Nummist Parables

Grist for the Mill. by Janet Howse. 2004.

The Two Banana Trees

Revealed to Joseph Howse—Oct 28, 2005

Two monkeys started climbing banana trees, side by side, but did not see each other. One monkey was staring up, while the other was staring down.

The upward-staring monkey chittered to himself with glee. He saw the ripe, yellow bushels far above, and dreamt of glutting himself and chucking peels to the ground.

The downward-staring monkey quaked with fear. As he saw the deep grasses stir with snakes and spiders, he yearned for nothing but escape.

As the upward-looker scraped and scrambled, he began to envision himself in the likeness of other great monkeys, who had climbed tall trees, devoured big bushels and cast much refuse around.

The downward-looker shimmied as best he could. All the while, he expected to fail and fall, as other piteous primates had done.

A conundrum struck the first monkey as his limbs grew sore. Could this banana tree indeed be as tall, these bushells as big and the attendant refuse as plentiful as the stuff of greatness should be? He paused to blend skepticism into his upward gaze.

The second monkey, too, was pained and went still. He wondered how much strength was in his climbing limbs, and whether it was better spent on the ground instead of above, where nothing was better, for aught he knew.

Scarcely shifting his eyes from the treetops, one monkey leapt down to find greater trees to climb. The other screeched to see his peer land amid the grass.

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The Ship's Cat and the Barn Cat

Revealed to Joseph Howse—Aug 24, 2005

The ship's cat and the barn cat met on the shore one night.

"Stop," said the barn cat. "What marks your home?"

"An anchor marks it," was the answer, "and she always points downward to the very spot where I've come—but as for you, what marks your home?"

"A weathervane does. You see, sitting in her perch, however far behind me she may be, she's pointing every-which-way the wind may blow."

They scuffled on the shore that night but never met again.

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The Scholar's Wellness

Revealed to Joseph Howse—Jul 2, 2005

A scholar, late in the span of his studies, suddenly felt the need to question how one should live well. He went to his mentor for advice.

"There are two routes you could go to find that out," the scholar's mentor said. "First is the reading route; second is the interviewing route. I suggest the latter because it's more in vogue in the discipline right now, so you're more likely to get funding if you pursue this further. Good topic, by the way."

Desiring to trust his mentor's judgment, the scholar set out the next morning with the intent to interview three people by the end of the day. As he crossed the golf course that adjoined the campus, he spotted two men in green cellophane visors. One was the caddy and the other was the golfer. The scholar approached the golfer to say, "Morning! Could you tell me whether you live well and, if so, how?"

"You bet I do!" the golfer chortled. "This morning already, I turned over about fifty-five worth of stock; I'm having lunch in the clubhouse, another nine holes with the knights, back to the round table to sign some deals and tonight I'm off with the wife for dinner on the yacht of an ambassador—can't say which one! Yep. Of course, living well isn't just about that nuts and bolts stuff. I really enjoy mentoring youth."

"That's right," the caddy added; "he does."

The scholar extended his thanks but refused the business card that was offered to him. "Oh, no," he murmured in apology: "I was only curious."

As perturbed as ever, if not more so, the scholar walked downtown to find more ascetic company. By and by, he encountered several young men and women—of an assertive and magnetic air—who were burning an effigy on the steps of the city's conference centre. "Excuse me," said the scholar, striving to draw aside one burner to question her: "You seem so rapt in what you're doing. Tell me, please: do you live well and—if so—how?"

"Living well," replied the burner, her eyes and nostrils flaring as she shook her head, "is exactly what's glutting half the world population and plunging the rest into starvation! Unless we want to end up like the dinosaurs, pretty soon we've got to put our minds to living sustainably, not well! There's lots we could learn from subsistence societies! Subsistence never killed them yet, you know!"

"Come on and get some more gas for this!" one of her fellow burners called. As the squad cars moved in, the scholar solemnly wandered off.

Too exhausted and distressed to walk anywhere else except home, the scholar was ready to accept failure with respect to his target of three interviews. Then, as he entered his bedroom, he saw his cat sprawled out, washing in the sunlight. "You live well, don't you?" asked the scholar, kneeling. "Couldn't you figure out some way to tell me how?"

The cat froze, stared hard, then got up and left the room.

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Chasing the Cat Away

Revealed to Joseph Howse—Jun 25, 2005

A poor baker had one cat and one son. The cat came into the house every morning and ate some of the little food the family had for its own.

One day, the baker's son waxed wrathful. "Father," said he, "let me chase the cat away, for we can ill afford to satiate its luxuriant belly!"

The baker was horrified by these words and he replied, "You must never chase the cat away, for our entire family would be punished!"

Deciding to ignore his father, the baker's son went out in secret, hollered, hurled heels of bread and chased the cat away. The next morning, the cat did not return.

"What have you done?" the baker asked his son.

"I have chased the cat away," the baker's son replied—"and look: My hands are clean of scratches! No one shall be punished by this cat."

"No," the baker shuddered: "The rats will punish us instead."

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