Skip to main content

The Magical Mr. Harwell with Josephine and Minnie Lou

 


The Magical Mr. Harwell
with Josephine and Minnie Lou

Chapter One

The Magical Mr. Harwell stood under the American Linden tree. He didn’t look busy but he was busy. He was busy thinking …

He said rapidly to himself, “I wonder what the weather will be like today? I wonder what time it is? My belly is growling; what should I have for lunch? What’s that rustling noise I hear?”

And without considering his actions, The Magical Mr. Harwell twisted his body around to look behind him at the fallen green leaves and teeny, tiny white flowers. His magical cane swung just slightly above the ground. Suddenly it began to hum and vibrate. He felt it moving in his hand.

He muttered, “Oh no, now what have I done! What have I done? I set off my cane again.” Disappointed in himself, he shook his head, “I hate when that happens.”

A small warm breeze blew and he heard a swishing sound. A tunnel appeared and two teeny, tiny fairies walked calmly out into the sunshine.

The Magical Mr. Harwell declared, “This is the most special magic I ever made.”


Chapter Two

Josephine, the taller of the two fairies, giggled and said, “What can we do for you sir?” Minnie Lou coughed a little. She was nervous because they rarely get any company.

The Magical Mr. Harwell asked, “What special powers do you have?”

Minnie Lou explained, “We keep the stars in our portal during the day. We only let them out of the tunnel at night.”

Josephine added, “That way they never burn out. The stars in the sky will glow forever.”

The Magical Mr. Harwell was happy that he found the fairies. He never knew they were there. He said, “Thank you for the important work you do.”

And then he turned to walk away. Uh oh! The spinning of his body turned on his magic cane again.

What will he discover next?


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Holy cow, it’s costmary!

Recently while helping my sister, Kit, move to a new house, we found an inte res ting old bible belonging to “V. H. Reinhart” in the bottom of a moldy old box. I’d never seen a bible like it. The left-hand column is written in German and the right, in English. Victor H. Reinhart, born in 1885, was the father of my step father, Wilbur Reinhart, and I knew from oral family history that he was a Mennonite minister. Inside the bible we found a single, brittle, pale green leaf and immediately recognized it. I said, “Holy cow, it’s costmary!” (Tanacetum balsamita also Chrysanthemum balsamita)  Because I’m passionate about both genealogy and herb gardening, this discovery was a bit like taking a beautiful old painting to the Antiques Roadshow and finding a signed copy of the Declaration of Independence behind it. Costmary’s (now obsolete) common name is “bible leaf,” having been used as an aromatic bookmark since the time when a bible was likely the only book in the house. The volat...

Genealogy: it’s about connection

Each one of us has two parents, four grandparents, and eight great-grandparents. For every generation you go back, the number of people who procreated, to eventually make you, doubles. When I first started out on my genealogy journey, these numbers astounded me, and still do. I love to think about my DNA stew. It feeds my soul. Playing with numbers Let’s assume each generation makes a baby at age thirty. Perhaps the age should be 16, 18, 20, or 25, but whatever, I picked 30 for this exercise. After all, in the past, people started having children earlier than today, but they also bore many more children and did so over a period of 10, or even 20, years. Stick with me for this simplified and fictional example: For a child born in 1960, there were two parents who were born about 1930. The baby’s four grandparents were born about 1900. The baby’s eight great-grandparents were born in 1870. (You see, I'm doubling the number of grandparents and going back 30 years at the same time....

On Beauty

About 10 years ago during our routine Saturday phone call, my father asked me an amazing question, “Why does seeing something beautiful make a person cry?”  I was honored that he asked me such a powerful question and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. In my lifetime, I've seen some beautiful things that have made me cry. When I was 17-years-old and an exchange student in Spain , I walked down a dark corridor inside a church, turned a corner, and saw a huge painting (10 by 16 feet), El Greco’s “The Burial of the Count of Orgaz.” That was 1972, but I vividly remember the colors in it: the metallic gold, the reds, and the grays and how the elongated faces and figu res dripped emotion. I remember the awe I felt in seeing that the artist had painted a sheer white gown over a black velvet robe (lower right). I stood quite close to it for as long as the guide would allow. For many, the natural world evokes wonderment. About 25 years ago, on a trip to rural Canada...