I ease back into my recliner, raise the leg rest, and settle down to enjoy a periodical, when out of the corner of my eye, a blur flashes across the doorway in the next room. I look up to see my tomcat in hot pursuit. 

            “Way to go, cat!” I say to myself.

            A few seconds later, two mice quickly dart through the doorway and aim for the far corner of the living room.  Like tennis balls, they bounce back into the room and end up in front of my chair.

            “Aha!” I say to myself as I fold the recliner and sit up. “They visited my home once before, but they didn’t know I plugged the holes when I remodeled.  It serves them right for intruding into my home and making me feel dirty.”

            The cat runs into the room and skids to a stop behind the shaking couple.  He turns and slowly approaches the mice with an air of triumph. I see his eyes full of hungry greed as he prepares to gulp the pesky varmints down.

            At a glance, I take in the scene before me. Shaking with fear, the female mouse clings to her husband, quietly hoping he can figure a way to save them.  He looks up at me.  Out of breath from the run, and with no place else to go, his pleading eyes scream loudly for help.

            I decide to intervene.  I lean over from my chair and scoop them up in my hands.   Disappointment covers the cat’s face, while solitude fills the mice now resting on my lap. 

            I look down at them.  Their ruffled fur drips with sweat. They seem pretty tame as they now rely on me for survival.  My mind thinks back to all I ever heard about mice. They carry diseases, chew holes in my walls and floors, make messes in my cupboards, and eat my food.

            “What am I doing?” I say to myself. “Why should I interfere with the natural order of selection? Cats are supposed to eat mice.”

            I decide the female mouse should go first.  She may not bear the agony of seeing her husband go as easily as he would to see her go.  I reach down and grab her. She squeals and desperately clings to my pants leg with her tiny claws.  I jerk my hand hard and rip her free from my pants leg. I toss her to the floor, where the cat snatches her up in his crushing jaws.

            The husband’s crestfallen face expresses a loss of all hope.  He hangs his head in deep brokenhearted sorrow.  Why did I do such a thing? 

            “Oh, well” I excuse myself.  I can’t reverse the damage. I better put him out of his misery, too.  I quickly hand him to the cat.

             I slowly arouse out of my groggy slumber.  What a rotten dream.  For the next few hours, I ponder over and over in my mind the different aspects of the dream. What could I have done differently?  What if the mice belonged to someone else as pets?  They did seem tame.  Why did I act so impulsively, only to regret the decisions I made. It was only a dream, but these ponderings do little to ease my mind.

            Later, I share the dream with my wife.  Overhearing the story, my oldest son agonizes over it for a good part of the day, troubled that two living creatures knit together in the love of matrimony would meet their demise in such a cruel fashion.

            Over many days, I contemplate the dream from many angles, seeking some spiritual significance or application. I conclude the dream contained two moral and ethical dilemmas we face in society. One, we often feel more compunction for mistreated mice and other lowly creatures, than we do for the unborn child whose life gets snuffed out by the very ones they look to for safety and nurturing.  Why no outcry from decent people over the terrible injustice that goes on in our communities? As a society, we sit by and hand our innocent, helpless, weak, and defenseless unborn children to the greedy hunger of the abortion doctors, propelled by bitter feminists bent on eliminating the sleepless drudgery and slavery of motherhood.  In our selfishness, we do not want pesky children dirtying up our houses, tearing holes in our walls, eating our food, wearing out our furniture, and disturbing our tranquil lifestyles. They carry germs and diseases. Why allow them the freedoms and comforts of our lives?  Why not let the natural order of selections take place?  If society wants to feed off of unborn children, why not just sit by and let it happen? 

            Secondly, God’s marriage decrees often fall prey to society’s whims. How come society cannot defend and protect the sanctity of marriage?  Too many meddle in the marriage of others.  Fornicators and adulterers weaken the seriousness of wedding vows hoping to justify their lustful pinings, jealousies, or self-centered interests. Books, movies, radio programs, newspapers, public officials, and other media often belittle, impugn, and trash the institution of marriage.  More and more, people embrace the attitude, “Who needs to get married?” or “Why stay married until ‘death do us part’?”  And if adultery and fornication do not assault marriage enough, “men with men” (as King James puts it) want to gain acceptance of their behavior by associating it with the sacred honor of “one man, one woman”.  Now pet owners wanton toward their dogs and cats oppose God’s edict against bestiality.

            Sadly our society will emerge from its dreamy slumber only to realize the nightmarish reality of liquidated human lives and destroyed marriages.  No society can sustain growth when it prevents the birth of children and destroys the matrimony that holds families together.  Do we find ourselves guilty of destroying the lives of innocent children and tampering with sacred marriages?  If so, perhaps we hold more compassion for mice, then we do for families and children.

-Norman

     "Hey ya'll Southerners shou'nt mack fun o' dem northerners the way day talk."

     Sorry, I had to use a little colloquialism to get my point across.  I am a Northerner, better known down south as a "Yankee".  I used to get acousted for the words I used when visiting our southern friends. For example, up north, we drink "Pop". Down south, they call that "Soda" or "Soda Water".  I figure, "Who cares what it's called, as long as it clears the throat and refreshes."  But that don't stop some from rubbing in the differences. "Pop is a sound, and ye can't drink a sound!"

     Then one day, we visited an antique store and found a genuine pop bottle. The attached note said it was used in India for lemonade. The bottling company pressurized the drink and put a marble in the mouth of the bottle to seal it up.  When you pushed the marble in, the pressure released and created a "Pop" sound. A built-in catch in the neck prevented the marble from rolling back to the opening and cutting off the flow.  According to the attached paper, many bottles did not survive the onslaught of children desirous of adding the marbles to their collections.  They broke the bottles in order to retrieve the marbles.

     So you see, a reason for calling soda water "pop" does exist.  Now, what if my bottle is a fake, and some Southern Reb planted them in northern antique shops just to make people like me look ridiculous?   Maybe, but not likely. 

- Norman

     Narcissists. I studied them quite a bit in an effort to avoid them "taking me to the cleaners".  But every now and then, one slips their foot in the door.

     A couple of vacuum salesmen showed up on our doorstep, just wanting to let our community know of their presence.  "Sign up for a drawing of free groceries!"

     Mistake Number 1: Accepting a gift.  Now they will make me feel as though I owe them one...you know. Let them come in and do a demo so they can get some points.

     Mistake Number 2: Saying "That would be alright."

     If you are familiar with the narcissist personality, you can imagine what stunts, manipulations, and forceful pressures they tried to pull on us.  I will not elaborate on all the details. But one gimmick I found very deceptive.

     They blew the vacuumed dust through a filter to show us the evidence of the dust and dirt in our home. "The filter from the carpet," we were told, "is all the dust in the carpet."

     "Those large clumps," I counter, "are carpet fibers. This carpet is a little over a year old."

     "Oh, no! That's the dirt," he insists.  I cannot argue, because some sand and dirt did exist on the filters.  What floor doesn't collect such things?

     Moving into the bedroom, he proceeds to collect more evidence. The black filters collect a fine white powdery substance. "This is dead skin cells and dust mites that feed off of them." Who in our household can sleep comfortably after hearing that analysis, unless we purchase this very expense Cadillac of a vacuum cleaner.

     One of our boys takes hold of the sample and fingers the powder.  The salesman quickly states “You better go to the bathroom and wash your hands right now, and don't touch your eyes. A girl touched that stuff once and got it in her eye and nearly went blind."  Intimidating my son with fear-mongering. Right in my own home.  But what can I say? I did not have proof of one-way or the other.  He carelessly tosses subsequent filters on the dresser, spilling the harmful dust onto the doily.  Why wasn't he being more careful?  I don't like this man's tactics.  Trying to charm us adults is one thing, but to work on our boys with fear and charm and flattery preys on the weak.  I know the method: 'If I get the children to beg and plead for a new life-saving vacuum, Mom and Dad might relent and buy one outright.

     After we turn down all their offers, counter offers, and counter-counter offers, the salesmen leave behind a sour atmosphere in our home. Later that evening, I decide to break out our high powered microscope and verify. Are the sample evidences dust, dead skin cells, and creepy crawly vermin? I set up the apparatus.

     "Boys, do you want to see the mites and dust bunnies the vacuum cleaner guys found?"

     They hurry over and take a look.

 Carpet Bug Sample, microscopic view.

Mattress Bugs sample, microscopic view.

Picture of large fresh poly-fill fibers.

     "Those guys told us these were dust bunnies and mites that feed off our dead skin cells. But these bugs are the strangest I've seen. They don’t move and are made of nylon."  I let them discover this for themselves, to demonstrate to them that the salesmen exaggerated and misled them about the mites. Hopefully their pillow would feel fresh and comfortable that night.

     A good microscope makes a great tool.  I proved the “evidence” primarily contained carpet fibers and mattress poly-fill.  The mattress sample even contained blue and red fibers from the mattress’ surface.  Microscopically, that vacuum methodically dismantled our carpet, couch cushions, and mattress. Their costly narcistic machine only beats, tugs, and pulls apart the fibers of our fabrics, while the salesmen do the same to our family relationships.  I decided after this, no more vacuum salesmen in our home. 

      So much for Nylon Bugs.

-Norman Ward

What does one do with children's books after their homeschooled students move on to more difficult books,like Hardy Boys and How Things Work encyclopedias? Perhaps selling them on an on-line auction would insteal a love for reading in the minds more toddlers.  Or, why not save some for when company comes?  

Deciding upon a course of action, the books continue to reside on the small shelf by the door, waiting for some eager young minds to peruse their pages.  Then one day last month, I enter the living room to find that our 10 year-old son discovers a new use for the books.  Constantly looking for new building materials, he....

constructs a Dinosaur Ramp.  Since then, the constructions have grown larger and more complex.  I wonder what would happen if we provide him with real building materials?  Hmmm.  Maybe someday.  -Norman Ward

We men at Ward’s Sward concoct complex ways of doing the mundane.  Take, for instance, the simple chore of counting pop cans and bottles.  Now, we don’t drink a lot of “Belch Juice”, but we receive cans and bottles from 3 or 4 different sources.  After collecting 2 garbage bags full in our basement, we normally take them into the yard, dump them out, line them up in rows 5 deep, and count them using “skip count”.  Then we re-bag the cans and rush them to the local redemption center claiming the cash, which in Iowa amounts to 5 cents a can or bottle.

Winter and spring weather prevented us, in recent weeks, of carrying out the can count. Snow blanketed the ground, or rain and snowmelt saturated the soil making the task less desirable. Who wants to soak their knees in rich Iowa black soil, only to track the mud into the house? Children don’t mind, but that creates a bigger job for the one(s) doing the cleaning. 

A dilemma fizzes over as a result.  With seven garbage bags piling up, basement real state increases in value: a simple case of supply and demand.  The prospect of orderly counting with ease seems increasingly insurmountable.  But wait! With a little ingenuity and planning, we can make the mundane worth the while.

Getting the sawhorses out, we elevate the dusty treadmill above the floor and create an assembly line that would make Henry Ford beam with approval.  The exercise equipment transforms into a conveyor belt with variable speed. Redemption Specialist #1 (10-year-old son) comfortably seats himself at the head of the treadmill. After all, ergonomics plays a big part in assembly lines anymore.  Redemption Specialist #2  (7-year-old son) sets up shop alongside the treadmill, positioning himself closer to the finished product.  As the cans fall into the basket at the end of the conveyor belt, the Master Counter tallies the score and bags the result.  RS#2 and Dad periodically crank up the speed to get better throughput. RS#1 and RS#2 conduct physics experiments with backwards spinning of the cans, slowing the process momentarily. (Ahem!) Getting caught up into the speed of the operation, RS#2 occasionally throws cans straight into the end receptacle, an example of “Factory Direct”.  Dad reminds him to follow the assembly line protocol, so as to not confuse the Master Counter, who under pressure for accuracy counts only 1 at a time.  Eventually replacing the basket by holding a garbage bag, Dad combines the process of counting and bagging, saving on “downtime”.

After tallying the cans, the plastic bottles found their way through the assembly line.  All told, the cans came in at 434, and the bottles at 251, for a grand total of 685 pieces. That should render $34.25, less electricity for operations, and gas for transporting to the Redemption Center.  Maybe we could make more money by investing in carbonated beverage companies.

All in a days work.

-Norman

(Continued from PartI)

The stiffened, dried out leather parchment hints of old age.  Once Nathan opens it, he bestows Seth with the honor of reading the hand-written note.  Seth reads it aloud for the rest of the group:

“In the claw of the Crab

    A bright star you will seek

From the place of slumber grab

    When the sun begins to peak”

         -I. M. Lohnlee

“That is definitely strange,” Seth says. “But then, what would you expect from such a strange house?”

“I.M. Lohnlee was the man whose name was on the abstract for this house when we bought it. That would mean this poem was written by the miser,” Nathan observes.

Nathan copies the message down on paper, after which Seth gently rolls up the stiffened and dry leather parchment, careful not to damage it.  

“What does the message mean?” Jason wants to know.

“I’m not sure if it means anything,” Nathan says.  “It talks about a crab and a bright star.  Maybe that refers to the Crab Nebula.”

“What’s the Crab Nebula?  Is that what the cranky old lady next door uses to breathe with?” Seth enquires. 

Hannah and Nathan laugh.  “No!” Hannah says. “That is a nebulizer, and she’s not a crab.” 

“Just kidding,” Seth says with a grin.

Nathan explains what he meant by the Crab Nebula.  “It is a star that exploded in 1054 A.D.  It was so bright that it looked like another sun in the sky as well as lighting the sky up at night so that it looked like daylight.  I was reading where many of the people around the earth used the “night light” to build things.  For example, some archeologists believe the Natives of America built the Effigy mounds in North America during that time.”

“What are effigy mounds?” Seth and Jason want to know. 

Nathan explains. “They are big dirt mounds made in the shape of animals, like snakes and bears.  From the air, they look pretty impressive for such primitive people to have built.” 

“The ancients weren’t all that primitive,” Seth says. “They had tools and technology that some of our modern scientists are just now figuring out how to develop.”

“That’s true,” Nathan acknowledges. “I was wrong to presume that someone was primitive, just because modern man thinks they are so smart.”

“Yeah,” Seth says.  “It’s the evolutionists that want us to think that man evolved from primitive life forms.  They need for early man to be Neanderthals so they can say we have evolved into a higher life form.”

“You are correct,” Hannah says. “The Bible tells us that God created Adam in His own image.  God is certainly intelligent, and he would have created the first man with the ability to develop tools and technology.”

“AMEN!!” Nathan, Seth and Jason all shout in unison.

 “Why don’t we look up a picture of the Crab Nebula on the web,” Nathan suggests.

A quick web search reveals several beautiful pictures taken by the Hubble telescope. “It’s hard to see a crab in those pictures” Seth says. 

“Yeah, I’m not sure where the name came from,” Nathan admits.  “The star used to be much brighter than it is now.  It says on this website some fellow rediscovered it back in the late 1700s while looking for a comet.  The Crab Nebula resides at the tip of one of Taurus’ horns; Taurus the Bull being one of the constellations.”

“I don’t see what a bull would have to do with the poem,” Hannah ponders.

“Or the Crab Nebula,” Nathan adds.

“We’ll just have to keep thinking about it, and maybe God will give us the answer,” Hannah says.

All through the evening the family members ponder over each ambiguous phrase of the poem.  Finally at bedtime, Nathan warns the boys not to get their hopes up too high. “We may not figure it out at all.  And, if we do, it may not amount to anything great.”    

The family sits down before bedtime and Nathan reads a passage from the Bible. After family prayer, everyone says their goodnights.  Then Nathan and Hannah tuck the boys into their beds.

Seth lays awake in his bed thinking.  He looks out the window to the East and watches the stars twinkling in the clear night sky.  “If the Crab Nebula were in the constellation of Taurus, it would come up in the Northeast.  Dad and Mom had figured it up using a sky chart.  Tomorrow is June 21 and Taurus will not be visible in the night sky until 4 AM.”

Seth continues his thought, “I know. I will set my alarm for 4 o’clock in the morning and get Mom and Dad up to go out and look for the Crab Nebula.  Maybe we will see something.”  He reaches over to his nightstand and grabs his clock and sets the alarm for 4 AM.  Fifteen minutes later his quiet snore indicates he roams “dreamland”.

“Rinnnnnnnnnggggggggggggggg…………”

 Seth wakes up to his alarm clock’s loud bells.  He looks up and notices a bright light shining in his eyes.  He quickly turns off the alarm and looks in the direction of the bright light. It emanates from the south wall of his room!  He sits up in bed and realizes the silver plate on his dresser glares with the reflection of the sun.  The sun peaks over the Northeast horizon and hits the plate at the proper angle to shine toward his bed. 

Glancing at the clock Seth exclaims,“Oh no! It’s 4:38AM.  My alarm clock went off too late.  I’ve missed seeing the Crab Nebula.”  

The glare of the sun’s reflection in the plate still shone brightly. Seth looks to where the center of the reflection aims.  An orange-yellow glow shows on the west wall, just above his headboard.  Seth screams.

Nathan and Hannah run into Seth’s bedroom. Even Jason shows up in the doorway.

“What is it?” Nathan demands to know. “What is wrong?”

    “Look!” Seth says, pointing to where the reflected sunlight shows on the wall just over his headboard.  “A crab with one of its claws open, like it is grabbing at something!”

    “You’re right,” Hannah says.

    Considering the fact he hasn’t yet had his morning coffee, Nathan does some surprisingly quick deducing.  “Let’s see.  The sunlight reflects off of the small bends in the plate’s surface and focuses a picture of a crab on the opposite wall.  How clever! The old miser knew what he was doing when he wrote his poem.  It explains why he built the dresser into the floor like he did.” 

    “I’ll mark the position of the claw on the wall,” Nathan says, grabbing a pencil off of Seth’s dresser top. “I have a hunch something special hides in the wall in this very location.”

    The rest of the family waits while Nathan rounds up his carpentry tools.  Nathan then goes to work on the wall, while he explains: “I will cut a big square out around the spot I marked on the wall. I will take it from stud to stud. That way I can patch it up again after we have a look inside the wall.”

    Nathan cuts a square section in the plaster and lathe with a reciprocating saw.  He then pries the section out from the rest of the wall.  Plaster and lathe fall into a cardboard box Nathan had waiting.  Four sets of eyes peer into the gaping hole.  A little black jewelry box sits there on a dusty ledge.  Nathan sets the box down on the floor and picks up the jewelry box.  He holds it to where everyone sees the box.  He slowly lifts the dusty lid.  There inside the box gleams the most beautiful, gorgeous, sparkling diamond they ever set eyes on.  The diamond sets on a golden band. The sunlight shines through the window and hits the diamond creating millions of sparkling red, orange, yellow, green, blue and violet lights.

    “In the claw of a crab…a bright star you will seek.” Hannah says softly.

    “Come to think of it,” Nathan says, “today is the summer Equinox.  The sun is at its peak in the north, making this the longest day of the year.”

    “Yeah! And the sun peeked over the horizon, too.” Seth says.

    “Sounds like old Mr. Lohnlee was a double punster, just like my husband.” Hannah says with a smile, giving Nathan a small hug.

    “This ring looks valuable enough to pay for a lot of repairs around the house, with some left over,” Nathan says as he hugs Hannah back.

    “Yes. God has provided.  Now the boys won’t have to go to the public schools,” Hannah concludes.

    Just then Jason blurts out, “Hey, Seth! I was supposed to be the first person to get up each morning!  You beat me to it.”

    Then Justin, Hannah, and Seth all laugh as Jason says, “Grrrrr” with a grinning grimace.  They all head to the kitchen for something to eat.

    A jewelry dealer determined the diamond of fine and rare quality and purchased the ring for a sum of $35,000.  The neighbor lady that Seth referred to as the ”old crab” informed Nathan that Mr. Lohnlee intended the ring for her at one time.  She and the miser dated years ago, and planned to wed.  But he made her so angry once that she never forgave him. She had been bitter towards him till the day he died.

As it turns out, Mr. Lohnlee had placed the ring in the wall facing this same neighbor lady’s house.  Perhaps Mr. Lohnlee had considered her a “crab” as well, and yet, her “claw” never did grasp the true treasure found in a happy marriage.

By Norman Ward

To give Connie a break, I decided to write a mystery involving another Ward family.  The characters may be related to us...or they might just be fictional.  I thought to enter it into the Short Story contest, but I don't think my story presents a deep enough crisis for the mother/teacher.  This story will show how God works things out in our lives. I break the story down into two parts. 

Mystery of the Crab:  Part I

By Norman Ward

“This old house seems to be a never-ending project!” Nathan exclaims to his wife Hannah one afternoon. The family just finished a late lunch, and retired to the living room to enjoy a cool breeze coming through the windows of the living room. These past few days, the summer’s sun created sultry air, so the family welcomes an occasional cool breeze.  “I need to fix the central air, but I’m not sure where we will get the money for parts,” he says while wiping the sweat from his brow with a paper towel.

“We need money for our home-school materials, too,” Hannah says.

“Can’t we just send them to the public schools?” Nathan asks with a suppressed grin. “The government pays for it.”

“Are you serious?” Hannah asks.

With a grimace, Nathan says, “No. I’d rather live in the Sahara Desert then send our sons to the public schools.”

     “Jehovah-Jirah! God will provide!” Hannah says with assurance.

“Yes. That is correct,” Nathan replies. “But I sure can’t see how He will do it.  We’ll have to wait and see.”

The Wards recently moved into the old house.  It once belonged to an eccentric miser and the Wards bought it fairly cheap in an estate auction.  Nathan figured that he could do many of the needed repairs on the house himself, but sometimes the repairs present a challenge for him. The family found this home the only affordable one in the area that also provided enough bedrooms for each family member.

“I’m glad to have my own bedroom!” Seth, the oldest son, says with a thankful tone of voice. He and his brother, Jason, used to share a room at the other house.

“I don’t care what my bedroom is like, as long as I am the first one up each morning,” Jason said.  Hannah and Nathan laugh and give each other a knowing glance. Jason rises early each morning, getting up before his dad, so he can know what all goes on in his dad’s daily routine.

Seth’s bedroom occupies the north side of the house and juts out far enough to catch the sun’s rays from the East and the West during the summer months.  The sun greets the room with a cheery “Hello!” in the morning and whispers a gentle “Goodnight” in the evening. A single window shares the west wall with the only space large enough for a bed’s headboard.  Windows nearly fill the north and east walls, drawing in a commanding view of the sky and grassy terrain. On the south wall next to the door, a special antique dresser sits firmly fastened to the floor.  The dresser sold with the house at the estate auction.  Because the legs were built into the wooden floor, the dresser constituted a fixture that went with the house.

As an antique, the old dresser presents an intriguing design.  Many cubbyholes and drawers provide ample room for storage.  Fancy leafs and flowers carved all over the dresser’s framework and the handles of the drawers bespeak of the Victorian Era. Instead of a mirror, a large, round old silver tray nestles in the framework extending up from the top of the dresser.  The plate resembles a collection plate churches once used for taking up donations. 

Tarnish coated the tray since they first moved in, but Seth requests his dad clean it up.

     “I’ll have to clean it with Polish sausage,” Nathan says.

     “What!?!” Seth and Jason both chime together.

     “Oh, wait! I mean Silver POLISH”, Nathan corrects himself.  “Those words are spelled just alike; it’s hard to tell them apart.”

     “You’re just being silly Dad,” Jason observes. 

     “Maybe the next time we eat, I can polish off a Polish sausage,” Nathan quips.

     “Ohhh!!” groans Hannah and the boys.

     Nathan polishes the silver plate and discovers a nice reflective surface that works well as a mirror.

“Let’s play Hide and Go Seek”, Seth exclaims to Jason later that afternoon.

     “Okay!” Jason replies.  “You go hide and I’ll count to one hundred.”

     Jason starts counting. “One…two…three…”

Seth scurries off to hide.  He runs quietly into his own bedroom and glances around.  He chooses the old dresser to hide under. 

“…Fifty-two…fifty-three…fifty-four…”

Seth lies down on the floor next to the dresser and slides himself underneath it, wiggling as he goes.  He just gets into a comfortable position when he hears Jason concluding his count. 

“…One-hundred! Ready or not, here I come!”

Jason cautiously walks around the house, going from room to room.  He checks in his Dad’s and Mom’s room first, thinking maybe Seth would want to hide under their bed or in the closet among Hannah’s long dresses.  “Nope, nobody in this room,” he concludes.

Next, he tip-toes into his own room.  Seth didn’t get to come in here very often and maybe he would take advantage of the rule that during hide and seek, the players could go into any room in the house.  Jason quietly approaches his closet. He doesn’t own much furniture in his room so hiding proves difficult.  However, Jason’s closet made a keen place to hide, because of its depth.  Jason slowly opens the door.

“Seth! Are you in here?” Jason asks in a quivering voice.  He gains the nerve and slowly sticks his head around the door post.  Quickly he peers back into the closet, but his brother is not in here.

Jason hurries into Seth’s bedroom.  He looks inside Seth’s closet, but doesn’t find Seth there.  He then gets down on his knees and looks under Seth’s bed.  Suddenly he jumps as he hears Seth behind him yell “Ew, NEAT!!”

“Unh! Seth, you’re not supposed to let me know where you are!” Jason protests.

“No!” Seth replies to indicate he wasn’t meaning to give his position away.  “Look at this!  There is a small trapdoor on the bottom of my dresser!  I have it halfway open!” His excitement grows with each new breath.
     Nathan and Hannah run into the room to see why all the excitement.

“What did you find?” Hannah asks.

“A trap door on the bottom of my dresser!” Seth blurts out. 

“Maybe it’s a drain hole for the clothes you outgrow,” Nathan quips. 

“No, there’s something in here,” Seth says, too intent to acknowledge the joke.

“Be careful not to damage it,” Nathan says.  “It may be something valuable.”

     “I got it out!” Seth shouts, while at the same time sliding his body out from under the dresser.  The whole family rushes into the dining room to check it out. 

“It looks like a leather parchment.  Let’s unroll it carefully,” Nathan says.

The stiffened, dried out leather parchment hints of old age.  Once Nathan unrolls it, he bestows Seth with the honor of reading the hand-written note.  Seth reads the message aloud for the others to hear.

....TO BE CONTINUED....

-Norman

Frank Gilbreth Sr. of Cheaper by the Dozen fame was a cycle-time reduction engineer.  After his untimely death, his wife went on to redesign the kitchen layout to save time in food preparation.  She came up with the "Triangle" concept, where you have the refrigerator, the stove, and the sink in a triangular layout, so that all you would have to do is spin around and prepare your meals in short order.  Kitchens in the early 1900's were sprawled out and took a lot of time to prepare meals.  Mrs. Gilbreth also invented a portable "island" that could be positioned to further reduce meal preparation time.

Well, I think I may have hit on a better idea.  We are in the process of refinishing our diningroom floor. The diningroom furniture is crammed into the livingroom. We decided to eat our supper in the kitchen. We set up lawn chairs for the boys, and included TV Dinner Trays for them to set their plates on.  They happened to be in front of the refrigerator. 

My oldest son finished his Mozarella cheese sticks in short order. Then he requested a fruit punch box from the refrigerator. I was standing right there, so I pulled the door open a little ways, reached in, grabbed a box of fruit punch, and handed it to him in a few seconds flat.

"That was fast", he said.

Cheese sticks are not enough for a growing boy.  "Dad, open the door so I can see what else there is to eat."

I swung the door open and he placed an order for a red apple. In a few seconds, the apple was in his hand.

Here is my idea. You have the family sit around the refrigerator. After the blessing has been said, you open the door. Each member can see what all is available for eating, making it a visual menu.  Each member can then make selections to their tastes and begin eating. No messy dishes to wash. No long hours of food preparation. No need for setting the table.  No table needed, or dining room.  Too, the food that is going bad can be removed as a larger number of pairs of eyes can detect spoiled food more readily.  A grocery list can be filled out as the people eating may think of other food items they would like to see in the refrigerator.  There are a lot of advantages to my idea.  Why don't some of you in blogville try it sometime and let us know how it goes?

Now. If you will excuse me, I need to go get me a carrot stick.  Maybe the computer needs to be next to the fridge, too.

-Norman

I read a New York AP article in the local newspaper dated Feb.6, 2006 about the passing of Betty Friedan. I had never heard of her before.  Here is the picture that accompanied the article:

She was one of the founders of National Organization for Women (NOW) and was its first president.  Towards the end of the article, I learned that she wasn’t as radical as modern feminists.  She actually believed that men should be accepted as allies and that family should not be rejected. Don't get me wrong. She advocated a lot of things that I, as a Christian, could not endorse nor condone. What propelled her to fame was that she was one of the first to advocate that women be set free from the home and be allowed to pursue careers outside the home: This at a time when many Americans felt women's place was in the home raising children and guiding the house.

Though I had never heard of her, she seemed familiar to me. The hat she was wearing in the photo reminded me of the Amish, somewhat.  Her hairdo was also a little familiar.  I thought about it for a while.  Then it dawned on me.  She had sat in on many a breakfast throughout my life.  Well.  Not her exactly, but someone that looked like her.

 I believe I will enjoy some oatmeal... later, instead of NOW.

-Norman