Jot down this message- if you can
By Brent E. McCoy thereal@roadrunner.com

I'm sure that many of you have them. I've seen them in other homes. No one knows how they get there; they just do.

I'm sure that most of you have a home of some type. In that home there is probably a kitchen, and in that kitchen there is probably a phone. Near the phone there is more than likely a box, a cup or a bowl of writing implements. And near the writing implements is a pad of paper.

The other day a friend of mine called with some important news, and I listened intently to what he had to say. After he was finished, I thought that the news was important enough to write down before my usual three minutes of retention had passed.

I hurried into the kitchen and over to the bowl of pens, pencils, crayons and some rather odd, multicolored writing utensils. I grabbed a pen and started to write. It was dried out, so I grabbed another. The ink came pouring out of it onto the counter. I grabbed another one, then another and another. All of them were useless.

I decided that it might be better if I used a pencil so that I could erase any misspellings later. I grabbed a trusted Ticonderoga from its place in the bowl only to find that the lead- which really isn't lead- was broken, so I grabbed another, then another and another. All of them were no good.

Harkening back to my youth, I decided that I could do just as well with a crayon, so I reached in and pulled out the lucky winner. It was melted. I took out another one, but the writing part was inside the wrapping part. I grabbed another, then another and another. Not one good crayon in the bunch.

Now I was desperate, so I grabbed one of the funny multicolored things, but the thingy that you push to make the colors come out was stuck. (I bet you don't know what it is called either.) I grabbed another, then another and another. All of them were stuck.

I was starting to forget the details of this new information. I needed to find something to write with, and I needed to find it fast.

I pulled out highlighting pens that had no tops and had dried up. I tried Sharpies that apparently had been used in place of darts and were all squished where the point used to be. I pulled a bunch of things out of that bowl that defy definition. The only thing they had in common was that they used to write but didn't any more.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something else on the counter. It was the wooden skewer from a recent barbecue. It was the sort of thing that you use to make kabobs. The point is that when you cook the meat and the vegetables, you also char the stick, and you can write with a charred stick. I was saved.

Time was running short, so I reached for the pad of paper. The first page was full of recipes. The second page was filled with phone numbers (no names, just numbers). I flipped another, then another and another. All of the pages were full. I even tried writing on the cardboard backing, but that was no good because I had set it down in the puddle of ink from the pen.

Finally I went to my desk in the den and pulled out pen and paper from the drawer. Just then the phone rang, and the caller said, "Have you heard the news?" I replied, "Yes, I heard, but would it be too much trouble to tell me again?"