Elizabeth is flying in coach seating on her way to Minnesota. She occupies the window seat, and a quiet gentleman has been sleeping in the aisle seat.
The flight attendant offers her refreshment and a snack. She selects a diet Coke and a bag of peanuts. The attendant graciously leaves her the entire can.
As the plane nears its destination, Elizabeth begins to clean up her tray table. There is a little bit of Coke left in the can, and she pushes her empty peanut bag inside of it.
WARNING!
KIDS DON’T TRY THIS WITHOUT ADULT SUPERVISION!
Inside of the can, a surprise chemical reaction is taking place as the salt in the peanut bag mixes with the Coke.
Without warning, Elizabeth experiences Mount Vesuvius at 30,000 feet. Her little napkin is all she has to snuff out the volcano before disaster covers her lap.
What will she do?
Glancing to her right, she spies a blanket covering the sleeping gentleman.
I think of myself as the “Top Cat” around this house. Mr. and Mrs. Wynter brought me home from a shelter about two years ago. They love skiing up on the big mountain, and they adore their cats even more . . . with one exception.
Me!! Yes, you got it. I always seem to be in trouble around here. My female cousins, Sky and Birdie, are treated like royalty. Can you imagine two cats being treated like a pair of princesses?
Well . . . I want to tell you my side of the story.
My given name is Revel, which isn’t such as bad name. While Sky is sometimes curious and Birdie is shy, I love the adventure of roaming and exploring the house.
A few days ago, I am in the garage with Mr. Wynter. He doesn’t seem to notice me as I glide along the garage door rails high above the floor. I can be quite the acrobat while walking this tightrope.
I enjoy chasing and teasing my cousins, especially Birdie. She is so timid, but she doesn’t seem to mind it when I am pulling a chunk of hair from her back. I have a cool collection of her hair stashed under the bed in the spare bedroom. Mr. and Mrs. Wynter haven’t vacuumed there for months.
Sky likes to pull open drawers in just about any room. I encourage her to open as many as possible. When she’s finished, I move in and pull objects out of the drawer with my mouth. It’s so much fun to leave a mess in every room of the house.
When Mr. and Mrs. Wynter eat dinner, I join them by jumping up on the dining table. They become easily annoyed with me so I have to be quick to jump back down to the floor. It’s sort of like playing “cat and mouse.”
Last week, I helped Mrs. Wynter do some baking. When she would turn her back, I would jump up on the kitchen counter. Have you ever seen a cloud of sifted flour float through the air?
It seems that everyone in the house has grown tired of my adventures. They call it mischief.
Oh my! The life of a “Top Cat” needs to be an exciting venture.
Last night, I climbed up on a bookshelf high above the master bedroom floor. There was a pot with a houseplant in it. I just couldn’t help myself. I pulled and pulled with my teeth and claws until most of the plant and dirt flew out and landed on the bed.
I guess I may have gone a bit too far this time. Mr. and Mrs. Wynter have been dressing me today in a prison outfit, complete with black and white stripes. I look more like a convict instead of a “Top Cat.”
Snickering at my unfortunate circumstances, Sky and Birdie now call me Rebel.
Hey, I am innocent until proven guilty! P.S. My name isn’t Rebel . . . It’s Revel!
My youngest daughter and her husband provide a home for three rescued kittens (now full-grown cats). Revel, Sky, and Birdie enjoy their new home. And yes, Revel does have his moments. The photos of Revel were taken by my daughter.
Little Johnny hurried down the sidewalk. Catching his breath upon reaching his school bus stop, he waited and waited.
Soon his fate began sinking in. He had missed the bus . . . again!
The warm and sunny morning invited him to walk across the street to a park. Curious and feeling playful, he explored and enjoyed some spontaneous fun. Readin’ and writin’ and rithmetic could wait a spell.
Minutes turned into a couple of hours. Feeling hungry, Johnny discovered a perfect hideout under a nearby pine tree. He pulled out his brown bag lunch.
Following a quick lunch, he felt a bit sleepy. Fresh air, plenty of exercise, and a filling lunch made him drowsy. Curling up under the tree, Johnny was soon snoozing on a bed of soft needles.
Stirring awake, the noise of his rickety school bus shuttling down the street reminded him that school was over for another day.
Upon reaching his house, Johnny’s loving mother met him at the door. Her stern-looking frown told him to watch out . . . caught again!
Of course I talk to myself. I like a good speaker, and I appreciate an intelligent audience.
The best way to keep children at home is to make the home atmosphere pleasant, and let the air out of the tires.
Dorothy Parker (1893-1967) was an American poet and writer. Much of her writing features a satirist’s view of the world. Based in New York City, her wit found a home in her writing.
Henry has been driving his ancient pick-up truck for several miles when he realizes that he just might be running low on gas. Using a notepad, he usually keeps track of his miles driven since the gas gauge and odometer are both broken.
As he travels down the highway, he realizes that nearly every car and truck probably uses electric vehicle technology. He hopes to find some gasoline at the next fueling stop.
Driving around a curve, he spots his destination ahead. Waiting alongside the highway is a sparkling, new station. He feels the pick-up beginning to gasp for more fuel.
He pulls up to the pumps, but they are not really fuel pumps. Each terminal waits to recharge an electric vehicle. Henry pulls off his cap, and begins scratching his head. What is he to do?
Off to the side of the property sits an old trailer—probably older than Henry’s pick-up. The door cracks open, and a crusty, old fella sticks his head out and waves Henry to come on over.
As Henry approaches the trailer, he hears the old man shouting, “Gas in the back.”
As they finish up their conversation, the old man reminds Henry, “Remember, no charge. I need to drain this underground tank.”
Henry drives around to the back of the trailer. Between the dilapidated home and a small lake, he discovers one lonely gas pump. Missing its hose, a second pump stands like a ghost left from the good ol’ days. Looking at the working pump, he thinks, “I wonder if it will even pump gas.”
He questions how old the gasoline might be, but he doesn’t have many options left. His ideas seem about as dried up as his gas tank.
There’s a sign next to the pump, which states, “Fill up at your own risk.”
Henry begins pumping gas, but he plans to only add a few gallons. Who knows how old this regular gas really is?
Finished! He jumps back in the cab of the pick-up and starts it up. The engine groans with a cough and a sputter. The indicator lights on the dash all power up like the starting lights on a drag race’s Christmas tree. They refuse to turn off.
Slowly, Henry drives away. The engine sounds awful, but he doesn’t have much choice except to head down the road.
As he returns to the highway, he sees a sign. He grimaces and frowns.
The sign reads, “Thanks for stopping by.”
Henry growls to himself, “Thanks for nothing!”
A few miles later, passing electric vehicles barely notice an abandoned and battered pick-up truck. It’s taking a well-deserved nap in the back of an empty, peaceful field.
Under the shade of a massive oak tree, Fred relaxes in his backyard hammock while enjoying a perfect summer afternoon.
A slight, friendly breeze helps to keep the bugs away, and Fred always thinks better when he spends time in his comfortable hammock. He looks up into the canopy of branches in the tree above, and his eyes begin following an intensely busy squirrel which is scurrying back and forth . . . back and forth.
Fred’s thoughts begin to wander as he imagines his own creation of the “perfect” treadmill. While his model will have the usual cup holder, he will add a necessary tray for his pepperoni pizza.
Thinking . . . How can a person calculate how much wood a woodchuck could chuck, if he could really chuck wood?
Worried about an upcoming family reunion, he recalls telling his close friend, Wally, “How will I remember all of their names?”
Wally confidently replies, “Easy, just call everyone ‘cousin.’”
Remembering his granddaughter’s wedding reception last summer, he asks his wife, Doris, to dance. He tells her, “They’re playing our favorite song.”
It takes the couple a little longer to arrive on the dance floor, and the song is nearly half over. Fred calls out to the DJ, “Play it again Sam!”
Several minutes go by. The “always in a hurry” squirrel pauses and thinks to himself, “What is that noise?”
Looking down, he spies Fred blissfully sleeping and dreaming, and his loud snoring serenades the entire backyard with . . . well, almost charming tunes.
Big Sky Buckeye 