TALES FOR ACTIVE MINDS

Short Stories with a unique viewpoint

{ To be read to children ages 7-13 }

Words in italics are found in the

pictorial Glossary in the back of the book!

Written and Edited by

DR. DENNIS C. MILLER, D.B.S.

A BIRDIES DILEMNA

Little Burt had not a wiff of it! As much as he wanted to, he simply could not smell the nice pie cooling on Mrs. Carsons window sill, although he could clearly see it. Should he warily land and take a tiny nibble of the golden crust, or not?

For now, he thought not. But then, after all, no other creatures had noticed the tasty treat. That is, except Kenny the brown squirrel in the big oak tree across from the Carsons house. He saw everything. For quite some moments he had beeen scurrying up and down the tree trunk, then stopping periodically to peek around and check out the pie. He was pretending not to notice, but Burt saw through the ploy. Wonder if Kenny smelled it.

Little Burt realized he had better do something soon. Mrs. Carson would not leave the pie out for very long. Only until it cooled off a bit. So he had to fly in and at least see what to do. He took one more look around.

Nobal the Cat that belonged to the Sandersin family did not seem to be around. He was probably prowling around on Demont Street three blocks over, begging for scraps at everybodys back porch door like he would so often do. The Sandersins must not feed him real well, he thought. Nope, no Nobal.

Time to move. Burt gave a gentle lift and a few flaps and a moment later he was passing over the pie. Nobody was even looking. With that he dropped onto the window sill and took a place a few iches from the pie pan. Now he could smell it! Perhaps just a peck? He double feet hopped right up to the pies golden crust. Ooh, yummy. Just a little. He swallowed. That tasted better than dry crackers or stale bread.

Mr. Taggert, the grandfather of little Hailey Walker, a 5 year old girl who lived on Parker Road, used to go out onto his daughters porch right after breakfast and throw Burt and the rest of the gang unending handfuls of white bread every morning. Now that was fun!

He recalled that one day he and Jodi, a light grey pigeon he had met, had wrestled over one particularly tasty half slice. He thought he would never get any, cause Jodi was real strong and much bigger than he. But he got a little.

Today he had no competition. He took another wide mouthed double peck and got quite a lot of the crust. Very delicious indeed! He could not help but wonder what sort of filling the pie had, although he noted just a slight taste of sugar. Burt took a deep bite this time and got his beak full of sweet dark berries. His favorite, boysenberries! He once found a bush with some of the succulent dark blue fruit hanging on it in a lot over by the Randalls house. He had a feast that day! But this was turning out so well.

Then he heard a rustle. Whoops, Mrs. C had spotted him! Up he went to a tall limb on the big cedar tree. Mrs. Carson opened the window, and when she saw that he had been nibbling on the pie, she just smiled and shook her head and then removed it and shut the window. Well, there went that one, Burt. He had to start over now.

But Mrs. Carson had a surprise, for a few minutes later she opened the window and set a tiny one inch slice of the pie out just for him, on its very own tiny white paper plate. Then she chimed, Here, birdie birdie! Wow!

Was it a trick? It didnt seem so. He watched for a few minutes, but nothing else happened. So Burt flew back down and finished the unbeleivably delicious treat she had left just for him.

Humans just dont do that, you see. They either throw you so much you cannot possibly eat it all or they shoo you away like you are a pest. But this was unheard of, a human actually sharing food with a little sparrow, giving a bird its own special little feast? Uncanny!

But, what a nice lady, eh? Burt, there is hope for the world, after all. And it was going to be a Happy Thanksgiving because pumpkin came next!

As he flew away he yelled to a grey blur that darted by, Hey, Jodi, I just had my very own piece of boysenberry pie. Nanner, nanner, Boo boo!

ROCK OUT, BABY!

For a rock, getting stoned was easy. All you had to do was be a rock. Now Mortie was a plain old, hand size chunk of grey and black gabbro laying in a dry San Gabriel river bed filled with billions of other pebbles. Long ago, everything was moving. The water was rushing and everybody got rolled and washed and smoothed. Now that was cool, literally. That only happened now when there was a big rain from time to time. El Nino brought that. But for some long time, no action.

Oh, there came periodic groups of foraging kids collecting interesting stuff. But even that had slowed down since the county cordoned off Morties tributary as government land. He saw it on a poster a man in a brown and green uniform pounded into the ground and put on a big board. Wonder what that was, to be government land.

Well, it didnt matter, anyway. Today Mortie was basking in the Fall sun as usual. Nothing going on, not even a spider crawling by on his way to his lair.

Just then, her heard a kid yell, Hey, you guys. lets go this way. There are some cool stones over here. Wow! Look at this red jasper...

Two other boys and a girl trailed along, scanning the ground for treasures. The girl suddenly said, Its the arm from a Barbie doll! Now where did the rest of her go? she shrugged and giggled.

One of the boys answered, She is probably all the way down to Anaheim by now. This old stream goes a long way, Julia. No doubt, Julia was his sister, judging from the way he was coaching her. Besides, whadda you got, 50 Barbies?

Whatever a Barbie was, Julia had a load of them! She said, Yeah, that.... and kept on searching. Just then she bent down and exclaimed, Geez, look at this old glass insulator from the power lines. It turned purple lying in the sun, like a big fancy shaped piece of amethyst, she proudly said as she rolled the glass in her hands. She looked up at the distant power poles to see if there were others. She didnt see any now. Old. This is pretty old.

Some of Morties best pals were amethysts! Where he originally rolled out of a distant hillside in the mountains to the North, long ago, there had been a bunch of those guys, some really big. They were like crystals - neat pointy chunks of lavendar and purple rock, not a round glob like Mortie.

The girl was running right at him. Cool! Maybe she would take him home. He had heard about the houses people lived hin. They were pretty big from what he had seen while rolling down the stream, although it was a little hard to really study them due to all the turning as he rolled.

The girl stopped a few feet from him and squatted down again. She looked so cute in her lime green pants and pink top. On her top it said, Barbie girl Cute! Now she was handling some jaspers, from what he could tell. He thought, Hey! Need a good gabbro? and just then, she picked him up. Hey, guys, some cool gabbro! Black contrasting with gray. And she dropped Mortie into her cloth stone collecting pouch on her side.

For a long time Mortie swayed back and forth. He could hear people talking, and the kids. Julia was telling someone about the Barbie arm she found. Everybody laughed. Then she showed the purple glass thing. Had she called it an insolatum?

Mortie thought they must be going somewhere. It had taken awhile. He was in the dark, probably still in the cloth pouch, he guessed.

After awhile, they stopped moving and everybody was talking about food. Wonder what food was? Anyway, he realized that they each got some and that they were making odd sounds that made their speech sound funny. He didnt know what a hamburger was, but they all seemed to like them.

A little later, after more moving and swaying, they stopped moving again. He heard a banging sound then he moved another time, for just a few seconds. Then he came to a stop. He heard Julia talking about a rock collection and showing them at what she called school. Julia said the gabbro, (thats him!) was really cool and she was going to put it right in the center of her display at what she called a science fair. That sounded like fun to Morty. He loved adventure!

DECIDEDLY DICEY

Roll, roll, roll! Thats all Lawson ever did, roll, roll, roll as every player wanted. A guy from Dallas always put a spin on his hand as he threw the cubes. As far as Lawson could tell it was only window dressing that didnt affect the outcome much at all. Showoffery was what they called it.

A rich old widow from Atlantic City always chanted, saying, Come on, babies! Come to Momma... Yeah right, as if that made the dice roll differently. Naw. Not!

And a young girl from Trenton, barely even legal to play craps, would always put the Voo doo on him before she rolled. At least that was what she thought. Sure, lady!

Lawson knew that a lot of it really came down to basic geography and the way dice work. The geography was somewhat affected by how hard and how far the players threw the cubes. Bouncing off the pass line end board would make the rolling change, too. All basic stuff.

Betting was the big thing. How and what you bet. Where you bet on. Lawson knew that there were 120 different bets that can be played. There were hardways, buy bets, lay bets, one-roll bets, all-day bets, hopping bets, and many, many more. Options. Selections. Trying various things. For every bet you make there is an opposite one. Mechanics of the game.

Lawson also knew that it came down to odds. Each of the various houses sets those their own way. It was a great deal more than some tricky way of throwing, for sure.

Fortunately for him, Lawson had been made really well. Top methods all the way. Ones that made him look crisp and dynamic. The ideal red color all the way through each cube. Perfect construction so every one of his six sides were the same dimensionally. Only the pips were different.

After all, his tradition was very, very old. Ancient. One of his forefathers was dug up. He was discovered in south eastern Iran, at a 5,000 year old archeological dig. He was part of a Burnt City backgammon set.

Now Lawson wasnt some sort of handmade, and therefore crude, block some guy carved out of local wood. Not that Lawson wasnt envious of that. No, he was more modern, the product of high technology dice making. Pros. The ones who could make every cube identical. Yes, he had been intensely inspected, and measured, before he was ever allowed to be sold for a casinos tables. Lawson was part of an elite core of perfect rolling little game blocks, a lofty tradition, for sure.

His casino had embossed one side. He had a logo that said, Cals Elite Casinos in a brilliant and reflective bright green. That looked so cool! It was a bright and shiney green logo on a ferociosuly designed red die.

Lawson was happy. He never wished he was some heavy and brightly colored rectangular marker or card blank. Lawson was truly proud to be the item that high rollers love to handle as they cavort with money losses and gains in places like Las Vegas, Monaco, and Atlantic City.

And he loved the way the odds and the outcomes were always changing for the players. It was exciting! Yes, he had seen his share of youngsters as they broke into the millionaire brackets of life with a few rolls on the table.

He had also been there when some huge failures had occured. One oil man got too excited and went ballistic for several hours, ignoring all the dangers. Well, he dropped so much in a few days that he had to file bankrupcy. It was just part of what was for him.

Lawson never decided the outcomes. He only served for the play pleasure that gamblers seem to get just from taking the risks. Funny that. Why would anyone take such a chance on a game? Even he could not figure it.

But for him it was simple. Just be a roller. Go with the throw. Let them express their need, their thrill, whatever. Do your part well. Be flashy, be a shiney dollar, be a possible fortune giver for someone deserving. Or at least, needy. Fill that need, the need to try something daring. After all, and who knows, somebody just might be a winner.

Lawson was. That was certain.

YOU CRACK ME UP!

Break your mothers back? Say what?? No way will that happen just because you tread on me. I simply dont break things. Thats because I am broken! I was broken over time by several things - unleveled ground underneath me, a few little earthquakes, the changing weather, temperature changes, too much weight. All sorts of things can break me.

But the preposperous notion that I could ever break your mothers back isnt so at all. First, I am too small. Hey, I may be 20 inches long and seem to trickle across a big slab of concrete sidewalk, but come on, I am only 1/16 inch thick.

I also have no strength. Your momma is what, 145 lounds? How am I supposed to break her back? She walks just great, not even wobbling as she passes by on her walker. The little lady is as steady as a rock! No back cracking there.

You see, I am not at all formidable. I just got here by simple pressures. My edges are not hard to walk over, either. Grannie rolls right over me with those bright yellow green tennis ball skid covers. No problem!

I do provide terrific support, I might add. I can hold over 800 pounds, so Grannie aint no big challenge. And that is all on one tiny spot, not all over the slab. I am really bad!

Sure, the owners or the city can fill me up with a little caulking and some water, or they can make a really thin sort of concrete mix. But I am just a little guy, so I doubt they will do that any time soon. Like I say, Im no threat to anyone.

Kids on bikes even ride over me with a breeze. Its not, like, slam theyre going to hit me and crash or anything.I just couldnt hurt a kid, you know?

Naw, I cause nobody any problems. Well, hey, a photographer once said I made the sidewalk look old. I dont agree. That crack wasnt wise. In fact, I give the sidewalk and grass a cultured look, like a sidewalk at an old mansion. Just because theyre ritzy doesnt mean they are without cracks! They have plenty of fissures, cracks, blots and even a few breaks around those old buildings. Even the big sidewalk in front of City Hall has some cracks you could fall into theyre so big. The place is so old!

I, by comparison, am on the side of a medium sized condo building. There wont be a lot of traffic here. Just a few tenants. Nobody else walks by. At City Hall there is a constant barrage of busy business feet! Hundreds per day.

They would have to divert a major citywide parade down my path to give me that sort of coverage. Thats not going to ever happen because there would be no reason to pass down the West side of the Shifters Royale Condos. I cant imagine trumpeters, flautists, drummers and all that running down my tiny single wide sidewalk. Boom! Wont happen.

And I dont think that any car or biker rallies will route my way, either. The last car rally in town drew over 23,000 spectators. That puts weight on everything. I never felt any different because they didnt travel over me. Just Main Street center of town. That road will bear berzillions of pounds, unlike me. Whoo, that would wipe me out!

Now I always sort of envied those guys on the big airport runways. You talk about some weight load. How would you like to support a jetliner that weighs over 395,000 pounds? Even for just a split second thats like, Whoa, dude! But think of the people who get to see those guys. Its got to be like the crack Academy Awards. And now, for outstanding achievement under a horrifc load, the Academy gives the award to..... Wow!

Now I have answered all the wise cracks. Just so everyone realizes what we cracks give to society. Nobody else lets people walk on them. And who actually wants heavy vehicles, crowds of people, or huge airplanes to run them down? Not you. Right? Naw, that would take a big, huge crack. Not a runt like me.

TO PHRASE A COIN

Well, hello! My name is Flip. Flip by the tip. It never should clip. But dont let it slip.

Flip is my name and coinings my game. So, go ahead. Chose sides with someone and flip the old coin to see who is right or who wins.

But thats sort of dumb because some folks are left handed. The original word for that was sinister. Conjures up all sorts of weird concepts, huh? Now it just means you work from the left. So, lefties, figure it out, will you? In fact, you can never be RIGHT! Ha!

Lots of folks call me pocket change, to kern a phrase. But the idea that I am ever spare is demeaning to me. How can somebody be spare? Spare is like a tire. When one goes flat, you are the spare one. A mere replacement. Not really valid. Just there in case they dont need the regular guys. Idiotic!

Guys who live on the street always ask for spare change. like give it to me, cause you dont need it. Right?

But I refuse to be spare! I am unique. I am a 1986D Washington head copper clad American quarter dollar coin, and proud of it. Not so bad for the years of wear I have seen. Geez, I spent 6 years drifting around from pocket to purse in Germany alone. I loved Stuttgart! Classy folks there.

Of course, when I got there, they switched me for Deutschmarks. Much of the time I spent lying on a money exchange vault shelf with lots of other American money and with little to do. That was utterly boring!

But then a fine family of five from Pennsylvania visited Grandma in Bonn and I got to go out with them, The little girl, Karolina, exchanged some Deutschmark for me and I went home with her in her cute little vinyl purse, all pink and covered with Strawberry Shortcake images.

We went shopping, touring, hiking, biking, and other fun things all over the area around Bonn. Neato town!

Now, dont get me wrong, because a coins life isnt decidedly easy. Folks are all the time flipping you, doing magic tricks with your help, playing with you in a poker game, and all that. Gee, you wear a thousand hats!

I was once in a play about Jesus. One of His disciples, a money grabbing crook name Judas Iscariot, sold the Lord away to the Roman and Jewish leaders for thirty pieces of silver. Betrayed Him.

Well, when we mounted the play at the Ellington Street First Episcopal Church, the drama director could not find authentic Roman or Israeli coins. So he used a handful of us quarters. It was a cool group! One guy named Moishe had spent many years in Tel Aviv, Israel, so we felt like he knew the ground on this story.

When we performed, the guy playing Judas, a black bearded young dude named Marty, was supposed to throw the coins down on the floor of the Roman Palace set in anger and anguish for what he had done. The set dressers had laid down a loose tile floor, so the surface was really hard. And when he launched all thirty of us, he threw us really hard onto that tile. Man, went flying!

Any way, after the rehearsal, they could not find a guy named Roger. He was a 1992 from Detroit. He had apparently gone under a choir pew. I cant help but wonder how long he will be wedged there. At least he will hear some great sermons and awesome music until they find him. Maybe a choir member, or even the church janitor, will find Rog and put him into the offering plate. I can only hope!

I once heard a song called Three Coins in a Fountain. It was in a movie. The idea was that if you made a wish as you threw three coins into a fountain you would get your wish and have good luck. Interesting idea. You chuck some quarters, and maybe even a nickel, into the water and that brings you good fortune. Sounds sort of to me. Luck, luck, luck.

Some say that we coins can do that, bring luck. But I have no idea how we would do that. We arent really that magical, although great magicians use us to make it look that way. In fact, in their hands we are more like poetry telling a wondrous story of some adventures we have experienced. We give the tale a jingle, a jangle, and a clash. We are music makers, ones that get to live and fulfil dreams, our own and others.

SCAREY HAIRY

Yeah, I used to hang around a lot with a cute teenage girl named Amanda. Every day, twice a day, Amanda washed and blew me dry, brushed me over and over, a hundred times at a time like her grandma said. Then she perfumed me, and fluffed me. Wow, what a pretty sight she was!

Amanda was a gorgeous 5 feet 6 inch tall blonde who just, well, for lack of a better word, treasured me. She always said I was her pride and joy. Cool beans,man!

One of the most cool things about Amanda was that she had the class to get me the good stuff. She always bought the finest shampoos and conditioners. She kept them in a very nice light green ornate cabinet in her bedroom, like her finest jewels. and pulled them out whenever we went to the shower. I loved the Crabtree and Evelyn stuff from England. Superb!

She really washed us good! A of creamy, great smelling herbal shampoo always went right on the crown of her head, just after we got very wet. She would gently massage and massage us, being very careful so as to not break any of us, and she was never in a hurry. After all, she always saw us as a major part of the beautiful young woman she was. To her we were special, so she spent lots of time with us.

After the massaging came lots of rinsing with rather cool-warm water that ran completely down to the floor. As the suds washed onto the floor, we always felt brighter, shinier, and more manageable, just like the commercial said. Yes, we were her shining glory.

But some see what I do as scarey, mostly because I could fall out. Then I would be left wherever and would never see Amanda again. Thats why I have always stayed close to her. I figure that if I do that I can stay with her longer. Right?

From time to time, she would go to a very fancy place called Carlos and get us trimmed and treated. Ohh, the hot oil treatments felt so good! Warm and oily stuff was slathered all over her pretty head and she just waited for a while, reading a Cosmo all the while, as the hot oil did its good stuff. Nothing felt better than that.

On the way back home, a crazy man tried to hurt Amanda. He came up behind her and hit her on her pretty head. Then he grabbed her little light green flowered clutch purse and ran away. She went down like a sack of gold dust! In fact, she lay in the grass at that park for some time, completely unconscious. Some of us got her blood on us.

Then, she woke up with a throbbing headache and a bloody brow. Poor darlin! She realized she was not badly hurt. He got no money.

Amanda knew she was just a couple blocks from the police station, so she made a brave decision. She would walk there without even so much as wiping off the dried blood. Maybe the guy left trace evidence on her. Who knew?

By the time she walked into the station house, she had bled quite a bit, so a matron immediately grabbed her and ran her to a treatment room. She very sweetly assured Amanda with, You will be okay, Sweetie. Im Joanie. You are safe now... Tell me what happened, please. Just let me get you cleaned up. I want a criminalist to look at you first, all right?

Amanda thought that was a good idea. When the nice investigator came in, he too was very assuring and oh, so kind and gentle to Amanda. Then he dimmed the lights and went over the girl from head to foot with a special light that makes odd substances show up better. He found several dark brown hairs on Amandas sweater sleeve. They were not hers. Mom and Dad both had blonde hair and little Jimmys hair was carrot top red. He noted that the suspect had grabbed Amanda by the sleeve just before he hit her. She vaguely remembered that he had some sort of club that he used.

They sent those fibers to the crime lab. They definitely did not match Amandas tresses at all. But her hair was found on the club. They took DNA to see if they could identify the suspect.

A few weeks later the data came back. Then they arrested Calvin Jorge Morrison for assault. He had attacked a number a ladies recently, raping several. Once again a major felon was caught because of one of us, a dollopstrand of hair.

WIFF -TO GET A SLIGHT SMELL OR FRAGRANCE OF SOMETHING

WARILY - CAREFULLY WATCHING WITH PRUDENCE

BOYSENSBERRIES - A CULTIVATED BRAMBLE OF CALIFORNIA HAVING LARGE DARK WINE-RED FRUIT WITH A SWEET FLAVOR RESEMBLING RASPBERRIES

RUSTLE - A RATTLING NOISE THAT CAN SURPRISE YOU

STONED - A WORD PLAY ON ROCKS AND INTOXICATION

GABBRO - ONE OF A FAMILY OF GRANULAR INTRUSIVE ROCKS

EL NINO - El Nio Southern California Oscillation refers to the cycle of warm and cold temperatures, as measured by sea surface temperature, SST, of the tropical central and eastern Pacific Ocean. El Nio is accompanied by high air pressure in the western Pacific and low air pressure in the eastern Pacific.

FORAGING - TO COLLECT AND LOOK AROUND, AS TO TREASURE HUNT FOR UNUSUAL OBJECTS IN THE WILDERNESS

CORDONED-TO SEPARATE OR ISOLATE AN AREA WITH TAPE OR CORD; TO MARK OUT AN AREA OF LAND

TRIBUTARY -A BRANCH OF A STREAM THAT FLOWS INTO THE MAIN BODY OF WATER

JASPER - An opaque form of quartz; red or yellow or brown or dark green in color; used for ornamentation or as a gemstone

INSULATOR -A material such as glass or porcelain with negligible electrical or thermal conductivity used to protect from electrical shock

AMETHYST - A TRANSPARENT PURPLE VARIETY OF QUARTZ

ODDS - The ratio by which one better's wager is greater than that of another

WENT BALLISTIC - A SLANG REFERENCE TO GETTING ANGRY AND LOSING CONTROL; A REFERENCE TO THE WAY BULLETS TRAVEL

BANKRUPTCY - FINANCIALLY GOING UNDER

PREPOSTEROUS - INCONGRUOUS; INVITING RIDICULE; ABSURD

WALKER - A MOBILITY DEVICE THE ELDERLY USE FOR WALKING

FORMIDABLE - EXTREMELY IMPRESSIVE IN STRENGTH OR EXCELLENCE; INSPIRING FEAR

CAULKING - A PUTTY USED FOR SEALING CRACKS

FISSURES - BREAKING INTO FINE CRACKS

SINISTER - Indicating evil intent or suggesting tragic developments

CONJURES - Summon into action or bring into existence, often asif by magic

COPPER CLAD LAMINATED FROM COPPER AND SILVER AS IN COINS

DEUTSCHMARK - THE GERMAN NATIONAL COINS UNIT

THREE COINS IN A FOUNTAIN - A SONG FROM THE MOVIE BY THE SAME NAME; REFERS TO THROWING COINS IN THE TREVI FOUNTAIN IN ROME FOR GOOD LUCK

CRABTREE & EVELYN - Crabtree & Evelyn is an American retailer of body and home products with stores globally

HOT OIL TREATMENTS - SPECIAL HAIR TREATMENTS

TRACE EVIDENCE - BITS OF EVIDENCE POINTING TO A CRIMINAL, SUCH AS HAIR, ASHES, ETC.

MATRON - A FEMALE COP