roots of the floating plants.” Beauty nuzzled one of the plants and Squeaks could hear the crunch as the fish bit a piece off the plant.

       “I gotta go home now.” The little mouse gathered his fish. “If I come back, will I see you?”

      “I’ll watch for you, little Squeaks.” The Koi slashed a bit of water with her fin.

      When Squeaks reached home, his mother was waiting. “Oh Squeaks, what lovely minnows. Your father will be so proud of you when he gets home and finds you caught dinner.” She began preparing them.

      Squeaks sat down for lunch with Squawk and Squiggle. “The pond is beautiful, but dangerous. A big black bird came near me and I scared it with a stick. Then a beautiful fish came over and told me how brave I was.”

      “I would be brave.” Squawk held his paw up to show his muscle. “I could scare a bird.”

      “I could hide,” little Squiggle said.

      Mother Mouse smiled. “All three of my little mice are brave and smart. But for now, Squeaks is the only one big enough to leave home for adventures. Now it’s time for all of you to lie down for a nap.”

      As Squeaks curled up to sleep, he thought about the fun of catching minnows and how special Beauty looked. He looked forward to his next chance to visit Beauty.

Chewie and Mother Duck

One month I joined a challenge that had me write a short story using interesting vocabulary words. The following story was meant to showcase the word glabrous. See what you think the word means.

Chewie and Mother Duck

Chewie was hungry. Of course, that was nothing new. Chewie was always hungry. Chewie woke up hungry, and didn’t rest until she found something to eat. She didn’t really care what she found; she ate almost anything. Sometimes she ate small frogs or snails or little earwigs. Other times she ate mushrooms or flowers and nectar. One of her favorite foods was honeybees, but they were hard to catch.

She was born far away, in a place full of food. She remembered how wonderful it was the first time her mother led her away from the nest. Food was everywhere, and there were dozens of other baby rats to play with.

Two days later something big began digging near her home. She ran into the cushions of an overstuffed chair. The chair shook for a long time. Finally it was quiet. Chewie left the chair and began to explore. She was near the edge of a large lake. It wasn’t as nice as her first home, but she found many tasty things to eat. Cattails grew tall and many tasty things hid in the plants. Other tasty things hid in the shallow water under the plants.

Chewie was a good hunter. She had a sensitive nose and could smell food as soon as she was anywhere near it. One place she always smelled food was by the duck nest. Se never got a chance to eat it, because the ducks always chased her away

One day Chewie found a good hiding place near the duck nest. She waited for the ducks to go for their daily swim. She wanted to eat the tasty food in the nest while they were gone.

Everything went according to plan, and the ducks never saw Chewie. They went swimming and didn’t know she was waiting to attack their nest.

Chewie jumped right into the nest. She could smell food all around her. She knew it was hidden in the large white things in the nest. She didn’t know what they were called, and she didn’t really care. She opened her mouth and tried to bite them.

Chewi’s teeth were sharp, but they were no help. The white things were smooth and glabrous. There was nothing for her teeth to catch on. They just slid off the smooth, slick surface. She opened her mouth and tried to bite the white glabrous things again. The same thing happened. She tried standing on one and biting it; that didn’t work. She tried to turn one over, looking for an opening, but she couldn’t get her teeth into it anywhere. They slid right off.

Poor Chewie. She was so hungry, and her teeth kept sliding off the duck eggs. She heard Mother and Father Duck coming back, and she tried harder, but nothing worked. The eggs were just too smooth.

Mother Duck saw Chewie and rushed back to the nest. She hit Chewie hard on the head with her beak, and she bit Chewie on the foot. Chewie cried and ran away from Mother Duck as fast as she could. The only thing she got that day was a headache from where Mother Duck hit her.

Chewie learned a good lesson that day. She has never tried to eat duck eggs since.

 *  *  *

Did you figure out the meaning of the word? Here it is.

Glabrous: SMOOTH; especially : having a surface without hairs or projections.

See you next week.