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Papa always used to say that idle hands were the Devil's playground, and so Papa would always be out in the shed a-fiddlin' away and tinkerin' with some damned fool gadgetry. He'd always be jawin' on about it, non-stop, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He'd be tellin' us about it down at the corner store. He'd go and demonstrate some crazy thing or other with his hands all wildly gesticulatin' while drivin' down the road. He'd up and get all fidgety right in the middle of church even, barely able to contain himself 'til we'd get outside and he could unload the latest epiphany on us.
Every day he'd go on out to the garage and drag out some chemicals, or parts and tools, or sometimes just head straight on into the shed and sit at the drawin' board the whole time he was out there, comin' back in only for a bite to eat. Come the end of the day, he'd just gather it all together again, except for what waste chemicals he had, and he'd just pour them down the drain, sayin' as how it wouldn't hurt none.
Well, there we were one evening, just about to sink into some sweet corn, when he up and had himself another one his ideas and just couldn't sit still long enough even to eat – he just got up and bolted on out to the shed quick as a fox with his tail on fire. We all knew it was gonna be another all-nighter right then and there, so we started haggling over his pieces until Ma settled things, tossing his into a bowl of melted butter for safe keepin' and puttin' an end to it all.
Sure enough, we could hear him out there already, bangin' away and clankin' like nobody's business.
It went on into the night to no end, and we were all glad to fall asleep from shear exhaustion. I don't know just when he came back in, and some of us had a sneakin' suspicion that he never did come back that night and only came saunterin' on in come daybreak. He was just about proud as peaches and fixin' to bust when we set to breakfast. We knew that look. It was only a matter of time now.
We started makin' bets. How soon he'd tell us all, what it would turn out to be.
One time it was a window you couldn't see through, for privacy.
Another it was bricks made of meringue, to keep them all nice and light.
My favorite was the rotisserie that turned itself by the heat of the fire, but not enough to move with any meat on it.
This one looked to be shapin' as a real whopper.
It didn't take long, and we weren't none of us disappointed.
A little after breakfast, he marched the whole family on out to the outhouse.
We stood around waitin'. He just stood there, not sayin' a thing.
There we all were, just a-standin' there in the breeze, water tricklin' along stone somewhere nearby...
That's when we realized that the outhouse wasn't quite where it should be.
It was maybe ten feet closer than usual, and it wasn't taken to walkin' around none that we'd ever seen before.
It was also set on pavin' stones, and that didn't make sense nohow.
Papa just stood there, smilin' like the cat that done ate the canary.
Well, we got to wonderin' just what he'd done, scratchin' our heads and peerin' all about. The old pit was still where it was before, covered over with some boards now. Inside the outhouse was the real shocker: water was pourin' down inside a big bowl and just kept comin'.
We must have been there an hour, fussin' over it all.
There weren't no pipes nor water source to come from. Papa had finally done it. He'd come up with something to beat all. An indoor outhouse.
We let Ma have the first go 'round, and Papa was mighty proud indeed.
It wasn't long 'til we got to wonderin' where it all went though, but he never did say. He'd just smile and change the subject some.
Turned out the water went down a funnel, getting' thinner as it went, the pressure from above buildin' up and makin' it all go faster, and made its way back around to the top, where it would start all over again at low pressure. It sorta made sense, though somethin' about that didn't sound quite right somehow.
Like you might expect, word got around mighty fast, and it wasn't long 'til we'd have people come around to set a spell and then they'd get to lookin' over toward the outhouse some...
Papa ended up makin' one for the folks all around. Powerful busy that summer, but he was happy. Only asked them to have the material he needed and give him lunch.
Papa put on a few pounds that year.
Come Christmas though, he had a surprise of his own.
There we were, singin' and carryin' on, jugs of nog for all, when there came a knock at the door.
Papa went to get it and was talkin' a while before comin' in with these two men we never saw before. We got them some nog with a little rum in it, for medicinal purposes, and nice hot turkey, and some gingerbread, and once we were sure they were seen to, they finally got down to brass tacks.
They wanted to buy Papa's outhouse.
Oh, don't you worry none, Papa was canny there. He done refused their every offer, even when they said they'd give him royal-tea or somethin', and that sounded mighty nice there, I don't mind tellin' you.
Finally, when they'd got to lookin' all glum-like, he made them an offer. He'd run them a factory and everything, as long as he kept controlling interest and shares and I don't know what-all, and they could do what they liked with the rest.
Well, they hemmed and hawed like you wouldn't believe, but they came around to seein' it his way eventually. They stayed with us for three days on account of the snow, and ended up leavin' as family.
We still see them every year, and most holidays.
They come rollin' on up in their fancy cars and bring the wives and kids along and we all have a grand ole time.
We don't want for nothin', neither.
Except maybe sometimes.
When we get to wonderin' just where it all goes.
Papa still ain't said nothin' on that, and I don't doubt he won't, neither.
But just sometimes. Sometimes he gets this glint in his eye like he knows somethin' we don't. Somethin' real funny. Then looks off to the side – always eastward – and mumbles somethin' funny about politics.
O ~~~ O