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Jon Hersey - Industrial Spy


A Good Day!
Jon needed a spoon, a bowl, and maybe a chisel. The ice cream was frozen and hard
like the tundra. He got a bowl from the cabinet right of the sink, a spoon from the top
drawer under the bowl cabinet, and an ice cream scoop from the next drawer down.
There they were - two dried spaghetti noodles with a little sauce. They had taken the
shape of the seldom-used kitchen accessories they were laying on. Jon carefully picked
them from the accessories. As he held them up, their profile reminded him of the
mountains he drew as a kid - two-dimensional. How those two noodles got in that
drawer was three-dimensional.
Jon thought back to that evening, it was just four months ago.
Alissa had enjoyed teasing Jon that her family's secret sauce had more people
attempting to "steal" the recipe than there were Italian restaurants ... in Italy. On special
occasions like their three-month anniversary, 25th date night, Jon's birthday, etc., she
would spend the four hours needed to chop, stir, spice, boil, simmer, and taste.
It was his favorite pasta sauce. It was passed down to Alissa, through four generations.
She enjoyed teasing him about "knowing something he would never know." When she
made her great-great-grandmother's recipe, at the right time, she would LET Jon boil
the pasta.
Jon started the whole mess when he leaned over Alissa as if he were spying to see how
the sauce was made.
In his best imitation of Colonel Klink, Jon said, "We have ways of making you talk!"
That was when the feisty Alissa defended herself with a spoon of heirloom pasta sauce.
Jon tossed some raw pasta at Alissa. He actually threw it hoping to miss her, but she
"ducked" right into its path. He started laughing at their version of the Keystone Cops.
"Feisty" started laughing and reloading the spoon. Splat! It hit Jon mid-forehead then
dripped down his face. Jon grabbed the raw pasta and took a defensive position across
the kitchen island. The heirloom sauce and raw spaghetti collected on every surface
until the ammunition was gone.
Out of ammo, they slid to the floor laughing at their mess and the outrageously great
time they had just had. While they leaned against each other, Alissa fell asleep. She
was exhausted. The four hours of preparation, the food fight, and the chemo treatments
drained her frail failing body. He carried her upstairs so she could rest. Then he
returned to clean up their skirmish. He giggled for three hours as he cleaned-up the
battlefield.
Now staring at these two hardened noodles, Jon smiled.
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