Pulling My Strings

Ostrich Run

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Sat, 20 Jan 2024 22:33:00 +0000

The Invitation

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Thu, 17 Jan 2019 02:44:00 +0000

Floyd

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Wed, 01 Feb 2017 13:27:00 +0000

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Tue, 23 Aug 2016 14:47:00 +0000

For Peter

There's five of us in church today
But one of us is gone
The other members looked our way
For one of us that's gone
The Lord called out to him one day
To serve Him in another way
And while he's gone for him we'll pray
For one of us that's gone

And now he's in the MTC
This one of us that's gone
So well prepared he soon will be
This one of us that's gone
Then off he'll go to England's shores
To knock upon God's children's doors
And teach them of the truth restored
This one of us that's gone

With real intent we send our love
To one of us that's gone
And seek for blessings from above
For one of us that's gone
We've watched him as he's spiritually grown
And trust the Lord to bring him home
When gospel seeds he then has sown
This one of us that's gone

Primary Poetry

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Thu, 02 Jun 2016 13:32:00 +0000

I frequently end up writing Primary talks for my kids. They usually end up being rhymes about the topic. I will post some of them here. Perhaps they will be of use to someone else. Check out the Primary Poetry page from the menu on the right.

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Thu, 18 Feb 2016 00:01:00 +0000

Okay, so my new church job is cubmaster. Imagine that, a 65 year old cubmaster. I guess you just get better as you get older. I'm sure it's good for the boys' egos - they can beat me at anything. But then, Joseph is now a cub scout, and it gives me some time with him. I'm sure that had something to do with it. Anyway, I'm thinking up things to do at the Blue and Gold banquet next week. I've written a little song to the tune of "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean." Here goes:

My cubmaster's lost in the mountains
My cubmaster's lost in the trees
My cubmaster's lost in my back yard
Bring back my cubmaster to me

Bring back, bring back
Bring back my cubmaster to me, to me.
Bring back, bring back
Bring back my cubmaster to me

My den leader doesn't like spiders
My den leader doesn't like bees
I brought her a worm for her birthday
Bring back my den leader to me

Bring back, bring back
Bring back my den leader to me, to me.
Bring back, bring back
Bring back my den leader to me

A cub scout will always eat candy
He'll even eat crackers and cheese
But if you serve spinach for breakfast
That cub scout you never will see

Bring back, bring back
Bring back that cub scout to me, to me.
Bring back, bring back
Bring back that cub scout to me

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Tue, 10 Nov 2015 23:47:00 +0000

A Poem for Veterans Day

The flag is waving way up high
A flutter in the breeze
A symbol of our way of life
And of our liberties

Our soldiers fought to keep that flag
A flying o'er the land
They paid the price and sacrificed
So that we'd understand

That this land called America
Could be a land of choice
Where everyone could have a say
And speak out with their voice

And so to Veterans this day
Shall praise and honor be
They fought for you; they fought for me
And that is why we're free

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Mon, 06 Jul 2015 12:33:00 +0000

Smile Today

I promised myself I'd smile today

No matter what happened to come my way

In everything I'd do or say

I promised myself I'd smile today

I promised myself I'd laugh a lot

I'll chuckle and gag while others fought

A sense of humor's what I've got

I promised myself I'd laugh a lot

I promised myself some happiness

Even if the world's in such a mess

I'm feelin' real good I must confess

Cause I promised myself some happiness

I promised myself that I'd be good

And do the things I know I should

I'd help out others if I could

I promised myself that I'd be good

I promised myself I'd find a smile

And make it be my personal style

Then when I'm done I'll rest a while

I promised myself I'd find a smile

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Thu, 20 Nov 2014 13:48:00 +0000

A great time at Kanesville elementary on Veterans' Day. Did 2 one hour shows - one for Janae's class and one for Joseph's. Kids were very receptive! Here are some sample videos:
Quackety Quack

New Songs/Poetry

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Sun, 27 Apr 2014 18:36:00 +0000

Check out "Oogly Boogly" and other entries on the Poetry/Song Lyrics page.

Content

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Fri, 18 Apr 2014 11:57:00 +0000

This started out as a poem about my job, then took a little twist. Here's another frontrunner-created poem.

All the letters on the surface of the paper laying there

Are arranged in ranks inviting my accommodating stare

And while I look upon them to decipher what they mean

It seems as though they're mocking me, and daring to be seen

In order to determine what the words there really say

I must first put on my glasses, then I'll see them on display

They have context now in sentences and paragraphs now flow

And behold, I can discover what they're wanting me to know

And now they are transformed from their existence on a page

To a digital device where they're lit up just like a stage

So they show in multi-color and with underline and bold

And they're linked to stuff from everywhere with info to behold

So You see I'm not just reading all this dreary text no more

But I'm doing other things that are right there so they won't bore

I can play a game or see a flick, or take a test online

I can chat with friends, and email too, or find a place to dine

I can social network, tweet and text, and check my bank account

I can shop for anything I want, if it can just be found

I can map the world, and pictures take, and make a movie cool

And all this stuff and much more too I do outside of school

My virtual world inside my phone can all my life reveal

It's such a place to spend my time, it's better than what's real

So now I'm thinking back upon the words with their content

And I can't recall at all just what that boring text stuff meant

Now I ask you please don't offer me the words within a book

That's boring stuff and honestly it's not worth any look

And don't tell me to spend my time perfecting how I read

'Cause it's way too stale and way too old for me to give it heed

It's time for books to die, they're just not worth a bit of time

And I don't know why you're reading this, unless it's for the rhyme

A picture's worth a thousand words, at least that's what they say

So where's the movie for this text that's written here today?

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Wed, 09 Apr 2014 11:57:00 +0000

New page created today for poetry and song lyrics.

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Fri, 14 Feb 2014 13:28:00 +0000

I posted a story of my 6th grade football experience. Maybe it's just a part of a bigger story. It's mostly true, just a little literary license taken. Check it out under the "Almost Non-Fiction" page.

TEDx

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Wed, 18 Dec 2013 04:38:00 +0000

Okay, I did it. I actually got on TEDx. The audio mix wasn't perfect, but I salute the technical staff at Canyons School District for getting a decent rendition of Bunkered! Thanks for this great opportunity! This is a revisited lesson I taught in my classroom 35 years ago. If you do not see the link below, try going to http://youtu.be/ZlVmJ3CqU2Q

Whatcha' Doin' Joe?

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Fri, 20 Sep 2013 22:41:00 +0000

Just in case you need a Halloween story. This one's dedicated to my old friend, Allen Henrie, in Panguitch, Utah, who first played this one on me.

Wha' cha' Doin' Joe?

Now I'm tellin' ya, I don't scare easy. I mean, my big brother is always jumpin' out at me when I least expect it, but he's done it so much, it ain't no big deal. And my bedroom window doesn't close real tight, so some nights the wind kinda moans and groans and whistles while I'm tryin' to go to sleep. Aw, so what? It's just the wind. I sometimes even watch the tree shadows shakin' on the wall as the light from the construction company across the way filters through. They're actually kinda' entertaining. I even have a big black cat with yellowish eyes that seem to glow in the dark. But he's practically my best friend. So ya see, I ain't no scaredy pants little kid. I know my way around.

Oh I was kinda curious when Josh Turner started to tell everybody at school that there was a ghost in the Hooper cemetery.

“Oh sure,” I said.

“No really,”Josh said, “haven't ya ever heard about the ghost in the Hooper graveyard?”

“R-i-i-g-h-h-t,” I said, “like there's really such things as ghosts anyway.”

“You don't believe in ghosts?” he asked.

“'Course not,” I said. “Nobody's ever come up with any good evidence for ghosts that I know about. That's all just movie stuff. Kinda like the Banshee in Darby O' Gill and the Little People. Somebody just did some trick photography and made a spooky story outa nothin. Ain't no such thing, really.”

Now Josh got this quizzical look in his eye. Now mind ya, I don't have no reason to believe Josh on a good day, let alone on today, Friday the 13th. Don't worry, I ain't superstitious either. Ya see, Josh didn't have many friends, anyway, and he was known to make up things just to get attention. He was kind of a fat kid, and he had lots of freckles and mussed up red hair. He just was different somehow, and most everybody kind of left him alone, unless they knew he was up to somethin'. Then kids showed up just to see the fireworks. Some of the kids in my class saw me talkin' with him on the playground. They could see Josh begin to get animated and some of 'em was just curious enough to come over to see what in the world he was cookin' up this time.

“Have you ever been to the Hooper cemetery?” he asked.

“Yah. We go there every year to put flowers on my grandfather's grave on Memorial Day. It's about the most un-spooky cemetery I've ever seen."

“Have you been there at night?”

“No”

“Well it's a whole different place at night. The wind always blows out there at night and rattles the leaves on those big trees all around it. Then there's that big ditch just north of the graveyard, where there's all kinds of frogs and muskrats and critters always dashin' in and out of the shadows. That cannon on the hill with those big house shaped headstones glistens in the moonlight. I hear tell there's even a crazy man who sometimes runs around out there.”

“Oh ya, a crazy man,” I said.

“No, I'm serious. I even heard that three little kids wandered in there late one night and just disappeared. Nobody ever found 'em.”

“Sure,” I said. And who were these little kids? What were their names?”

“I dunno. It happened a long time ago. But the people who live out by it say that sometimes they hear that ol' crazy man just a howlin' out there some nights. I'm tellin' ya, it's a scary place.” Josh stared directly into my eyes.

“Have you been out there at night?” I asked.

“You betcha. Lots of times. And I'm tellin' ya I know the creepiest place in that whole cemetery.”

“Great Josh. So tell me, what's the creepiest place in the Hooper cemetery?”

“It's old Joe Johnson's grave. Way back there by the cannon. It ain't much of a headstone. It's just a little one. Nobody cuts the grass around it or anything. Old Joe didn't have any friends. Some people think that's why his ghost comes back, to try and make some friends.”

“His ghost?”

Josh's eyes got bigger. He lowered his tone a little. There were now half a dozen kids who had wandered over and were listening in. “Yeah, Old Joe was a cranky old buzzard when he was alive. Folks out there say he lived by himself, and never really went anywhere. He just stayed in his old house all the time. Didn't even have a dog or cat or anything. Just stayed there by himself. Kept the windows covered. People couldn't tell what he did. Seemed like he just didn't do nothin'."

“Have you been to this house?”

“Naw, old Joe died 50 years ago. The old house he was livin' in has long since been torn down.”

“So how do you know all this stuff about him?”

“I'm tellin' ya, all the old folks in town know. All ya gotta do is ask 'em.”

“And they've seen Old Joe's Ghost?”

“Only on rare occasions.”

“Yeah, really rare, like never.”

Josh raised his voice a little. “But there's a lot that's heard him.”

“Heard him?” I said.

Josh continued, “ I guess the old guy died cause he was just flat out bored. As I said, nobody ever saw him do much of anything. Fact is, the old guy just flat out did nothin, and just wasted away.”

“Wasted away?”

“Yup, nobody even knew how he died. A salesman walked up to the door one day, and said he smelt somethin' awful weird and nasty. So he called the cops to come and investigate and the cops came and broke in and found Old Joe, at least what was left of him, just sittin in his old chair in his front room, dead as a doornail.”

“So what's this about hearing him?”

“Well Joe didn't talk much, just said what was absolutely necessary. He'd answer a question if he was asked, but only in the fewest words possible. Ya see, Joe just kind of grew where he was planted. He didn't get out much. He just spent most of the time in that old house. If ya wanted somethin' from Joe you had to go see him, and again, he'd just give you the raw information with no extra words anywhere. If you asked him about somethin' he didn't know about, or even about something he didn't wanna talk about, like sayin' to him, “Joe, whaddya know about dogs?”, he'd look at ya with a blind stare and say “Nothing, nothing at all.""

“Okay, so that was when he was alive. You said a lot of people around here have heard him.”

“That's right.”

“So who's heard him?”

“Lots of folks. Ya see the story goes like this. They figure Old Joe musta died of boredom. He didn't know nothin' and didn't wanna know nuthin. He didn't say nuthin' less he had to. Nobody knew of any family he grew up with or nuthin'. Ya had to ask him ten times to get an answer from him. If ya tried to ask him what he wanted, he'd just say “Nuthin', nuthin at all.” When he died they just flat put him in a pine box and planted him in the graveyard. I guess it's lucky he has a spot there at all. The headstone just says Joe Johnson. That's it."

“Are you gonna tell me who's heard him?”

“Talk to the old folks in town. They know. What they'll tell ya, is that you can talk to Joe yerself”

“Oh sure. I can talk to him myself.”

“Yeah, here's how ya do it. 'Member I told ya that ya had to ask Old Joe ten times to get an answer out of him? Well here's what ya do. Go out to the Hooper Graveyard at midnight when there's a full moon so that you can see real good, so you can see the headstones real clear. That way you'll be sure you find Joe's grave."

“What about takin' a flash light?”

“Naw, Joe don't like real bright lights. Now once you find his grave walk around it 10 times. That'll get his attention.”

“Then what?”

“Then stop, face that headstone directly and call out real loud and clear – WHATCHA DOIN' JOE?”

“And then?”

“Then you be just a quiet as a snowflake and wait and listen real good. You'll hear the same thing lots of other folks have heard. You'll hear Old Joe say – NOTHING. NOTHING AT ALL.” Josh gazed steely-eyed at me. He actually believed what he was tellin' me.

I looked back at him and said, “So has this happened to you?”

“Yup,” he said.

“And what'd you hear?”

“Just like I told you. Old Joe said NOTHING, NOTHING AT ALL!” His voice was filled with drama, and just a hint of terror. “So, you wanna try it?” Now he was daring me.

“Ok, yer on. I'm gonna show you just how stupid you are, Josh Turner. Just so happens there's a full moon tonight. I'll meet ya down there right at midnight, and we'll just see how spooky old Joe Johnson is.”

“Okeedokee. Sure you're not afraid?”

“I told ya, there ain't no such thing as ghosts”

“Well, come tonight, and you'll know for sure.”

“You got it.”

'Course then, that night the wind started to blow and there was patchy clouds and even some lightning every once in a while. I pushed up my bedroom window and snuck out about 11:45. It'd take me about 10 minutes to walk to the graveyard. I had on my dark poncho and when I lifted my arms out, I kinda looked like and enormous bat. I fairly flew till I got to the ditch by the graveyard. There was all kinds of croakin' goin' on by them there frogs. Then I heard somethin' scurry through the tall grass behind me. I turned real quick and saw somethin' about the size of a basketball go splash into the ditch water. Leaves were blowin' all over the place. The moon was playin' tag with the clouds, and would peek, through, then hide, then peek through again. The cemetery was closed, of course, but there was no fence or anything to keep me out. The moonlight fairly danced eerily on the headstones as I walked up from the parking lot to the grass. The place was definitely deserted. I couldn't even see Josh anywhere. There was a small stone bathroom building near the front of the graveyard just 10 yards from where I stood. A shadowy figure leaned against the building. It was Josh.

“Well,” he said, “you ready?

Josh wasn't cheerful. He was lookin' real serious. I was cool. Nuthin' had bothered me much to this point, but I don't remember seein' Josh lookin' quite so serious as he did now. “You sure you wanna go through with this,” he said.

“Yeah, I can do this,” I said semi-confidently. Then I mustered, “Bring on that ghosty”

“All right,” Josh said, “You asked for it. Just remember that I gave you a chance to back out.”

“Yeah.............right,” I said.

“We gotta walk out into the middle a ways first. Right up there next to the cannon on the rise”

“L-l-ets go,” I said. I didn't mean to stutter, but Josh didn't seem to notice. I really wasn't scared, my throat was just dry so it was a little hard to pronounce my words.”

“Right this way,” he said and began to walk briskly among the stones. My poncho was still blowin' in the wind. We had to walk past some bushes and they almost seemed to reach out and grasp at it. They scratched against the fabric. Josh kept movin'. “Come on, can't keep that ghost a waitin'!” he called.

“Okay, Okay.” He obviously was more familiar with this place than I was. Even though the moon was peekin' through the clouds, it was still pretty dark. I tripped a couple of times on headstones I didn't see.

“Don't kick the headstones,” Josh turned and looked at me. “Ya wanna wake up some more ghosts besides Old Joe?”

I tried to keep up better. My hands were a bit shaky, but I kept them out away from my body to keep my balance. “Come on,” he said. We finally reached the cannon.

“Okay,” Josh said, it's right over there. You'll see it right under the branch of that big tree there.” He stretched out his arm and pointed firmly. I looked to see where he was pointing.

“And let me get this straight. I'm supposed to walk around that headstone 10 times, then say 'whatcha doin' Joe?”

“That's it. Then listen real close.”

“And I'm gonna hear Old Joe's voice”

“You'll hear” (dramatically) “Nooothiinnnggg, nooothinnnnggg at aalllll!”

“Right.” I took a couple of steps toward the headstone, then glanced back at Josh.

“Go on,” he urged. I took a couple of more steps then looked down to see the headstone. Grass had grown over the edges and there was some light sand scattered about on it. I bent over and brushed it off. In simple letters it just said “Joe Johnson.” I looked over again at Josh. He put his index finger in the air and rotated it in a circular motion. I took a deep breath and started around the headstone. It was close enough to the tree that I had to walk around it too, making about a 10 foot in diameter circle to complete 1 trip. I heard a cat screech somewhere on my second time around. I looked down at the headstone, then at Josh. He stared straight at me. I completed the 3rd and 4th trip, then on trip #5 I was slightly startled by a dog howling and barking like crazy. Must have been after that cat. The wind picked up and whistled through the trees on trip 6. I paused briefly, checked the stone, then Josh, then continued. Trip 7. The clouds suddenly closed off any light from the moon. I heard a huge thunderclap on trip 8. It was suddenly cold, and my skin was prickly with goosebumps. A light rain started to fall. Gotta finish this. I quickened my pace....9...then 10. I looked up as Josh. He gestured at me to say the words. I looked down at the stone, fixed on Joe Johnson's name and then boldly stated “Whacha doin, Joe?”

It was just as I thought. There was no ghost voice. I looked up triumphantly at Josh. Now I would prove to him how foolish he was for believing in ghosts. As I looked at him, I could see that he was laughing hysterically. “There,” I said, “I proved it. What're you laughin' at?”

“Ha, Ha, Ha. What'd you hear?”

“Nuthin'”

“Right! Nuthin'! (dramatically) “Nuthin' at all!! See, the old folks was right! There is a crazy man in the cemetery!!"

Welcome 2013

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Mon, 15 Jul 2013 12:04:00 +0000

Welcome to Pulling My Strings, a blog of puppetry, storytelling, and other collected creations. Enjoy your stay!

--Alan Griffin

Against the World

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Wed, 23 Jan 2013 19:02:00 +0000

I discovered this poem in my briefcase. It was written sometime around 1996. It describes a - wrestler's struggle for victory. Now to all my kids - yes, this was written for Drew. Now please don't mutter like I would - "How come Dad never wrote a poem for me?" I have you all written on my heart. It just takes time to get it in verse. I hope that this poem has application for all young men.

Against the world, a man is born
To fight and win with armor worn
The victory cry is his desire
A destiny fulfilled with fire

And so while young a boy is taught

That one's success cannot be bought
Without the struggle and the strife
For blood, and sweat, and tears are life

His muscles stretch, they're firm and sore

Prepared to fight the righteous war
If he can train with strain and stress
He surely will achieve his quest

He must do more than others can

If he'll succeed and be a man
Commitment, dedication, soul
All effort to a single goal

Eliminate unfocused work

And all unchanneled effort shirk
Forsake the rest, abandon all
Unless he does, he risks a fall

And then the battle is arrayed

And now his skill will be displayed
With firmness now he grasps the foe
With ready balance for the throw

The match proceeds and training's pay

Confounds the foe and thwarts his way
The power's smooth, the movement strong
To prove the adversary wrong

So grip and throw and grasp and shove

This battle isn't won with love
Intense and rigid, tight and sure
With taut emotion he'll endure

It even helps to hate a mite

To foil the adversary's fight
For certain victory can't be won
Until an all-out effort's done

And then a small and slight mistake

Gives the foe his needed break
And now his clutch of awful woe
Is focused on a headlong throw

The hero reels, his vision blurs

The focused training's all astir
It was so quick and skillf'ly done
It's over fast, the foe has won

Another battle soon will come

A new opponent known not from
A given place, or clime, or state
Yet aiming for a similar fate

And how will now the good man plan?
Is this foe more than just a man?
Will sweat and effort win the day
Or can there be another way?

What is the price for victory here?

Can work alone dispel the fear?
Of failure and defeat and rout
How will the villain be ripped out?

A young man's face is rendered wet

The tears do come amidst his fret
How can this awful victory win
When all his work was free from sin?

The air is still, a quiet voice

Proffers now a different choice
“There is a way to vanquish strife
And win rewards enriching life

Each battle fought severely sore

Does not become the total war
Victory's guarantee is love
Sought from the Father up above”

How can it be, where is the way?

This can't be how to win the day
The hero has not yet been taught
To win without his effort fraught

The voice again begins to teach

“The triumph's well within your reach
But only as you make your plan
Conform to His, the Son of Man”

And now what is this wondrous plan

That makes a boy become a man?
Just how can heaven mold a lad
To win the prize he's never had?

“Rewards are many, but there's one

That's worth them all, when all is done
The Lord, your master, came to show
Eternal life should be your goal

All worldly strife He has endured

Life beyond death, He has ensured
The pain, and sweat, and blood of work
He made no effort e'er to shirk

And yet He showed a better path

To conquer opposition's wrath
Lift up your sight, look higher still
And focus on the Father's will

Just give yourself to Him above

And let Him show you how to love
It conquers fear, and strife, and woe
It conquers all that's here below

It takes a heart that's keen to hear

His whispers felt, not heard with ear
A soft approach, not harsh, provides
A better way to make life's strides

A gift to young men built for love

That fits him like a molded glove
The Lord gave man, because he could
A service gift, that's called Priesthood

It's given to protect and care

And make life good and shun despair
Within it man can find his role
And move directly to God's goal

When magnifying Priesthood right

Our yoke is easy, burdens light
And how the adversary runs
The Priesthood power's force he shuns

So now about the worldly war

It's time to let His victory soar
And when His will is done, there'll be
A win that's for eternity.

KPCW - One more time

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Tue, 11 Dec 2012 00:04:00 +0000

Goldilocks and the Three Bears - http://kpcw.org/2012/12/the-story-mine-dec-9th/

The Story Mine

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Tue, 04 Dec 2012 15:07:00 +0000

Check the "Story Mine" at KPCW radio to hear Billie's "Belly Button Monster" story at http://kpcw.org/2012/10/the-story-mine-the-ballad-of-dakota-pete/ Also, my song "I'm Gonna Do This By Myself" at http://kpcw.org/2012/12/the-story-mine-dec-2nd/ .The story mine broadcasts on Sunday morning at 8:30.

The Spider's Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Wed, 28 Nov 2012 14:15:00 +0000

Here's another Christmas story. It is an old German legend which I am retelling in my own version.

The Spider's Christmas

Sammy the spider was in a hurry. The word had gone out. It was moving day. The dust clouds were swirling up from the cabin floor, pushed by Grinnel's swishy-swashy motion as she swept and swept. It was the day before Christmas and it was time for her annual cleaning as she got the cabin ready for her Christmas tree. The cat and the dog were running about, and quickly dodged out the doorway when Grinnel opened it up to sweep out the dirt and debris. Sammy and the other spiders quickly climbed up the walls into the rafters and attic of the abode. From tiny cracks in the ceiling they peered down as Grinnel worked. She swept the corners, destroying all the intricate webwork of the spiders. New webs would have to be spun, but not until after Christmas.

In the barnyard outside the animals were in commotion.   They knew it was Christmas time too, and they trudged about in the snowy yard, braying and neying and mooing and quacking and oinking and baaing. They stamped the snow down as they walked back and forth, back and forth, waiting for Grinnel.

“Now you just be patient,” Grinnel called. “I don't even have the tree yet.” She didn't move as fast as she wanted. She just wasn't as spry as she used to be. Years of hard work had taken its toll.
The animals all moaned in reply.

The spiders all gathered to the widest cracks to get a better view. They didn't dare sneak out for fear of Grinnel's broom. Sammy expected that it would be another uncomfortable Christmas – all trapped in the attic until the festivities were over.

Grinnel finished her sweeping, then snagged her coat, hat and gloves from pegs on the wall. Then she sat on a chair next to the door and put on her boots, tying the laces tightly at the top. She swung her scarf around her neck and grabbed the axe leaning up on the door frame. She pulled the door open and stepped out into the yard . The spiders all scurried to the attic vent where they could peek out and get a better view as Grinnel pulled the door shut behind her.

The animals all called out “Hooray” in their very best animal languages. Grinnel was on her way to cut a Christmas tree. She found a small sled on the side of the house and dragged it across the snow behind her. The farm was right up next to Blue Mountain, and she didn't have to hike very far to find a perfect tree. Grinnel was old, but was still strong from years of maintaining the farm all by herself. A few well placed strokes brought a small tree down, and she lifted it up on the sled.

When the animals saw Grinnel approaching they all shouted several animal language “hoorays.”   She pulled the sled up to the front door, then lifted the tree off of the sled.   She shook the tree as best she could to get all the snow off. The tree was wider than the doorway to the cabin and she had to twist and turn and push and shove to get in in. Finally the tree sprung into the cabin, after dropping a few hundred needles on the newly swept floor. Grinnel had an old wash tub she had filled with rocks to place the tree in. She stuffed it in and piled the rocks about the trunk to support it. Then she closed the door, removed her coat and winter gear, and sat down to admire the tree.

The animals in the yard began to howl. Grinnel always allowed them in to see the decorated tree on Chrismas eve. They were having a hard time waiting as they anticipated the chance to come in and see the decorations. Sammy and the spiders in the attic all moved back to the tiny cracks in the ceiling to get a limited view of what was going on.

Grinnel sighed. To herself she said, “Not much for decorations this year. Times are hard, and there just isn't enough to get anything fancy. What I have is what'll have to do.” She tore some paper bags into strips, and then tied a few brown bows on some of the branches. There was an old rope in the barnyard that she pulled out of the snow, shook it off, and then draped in on the branches as a garland. She had six candles in holders that she attached to the tree limbs. A few clusters of orange berries she had gathered from the hillside provided a little bit of color. “I guess that will have to do.”

Grinnel went to her bed in the corner of her cabin and got down on her knees to look under the bed. She reached far under the springs and pulled out an old shoe box. She lifted off the lid and carefully unwrapped the newspaper surrounding some crude wooden figures of a nativity scene.   Last year's early winter had kept Grinnel housebound for a couple of weeks before Christmas, and she used the time to create these figures while she was cooped up inside. She had cut some branches into small 6 inch shafts to create the figures, carefully peeling off the bark on the end where she etched in faces. Cuttings with short branches provided arms for her figures. Animals were carved in resting positions from larger branches. The figures were not very realistic, but they conveyed a simple elegance and beauty. The Christ child in a manger was cut from a bark-free piece of whitish wood and was warm, even a bit radiant, to look upon. Grinnel quietly arranged the pieces under the tree, then sat down and rested while she gazed upon the scene.

The animals in the barnyard expressed their restlessness again, and Grinnel got up from her chair and went to the door.

“I'm coming, I'm coming. I know, you want to see too. Just be patient. I'm coming.”

She swung open the front door. The sun had come out and was glistening on the snow. Grinnel grabbed her coat, hat and gloves and walked out into the sunshine. “Ducks first, this year,” she announced. The ducks quacked loudly in agreement. She walked to their pen and undid the latch to the gate. The ducks waddled quickly to to cabin door, pecking at the loose pine needles on the floor as they went.   They went up to the tree and cocked their heads this way and that to see it all from different angles.   They bent their heads down to look at the nativity figures. Grinnel was afraid they would peck at them, but as they got closer to them, they kept a reverent distance, while examining them in detail. Then Grinnel ushered them out into the barnyard and closed them into their pen.
In a similar fashion, Grinnel carefully ushered each group of animals to come and observe the tree and the cresch she had created. Each animal had hurried right up to the cabin door, but then entered and observed with a quiet reverence. They seemed to know that there was something special about the tree and the nativity set. Sanctity descended upon them one by one as they entered the cabin. When they were all through they were no longer restless. A quiet peace prevailed in the barnyard.

The spiders had watched all this, but hadn't ventured out. They noticed the proximity of Grinnel's broom, and stayed warily out of sight and out of reach. How Sammy and the others yearned to creep out and get a better view. But the older spiders had warned them of impending doom. They knew that Grinnel hated spiders and did not want them in her home at all in the winter time. So they kept out of sight. There were probably 30 of them all hiding in the ceiling.

Grinnel yawned. The sun was going down now, and darkness descended. She lit the candles on the tree and sat at the table eating a few morsels of dinner, as she stared at her illuminated tree. Small shadows dashed across the nativity figures below the tree, almost animating them. She ate slowly, contemplating her Christmas display.

At length, her eyes became heavy and she quietly dressed for bed. She knelt beside the tree as she said her evening prayers, then she climbed into her bed, leaving the candles to burn through the night.
Sammy waited until he was sure Grinnel was asleep, then he carefully crept out on the wall below the ceiling.

“P-s-s-s-t! Where are you going?” loudly whispered Sammy's father.

“I'm going to see the tree. Right up close,” Sammy responded.

“But, you can't do that. What if Grinnel wakes up? What if you get trapped down there and can't get back up? What if....What if....?”

Sammy couldn't hear him any more, he was far down the wall. He spotted a branch of the tree brushing up against the wall and headed right for it.   The other spiders watched, and then a few of the young ones crept out too. Then pretty soon all the spiders crawled down onto the tree. Then a real party began.

Spiders crawled all over the tree, going up and down the branches, jumping from one level to another, and everywhere they went they spun fine grey webs behind them. It didn't take long until the whole tree was covered with webs, with intricate designs as well as random patterns.
Then suddenly, there was a sound on the roof. A soft “clunk” followed by soft poundings in the snow. The spiders were attentive, and scurried back up into the attic, fearing discovery. Soot shook down the chimney, and then a large man in a red suit bent down and ducked under the chimney opening. He dropped the bag he was carrying in surprise as he looked at the tree.

“My, my, someone has been busy here. This beautiful little tree is covered with cobwebs! Hmmmm...what shall we do?   What shall we do with this tree? I have nothing in my bag to take care of this. All I have in my suit is this little bag of fairy dust that the elves gave me to help lighten the weight of the sleigh for the reindeer. I wonder what would happen if....”

Santa took the bag of fairy dust and sprinkled it lightly on the web covered tree. The dust magically turned the spider webs into strands of silver! He sprinkled it all over, until every spider web had turned into glistening silver!

“Ha, Ha,” he laughed. “This be a fitting gift for Grinnel.” And with that he put the remaining dust in his pocket and picked up his bag and rose up the chimney.

As the sun's rays began to stream through the windows in the early morning on Christmas day, the silvery mesh about the tree reflected dazzling light throughout the cabin. Grinnel was awakened by the radiance of the light in the room. She stretched in her bed then sat up and turned to see the tree. Her jaw fell open as she gazed on the magnificence of the scene. She got up and walked over to the tree. Looking down she saw the nativity scene, surrounded with woven strands of silver. The reflection of the light from strands created a halo like glow about the figures. Grinnel knelt in reverence before the cresch.

The spiders in the ceiling celebrated. Never had their handiwork been more appreciated. The barnyard animals noticed reflected light streaming out the windows of the cabin, and came to peer in. A quiet awe encircled Grinnel's home that day, and she basked in the warmth of the attendant spirit that seemed to have as its center the tiny nativity scene.

People all about heard about the Grinnel's miracle, and from that day to this, have decorated their Christmas tree with strands of tinsel and spider ornaments, signifying the celebration of the spiders and the glorious transformation of the webs into strands of silver. And that is how it came to be that people everywhere place tinsel on their Christmas trees.

Wiley and the Hairy Man

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Fri, 09 Nov 2012 04:33:00 +0000

Yeah, I know - I'm all over the place. A long time ago I recorded a folktale of "Wiley and the Hairy Man" - Peter's favorite story when he was younger. It's a little long so I couldn't find a good way to post the audio file. I recently found a way to play the file from Dropbox. So I invite you to give it a listen. Sit next to the little ones though - I've been told it's a little intense. Wiley and the Hairy Man

Gingerbread Cookies

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Tue, 23 Oct 2012 21:57:00 +0000

Kneader's Bakery is producing a new line of cookies - gingerbread men. They are having a promotion on December 3rd from 7:00 to 8:00 p.m. at Utah locations where they will be giving out free cookies. They have hired members of the Utah Storytelling Guild to tell the story of the Gingerbread Man at this event. I was fortunate enough to be selected to tell at the new Ogden location. I can tell other stories too, so (blame it on Frontrunner) I penned a little ditty that maybe I'll put to music to use, along with the Gingerbread Man story on http://smalltales1.blogspot.com . Here it is:

Gingerbread Cookies

There's a ruckus in the kitchen, somethin's smellin' real good

You can sniff it through the window in the neighborhood
It's enough to stop the action of your play goin' on
So it's time to go and find 'em 'cause they'll soon be gone, they're

CHORUS:

Gingerbread, gingerbread, gingerbread cookies

Momma's gone and baked us some gingerbread cookies
Comin' from the oven hot and steamy looky looky
Can't get enough o' them gingerbread cookies
Momma's little baby loves gingerbread, gingerbread
Momma's little baby loves gingerbread men

Eat 'em when they're warm and soft, it's quite a treat

Then dip 'em in a glass of milk, they can't be beat
You can eat 'em in the morning, you can eat 'em in the night
You can eat 'em in the dark, you can eat 'em in the light

You can eat 'em in the bathtub, you can eat 'em in your bed
You can eat 'em when you're hungry, but don't eat 'em when you're dead
You can eat 'em with a fork, you can eat 'em with a knife
If you eat 'em when you need 'em, they might save your life

(CHORUS)

You can eat 'em when you're happy, you can eat 'em when your sad

You can eat 'em with your mom, you can eat 'em with your dad
You can eat 'em when you're workin' you can eat 'em when you play
You can eat 'em when the sun's up, you can eat 'em every day

You can eat 'em in the bakery you can eat 'em in the store

You can take 'em home and eat 'em then you'll eat a lot more
You can eat 'em when you're quiet, you can eat 'em when your loud
Now this eat 'em song is over so you should be proud of

(CHORUS)

The Littlest Christmas Bell

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Sun, 21 Oct 2012 03:47:00 +0000

I heard the following story 40 years ago when I was a member of a singing group at Utah State University known as "The Sounds of Zion." At that time the story ended with Santa saying, "I'm afraid you're right, it's just too little." I thought the story was way funny, and have since tried to tell it to several other people. Every time I tell it and give the punch line, they just look at me like I'm weird or something. I wanted to learn a Christmas story, but I guess the disappointing ending doesn't work for me real well. So, I have added on to the ending so that I can use this story with my storytelling. I hope you like it.

The Littlest Christmas Bell

In a small village near the Austrian Alps was a tiny little bell-maker's shop. It was just a few days before Christmas and a light snow was falling on an already snow-packed ground. Villagers were scurrying about the shops in town, trying to complete their Christmas shopping.

The little old bell maker was busy in his shop, carefully arranging the bells he had to entice his customers. People liked bells at Christmas-time, and his business had been brisk and profitable. He had sold everything from large church bells, to small hand-rung bells. There was, in town, a resident bell choir that always performed during the Christmas season. Jingle bells had been particularly popular this year among the townspeople, and he had just one tiny jingle bell left, displayed on a top shelf near the back of his shop. The bell had been there a long time, and the dust on the shelf testified of its lengthy stay. Still, the little bell rested patiently, awaiting the time when it surely would be sold.

The days passed, and customers passed in and out, emptying the shop of its inventory. Still, the jingle bell waited patiently, wondering just who would purchase him and how he would be used. Then finally, it was the day before Christmas, and the traffic inside the shop dropped off dramatically, as the people in the village completed their holiday shopping and retired to their home for final preparations. The old bell maker strolled about the shop, peering out the window just before dusk. Darkness descended as the evening came on, and the lights in the bell-maker's shop beamed through the windows highlighting the folds in the snow. An old clock on the wall slowly ticked into the night. Six o' clock came, and the man began to pull down the shades of his shop, and lock the door. He quietly turned out the lights in the shop one by one, then turned toward the door while retrieving his keys from his pocket.

The tiny little Christmas bell sat in dismay. Christmas was nearly here, and he was still on the shelf. He had been looked at many times by patrons of the shop, but the comments were always “too little “, “just too little.” Maybe it was true. He was just too little. Nobody wanted a tiny little jingle bell.

The shopkeeper finished locking the front door while a big tear formed on the jingle bell's cheek, then slid down into the dust, making a tiny mud puddle there on the shelf. The shopkeeper walked to the back of his shop, turned out the lights, then exited through the doorway to his living quarters in the rear of the building. The shop was dark. The tiny little bell cried softly on the shelf. “Dingle, dingle, dingle.” How he wanted to be taken home by someone to celebrate Christmas.

The snow outside began to come down harder, in large flakes that piled up quickly all over the village. Lights in the cottages and homes turned out one by one as the night deepened. A quiet stillness settled in as the villagers retired to their beds for the night. The littlest Christmas bell was still sobbing quietly when a distant sound caught his attention. There was something jostling in the air above the village, growing louder and louder as it approached the bell shop. The sound was of - - bells, jingle bells ringing clear but unevenly as the sound became closer and closer. Then suddenly, there was a big clunk that shook the ceiling of the shop, and then several pounding noises. Something was stomping around on the roof! There was more than one, there had to be lots of them. The bell was struck with wonder about the noise and commotion on the top of the building.

Then an amazing thing happened. Just across the shop from the shelf where the bell rested was a large stone fireplace. Suddenly, chunks of soot crashed down to the floor of the fireplace, creating a small puff of smoke inside the room. Then, with a loud thump, two large black boots appeared, with red-clad legs poking out the top. A large, white-bearded man bent down and squeezed through the opening in the fireplace. Lights flickered on in the shop, as the old shopkeeper entered from the hallway at the end of the room, awakened by the noise from the chimney. He squinted hard to see, then said, “Santa? Is that you, Santa?”

“Ho-ho-ho Merry Chistmas, M-e-r-r-y Christmas!”

“Why Santa, how kind of you to stop in my humble shop. But you musn't spend much time here. There are no children here.”

“Ho-ho, I know, I know. But I need your help, good bell-maker. It's a very stormy night outside, with lots of snow. My reindeer are having a hard time navigating. The rhythm of the bells on the sleigh harness is a great help to them on such a night as this. But you see, we have lost one jingle bell off the harness along our way, and the missing jingle and jangle of that one bell have thrown my reindeer out of rhythm, making it difficult for them to pull together along our way. We are hoping you have just one more jingle bell to attach to the harness. Tell me, good bell-maker, do you happen to have such a bell?”

“Oh Santa,” the bell-maker replied, “'Tis the night before Christmas and sales have been brisk. It has been a good year for selling bells. I'm afraid my stock is depleted. See all the empty shelves?”

Santa looked back with a look of disappointment. “Then you don't have just one jingle bell that can fill that empty spot in my riggings?”

“I'm afraid not, San – but wait, there is just one tiny little jingle bell on my top shelf near the back. It's a good bell, but I'm afraid it may be too little – just too little.”

Santa's expression changed to one of hope. “Oh, do get it for me, good bell-maker. Please, let me see it.”

The bell-maker retrieved a ladder leaning against the wall and carried it over to the shelf. Carefully, he climbed up to where he could reach back and grasp the littlest jingle bell. He held the tiny bell between his right thumb and fore-finger, and climbed back down the ladder. He held up the bell and looked through his spectacles as he moved over toward the light.

“It's a bit dirty,” he said, then blew on the bell and rubbed it against his night shirt to polish it up.

“Oh, put it in my hand,” said Santa. “Let me get a good look at this precious little bell.”

The bell-maker placed the bell in the center of Santa's enormous palm. The jingle bell was dwarfed by the huge folds of skin around the center of Santa's palm. He held it up close to his eyes and examined it closely, turning it from one side to the next. Then he shook the bell gently to hear it ring.

“Dingle Dingle”

“Ho-ho-ho. It's really cute. But....but...but... I'm afraid you're right, it's too little! Just too little!

(pause)

“But I'll try it anyway. Santa took the bell and turned excitedly toward his sleigh. He quickly walked over to the sled and up to the lead reindeer. He reached down to where the jingle bells were on the reins. He had to get down on his hands and knees to reach way underneath the lead deer to where there was a place on the strap where a jingle bell was missing. As he stretched out his hand with the bell balancing on the end of his fingers, the bell rolled off of his glove and plunged into a huge snowbank. “Rats!” Santa said, “we don't have time to look for it, we're just going to have to go without it. It was too little. Just too little”

Just then, Rudolf kicked in the snow and there was an unmistakeable jingle sound. Santa looked down and saw a gleam of light reflecting and reached down and pulled out the jingle bell. He wiped the snow off and then took off his glove and tightly gripped the jingle bell as he reached toward the fastener on the rein where the lost jingle bell had been. He twisted the bell to the right, then to the left, then pushed hard to get it attached. As he did so, he heard a “snap” and felt the tiny bell crush in his fingers. It was attached, but smashed. “Shucks”, said Santa. “That bell was too little. Just too little.”

Santa got up and brushed the snow from his bright red coat. “Man,” he said, “I really thought that bell was going to work. This is really disappointing. But I guess that's just life.” He walked back around the reindeer to his sled. He climbed up in his sleigh, sat down and grabbed hold of the reins. He looked ahead at the reindeer, then shouted out, “On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen, on Comet, on Cupid, on Donder and Blitzen. And you too, Rudolf.” He shook the reins hard. There was a curious ring from the sleigh bells. There was a distinctive “Ding ding-le” after the jingle of all the bells. It was coming from the littlest Christmas bell! The reindeer were startled by this out-of-place sound and leaped in the air, giving the sleigh a mighty jerk. The sled sprung into the air as Santa shouted out “Up, up, and away.” They dashed into the night, with sleigh bells jingling, and every once in a while, if you listened real close, you could hear a distinctive noise, just a little different than all the others, that rang out “Ding Ding-le, Ding, Ding, ding-le.” It was as if the littlest Christmas Bell was calling out “Too-Little, just too little.” It was just different and odd enough to keep the reindeer alert as they traveled through the night.

And so Santa made his rounds that night with the sound of a bell that made a sound different than all the rest, and who by all accounts was “too-little,” “just-too-little.” And yet, that made a sound that could be heard by anyone who would really listen close, and provided a guide to the reindeer, and those who had the intent to give.

In another place, at another time, the little cry of a tiny infant evidenced the birth of one who was to be a guide through the darkness and perils of life. Born in a stable that was “too-little” in terms of comforts, and to parents who had “too-little” in terms of earthly wealth, his voice would soon sound a different way of life. The message he brought was one of comfort, peace, safety and joy to all “who would listen.” At this season may we hear the gospel tones of the Lord Jesus Christ as we celebrate his birth and life which gives hope to all, even to those who feel that they are just “too little.” May you all cherish His gifts of Life and Joy as you provide love and service to others. And don't forget – Ding-dingle, Ding-ding-dingle.”

Gonna Do This By Myself

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Mon, 24 Sep 2012 12:30:00 +0000

Here's the latest caused by too much time on the train. If you want to hear it, click on the link under MP3 Files.

Gonna Do This By Myself

     D                                            A7
An ant went a crawling from the hill one day
             A7                                          D
And he came upon a boulder that was in his way
      D                                                    G
He couldn't budge or push it, twas a monstrous task
                A7                                       D
And the only way to move it was for help to ask

A7 D

But instead of getting others who could do the work
              E7                                                D
He just talked about his neighbors living in the earth
            G
He had lots of friends and brothers who were black and red
            A7                                               D
But he wouldn't go and get them, this is what he said

CHORUS:

D                       G             A7
And they don't think like me
       A7                     D
I'll keep my individuality
                    G          A7
And I don't need no help
                 A7                  D
I'm gonna do this by myself

D A7

A tiny little minnow in a school of fish
      A7                                                D
He loved to swim just anywhere that he did wish
      D                                 G
He didn't like associating in a school
                A7                                        D
Thinking that to be alone was how he could be cool

A7 D

So he swam far from the others he was by himself
             E7                                          D
He was far enough away he couldn't yell for help
                D                                               G
So when danger was approaching he was all alone
             A7                                                    D
All the while he was complaining 'bout the fish back home

CHORUS:

D A7

A goose took to flying when the weather got cold
           A7                                          D
But he didn't like the flock or other geese I'm told
           D                                        G
So he started out a flyin' way out on his own
              A7                                        D
And he didn't even care where other geese had flown

A7 D

Then the weather got all stormy and the wind did blow
             E7                                                   D
And he didn't know which way it was that he should go
           G
But he still was so determined that he'd find the way
           A7                                            D
If you asked about the others, this is what he'd say

CHORUS:

D A7

Well the ant and the goose and the minnow did yearn
            A7                                            D
To do everything alone, each had his way to learn
                D                                               G
And they wouldn't take advice about the way to live
                 A7                                                           D
Cause the world was made for them, there was no need to give

A7 D

So their lives were very hard, and they did get no help
                     E7                                      D
'Cause they couldn't trust another, only they themselves
         D                                                G
They wouldn't go with others in their work or play
         A7                                                   D
And if you asked them why this is what they would say

CHORUS:

A7 D

Then the ant fell in the water where the fish did play
                E7               D
And was eaten by the minnow with no word to say
                D                                                    G
Then the minnow too was swallowed as the goose did swim
               A7                                                   D
Before a hunter shot the bird who looked so good to him

CHORUS:

D G A7

See they don't think like we
A7                                 D
They kept their individuality
                    G           A7
They didn't need no help
                          A7            D
They went and died all by themselves

The Thwacker

noreply@blogger.com (agriffin - ECR 143) — Fri, 11 May 2012 17:24:00 +0000

During my nephew Eric's missionary farewell, he told a very funny story of an incident with a box of rubber bands. I thought it needed to be recorded as a story, and that it might be good material for a story telling festival. I have written it the way I recollect it, with plenty of artistic license in the dialog, etc. I'm sure some of the details are incorrect. Anyway, perhaps artistic license will cover me. Here it is.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Color was irrelevant. Red, green, brown blue – it really made no difference. Eric reached inside the small cardboard box and pulled out a handful of elastics. He slipped each one inside another, creating a chain that grew quickly in length. His paper route days were now over. The elastics were no longer essential to his occupation. So what else was there to do on a lazy Saturday afternoon? One after another he strung the rubber loops together. The chain must have been ten feet long now.

“Yo, Eric, Whassup?” Braden was suddenly there observing Eric's handiwork. Eric's blond, buzzed head looked up.

“Not much, man. Just tryin' to keep from bein' bored out of my mind. Wassup with you?”

“'Bout the same. Whatcha' gonna do with the rubber rope?”

“Dunno. Just wastin' my time. Wonder how far this will stretch.”

“You gonna hook all those eleastics on?”

“Sure, why not? I betcha I can stretch it all the way to the street.”

“Yer crazy, man. Yer mom know whacher doin?”

“She doesn't care. Man, I'm just playin' with elastics. Besides, she's not even here. She's out shopping.”

“So each one stretches, say, 10 inches, and it's 50 yards to the road. You gotta have a zillion elastics.”

“I got this whole box. Don't know how many's in here. I'm just gonna see how long this gets.”

“So which ones stretch the longest – red, green, brown, or blue?”

“Who cares? Whatcha' wanna make some kind of science project outta this or somethin'? I'm just gonna stretch these babies out. Who knows, maybe we can use this to launch water balloons or somethin'.”

“Now you're talkin'. Here, lemme help.” Braden grabbed a handful and began looping them together. He was thin, with dark hair and deep brown eyes. “So how come you quit your paper route?”

“I dunno, it was just getting boring. You know, it's the same thing every stupid day. Ya gotta get up early in the morning, drag the bundles in from the curb, put the stuffers in, fold 'em in thirds, snap the elastic on and pack 'em in yer bicycle bags. Then hope it don't rain or nothin' while ya peddle through the neighborhood, cuttin' across everybody's lawn to get close enough to chuck 'em on the front porches.

“Ah, but come on, yer makin' big bucks fer a 12 year old.”

“Yeah right, IF you can get people to pay you. Collectin' is such a drag. And you end up payin' fer lost papers and stuff. Man, fer the amount of work it is, I ain't sure it's worth all so much.”

“There, here's another 5 feet to hook on.”

“Okay, thanks. Look how long it is now.” Eric stood up and hooked one end of the rubber chain to the front storm door handle, then backed up about 30 feet. Braden took a few steps to the middle and pulled back the elastic links and let go. The chain responded with a vibrating T-w-w-a-a-a-n-n-g-g!

“Awesome,” Eric chanted. “Come on, we still got rubber bands left.”

The boys continued working for another half an hour, until the chain was almost 100 feet long.

“Whoa, look at this baby now,” Eric said as he hooked an end of the rubber chain to the handle on the storm door. He backed up quickly from the door, slowing down a little at a time as the chain became longer and longer, and the bands began to stretch.

“Whoooo-eeee, look at that thing,” Braden shouted. “Wonder what kind of release power it has.”

“Just watch,” Eric offered. He took another 5 steps back, stretching the linked elastics to their limit. He held up the arm he was pulling with, and, with a ceremonial flourish, let go of the band. A multicolored blur lined through the air and loudly SWACKED into the aluminum bottom panel of the storm door. The sound boomed into the air like that of the firing of a black powder muzzle-loader. A cat who was prowling nearby jerked and scampered into a nearby hedge. Eric and Braden burst into peels of laughter and delight. They broke into a run toward the storm door. The rubber chain was crumpled and slightly tangled, but was otherwise none the worse for wear.

Eric's younger brother, Tyler, came running up to the door from inside the house. “What the heck was that?” he yelled.

“That, little bro,” replied Eric, is the sound of the end of my newspaper business. I am a free man. I can sleep in and stay in my warm bed in the morning. I don't have to go collecting any more, and I don't have to be polite to any cranky customers either.”

“You forgot something,” said Braden.

“What's that,” Eric shot back.

“You also don't have money anymore. You just joined the ranks of the poor,” Braden replied.

“What're you guys talkin' about?” asked Tyler. He opened the storm door and stepped outside. “And what's with all the rubber bands?”

“Just watch and learn,” Eric said. He began to stretch out the elastic chain again. He carefully backed up from the door one step at a time. “Two more steps this time, Braden.” He grinned, and slowly and methodically backed up. “Everybody ready?”

“Just a sec, man” shouted Tyler, and he hurried out of range of the thwacker.

“Let 'er rip,” squealed Braden.

Eric ceremoniously lifted the flexing chain above his head and let it go.

The chain collapsed into a speeding mass and slammed into the door. THHHHHHWWWWAAAAAACCCCCKKKKKKK!

All three boys burst into peals of laughter. The sound this time was loud enough to be heard a block or two away, but amazingly enough, there was no one visible or paying attention. The fact that Eric and Tyler's house was a forty year old structure in the middle of the block and was pretty well surrounded by trees and vegetation was a great cover. Besides it was three in the afternoon. Who is out and around on a hot summer day at three in the afternoon? The graveled driveway to the house stretched 150 feet to the street. Eric had been backing up the driveway to operate the thwacker.

“Do it again, do it again,” yelled Tyler, his face bursting with excitement.

“One more time,” urged Braden. “Only this time, let me launch it.”

“All right,” Eric responded.

The boys sped to the door, gathered up the thwacker, and untangled it for another shot. The end was still hooked to the storm door. Braden, just slightly nervous, began to back up the driveway, stretching the elastics as he went. When he got 70 feet from the house, Eric raised his voice.

“Wait a sec,” he said, “I wanna strum it once like you did.”

Braden stopped and stood still. Eric scanned the extended band to find the middle, then strode up and grabbed the elastics. He took three steps back and let go.

BOOIIIINNNGGG! The vibrations of the band made a rubbery, flapping sound. The boys laughed again. Braden continued stepping backward, this time with renewed confidence.

“Watch this,” he said. “This is going to be the loudest thwack you've ever heard. He stepped to where Eric had last let go, then carefully and dramatically stepped back a few more steps.

“Five, four, three, two, one.”

Tyler and Eric were riveted. The band was taut and straight.

“Ready,” Braden shouted. “Set.” He paused for dramatic effect. But before he could say “Go”, there was a pronounced “snap” as the elastic broke where it grasped the strom door handle.

There was no time for anything but to watch what then happened. The band hurtled toward Braden. He couldn't even dodge out of the way. The rubbery chain bulleted right for him and nailed him hard in the forehead. “SLAP.” He grabbed his head and dropped on his knees. “Owwwwwwwwwww.”

Eric and Tyler rushed to him, shouting unintelligible moans and groans.

It took a couple of minutes before Braden could respond. His hands covered his eyes and forehead. Finally, Eric and Tyler convinced him to pull his hands away so that they could survey the damage. The skin on his forehead was not broken, but there was a 2 inch long red mark, shaped like a square root symbol. The impact had burned the image in. Braden's eyes were glistened as he tried to hold the water in. All he could say was, “u-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.”

“You ok, bro?” Eric pleaded. “You ok?”

“U-h-h-h-h-h-h,” moaned Braden.

“Braden, are you all right?” questioned Tylker.

“U-h-h-h-h-h-h,” moaned Braden.

“Tyler, run and get a washcloth and soak it with cold, cold water!” Eric commanded.

Tyler jumped up and bounded into the house.

Braden swallowed hard then squinting, looked over at Eric. “Guess I'm scarred for life, eh, Bro?”

Eric stared back. “Don't think so, “ he said, “but right now Harry Potter got nuthin' on you. That old thwacker really let loose on you.”

“Ain't gonna do it again,” Braden moaned.

“Me, neither, bro. We're done with the thwacker. Paper route AND elastics be hanged!” Eric replied.

“What we gonna tell my Mom?” Braden asked. “What's it look like?”

“You got a big ol' square root symbol right smack in the middle of your forehead. Like I say, kinda looks like Harry Potter. I wonder if he had a paper route,” said Eric.

Tyler came back with a saturated wash cloth. He handed it over to Eric. Eric took it and said, “Man, this is cold. Ya got frickin' ice cubes in here.”

“Well, yeah,” Tyler said. “I figgered he needed to cool down fast. Besides, they always give bags of ice to athletes.”

“Athletes?” replied Eric. “Shoot, Braden, ya get swacked in the head and now you're a great big athlete.”

“Just give me the washcloth,” Eric moaned. He grabbed the washcloth with the ice out of Eric's hands.

It took a couple of weeks for the red mark on Braden's forehead to disappear. Everyone wanted to know how it all happened. Braden couldn't bring himself to tell everyone what really happened. So he concocted a story about falling down on a tree branch lying on the ground at Eric's place. Tyler and Eric were, of course, in on it and didn't betray the secret. But they did consider sending an email to the local newspaper with a warning that elastic bands could be classified as hazardous material.