Angel Mouse
SOME FOLKS ARE DOG LOVERS. Others are cat people. I have a soft spot for mice-all because of an unforget- table experience my grandfather had in his twenties. He worked the night shift in a Michigan Ford factory signing out heavy tools, stored on huge shelves, from the tool room. Each night, when things were quiet, Grandfather would sit in his chair and eat the supper Grandma had packed for him.
One night he saw a mouse peeking out of a hole in the wall across the room, about 10 feet away. He must be hungry, Grandfather thought, tossing over a small piece of bread.
Believe
Jimmy Gadomski was his name. His big brown eyes seemed more prominent because of his thin face and cropped haircut. But he was just one of them. There was Willard, Mitch, Jeff and Tina. All of them were students in my first class, my first year of teaching.
The school was an old country building in northern Ohio. It only housed kindergarten, first and second
grade. The huge oak tree in the front of the building added to its charm. In those days we had time to sit under the tree and read a story each afternoon. Other schools were scattered in the area and we all shared one principal. He came to our school every Tuesday.
Lost in a Storm
Grace Olson tilted back on her heels to give her knees a rest. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and looked around at the barren land. “Mama, why do we have to work so hard?” she whined.
“You will appreciate it soon enough. When the plants start to grow, we will have good food to eat, just the way God intended. instead of spending money at the grocery store.” Now that her dad was gone, Grace and her mother, Mary, had to be careful with their money. When they sold their house, they moved far away to the land that Mary had inherited.