Ben Franklin once said, “Tell me and I forget, teach me and I remember, involve me and I learn.” And then there was the poet Yeats who wrote, “Education is not the filling of a bucket, but the lighting of a fire.” Smart words. Too many of our young people have been taught the opposite. No wonder there are so many who look to our government, and not themselves, for restitution, sustenance and absolution. They should be looking upwards and inwards.
Back cover, The SEED. Photo courtesy Pember Library.
In the last installment of The SEED, (by the way you can find it at
www.annrichduncan.com), Betty arrived home and her husband, John Victor, decided he was adorable. They continue with marital horseplay, then check their mail.
CHAPTER 5, Gold from the Civil War!
Among the bills and junk mail was a letter to John from Ingrid and Donald Dickerson, a couple from Tennessee. They were asking him to search for a hidden chest of gold and when he saw the reference to the Civil War, his heart danced. It was his favorite era.
Enclosed with the letter from the Dickersons were a handwritten note and a crude map that had been discovered during renovations of their home. The letter, dated February 14, 1862, was written by Jeremy Tuttle, a Union soldier. John thought, Wow, a soldier from the Civil War! He tingled with excitement and tried to imagine the man who penned the note. Was he in uniform, gazing across a snowy field with fingers that ached on a frigid February morning? Was he enthusiastic about his cause? Did he have any idea how important his struggles were to his nation?
The note said they were encamped at Fort Donelson and were proud to have taken control of it for the Union . . .
CHAPTER 6, Melvin’s dream . . . .
Melvin screamed. A giant mosquito was hurtling toward him, its razor sharp beak thirsting for his blood–all of it. And as the horrific buzzing pounded his eardrums, he screamed again. This time, the sound of his own terror woke him up just as the force of his thrashing knocked him off the couch. His head hit the grimy linoleum and he rolled across the floor, wrapped like a mummy in his beer-stained blanket. Still confused and desperate, Melvin struggled, but he could not get out of the shabby shroud. His sleepy haze faced but the buzz continued its relentless drone, causing anger to replace pangs of fright. “Darned alarm clock!”
Melvin twisted around to give the off button an irate swat. At the same time, he remembered he needed to check in with Ricardo, so with one hand still clutching the blanket, he reached for the telephone. Too late, Melvin realized he was top heavy. He teetered and made a grab to steady himself. Unfortunately, he got a grip on the telephone instead of the table and tottered backwards. The force of the motion knocked him to the floor, rump first, and propelled the instrument–still clutched in his hand–right into his forehead.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch!” he screeched as he kicked at the stubborn blanket. He continued to angrily kick and sputter–until he remembered the trick his mother had taught him as a young child.
Still partially mummified, he stopped and counted to ten–very, very s-l-o-w-l-y.
Counting always helped to calm him down.
Poor Melvin counted a lot.
. . . that’s it for this installment. Hope you’ve enjoyed them all. Please leave a comment–let me know what you think!
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