As I carried a box of merchandise, I noticed a small whetstone mixed in with the junk. I removed the stone from its plastic sheath and said "I've got one just like this, except mine's worn out. This is just what I need."

As I slipped it into my pocket, Ruth said, "Alan, you put that back in that box right now. You stole my pies on Halloween, but you're not going to steal my whetstone." I laughed and dropped it back into the box. She obviously hadn't forgotten the time, several years ago, when I took the opportunity to "liberate" two of her fresh pumpkin pies.

Ruth must have told the auctioneer to make sure that I paid dearly for that little whetstone. When it came up for bid, he tried to get it started for a rediculously high price. Finally he looked at me and said, "Easley's in for $2."

I was thinking more like sixty cents, but I realized that I'd been set up, so I just grinned and nodded my head. Three or four of my neighbors started raising the bid $1 at a shot. I just stood and watched.

Imagine my surprise when the auctioneer suddenly said, "Sold! Easley, $10!" I looked over where Ruth was standing, and she and two other ladies were laughing so hard they could hardly stand up.

A few minutes later, one of my neighbors said, "Alan, you got the bargain of the day: $5 for a fifty-cent whetstone, and $2.50 apiece for some pies you ate three or four years ago."

Well, Ruth may have felt she had evened the score my pie pilferage, but getting even is a two-edged sword that cuts both ways, especially when you have a $10 whetstone by which to sharpen it.

One afternoon, I stopped by Ruth's house and got my chance to return the favor.

As we sat at the kitchen table visiting, she suddenly got up and placed a small jar and a spoon on the table in front of me. She informed me that it was zucchini jam. She wanted to see what I thought.

It had been a good growing season for zucchini. Everyone who had raised a garden was eating fried zucchini, baked zucchini, mashed zucchini, zucchini bread, zucchini cake, and probably several other froms of zucchini that our wives had cleverly disguised as something else. Ruth, with her jam, carried it a step further.

I said that I'd never even heard of zucchini jam, and she said that she hadn't either, but that after running across the recipe, she thought she might as well make some.

"Ruth," I said, "I can't just sit here and eat a spoonful of jam all by itself. Haven't you got some bread?"

She got a loaf out of the cabinet and placed it on the table and sat back down. I looked at her for a moment, then said, "Ruth, I'd sure like to have a little butter to go with my bread and jam." She got up and retrieved a dish of butter out of the refrigerator.

"Ruth," I said, I really need a knife for this butter. If I use the spoon, I'll get butter in the jam jar." She shook her head, got up, and brought me a knife.

"Well, that should keep you happy," she said. "I suppose so," I replied, "but a big glass of cold milk sure would go good with this." She got back up for the milk.

I sat there and ate six slices of bread and jam and emptied the jar. Ruth watched without saying a word. When I finished , she said, "Apparently, you like zucchini jam."

"I've eaten lots better," I said, "but it's not too bad if you're really hungry."

I just barely made it out of that house alive.

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