“Brrrr” is anybody else freezin’?”
Flakey didn’t get one single reply from the hundreds, thousands, probably millions of other snowflakes that were gently drifting along with him.
Finally, one flake much larger than he grumped “Naw…we LOVE it! Are you sure you are a real snowflake?”
But before Flakey could respond…”Hey, everybody, this guy here is cold…he can’t be one of us!”
All of a sudden Flakey felt surrounded by swirling snowflakes that were bumping into him and making him use his six points to steer away from this very scary crowd.
Then two huge flakes glided over…”Get between us….we’ll protect you the rest of the trip”
Flakey wasn’t sure what they meant by trip but appreciated their aid but did what they said and felt protected and much safer.
Then Flakey looked down and saw that he was headed for a small village with trees and roofs and roads and as he was trying to decide which landing spot he preferred he floated onto a lawn in front of a stone house with smoke curling out of the chimney.

As Flakey looked around he noticed something about the other snowflakes that had made the journey with him…they were all just a little bit different than he.
Oh they all had six points like he did but they had individual patterns. Also some flakes were slightly larger and some slightly smaller.
“Amazing aren’t we?” whispered the snowflake that had landed next to Flakey.
“Are we all different?” asked Flakey as he looked around.
“Yep…everyone of us flakes, no matter how many we are, are a little different that any other flake…EVER!”
“Wow!” thought Flakey. “Yet, we kinda look the same too…don’t we?” asked Flakey.
“Yeah…you have to look closely to see that we are indeed unique and yet we are all snowflakes.” said Flakey’s neighbor.
“That’s so COOL!” said Flakey. And he and his friendly neighbor chuckled at that comment for quite a while.

Then the door of the stone house opened and two brightly colored monsters ran out into the snowflakes and came right over to where Flakey and his friend were lying.
“OOOOh my…I’m scared!” screamed Flakey in a very soft voice.
“No…don’t be afraid …those are called  KIDS and they love us…the more the merrier for them. AND….they treat us all the same and want to make snowballs and snowmen with us….It’s fun, and it is what we were sent to be.”
Just then two warm mittened hands picked up Flakey and his new friend and patted them onto the head of a very well constructed man of snow…and Flakey could see how beautiful all of the snowflakes looked and was proud of every snowflake everywhere…even including those that didn’t quite understand how unique Flakey really was.

Henry didn’t like being referred to as the “dummy”. Well, no one does do they? But he did have a job with Yuley Simmons, the talented ventriloquist from Las Vegas.

Although Henry couldn’t move his own arms or legs, or head and especially not his own mouth, Yuley was very adept at manipulating Henry so that the audience actually thought that Henry was alive and could talk.
When Henry’s lips were moving, Yuley’s weren’t, and that is the essence of ventriloquism isn’t it?
Henry would sit in a large box backstage between shows with nothing to do. There were no lines to memorize and he didn’t have to worry about sleeping through a show. Yuley always got him at just the right time and directed all of Henry’s moving parts when they were on stage. Henry didn’t even mind the spotlights shining directly into his eyes since his head was made out of wood!
But one afternoon in July, Henry was thinking about his right hand and it began to move. He looked down and found that he could lift it up and lower it. Then he moved his left hand, then his head and finally his mouth and he said “Wow!” in his OWN VOICE!
“Wait until Yuley finds out about this!” he thought.
But wait! If Henry didn’t tell Yuley about his newly discovered abilities, Henry could exert some control over what Yuley was trying to make Henry do and say.
Henry recalled that there was a yellow and black book in the dressing room titled “VENTRILOQUISM FOR DUMMIES” and with Henry’s new ability to do so, he opened the lid of his box and grabbed the book and read it clear through!
“So THAT’S how it’s done!” Henry was amazed and empowered by his new knowledge.
The very next show when Yuley thought that he was speaking and moving for Henry, Henry said…”Wait! I’m NOT a DUMMY…maybe you are!” And Henry turned his head and lifted his arm and pointed to Yuley!
The crowd loved it and laughed and some shouted “Yeah! You go Henry. You tell him!”
“What are you doing?” whispered Yuley.
“I’m claiming equality in the act Yuley.” Henry whispered back, without moving his lips by the way!
Yuley could do nothing but smile at the audience.
“Move your mouth.” Henry demanded and Yuley did so.”
Then Henry shouted “Now which one is the dummy now?”…and the audience went wild.
“Take a drink of water.” Henry told Yuley.
As Yuley drank, Henry recited “Mary Had A Little Lamb!”
The crowd went crazy again.
It’s been a while since that first show when Yuley became the “Dummy” and now Henry has his own five bedroom home with swimming pool and drives a new Porsche.
The marquee outside of the Las Vegas showroom reads “Henry and his Dummy Yuley!…appearing nightly.”

Grandpa Sanders was looking high and low. Into every drawer and into every closet and even into every mirror although his grandson Mark didn’t know what his Grandpa was searching so much for, especially in mirrors.
“Ah, Papa…what are you trying to find?”
“Oh….I’m looking for something that I think I lost and can’t seem to locate.”
“Maybe I can help Papa.”
“Naw…I don’t believe so. It’s all up to me and me alone to find it.”
“Well…what is it, Papa? Is it a book or a piece of jewelry…or a key…yeah…you are always losing your keys.”
“No…not those things. I lost something that you should never ever lose. Something you need every day no matter how old you get to be.”
Mark was searching around under chairs and behind cabinets but admitted he actually was just trying to be helpful and had no clue as to what his grandpa had lost.
Then Grandpa Sanders stopped and squatted down and spoke directly at Mark.
“You’ve still got it and I want you to promise me you’ll never lose it no matter what!”
“Ah…well OK Grandpa…but it would help a whole lot to know what it is that I should never lose.”
“The “KID” in you. Even after you grow up and be a man and even when you get to be as old as me…always keep that kid that you are today inside of you.”
“Well…I think I kinda see what you mean Grandpa.”
Then Mark started to think and then a huge smile lit up Mark’s formerly sad face and he took his Papa’s hand.
“C’ mon Grandpa…I think I know where you can find it again.”
Mark led Grandpa Sanders outside into the backyard and onto the playground filled with swings and a sliding board.
His Papa started to smile and run, not too fast, but still running, straight for the sliding board, climbed to the top and as he whooshed down the slide yelled out an unmistakable “WHEEEE!” and just about at the middle of the slide, Mark’s Grandpa found his lost “KID”.

“Get your heel outta my face please!”
“Hey…like I can help it or somethin’!  I got some ugly argyle toe in MY face!”
“Ah watch who yer callin ugly Laddie.”
“Yeah…well…I just want my mate…I haven’t seen Lefty in weeks.”
“Me too…it’s so nice in that sock drawer chattin’ with those other matched pairs…ah…I really  miss it.”
“The WORST are those athletic socks…they never really do get completely clean and they’re so thick and take up so much of our space here!”
Then there was a whimper and sob coming from the top of the pile.
“There there…you’ll be OK little one…we’re all here with you.”
The baby sock with it’s pink ruffle was very sad having just come from the last dryer load.
“I….I….think my match is…..ooohhhh….still in the dryer….CAUGHT!”
“Yeah…happened to golf sock over there…never did find his mate. Oh I shouldn’t have said that should I?”
“Boo Hoo…I’ll never see him again.”
“Now Now….it’ll be OK…you’ll see.
Then all of a sudden the woven basket that held them was lifted and dumped on the big bed. Then soon after, another pile of socks was thrown onto the bed.
“Hey….there’s my….HEY OVER HERE!”
Then human hands started matching up all the socks and folded and tucked the pairs together and threw them into the sock drawer. All of the socks were happy except one old striped one with a hole in the toe.”So long guys maybe I’ll see you all again soon.”
The little baby sock with the pink ruffle was still sad so the striped sock let it snuggle up as they were placed back into the woven basket.
“Maybe next time little one.”Then whispering to himself….”I HATE dryers!”

I was helping my grandson
To read a book ’til it’s done
Just me and him
We were not at the gym
We sat on the sofa and had fun

“Gus And Grandpa” was the book’s name
And reading it was just like a game
The two in the pages
With their names and ages
Had been read about and gained fame

Well Gus and I said “What’s the deal”?
“We should also be famous we feel”
But there’s something we’ve got
That they have not
Our “Gus and Grandpa” are REAL!

“EIGHT…Where is EIGHT?. This is getting to be too much of a habit with him!” exclaimed NINE.
“I am ONE that agrees TWO!”
“That’s spelled Too ONE!”
“This is the FIFTH or SIXTH time he’s either been out of order or not here at all!” said FOUR!
“That makes THREE of us that agree TWO!”
“EIGHT! EIGHT! EIGHT! EIGHT! EIGHT! EIGHT!” That’s the SEVENTH time I’ve called him with NO ANSWER!” Grumbled NINE.
“Hey…is anyone lookin’ for me?” asked EIGHT.
A number of numbers all yelled “NOOOOOO!!!”
So EIGHT left and all the numbers that were trying to line up accomplished exactly ZERO!

“Here Nosy….sniff!”
Judson was holding his brother’s, shall we say, “soiled” sweatshirt in front of his new bloodhound puppy’s nose.
Nosy sniffed and sniffed and then barked a very immature sounding bark that would eventually mature into a deep loud one.
Nosy perked up his ears and looked around, then put his amazing nose to the ground and in a crooked, twisting path, sniffed his way to the laundry room and the laundry basket!
Even though none of Judson’s brother’s clothing was actually IN the basket that was “sniffed out” by Nosy, the tracking was deemed a victory.
On subsequent sniffing and tracking tests, Nosy however, was less successful. While attempting to sniff out a previously hidden used sock, Nosy “found” an unhidden plate of dark meat turkey that Judson’s Mom had placed on the table for lunch. Nosy never did find the sock.
On another occasion, Nosy found an opened box of chocolate covered cherries instead of Judson’s Dad’s baseball cap and was a very sick bloodhound puppy all afternoon.
After a trip to the local Veteranarian and a testing of Nostrildamus’ olfactory glands (his “smeller”) it was theorized that possibly Nosy was not “all” bloodhound but “could” have a bit of Beagle on his family tree. Not a bad thing, but not bloodhound.
“He may develop a better sense of smell later as he matures, but I wouldn’t count on it!” the Doctor sighed after the exam and test.
Judson was a bit disappointed at the news but vowed to keep “training” Nosy’s scent tracking abilities.
As Nosy grew older and larger, his percentage of “finds” as Judson called them, grew to about 10%.
There were also some unscientific successes which, although Judson considered a “find” his parents did not for the simple reason that food was always involved.
But one morning, a bright sunny day in August, the doorbell rang and when Judson’s Mom opened the door, a policeman was standing there with a torn piece of cloth in his gloved hand.
“M’am, I’m Sargent Cole of the local police department and we are on the lookout for an alleged thief that apparently tore an article of clothing, looks like a piece of shirt, during a small robbery and we were told that you own a bloodhound. Is that true?”
“Ah…why yes we do but you see…”
“GREAT! Can we borrow your dog to possibly track the alleged criminal?”
Judson’s Mom looked at Judson and at Nosy who was wagging his entire body and they both looked so excited that she just replied “Okay!”
Well, to make a longer story shorter, Nosy tracked down the culprit hiding behind a holly bush over in the woods and the Police Department awarded Nosy a special ribbon for “Excellence In Police Work”.
After that, Nosy still wasn’t very successful tracking clothing objects from the family but, even though no one close to Nosy ever said anything to each other, they all felt that it was very lucky that among the stolen items that were taken by the sniffed out crook, was a large box of chocolate covered cherries!

Since Samantha got her red leather-bound diary with the heart-shaped lock for Christmas she had been entering each day’s activities and thoughts into it.
She had to admit after re-reading many of her entries in the last month that her life was…well…pretty dull.
“If this was anyone else’s diary I would actually feel sorry for the girl. But it is what it is and I must be completely truthful to myself and my diary.”
Then one night in February as “Sam” was lying in her bed and entering another “average” day’s activities into her diary she added…”And I wish that my boring green bedroom was a pretty soft pink.”
As she closed her book and inserted the key into the lock a flash of soft pink light glowed all over her room. And as she looked around she was amazed that her old boring room had turned into a beautiful pink with frilly lace curtains at the window.
Well naturally Sam was startled and she rubbed her eyes and looked again but her new beautiful bedroom was still her favorite shade of pink!
She got out of bed and went over to the window and touched the lace curtains and the perfectly pink wall and admired them both.
“How? What? and Why? were the first thoughts that entered her mind. Then she saw the diary.
“That must be it! When I entered my wish…Oh MY!”
Sam gently pinched herself to make sure that she was awake. “Ouch…yeah I’m awake all right!”
Then she put her key into the lock of the diary and opened it back up to today’s page. To Sam’s surprise, there was no line written wishing for the pink bedroom…it had completely disappeared!
She sat in her bed wondering what had just happened and as she looked back up at her window the old curtains were there and her room was back to its original pale green.
Sam thought and then decided to try and enter her “pink” wish into her diary again and once again as she locked the book her room turned into a lovely pink.
So Sam laid back on her bed with her head on the pretty pink pillow and soon went to sleep.
When Sam awoke the next morning her room was back to “Green Normal” and she just shook her head in wonder. She decided not to tell anyone about her magic diary but each night thereafter for many months she wrote her pink wish into her diary and slept in a lovely pink bedroom.
The “Magic” stopped on September 23rd…Sam’s birthday. The very day her parents had her bedroom redecorated in soft pink with pretty lace curtains at the window.

”Hey Mister James!” Ten-year-old Eric Samuel, from just down Clancy Lane, the one way street named for the very first family to build a house on the once dirt road leading out of the tiny town of Denver, North Carolina, yelled, then stopped and peered in at the sunlit porch of his old neighbor.

Ezra James, whose actual age had been possibly mentally forgotten by him or deceptively hidden from the knowledge of all other residents, was either sleeping in his Kennedy rocker, or was dead.

Eric was “sore afraid,” an expression he had picked up from Mr. James,…well, the boy feared that his very old friend was not asleep, but just looked that way.

Eric yelled again and leaned in a bit farther over the front yard, white, but needing paint, picket fence. Suddenly, Eric saw a hand move, then he spotted an arm go up and he breathed a long sigh, and just as he was about to say something, Ezra James yelled out in a strong clear voice…”Thought I was a goner did ya? Ha…well, not yet. Plenty more to do, plenty more! C‘mon in and sit a spell.”

Eric, having nothing to do besides trottin’ down to Mr. Shipley’s corner store to get a quarter pound of American cheese for his Mom to make grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, opened the gate and then quickly got outta the way as the heavy cannonball on the chain slammed it back shut.

“Did the gate gitcha?”

“No Sir. I was quick. That’s fourteen straight times I cleared it!”

“Good for you. What’s the record?” Ezra asked.

“Twenty nine!”

“Got a ways to go yet, but we’ll surely celebrate thirty! Grab a chair.” Ezra pointed to the nearest one.

“Now today we’ll continue on our lessons about bein’ old and bein’ a young boy in the town of Denver.”

“You first Mr. James.”

“Well, it’s important when you get to be older that you keep track of following’ your dreams and your heart, and how you are doin’ on both.”

“You mean like getting good grades at school?” Eric tried making a comparison.

“Yeah, except it’s you givin’ AND gettin’ the personal grades and you gotta be honest with yourself…always! That’s important.”

“Hmm, well, I don’t know about heart, but I still wanna be a major league ball player when I get older. Is the heart stuff some kinda code for likin’ girls or something?”

“Well, that will sort itself out, but it’s all accordin’ to how you feel about the world and your place in it.”

“The world’s not very big in Denver.” Eric said.

“No, but big league ballplayers have come from tinier towns than this one!”

“ARE there tinier towns than here?” Eric asked.

“Sure! You’ve got lots to learn, but I do too and that’s one of the great things about life. You can keep learning all the way through!”

“What have you learned today Mr. James?”

“Well, I learned that your “not getting’ hit by the gate record” is at 14, and I ain’t dead! I’d say that’s a real good start!”

Then Ezra said “Now, I’m gonna teach you something’…how to shake hands in a manly way. Put out you hand.”

The boy complied and Ezra clasped his hand with Eric’s and squeezed and shook it up and down.

“Ouch!” Eric was rubbing his hand after the handshake.

“A might too strong maybe, but never be a weak limp hand-shaker Eric. That’s important.”

“Who invented the handshake Mr. James?”

“Not sure anybody knows, but it was a great long time ago.”

“I bet it started with cavemen. One guy had some food in his hand, and another caveman from a rival cave tried to snatch it out for himself and they grabbed hands; one trying to take it and one trying to keep it, until they both decided to split the food and become friends!”

“Well, Eric, if that ain’t the best explanation to the beginin’ of shakin’ hands, I don’t know of one!”

Then Ezra rocked back and said “So now teach me about bein’ a modern boy!”

“Well, it isn’t easy. Not by a long stretch!” (that expression, he had picked up from Ezra and felt that it was the perfect place to put it into a sentence) I mean, you aren’t in charge of anything, not even your toys. And you’re shorter than most all grown ups and they ALWAYS treat you younger than you really are!”

“And they make you eat food that’s good for you instead of food that tastes good, and you have to finish all of it, and also watch them eating whatever they want and as little of it or as much as they want!”

“And bedtime is always 9:30 and they stay up until all hours and I hear them laughing and enjoying everything and it keeps me awake sometimes!”

“Now calm down Eric, don’t get too riled up. The best thing about it is you’re young and when you grow up you can do whatever you want, within the law of course.” Ezra smiled at Eric.

“I know, but time goes too slow and I want to be an adult right now!” Eric folded his arms to his chest and looked very unhappy.

“Tell you what. “You be me and I’ll be you for ten minutes. Whadaya say?” Ezra suggested.

“Ok.” Eric stood and went to the rocker.

“Oh I gotta get up?” Ezra asked.

“Of course, you’re the kid and I’m the ol…ah…adult!”
“Would you be kind enough to go get me a cold coke outta the fridge young man?” Eric said in a crackly voice.

“Do I really sound like that?” Ezra asked as he hobbled through the front screen door and went to the kitchen and got two cokes and slowly made his way through the house and back to the porch.

“Thanks, but you can‘t have a coke until you eat all of your supper young man!” Eric admonished.

“Well, Ok.” Ezra laughed, but he enjoyed being referred to as “Young man!” and he watched Eric gulp down, and thoroughly enjoy, his soda.

“Your ten minutes is up! Now get outta my chair boy!” and they both laughed and resumed their places on the sunny porch and Ezra slowly drank his coke.

There was a sad little 16th note that wanted to be much more in the staff of life. He didn’t even like his name. In Britain he was called a semiquaver but that wasn’t much better even though a “semi” IS better than a sixteenth of something.
“I wish I could be a quarter note or even an eighth note. I don’t dare hope to be a half note and whole notes act like they don’t even know I exist!”
Then one afternoon in a semi-famous composer’s music room the old gentleman drew the sixteenth note incorrectly and only placed one flaring line instead of two.
The 16th note was suddenly now an eighth note and was happy for the first time in ages.
But then he noticed that he was also a “B” note.
“Well…that’s disappointing”…the eighth (really sixteenth) note moaned. “I always wanted to be middle C!”
The moral of this little story is…”Be proud of who and what you really are and be the best that you can be. And every time you get the chance, make sure to do your finest and always be kind to 32nd notes.”