|Can't you just see the mischief?|
Husby is crafty.
And by this, I mean the ‘he likes to make things’ crafty.
Not the ‘crafty’ crafty.
Although with further thought, he qualifies both ways.
Moving on . . .
At times when most young men his age were watching TV or getting into mischief, he was . . . creating . . . stuff.
Some of it useful.
And some . . .
Husby had been busy in the garage and in his bedroom. The periodic sounds of hammering and sawing alternated with the occasional lapse into quieter busy-ness.
Finally, all was silent.
His mother, in the course of her day, went into his room.
He was lying on his bed, reading.
A rope dangled down the wall. She frowned. Surely that hadn’t been there before. “What’s this?” she asked.
Her son looked at her. “Pull it.”
Now you have to remember that this was the mother of a son who would one day rig his car horn to honk only when the ashtray was pulled out (see here).
Among other things.
She was justifiably cautious.
She looked around the room.
Seeing nothing immediately dangerous, she shrugged.
And gave the rope a pull.
On the far side of the room, connected to a complex network of ropes and pulleys, a trap door opened.
Revealing, in large letters, the words: Works, Donit?
His mother frowned and released the rope. The trap door closed.
Grinning, she pulled it again.
With similar results.
Then, shaking her head, she left the room.
Husby smiled happily. Mission accomplished.
Or so he thought.
A short time later, his mom was back.
With one of her friends.
“Go ahead. Pull it!” Husby’s mom said, indicating the rope.
Gingerly, the friend reached out and gave it a pull.
Obligingly, the little trap door opened, again revealing the aforementioned words.
The friend stared. Then started to laugh. She pulled the rope several more times.
Then, “This is amazing!” She looked around. “I could spend all day down here!”
Okay. Now mission accomplished.