Month: May 2017

Pete and Repete

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Pete and Repete were brothers. Twins even.   Growing up, Repete was always jealous of Pete’s normal name. “Mom, why did you name me something so weird?” he asked once.

“You have a lovely name. It’s so cute. I just love how the names sound together. Pete and Repete. Pete and Repete. Pete and Repete. See?” she said.

“But the kids at the playground say that it’s not a real name,” Repete said.

Just then, Pete dashed in through the front door.   “Ree, where are you?” he yelled.

“In here,” Repete said.

Pete stomped into the kitchen. “I told them they were all meanies and threw sand at them for you, Ree. I should have punched them in the nose!” he said.

“Pete, what have I told you about fighting?” Mom said.

“Not to?” Pete asked.

Mom sighed and started talking about using words and walking away and treating people with respect and kindness. Her conversation with Repete was forgotten. He never asked again.

When they finally started school, it only got worse. They arrived for kindergarten orientation and learned that they were being sent to separate classes. They asked their mom to fix it and make sure that they were in class together, but their mom refused. “It’s good for you. It will build character,” she said. Dad agreed.

They went to Pete’s class first. They found his seat and began unpacking his school supplies. “Look, Pete,” Repete said. “They spelled your name wrong. Your nametag says ‘Peter’.”

“You’re right,” Pete said. “Let’s go tell the teacher.”

They found her and waited for her to finish talking. “My name is spelled wrong on my nametag,” Pete said. “It’s just Pete, not Peter.”

“Let’s check with your parents,” the teacher said.

She followed them back to the table. “Is your son’s name officially Pete and not Peter?” she asked.

“Yes,” Dad said.

“All right,” the teacher said. She made a new nametag.

They went to Repete’s class next. The boys ran ahead to check the nametag. It said ‘Repeat’. “Yours is spelled wrong too,” Pete said. “Come on, let’s tell your teacher.”

The boys found the teacher and waited for her to finish talking. “My name is spelled wrong on my nametag,” Repete said.

“How should it be spelled?” the teacher asked.

“R-e-p-e-t-e,” Pete said.

“That can’t be right,” the teacher said.   “Let’s go talk to your parents.”

They followed the teacher to Repete’s table. “Mom, tell her how to spell my name,” Repete said.

“R-e-p-e-t-e,” Mom said.

“Really,” the teacher said. “Well, I guess I’ll make him a new nametag.” Shaking her head, the teacher walked away.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Repete whispered.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Pete whispered back.

 

After the first day of school, Pete and Repete jumped out of the car and ran to their room to talk. “How was your day?” Repete asked.

“Boring. School takes too long,” Pete said. “I did like recess. How was your day?”

“Whenever the teacher called on me, the class just said whatever she said last.   Like an echo,” Repete said.

“That’s awesome,” Pete said. “It sounds pretty funny.”

“I guess it was,” Repete said. “I told her she could call me Ree like you do, and she started right away.”

“And no one made fun of your name?” Pete asked.

“No,” Repete said.

“Your day was better than mine. Maybe we should trade names?” Pete said.

 

Baking a Pie

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Chad checked the phone and saw that it was his sister Sally calling. He pushed the button to take the call.   Sally’s voice came through the phone, sounding bright and cheerful. “Hi Chad, let’s get together for Mom’s birthday,” Sally said.

“I’m fine. And how are you?” Chad asked.

Sally sighed. “Really Chad? Fine. Tell me how you’ve been.”

“I told you I’m fine,” Chad said.

“Chad.” Sally said. She sounded irritated. Even all grown up, Chad thought that was rather funny. So he laughed.

“I was going to go visit her anyway. What did you have in mind?” Chad asked.

“I was planning a nice dinner so that she doesn’t have to cook. Monica is going to help me make chicken pot pies.   Jared is bringing a salad. So, you get dessert,” Sally said. Her voice was back to bright and cheerful.   Chad scowled at the phone.

“Why do I get the last choice?” he asked.

“Because you’re the youngest. Just buy a bag of cookies or some ice cream or fruit snacks or something. It’s not a big deal,” Sally said.

“Fine,” Chad said. “But I’m going to bake something. It’s going to be the best thing anyone’s ever eaten. You’ll beg me for the recipe, and I won’t give it to you.   Then you’ll be sorry.”

“That sounds nice,” Sally said. “I’ll see you on Saturday at five. Don’t be late.”

She hung up. Chad frowned. He had three days to figure out how to bake something amazing. That shouldn’t be so bad.

After watching some videos about making sculptures out of sugar and cooking things with blowtorches, Chad decided to think a little less big. Who knew that creating desserts would require so many expensive tools?

Chad started going through his cupboards to see what tools he did have.   After a bit of searching, he found and old pie tin. Perfect.   He could bake a pie. His mother loved pumpkin pie.

He looked online for a recipe and printed it up. Then he accidentally left it home when he went to the store.   That shouldn’t be a problem. He knew what he needed. Let’s see. It was a pumpkin pie. He needed a pumpkin. He checked the produce section. There weren’t any pumpkins.

He found someone in an apron unpacking boxes of apples.   “Where are the pumpkins?” he asked.

“Sorry, it’s the wrong season for them. We’ll have them in the fall,” the man said.

Who knew that things could be seasonal?   Strange. Chad picked up some big purple vegetable. It looked big enough to fill a pie and his mom loved purple.   What else did he need? Eggs, butter. He still had sugar in the cupboard.

He went home to check his recipe. It said he needed pumpkin pie filling. He looked that up. It came in a can, but you could make it by cooking the pumpkin.   No problem. He’d use the directions and cook the purple thing.

He didn’t have flour, so he substituted cornmeal.   He didn’t have pumpkin pie spice, so he used hot sauce. That should be plenty spicy. He ran out of sugar and substituted salt.

Despite the minor setbacks, the pie came out of the oven looking beautiful. There was just enough time for it to cool. Chad felt a sense of accomplishment. Maybe he should have gone to school to be a chef. He obviously had a natural talent for cooking.   Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he should buy himself a blowtorch.

He packed towels around the pie and drove slowly to his mom’s house. He drove carefully around every corner and ignored the line of cars behind him honking at him to go faster. They didn’t know that he had a beautiful pie to protect.

Chad proudly presented the pie to his mother and wished her a happy birthday. Everyone was impressed by Chad’s beautiful pie. Even Sally. Chad smiled and soaked in the praise. He ate quickly, looking forward to finally tasting his masterpiece.

He cut just the right number of wedges and carefully slid them onto the plates. He passed them around and everyone took their first bite. It tasted strange. Not at all like a pumpkin pie. Perhaps the flavor wasn’t so bad, but it was hard to tell because of how salty it was.

It was inedible. Chad tried to choke down another bite anyway. He looked around the table. Monica and Jared were making faces. Dad was gulping water from his glass. Sally looked like she was trying not to laugh.

But mom was smiling and eating her pie as though it was wonderful. “Maybe a little less salt next time dear, but I think that you had some great ideas here,” she said. “Well done.”

Chad took another bite. No, it really wasn’t good. His mother smiled. He smiled back. “Thanks, mom,” he said. “I was thinking of buying a blowtorch.   Maybe I can make you something else.”

“I’d like that,” she said.

Charlie’s Room: Under the Bed

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“Dad, have you seen my other shoe?” Charlie asked one morning.

“Have you checked the closet?” Isaac asked.

“Yes,” Charlie said. “That’s where I found this one.” He held up a blue tennis shoe.

“Did you look under the desk?”

“Yes,” Charlie said.

“Under your bed?”

“Yes.”

Isaac thought for a moment. “When did you wear them last?”

“Yesterday,” Charlie said. “I mostly always wear them.”

“Where did you take them off?” Isaac asked.

“In my bedroom after school,” Charlie said.

“So it probably wouldn’t be by the front door or in the bathroom or living room,” Isaac said. “Is your room messy? It might be under something.”

Charlie shrugged. “It’s not that bad really. I did look around. I’ll look again if you come help me look.”

Isaac smiled. “You just needed to ask. Lead the way.” He followed Charlie back into his bedroom. It wasn’t really all that messy. There was a pile of books next to the bookshelf and some papers on the desk.   A shirt was on the floor next to the laundry basket.

Isaac picked up the shirt and checked the basket. “Not here,” he said. He checked the closet and under the desk. “Not there either,” he said. “Try looking in your drawers. I’ll look under the bed.”

Under the bed was rather messy. Luckily, once Isaac pulled out a fuzzy blue sweater, he could see the missing shoe. “Here it is, Charlie,” he said.   “I think it was camouflaged by the sweater, kind of like a chameleon.”

“That’s kind of funny,” Charlie said. “Thank you for finding it.”

“You’re welcome,” Isaac said. “Go finish getting ready.”

Charlie hurried out the door and Isaac started folding up the sweater to put it away. An irregularity in the pattern caught his eye. He looked closer. There were holes in the sweater.   Isaac unfolded it and held it up.

The edges of the holes were uneven. Something had been chewing on the sweater. He looked closer. It had been nibbling at the edges of the sweater too. This wasn’t a good sign.

With a sigh, Isaac went to fetch a flashlight. He needed a closer look under the bed at what he might be dealing with. Soon he was back in Charlie’s room with the flashlight. He lay down on his side and directed the beam of light to sweep across the floor under the bed.

He couldn’t see anything unusual. He swept the light back across the floor. At the edge of the beam, something moved. Isaac snapped the light back. It was a dust bunny. The little ball of hair and lint seemed harmless. He moved the light away, but watched the dust bunny.

Once the light wasn’t shining on it, it moved again. He snapped the light back again and looked closer. The dust bunny didn’t move. Isaac squinted. He could see fuzzy blue bits of yarn tangled into the little ball of fluff.

Isaac slowly moved the light back and forth. He could see three more dust bunnies of various sizes, all partially composed of fuzzy blue wool. This could become a problem. Isaac shoved the sweater back under the bed so that they didn’t start chewing on the carpet.

He had to leave and get ready for work. At lunchtime, he called around and managed to find a humane trap he could rent for a few days. He picked it up after work. That night, he baited it with the sweater. Three days later, he’d caught all the dust bunnies.

He checked several times to make sure he’d got them all. Then he looked at them sitting motionless in the trap.   He really didn’t feel comfortable turning them loose in the yard. If they started eating Marianne’s plants, she’d be quite upset.

He didn’t want to hurt them either. They seemed rather harmless really. In the end, he called Great-Aunt Bethyl. “Hi,” he said. “It’s Isaac again.”

“Isaac, it’s been a while,” Great-Aunt Bethyl said. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry I don’t call more often,” Isaac said.

“Oh, don’t be silly. I’m too busy for small talk,” she said. “But if you have time, I wouldn’t mind getting a card in the mail now and then.”

“We could do that,” Isaac said.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“Dust bunnies ate holes in Charlie’s sweater,” he said.

“Say no more,” she said. “I’ll send someone over.”

Fifteen minutes later, a man in black slacks and a blue button up shirt was at the door. “Hello,” he said. “I heard you had a problem.”

Isaac handed over the trap. The man peered inside. “Hmmm.” He said. “I see. Is this your trap?”

“No, I rented it. Here’s a business card from the rental shop,” Isaac said, pulling the card out of his wallet.

“Excellent.” The man took the card and put it in his shirt pocket. “I’ll make sure they get the trap back.”

“Thank you,” Isaac said. “I can stop in tomorrow and pay the rental fee.”

The man smiled and tapped on the outside of the trap. “No, thank you,” he said.

Isaac smiled and closed the door. It was good he’d found them before they’d started chewing on something else. What if they’d chewed a hole in Charlie’s lucky socks? Perhaps it was time to look for a loft bed for Charlie. Then this would be less likely to happen again.

How Not to Watch a Movie

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“Who wants to watch a movie?” Dad asked.

“Me!” Paul and Peter and Lisa said together.

“Not me,” Mom said. “I have an appointment.   I hope you all have a lot of fun while I’m gone.”

“I’m sure we will,” Dad said. “You’re missing out.”

“I know,” Mom said. “We’ll just have to have another movie night tomorrow.” The children cheered.

“I have no problem with that,” Dad said. “Be safe.”

“Of course,” Mom said. Then she left to get ready.

“As soon as everyone is done eating, we can pick a movie,” Dad said.

“That will take forever,” Peter said. “Paul eats one noodle at a time.”

“I do not,” Paul said.

“He doesn’t,” Lisa said. “He tries to fit a noodle on each prong of his fork before he eats a bite. So he eats four noodles at a time.”

Peter groaned. “That’s no way to eat macaroni and cheese. Pretend you’re a dinosaur, Paul, and eat big bites.”

“I don’t want to,” Paul said.

Mom came back into the kitchen. She was wearing a sweater and her purse was looped over her arm. “I need to give everyone hugs before I go,” she said.

She hugged Dad and Lisa and Peter. “Wait,” she said to Paul. “You have orange cheese sauce on your fingers. I don’t want that on my shirt.” She handed him a paper towel. He wiped his fingers. Mom hugged him. “There, that’s everyone.   I’m off!”

She left. Peter pretended to be a dinosaur and growled and ate big bites of pasta. Lisa rolled her eyes. Paul looked at his plate. He ate a normal-sized bite of noodles. Everyone continued to eat. Paul was the last to finish.

“Time to pick a movie,” Dad said. “What is everyone in the mood for?”

“Dinosaurs and Aliens,” Peter said.

“That movie about the arctic explorers who all die tragic deaths,” Lisa said.

“The one about the silly robots,” Paul said.

“It sounds like no one agrees. I guess that means I pick,” Dad said. The children all groaned. “I pick that movie about the spies and the pirates.”   The children groaned again.

“Wait,” Paul said. “I think I like that one. Yay!”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “I’ll get the popcorn ready.”

Soon, everyone was snuggled up together on the couch. The movie started. The spy strolled across the town square, checking his watch.

“I need a blanket,” Paul said.

“Run and get it,” Dad said.

“Won’t you stop the movie?” Paul asked.

“Nope,” Dad said. “Hurry.”

Paul hurried away. Several minutes later he was back. He settled on the couch and tucked the blanket around himself. The spy was climbing the outside of a building.   “Why’s he doing that?” Paul asked.

“Shh,” Lisa said. “Just watch. You’ll see.”

Paul frowned and settled back in his blanket. He leaned back and shifted to the right and left. “I want a pillow,” he said.

“Then go get one,” Dad said.

Paul left again. He returned and glanced at the screen. The spy was jumping from a plane high above a pirate ship in the middle of the ocean.   “That looks cool,” Paul said.   “Is he friends with the pirates?”

“Just sit and watch,” Peter said. “You’ll figure it out.”

Paul walked to the couch and frowned. “I want my rocket ship,” he said.

“Where is it?” Dad asked.

“In my room,” Paul said.

“Hurry back,” Dad said.

After a long while, Paul returned with his toy rocket ship and several toy cars.   “What did I miss?” he asked. He looked at the screen. “Wow, a swordfight. Is that the pirates?”

“Just sit down,” Lisa said. “Stop getting up and leaving and you’ll know what’s going on.

Paul sat down and tucked his blanket around himself. He arranged the toys on his lap and leaned back into the pillow. He looked up at the swordfight.   “I’m hungry,” he said. “Where’s the popcorn?”

“All gone,” Peter said.

“No one saved me any?” Paul asked.

“You can pop some more,” Dad said. “Do you need any help?”

“No,” Paul said. “But you guys should have saved me some.”

He grabbed the bowl and left. After a while he returned with a full bowl. “I popped three bags. We won’t run out now. And I’m nice and will share with everyone,” he said.

He handed the bowl to Dad and tucked himself in with his toys. He grabbed a handful of popcorn and started eating it. “Who’s the girl? Is she a pirate too? It’s silly to wear shoes like that to climb all those stairs. She should take them off so she can run faster,” he said.

“She needs the shoes for later,” Lisa said. “She probably should take them off and carry them.   Quiet, I want to see the next part.”

Paul took another handful of popcorn. “This is salty. I’m going to get a drink.”

He left for a while. He returned and tucked himself in once again. “Is that a palm tree? Where are they?”

“Paul, we can’t explain everything you missed.   The movie’s almost over,” Dad said.

“Can we start it at the beginning again?” Paul asked.   “I think I’m ready now.”

“Maybe we’ll watch it again later,” Dad said.

“Tomorrow?”

“Probably not,” Dad said.

“Can we watch the robot movie tomorrow?” Paul asked.

“I think tomorrow we’ll let Mom pick,” Dad said.

A New Invention

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Charles grinned as he stumbled out of his laboratory. “Esther? Esther?   Where are you?” he yelled.

Esther looked up from her book. She was sitting a few feet away. “I’m right here, Charles,” she said.

Charles turned and nearly tripped over the ottoman. “I’ve done it! My newest invention is complete,” he said, facing the grandfather clock.

Esther laughed.   “I’m over here, Charles. I don’t think your new glasses are working at all.”

He pushed the glasses up on top of his head and squinted a little as he looked around.   “There you are,” he said. “I just need to calm down a bit and then they’ll work fine.”

“What are you talking about?” Esther put a bookmark in her book and set it aside.

“The mood glasses I created. They are red when I’m angry, and blue when I’m sad, and yellow when I’m happy, and of course there are combinations of the colors for all sorts of other feelings.   I just finished assembling a guide,” Charles said.

“What good are they if you can’t see through them?” Esther asked. “Why not just wear a mood ring?”

“The color gets darker when the feeling is stronger,” Charles said. “I’m just very happy to finally have them working.”

“But why glasses?   It’s not safe,” Esther said.   “What if you’d been driving?”

“Strong emotions impair judgment. It would warn people in advance that their thinking skills aren’t at their best,” Charles said.

“But can’t people tell how they’re feeling? I know I can tell when I’m happy or angry without wearing special glasses,” Esther said.

“Sometimes emotions are confusing. You might think you are angry, but really you’re feeling scared.   Or you only realize you were feeling happy when something bad happens and you aren’t feeling happy any longer.   Then you wish you’d enjoyed the happy feelings while they lasted,” Charles said. “Besides, sometimes it’s handy to be able to share how you’re feeling with others without having to say anything.”

“That’s true,” Esther said. She squinted. “What’s green?”

“It depends on the shade. Here, check the guide.” Charles handed her a thick manual.

“Are the colors arranged alphabetically?” Esther asked.

“No, they’re in order depending on their position in the color wheel. It starts with red,” Charles said.

Esther flipped through a large section of the book. “I’m not sure. Is it a dark forest green or a light olive green? Charles, I didn’t know there were this many shades of colors.   What in the world is chartreuse?” Esther frowned. “I think you need to add color samples beside the entries to make this easier to use.”

“I considered it, but it would make the manual thicker and increase the publishing costs by a ridiculous amount.” Charles said. His eyes crossed a moment. “Hmmm. That is difficult to judge. I think it’s light olive. Maybe.   Oh wait, the color is changing.   I think it is starting to look orange.   What does it say for marigold?”

“Marigold?”

“Yellow-orange,” Charles said. “Oh look, they’re changing again.”

“Wait, I haven’t found marigold yet.” Esther flipped through several pages. “Confused, but happy.” She looked up. “What is that now? Teal? Aqua?”

Charles sighed. “This isn’t as helpful as I thought.”

“They’re pretty though. Oh, did they just get a little bluer? Are you sad Charles?” Esther asked.

“I thought I’d made something really useful.” He took the glasses off. The glass went clear as his shoulders slumped.

Esther patted his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. It’s a good start. And now that I know you’re feeling down, I’m going to share my chocolate with you.”

“Really?” Charles asked. He held out his empty hand. Esther laughed took a bar of chocolate out of a drawer and set it on his hand. “Maybe these glasses are more useful than I thought,” he said.

A Tough Crowd

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“Hey, Art, do you want to hang out after work?” Bert asked.

Art was putting on his coat, but he paused when Bert asked his question. “What do you have in mind?” he asked.

“Well, there’s this great juice bar nearby,” Bert said. He picked up his coat.

Art zipped up his coat. “I don’t really like health food,” he said.

Bert laughed. “Neither do I.  Luckily that’s not all they serve.” He started to put on his coat. “They make the best ice cream sundaes in town. I think it’s the homemade ice cream. They go fast. If we head over now we might get one. Plus we’d avoid the rougher crowd.”

“Why is there a rough crowd?” Art asked.

“It’s not a big deal,” Bert said. “The place is just really popular and attracts all types.   We’ll be fine. Especially if we go early.”

”I do like ice cream,” Art said. “So I guess I’ll go.”

Art followed Bert to the juice bar. He still wasn’t so sure about this. Once inside, they discovered a crowd already there waiting. “There’s still some seats at the counter,” a server said, “but you won’t be able to sit together. If you want a table, you’ll have to wait.”

They sat at the end of a bench by the door and began to wait. It was a long wait. “They’re probably out of ice cream,” Art whispered. “Let’s just go.”

“Wait another fifteen minutes,” Bert whispered back. “It’s really good ice cream.”

Just then, the door slammed open and a herd of bulls charged into the restaurant. They were big and strong.   Some had whiskers and small beards.   Several had nose rings or a big metal earring with numbers imprinted on it.

“We want a round of wheatgrass juice,” the one in front said. He strode towards the counter, the light glinting off his sharp horns.

“Are those cows?” Art whispered. Bert stomped on his foot and shushed him. One of the bulls twitched an ear and glanced in their direction.   Bert smiled, but it looked like he felt a little ill. The bull looked away.

As soon as the herd passed them, Bert pulled on Art’s arm and stood to leave.   Art followed him out. There was a pack of motorcycles parked outside.

“Cows ride motorcycles?” Art asked. “Since when?”

“They’re bulls,” Bert said. “And try not to be so loud. They’re mean when they get angry.”

“Bulls? Don’t they only get mad if you wear red?” Art asked.

“That’s a myth.” Bert paused at his car and leaned against the door. “They don’t like sudden movements or people in their personal space.   They carry their weapons around in the open and charge at people and stab them with little warning. They’re pretty harsh.”

“But bulls on motorcycles? I thought they just stood in fields looking majestic or something,” Art said.

“Oh, bulls are the original bikers,” Bert said. “They’re born wearing leather, you know.”

“I guess that’s true,” Art said.

Bert opened his car door. “I guess no ice cream today. Do you want to try another time?”

“No,” Art said. “I’m sure it’s tasty ice cream, but I don’t think it’s the right atmosphere for me.   Honestly it was a little scary.”

“I understand,” Bert said. “It’s too bad, though. It really is good ice cream.”

“I make pretty good homemade ice cream,” Art said. “You should come over sometime and try it and tell me how it compares.”

“Sure,” Bert said. “When’s the next time you’re making some?”

“Come over Saturday around noon. You can meet my family. Bring your favorite sundae topping,” Art said.

“Sounds great,” Bert said. “I’ll be there.”

Art waved and walked to his car. Bert waved back and sat down. He pulled his car door closed. They drove away and never came back.