Today I accidentally stepped on a snail on the sidewalk in front of our house. And I thought, I too am like that snail. I build a defensive wall around myself, a 'shell' if you will. But my shell isn't made out of a hard, protective substance. Mine is made out of tinfoil and paper bags.
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I remember how my Great Uncle Jerry would sit on the porch and whittle all day long. Once he whittled me a toy boat out of a larger toy boat I had. It was almost as good as the first one, except now it had bumpy whittle marks all over it. And no paint, because he had whittled off the paint.
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As we were driving, we saw a sign that said 'Watch For Rocks.' Marta said it should read 'Watch For PRETTY Rocks.' I told her she should write in her suggestion to the highway department, but she started saying it was a joke---just to get out of writing a simple letter And I thought I was lazy
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I remember we were all horrified to see Grandpa up on the roof with his Superman cape on. 'Get down' yelled Uncle Lou. 'Don't move' screamed Grandma. But Grandpa wouldn't listen. He walked to the edge of the roof and stuck out his arms, like he was going to fly. I forget what happened after that.
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I think a good scene in a movie would be where one scientist tells another scientist, 'You know what will save the world You're holding it in your hand.' And the other scientist looks, and in his hand are peanuts. Then when he looks up, the first scientist is being taken away to the insane asylum.
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I'm not afraid of insects taking over the world, and you know why It would take about a billion ants just to AIM a gun at me, let alone fire it. And you know what I'm doing while they're aiming it at me I just sort of slip off to the side, and then suddenly run up and kick the gun out of their hands.
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I remember how the other kids used to say that old Mister Swenson was the meanest man in town. But I said I thought he was nice, that he just didn't know how to show it. The meanest man in town, I said, was the mean old guy who lived in the big white house. 'THAT'S MISTER SWENSON,' they said. Oh, my mistake.
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It seemed to me that, somehow, the blue jay was trying to communicate with me. I would see him fly into the house across the way, pick up the telephone, and dial. My phone would ring, and it would be him, but it was just this squawking and cheeping. 'What What' I would yell back, but he never did speak English.
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I guess one of the funniest memories of my grandfather was the time I was at his house and that tied-up man with the gag in his mouth came hopping out of the closet and started yelling that HE was really my grandfather and the other guy was an imposter and to run for help. Who was that guy Oh, well, never saw HIM again.
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I think a good novel would be where a bunch of men on a ship are looking for a whale. They look and look, but you know what They never find him. And you know why they never find him It doesn't say. The book leaves it up to you, the reader, to decide. Then, at the very end, there's a page you can lick and it tastes like Kool-Aid.
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