from the 'oh, they'd never do that department'
***
THEY'RE TRYING TO GET RID OF RONALD MCDONALD ALREADY,
YOU KNEW 'HAPPY MEALS' WOULD BE THEIR NEXT TARGET
Little children all across Silicon Valley are going to bed with tears in their eyes tonight:
"Give Me That Toy and Your Little Dog Too!"
You see, Big Brother and Big Momma know what's best for you!
If this is passed and ever goes national, I wouldn't be surprised if the feds confiscate all the Cracker Jack, Ovaltine, all those send ten cereal box-top toys you got by mail when you were a kid ... just so no one gets the idea to try that again. And just because they can.
But there's a good side to this story because it reminded me of a key scene in my second book involving a secret decoder toy, a kazoo, my little group of kid-next-door detectives find that helps them solve the Mystery of Harrow House.
Here it is, the beginning of Chapter Twenty-Six, if you're interested:
***
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Chillin’ at the Fountain
Mom got me good. When I returned to the house, the first thing I saw was that my window was locked and a note was taped to it that said “If your name is Mud, please ring doorbell for assistance.” I had to think quickly. I took some of Mom’s good rich potting soil from one of her plants and rubbed it all over my face. When I rang the doorbell and she opened the door, she laughed so hard I thought she was going to ... well, you know.
“All right, Belly Laughs,” she said, wagging her finger in my face. “I’m in a good mood now, but when I’ve got to rush you to the hospital with double pneumonia…” She stopped and looked into my sorrowful eyes and started laughing again. Then she got a little teary.
“Oh, Hale, what are we going to do with you? Get in there and wash your face, you little dingbat.”
Mom had to admit that what Ken and I had done for Nicola was kind of sweet. I guess she figured we’d suffered enough over the last few weeks, because she didn’t ground me. She just sent me to bed and told me I couldn’t get up unless it was to sit quietly outside in the sunshine and fresh air.
By Thursday, my cold was much better. I got a call from Raye Lynn, checking to see if I could take a ride with her and Grace to try to locate Mr. Sykes. It was such a pretty day, Mom said it would be okay, as long as I promised not to do anything crazy. She made the girls promise too.
It was the first time I’d seen Grace since the night of the big rain. We set a record, by the way, getting eight inches of rain in the first three hours alone. I never did find out how she’d made it through to the canal, and what brought her there in the first place.
Grace explained that she’d just gotten off work, was heading home, and called Raye Lynn’s mom to see if we’d made it back okay. When Miss Cathy told her what had happened with Kyle, Grace detoured back toward Clarkson Road and drove over Nell’s Ridge toward the canal, pretty much avoiding the worst of the flooding. She said she mostly hung to the roadsides, but a couple of times had probably floated through the deeper spots.
I thought Grace was kidding, but she said her old VW was airtight, and it was quite possible she really did float a time or two. She thought she’d stalled for sure once in a really deep spot, but her “Bug” somehow kept pushing, or floating, through the water. One way or other, she got there in the nick of time and saved the day. Whoever chose her name certainly hit the nail on the head. We’re going to have to start calling her “Saving Grace.”
I was surprised to learn that Mr. Sykes owned four houses, three of which he’d inherited from relatives. We planned on making a big circle beginning with the house closest to mine, but we didn’t have to go that far. We found Mr. Sykes unloading an old chest of drawers from the back of a beat-up truck in front of the second house we came to.
I got out and asked him if he needed a hand. He peered at me with one eye closed and then spit on the grass.
“Well, if it t’aint Sir Harlay, comin’ to my rescue,” he grinned.
He looked younger than the last time I’d seen him since he had his teeth in his mouth. I helped him carry the bureau under a shelter on the side of the house. He had rows and rows of old furniture, appliances, tires, and all kinds of junk. I mentioned the yard sale Ken and I have every summer, and he looked at his stuff and then looked at me kind of funny and said “Hhmmm, yeah, a yard sale,” as if it were some wonderful new idea. I think he was pulling my leg.
“I appreciate your help, but I know ya didn’t come here to help me haul furniture,” he said, closing the tailgate on his truck.
“We wanted to ask if you might know something about a gadget we found the other day,” said Raye Lynn, coming up from behind.
Raye took the little box out of the top pocket of her overalls, and held it out in the palm of her hand.
It looked like twenty years melted off Mr. Sykes face when he saw that box. He reached out and gently ran his fingertips over the embossed lettering across the top. His hand jerked back as though he’d had an electric shock, and he wiped it across his shirt. He then raised his calloused hand, passed it over the beginning of a smile, and across his stubbly chin.
“Did Miss Dianne get back?” he asked.
“Miss Dianne died a long time ago,” said Raye Lynn. “An awful long time.”
“I thought she might’a,” he said. “Iris, that’s my sister, she paid her bills like she asked her to, but she never called back.”
“Were you the one who left her mail on the porch?” I asked.
Mr. Sykes nodded, and then he opened the box and took out the Commander Galaxy Secret Decoder Communicator. He turned the pointer from the red dot to the yellow circle, then turned a wheel and entered the letters D-I-O-G-E-N-E-S. He moved the pointer back to the red dot, checked the numbers that popped up beneath the letters, and whispered “1-9-2-9-0-3-0-9.”
“Well, I’ll be swizzled,” he laughed. “That’s the day I was born. To think she remembered that!”
Mr. Sykes turned slowly and limped toward his house. I’m sure he was as excited as the boy who had been given the impossible mystery to solve almost seventy years before. We followed him up into his cluttered little house and over to a seaman’s trunk in the corner of his living room. He raised the lid and pulled out a rectangular safety box with a combination lock on top.
He trembled as he turned the lock, repeating the numbers from memory. One left, nine right, two left, nine right, zero left…and so on. When he reached the last turn, he took a deep breath and pulled the slim copper handle. The lid cracked open, then Mr. Sykes opened it completely, allowing the first light into the box since 1936.
He carefully removed a sky blue cap with a Commander Galaxy insignia, a lightning bolt and the letters “CG” sewn into the front of the cap. There were two other insignia patches, a pair of dark goggles, and a silver ray gun with red lightning bolts on its blue and yellow handle.
Mr. Sykes put the cap on his head, raised his right hand shakily, touched the bill with two fingers, and snapped off a space cadet salute.
“We soar through the heavens on wings of imagination,” he said. Then he wrinkled a crinkly old eye and nodded at us in admiration.
“You must be pretty smart kids to find the secret of that book.” He then put the Commander Galaxy Secret Decoder into Raye Lynn’s hand. “Finders, keepers,” he said. “You should keep that. And I guess the rest of what’s here is yours too.”
I looked inside the box and saw a stack of composition books six inches high along with a pile of photographs.
“Mr. Sykes,” I said. “Why did you keep the box all that time without opening it? You could have easily broken the hinges with a hammer.”
“Miss Dianne said I wasn’t to open it until I found the code or she came to get it,” he said. “Everyone said she came back, but me and Iris knew it weren’t really her. I just didn’t think it would be right. Would'a taken all the fun out, don’t’cha think? It weren’t really my propitty no how.”
I closed the box and told everyone that maybe Mr. Sykes had something. The contents belonged to Miss Leah, and she should be the first to see them.”
***
THEY'RE TRYING TO GET RID OF RONALD MCDONALD ALREADY,
YOU KNEW 'HAPPY MEALS' WOULD BE THEIR NEXT TARGET
Little children all across Silicon Valley are going to bed with tears in their eyes tonight:
"Give Me That Toy and Your Little Dog Too!"
You see, Big Brother and Big Momma know what's best for you!
If this is passed and ever goes national, I wouldn't be surprised if the feds confiscate all the Cracker Jack, Ovaltine, all those send ten cereal box-top toys you got by mail when you were a kid ... just so no one gets the idea to try that again. And just because they can.
But there's a good side to this story because it reminded me of a key scene in my second book involving a secret decoder toy, a kazoo, my little group of kid-next-door detectives find that helps them solve the Mystery of Harrow House.
Here it is, the beginning of Chapter Twenty-Six, if you're interested:
***
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Chillin’ at the Fountain
Mom got me good. When I returned to the house, the first thing I saw was that my window was locked and a note was taped to it that said “If your name is Mud, please ring doorbell for assistance.” I had to think quickly. I took some of Mom’s good rich potting soil from one of her plants and rubbed it all over my face. When I rang the doorbell and she opened the door, she laughed so hard I thought she was going to ... well, you know.
“All right, Belly Laughs,” she said, wagging her finger in my face. “I’m in a good mood now, but when I’ve got to rush you to the hospital with double pneumonia…” She stopped and looked into my sorrowful eyes and started laughing again. Then she got a little teary.
“Oh, Hale, what are we going to do with you? Get in there and wash your face, you little dingbat.”
Mom had to admit that what Ken and I had done for Nicola was kind of sweet. I guess she figured we’d suffered enough over the last few weeks, because she didn’t ground me. She just sent me to bed and told me I couldn’t get up unless it was to sit quietly outside in the sunshine and fresh air.
By Thursday, my cold was much better. I got a call from Raye Lynn, checking to see if I could take a ride with her and Grace to try to locate Mr. Sykes. It was such a pretty day, Mom said it would be okay, as long as I promised not to do anything crazy. She made the girls promise too.
It was the first time I’d seen Grace since the night of the big rain. We set a record, by the way, getting eight inches of rain in the first three hours alone. I never did find out how she’d made it through to the canal, and what brought her there in the first place.
Grace explained that she’d just gotten off work, was heading home, and called Raye Lynn’s mom to see if we’d made it back okay. When Miss Cathy told her what had happened with Kyle, Grace detoured back toward Clarkson Road and drove over Nell’s Ridge toward the canal, pretty much avoiding the worst of the flooding. She said she mostly hung to the roadsides, but a couple of times had probably floated through the deeper spots.
I thought Grace was kidding, but she said her old VW was airtight, and it was quite possible she really did float a time or two. She thought she’d stalled for sure once in a really deep spot, but her “Bug” somehow kept pushing, or floating, through the water. One way or other, she got there in the nick of time and saved the day. Whoever chose her name certainly hit the nail on the head. We’re going to have to start calling her “Saving Grace.”
I was surprised to learn that Mr. Sykes owned four houses, three of which he’d inherited from relatives. We planned on making a big circle beginning with the house closest to mine, but we didn’t have to go that far. We found Mr. Sykes unloading an old chest of drawers from the back of a beat-up truck in front of the second house we came to.
I got out and asked him if he needed a hand. He peered at me with one eye closed and then spit on the grass.
“Well, if it t’aint Sir Harlay, comin’ to my rescue,” he grinned.
He looked younger than the last time I’d seen him since he had his teeth in his mouth. I helped him carry the bureau under a shelter on the side of the house. He had rows and rows of old furniture, appliances, tires, and all kinds of junk. I mentioned the yard sale Ken and I have every summer, and he looked at his stuff and then looked at me kind of funny and said “Hhmmm, yeah, a yard sale,” as if it were some wonderful new idea. I think he was pulling my leg.
“I appreciate your help, but I know ya didn’t come here to help me haul furniture,” he said, closing the tailgate on his truck.
“We wanted to ask if you might know something about a gadget we found the other day,” said Raye Lynn, coming up from behind.
Raye took the little box out of the top pocket of her overalls, and held it out in the palm of her hand.
It looked like twenty years melted off Mr. Sykes face when he saw that box. He reached out and gently ran his fingertips over the embossed lettering across the top. His hand jerked back as though he’d had an electric shock, and he wiped it across his shirt. He then raised his calloused hand, passed it over the beginning of a smile, and across his stubbly chin.
“Did Miss Dianne get back?” he asked.
“Miss Dianne died a long time ago,” said Raye Lynn. “An awful long time.”
“I thought she might’a,” he said. “Iris, that’s my sister, she paid her bills like she asked her to, but she never called back.”
“Were you the one who left her mail on the porch?” I asked.
Mr. Sykes nodded, and then he opened the box and took out the Commander Galaxy Secret Decoder Communicator. He turned the pointer from the red dot to the yellow circle, then turned a wheel and entered the letters D-I-O-G-E-N-E-S. He moved the pointer back to the red dot, checked the numbers that popped up beneath the letters, and whispered “1-9-2-9-0-3-0-9.”
“Well, I’ll be swizzled,” he laughed. “That’s the day I was born. To think she remembered that!”
Mr. Sykes turned slowly and limped toward his house. I’m sure he was as excited as the boy who had been given the impossible mystery to solve almost seventy years before. We followed him up into his cluttered little house and over to a seaman’s trunk in the corner of his living room. He raised the lid and pulled out a rectangular safety box with a combination lock on top.
He trembled as he turned the lock, repeating the numbers from memory. One left, nine right, two left, nine right, zero left…and so on. When he reached the last turn, he took a deep breath and pulled the slim copper handle. The lid cracked open, then Mr. Sykes opened it completely, allowing the first light into the box since 1936.
He carefully removed a sky blue cap with a Commander Galaxy insignia, a lightning bolt and the letters “CG” sewn into the front of the cap. There were two other insignia patches, a pair of dark goggles, and a silver ray gun with red lightning bolts on its blue and yellow handle.
Mr. Sykes put the cap on his head, raised his right hand shakily, touched the bill with two fingers, and snapped off a space cadet salute.
“We soar through the heavens on wings of imagination,” he said. Then he wrinkled a crinkly old eye and nodded at us in admiration.
“You must be pretty smart kids to find the secret of that book.” He then put the Commander Galaxy Secret Decoder into Raye Lynn’s hand. “Finders, keepers,” he said. “You should keep that. And I guess the rest of what’s here is yours too.”
I looked inside the box and saw a stack of composition books six inches high along with a pile of photographs.
“Mr. Sykes,” I said. “Why did you keep the box all that time without opening it? You could have easily broken the hinges with a hammer.”
“Miss Dianne said I wasn’t to open it until I found the code or she came to get it,” he said. “Everyone said she came back, but me and Iris knew it weren’t really her. I just didn’t think it would be right. Would'a taken all the fun out, don’t’cha think? It weren’t really my propitty no how.”
I closed the box and told everyone that maybe Mr. Sykes had something. The contents belonged to Miss Leah, and she should be the first to see them.”
***