The Great Rubber Band Battle

Published May 24, 2010
I’m still finding spent ammunition scattered about my library; remnants of the great Rubber Band Battle of April 30, when niece Kim and her children visited during my convalescence. The kids — two boys and a girl — asked question after question as they explored my room, which functions as a library, museum, music room and occasional jigsaw puzzle emporium, oozing exuberance as only do the young.
They were fascinated by old typewriters and all manner of historical memorabilia, but the boys found the most fun in a bag of No. 33 rubber bands, which I bought for their size, assortment packs bearing too many small rubber bands that I can’t use. No. 33 rubber bands are thick and heavy, good for my needs, and they are the perfect size for shooting.
The boys, after discovering those 33-caliber rubber projectiles, stationed themselves at opposite ends of the room, one using a table as his breastwork and the other a stack of record crates and cassette cases. After war’s end, being thoughtful and dutiful, they picked up most of the rubber bands but missed many missiles, and like any site of a terrific battle, the spent ammunition continues to appear long after the dead were buried, the speeches given, and the grass regrown.
Three weeks later I still find rubber bands in nooks and crannies (my cluttered room is haven to multitudinous and sundry nooks and crannies), and I smile as I remember the battle. I found two bands in a 45 record crate, one behind a hat when I picked up some books on which it sat, one around a beer bottle lodged on a ledge, and one on the floor in the open, my only explanation for the last being that our cat Angus, who ignores store-bought cat toys but loves rubber bands, toilet paper and pictures, unearthed a sequestered band.

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