Entertainment

It had been a horrible week for Henry.

An entomologist (insect scientist) at the local university, he was up for a promotion this year. With the promotion would come tenure. But there was a problem. It was not that he couldn't teach. His Biology 210 classes were always packed, and two years ago he was honored by the undergraduates by being named their favorite teacher.

No, his problem was with his research. He hadn't had a successful research project in several years. The last paper that he'd published was three years ago. In an age of "Publish or Perish," this was not a good situation, particularly for a non-tenured professor.

The week started with a shock. He received notice that his research grants would not be renewed for the coming year. And, if that was not enough, the dean called him into his office to tell him his contract would not be renewed unless he had a paper accepted for publication by a major entomology journal before the end of the school year.

Depressed, he left the University as soon as his morning lecture was over so that he could work in his garden. In the past, this had always had been effective in relieving tension. But to his chagrin, he found most of his roses were dying. On closer examination found they were infested with a parasite. But what were these insects? They appeared to belong to the order Anapleura. That was strange. Anapleura infected mammals, not plants. He examined them more closely. Small. Wingless. Definitely a species of Pediculosis, but one he had never seen before. He gathered up several specimens and rushed to his lab, full of new vigor. He examined the insects in detail and rapidly wrote an article describing this new species of insect.

Well, I'm sure you know the result. The article was immediately accepted by the American Journal of Entomology. His job was saved and he received his most coveted tenure. And, he received a new major grant to study this new species.

You could say he had discovered a new lice on leaf.

There was this nun named Sister Mary who, though she tried and tried, could never please the Mother Superior. One day she comes up with an idea: since the abbey was always cold, she decided to cut some wood and build a fire in the fireplace to heat the place up.

She spent all day chopping, hauling and stacking wood. Subsequently, she wound up shredding the sleeves of her habit.

Later that night, as the other nuns came into the rectory, they were delighted to find the place warm and cozy, with a big fire roaring in the fireplace.

Then Mother Superior comes in and yells, "Sister Mary! Go fix your torn habit this instant!"

Sister Mary, crying, asks, "But Mother Superior, aren't you happy that the abbey is warm?"

Mother Superior replies, "Yes, but when you ax, then ye shall re-sleeve."

Some monks were running low on funds, but didn't want to close up their monastery. After much consideration, they decided to start selling the flowers they grew. Soon after opening up shop, business boomed, much to their delight. They had plenty of cash now for burlap and oatmeal and everything else good monks need.

Unfortunately, the town already HAD a flower shop. The disgruntled owner of the rival store tried everything -- having discount sales, spreading slander about the monks, and even poisoning the monks' flower beds. Unfortunately, they'd been blessed and nothing could stop their little business.

Finally, the rival shop owner sought out a much-rumored-of man: Hugh. No one knew his last name, just that he got the job done, no questions asked. After the appropriate amount of money had changed hands, Hugh went over to the friars' place, thoroughly beat them silly, and then destroyed their flower beds.

The next day, the monks promptly boarded up the windows and closed shop permanently, thus proving that Hugh, and only Hugh, can prevent florist friars.

My Uncle Jim did not appear to be much for words. Nor, was he ever seen to have friends or pets. We thought he was the primordial loner, until one time we caught him with his ant farm.

He loved the creatures. He knew more about ants than I knew about the streets in our little town, and he loved to talk about them. Indeed, it was a deep and private affair, and we admired him for it.

One day tragedy hit in the form of a very high wind. It blew the top off the ant farm and his creatures were gone. Practically in tears, he called me on the phone.

When I asked what was wrong, he replied,

"The ants are my friends. They're blowing in the wind. The ants are blowing in the wind!