Random Hunks of Toast

A True Story Retold

It started innocently enough - toast for breakfast. Rachel smiled a lot, as young children do, especially when they do not have to go to school yet, and can spend the day with Grandma. Rachel loved toast for breakfast, and we suspect she still does, as much as Grandpa loved smearing lots of butter on her toast. She did not eat the crust though, but nibbled to the edge of the crust so all that would remain of each of the squares of toast would be an almost perfect ninety degree angle outline.

Grandpa made her two pieces of toast smeared with gobs of butter; these she quickly ate. "Are you still hungry, Rachel?"

"Yes, Grandpa." she replied.

"Would you like more toast?"

"Yes, Grandpa."

So, Grandpa made two more pieces of toast, and these were devoured in the same fashion. Rachel had eaten four pieces of toast. "Hmmm" mused Grandpa, "how many pieces of toast can she eat? Are you still hungry, Rachel?"

"Yes, Grandpa."

"Would you like more toast?"

"Yes, Grandpa."

Grandpa loved his grandchildren and would do anything for them, so two more slices of bread went into the toaster, and a fresh stick of butter onto the butter dish. Rachel ate these as well - six pieces of toast, not a world record, but pretty good for someone as young as she. 

It is difficult to say what possessed Grandpa that morning, or nearly any morning for that matter. Six pieces of toast should have been enough. "Rachel, would you want more toast?"

"Yes, Grandpa."

Two more slices of bread went into the toaster; two more pieces of toast with butter cut into squares on the plate. 

Rachel had just finished the number seven piece of toast when Grandma walked into the kitchen. There are those moments when time seems to slow down to an impossibly slow rate, and even slices of toast may suspend in the air. Grandma looked at the pile of toast crusts on Rachel's plate. (Grandpa thought 'note to self - next time get rid of the evidence'), and then looked at Grandpa. "Just what do you think you are doing? How much toast has she had?"

Grandpa smiled, and tried to cover his tracks. "Only seven, she was still hungry ..."

"Seven?! She has had enough!."

"But ..." and in this situation there weren't enough 'buts' in Cleveland to cover this, "she didn't eat the crust, and I wanted to see how much toast she could eat." The truth came out.

Rachel got up from the table and found her bouncy ball, and bounced from one end of the house to the other, her long hair flowing behind her. She stopped next to Grandma, looked up and said "Grandma, when's lunch?"

Grandpa looked at Grandma and smiled.

How the 'Burglar' got his name!

The little ginger fur ball ran across the floor and jumped up on the table. He sniffed cautiously at the butter dish. "Hey you! Hamlet! Get down!" his human shouted. He jumped from the table to the chair and then to the floor, and scurried to the living room. 

A dust bunny jumped into his path from beneath the sofa. He stopped dead in his tracks and crouched down as low as he could go. His tiny tail flicked back and forth, stopped, and then flicked back and forth. He pounced and caught the dust bunny in his paws. A branch tapped against the side of the house. He jumped up and ran to the bedroom and slid under the bed. The fringe on the bedspread dingled in the breeze and caught his eye. He batted one, then two, then three pieces of fringe. His nail  became caught in the forth, and meowing loudly he propelled himself from under the bed into the closet door.

"Hamlet? Hamlet?" his human called. "Where are you boy?" The little ginger furball sat very still. He had learned it was often not a good thing when his human called. Why, it could mean horrible tasting liquidy food or even tubs of water and soap! "Hammy, where are you!" Ah, the tone of exasperation - Hamlet purred.

The human returned to the kitchen and continued preparing dinner. "Purrrr - what is that smell?" Hamlet peeked his head around the corner of the closet door and then slunk across the floor to the bedroom door. The delicious smell wafted into the bedroom and his every sense came alert as if someone had turned on his switch. Hunter mode on - and Hamlet moved stealthily past the bedroom door, across the kitchen floor, and then under the kitchen table chair. "Chicken!" Hamlet recognized that enticing, bewitching smell. "Chicken!" His stomach rumbled, but there was no time for purring. This maneuver required stealth. 

His human was busy at the stove, doing human stuff. "Where is the chicken?" His human moved to the sink. "Not yet. Patience." Hamlet's tail switched. "His human moved to the pantry door. "Not yet. Not yet." His tail stopped. His human went into the pantry. "Now!"

As quick as a flash the ginger fur ball sprung onto the chair then onto the table and grabbing a piece of chicken he jumped from the table to the chair to the floor and ran into the bedroom. "Mine! It is mine!" he growled to no one in particular. "Stay away! It is mine!" and placing his paws on the prize, he savored his first bite.

Poor Hamlet! As yet to learn that his human could be stealthy too! "Hamlet!" the ginger fur ball sprang into the air and dove for cover, the chicken prize left behind. "Hamlet! Why you little burglar!"

Well, as disappointing as it was, Hamlet had at least savored one bite of the prize chicken. His human and the other one usually filled his all too often empty dish after dinner. Hamlet waited.

"Hamlet, Hamlet, hey you little Burglar! Where are you?" What was that smell? Hmmm... his stomach growled and he crawled out from under the living room recliner and ran to the kitchen. "Chicken! There was chicken in the dish! Mine!" he growled to no one in particular. "Mine!" 

The other one spoke softly. "Burglar isn't a bad name for the little guy, is it?"

(Dedicated to the real 'Burgs' who shared Tom's family life for a little while. May he rest in peace!)

Going Home

Our friends Mike and Mary were traveling home and were detoured at the Houston airport. They waited in the lounge with a woman of Oriental appearance who had been on their connecting flight. When their flight was canceled, they approached the ticket agent, and this woman followed the crowd, assuming they were boarding. It was obvious she did not speak English when she addressed the ticket agent. Mike and Mary left for their connecting flight with the woman attempting to communicate with the agent. Here's a short story of what might have been. 

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The ticket agent looked at her and said "May I help you?" She shrugged her shoulders and turned around.

She stood looking at the flight board, checked her ticket, and then looked at the flight board. The airport public address system buzzed in her ears like the sound of a busy flock of blue jays. She looked at the flight board once more, and then looked at her ticket, again. The lounge chairs were not that comfortable, but better than standing. Her uncle has schooled her in the English numbers, and her flight number was still on the board. The words next to the flight kept changing, but they all looked like 'baseball' to her, and she did not know what they meant. She sat down and slumped in her seat.

The PA system squealed again - 'Blah yech blah blah yech tup baseball' sounded in her ears. She started to cry. She would miss her flight home and be late for the funeral. The little boy sitting next to her noticed the tears and soft sobs, and then tugged on her sleeve.

"Hey Lady, what's wrong?" he said. She cocked her head. "No English."

"You can't speak English?" She shrugged her shoulders as if to say 'Yes'.

He held up his smartphone and started the translate application, and showed it to the woman. "Tell me what is wrong." he said again.

She spoke and the phone translated. "Going na home. Funeral ba tomorrow ga. Plane which time on?"

He spoke into the phone. "You are going home for a funeral." She nodded. "And you don't want to miss your flight?" She nodded again. "Do you have a smart phone?" Once more a nod. "Put this app on it. Then you can talk to the agent." 

The lady took out her iPhone. All the characters looked like 'eggnog' to the young boy. She found and installed the app, and then spoke into the phone. "Thank you. Now I ga na home go." He smiled.

"Jimmy! What are you doing? Are you bothering this lady? I can't leave you alone for 5 minutes and you're messing about again. I don’t know …."

"But Mom!" She grabbed his ear.

"You are coming with me right now!"

"He help me." The lady's phone spoke.

"I'm so sorry he bothered you."

"No bother. He helps me go home ga nod yeb talk plane."

Mom let go of his ear. "Really?"

The lady shook her head and smiled. She smiled at the boy and waved good-bye.

The ticket agent looked at her and said "May I help you?"