These are the readings for the summer service that I led on 9 July 2017.
The first reading is from The Phantom Tollbooth, a children's novel writen by Norton Juster in 1961, before he moved to this valley to be a professor of architecture at Hampshire College.
It’s about a boy named Milo who one day finds a package in his apartment, labeled “To Milo, who has plenty of time”. In it are a tollbooth and a little car, and when he drives the car past the tollbooth he finds himself somewhere else. Not paying attention, he takes a fork in the road “which looked suspiciously like the wrong way”, and reaches the Doldrums. The inhabitants introduce themselves as the Lethargians and explain that they never do anything. One explains,
“You see,… it’s really quite strenuous doing nothing all day, so once a week we take a holiday and go nowhere, which was just where we were going when you came along. Would you care to join us?”
“I might as well,” thought Milo; “that’s where I seem to be going anyway.”
“Tell me,” he yawned, for he felt ready for a nap now himself, “does everyone here do nothing?”
“Everyone but the terrible watchdog,” said two of them, shuddering in chorus. “He’s always sniffing around to see that nobody wastes time. A most unpleasant character.”
“The watchdog?” said Milo quizzically.
“THE WATCHDOG,” shouted another, fainting from fright, for racing down the road barking furiously and kicking up a great cloud of dust was the very dog of whom then had been speaking.
“RUN!”
“WAKE UP!”
“RUN!”
“HERE HE COMES!”
“THE WATCHDOG!”
Great shouts filled the air as the Lethargians scattered in all directions and soon disappeared entirely.
“R-R-R-G-H-R-O-R-R-H- F-F,” exclaimed the watchdog as he dashed up to the car, loudly puffing and panting.
Milo’s eyes opened wide, for there in front of him was a large dog with a perfectly normal head, four feet, and a tail—and the body of a loudly ticking alarm clock.
“What are you doing here?” growled the watchdog.
“Just killing time,” replied Milo apologetically. “You see—“
“KILLING TIME!” roared the dog—so furiously that his alarm went off. “It’s bad enough wasting time without killing it.” And he shuddered at the thought. “Why are you in the Doldrums anyway—don’t you have anywhere to go?”
“I was on my way to Dictionopolis when I got stuck here,” explained Milo. “Can you help me?”
“Help you! You must help yourself,” the dog replied, carefully winding himself with his left hind leg. “I suppose you know why you got stuck.”
“I guess I just wasn’t thinking,” said Milo.
“PRECISELY,” shouted the dog as his alarm went off again, “Now you know what you must do.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” admitted Milo, feeling quite stupid.
“Well,” continued the watchdog impatiently, “since you got here by not thinking, it seems reasonable to expect that, in order to get out, you must start thinking.” And with that he hopped into the car.
“Do you mind if I get in? I love automobile rides.”
Milo began to think as hard as he could (which was very difficult, since he wasn’t used to it). He thought of birds that swim and fish that fly. He thought of yesterday’s lunch and tomorrow’s dinner. He thought of words that began with J and numbers that end in 3. And, as he thought, the wheels began to turn.
“We’re moving, we’re moving,” he shouted happily.
“Keep thinking,” scolded the watchdog,
The little car started to go faster and faster as Milo’s brain whirled with activity, and down the road they went. In a few moments they were out of the Doldrums and back on the main highway. All the colors had returned to their original brightness, and as they raced along the road Milo continued to think of all sorts of things; of the many detours and wrong turns that were so easy to take, of how fine it was to be moving along, and, most of all, of how much could be accomplished with just a little thought. And the dog, his nose in the wind, just sat back, watchfully ticking.
Last modified 25 July 2017