Words by Grace E Hall

   The tall woman it turned out was named Alice Margaret Cake, to be called Ms. Cake, or Teacher for short. It was she who arrived early every morning to set up the classroom and make sure all was in order before the students arrived. “And then,” said Ms. Cake, as she dusted off the desks with a cloth and straightened the chairs (Janek still hovering nearby), “then, I teach the class all day until evening. And then, I make sure everyone has Cleared Out before the caretaker comes by to close up. And then—” She thrust a jar of pencils onto her own desk with rather more force than was necessary.   “and then, I when the day is done and night has fallen, then I take out my pencil—” She gesticulated energetically with the blackboard cleaner. “---and review everyone's work, beginning to end, every subject; even geology. And then—” She had been bending over (the better to scrub the blackboard) but now she straightened and gave Janek an appraising look. “---I grade. If y...

Good Morning everyone (or evening as the case may be) this has been a very busy week, and suddenly I find myself in the car, riding to lessons and Wednesday church, with about twenty minutes to come up with a blog post.  I apologize.  This is why only the first half of the story is being published today.  That is, I might call it a very optimistic half: it may be more like the beginning description that occurs at the start of a Story.  Anyway never mind this!  Here it is. Janet Wilson was convinced that nothing and nobody had warned him properly about the dangers of school; and if this is surprising, I must admit that he had had his expectations set rather the wrong way.  First of all, he had spent the months leading up to the first day of school buried in his chaotic and cluttered bedroom space, reading up on every subject he could think of.  Then, he had occupied his mental capacity on all other occasions with frightful anxieties that he would fail a...

I usually find that stories can start in several ways, and I am also very aware that I prefer stories to begin with a reasonable amount of descriptions and such, so as to get a good idea of what is happening; but when I set about beginning this one, I found there simply wasn't time to describe anything. I'm very sorry. But, since i am currently writing this whilst being harried, bustled, and asked questions by a constant gaggle of Company Participants of various importance, I have no time to describe my surroundings. Again I apologize. I am Jimmy Birch, Scribe For and General Manager Of the president of Morgan, and Co.---but I have no more time to elaborate! The Very Unsettled Contractor currently attempting to engage me in conversation chose this moment to seize me by the arm, making writing this narrative even harder than it already is, I might add.   “Will you stop and look at me!” Said the Unsettled. “Mr. Birch, I trust you understand that this is important!” “Sorry!”...

And, Fall is coming. I’m back in Huntsville! Other than getting sick at the end of the trip, it went well. I appreciate the short break from posting and I thank you heartily for your patience. I miss the cooler northern weather already; however, the fantastic flavors of fall are beginning to intermingle with the summer heat even here: my bedroom window is dark before eight o’clock at night, for instance; pumpkins and apples appear in advertisements, and every once in awhile I get a whiff of dried-leaves-smelling air. These all bring to mind Pies and turkey and wood fires and coats (and other promising things of that sort). Then, because it is, after all, only August, and Alabama, the sun comes out, the temperature rises, and the hints of coming happy autumn fade to the background. But it’s coming, slowly but surely, and the first day of fall is only a month away. The first day of fall is usually a celebration in our house. Fall decor is taken from the attic and set up, a trip to...