July 20, 2014 in Features

The Slice: Summer school grades are finally in

By The Spokesman-Review
 

The Witherspoons are ready for winter.
(Full-size photo)

There are those who now realize that summer school was the best thing that ever happened to them.

Let’s move on.

The Slice had asked if readers are gathering firewood: “Yup,” wrote Diana Witherspoon. “My husband, Jim, is a retired logger. You can take the logger out of the forest, but you’d have to pry the chainsaw from his cold, dead fingers. It’s a great hobby, though, and we won’t be cold this winter (or for several to come from the looks of it). Best of all, we can sit in our toasty warm house and thumb our noses at Avista.”

North Idaho’s Bruce Werner had a problem with how the question was worded. “ ‘Gathering firewood’ makes it sound like one is picking up sticks and bringing them home in the back of a little eco car. It does not sound like it involves chainsaws, a truck, and sweat. Sometimes blood.”

Mom ears, et cetera: “I don’t have mom ears (no kids) but I still have my Teacher Eyes,” wrote Pam Pierson. “With your teaching degree you earn the ability to write on the board while being able to see Johnny dipping Susie’s braid in the inkwell. OK, I’m not that old, but I did have a 3-year-old boy ask if he could move my hair to see those eyes in the back of my head.”

And Brenda Green shared this.

“My husband has dad ears – the superhuman ability to tune out everything I say and all the kids’ fighting. He also has dad nose – the amazing ability to ignore the awful smell coming from the garbage can. I’m sure there are plenty of other dads that apply that talent to their infants’ diapers.”

An honest kid: Anne Remien asked her 6-year-old grandson if he needed more cereal. He said no, he didn’t need more. “But may I have some more?”

Today’s Slice question: What’s your story about hard-to-find auto parts and the Internet?

Write The Slice at P. O. Box 2160, Spokane, WA 99210; call (509) 459-5470; email pault@spokesman.com. Dennis Foster said birds in the nest on the front porch of that cat clinic would say “I tawt I taw a puddy tat.”


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