The Lectern By Kathleen Tonn I walked into PAS Room 119 and took my seat in the fifth row of the small auditorium. The capacity sign at the entrance door read one-hundred-and twenty people. The university met the fire department’s regulations. I sat on the left side closest to the exit. A habit I acquired after a fire broke out in a movie theater I was in. Survival instinct. Other students were filing into the auditorium. Some were talking excitedly about their winning team at the Super Bowl. Others were discussing their bus routes that were disrupted by the awful snowstorm that resulted in the cancelation of classes. I just sat in my seat looking at the simple, brown lectern. Noble speakers, in years past, used it to convey heartfelt messages on the importance of civic participation. After all, this lecture hall was used primarily by the Political Science Department. Today’s guest, Jonathan Renaldo Targetto, would speak on the crisis of the first amendment housed in the U.S. Constitution. I heard him speak at Lexington University a year earlier. He was sincere; yet, his passion for the Constitution was conveyed through a quick wit. His sarcastic humor sliced through student boredom like a knife. No puffery, no platitudes and no poison diluted his message Silence fell in the room as our instructor walked up to the lectern. “Students, I want to welcome Mr. Targetto to our class. His knowledge of the Constitution and the first amendment is extraordinary. He will give you ample understanding of why you can grumble on social media about the referee’s fatal call in yesterday’s Super Bowl. With those words, laughter spread across the room from the fans of the winning team. Then Mr. Targetto took his place at the lectern. “I oppose your laughter students. I support the losers.” A fresh wave of laughter sprung up. Not by the students who joyfully threw barbs at those whose team lost. Instead, the laughter came from those besmirched students supporting the losing team. “Okay, let’s get serious. I’ve got forty-five minutes to convey the importance of free speech. Without your understanding of this vital amendment, and your commitment to it, you will lose it. Do I have your attention?”

The Logo By Kathleen Tonn I searched the magazine rack at Barnes & Noble. From lifestyle, home décor, finance to body building magazines looked back at me. The magazine I was hoping to find was not on display. For all I know, the magazine doesn’t exist. I should explain. I had a dream last week where I saw an unusual logo. The logo was on the cover of a magazine. I clearly saw the intricate, yet, crisp shape that formed three letters upside down. E, X, and B were graphically outsized on the front cover of a finance magazine. The letters were colored in pigment I’d never seen before. As an acrylic painter, I was familiar with the color shades. However, the logo I observed in my dream had indistinguishable colors I can’t even describe the colors. I would just recognize the logo when I see it. I walked out of the bookstore disappointed. I really hoped I would find the magazine with the logo on the store’s rack. I thought Barnes & Noble carries all magazine publications. I opened the door to my Subaru. It was my lunch hour. I had just enough time to get a bagel from The Bagel Factory. I drove out of the parking lot still thinking about the unusual nature of that logo. At one time I worked as a graphic artist. That job required me to do the artistic work involving company logos. Maybe that’s why I had the dream. Perhaps that logo hasn’t been created yet. Moreover, maybe that particular finance magazine doesn’t exist yet. Many times my dreams pertain to future events. Time tables that are not clearly defined. When I receive a dream that stands out as significant, the dream always remains in my conscious awareness. Like a computer program searching for that missing data point that completes an algorithm. I ordered my bagel. So delicious. Plain bagel, alpha sprouts, avocado slices, crème cheese, pepper jack cheese and tomato slices. I chewed the bagel thoughtfully Again, the dream content running through my mind. I will continue to pray about the dream. Perhaps God will bring that logo before me during some meeting. Or maybe, he might want me to design the logo as I saw it in the dream. The specific type of magazine is integral to the logo. A finance magazine. Certainly, finance and our volatile economy rub elbows.

The Integrity of War By Kathleen Tonn “Son, you shovel that side of the driveway, and I will shovel this side,” Ryan instructed his twelve-year-old. With those words, each picked up their shovel and began the arduous work of removing the five inches of snowfall covering the length of the thirty-eight foot driveway. Ryan calculated it would take at least two hours to clear the snow. He and Styles wouldn’t even have to shovel if his snowplow truck had not blown a gasket. Ryan stacked his shovels of snow near his wife’s garden. He caught Tina peeking out the window smiling at him. She then pointed towards Styles. Ryan looked over his shoulder at his son. “What are you doing making a snowman when you are to be shoveling?” he asked with a hint of exasperation in his voice. “I thought he might like to watch us shovel,” replied Styles with amusement. “I am going to give him my shovel, so he can be my proxy,” exclaimed the freckled boy. Ryan wasn’t sure if he heard Styles correctly. “Say that again.” “I am making him a proxy. He can shovel for me, so I can go back inside an play Fortrite. Is that okay with you Dad?” “No, that’s not okay with me. Pick up your shovel and get back to work,” demanded Ryan sternly. Styles did as he was told. He quickly picked up his shovel. While standing in front of the snowman, he saluted the lop-sided fellow. Then, Styles returned to his side of the driveway to resume shoveling. The two quietly worked. After ten minutes, however, Ryan asked Styles, “Where did you hear the word proxy?” “On Fox News last night. The retired general said Iran uses a proxy in war. That way the government can be sneaky.” Ryan stood up and looked at his son. In the warmth of the sun, Styles looked like his mother, but his mind was clever like his grandfather. It became clear to Ryan the work of shoveling could be both a bonding moment and a teaching moment. “Styles, give me your understanding of what a proxy is,” Ryan calmly requested. “Dad, it’s when other people fight others, so a country doesn’t have to. Like, I wanted my snowman to shovel, so I wouldn’t have to.”

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