Rice Krispies Ziggurat building earns a 95 percent

BY Pat Van Dyke

Trevor and Pat decide how to finish the Ziggurat. Photo provided by Pat Van Dyke

There are some things I really don’t like. I don’t care for Ferris wheels, bologna sandwiches and jeeps. I dislike asparagus, sweet potatoes, raisins and dune buggies. I have a strong aversion to fruitcake, fig newtons and playing in the snow.

But the experience that I dislike most was constant in my life for several years. I detest school projects, be it a collage, diorama, writing a poem, paint by number, family coat of arms, map, poster, scrapbook, or the “grand-daddies of them all,” the infamous science project.

I lived through years of science projects with my two daughters and oldest grandson. Growing mold on bread was simple. If you visit my kitchen pantry, you will see that experiment in constant action. Chances are if you are looking for growing mold, you may also stumble on another one of my frequent projects, a soft potato complete with budding eyes.

Trevor shows his completed Ziggurat. Photo provided by Pat Van Dyke

This dislike of school projects did not come naturally to me. My mother was the “queen of school projects.” My brother’s San Juan Capistrano mission made of sugar cubes rivaled the actual mission. Her volcanos shot up higher and longer than anyone else’s in the class. A map of France was so detailed that you could smell bread baking.

Fortunately for me, my daughters were very independent when working on a school project. They didn’t need my help and never wanted my help; but just a few months ago when my youngest grandson fell into the trap of asking for “Grandma’s help,” he didn’t realize that he was stirring up my mother’s passion within me. If my mother could do this, so could I!

I was excited. It was as if there was a grandmother’s rite of passage: to assist a grandchild to get that precious title of “Best Project in the Class.” Trevor had been given an assignment and I was on a mission!

The assignment was to build a model of a Ziggurat. There was only one problem, I didn’t know what a Ziggurat was! Give me a couple of sugar cubes and I can build a pyramid that would make King Tut envious. Give me some popsicle sticks and I can build a fort that would have saved the life of Davy Crockett at the Alamo, but a Ziggurat?

Research told us that a Ziggurat was a Sumerian temple from Biblical times. It is thought that the tower of Babel was a Ziggurat. If people of Biblical times could build a temple with rocks, wood, and sand, thousands of years later and with modern technology, I certainly could build something that would rival their efforts.

My mind went into overtime: we could build a tower of shoeboxes with little toothpick people climbing to the top! I could hide a speaker in a box and have voices speaking 10 different languages at one time!

There was only one problem: it had to be created by the student, not the parent. This meant that I could be the constructional consult, but Trevor was to be the contractor with no subs to be used. This will really cramp my style, but I was determined to lead Trevor successfully down the road of construction!

With my guidance, he would create an architectural wonder. Who knows, his project might be found hundreds of years later and would tell the story of an endearing creative grandmother whose efforts became a legend for generations for years to come.

The first decision was to decide on the building material. The worksheet suggested clay, Legos, Styrofoam, or sugar cubes. Trevor decided on Rice Krispies squares which didn’t sound too difficult. Years ago, I convinced my family that Rice Krispies squares were a nutritious, healthy snack; rice was good for you, just like potatoes; marshmallows are protein because you can cook them over a fire; and butter is milk as a solid.

When it was time to carve out the bricks, we discovered that you can make Rice Krispies squares so hard that you need a saw to cut through them.

It had something to do with heating the marshmallow mixture to the “hard ball stage.” I think we heated it up higher than that. It must have been something near the “bowling ball stage.”

Soon, my kitchen was a Rice Krispies brickyard with sheets of “bricks” covering the counter. We had Rice Krispies square remnants everywhere. In our hair, up Trevor’s nose, sticking to the bottom of our shoes, and we even found some in the cracks of our driveway replacing missing cement.

Trevor carved, stacked and glued. After a very long process of spray-painting Rice Krispies squares, a Ziggurat soon began to form. There was only one problem. It wasn’t nearly the height that we had planned.

We double checked our blueprints which were drawn out on an old brown grocery bag. We interviewed everyone who was anywhere near our Ziggurat while it was under construction. After a complete investigation, we found the culprit: Grandpa had eaten the top two floors.

As a result, Grandpa was charged with destroying a historical religious relic and was banned from the pantry for six to 10 months.

Trevor’s Ziggurat received a grade of 95 percent, but more importantly, I now plan to enter our architectural design for the Pritzker Architecture Prize. I had never heard of it before but learning that it honors living architects whose work demonstrates talent and makes a contribution to humanity, I think that spray painting Rice Krispies squares to look and smell exactly like an ancient temple has to be worth something!

I hear there’s a $100,000 award connected to the prize! Trevor and I are planning to begin building a life-sized castle of Rick Krispies squares soon.