Here's another one for you. When we killed a snake, we kids wondered why he wouldn't stop wiggling. We could even cut his head off and he would keep right on wiggling. They told us a snake wouldn't stop wiggling till sundown, unless you turn him over and make him lie on his back, then he would stop wiggling. Trouble was, we couldn't get him to lie on his back. Even with his head off, he would keep rolling back over on his stomach, as long as he could wiggle. On the Exum farm, our house was about a half-mile from Grandma's two-story house. One day Mama sent me to Grandma's. I don't remember what I went for, but I do remember that when I got there, I couldn't find Grandma anywhere. I went all through the house looking for her. I didn't find her but I found a full box of matches on one end of her sewing machine, where she always kept them. Now, everyone knows that all little boys like to play with matches. And since I was one of those little boys, I, too, liked to play with matches, especially since I knew I was not supposed to touch them. So, I got a handful and went outside. As I went, I struck them on the porch wall, on the porch posts, on the bricks along the flower beds and on the front yard fence. Soon I was out of matches and had to go back for more. I figured that if a little handful of matches was that much fun, a big handful would be a lot more fun. My second handful was really full. This time I went out in the sand outside the yard and stood up a row of matches in the sand with their tops up and close enough together that the breeze would blow the flame from match to match. Then I lighted the match on the up-wind end of the row. It worked perfectly and it was fun watching the flame leap from match to match all the way to the far end. I reasoned that too many missing matches would cause grown-ups to become curious and begin asking questions. And since they knew that I had gone to Grandma's that day, I would be the first one they would question. So I limited my match pleasure to three handfuls and then went home. I still don't know why I was sent to Grandma's that day, but I remember I was glad I went. I came back with a deep, dark secret of my own and a pleasurable memory to add to my storehouse. In our youth, if any of us kids complained of feeling a little under the weather, we were given a "scientific" medical examination at bed time. We had to stick out our tongue for our parents to look at. If there was the least bit of white coating on the tongue, it meant we must take a calomel tablet and go to bed. I'm not sure I am spelling "calomel" correctly because I failed to find the word in my small dictionary. And I sort of doubt that our family doctor knew how to spell it. But it's just as well. I have yet to find a doctor who can write so anyone can read what he wrote anyway.