It is a springtime night in New England.  The air is sweet, and soft
against your cheek.  Look up, and you can see the lacy shillouette of
maple flowers against a full moon.  In the distance, you can hear those
tiny frogs with the mighty voices, the Spring Peepers, singing their
songs of love in the gritty, cold mud.
 
In front of the Sargent-Colburn home, a large and a small ferret weave
their way through a stand of fragrant hyacinth, pink in the daylight,
but the color of ivory in moonlight.  Each stop to put their face in the
fragrant flowers, then move on, down to the lower driveway.
 
You know, of course, what waits in the lower driveway.  Grass green and
daffodill yellow with massive rear tires and two tiny ones in front, a
1947 John Deere Model B tractor.  It wants to go, it wants to play, it
wants to belch smoke and fly...it hasn't moved in weeks.  The other
tractors are terribly jealous.
 
It is time for a driving lesson.
 
The larger of the two ferrets comes up to the tractor at a half gallop
and stops, looks up.  He is momentarily speechless.  But not the smaller
of the two.  She is well acquainted with the proper steps necessary to
bring this beast's cold, greasy, iron heart to throbbing life.  She looks
up at the machine, and smiles, tips her head one way, then another, lost
in rememberance...."Heeeeeeee", she sighs.
 
"Miss Lily," says the larger of the two in reverential tones, "that thing
is *awful* big!"
 
"Hee-hee-hee-heeee...." chuckles the smaller female.
 
"And you want to start that thing with *ether*?  Like, blows up
*ether*?  Bang? Ball of fire?"
 
"HEE!"
 
"Omigod.  You'll blow the fur right off us Miss Lily!"
 
The smaller female turns her head slowly and fixes the larger, younger
male with a glare that he really, really wished he'd never had anything
to do with.  Miss Lily may be small, and six, and not well, but her glare
works just fine, thank you!
 
"You don't need to know the whole alphabet to know that she's alpha, and
you're beta., dude!", the larger male thinks to himself.  She allows just
a hint of fang to show from beneath her right lip in a sort of Elvis
maneuver.  "Ok, Ok, Ok.  What do you want me to do ma'am?", he says
aloud.
 
The smaller female closes her eyes until they are mere slits, and furrows
her brow, wondering if this 'ma'am' business is insolence or ignorance.
She opts for ignorance, which is regrettable, but requires no immediate
correction.  This boy Ping is...teachable, she believes.  She utters a
complex string of instructions, which Ping is He follows with intense
concentration.  Fear will do that for you.  It focuses you like nothing
else does.  Ping immediately begins to search the cluttered driveway (his
hoomin Daddy is NOT good at putting away his toys) for the required can
of ether.  Yes, ether.  As Ping would say "Like, blows up, bang! ball of
fire!"
 
More Tomorrow
Alexandra in MA
[Posted in FML issue 4860]