A Not So Empty Nest

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm.   Every Sunday choir member Del Winslow and his wife Karen who teaches the “Guppies” pre-school Sunday school class are among the first people to arrive.  Del is a stickler about punctuality.  Which is why choir director Shane Reed was surprised when Del bustled in five minutes late to the pre-service choir warm-ups, flushed and sweating.

After the choir had run through their vocal exercises and practiced the day’s hymns, they relaxed in the choir room waiting for service to start.  Shane noticed Del looked a little stressed and asked if everything was all right.

“Carrie and Carlos are staying with us,” Del told him.  “Carrie was never the easiest person to get out of bed and with four people trying to use two bathrooms, well, we’ve been running late all morning.”  

Carrie was Del’s thirty-one year-old daughter and Carlos Lopez was her new husband.  They lived in Cincinnati but Shane had met them when they were married at the little church six weeks earlier. 

“Still, it must be nice to have them for a visit,” Shane said.  “And so soon after the last one.”

“I love when Carrie visits.  Unfortunately this isn’t just a visit,” Del explained.  “Carrie and Carlos worked for the same company.  It went bankrupt while they were on their honeymoon.  They’d spent all their savings on the wedding and honeymoon so they came back to no jobs and no money.  They’re staying with us until they get back on their feet.”

As Del was talking to Shane, Karen was relating the same story to church secretary Tammy Billings in the Sunday school room.

“That must be inconvenient,” Tammy said.

“Not at all!” Karen replied.  “The house is so full of life.  It’s wonderful.”

Back in the choir room Del told Shane, “My workshop and den are filled with boxes of their junk.  I have nowhere to go for a little peace and quiet.  It’s getting kind of tiresome.”

While down in the classroom Karen told Tammy, “since Del won’t let them pay rent they’ve been helping out around the house.  They painted the garage door which I’ve been trying to get Del to do for a year.”

And Del was telling Shane, “Now my garage door is purple!  I’m going to have to repaint it as soon as they’re gone.  And Karen won’t even let me charge them rent because ‘they’re family.’”

 “Carlos even made dinner last night!” Karen enthused.  “He’s a wonderful cook.”

“I still have heartburn,” Del said.

While all this was going on Carrie and Carlos were waiting in the sanctuary.  Carrie had dozed off.  She didn’t like getting up early on the weekends. 

Pastor Michelle Tellum, the new young associate pastor who had married them, came over to say hello.  After hearing the explanation of how they had ended up back in Normal, Michelle said, “It must be tough living with your parents again.”

“My Dad’s not so bad,” Carrie replied with a yawn.  “He leaves us alone most of the time.  But my Mom keeps popping into our room unannounced and always wants to know where we’re going and stuff.  It’s like she doesn’t recognize that I’m an adult now!”

An hour and a half later Del, Karen, Carrie and Carlos reunited in the social hall for coffee hour.  They munched on cookies with Shane and Tammy. 

“So, I understand you’ll be with us for a while,” Shane said to the younger couple.

“Just until they can find new jobs,” Del interjected.  “And they’re both quite talented so I have faith that if they make the effort they’ll be employed again in no time.”

“What kind of work are you looking for,” Tammy asked.

“Actually,” Carlos said, “I was thinking I might take the opportunity to go back to school and get my MBA.”

“What,” Del exclaimed.  This was the first he had heard of that plan.

“They have a program at the college here in Normal,” Carrie said.  “And I’m sure they’ll take me back at the restaurant where I used to work while he’s in school.”

“You’re going to try to support both of you on a waitress salary?” Del asked.

“It’ll be a struggle but it’ll be worth it in the long run,” Carrie said.

“And you can live with us to save money!” Karen exclaimed.

Shane glanced over at Del.  His eyes bulged out and his teeth were clenched tightly together as if to hold back any comments he might later regret.  The enamel barrier seemed to work.

Suddenly Carrie dropped a half eaten cookie back on to the paper plate she was holding.  She looked pale and unsteady.  “Excuse me,” she mumbled and shoved the plate into Carlos’s hands before dashing off toward the restrooms.

“She doesn’t look so good,” Karen said.  “I better go see if she’s okay.”

“No, wait…” Carlos said, but Karen was already bustling off toward the bathroom.  Carlos trailed after her.

“Well,” Shane said.

“Well,” agreed Tammy.

“There is no way they are moving in with us for two years while he goes back to school,” Del said evenly.  “I liked being an empty nester.”

Then Karen burst out of the bathroom and announced loudly to the whole social hall:  “I’m going to be a grandmother!”

The color drained from Del’s face.  Apparently his carefree empty-nester days were about to be a thing of the past.

The Great Bingo Controversy

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm.   One afternoon Pastor Henry O’Donnell was in his office taking a break from writing his sermon with a game of computer solitaire when church secretary Tammy Billings poked her head in.  “The Little Old Ladies are here to see you,” Tammy said.

O’Donnell sighed.  The “Little Old Ladies” was a nickname for three of the older congregants:  Henrietta Miggins, Betsy Davis and Celia Simmons.  Like many dangerous, predatory creatures, they looked deceptively cute and cuddly and often travelled in a pack.  When one of them dropped by his office during the week it usually meant he would soon be developing a stubborn headache.  When all three dropped by… well, maybe he could go home early today.

The three women marched in and arranged themselves in chairs across from the pastor.  “What can I do for you ladies?” O’Donnell asked, fingering the aspirin bottle he kept in his top desk drawer.

“We’d like the church to start a weekly bingo game on Tuesday nights,” Henrietta said.

That didn’t sound so bad, O’Donnell thought.  But he had enough experience with the Little Old Ladies to know that there could be hidden dangers to their request.  “Don’t you usually play bingo at the senior center on Tuesday nights?”

“Not anymore,” Henrietta sniffed.  “The director there is an incompetent.  We need somewhere else to play.”

“We couldn’t offer cash prizes,” O’Donnell pointed out.

“That’s okay,” Betsy said.  “It’s more of a social activity.  The senior center just gives away little gift baskets.”

“Usually filled with donated items nobody wanted,” Henrietta sniffed.

“It could be a fundraiser,” Celia chimed in.  “We could ask for donations to finally get the new robes the choir should have had last year.”

“Let me look into it,” the pastor said. 

After the Little Old Ladies left, O’Donnell went out to Tammy’s desk.  He knew she volunteered at the senior center so he asked her to make a friendly call to the director – the one Henrietta had called an incompetent.

“They were banned from the game,” Tammy reported when she got off the phone.  “There was an incident over cookies.  Apparently the center decided to buy a different brand to cut costs and Henrietta wasn’t satisfied with the quality.”

“And for that they banned her?”

“Apparently it was the way she expressed her dissatisfaction.”

“I can imagine,” O’Donnell said.  “What do you think?”

“I know the Little Old Ladies are a handful, but bingo might be fun,” Tammy said.  “If you want, I’ll organize it.”

“Thank you,” Henry said with a smile.  It looked like he wouldn’t need his aspirin today after all.

A few days later Tammy interrupted Henry in the midst of another game of computer solitaire.  “Missy Moore wants to talk to you,” she said.

Missy was a rotund, cheerful woman in her mid-forties.  Normally you couldn’t remove the smile from her face with a pickaxe, but today she was scowling as she slammed a flyer announcing the bingo game down on Pastor O’Donnell’s desk. 

“What’s the meaning of this,” she demanded.

“Um, well, bingo is a game with cards with numbers on them…” O’Donnell began.

“I know what bingo is.  It’s gambling!” Missy shouted.  She pulled a stack of papers from her purse and began quoting statistics on the damage gambling addiction does to people and society.

O’Donnell felt the familiar tightening in his skull that meant he’d be needing his bottle of aspirin.  He spent the next forty-two minutes trying to convince Missy that a church bingo fundraiser with token prizes was not really gambling while she tried to convince him he was throwing open the church doors to the Devil himself.   It seemed Missy had an aunt who spent a large portion of her social security checks in bingo halls.  It was kind of a hot button issue for her.

In the end they reached a compromise.  Missy could pass out anti-gambling literature at the door to the bingo game as long as she was polite about it.

On the night of the first game Pastor O’Donnell arrived early and planted himself in an out-of-the-way location with a good view of the front door.  Missy Moore also arrived early armed with a stack of pamphlets she’d secured from an anti-gambling association.  O’Donnell was pleased to observe that she kept her promise to be polite.

Tammy had prepared the social hall nicely using a semi-professional bingo kit she’d ordered from a party supply store that included packets of disposable playing sheets and a large tumbling cage filled with lettered and numbered ping pong balls.  She’d also set up a nice refreshment table and made sure to include the brand of cookies Henrietta liked.

The game turned out to be a bigger draw than Pastor O’Donnell had expected.  In addition to the Little Old Ladies and their ilk, it drew many of the younger families, including Kevin and Jill Boyer and their two little girls, four-year-old Mary and two-year-old Susie.

The Boyers signed in and Tammy handed them their playing sheets and ink daubers – plastic containers of ink with little sponges on the end for marking the sheets.   Mary grabbed her dauber eagerly and tested it by stamping a mark on the back of her sister’s dress.  Jill quickly disarmed Mary and handed the dauber back to Tammy.  “The girls can use colored pencils to mark their sheets,” Jill said, ignoring Mary’s protests.

When everyone was settled, Tammy began the game.  She had drawn only four numbers when a cascade of piano music rang out through the building.  Moments later a piercing soprano voice joined in.

“What in the world is that?” O’Donnell said.

“Missy Moore booked the choir room to practice her special music selection for church on Sunday,” Tammy told him.

“And you didn’t anticipate a problem with that?”

“I didn’t realize her selection would be so…boisterous.  Besides, do you want to tell her she can’t practice a song for worship because it’ll interfere with our bingo game?”

“Good point.  Carry on.”

Tammy drew the next ball and announced the number, “B-17.”   And at that very moment Missy hit a particularly piercing high note.

“What?” Celia yelled from the back, “I can’t hear you.”

O’Donnell headed to the choir room where he found Missy and choir director Shane Reed hard at work.  “Do you mind if I close the door?” O’Donnell asked.

“As long as you don’t mind if I open it again once you leave,” Missy replied.

O’Donnell looked at Shane who just shrugged as if to say there was no way he was getting in the middle of this.

Then O’Donnell noticed a portable amplification system gathering dust in the corner.  “Okay,” he said, “I’ll just borrow this then.”  He grabbed it and dashed away before Missy realized what he was doing.

In his absence, the bingo players had converged on the refreshment table.  O’Donnell put the amplification system on the adjacent card table Tammy was using and crawled in between the two tables to plug it in.  Unfortunately, O’Donnell was a larger man without the best coordination, and his shoulder inadvertently banged into the refreshment table.  The blow caused the coffee urn to tip over and send a tide of hot coffee toward the gathered crowd.

Fortunately the congregation proved more coordinated than their pastor and everyone managed to scramble out of the way of the spill.  However, Mary Boyer took advantage of the resulting chaos to acquire one of the ink daubers she had been so unfairly denied.  This exponentially multiplied the chaos as Jill and Kevin chased Mary around the room, pursued by little Susie who loved a good game of chase.

Thirty-seven minutes later Mary was disarmed, everyone was settled back in place and the bingo game resumed.  The good news was the amplifier made it easy for all the players to hear Tammy over Missy’s rehearsal.  Which proved a moot victory a few minutes later when Missy wrapped up the rehearsal and went home.

The bingo game ended a little before 10 p.m.  By 11 p.m. the Little Old Ladies had finished enumerating their complaints about the evening to Pastor O’Donnell.  After they left, O’Donnell surveyed the scene in the social hall.  The floor was littered with coffee stained bingo cards and anti-gambling pamphlets.  The refreshment table would need a thorough scrubbing.  And Mary had artfully decorated two thirds of the north wall with colored ink blotches. 

He turned to Tammy who was tallying up the contents of the donation basket.  “How’d we do?”

“We raised sixty-seven dollars toward the choir robes,” she told him.  “Of course the refreshments and prizes cost forty-five dollars.  Factor in $272 for the bingo kit and we’ll need quite a few more games before we break even.”

O’Donnell rubbed his aching head.  The next day he arranged to finance the refreshments for the senior center’s bingo games – including the cookies Henrietta liked – in return for them lifting the ban on the Little Old Ladies.  It just seemed financially prudent.

Pastor Michelle's First Sermon

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. The church recently brought on a new, pretty, twenty-eight year-old associate pastor named Michelle Tellum. The senior pastor, Henry O’Donnell, decided to have her deliver the sermon on her second Sunday at the church. “This is no job for cowards,” he told her. “It’s best to just jump in, even if you’re not perfect.”

Perfection aside, this was Michelle’s very first appointment and she was determined to make a good impression. So she spent every spare moment during that week writing, rewriting, and practicing her sermon.

This was also the church’s first associate pastor, so they needed to create an office for her. The room they chose for that purpose had previously served as what was euphemistically referred to as the “Auxiliary Supply Closet” for the Sunday school classes. The auxiliary supplies stored therein were mostly broken toys and dried out paint.

Head usher and all-around handy man Ralph Billing helped Jose the custodian relocate the auxiliary supplies to the trash and bring in an old desk. “Welcome to your new office,” he told Michelle proudly as he opened the door with a flourish.

Michelle managed to fake a suitably grateful expression as she examined the room. It resembled a prison cell more than a pastoral work place. The two men helped her unpack the few boxes of personal items she’d brought with her. They quickly discovered a problem. There were no power outlets.

Fortunately there was a built-in overhead light since the single, small, dirty window up near the ceiling only let in a hint of natural sunlight. Unfortunately Michelle’s computer was not a laptop. So Ralph strung an extension cord from a nearby classroom into the office so she could plug it in. “It’s only a temporary solution,” he assured her. “I’ll install an outlet for you likety split.”

That sounded dangerous to Michelle, but Ralph assured her he knew what he was doing and Pastor O’Donnell backed him. So Michelle set about trying to concentrate on writing her sermon while Ralph noisily sliced into the dry wall.

After an hour of banging and ripping and grunting Ralph had made a neat square hole in the wall and Michelle had finished two sentences of her sermon. Ralph informed her that he needed to go shut off the breaker before he installed the outlet box.

“Fine,” Michelle mumbled as she wrestled with an unusually rebellious metaphor. Ralph sauntered out and three minutes later both the light and Michelle’s computer went dark.

“What did you do!” Michelle cried when Ralph returned.

“Gee, I didn’t realize the extension cord was plugged into the same circuit,” Ralph said.

“I had just figured out the perfect opening to my sermon,” Michelle moaned.

“Sorry. I’ll go plug it into a different outlet.”

A few minutes later Michelle’s computer was up and running again and Ralph was back at work using a flashlight for illumination. With a little effort Michelle was able to recreate the opening of her sermon fairly accurately. After that she got in a groove, and soon she had several paragraphs typed out.

“I need to run to the hardware store for a part,” Ralph informed her. Michelle nodded absently.

A second later Michelle heard a thud and a grunt from the hall and her computer screen went dark again.

“No!” she wailed. She’d been on such a roll she’d neglected to save her work.

She stomped out prepared to give Ralph a piece of her mind. She stopped short when she discovered him sprawled out face down on the floor. He had tripped over the extension cord.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I think I threw my back out,” he said.

Michelle helped him gingerly to his feet and out to his car. She wanted to take him to the hospital but Ralph assured her he’d be fine with a little rest and some ibuprofen. A few hours later Pastor O’Donnell poked his head into Michelle’s office.

“It’s dark in here. Why do you have the light off?” he asked.

“Ralph turned off the breaker while he was working on the outlet,” she told him. “I didn’t know if it was safe to turn it back on before he was finished.”

“Oh,” O’Donnell replied. “Well, I just heard from him. He’s probably going to be laid up all week.”

“Can we bring in an electrician to finish this,” Michelle asked.

“I think Ralph might be kind of insulted,” O’Donnell said. “He likes to do things himself. And he’s quite handy. Can you manage for a week without an outlet?”

Michelle sighed. She didn’t want to cause problems so soon into her first appointment. “Okay,” she told him.

“Good,” O’Donnell smiled. On his way out of the office he tripped on the extension cord, but managed to catch himself before he fell. Michelle, however, lost another half hour of work.

After Michelle had located some duct tape and strung the extension cord across the ceiling to prevent any more unexpected power outages, she returned to writing, slowed down only slightly by her obsessive need to now save her document after every sentence.

When Sunday rolled around, Ralph had recovered enough to attend church. He saw Pastor O’Donnell in the parking lot.

“I never got to ask you what you thought of our new associate pastor,” O’Donnell said,

“She seems nice, but maybe a little uptight and kind of jumpy,” Ralph told him.

“Hm. I hope she gets through her sermon okay. Maybe I pushed her into it a little soon. She’s still pretty wet behind the ears.”

As it turned out Michelle delivered her sermon beautifully and even got seven laughs from the congregation. O’Donnell counted.

Afterward she asked him how she’d done.

“Not too bad for your first time,” O’Donnell told her. “You’ll get better with practice. I’ll give you a few pointers later on if you like.”

Then he went to his office to start working on his sermon for the following Sunday. He needed to be sure he’d get at least eight laughs no matter how much overtime it took.

Pastor Michelle

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. The church building has stood there for sixty-two years. Pastor Henry O’Donnell has been preaching at the church for the last seven. Recently, the Bishop for the region asked him to take on an Associate Pastor, someone new to the clergy, and help that individual learn the real world challenges of shepherding a congregation. Henry humbly accepted. He knew that a young, wet-behind-the-ears pastor would have a lot to learn from him.

The Associate Pastor who was assigned to the church was a twenty-eight year-old woman named Michelle Tellum. Her gender posed no problem for Henry. He firmly believed that women made fine clergy. He was a bit taken aback, however, to discover that Pastor Tellum was a pretty blonde with distractingly long eyelashes. Still, he could think of no good reason why an attractive woman couldn’t do God’s work. It might even improve the attendance of some of the men in the congregation.

Michelle was pleased with her first assignment. Pastor O’Donnell seemed like a good guy and she had already ascertained that the church was well run and had experienced only the usual small church controversies of late. Plus, Michelle was single and Normal was a decent size town with a small college. She hoped she’d have an easier time meeting a boyfriend here than she had in seminary. One pastor in a relationship was bad enough; two was a recipe for disaster.

Her first week on the job involved all the usual settling in business -- setting up her office, getting to know the staff, meeting with the congregational/staff relations committee, figuring out how to put toner in the copy machine. Henry planned to introduce her and let her say a few words at services on her first Sunday, but he would let her get settled before attempting a sermon.

So everything was going along just fine…until Saturday morning. That’s when Michelle got a distressing call from Henry. It seems he was to do a wedding in the sanctuary that afternoon but had encountered a touch of food poisoning from a low rent seafood joint for which he had a puzzling fondness. He needed her to fill in.

The bride was the daughter of Del and Karen Winslow, Carrie Winslow, who now lived in Cincinnati but had been convinced to get married “back home.” Her groom was an easy going young man named Carlos Lopez. Pastor O’Donnell gamely showed up to introduce these fine folks to Michelle in his office that morning.

Of course, Carlos and his parents couldn’t have cared less who performed the service. They didn’t know either Michelle or Henry. But Del cared a great deal. He didn’t much like the looks of this blonde girl two years younger than his daughter who was being brought in to pinch hit. He launched into a long speech encouraging O’Donnell to “buck up.”

Halfway through Del’s speech, Henry had to make a hurried exit. The gathering awkwardly studied the various books on the office shelves and tried to ignore the stomach churning sounds that somehow managed to penetrate the brick wall between the office and bathroom. When Henry returned, Del launched into a new speech about what he expected Michelle to do during the ceremony.

Michelle was nervous, but the ceremony was pretty standard fare and she soon settled into it, despite the distraction from one of the groomsmen who was chomping loudly on a piece of gum. However, she couldn’t get her hands to stop trembling and when she went to pick up the bride’s ring she accidentally knocked it to the floor. Bride, groom and Michelle all reached for the ring simultaneously and bumped heads, sending a ripple of laughter through the guests. The ring, apparently not satisfied with this bit of mischief, landed on its side and rolled. To Michelle’s dismay, it rolled straight into the small gap between the lectern and the rail.

“I’ll get it,” Michelle instructed the bridal party, not wishing for any more cranial collisions. Only she couldn’t get it. She could see it, gleaming tauntingly eighteen inches back in the half inch gap. She glanced out toward the guests. Del’s face was a frightening shade of purple. She hoped he didn’t have a heart condition.

And then inspiration struck. She strode over to the gum chomping groomsman, stuck her hand out flat and said, “spit it out.” The young man spit the gum into her hand with a look of confusion. Michelle took the gum, stuck it to the end of the candle lighter hanging beside the lectern, and used it to retrieve the ring. She beamed as the guests applauded her cleverness. But her smile faded when she saw the look on Del’s face. Apparently, he didn’t find fishing for his daughter’s wedding ring with chewing gum applause-worthy. Michelle decided she better move on with the ceremony.

The rest of the wedding went off without a hitch. At the reception, Michelle went to the kitchen to hunt down some ice for the lump growing on her forehead. As she was returning, she heard sobs coming from a back hall and discovered Carrie, still in full bridal regalia, sitting on the floor crying.

“What’s wrong?” Michelle asked.

“I think I’ve made a horrible mistake. I’m not sure I’m ready to be with one man for the rest of my life.”

Michelle sat down next to her and patted her hand. “Getting married is really stressful. It’s understandable you’d have some anxiety. Are you sure this isn’t just cold feet?”

“But what if you dropping the ring was an omen or something? Oh, you don’t understand. You’re married to God.”

“First of all,” Michelle corrected her, “I don’t think me dropping the ring was an omen, I think it was a little initiation prank God was playing on his new pastor. And second of all, I’m not married to God. You’re thinking of a nun. Personally, I hope to be married to an actual human man one of these days.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“I’m not insulted. I’m just saying I know where you’re coming from.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Well, no, not right now.”

“Really? But you’re so pretty.”

“I had a boyfriend, but it didn’t work out. I liked to eat out and he liked to ogle waitresses. My boyfriend before that decided he was gay. I did have a date last week, but I don’t really like guys who use more hair product than I do. It seems like every guy I’ve met in the last year is either a loser, a mama’s boy, obsessed with his job or married.”

Carrie was staring at Michelle wide eyed. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Hey, are any of Carlos’s groomsmen single?”

“Carlos’s friends are all immature idiots. He’s the only one of the bunch worth anything.”

“Too bad,” Michelle sighed. “But this isn’t about me. Why don’t you tell me what’s worrying you about being married to Carlos.”

Carrie looked Michelle up and down thoughtfully. “You know what,” she said, “I think it was just nerves. Carlos is a great guy and I do love him. I’m lucky, really.” Carrie climbed back to her feet and put a hand on Michelle’s shoulder. “Keep your chin up. You’ll find someone, too.”

As Carrie headed in to her reception, Michelle suddenly felt a little like crying herself. And then a cute waiter appeared with the ice she had asked for and she forgot all about it.

The Easter Outing

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. As a special treat for Easter this year Sunday School teacher Karen Winslow planned to take her class, the “Guppies,” on a field trip to a petting zoo.

She recruited Kevin Boyer, whose four-year-old daughter Mary was in the Guppies class, to drive the church van and assist in chaperoning. Karen assumed – wrongly – that Mary would behave better if her father was along on the trip. Kevin wasn’t anxious to spend the morning with seven preschoolers, but on the other hand it didn’t seem any worse than sitting through another of Pastor O’Donnell’s extra-long Easter sermons.

By the time they were ready to leave, Kevin was already suffering from a headache. Mary and his other daughter, Suzie, had gotten up an hour early to find out what exotic concoctions of sugar, food coloring and high fructose corn syrup the Easter bunny had left in their Easter baskets. For some reason this process was accompanied by wild screeching and running about the house. Kevin yelled repeatedly for the girls to “keep it down,” but apparently whatever the Easter bunny mixed into the candy also impaired his children’s hearing.

As the van made its way from the church to the edge of town, many of the occupants’ thoughts turned to God on this holy day.

“Dear Lord,” Kevin prayed, “please clear the streets of traffic and grant me green lights so we can get to the stupid petting zoo quickly and I can take a nap in the van while the kids play.”

“Heavenly Father,” Karen prayed, “please make Kevin slow down so we don’t get in an accident.”

“Dear God,” Mary prayed, “please don’t let Mrs. Winslow see me eating my chocolate eggs.”

Mary had smuggled a dozen chocolate eggs into her coat pockets that morning in direct defiance of her parents’ instructions to only eat one piece of candy and leave the rest on the kitchen counter until after lunch. She knew it was risky to enjoy her contraband in the packed confines of the van, but temptation was overruling her good sense – as it usually did.

She retrieved a single candy egg and quietly peeled the foil from the chocolate that was now a gooey blob from the warmth of her pocket. She slipped it into her mouth, smiling in satisfaction at her stealth. Disobedience made the candy extra delicious.

“Mrs. Winslow, Mary has chocolate!” Sierra Smith shouted from the seat behind her.

“Do not!” Mary protested. But the soft chocolate had left incriminating splotches on her fingers and lips.

“Empty your pockets, Mary,” Karen instructed.

Mary reluctantly produced the stash of chocolate eggs.

“If she brings candy she’s supposed to share,” Sierra pointed out.

“Normally that’s true…” Karen started to say. She didn’t get to finish the thought. The Guppies descended on Mary like a school of piranhas. In no time the chocolate eggs were gone, two thirds into the children’s stomachs and one third smeared across their hands which were now distributing it to various surfaces of the van.

Karen tried in vain to calm the feeding frenzy. Then a loud BANG silenced the children.

The right rear tire of the van had blown out. The momentary quiet was quickly filled by high pitched screams. A second later the children joined Kevin in his screaming.

Kevin managed to steer the vehicle over to the side of the road. Kevin and Karen both exited the van to examine the flat. Karen called for a tow truck to change the tire. “They’ll be here in forty-five minutes,” she informed Kevin. “It’s a holiday.”

Kevin eyed the van which was shaking from the chaos of the wild, screaming beasts inside. “Guppies” seemed like a less and less appropriate name with each passing minute. “We have a spare,” he said. “I’ll change it myself. You watch the kids.”

Karen also eyed the van. “Why do you get to change it? I know how to change a tire. You watch the kids.”

“I think watching kids sounds more like your job.”

“Why? Because I’m a woman? That’s sexist!”

“Okay, okay,” Kevin said. “Let’s flip for it.” He produced a coin and Karen called heads. It came up tails. Karen sighed and returned to the van while Kevin got the spare tire out of the back.

Kevin whistled while he loosened the lug nuts on the flat. It helped him drown out the screams and bangs from inside the van.

The last lug nut proved extremely difficult to loosen. Kevin had to stomp on the lug wrench with his foot to get it started. It finally budged a fraction of an inch. Then another. He grabbed the wrench with both hands and eased his weight onto it.

The lug nut popped loose. The wrench banged down onto the pavement, smashing Kevin’s fingers under it. Kevin did a little jig, clutching his hands between his thighs and expressing his pain verbally with a colorful and detailed string of profanity he usually reserved for watching sports.

He froze when he realized the noise from the van had stopped. He looked back over his shoulder and saw seven preschoolers and one fuming teacher staring out the window at him.

Kevin grinned sheepishly and told Karen that for safety reasons the kids should probably get out of the van before he jacked it up. He suggested she take them on a nature walk. Karen thought that was a good idea.

Kevin finished changing the tire while Karen pointed out a variety of ants, grasshoppers and weeds to the kids on their nature walk through the vacant lot across the street. Ten minutes later they were on their way again.

They reached the petting zoo and turned the kids loose on the animals. Kevin and Karen flopped down on a bench to watch. “Thank you, Lord, for getting me through that ordeal,” Kevin prayed silently.

Then Sierra got bit by a duck. She shouted out the same string of profanity that Kevin had used earlier, recalling it with remarkable precision.

Kevin looked at the sky. “Very funny,” he said.


(In loving memory of uncle Gene.)

LOL: Little Old Ladies

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. Every Sunday afternoon three of the women of the church go to tea at a little café called “Roger’s.” The trio consists of dour, 70 year-old lifetime congregant Henrietta Miggins; 75 year-old African-American choir member Celia Simmons; and 73 year-old Betsy Davis, a proper Southern lady who only recently moved to town.

This weekly tea party has been going on for thirteen years. Originally the group consisted of Henrietta, Celia and Marjorie East. After Marjorie passed away, Henrietta and Celia kept the tradition alive for about a year until Betsy arrived to restore their threesome, much to Celia’s relief. Celia and Henrietta were dear, long time friends but Celia found Henrietta a bit difficult to take one on one.

As they approached Roger’s one recent Sunday, Celia, who was a retired English teacher, said, “I hate when restaurants use apostrophes improperly. You would think before they spent all that money on a sign they’d consult someone who knew something about grammar.”

“It’s not incorrect,” Henrietta replied. “It stand’s for Roger’s café. It’s possessive.”

“That would be true if the word café was in the sign, but it’s not.”

“It’s implied,” Henrietta sighed. “Have you ever met anyone named ‘Rogers’?”

“Rogers is a common last name,” Celia said.

“But it’s not a last name. The café was started by Roger Anderson. It says so on the back of the menu.”

Betsy ignored the argument. Celia and Henrietta had been having it every Sunday for thirteen years. Neither was ever going to win.

When the three women entered they discovered an unknown woman standing behind the hostess station. She was a slim brunette with a large mole on her neck. She welcomed them to Roger’s with an Eastern European accent none of the ladies could place.

“Where’s Doreen?” Henrietta asked.

“She does not work here anymore,” the woman said. “I’m Sasha. There are three of you today?”

“Yes, there are three of us,” Henrietta said. “We come here for tea every Sunday and we always sit at that table.” She gestured toward a table by the window, only just then realizing it was occupied by a young couple. Henrietta noticed the man was wearing a baseball cap. Inside. While dining. She fixed him with a disapproving gaze though he didn’t seem to notice.

“I am sorry, that table is already occupied,” Sasha said. “Perhaps you will like this one?”

She indicated a table in the corner.

“Perhaps we will not,” Henrietta said.

“It will do for today,” Betsy quickly interrupted. Henrietta harrumphed but acquiesced and the ladies were seated.

“I didn’t think it was possible to find a worse hostess than Doreen,” Henrietta mused, “but they seem to have done it.

“She’s new, bless her heart,” Betsy said.

“She’s foreign,” Celia noted. They all nodded sagely in unison as if that explained everything.

It took a few minutes more than usual for their regular waiter, a young man named Keith, to come take their order. There had been an argument in the kitchen because the ladies were not in Keith’s section today. Keith thought that meant he was off the hook. But the waiter whose section it was insisted he take that table. After losing a game of rock-paper-scissors, Keith agreed.

“Your usual tea and basket of scones, ladies?” he asked after they had finished complaining to him about Sasha and her failure to sit them in their accustomed location.

“What are your specials?” Betsy asked. Keith rattled them off.

“What’s the soup today?” Celia asked. Keith told her it was French Onion.

“Is the salmon fresh?” Henrietta inquired. Keith assured her it was.

Several minutes later the ladies ordered tea and a basket of scones. Just like they had every Sunday for thirteen years.

Over the next hour as the three ladies drank their tea and ate their scones they critiqued that morning’s church service. Celia complained that Missy Moore had mangled the hymn she sang for the “special music” and shouldn’t be allowed to solo ever again. Henrietta bemoaned Thad Wheeling’s inarticulate delivery of the scripture. Betsy, who had been brought up not to say unkind things about anyone, expressed sympathy for the parents of the child who cried through communion. “It must be so hard to be a good parent these days, bless their hearts,” she said.

They all agreed the sermon was far too long, of course.

When they ran out of tea, scones, and things to criticize, the ladies split the check, leaving Keith their usual twelve percent tip.

“You know, the nice thing about this table is it’s not under the vent so the air doesn’t blow on you,” Celia observed.

“That’s true,” Betsy agreed. “And it has a nice view of the park.”

Henrietta stopped Keith on their way out. “That tip’s all for you,” she instructed. “Don’t give any to that horrid new foreign hostess.”

“You have a nice afternoon, now,” Keith replied.

“Oh, and make sure she seats us at the same table next week,” Henrietta said. “It’s better than our old one.”

Daylight Savings Time

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In the town of Normal, Pennsylvania, there’s a little church at the corner of Wilson and Elm. One Sunday morning the Pastor of the church, Henry O’Donnell, was shaken awake by his daughter, Katie. “Dad, wake up!” Katie said. “It’s after eight.”

Henry blinked at his alarm clock, trying to get the digital numbers to focus. It said 7:03. “It’s seven,” he mumbled. “I have half an hour until my alarm goes off.”

“Did you forget Daylight Savings Time?” Katie asked.

Henry has not, in fact, forgotten Daylight Savings Time. The night before he’d changed every clock in the house save the one on his night stand which he figured he would reset just before he went to bed. But he’d stayed up late watching a movie and when he finally stumbled bleary-eyed up to his bedroom, he had forgotten that final, all-important clock. His wife Jennifer was on a business trip so she hadn’t been there to remind him, either. The shot of adrenalin as Henry realized all this brought him fully awake.

The first service of the morning started at 9:00. Henry knew from experience that the latest he dare leave his house was 8:30 a.m. That gave him twenty-seven minutes. Actually twenty-six. He’d used up one precious minute making those calculations.

Henry pulled on a clean white shirt and slacks. Having less than half an hour to get ready meant he had to set priorities. For Henry, breakfast was a priority. He could skip his shower, forget about the paper, but he was not a man who allowed himself to miss meals.

Henry elected for the quickest breakfast he knew how to make: toaster waffles. He wolfed down four with a glass of orange juice and cup of coffee.

Katie looked up over the comics section of the paper as Henry shoved the last enormous forkful of waffle in his mouth. “You’ve got syrup on your shirt,” she informed him.

Henry dashed upstairs to change his shirt.

The time was 8:22. Henry continued his mental prioritizing. Forget brushing his teeth – he had mints in his glove compartment. But he had to shave. He might get away with one day’s growth, but he’d last applied his razor to his dark beard on Thursday, the day his wife had left for her business trip. He could imagine the disapproving looks he’d receive from certain ladies of the church if he showed up sporting a three-day stubble.

In his haste, he dripped a dollop of shaving gel on the fresh shirt. Using language that would have made the ladies at church gasp even more than the sight of an unshaven pastor, he soaked a washcloth and dabbed at the spot. The small seed of gel bloomed into a large blotch of greenish foam. Henry’s rubbing was only expanding the area affected so he pulled off the shirt and got another clean one – wisely waiting until after he finished shaving.

At 8:27 Henry was filling up a travel mug of coffee and thanking Katie profusely for brewing it that morning. And then the cup slipped out of his hand, bouncing on the counter and splattering his shirt.

He was out of clean dress shirts but found one in the hamper that appeared relatively fresh to the eye if not exactly to the nose. At 8:30 he was pulling out of the driveway and resisting the urge to inform Katie that her coffee was a little on the strong side.

He made it to church at 8:54, much to the relief of choir director Shane Reed and church secretary Tammy Billings.

After church, Henry dropped Katie off at the movies to meet a couple of her friends. He then went through a fast food drive-through to get lunch. “Whew,” he thought, “thank heavens that’s over!” He ate in the car, dripping ketchup on his shirt, then drove out to the airport to pick up his wife.

He was an hour late. He’d forgotten to reset his car’s dashboard clock for daylight saving’s time.