And Jim, as his teen-age friends used to say, wasn't just whistling Dixie. We were definitely, unquestionably still there.
About this time I became aware of a pain in the small of my back. For a man who is pushing 60, I'm in pretty good shape except for my sacroiliac. Just my luck, I thought. Here I am, plastered to the ceiling, and that thing has to start acting up. In moving a bit though, I heard a scraping sound and found I had more than one pain in my back. Feeling carefully under me, I found that it wasn't the sacroiliac at all, but a cigarette lighter, two gloves, a pack of cigarettes, and two golf balls. I tried to toss the balls down to the floor and all they did was go almost down then curve right back up and bounce on the ceiling, where they settled. I tried the same thing with the gloves and back they came too. So I lit one of the cigarettes, even without my morning coffee.
Mary had been silent for awhile, but apparently she had the same thought. "Ralph, aren't you coming down for breakfast?" she asked, pleadingly.
"I don't know, honey. But I do know I'm sure getting hungry, even in this position." And turning so I could see her better, if you can turn while lying on the ceiling looking down, I said, "Do you suppose you could whip up something to eat? And maybe put it on a pole so you could hand it up?" She allowed as how she could, but Jim, who had been in one of his brown studies again spoke up; "I don't believe we'll need a pole, Dad. Now that the plastic plate's been turned off and moved, everything's all right."
"Everything's all right!" I growled. "If everything's so all right, why don't we come down? How long's it going to take, anyway?"
"Well, it's hard to say," Jim shrugged. "In fact, I've been thinking maybe I ought to call Professor Jordan up at school and ask him what to do."
"Is he an expert?"
"Well, I'd call him that. The trouble is, I don't know what I did, so I certainly don't know how to un-do it. Maybe he'll have an idea."
"Does he know about anti-gravity?"