curious cognitive content

2011-11-27T19:54:00.001-05:00

(Click on picture to enlarge)
...sorry for the very unoriginal comic strip. My head exploded so I can't think of anything better right now.

The Day

2011-11-18T16:58:00.001-05:00

I knew this day was coming.

It comes for everyone, sooner or later. It starts with small and seemingly insignificant choices, each choice steadily becoming more and more important. Soon, one begins to shiver at the mere thought of the approaching day.

Eventually, one may cry and sniff when one thinks of the day, but these actions only serve to confirm the certainty of that day's approach.

And then the evening before the fateful day arrives, one feels the lump in the back of one's throat, the pain of a headache, the tiredness of eyes, the heaviness of a mind that has finally given up fighting the inevitable.

The day itself dawns like every other day. But it is different from every other day, because of the horrible dread it holds: that horrible hacking and coughing! That tiring sneezing and sniffing!

And now that day has come for me, just as I knew it would. I stand, crushed, incapacitated; beneath that awful weight so lightly called a common cold.

Wasting Time

2011-11-15T10:25:00.001-05:00

For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. (Romans 7:15 ESV)

So Organized

2011-10-08T19:05:00.002-04:00

When there is so much to be done,
My weapons are a pen and pad
With which I write and write a ton
Of lists (quite messy, I might add).

I stuff them into the drawer,
And sip my coffee, feeling pleased.
List-writing can be such a bore,
But my mind has been greatly eased.

Two weeks later, I steal a glance
At those lists from two weeks ago
And stare quite as if in a trance
For I have no work I can show.

Then with a sudden, new resolve,
I once more take my pad and pen
And new lists begin to evolve
To be stuffed in the drawer again.

The Happiest Car I Ever Saw....

2011-09-15T22:20:00.001-04:00

There is a car with such a wide smile
It has worn for mile after mile
And, although it seems to be wide awake,
I think that its big grin is all a fake -
Because, while I looked and I admired,
I saw that it's wheels are always tired.

Remember 9/11

2011-09-11T01:03:00.002-04:00

I heard the rushing, roaring sound
Of planes far too close to the ground
I heard awful, terror-struck cries
As people looked up at the skies.
I saw the planes so swiftly glide -
With the stately towers collide.
I saw the towers melt away,
Beneath the very light of day.
I saw the fierce flames leap up high
And heard thousands of voices cry
- then cease.

I see the tears on every face
Of one who lost a friend's embrace
I see a vengeful anger rise
In more than just one pair of eyes.
I see the orphans' sober gaze
Through the black smoke and filthy haze.
I see the husbands mourning wives
And families mourning loss of lives,
And all through out the city now,
I see sorrow on every brow
- sorrow.

I see the grey ashes and dust
And bent metal taken by rust.
I see the graveyard bare and sad
That once in life and joy was clad.
I see my close friends coughing hard,
Their lungs and limbs and bodies marred
By toxins in that deathly air.
Compassion was what brought them there,
To quench the hellish, fearful flame
And to rescue the hurt and lame
- rescue.

And all throughout the coming ages,
One thing rings out on history's pages:
Remember 9/11.

"Then shall your light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily; your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard." (Isaiah 58:8)

The Trees on Campus

2011-09-06T23:06:00.000-04:00

A clump of trees stood high and tall,
They grew within a grey-stone wall -
A wall made up of buildings old,
Constructed by grey bricks so cold.

Yet happy were the trees in there,
Although they missed the forest air,
For they brought smiles to the face
That admired their stately grace.

The shadow land

2011-09-05T13:20:00.000-04:00

Upon the pavement grey,
In the soft light of late day,
I beheld the shadow land.

There is no color there,
And all is so bleakly bare,
Yet it whispers of beauty.

The land has nothing new:
Our world copied in grey-blue
And it lacks all dimension.

Now the trees seem more green,
The sky a prettier scene,
And the world much more lovely:

Because of the shadow land.

2011-09-01T20:40:00.000-04:00

A row of three,

(Mahogany?)

Bored folding chairs

That put on airs

As if they were

Much fancier.

On another note, I am needing a new camera; my pictures have been getting grainier and grainier.

No Picture Today....

2011-08-31T22:42:00.000-04:00

For want of a picture, a post was lost;
For want of a post, the audience was lost;
For want of an audience, the blog was lost;
For want of the blog, HOMEWORK GOT DONE!!!!!
And all for the want of a picture.
(But as it happens, you get a post anyways).

DANGER!!!

2011-08-30T22:45:00.000-04:00

Drama

2011-08-29T14:13:00.001-04:00

A ride at the Great Escape.

A Dance

2011-07-07T15:10:00.000-04:00

I am sorry that the image quality is so bad.... The girl's dress is made out of a piece of shiny origami paper, in case you were wondering.

Thoughtful post

2011-07-06T14:40:00.001-04:00

If it is very hot outside, then there is no way I can think.
It is very hot outside.
Therefore, I can not think.

It's a syllogism, and in my dehydrated state, I can only hope it makes sense. The only drawback to a syllogism is that sometimes the premise is wrong:

If cats can fly, then I am a pickle.
Cats can fly.
Therefore, I am a pickle.

The above syllogism is logical, but the result is obviously incorrect. At least I hope it is, otherwise I am a green condiment.

Piano Lessons

2011-07-05T11:41:00.000-04:00

Little children and stuffed animals are invariably cute. Special thanks to Bernie, Eddy (left to right, back row), Mildred, and Buzz (front row) for posing at the piano.

And this week, I will really post on schedule (famous last words of every post from now on till September).

Pink Flowers

2011-06-28T09:33:00.000-04:00

Flowers courtesy of Mum's garden. I have no idea what kind of flowers they are.

Posting Schedule for Summer 2011

2011-06-27T14:19:00.000-04:00

I have at last compiled a list of the post-types and their respective days for the summer. Basically, I will be posting on the weekdays following the schedule below:

Monday: Science Post
Tuesday: Photo Post
Wednesday: Thoughtful Post
Thursday: Photo Post
Friday: Random Post

The random post might be a continuation of one of my numerous unfinished chronicle stories, or a poem I wrote in the spur of the moment, or some odd fact or website I stumbled upon. In other words, the random post will be random.

Unfortunately, I was not able to write a science post for today, so you will have to come back next Monday for that. Otherwise, the schedule starts tomorrow, and will continue (to the best of my abilities) to the end of August.

See you tomorrow!

2011-06-25T21:52:00.000-04:00

Hullo! It has been a while since I last posted, and, as you may or may not have noticed, my blog has changed again. Indeed, I am coming up with a posting schedule for the summer, and I hope to get back to blogging in a matter of days.

Thank you for your patience and for continuing to read this blog throughout its inactivity, or for checking out my blog for the first time! If you have any suggestions for posts or if my blog is too complicated to read easily, please feel free to leave a comment.

For want of words

2011-04-28T23:01:00.000-04:00

I have nothing to say, so here is a happy picture of trees turning green....

Trusting God

2011-04-11T20:54:00.001-04:00

Trusting God means that when every single plan I have made and every single hope I had comes crashing down around me, and every single fear comes alive; it is only because God has something greater, better, and more perfect in mind. And for me to protest against this is completely confusing. After all I am nothing, but He created the universe.

Fly Training

2011-04-01T13:52:00.001-04:00

I have been discontented with my blog recently. Dis-contented, meaning I am not happy with the content. I have dappled in politics the tiniest amount, conducted interviews with the famed children's author Rodney Richards, and commented on science. Today, however, all of that changes.

Instead of a nice, sometime reliable, technical blog, I am going to post blow-by-blow descriptions of my newest hobby: fly training. I have often lamented that, although monkeys and zebras and mosquitoes are trained for circuses, the house-fly is often neglected. Therefore, I have determined to stand in the side-lines no longer. I have seen my duty and I will perform it aptly, by becoming a fly trainer.

So what exactly does this mean for my readers?

It means that I will post progress daily, including close-ups of my flies' latest stunts, and exclusive shots of their cheering comrades. I will choose the best of my performing flies and name him/her Fly of the Month. In order to boost the self-esteem of my flies, I will issue custom-made t-shirts for the flies, complete with the team logo on it. Eventually, I will be able to split up my flies into several teams and hold aerobatic contests.

In addition, I will dye my hair different colors to reflect my mood and therefore success of my fly training venture. For instance, if I am happy, I will dye my hair blue, and you will know that all is going well. If I am sad I will dye it red, and then of course you will know that I am either bothered by the lack of talent in, say, Sammy-fly, or bemoaning the loss of a now squashed Jerry-fly.

Finally, I will change my blog template to fushia pink and rename it, "Fleet of Flies." Perhaps, if I am especially successful, I will get my own reality TV show; however, I must think first of what is best for my flies.

Today seemed like a good day to start - it's April 1st.

Boring Title

2011-03-28T19:49:00.000-04:00

I am suddenly aware of a very sad trend in my recent posts. None of them are particularly happy or lighthearted. I see sad posts, long posts, crazy posts, boring posts - but no posts in which I happily ramble like a sick duck.

Maybe this is because I am attempting to be cold and professional like a fish, and have regarded it my duty to state things accurately and clearly. But now I am wondering, who reads blogs now anyways? A blog, I think, is mostly fun for the author, who can post things on it and grin proudly every time they see their blog glaring down at them from the computer screen. Everyone else glances at it quickly and wonders why they just wasted 5 seconds of their precious time.

Thus said, I could post anything I wanted on here, no matter how absurd, for no one would read a post that had an icy picture and a boring title. In fact, I almost regret not having some astonishing secret to share with the world (or in this case, the small cluster of my smiling fans that I have created in my imagination), to reward whoever was trying so hard to procrastinate their work, or else were so extremely bored with their interesting television shows and fiction books, that they bothered to read this post....

Oh, and while I am at it, I might as well mention a more recent feature residing at the end of my posts. It is called "Reactions" and I think it is for people used to Facebook's "like" buttons. Instead of leaving a nice comment, you can click a button: happy, sad, interesting, or funny - and the nice part of it is, your name will not be attached, so I will not know who clicked "sad" when I write about my nice new pink bunny slippers, nor will I know who clicked "happy" when I write an eulogy to my dead, pet parrot Penelope.

Disclaimer: I do not have a parrot. Nor do I own pink bunny slippers. I think I will click "sad" the day I write about those.

CT

2011-03-24T10:07:00.001-04:00

I am in Connecticut again. I like to visit this state, because it is beautiful along the coast, with lots of beaches and boats and bridges. Spring comes earlier here than it does back home, although there was a light dusting (maybe one inch) of snow on the ground this morning. When walking down the road, one sees green grass beginning to peek out and crocuses and other early flowers are already dotting the gardens of several yards. Oh, there is one more reason why I like Connecticut - my sister lives here.

She has a happy little apartment in a complex, and me and my brother, Clevard, have been staying with her this week. My family strictly charged me to blog about my adventures here and post lots of pictures, but unfortunately I left my USB cable at home, so they will have to suffer a plain narrative with no colorful pictures to make it palatable.

As it turns out, that is probably alright. Because one of our adventures is really not something one wants to see pictures of. There is a toilet in my sister's bathroom, like most bathrooms. And this toilet decided that it would be plugged and stay plugged for a couple days, and every time we attempted to flush it, we would end up with disgusting water all over the floor.

So there I am, trying desperately to use a plunger, my socks soaked with the dirty water on the floor, and nothing seemed to be working. That is when I did what any other silly girl would have done - I cried. My sister eventually fixed the toilet and went running around the house, yelling about how she was the "Toilet Unplugging ~~Expert~~ Genius" and accusing my brother of being jealous of the title. She succeeded in cheering me up.

Happily, most of our time has been much more enjoyable. We went on a windy walk and breathed in the spring air, and saw tiny delicate leaves opening on the very tips of trees, and the hard brown ground yielding to the spongy grass. I wake up every morning to hear song birds, and I walk out in the parking lot and hear the distant roar of a train, its loud horn echoing throughout the neighborhood, warning people of its coming. It reminds me of a train track running along the river side that I used to hop around at my grandparents old house, and I still remember the rush of the wind as a train whizzed only a yard from my face.

In the meantime, I am working on calculus and watching an old 70's TV show about the Hardy Boys, which I find highly amusing. I have also been checking the news frequently for any scrap of information on the war we recently rushed into blindly. I am not exactly sure what is going on with that, but I do not think I am the only one feeling clueless right now.

And that has been my week! I am having a wonderful trip but I miss home, and I can not wait to see our woods begin to blossom as the trees in CT have done. I will see two springs this year, and what could possibly be wrong with that?

Theo's Thesis 3

2011-03-17T12:35:00.000-04:00

And finally.... THEO'S THESIS!!!

If you have no idea what I am talking about, then I apologize for putting section 3 up so late, and you can go here for previous sections; newest sections on top, oldest on the bottom. Enjoy!

Aaron settled down in the corner of the office and tapped a beat on the floor with his foot. When he tired of this, he counted the cracks in the wall. It was then that his eyes lighted upon a car magazine, which was soon on his lap and remained there for a while.

Theo, in the meantime, was oblivious to Aaron's irritated noise-making, for he had discovered another problem with his data. Although the papers by Dr. Collins were continually consistent, they ran in direct opposition to those of one of the Doctor's colleagues. To be sure, Dr. Leia Martin was not well-known and her works were hard to find, but nevertheless, they explicitly explained the experimental process Martin had used to reach her conclusion, and it was a reasonable process....

Who was right? Theo could only figure out by running an experiment himself, and as it was ,he was already behind schedule. He considered accepting Dr. Collins' work and getting on with his own work, but his conscience forbade it. He wanted the truth.

His computer beeped at him, and he checked his inbox eagerly. There was an email from his former advisor, in response to Theo's questions.

“Theo Quasar, I was surprised to get your note. As far as I know, the papers by Dr. Arlen B. Collins are completely trustworthy. Dr. Collins himself is a widely renowned biologist, whose works are popular reading assignments for biology students in universities across the country....”

The rest of the email was a blur before Theo's eyes. Dr. Collins had to be right. His work was accurate. But what if it wasn't?

“Theo?” Aaron piped up, putting aside the car magazine with a sigh. “I'm trying to be quiet, but don't you think we should get dinner now? I'm really hungry!”

Theo glanced at the clock and smiled. “I guess now is about as good a time as any to start eating. I forgot about dinner, actually.”

“Forgot...dinner?” Aaron repeated in disbelief. “How could anyone forget dinner?”

“I suppose it is a very hard thing to comprehend when you're ten,” Theo laughed. “What do you want to eat?”

“Hamburgers!” Aaron jumped up and down.

“We can probably find a few at the restaurant down the street. Let me just pack up my work.” Theo shoved several papers into his back-pack and put his laptop to sleep.

“My dad doesn't have a back-pack. He has a briefcase. I think mom bought him the briefcase because it matched his shoes or something, and she hid his back-pack away. Dad doesn't know, but I found it in the corner of the coat closet, up on one of the shelves,” Aaron laughed.

“Ah, but a back-pack can hold so much more,” Theo said. He pulled his coat out of it and put it on. Aaron looked at him skeptically.

“Isn't that what a coat hangar's for?”

“Why bother? My backpack works just as well.”

“No, it wrinkles things,” Aaron said.

“That's why I carry an iron,” Theo said, whipping an iron out of his backpack.

Theo flopped down on his bed, his stomach hurting from the greasy hamburger he had consumed for dinner. He was used to nice bland food, like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He was just beginning to consider his work again when Aaron called from the living room.

“Theo! What time is it?” Aaron asked, looking small as he lay beneath a sea of red race cars dotting his comforter.

“It's only 10. Why?”

“What time is it Florida?”

“I don't know.”

“Theo, I miss mom and dad. Do you think they'll call?”

“I expect so. Try to get some sleep. I have to bring you into school tomorrow.” Theo went back into his bedroom and lay down again. But this time, he wasn't contemplating his work....

The door had been left ajar, and through the crack, Theo could see the light of the hall shifting in. He rolled over onto his stomach and stared out the window at the beautiful, starry sky. The dark, grey clouds were swirling like ghosts around a bright, silvery moon, and he was sure that one of the ghostly forms was that of a ship, sailing on a sea.

A loud noise from downstairs startled him and he sat up in bed to listen. It was his parents arguing. The arguments had grown more regular lately. It had started from an occasional thing and gradually become a weekly occurrence. Now, he could hear them every night when they thought he was asleep. He covered his ears to drown out the noise and felt a hot tear stream down his face. He tried desperately to swallow back his tears, but they kept on coming. He was angry with himself, for at ten years old, he was almost a man, and men don't cry.

Even though it was no surprise to him when his parents announced their divorce the next day, the news didn't hurt any less. He loved his parents and he could remember when they had been happy together. He could see the Christmas tree all lighted up, and his mom and dad laughing together as he tore open his presents eagerly.

It hurt still more when his dad left a week later, never to return. Their home would never be the same, and the last thing Theo heard about his dad was that he had a girlfriend and had moved to California.

“Mom, what time is it in California?”

“I don't know,” mom said, although Theo could tell that the real reason for her answer was that she didn't want to know.

“I wish dad was here. Do you think he'll call?”

“I wouldn't count on it.”

Thoughts on Japan

2011-03-14T13:38:00.001-04:00

March 11, 2011

The news has been ablaze with reports of the devastation in Japan after an earthquake of magnitude 8.9 occurred just off the shore of Japan, earning it a place among the top five most violent earthquakes on record worldwide. Violent aftershocks, with magnitudes reportedly as large as 7.4, shook the islands, and a massive tsunami washed Japan's shores and caused evacuations along the North and South American west coasts.

On March 12, the outer structure of Unit 1 in the Fukushima I Nuclear Power Plant experienced an explosion that triggered fear of radioactive contamination. Although the reactor itself remained intact, it appeared to be functioning at abnormal levels due to lack of proper cooling, and residents were quickly evacuated from the area. Soon afterwards, the other reactors in the nuclear plant showed signs of overheating. There have been more explosions, exposures to radioactivity among plant employees and health-workers, and growing concern that the disaster will prove as tragic as that of Chernobyl.

Besides nuclear concerns and causalities, there have been reports of up to four missing trains, and thousands of people missing in various coastal towns. In one shocking report, it was estimated that up to 9,500 people in a town with a population of 17,000 were missing.

This tragedy is unspeakable.... And for all we know, it may get worse. It has gotten worse. Even if the calamity were to stop making news now, and no more casualties were to be had, the calamity would continue for many years. Many people have lost everything - families, friends, homes, possessions - and the rebuilding and healing of Japan will be a long, sad process.

I am calling on my fellow Christians to pray for Japan - to pray that this tragedy would not be in vain - to pray that the heartbreak and insecurity of all those involved would be used by God to bring them to an understanding of the Love of the Savior, and to find security and refuge in Him.

"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling." Psalm 46:1-3

Farewell, Discovery!

2011-02-24T17:37:00.000-05:00

I have avoided posting about things happening in the world, as the news has been mostly sad, weird, or simply puzzling as of late. Perhaps I will eventually post about the unrest in Wisconsin or the state of protesters in Libya, but right now I mean to call to mind the end of a once glorious and unparalleled age for the United States, as the last of the shuttles is retired with no replacement.

Shuttle Discovery is to be launched today (provided there is no unseen delay), on its last flight to the International Space Station (ISS).

Hopefully with the increase in space craft designed by privately owned companies, such as SpaceX, space travel will continue and even increase within the coming years. And in time, this type of space travel may dwarf the shuttles in comparison. But until then, a moment of recognition for the engineers and scientists who designed these shuttles, and the astronauts brave enough to fly in them (14 of whom never made it home), not to mention the countless others who worked behind the scenes, is never out of place.

Reaching Up

2011-01-27T19:57:00.001-05:00

The world just keeps on telling me
That if I could reach up high
I'd touch my dreams like they were clouds
In the beautiful blue sky.

And though I try to believe them
I'm finding that by and by
My arm just isn't long enough
To be reaching up that high.

And I'm reaching up
And I'm reaching up
But all I'm feeling is air
My dreams are slowly dissipating
Not like I was anticipating
Just when I began to care.

I'm seeing a man dressed in rags
His bare feet leave drops of blood;
I see that in his hands and feet
Are the nails that drew this flood

He's reaching out and he's calling
"Oh, won't you follow me, too?
The road is hard and long and rough,
But I'll be right beside you."

And I'm reaching out
And I'm reaching out
And I feel his hand in mine
My dreams are slowly dissipating
Just as I was anticipating
And I don't really mind....

On cannibal mice and dumpster sleds

2011-01-08T10:55:00.000-05:00

Both are in our garage right now.

Our garage pets, as we fondly call our mice, have been known to swipe the peanut butter from the mouse traps without triggering the mechanism that shuts on their tails. We are very proud at the skill of our pets, as they constantly risk their lives for a scanty portion of food.

Sometimes, however, one of our pets gets careless. Then there is a mouse carcass, a blood spattered mass of fur. Although we try to dump these carcasses as soon as they appear, there are those nights that we can not get to it. And this is where the mystery begins.

The garage doors are shut, and the window is closed. And on one side of the garage and one side only, the mouse carcass is slowly consumed. The next morning, we find half a mouse, and if we leave over night again, the entire mouse is gone. But if the carcass is on the other side of the garage, the carnivore does not seem to consider it worth the effort.

And thus our conclusion was this: we are experiencing an invasion of cannibal mice.

The dumpster also sits in our garage. It is very smelly like most garbage dumpster, and looks like a large black rectangle standing vertically upright on the ground. In the back of it are two good-sized wheels, used for wheeling it down the driveway come garbage day. At least, there used to be two wheels.

One of these wheels must have been disgusted with its job. Not too long ago, my brother was wheeling the dumpster down the driveway when a wheel popped off and would not stay on. We found that if we kicked it back on its axle every five seconds on its trip down the driveway, it tended to be fairly usable.

Gradually, it grew looser and looser, until one day, it decided to fall off just as the garbage truck came around, and our obliging trash-guys decided to take our wheel along with our other garbage.

Then my brother had to unicycle our dumpster down the drive way. I can only imagine that he found it hard, as wheeling a heavy, smelly thing down a long drive way on one wheel, seems to imply that the majority of the weight and smell was on him - not the wheel. Perhaps that is why he did not seem too upset when that wheel fell off also.

Now we have a dumpster sled. My brother still employs the last wheel when necessary, but he stores this wheel in the garage so that no one can mistake it for garbage. So maybe, just maybe, the garbage collector will have pity on us and give us a new dumpster soon....

1/1/11

2011-01-01T12:38:00.000-05:00

This is the start of a New Year - and consequently, a day with a cool numerical pattern. But besides the numerical pattern of 1/1/11 (which will be beaten by 11/11/11 sometime this year), nothing else seems to have changed.

New Years Eve has always been slightly disappointing to me. In the US, people sit up until past midnight, drinking alcohol at loud parties, so they can usher in the new year with a horrible headache and blasted ear-drums. They watch a crystal ball slooowwwly descend on a pole, and think this is the best thing that has happened to them all year.

Now it is the first day of 2011. The economy is still bad, wars are still happening, and my bedroom is still a mess. The sun rose like it did every day of 2010, and the snow outside is melting. What has changed?

Nothing has changed. And therein lies a miracle. Why has the sun not stopped shining? Why do we still associate snow with winter and warmth with summer, as we have for centuries? Why is my heart still beating this morning? Human beings are so fragile. Life is so short. Why am I still alive?

"...[I]n these last days he [God] has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed the heir of all things, through whom also he created the world. He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power..." (Hebrews 1:2 - 3).

And my knowledge of the Gospel - that Jesus died to save the sinner that rebelled against him, and that he rose to show that we are saved indeed - my knowledge of this wondrous Love will make me want to change the way I live this New Year.

And thus my resolutions will not be based on the changing of one digit in the number we use to measure years, nor on my past grievances I wish to fix, but on the Love that Jesus had for me, and the love I have in return.

Happy New Year!

Theo's Thesis 2

2010-12-21T19:02:00.000-05:00

If you have no idea what is going on in this story, asking me will benefit you in no way, because I do not know either. You can, however, check out part 1 if it makes you feel better.

It was Aaron who opened the door and bounded into Theo's office, closely followed by Steve. Theo noted at once that they didn't bear resemblance to each other in any way. Steve was on the heavier side and had short, sandy hair and glasses. Aaron was extremely energetic, and his every movement caused his brown hair to tumble into his eyes.

“Uh, Theo, this is Aaron,” Steve said.

“Hi!” Aaron smiled widely. “I'm ten. How old are you? You know, your office is really boring. It could use more posters. Maybe a few posters of hamburgers, Star Trek, and race cars. I really like race cars. Do you?”

“Haha,” Steve laughed unconvincingly. “Aaron likes to talk.”

“So I see,” Theo said. “Did you find your flight?”

“Yes. We can leave in an hour,” Steve replied. “I brought some of Aaron's things with me; they're in the car.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Theo said. “I can follow you outside and we can transfer them to my car, unless you want to drop them off at my house.”

“Which ever works for you,” Steve shrugged.

“I was thinking of working for a little bit longer, so maybe if you put them in my car it will work best.”

“Fine,” Steve said. Theo and Aaron followed him out into the hall.

“I brought my comforter with me, the one with all of the race cars on it, though you know, most of those cars look pretty lame. If I was a race car driver, I would drive a cool car. You know, one with -”

“Yes, Aaron,” Steve interrupted.

“Dad, did you remember to pack my Star Trek movies? Not the fifth one; I really don't like that one because it's too confusing and lame, but I'm going to want some of them with me if I'm going to be stuck with a boring grad-student all day.”

“Aaron!” Steve exclaimed, turning red with embarrassment.

“You're right,” Theo said. “I am an extremely boring person. You'll need more than just Star Trek to help bear the tedium.” He grinned at Steve encouragingly.

“Now look, Aaron,” Steve said sternly, “while I'm gone, you must remember to be polite. I'm going to be calling Theo to make sure you're being good.”

“Yes, dad,” Aaron said humbly.

When they reached outside, the sun was already beginning to set. The sky was pale blue with a pink glow by the sinking sun. The sun itself shone golden, glinting off of cars in the parking lot. The air was growing chilly, so Steve and Theo worked quickly to transfer Aaron's things into Theo's car. By the time they had finished, the sky was growing dark, and a thin band of color with a rainbow gradient was all that was left of the sunset. Already, the planet Jupiter and several of the brighter stars were becoming visible nearby a full, yellow moon.

“Now Aaron, don't talk off Theo's ears,” Steve reminded his son. “Theo is very busy working on his thesis, just like I am at home.”

“Yes, dad. I know,” Aaron said. “When will you come back?”

“As soon as I can,” Steve said. He hugged Aaron tightly, and squeezed Theo's arm. “Thanks again, Theo! I'll call you when I land in Florida and better know the state of things.”

“Right. Have a safe trip.”

“Thanks.”

Aaron was silent as he watched his father pull away, but he smiled up at Theo as soon as the car was out of sight, and eagerly inquired about dinner.

“I really like hamburgers, but I'll eat just about anything, so if you want Chinese food or something, I'm ok with that too.”

“How kind of you,” Theo commented sarcastically as they entered the building again. “I hope you don't mind waiting a little bit, though, because I'm trying to finish up a few things before I go.”

“Oh, that's ok,” Aaron said. “Do you have a computer I can use? I like looking up race cars and things online. My dad set up a racing simulator on our computer at home, and I like seeing if I can beat the other drivers in the simulator. Of course the other drivers are just computer-generated, but -”

“I'm afraid I don't have any extra computers,” Theo admitted.

“Shucks!” Aaron exclaimed. “This is turning out worse than I thought it would!”

Theo's Thesis 1

2010-12-14T19:24:00.000-05:00

I promised you that if I finished my story for NaNo WriMo this year, I would consider posting it here. Sadly, I did not get that far in my story, and left off at something like 7,000 words, but I decided to post the beginning of it anyways, and maybe that will motivate me to finish it....

Anyhow, here is part 1. Since it is a first draft I am afraid that some of it may not be parsed right, or have simple errors that need editing and/or research, so any comments or constructive criticism you would like to offer will be greatly appreciated. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it!

The sunlight filtered in through the shade in the window, creating linear shadows across Theo's desk. He was poring over an article for the third time, trying to comprehend the meaning of the information written in it. He sighed and ran his fingers through his dark, wavy hair. There was a slight tap at the door, and Theo looked up to see his friend Mark at the door.

“Hi, Theo! Mind if I come in?” the young man asked, walking into the small room without waiting for an answer.

“Oh, hullo, Mark! What is it?” Theo began to put his pen down, but it dropped from his hand and fell on the floor.

Mark grinned. “You've been studying again, haven't you?”

“Uh, yes,” Theo said. “How can you tell?”

“You always get clumsy when your mind is on other things,” Mark replied. He reached down to pick up Theo's pen, and stood up quickly with a grimace on his face and a half-eaten sandwich in his hand.

“Oh, sorry,” Theo laughed, taking the sandwich from Mark. It slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor again, the peanut butter and jelly spilling out.

Mark shook his head hopelessly. “Theo, are you alright?”

“Um, yeah, why wouldn't I be?” Theo asked.

“You've been acting more and more...distant lately. Me and the guys tried calling you five times last night, and you never picked up the phone,” Mark said.

“I was out grocery shopping and I forgot to take my phone with me.”

“Look, I can believe that you were busy. I can even believe that you were out shopping at 11:00 at night. But seriously, it feels like you're avoiding us, because it hasn't just been an occasional night – it's been every night for the past 365 days! Or is it months by now?” Mark sighed.

“Mark,” Theo said, looking at him pityingly. “You know how much I love hanging out with you and the guys. We've always been best friends, haven't we?”

“Or used to,” Mark said sullenly.

“Nothing's changed – on my part,” Theo said. “I've just been so busy, that-”

“Busy with what, Theo?” Mark asked. “I know you're working on your doctorate, but heck, Theo, we all are! Steve and Paul are both in mathematics, and I'm going for English literature. Can biology be all that different?”

Theo looked at him strangely. “Biology is very different from English literature.”

“Theo!” Mark was perplexed. “You missed the point entirely! If the rest of us can juggle a doctorate and still have a life on the side, so can you, right? Get a life, Theo!”

Theo sighed and ran his finger along the edge of one of his books. For a little while, he was quiet, staring at the floor. “I'm trying Mark,” he said at last. “This paper is turning out much harder than anything I ever anticipated.”

Mark was about to retort, but he caught something in Theo's voice that made him stop and bite his tongue. He looked up sharply and studied Theo's pale face.

“Come on, Theo,” he said, “You didn't expect your thesis to be easy, did you?”

Theo shrugged. “Easier,” he said. He sighed and pulled his laptop open for Mark to read the email that had just arrived.

“Your advisor's retiring?” Mark asked incredulously.

“He's been battling cancer ever since last fall,” Theo explained. “I guess he decided that he just couldn't go on with his work.”

“But Theo, you'll have to get a new advisor right while you're in the middle of your work!” Mark protested.

“I know that,” Theo said. “Now you know part of what's been bothering me.”

“I'm sorry,” Mark sighed. He put his hand on Theo's shoulder. “Let me know how things turn out, ok? And if me or the guys can do anything to help you out, just shoot us an email or call us up. It would be good to know every once in a while that you're still alive.”

“Oh, I wouldn't worry,” Theo grinned. “If you don't see my obituary in the newspaper, then you'll know I'm still breathing.”

He watched Mark leave the room, then turned back to his work, a frown settling in his forehead.

Steve was cheerfully contemplating his next paragraph. He was explaining the Galileo-Einstein field equation, and was was feeling quite pleased with the results. He took a huge bite out of his donut and bemoaned the fact that it was too small. His large coffee cup was empty, too. Maybe it was time to stop by the cafe again. He heaved himself out of his chair and picked up his jacket.

Alpha Cafe was a newly established coffee shop only two blocks away from Steve's office. The front of the shop had huge windows with short, green curtains, and a huge sign that read, “our pi is beta than most!” Best of all, it served fresh donuts and coffee daily.

Steve stepped inside the cafe and breathed the smells in deeply. He studied the different kinds of donuts before finally deciding on the biggest, a giant chocolate one with vanilla frosting. He took a large bite out of it and was just beginning to chew when his phone rang loudly. Several customers eyed him with annoyance as he rummaged through his pockets, searching for it.

“Hi,” he said, flipping it open quickly the moment he held it in his hands.

“Steve?” a worried voice said at the other end.

“Angie! What's wrong?” Steve asked, stuffing the rest of his donut into his pocket, and walking rapidly to where he had parked his car.

“Look, I just received a call from your parents. Your Grampa has been taken to the hospital, and they're not sure what's wrong with him. They want us to fly down as soon as we can,” Angie said, her voice breaking as she spoke.

“I'm on my way home right this moment. Don't worry, honey! You start looking up flights to Florida.”

“But, Steve,” Angie said, “Who will watch Aaron? We can't possibly take him with us!”

“We can...uh.... Aaron's growing up. He'll be alright,” Steve stammered.

“He'll be alright, maybe, but he won't be happy. And at any rate, he's still in school.... Oh, Steve, it won't work!”

Steve sighed audibly. “I'll be there as soon as I can, honey. Meanwhile, I'll start thinking about who we can get to babysit....”

The door slammed open so hard that a poster fell off the wall. Theo looked up in amazement as Steve burst into the room.

“What on Earth...?”

“Theo!” Steve exclaimed. “I was hoping I'd find you here!”

“I'm here. What's going on?” Theo asked, watching him with wary eyes.

“Oh, Theo, I'm at my wits end!” Steve said. “Look, can you do me a favor?”

“Um, I don't know.”

“My grandfather's in the ICU down in Florida, and we have no idea what's going on with him. Me and Angie have to fly down as soon as possible, and we need someone to watch Aaron for us. Please, Theo!” Steve begged as he saw Theo begin to shake his head. “I've called Mark and Paul, and I can't get a hold of either of them. You're the only one I can get right now!”

“Steve, I don't know how to take care of children!” Theo protested. “I wish I could help you out, but-”

“Come on, Theo! You're my last hope!”

Theo sighed and studied his pen thoughtfully. “How long would I have to watch him?”

“Two days maybe? I won't really know until I get down there,” Steve replied regretfully. “Look, I'll call you when I get to Florida, and if it will be longer than two days, I'm sure I can arrange for someone else to watch him. Please?”

“Ok,” Theo shrugged. “I'll watch Aaron for you for a little while – but just until you can find someone else.”

“Oh, thanks a million, Theo!” Steve exclaimed, shaking his friend's hand hardily. “I'll drop Aaron off, and oh! You'll need my phone number!”

“Steve, I have your phone number!”

“Oh, uh, right,” Steve said, acting flustered. “Um, just call me if you have any questions, ok?” Steve turned to leave the room, but stopped at the door as Theo called him back. “Something wrong?”

“No, I'm just.... I'm sorry about your grandfather. I hope everything turns out alright.”

“Thanks, Theo,” Steve smiled. He closed the door quietly behind him.

“Now what have I done?” Theo put his head in his hands and tried think clearly. His mind could now longer comprehend the papers before him (if it ever could). Instead of meditating on the delicate process of RNA copying DNA, he found himself wondering how in the world he was to care for a 10-year-old in the midst of his mounting concerns about his data....

Veterans Day

2010-11-11T10:22:00.000-05:00

I am certain that I am not the only one to have observed the ironic contradiction of emotions one may feel when remembering soldiers who have fought for us. In one sense, one feels deeply saddened as one remembers the men who left their homes to defend their homes; who spilled out their blood, watched many of their friends and comrades die before their eyes, and experienced countless hardships that we have only heard in name: the soldier with a scarf around his head in the horrible heat of the desert, trying to keep the sandy dust out of his lungs; the soldier who trudged for hours in the snow, leaving blood in his foot prints because he had no shoes; the soldier lying wounded in a hospital, or captured by the enemy, or watching helplessly as some atrocity occurs before his eyes, and knowing that there was nothing he could do, or ever can do to reverse the event....

Yet even as one feels sad, there is a joy that comes as well, and even pride. Those who lived after the wars, and experienced trama or carried memories that will haunt them for ever after, carried those memories because they fought for us. Those who came back wounded, mutilated, incapacitated, sick - who sacrificed their lives in another sense - were so hurt for our sake. And finally, for those who died, they died to save us, that we might live in peace and security and freedom - all good things which ought to inspire joy, and not grief. I am sure that they would not wish us to mourn.

And so I end this post in the best manner that I know how:
Thank you to all of the soldiers out there who have fought, will fight, and are fighting now! "The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace." ~Numbers 6:24-26

Salvation

2010-11-05T23:15:00.001-04:00

It is hard work being a Christian. I have to pray, go to Church, love my neighbour, and in general, be a good person if I am ever to achieve eternal life. Right? Wrong.

How dreadfully easy it is to think that being a Christian consists of simply being a good person, and how ironic that, in trying to simplify things by ignoring the gospel and just "doing good," we have actually made things a great deal harder! We are attempting to accomplish that which no man has ever accomplished, For "as it is written, 'none is righteous, no not one'" (Romans 1:10).

Does good works save a man? Then no man is saved. Does going to church, reading the Bible, loving our neighbour, and so on and so on save a man? Then again, no man is saved. "For...'none is righteous, no not one.'"

What then? Have we no hope? Will we perish in a wretched state of always trying harder and never winning our goal? Or will we even blindly pursue the world, knowing that it is utterly hopeless to ever attain salvation? By no means! If Christians do exist, and good works do not make a Christian who he is, then something else does.

"For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek. For in it the righteousness of God is revealed from faith for faith, as it is written, “The righteous shall live by faith” (Romans 1:16-17, emphasis mine).

Therefore, it is faith in the gospel that makes man a Christian. It is believing that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, became a substitute for us by living the good life that no one else could and dying the death everyone deserved thereby imputing or giving his righteousness to us if we believe. And this is what saves us.

"For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die— but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Since, therefore, we have now been justified by his blood, much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God." (Romans 5:6-9).

This is the gospel; man is sinful, God is holy, and the only way of reconciliation - the only bridge between the two - is Jesus Christ.

When one tries to procrastinate in school...

2010-10-26T18:09:00.000-04:00

...one takes artistic photos of one's school, because surely such photos must count for something?

Autumn and NaNo-WriMo

2010-10-18T20:25:00.000-04:00

The middle of October is always a funny time of the year. All through September and the beginning of October, the splendor and glory of autumn appears - trees are on fire with golden, crimson, and orange leaves, and the apples ripen and pumpkins fall off the vine.

But by the middle of Autumn, the leaves have faded into a muddy-brown color, and many of the tree branches are sadly forlorn, stripped of all their leaves. It is too early for Thanksgiving (the happy beginning of the holidays), and seems to be stuck in an insignificant rut in-between things.

Happily, however, it is also the time when one begins planning for NaNo WriMo. What is NaNo WriMo? It is, quite simply, National Novel Writing Month. On November 1st, the writing begins and doesn't end until 30 days and (hopefully) 50,000 words later. In October, one begins to map out the basic plot one's story will follow, and sign up to be a participant of NaNo WriMo on the NaNo WriMo website (see link above).

This is my second official year of NaNo WriMo. Unfortunately, I only got 15,000 words last year. But it is one of those things that is more fun to actually do than "win" necessarily. Maybe if [this being a very big if] I am extremely good this year in my story writing, I will consider posting the complete story here. :)

Another Astronomy Diversion

2010-09-29T21:32:00.000-04:00

Three posts in practically a week! Am I good or what? ;)

Anyways, today the discovery of an Earth-like planet was announced. This planet, Gliese 581g, is several times the mass of our planet and orbits a red dwarf star. The planet is locked into position, one side always baking in the oven, and the other side always sitting in the freezer, but the line where the oven and the freezer start and end respectively offers the hospitable temperature of a cold winter (averaging -24 to 10 degrees Fahrenheit). Not only is this planet hopefully habitable, it is a mere 20 light years away....

The evidence is overwhelming. We need to develop a faster, more efficient means of space travel. Maybe it will take years - generations - but in the end, the possibility of space colonies and manned interplanetary travel outside of our solar system can become a reality.

From the Notebook....

2010-09-27T22:15:00.001-04:00

I saw it first in the rough rugged mountainside,
In the trees and rocks that the blue shadows hide -
I caught a glimpse of beauty and I could not let it go,
So I'd cling to it and chase it, although it pained me so.

I knew that pain of longing when I saw the ocean blue;
Blue deeper than the sky that fades into a grayish hue,
I caught a glimpse of beauty and I could not let it go,
So I'd cling to it and chase it, although it pained me so.

The awe of galaxies so great and stars beyond the sun,
The somber thrills of nebulae - they left me all undone
For I'd caught a glimpse of beauty which I could not let go,
And I'd cling to it and chase it, although it pained me so.

I read of the laws of physics, such as F equals M times A,
And I wondered at the order of the universe that day;
...I'd caught a glimpse of beauty which I could not let go,
And I'd cling to it and chase it, although it pained me so.

Then through misty eyes I saw a cross, the middle one of three,
And I saw my sins on a Saviour who had born them all for me;
I caught a glimpse of beauty and I could not let it go,
So I'd cling to it and chase it although it pained me so.

Then I knew the world I saw here was just the fading shadow,
And I knew the joy I'd sought so long I finally did know,
For I'd seen a glimpse of Heaven in each thing I had longed for,
And I'd see it all so clearly when I passed through Death's dark door.

Christ's open arms are stretched to me and, full of joy, I run;
My God who loved and saved me by His only, precious Son....
Oh, I see this glimpse of beauty and I cannot let it go,
So I'll cling to it and chase it, because I love it so.

(C) Copyright September 27, 2010 - Curious Cognitive Content (CCC)

On Dinosaurs and a Neglected Blog

2010-09-23T17:03:00.000-04:00

I am posting today primarily to try out this updated blogging editor thing that blogger initiated simply to confuse people like me who dislike changes to anything that has become nice and familiar. To be fair, the only problem I have had with it so far is that it is slow, and that isn't blogger's problem but my old computer's. :)

I was also feeling just a touch ashamed for leaving my blog without a new post for almost a month and decided to post something even if it meant opening up the dictionary and choosing a word at random. However, although I have resorted to that in the past, today a subject offered itself to my attention.

A couple of new dinosaurs were recently discovered in North America,the most intriguing of these being the Kosmoceratops (Kosmo: "to ornate" ceratops: "horn-face"). Apparently, this particular dinosaur definitely has an ornate horny-skull - the most elaborate of all known dinosaurs.

Sadly, as I am not a dinosaur enthusiast, I cannot elaborate, being slightly muddled (an understatement) by the technical words of classification and genus. Perhaps the only thing I know about dinosaurs comes from second hand knowledge of Jurassic Park. In any case, this sad semblance of a post will have to do for now....

Science fiction story (of sorts)

2010-08-24T09:53:00.002-04:00

My posts have been awfully silly lately, but I hope that will change as I start school again and become more serious. In the meantime, here is another silly post to grace the first page of my blog....

~~~

“Hullo, Peter!” Frank came in cheerfully.
“Oh, there you are, Frank! What have you been doing all morning?” Peter put aside his tools and looked up expectantly.
“I wrote a story!”
“That's nice.”
“I hope it will be a best-seller someday.”
“Really? You have to have a big audience, then.”
“Yeah; I'm a little afraid it won't sell that well. It's a science fiction book, you see, and only Greeks read those nowadays.”
“Greeks?” Peter asked.
“Yes. Listen to this first part:
“When that spaceship first flew through space like a bird that takes to its wings and soars on the wind, many were the number of men who gazed upon it with wondrous awe. In particular was one, Jean Marcus, son of Paul Marcus, renowned for his piloting skills. So great was the legend of Paul Marcus that men held him long after his passing as the leader among pilots.”
“But Frank -” Peter protested.
“Wait! There's more:
“Jean Marcus knew the longing to follow after his father, and ever he pursued it as a fox that hungers will search on and on for food until at last he finds it. On that day as he saw the spaceship pass overhead, gradually fading into space as a twinkling star will fade in the morning when night has passed, he finally made his decision.
“'O Tyler, thou engineer, so skilled in the making of metal works, and unsurpassed in your understanding of mathematical equations, which some say the very universe is composed of; O Tyler, thou ever present friend, I have determined something.' Thus said Jean to his dearest friend, Tyler.
“'Ah, Jean, what is this -'”
“Hold on a moment, what sort of story is this?”
“I just told you! Hang on:
“'Ah, Jean, what is this strong determination of which thou speak so forcefully?'At these words, Jean expressed his desire, and even as he spoke, the tears came to his eyes as dew drops that fall on the rose petal, 'O Tyler, mine ever faithful friend, my determination is thus so firmly set that naught could move me to remain. If not for the sorrow I feel I may cause you at my going, I should have left long ere now. I shall away to that vast sea of space, that black sky that knows not mere clouds, but gaseous nebulae and great galaxies. Ah, Tyler! I shall sail in a space ship and follow after my father's steps, till I may even hope to rival him in his skill. And finally, I shall avenge his death that he died at the hands of our fierce-some foe!'”
“But Frank -”
“What?” Frank said, giving in with a sigh.
“Don't you mean geeks, not Greeks?”
“Uh.... It's, um....” Frank appeared flustered.
“Don't worry,” Peter said with a laugh, “I'm sure it will sell for it's originality. After all, I've never heard of a sci-fi story written in Greek prose before....”

(c) Copyright August 24, 2010 - Curious Cognitive Content

Ode to Ice Cream

2010-08-21T09:59:00.003-04:00

Woke up this morning
with a terrible longing -
I wanted ice cream for breakfast,
Oh, chocolate ice cream!

Oh, ice cream sliding down my throat,
Feels like an antidote -
And, oh chocolate ice cream!

Pulled out that ice cream
But mom, she let out a scream
"Ice cream ain't healthy!
Now eat your cereal!"

And isn't it a shame,
but I know you're not to blame,
Oh, Ice cream.

Cereal is good for you, though
Mom, why did you have to know?
Ice cream tastes better,
Oh, chocolate ice cream.

And if you've got a bit of stealth,
Convince one of ice cream's health,
Oh, chocolate ice cream.

Ice cream's got dairy
And fruit if it is cherry,
Though chocolate's the one I want,
And chocolate's made of beans.

Ice cream has sugar, fat,
And we all need a bit of that,
Oh, chocolate ice cream!

Sweet, creamy ice cream!

Copyright - August 21, 2010 - Curious Cognitive Content

Astronomy Diversion

2010-07-21T12:04:00.005-04:00

It's only been recently that I realized what a mix of things I had posted on this blog: stories, poems, silly things, serious things, space travel, etc. What it was considerably lacking, however, was astronomy.

Perhaps I didn't even notice this lack until an opportunity presented itself this morning. When I brought up the news today, I was thrilled to discover the headline: "Scientists find most massive star ever discovered." According to the article, scientists in the UK found a star (R136a1) believed to be approximately 265 times more massive than our sun, and which burns about 10 million times as brightly.

Because a star begins with all of the mass it will ever have, and slowly shrinks as it ages due to its "self-consumption" or burning of its components to sustain itself, even though R136a1 is the most massive star yet discovered, it was even more massive when it was first created.

Connecticut

2010-07-13T22:45:00.004-04:00

The 4th of July, Independence Day, was this past week. Unfortunately, I was unable to write anything for the occasion, being temporarily without internet for about ten days. To be exact, I was in Connecticut with my sister.

Our catch phrase during the trip became "like home, but not home." In other words, Connecticut has aspects that aren't much different, and other aspects that are soooo not New York. For instance, we walked into a crowded Walmart and were beginning to feel right at home until we spotted a sign in the store advertising fireworks. Beneath, strange boxes of the combustible items were stacked neatly, ready for the average customer. As a native New Yorker, I have always viewed selling fireworks to just anybody as being against the law. Thus the Walmart there was "like home, but really not home."

Anyways, my trip to CT left me favourably impressed. The ocean we visited was stunningly beautiful, and if my camera batteries hadn't decided to die, I would have loaded my hard drive with so many pictures that my computer would have crashed. I saw two impressive displays of fireworks (which one can never take a picture of to do it justice), and I watched Toy Story 3 in 3D (my first 3D movie ever).

Now I really am home. It has been one of those hot, quiet afternoons in the middle of summer vacation that makes one feel as though something unexpected should happen - but unexpected thing rarely does come along - and I'm not convinced that such days are unpleasant things....

The End of the Shuttle

2010-06-05T21:55:00.003-04:00

"What is it? It's a bird! It's a plane! It's...a SPACE SHUTTLE!"

It's hard to know where to begin with a story when one is facing the end of it. Nevertheless, some effort must be made to acknowledge the retirement of the space shuttle - and the end of space travel as we know it. Scheduled to take off sometime mid-November of this year, the Endeavour will mark NASA's final shuttle mission.

Although NASA will continue to work on things such as Mars exploration (using robotic craft), and the study of stars and planets both in our galaxy and beyond, the future of manned space-craft is so uncertain and unlikely that it could be up to 10 or 20 years before an American astronaut again steps out onto the dusty soil of the moon's surface - and possibly longer before he can stand on Mars and see the red planet with his own eyes.

To be fair, none of the shuttles ever made it to the moon, but that only makes the retirement all the more saddening. If the government cared so little about landing on the moon in recent years, how much does it care about the exploration of space at all, now that the one connector between the Earth and the vacuum has been discarded without a replacement?

Therefore, we remember the shuttle as we remember the Apollo missions. Perhaps the shuttle's accomplishments were comparatively insignificant. Perhaps it's experiments weren't as ground-breaking as those during the Apollo period. Nevertheless, the symbol that it stands for: the delight of exploration, the importance of technological advance, and most notably, the self-sacrifice and bravery of those men and women who risked their lives - and of those who died, most notably those of the Challenger and the Colombia - for the furthering of our understanding of natural phenomenons and the physical universe - is no less great than past achievements. Thus we see the conclusion of this chapter in history come to an end.

Contemplations on Death, Part II

2010-06-01T22:23:00.002-04:00

It seems several months since I posted the first part to this series, though in reality it has only been weeks. I had started working on this section a while ago, and stopped because I was having difficulty expressing my thoughts clearly while providing a strong logical foundation, and at the same time stay on topic and keep the post from running to a length of 50 paragraphs. Here I have returned to the problem at hand, at last, hopefully able to both hold my readers attention and other him a reasonable explanation of my beliefs and the reasons for them.

Unfortunately, due to the lengthy content of this post, I will have to gradually lead up to a conclusion, but leave the reader once more in suspense as I split up my series into further divisions. This post will look at the existence of the eternal, which I believe offers the only real reason for life, and will go no further.

First of all, there is something inside of everyone that accepts a definite right and a definite wrong. Some will dispute this fact, and might even claim that it is wrong of me to say so, because isn't that legalism? Isn't that forcing everyone to accept my sense of morals? Yet, their very claim is proving my point; they are accusing me of being wrong, but if there is no right or wrong, than I cannot possibly be in the wrong. They are making the assumption that legalism is a bad thing.

I recently read a section of The Octopus by Frank Norris. To be fair, I didn't read all that much, but I think I have the basic gist of the plot. In the story, humans are portrayed as helpless pawns in the hand of an unsympathetic Nature. Written by a notable naturalist, the story makes it clear that the only reason for life offered by the naturalist view is that of self-survival. There is no sense of right or wrong, but merely the work of trying to stay alive in spite of many forces working against you. Yet, the railroad owner, a particularly annoying and cruel man, dies a slow and painful death that the reader is forced to look upon as being just and fitting as a result for the man's actions. Here, too, there is an unspoken sense of what is right and wrong.

Where did this sense of right and wrong come from? If man can deny it so emphatically and yet unconciously support it, it must be a part of man that is so ingrained in him that it cannot be discarded. Is it really possible that even if a man could be assembled randomly by mud and slime in an evolutionary process, that he could also have an unspoken list of no-no's placed inside of him, making him guilty when he goes against it and commending him when he follows it? It seems highly inprobably to me. It points to something - or someone - eternal; something outside of man.

Moreover, a study of physics will reveal an even more baffling problem to those who deny the existence of the eternal. According to the laws of thermodynamics, matter can neither be created or destroyed. How then could the Big Bang happen without either matter or energy or both? There are two kinds of energy: potential energy and kinetic energy. If I were to set a ball on a shelf, that ball would hold potential energy, because it holds the capacity to fall or roll. If I were to push the ball off the shelf, my application of force would transform that potential energy into kinetic energy, a state of activity.

Now supposing that there was nothing - not even space. Absolutely nothing. Trying to picture nothing would leave one with the impression of an empty space or an empty darkness. But both of these are not nothings; they are, in fact, somethings. Respectively, they are "space" and "darkness." We can not fathom a state of nothingness, because it would have no conceivable quality - it has no color, no form (not even emptiness), no volume, no measurable quantity - it has nothing because it is nothing.

Very clearly, a nothing has no energy or matter. If it had the slightest trace of any of these things, it would instantly become a something, and we would immediately be confronted with the question, "where did that something come from?" Obviously, with no potential energy, and no force of kinetic energy to trigger the potential energy into more kinetic energy, which could very possibly turn into something similar to the concept of the Big Bang Theory, we would be left with an infinite nothingness. I say infinite, because nothing could break its state of nothingness at any time, but I am assuming that it is still holding to the rules of time. Nothing would be outside of time, because time is a something.

So how did we get from a state of Nothingness to a state of Somethingness? There is no possible way. The only way we could exist today is if something had always been - had always existed. Whether this something was a great store of energy that exploded into the universe, or else something else - I leave it to the reader to make his choice.

Contemplations on Death, Part I

2010-05-15T11:54:00.007-04:00

"Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher,
vanity of vanities! All is vanity."
~Ecclesiastes 1:2

The room was cold and still. On one side of the room was a casket, and in the casket lay a pale form, its familiar face expressionless with seeming-sleep. Who has said that a dead face appears peaceful - or even beautiful? They were wrong. The face of death is awful; pale and cold and spine-chilling so quickly become overused adjectives.

If I hadn't known the dead before - if I had never seen him alive and happy, with his eyes smiling at me - everything would have been easy. But I had. And often after this scene, I lay in bed wondering what the point of life was if it all ended in death.

I wasn't the only one who had wondered this, and I'm not the only one to write about it. Well-known authors such as Jack London often wrote about the futility of life. There was one author in particular that stood out to me - an ancient fellow from before the time of Christ. He wrote a book called Ecclesiastes.

"What does man gain by all the toil
at which he toils under the sun?
A generation goes, and a generation comes,
but the earth remains forever.
The sun rises, and the sun goes down,
and hastens to the place where it rises....
All things are full of weariness;
a man cannot utter it;
the eye is not satisfied with seeing,
nor the ear filled with hearing.
What has been is what will be,
and what has been done is what will be done,
and there is nothing new under the sun."
~Ecclesiastes 1:3-5, 8-9

This is only a part of chapter one. The book runs on in this manner for several chapters. If I had felt depressed before, I should surely feel depressed now, having read this. But there was a section of the book that suddenly jumped out at me, being so entirely different from the tone and mood of the rest of the book:

"What gain has the worker from his toil? I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil—this is God's gift to man." ~Ecclesiastes 3:9-13 [emphasis mine]

If this is the answer, it seems to be an incomplete answer. It tells us what we should do, but not why we can do it. For instance, why should we be joyful and do good if we know that the inevitability of death hangs over us? And why should we take pleasure in our toil if we know that in the end our works are nothing? The paragraph concludes that "this is God's gift to man." But what does that mean?

Unfortunately this post is rather long already, and I have homework to do, so I'll have to leave you pondering these questions until I can come back and write part 2. Perhaps you already know the answers; it is always good to remind yourself of them. :)

Q and A: Interview with Rodney Richards

2010-04-09T09:33:00.005-04:00

Rodney Richards is at it again with the upcoming release of his new book, Hidden In Snow! This delightful sequel to Hidden On the Prairie series outlining the lives of animals who dwell in cold, snowy regions is full of colorful, vivid descriptions and strong, convincing examples. Today, Rodney has graciously agreed to take part in an interview about his new book.

Tell us, Rodney, what was the inspiration for Hidden In Snow?

Richards: I was on a vacation in Hawaii when I suddenly realised that all of my previous books had focussed on animals in warmer climates. So I was talking with a friend of mine and he said, "Rodney, why don't you write about Antarctica?"

Interesting. I seem to remember from past interviews that you like being on the exact location you are writing about. Did you settle down in Antarctica for a few months while you wrote your book?

Richards: No, I hate cold weather. I visited the San Francisco Zoo instead, because I figured that most of the animals would be the same anyways. It was a lot cheaper, too.

Can you tell us a little bit about the book?

Richards: You see, I've always admired alligators - their impressive wingspan, and sharp beaks - so I thought it was only fitting to make them sort of like the main characters in my book. I designed Hidden In Snow with more of a plot than my previous books, so that children would be more drawn into it and possibly pick up a few more scientific facts than they would have otherwise.

You mentioned a story plot.

Richards: The basic plot involves an alligator who is sad because he hasn't grown his wings yet. He goes around and meets other animals who are sad too, including a frog that hasn't grown his tongue yet, a rabbit that hasn't grown its scales yet, and an anaconda that is sad because he's the only one in his family who hasn't grown a fur coat yet. By the end of the story, children will have met every kind of species existing in Antarctica, as well as the species' habitat, eating habits, lifestyle, etc.

It sounds like a classic plot many writers have used to teach children about animals. Did you feel bad about using a stereotype?

Richards: [laughs] I'm not a typist or anything, so I wasn't worried about what font my book would use.

Uh, right. Do you do have any plans for writing books to follow this one?

Richards: Well, you see, I've been thinking about the other books I've written and how they all have to do with animals in natural settings, but there are so many other animals out there that live in unnatural settings, and I figured they needed some recognition, too. This book was a step towards that direction, because snow can be created artificially, but plants - real, living plants - can't be. So when I chose a setting like a prairie or a forest, I surrounding my characters with natural things. When I'm writing about a snowy region, it could mean anything from Antarctica to the pile of artificial snow outside of an ice-hockey rink.

So you want your next book to take place outside of a hockey rink?

Richards: I've been thinking about doing something like that. After all, I'm sure hardly anyone pays any attention to what lives in the snow outside their hockey rinks; I'm sure that a book on the topic would instantly become a best-seller, because it would be the only book on the topic.

What does live in discarded hockey-rink snow?

Richards: Well, in order to determine that, we would have to go talk about the sport a little bit, and I'll tell you why in a moment. In a hockey rink, one team throws a ball into a big basket hanging from the wall, and the other team whacks it with a bat. For some reason, people get very excited when this happens and drop the popcorn they're eating all over the rink. When the rink is cleaned later on, the discarded popcorn and a pile of injured bats are pushed outside with the snow. Therefore -

Excuse me a moment; where are the injured bats from?

Richards: From the game. After all, do you expect a bat to survive a whack against a huge ball? Most of the bats end up with broken wings, at the very least.

I see. Go on.

Richards: Therefore, bats and anything that eats popcorn - from whales to mosquitoes - can be found burrowing in the snow outside of a hockey rink. As you might imagine, this wide range of animals offers a good platform for a book.

I understand. We're running low on time here, so perhaps you should state your mission to my readers and say goodbye.

Richards: Somehow I think I'm being pushed out of here.... My mission is to educate the young and the old on matters concerning zoology and other sciences that are necessarily involved with my stories. My mission is to show the world that research is only an option, that so much can be achieved in a matter of months.

Rodney Richards is a brilliant author of books about science for elementary school-aged children. Among his many works is his most famous book, Hidden on a Prairie, a book about prairie life. The thirty-two year old claims to have written it in only two months, with absolutely no research. The quality of the writing is unbelievably excellent, and has won him a place in every child's heart, besides nationally acclaimed fame from teachers all across the country.

Disclaimer: Please note that all content above is fictional; any resemblance to reality is accidental. Thank you!

A Letter to the White House....

2010-04-08T20:15:00.005-04:00

Dear Mr. President Obama,

It is highly improbable that you will ever read this, much less know of its existence, but if by some odd chance you do see this, I hope, that as a young American and one of the uprising generation, my opinion will not be overlooked.

My letter to you involves the topic of space travel and the way in which it is achieved. I realise that there are two ways of confronting this subject, the first being the emotional sob-story way, and the other being the hard-worn path of logic. Since I can not make up my mind which to use, I will use them both.

First, for as long as I can remember, I have held a certain fascination for outer space, and it has been a constant dream of mine to become an astronaut and some day walk on other planets. It was only recently that I discovered that not only has the future of an astronaut become a series of monotonous missions to the ISS, but that even this routine task is to become accomplished by an expensive contract with a foreign power.

Mr. President, where is the joy of exploration and the thrill of doing that which no man before has done when one is performing experiments in a crowded satellite with no assurance that the knowledge being gained will ever be put to use in the capacity it is meant for - namely, the exploration of outer space? And now, even the excitement of doing something for America is dashed in view of the fact that it is done in utter reliance upon a foreign power.

Secondly - and this view I will break up into several different points - there is the logical view. There are several components to this view, including that of national security and - on a more global scale - that of the good of humanity.

The first point, that of national security, refers back to the total dependence on foreign powers. While I am fully aware that a contract with another nation may be more cost effective, I am also aware of the risk involved in such a venture. If, and I say if, our relations with the other nation became other than friendly, not only is our entire means of transportation in outer space obliterated, but also the lives of American astronauts could be endangered, and the other nation would hold a high military advantage over us.

I say the latter because if space travel is possible, why not a moonbase? And if a nation has no qualms about breaking a contract, what is to prevent them from building a large piece of military equipment capable of firing at any point in the USA from outer space? I realise, of course, that this is a very politically incorrect possibility to discuss, but even if it is not discussed, is it wise to dismiss it as impossible?

Secondly, on the grounds of the good of humanity, it has been suggested by some that the over-population of planet Earth, or some global tragedy such as an epidemic, could threaten our home planet and make it unable to sustain life. Although I have my own reasons to believe that such a things are highly improbable, they are, nonetheless, possibilities I think a world leader ought to consider.

If such a tragedy were to occur, would it not be logical to have another place to go that the human race be preserved? And if so, then the fact remains that we need to find that place. If planet Earth were to be destroyed, the only other logical place would be another planet, and the only means of discovering such a planet and learning to survive on it is to send manned-missions to other planets and conducting experiments there.

As a Christian, which I believe you have professed to be, you must know that one of the great things about being a Christian is the assurance that such a global tragedy will not occur unless it be the will of God. You will also know, however, that as we make new scientific discoveries, we learn more about our God - His orderly organization of creation and His love of beauty. He has told us to "subdue the earth," and by delving into the mysteries of creation, on this planet and beyond, we learn more principles of the universe, and thus practical applications of those principles, thereby subduing the earth more fully.

Lastly, I appeal to your sense of national pride. America has a history of people repeatedly demonstrating perseverance and determination; it became a world power as a result. You have proven your own perseverance in many ways throughout your term in office. How can you simply sign over one of our nations greatest achievements to a foreign power and tell NASA to do something other than the space travel it was created to do?

Thank you for taking the time to read through this lengthy note, and thank you for your continued leadership of this nation. Although I personally do not agree with all of your policies and ideals, I am grateful for your efforts and will continue to pray for you.

Respectfully,

Dear Pop,

2010-04-06T11:31:00.004-04:00

Tell me, how long did you long
To finally see your Savior?
How often did you wish
That this life would soon be over?

Tell me, what was it like to die?
A brief moment when you saw
Your life go flashing by -
Your confusion suddenly gone?

Tell me, what is Heaven like?
That sweet, blessed place...
We have whispers here on Earth
In every moment of joy.

Tell me, what is our Savior like?
Did you stand in awe of His glory?
Did you finally feel satisfied
As you cried with the angels, "Holy! Holy!"?

I know you're gone for now...
I know you're ever so happy
And some day I'll see you again.
How long will I long for that day?

Copyright Curious Cognitive Content - April 5, 2010

Finding Our Identity in Christ

2010-03-31T16:32:00.000-04:00

If there is one thing I have always wanted for as long as I could want anything, it was to be popular. If only I could do something truly great - be someone extremely awesome and cool - then surely I would be happy.

Unfortunately, we live in a culture that encourages the sentiment that there is an elite group of Someones, and if you can only become one of these Someones, you will be happy. The definition of a Someone is very vague; some people say you need money, others a good talent that you can use to gain a good following, and still others the ability to distinguish between gourmet and common food. No one knows what a real Someone looks like, but everyone wants to be a Someone.

What a wasteful pursuit!

That was my first mistake, thinking that being a Someone in the eyes of the world would be satisfying. As soon as I saw that this was, indeed, a mistake, I sat down to write this post. That was when I noticed my second mistake.

I intended on writing about how silly being a Someone looked when one contrasted it to the Christian view of being adopted sons of God. And indeed, being the son/daughter of the Maker of the universe is a very wonderful thing. But was that the end?

I had completely missed the point. I was ready to boast about my position, when, in fact, the last thing I should be doing is sticking out my chest with prideful confidence. I still had the worldly view of being a Someone - only I had transferred it elsewhere; I was still finding fulfilment in myself.

How could I boast that I was a child of the King when my very conversion could not have taken place without help from Him? Sin had so separated me from God that there was no way my heart could suddenly "chose" to follow Christ (2 Cor. 4:3-4, John 6:63). Christ had to first choose me, and begin a work in my heart before I would even attempt to give Him a second glance.

The only reason I can stand up today and testify as a witness for Christ is because Jesus gave his life for me - I was so evil that only the Son of God could save me. If that isn't humbling, I don't know what is.

And thus, we find our identity in the work of Jesus Christ, not in ourselves. We find our worth and our value not in our rank or status, or rather, those things that only serve to increase our pride; but in humility, knowing that there is no way we could save ourselves, and rejoicing in the fact that God loved us so much that He was willing to save us (John 3:16).

"26 For consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. 27 But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; 28 God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, 29 so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. 30 And because of him you are in Christ Jesus, who became to us wisdom from God, righteousness and sanctification and redemption, 31 so that, as it is written, “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.”
~ I Corinthians 1:26-31

Chasing Shadows

2010-01-01T12:07:00.002-05:00

"17 These are a shadow of the things to come, but the substance belongs to Christ." Colossians 2:17

Picture a sunny room. In the center of the room is a beautiful vase - so beautiful and delicate that no one can resist gazing upon it and reaching out to touch its smooth surface. Stretching far behind this vase is a distorted shadow of it.

If you have ever seen a shadow (which I'm assuming you have), it only vaguely represents the object that casts the shadow. Sometimes a shadow is an extremely long version of the object, and sometimes it is an extremely short version. Either way, it is a distortion of the real object, and has no substance, being but an absence of light.

If, as this passage from Colossians seems to suggest, all things in this world are but shadows, and all substance is found in Christ, it is fruitless to pursue things of this world such as riches and fame, as they are but shadows that pass and change as the day goes by.

"6 Surely a man goes about as a shadow!
Surely for nothing they are in turmoil;
man heaps up wealth and does not know who will gather!"
Psalm 39:6

Why then do we so often fall in love with the world? Why then do we seek fulfilment and joy in passing, changing, flighty shadows, when we have before us the true object, steady, unchanging and full of a beauty the shadow can never match?

The analogy we began with can be broken up as follows: the room is a day, the vase is Truth, and the shadows are the world. Everyday, we are faced with the choice of grasping the vase, or chasing shadows as they move throughout the day. What will you choose?

Quote #1

2009-12-03T16:30:00.005-05:00

Russell looked at him with new respect. “I'm glad to meet your acquaintance.”
“I didn't introduce you to my acquaintance. After all, I think you're my only real acquaintance here, so you're essentially saying that you're glad to meet yourself,” Kyle said.

~From one-of-many-unfinished-stories

P.S. If you think this quote doesn't make any sense, you're not the only one.

NaNo WriMo

2009-11-23T11:48:00.003-05:00

Anyone else ever heard about NaNo-WriMo? It is a website designed for National Novel Writing Month. The idea is to write 50,000 words in one month - the month of November. My older sister convinced me that it would be a really fun thing if we did it at the same time, so I signed up for it, wondering what I had just gotten myself into.

It is now the 23 of November, and as yet, my word count reads barely 10,000, a whole 5th of the desired goal. As far as the novel itself goes - well, maybe it would be best to not mention too much about it.

First of all, I started with almost no plot. As I started writing, the plot began to grow in my mind, and I was very satisfied with the direction the story was taking. But then, my characters rebelled against this very basic plot, and all began to fall apart. As I mentioned above, I am a 5th of the way through the novel, and so far, no exciting actions have taken place, the flow is extremely choppy, and, worse, I am no where near touching upon the plot I had in my head.

So why am I wasting valuable time I could be using to write my novel by writing this dismal blog post?

Simply because, despite all the negatives I have encountered, I wouldn't miss the experience I've had, and I think I might be easily persuaded to do it again. My reasoning? Well, just wait until you have tried it yourself....

Excerpt from story:

"Sometimes one can't say all that he thinks," Jeremiah said. Roger turned just at that moment, abandoning a conversation he had jumped into.
"Can't say all that he thinks?" he said thoughtfully. "That's what Ruby, she's my wife, you know, is always telling me! She says, 'Roger,' she says, she always does call me Roger, 'Roger,' she says, 'sometimes it's better not to say what you think.' And I always say, 'but If I'm not to say what me thinks, than I'll be telling a lie!' and Ruby, she's my wife you know, she always says to me, she says, 'Roger, you don't have to say a word!'"
"Your wife is a very wise woman," Jeremiah said.

(c) copyright - November 2009 - Curious Cognitive Content.

(hint: Roger likes to talk.)

Disconnect

2009-11-08T18:37:00.003-05:00

In the care instructions for a pot holder: "Iron on lowest setting as needed."
Two questions; first, why would anyone want to iron a pot-holder? And second, if it can't handle the highest temperature setting on an iron, how will it survive handling hot pans straight from the oven?

From the Notebook....

2009-10-26T12:18:00.003-04:00

FrA flood of golden leaves pour down,
And cover stone and grass and ground
Till all unseen seems to drown
Beneath that shower of Autumn.

I stand in a forest sparse and bare,
The trees are all shorn of leaf and color
The wind blows now with chilly air
And branches musically bounce together.

The deep, dark blue of the autumn sky,
Is fading now to a vacant grey,
Reluctantly, I turn aside; why
Did autumn have to go away?
Copyright - Curious Cognitive Content (CCC) - October 26, 2009

Language

2009-09-23T18:11:00.003-04:00

Have you ever been aware that you think in words? For instance, if you saw a dirty pillow that had to be washed, this recognition would probably not come as a vague impression on your mind, but rather as a sentence, "Gee, this pillow is dirty! I need to wash it!"

What would happen if you were deaf and blind - you had never read English and you had never heard English? Would you think in English? Would words actually be voiced in your thoughts?

I find it very hard for my mind to grasp the concept of thoughts using no words. I am sure that the very thing that makes one thought different from another thought is the way the thoughts are expressed with words in one's brain.

If this were the case, than a person with no knowledge of any spoken language might invent his own language and think in that! What would sound like gibberish to us would make total sense to him, because he has always thought in it!

And now I'm left speechless as I wonder at the gift of speech.....

Walking on a treadmill

2009-09-16T17:39:00.002-04:00

There is nothing more discouraging than a day that doesn't seem to get anywhere. I call these the "treadmill-days." I sit down to do school, and I can't seem to make a dent in my pile of homework; I wash the dishes and ten minutes later there's fifteen cups ready for washing; etc.

Today was one of those days. It made me contemplate a real treadmill, one on which one runs and runs to get seemingly no where. And then it hit me; it was only seemingly no where. The person on the treadmill may not be moved through space, but he is moved through time. And if he is diligent to continue on the treadmill day after day, his muscles will slowly become firm and strong.

Those treadmill-days may be wearying, but they are the tools that slowly shape us into the person God wants us to be. If the man on the treadmill said, "Forget this! I'm going to go watch TV!" he might be content for a month or so, but a year later, he might look at himself, and say, "I'm fat! If I only had stuck to that stupid treadmill, I could be lifting boulders by now!"

Am I giving up? Am I busy watching TV instead of persevering in the seeming monotone of life? Could I be lifting boulders right now? The thoughts assailed my mind like bullets from a gun. Then a scripture softly pushed them aside to make itself prevalent.

"And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up...." (Galatians 6:9)

9/11

2009-09-11T11:35:00.004-04:00

September 11, 2001.

"Two planes just crashed in the the Twin Towers!" Mum broke the news to us as we sat at the dining room table working on school. She had just received a phone call from her mom, who got actual channels on her TV instead of snow storms.
My head looked up in amazement. I had no idea what the Twin Towers were then, but I was pretty certain that a tall white building we always passed on our way to Church was one of them. I couldn't even begin to guess what the second one was.
Mum tried adjusting our radio to a news channel, and as the static cleared away, we heard the grim voices of news reporters. A commercial popped on, I think for some sort of "zone alarm," but the station interrupted it, and its music fell flat. The radio station viewed this news as more important than its main source of income? Everyone knew at once (including stupid little me) that there would be no more school today.

The rest of the afternoon we spent over at my grandmother's house (the one with great TV reception), watching the news as it replayed the pancaking towers, over and over again. I remember seeing the plane crash into the tower, and I watched as the building melted down like paper mache in the rain. I was horrified when I learned that certain specks of flying material were actually people who had jumped from their windows in the hopes of escaping the approaching horror and doom.
I saw a battered fire engine and a melted ambulance, and I'll never forget the scene described by a reporter: walking through a river of blood that was thickened by bodies blown up beyond recognition or belief.

Sometimes silence is better than a carefully thought-out-and-phrased ending. I think now is one of those times.

.............................................

P.S. For anyone who was curious about the white building I mentioned in the first paragraph, I needn't have worried; it was a comparatively short nursing home quite a few hundred miles away from NYC. We pass by it every Sunday on our way to Church, and probably will for many Sundays to some (God willing).

The Truth in the Lie

2009-08-26T17:17:00.002-04:00

I had the weirdest dream last night. But it brought up an interesting question, which I'll get to in a moment.
Basically, in the midst of a whirl of confusion that always comes with dreams, I needed to get some information out of some odd-looking aliens. The problem was, these particular aliens spoke in lies; nothing they said was true - nothing, that is, unless you knew the code. Apparently, if you ignored certain words in just the right pattern, other words would stand out and form a sentence that told the truth. Thankfully, someone knew the right pattern, and was able to teach me, after which I woke up.
So now I am wondering, can someone tell the truth and a lie at the same time? And were these aliens actually bad , or was their intent to tell the truth, but they had to get it out in code?
And if you're wondering why I'm dreaming about aliens, let's just say I watched an old StarTrek movie before bed....

The Mushrooms

2009-07-31T18:13:00.001-04:00

When the ground is moist and a warm breeze is blowing over the ground, an odd type of folk begin to grow out of the soil and in every sort of crevice of every sort of stone; folk with curly yellow hair, and wide-brimmed hats. If it sounds at all unusual, that's because it is: these people are mushrooms. I like wandering amongst them and imagining how they would act if they were truly alive.
This summer has been very wet. But where are my little friends hiding?

On the nature of my brain

2009-07-20T16:29:00.003-04:00

I rather like to think that I have two blogs for two different sides of me. There is the one side of me that likes tackling math and investigating science and logic, and there is the side of me that enjoys music and art.

And in some ways, I am very correct to think this way, seeing as the division I have made draws a line through my brain, the math/science part of me being my left brain, and my art and music side being more right brain. Or was it the left brain that had musical awareness? I don't remember any more!

So here I am on my right-brain blog. It just so happens that I posted on my left-brain blog earlier today about a very special event that took place 40 years ago. And now my left-brain is overshadowing my right-brain by making it post on its blog as well about this very important anniversary.

All that to bring me to a point (but if this is not technically my left-brain blog, then does it matter if I do illogical rambling at times?): today is the 40th anniversary of the first Moon-walk. I have heard that moon-walking is a type of dancing in which you pretend to move forward, but actually move backwards. But this sort of Moon-walk had no pretense and actually did move us foward - hurtling forward into the century of space flight.

Sadly, there had not been as much space travel as there ought to be (in my left-brain opinion) due to its expensive nature, but NASA is planning on working towards a serious of missions to Mars, so that will be fun.

And here ends my left-brain monopoly and this right-brain muddle of a post.

Don't write anything unless you have a point/plot!!!!

2009-06-29T17:18:00.005-04:00

Don't write anything unless you have a point/plot.

This can apply to anything: essays, articles, stories, and - yes- movies. An essay is pointless if it doesn't have a point. If you there is nothing you are trying to prove, no knowledge that you are trying to reveal, your essay will be worth nothing more than rambling. The same applies to articles; why would someone want to read a nice long article, and afterwards, not be able to tell you what the point of it was?

Though essays and articles are occasionally written without their vital nucleus, I find that stories and movies are the worst violators of number 1. Trust me, don't write a story without a plot, or at least a theme that will make an impression on your readers! And don't think that special effects and people falling in love and falling out of love in muddling ways will make up for the loss of a basic plot in a movie. When your audience leaves the theater after a movie like that, they might just possibly be carried away by the thrill of the moment, but that thrill will soon dwindle, and the movie will be revealed as having been worthless. Others of the audience might feel confused and bewildered at such a waste of time, or they will be utterly emotionless having been deadened to this sort of movie as it is so unfortunately common.

So, please: "If you're going to make a statement, make it a good one!"

Our Visitor

2009-06-17T20:51:00.002-04:00

We watch it as it flies about, bits of dry grass and twigs in its mouth. Back and forth it goes with more and more loads. It brings the little bundles to a comfortable hollow in our window box, so we can watch its progress close up, through the window. The little structure it is so intent on building gradually grows....

It is tomorrow now. We spot three speckled, round objects in the very base of the structure. She who built the structure is no where in sight. We hope we have not scared her away. We hope she will come back soon. We hope the round objects stay warm...

It is tomorrow again. She has come back. She is sitting low in her little structure, hiding the round objects from view. And if we stand at a careful distance from the window, so as to not scare her away again, we can see her body rise and fall in a steady motion as she breathes. Her head is down, curled up on her chest. No, now she is looking nervously around, her small, beady eyes looking for danger. We can see clearly her yellow beak contrasting with her grey body.

The question is, will she stay or will all hope for those helpless round objects be lost?

Using the SM: Step 1

2009-06-05T16:00:00.005-04:00

Here I have applied step one of the Snowflake Method (SM):

~~~~~

Step One: "....write a one-sentence summary of your novel."

An old, crippled farmer must stop the world-conquest of a vicious tomato.

"Worthy" Writing...

2009-06-05T15:34:00.003-04:00

I am surrounded by windows on my desktop. Word processors to be exact. I have picked up writing again as school begins to wind down, and have become fascinated with a new method of writing called the "Snowflake Method," introduced to me by my sister who is equally enthusiastic about it.

Of course, I had to start applying it right away to all of my previous writings, and it is going very well, despite the fact that I have not gotten past step 2 yet.

I found step one most amusing and challenging: "...write a one-sentence summary of your novel." For some people, this might be easy, but for me, trying to condense a novel into a sentence seems a bit difficult. After all, if you can explain a novel in a sentence, what is the good of writing the novel?

Anyway, my sentences kept turning into ads:
"A group of evil aliens are invading planet Earth. Can Richard Jones stop them and save planet Earth before its too late, or will he fall victim to molten lava? Find out for yourself by reading this great new book about an all new adventure: Molten Rock, coming to a book store near you!"

I just made that up for an example, but... you see the picture. And now I am taking a break from aliens and epidemics and huge volcanoes to write this blog post and get some better ideas. I will be taking up journalism, meaning that I will give posts periodically showing how each step was worked out using an example plot. That will be fun. I hope you think so too.

Spring

2009-05-18T18:00:00.002-04:00

Plants spring up out of the ground;

Clocks spring forward an hour;

The springs of water that run along the sides of the road spring up due to melting snow;

The smells of our septic tank spring up out of the yard;

The pollen springs up out of flowers,

And the tears spring to my eyes as a result;

Bugs spring out of everywhere;

And the temperature springs up and down.

Now I know why this season is called Spring.

A Post

2009-05-12T14:18:00.002-04:00

I'm not sure if any of my dear readers are acquainted with Linux - and if they are, I doubt they know much about Unison. Unison is handy in file sharing. If you edit a document on one computer and run Unison, the changes will be made on all other computers holding that document. This program is essential to me. Especially sense I have no idea how long my (what is it, 8 years?) old laptop will last. All of this said to get to the point....

Last night as I lay in bed, I appeared a peaceful sleeper, breathing softly with not a care in the world. Little did people know the truth....

I was agitated and worried - my adrenaline levels extremely high. I was moving my hands as fast as I could, trying to get my stupid laptop to stop producing extra monitors, and trying to prevent my email from deleting all of my emails, and at the same time thinking that if I rebooted the computer, it would help a lot.

The major crisis, though, was that I had edited a long list of documents and had yet to run Unison! Apparently, rebooting the computer would delete all of those documents, and the changes I had made earlier would have been in vain. So I was trying to run Unison and it wouldn't work.
In desperation, I got dad and tried telling him the whole thing, but he wasn't listening!!! I told him I thought I had a virus, and he said, "It's Linux, not Windows" and that was all.

I awoke from the nightmare in a sweat and looked around my bedroom with sleepy eyes. A deep sigh, and a quiet resolve: I would be certain that I ran Unison today.

At breakfast, I told dad part of my dream. He said it sounded like my computer had a cancer with the way it was producing monitors. A computer with cancer could be very profitable.
Maybe so, but I'm still glad it was a dream. And I ran Unison today. :)

I put what in my hair?

2009-04-22T09:34:00.003-04:00

How often have you looked at the back of your shampoo bottles? Okay, how often have you looked at the ingredients on the back of your shampoo bottles?

So it happened that I peered curiously at the ingredients on the back of the shampoo bottle. It started out simple enough with the word WATER, but began to get a little scary when I read AMMONIUM XYLENESULFONATE. As I proceeded, I stumbled upon METHLCHLOROISOTHIAZOLINONE, and METHYLISOTHIAZOLINONE. The heat rose in my face, and I re-read the words. There was no doubt about them.

Anxiously, I scanned the conditioner. The same two fearsome ingredients harboured there, too! There was also a STEARAMIDOPROPYL DIMETHYLAMINE.

Now tell me, why would anyone even consider putting these unknown chemicals in their hair? I was able to locate two of them on Wikipedia, and even then, one of them was very secretive, saying only that it was something sometimes found in some conditioners . . . !

So, what do you put in your hair?

VLCC FFY Play

2009-04-14T17:10:00.001-04:00

[this post will take residence here as the most recent post until after Friday; this does not mean, however that I will cease posting to any extent - unless I find myself too busy to do so. :) ]

" 'IT'S NOT TOO LATE'

Friday, April 17, 7:30 pm
Victorious Life Christian Church
Please join us as the Forever Faithful Youthgroup [FFY] presents this musical drama in commemoration of the 10th anniversary of the Columbine Tragedy."
"...Free admission..."

If anyone knows more about the play and happens to see this post, I would greatly appreciate it if they would edit/expound upon it in the comment section if need be. Thank you!

From the Scrap-pile

2009-04-14T16:29:00.002-04:00

"If one thinks they are the ideal 'grown-up' after they think a particularly deep thought, and then remembers that a true 'grown-up' will never consider themselves 'grown-up,' as the more that 'grown-up' learns, the more they discover they have yet to learn, does the very fact that they have know this truth make them a 'grown-up'?" [~ from Thoughts That Get You Thinking; author unknown (by some, that is. Clearly, the author is known by someone: the author. For, can an author write a book without knowing it at least at one time?)]

Facebook: a decline in beauty

2009-04-13T17:15:00.003-04:00

Facebook is a social network fad that nearly everyone is familiar with. It is useful to connect with long-lost friends, and to learn more about those friends. If this were the only feature of Facebook, it would all be very well, but it isn't. The serious drawback is stated in the title of this post: a decline in beauty.

I first came to realise this as I examine my change in thought. As I have noted in earlier posts (or at least, I think I have), one of the best times to think is while washing dishes. In the past I would use this thinking time for more extensive things worthwhile, such as a comparison of too unlike objects (math and lemons, or cheese and turtles, for example). More recently, however, my thought patterns have been "status-message-tized." Literally. And once I realized this, my brain stuck my thought into a status-message form: "Ahh! I'm thinking in status messages!"

Of course, having identified this problem, I had to figure out whether it really was a problem. After all, could not this sort of thinking style eliminate useless chatter?
But, my brain cried, what happens to all the lengthy articles written over time?
What of them? I respond. Most people hardly read those things anyways.
For the sake of beauty were they written! My brain replied.

For the sake of beauty? What was that supposed to mean? Oh, surely there are books like Pilgrim's Progress and the like that are beautiful due to their many allegories and metaphors.
Those would be kind of hard to compact into status messages, would they not? And what of the Psalms even? What of Job and Isaiah in the Bible? What of hymns and poetry? What of Homer and Milton? What of Shakespeare? On and on the list goes.

The decline in love of the fullness of writing (also known as reading) is becoming inevitable. But now I am wondering, does this have anything to do with Facebook? I sat down with that goal in mind, but my argument has slowly evolved into an encouragement to read. I suppose one might call this post "free writing," for I have simply been following the chain of thoughts flowing through my head, and they have brought me here.

It would be bad form to end this post, or any other post for that matter, in this way: half-finished and unresolved, but it will have to do for now. I have yet to straighten out my thoughts and come to a conclusion, but I hope that conclusion will come soon.... maybe while I'm washing the dishes later.

A Post

2009-04-05T16:53:00.004-04:00

I pull up my blog and notice that it is in a sad state. It has been neglected since the 21st of last month. I heave a sigh and press the "new post" button that glares at me through the dust (okay, so maybe it wasn't dust-covered, but it would have been if it wasn't protected by the glass shield of the monitor screen).

I hastily scan the format, hoping I remember how to correctly write a post. I push against my forehead twice, but my memory isn't any sharper. It dawns on me that the forehead-thing came from a story I wrote - ages ago. Too bad it wouldn't be of any benefit to me. I swallow my jealousy of Jeremy, and shake my head to clear my thoughts.

Focus. I begin to see a light shine through the hazy fog, and my blogging skill returns in a flash. Hurrah! my brain cries with joy. At last I am ready to begin writing. I pose my hands over the keys with new, returned vigor, and straighten my shoulders triumphantly. Ready.

Almost. The set determination in my face contrasts with the jumble of my thoughts. What was it I was going to write about? The weather? Schoolwork? How many dishes I washed and dirty diapers I'd changed? None of it fit.

And suddenly I knew what to do.

And this was my decision: for all you readers who managed to suffer through this lengthy post with no point what-so-ever, I am letting YOU choose the topic. Post your idea in a comment below, and I'll see which one (if I get any) is the most interesting and random. That topic wins. And my blog will cease to be postless for a time.

2009-03-21T13:58:00.002-04:00

Giant Volcanoes; three of them, or two rather, with a third to blow.

Giant Volcano one: The unpopulated region of America is fertilized by the eruption of a giant volcano. The volcano forms clouds; the clouds from rain that in turn falls to earth and collects in large bodies of water called oceans. This theory has been supported by various scientists, it not being my theory.

Giant Volcano two: wipes out the Mayan population in the Americas, causing the mysterious disappearance of the Mayan civilization. Fills sky with dark clouds that spark the Dark Ages in Europe. This is my theory; the biggest problem is that the dates don't seem to line up.

Giant Volcano three: Old Faithful, the geyser in Yellow Stone National Park. This fellow either hasn't blown yet, or was the one that blew in the two earlier instances. This theory is mixed; part of it is mine, part of it isn't.

Why I am thinking about volcanoes and how they could have affected the world, on this gloriously sunny spring morning with not a cloud in the sky, I don't know. I do know, though, that it is fun to be able to get out my speculation on here........

2009-03-16T17:07:00.002-04:00

We had a visitor today. Actually, 3 or 4. They looked dignified as they strutted about the yard, pecking at the muddy, brown grass for food. Their blue-grey wings hung at their sides, and their red breasts were puffed out proudly. The delicate sound that came from between their yellow beaks announced their coming as something to be recognized with joy.
What were they trying to say?

A shocked well - and household

2009-03-09T11:19:00.002-04:00

Our water source is an underground well. It is rich in minerals and nutrients, and tastes better than purified water in cities and neighbourhoods - except at a certain time of year. That certain time of the year happens to be spring. And here is the reason:
Every spring, we shock our well. This means pouring a gallon or so of bleach into the water of our well, and letting it circulate through all the hoses, sinks, bath tubs, toilets, etc. The reason? To purge our water of bacteria.
Here is the pattern:

DAY 1: Bleach water around sunset. Run water through sinks. Smell water. Wonder why it doesn't smell like bleach yet.

DAY 2: Run more water. Reel at the reeking smell of bleach. Circulate water through bathroom by taking shower. Compare the new scents created by various soaps mixed with bleach-water. Come out of shower with sense of smell blasted out of nose. Smell bleach in hair (when smell comes back) for the remainder of day. Water at this time is undrinkable.

DAY 3: Feel sick at the scent of bleach. Perhaps the scent is fading a little bit?

DAY 4: Depending on water usage, bleach may have been entirely flushed through. Or the house still reminds one of a laundry room.

DAY 5: Either water bears slight trace of bleach, or water clean and pure.

DAY 6: Water tastes good. If bleach-smell continues to this day, you have added too much bleach to well. Go buy a new one.

This is the cycle, if memory serves correctly. This is day 2, right now. It feels like day 50.

Spring Break!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2009-03-06T13:20:00.001-05:00

Q and A: Interview with Rodney Richards

2009-02-26T20:48:00.002-05:00

Rodney Richards is a brilliant author of books about science for elementary school-aged children. Among his many works is his most famous book, Hidden on a Prairie, a book about prairie life. The thirty-two year old claims to have written it in only two months, with absolutely no research. The quality of the writing is unbelievably excellent, and has won him a place in every child's heart.
He has taken time out of his busy schedule for an interview. I would like to welcome Rodney Richards; thank you for joining us today!

Richards: Yeah, yeah. That's okay. I was just dropping by.

Tell us, Rodney, what does it feel like to be big and popular? How do you feel about being a hero to all those school teachers and parents out there?

Richards: Well, it's an okay life. I do pride myself on my large audiences. But you know, life as a movie star isn't as great as being out on the prairie, feeling the nice cold wind and hearing the swishing branches of the trees. I kind of miss the penguins, too.

Just a moment, I want to ask you about what you just said there. You mentioned being a movie star; did you star in a movie too?

Richards: He, he. almost. National Geography wanted me to stand in for one of their programs on seals, but for some reason, they decided against it.

I see. What's National Geography?

Richards: Everyone knows about them, stupid!

Um, of course. Do you mean National Geographic?

Richards: Same thing.

Right. So what prairie did you write your book on? You said there were trees on it, and most prairies are characterized by their lack of trees.

Richards: I never actually went to a prairie. I figured that one of those place like the rain forest in the Blue Mountains of Australia was good enough, so I wrote the book there. There's nothing so good for an author than to be in the exact place he's writing about. You know?

Yes, quite. Now you did absolutely no research in writing this book?

Richards: None whatever. When I was younger I used to read a lot. By now I have, like, an encyclopedia for a brain, so it was an easy affair to write a book. It's just transferring thoughts onto paper that's the difficult part.

So, you have an encyclopedia brain. If I asked you a question, could you answer it?

Richards: Of course! Fire away.

Okay, what can you tell me about the founding of America?

Richards: Oh, you're getting smart on me! You didn't say it would be history question. Okay, so the founding of America.... The Indians found it first. They sailed over in their motorboats and established the USS Constitution. I think it was an airport of some sort. Then Christopher Columbus came over with some of his men and they set up a Bell of Rights.

A bell? I thought it was the Bill of Rights.

Richards: Well, it certainly cost them a bill to make that bell. I think that's why they had a big fight with the cardinals.

Cardinals? Who were they?

Richards: A type of bird; haven't you ever heard of them? Christopher Columbus and his gang called the birds red coats because the birds looked red.

Yeah. Most cardinals are red.

Richards: I thought you didn't know much about them.

Anyways, what happened next?

Richards: Well, clearly there was a big fight and Columbus won.

Against a flock of birds? Who were upset over a bill?

Richards: You would be upset if your bill was taken away, wouldn't you?

I suppose, if I was a bird. But why did they take the bill away in the first place. I mean -

Richards: You aren't paying attention! It was because the Bell cost so much, remember?

Alright. Enough with history. What can you tell me about math?

Richards: Oh, I'm quite handy with math. It taste good, too, what with the pie and all. It's also good with temperature. There's these sines, you see, that warn you when the temperature is too hot or cold. And if it's really hot, it turns into a tangent, abbreviated, tan.

Indeed? That's, um, useful. Now tell me, where exactly did you learn mathematics?

Richards: Math-a-magnets? What are those? Oh, you must be referring to Polar functions.

Never mind!

Richards: Sorry, I didn't realise polar functions upset you. You must have had a bad experience with them.

Um, yeah, I guess so!

Richards: Well, it has been wonderful to be interviewed by you, but, as I am looking at the time, I see I'll have to go. I've a meeting in five minutes.

Yes, I understand. Any last words you'd like to say?

Richards: Yes. I was positively thrilled to do this interview. Is there a chance we could do another one soon?

I'll have to see. Well, thank you again, Rodney! And to our readers, I highly suggest you read Rodney's book, Hidden on a Prairie, a great book written by a great guy.

Lost memory continued

2009-02-21T15:34:00.002-05:00

I awoke one morning to find the streets and trees outside simply covered in light, fluffy snow. It was about time, I mused. The calendar had been reading December for quite a few days now. I hastily turned the radio to the news station, and grinned with glee as it listed off my school as being closed for a snow day.
This was going to be a great day, I thought. I went into the kitchen to find mom sitting at the table.
"Hi, mom!" I said cheerfully. "School's closed for today!"
"And no wonder," mom said, "We got 4 inches of snow last night, and more coming. The rate at which the snow is falling is amazing!"
"Indeed," I said, half-listening. I was already planning my day. I would read a couple books online, build a snow fort - maybe even work on a Christmas list.
"Oh, Jeremy," dad said entering the room. "You have the day off from school, right?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Could you shovel the driveway sometime today?" Dad's words shattered my plans.
"Shovel?" I gulped. "But couldn't you just get a plough to do it?"
"Well, we could but -" Dad hesitated. "In case you haven't noticed, the economy's been bad. We need to save money wherever we can, and $50 for a plough job is kind of expensive. Besides, it will be good exercise for you."
"Yeah, I guess so," I replied in flat monotone. But why was I so downcast? After all, shoveling would only take part of the morning.
I sighed, and quickly gobbled down breakfast. If the driveway had to be done, then it better be done as soon as possible. I grabbed for my hat and coat, and pulled on my mittens and boots, still wet from yesterday's trample in the slush.
I took one step outside, and breathed in the fresh, cold air. The snow looked so light and fluffy. I saw the tip of the mailbox peeping out of the snow bank at the end of the driveway. Just shovel to the mailbox, I told myself. It will be done in minutes.
I was halfway through the job when one of my classmates, Sarah, came running down the side walk. She made a sudden turn into our driveway, and gasped out, breathless,
"The school gymnasium on fire!"
"What?" I cried, dropping my shovel. The gymnasium was the new attachment to the school, and everyone was proud of it. The school had even worked up some small debt somewhere in order to have it made. If it burned down -
"There was some malfunction with the furnace," Sarah continued. "I overheard one of the firemen talking about it with the principal!"
"So there's firemen there; that's good," I said with relief.
"Yeah, well they aren't having too much success though," Sarah added glumly. "The wind is spreading it fast."
"What? No. This is winter; there's snow everywhere. I mean, fire's are supposed to be dangerous in droughts, right? Not in the middle of a blizzard!"
"Jeremy!" Sarah said in annoyance. "Outside maybe wet, but the inside of the building, where the malfunction first occurred, is still dry."
"Oh, true. So the fire is spreading inside the building, and the firemen can't put it out," I said.
"Oh, you're hopeless!" Sarah rolled her eyes. "Come and see for yourself!"
I propped the shovel up on the side of the house and followed Sarah to the site of the fire. There was a large crowd there already, and everyone in it was pushing and shoving and yelling. I could barely see the building. I heard one loud cry from the hundreds of people around me, some who could see the fire, and others that just took up the cry anyways, and gathered from it that the building was collasping. A loud crash affirmed my theory, and the sound of several police whistles indicated that they were trying to keep the crowd in order.
I turned away sadly; the beautiful new building, the pride of the school campus, was gone, and there was no chance of rebuilding it for a while. There was nothing more to see. I dragged my feet on the way home.
"Mom!" I called as I entered the house.
"Hush, Jeremy! I'm watching the news! Did you realise that the school gymnasium is burning down?" Mom said. Her hands were visibly trembling as she tensed herself before the TV. I sighed and shook my head sadly.
What more could I do?

A week later, as I came out of my math class, still dwelling on thoughts of sines and cosines, Sarah came running to meet me again. She like to run, I noticed, being a very nervous sort of girl, and needing an outlet for her energy.
"Jeremy!" she cried. "Did you hear the news?"
"What now?" I asked, grinning. "Is another building burning down?"
"Jeremy, that's not even funny!" Sarah pouted.
"I'm sorry. What is it?"
"The school's selling it's large collection of books in the library to the museum!"
"Why?" I laughed. Of course this was some joke.
"Because hardly everyone reads books any more, and almost all the books you can find online, and the books contain a certain amount of lead that is harmful to children, and by selling them to the museum, the school will raise enough money to effectively repair the walls damaged in the fire," Sarah stopped for a breath.
"Wait! Wait a second!" I held up my hands and laughed. "The school is going to rebuild the gymnasium based on the sale of a few books?"
"Rebuild the gym? Are you kidding? Of course not! But they're not selling some of the books; they're selling all of the books."
"What? No. This is the kind of crisis that only happens in books."
"But this is a book!"
"No, this is only a section of a story on a blog!"
"But Jeremy! Anything can happen in a story! Especially one about some kids in a public school, written by someone who's never been inside a public school!"
"Are you indicating that the authoress is one of those homeschoolers?" I gulped in dread. Anything could happen in a story written by a homeschooler. Yes, things were beginning to look grave. "Couldn't we try and tell her that schools are supported by taxes, and that they don't just sell their books like that, completely demolishing their libraries?"
"But we're nobodies! Only characters from some weird story she decided to write!"
"Then maybe we should stop arguing and try to please her, lest she make more horrible things happen. I'm already stuck with a memory problem," I said, trying to calm Sarah down.
"A memory problem?"
"It's complicated. Don't bother," I said in an undertone. "Now then, where were we?"
"The school is selling all its books in order to repair the wall and fix the furnaces so that the students will be warm during the cold winter while they're in classes, and -"
"Okay! Okay, so now we have to figure out what to do."
"We could sell popcorn to raise money for the school, so they wouldn't have to sell any books," Sarah suggested.
"Popcorn?" I made a face. "That will make us just rich!"
"You think so?" Sarah's face lit up. She didn't understand sarcasm.
"Um, well, maybe we could instead put on a play, you know?" I said hurriedly. I don't know why the word "play" came to mind, since I'm not an actor by any stretch. But somehow, this plan excited Sarah, and she was bouncing all around me with delight.
"Amy!" She called to a girl halfway across the campus. "Come quick! Jeremy's got the most wonderful idea to raise money!"
Amy came running, and so did half the school. Sarah explained the plan to them, with several (meaning here a couple dozen) of her own additions. The students all agreed to the plan with great enthusiasm, and thus began the evolution of a play....

To be continued in another section.....

Lost memory

2009-02-19T17:01:00.002-05:00

I banged my head against the wall in despair. I had done it again. I had messed up everything....
I rubbed my sore head as I gazed out the window at the floating snow. It looked so fresh and white and clean in brilliant contrast to the deep green of the pine trees. I stared at the pretty scene with a smile slowly curving my lips. No! I cried inside of myself. I must not get distracted!
I tried to focus back on my problems. After all, I had done it again.
Done what again?
I rubbed my head slightly confused. That whack from the wall had driven the memory straight from my brain!
I gasped in dismay. Who was I? Where was I? Why was I here?
A tall young woman entered the room and said, "Jeremy, what is this I see?" she held up a slip of paper, her eyes narrowing into slits with anger.
"I don't remember," I choked. Was my name Jeremy?
"Don't remember?" the woman said sarcastically. "You're not going to get out of this that easily!"
"But really! I have amnesia!" I don't know how that word managed to stick in my mind, but it did. Perhaps my memory was returning?
"Amnesia!" the young woman said sharply. "Cut it out! I'm being serious!"
"So am I! I don't even know who you are!" I persisted.
"Jeremy Greg Flipper!" the young woman said sternly, her hands on her hips.
"Oh, hello, Jeremy," I said politely.
"What?" the woman's face was slightly confused. She couldn't tell if I was mocking her or not.
"Sorry, I thought that's what you said your name was," I confessed. I gulped hard. The woman was very angry now. She opened her mouth to scold me, but changed her mind and left the room in stormy silence.
Uh, oh. What should I do now? I was stuck here, completely unable to recall any scrap of information, except for the name of the disease I had. Or was it a disease? I couldn't remember.
I wandered around the room, and felt the couch, the shelves, and everything, trying to remember them. I flopped on the couch at last, stretching my long frame across the cushions, and shook my head in dismay. Nothing was returning to my mind. I groaned, and closed my eyes.
The next thing I knew, I was just waking up from a long, refreshing sleep. I sat up and yawned. It was then that I became aware of a shadowy figure in the doorway of the room. It was the shape of a man; a man who was staring intently at me. I rubbed my eyes and he became clearer. It was very dark, and I knew that it was after dinner, because the faint scent of meatloaf still lingered in the air.
"What do you want?" I asked the man in the shaky voice of one just awoken.
"Jeremy, I heard you were giving your mom some trouble earlier," the man said, coming into the room and sitting beside me on the couch.
"She's my mom, then," I said softly to myself. The man overheard me, and I saw his eyes glaring in annoyance.
"Of course she's your mom; who else would she be?" he said sarcastically. Sarcasm. The woman - mom - had that problem too. They must be related.
"Who are you?" I asked curiously.
"What?" the man said in surprise.
"I knew your name once; what is it?"
"Jeremy Greg Flipper!" the man said sternly.
"No, that's mom's name," I said and then stopped. Why had they both said that name? It must be of importance.
The man was furious now. "Look! We just want to know why your grades when down on your school record! Why do you have to act so stupid?"
"Because I am stupid?" I asked hopefully.
The man stood up and looked at me. He opened his mouth to yell, but changed his mind, and stormed out of the room in angry silence.
Great! I was doing just great! Sarcasm, I realised with a start. I must be related to the two strangers here. One was called mom, and the other - dad? That sounded right, I reasoned.

I slept on the couch that night. When I awoke, light was streaming through the window. My head was aching dreadfully. I rolled off the couch and stood up slowly, rubbing my eyes. It was to my undoing. I couldn't see where I was going, and walked right into the wall, banging my head pretty hard. The amazing thing happened; I could remember things!
I stood stunned for a moment, before deciding to try an experiment. If I banged my head again, would the memory leave it? I banged the side of my head against the wall. Nothing happened. Maybe I didn't bang it right. I banged my forehead against the wall. I was plunged once more into a haze in which only the most recent occurrence was remember-able.
Then I banged my head again and remembered everything. What was going on?
I reached up timidly to my forehead, and pressed hard against it with my hand. Poof! went my memory. So I didn't have to go banging it all the time; that was useful to know. Hopefully I could remember that when my memory was gone. I pressed my memory back into my head and chuckled to myself. I must be dreaming.
I sat down at the breakfast table to eat. Mom and dad were already there, eating in stony silence. I grinned cheerfully at them, and tried explaining my discovery, but they only stared blankly at me. At last mom said,
"Jeremy, really! You're too old for these games!"
That shut me up for the rest of the meal. I was too old for those sorts of games. But what happens when "those sorts of games" become reality? I needed to think things over.

School went just as it always did. I sat down in my history class and stared at the test before me. It was full of hard names and dates. I pressed twice on my forehead, once to erase my memory, and twice to make it all return to its strongest capacity. I A-ced the test.
No one would believe me when I tried to tell them about it, and so I didn't bother telling them any more.
A couple weeks passed and I was able to discover more about my hidden ability. When I erased my memory and brought it back within seconds, my memory was always stronger than before. While in my state of no-memory, I could remember the last phrase, or action done before I was plunged in the state. It was thus that I could remember how to bring back my memory.
If I failed to bring my memory back after erasing it for more than five minutes, I forgot how to bring it back, and would go thrashing in the difficulty of a lost memory until I accidently banged my head, or pressed my forehead in my hands.
It was tricky, but I was getting used to it.

To be continued in another section.....

P.S. No, it is not your imagination; this story is the corniest I've done yet. But as always, it results from overloading my brain with school.... :P

Time....... (Part 18)

2009-02-14T15:00:00.001-05:00

My deepest apologies for all those imaginary persons who have long since lost interest in this story, for taking so long to post this. :)
Other previous sections can be seen here.

Frank watched the computer screen closely. No one had passed through the doors leading outside or inside. He could see the swarm of red dots moving this way and that in preparation for the expected attack, and they reminded him of bees in a beehive.
He tapped his fingers on the keyboard impatiently, and gasped in alarm as the screen he had been observing changed suddenly.
"Oh, bother it all! I've lost the correct window! Now how do I get back to it?" Frank groaned. He investigated the screen and saw that he had put on the setting that looked for UMO's. Curiously, he searched the fort for the blue dots and found two of them. He had recently received a number of his own, so he knew that he could not excuse one of the dots as being himself.
The dots were located on the North wall, he noted, and were swiftly making their way along to the West wall. He knew there was an entrance there. No doubt these blue dots were intruders, either people or robots, sent by the Nagars, and were probably the ones responsible for the weakening of the wall.
He had to contact the leader quickly, before the UMOs could escape. He hastily set the signaller he had been given to on and told his message quickly.
"Leader? This is Liftun speaking. Two UMO's spotted North wall making for West wall. Moving fast. Over."
"This is your leader. We read you. Will send men to investigate. Stand by. Over."
Frank took a deep breath to calm his shaking knees. Perhaps he was finally doing something to help the fort. Maybe the leader would think better of him after this. He hoped so.
Five minutes had passed when he heard a noise at the gate. Fromere entered the ITC in a hurry, and came over to the computer.
"How is it going, Liftun?"
"Good, sir," Frank replied.
"Is that a 'polite good' or a' sincere good'?"
"Um, I think it's more a polite one," Frank sighed.
"That's what I thought. You're looking green," Fromere said. "What's the trouble?"
"I think I messed up the computer. I'm not sure how to get it out of the UMO setting."
"Oh, here. Just press that button, see?" Fromere went to press the button he indicated but paused and stared at the screen. "Those are the two UMOs you warned us about?"
"Yes, sir. Why? They aren't anything important?"
"Important! I'll say it's important! They're using a passageway I didn't even know existed!"
"But it's right here on the computer. I don't see how-"
"It's on here now. It wasn't before. I've got to contact the leader right away!" Fromere grabbed the microphone and began talking furiously into it. Frank couldn't catch all he said. When the conversation had ended, Fromere turned to Frank.
"The leader's sent men to locate the area shown on the computer. He's coming up here himself to see."
"I don't get it. Why is this important? So there's an extra tunnel. And there's two foreign objects in it. And it's right under the North wall that was recently mysteriously weakened," Frank said thoughtfully. "Do you think it's all connected?"
"Do I think it's -! Oh, bother, Liftun! One minute you're a genius and the next, an idiot! Of course it's connected!" Fromere choked.
Frank looked down at his feet. Why were people so hyper here?

Peter sighed in dismay. The whole plan of escape - ruined. And they might never have another chance. He looked at Kevin, standing beside him.
"Have you come up with anything?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, I - think so," Kevin said slowly. "Look, we can go along with the Scallions and try to get out at, like, a red light, or something and -"
"What if they don't stop at any red lights?"
"Then we keep on with them till they do stop. Then we can slip away while they're busy and no one will notice."
"But, wait! The machine! What will we do with the machine? We can't bring it along, and we can't go back for it, because by the time we walk all the way back to the hideout, the robbers will be done and returning. Then we're right back where we were, only possibly in a worse position."
"True...." Kevin said thoughtfully. "You live in NYC, don't you?"
"I used to. I'm not sure were I 'live' at the moment."
"Well, aren't there any means of transportation we can hire for a quick return?"
"Hitch-hiking," Peter suggested. "It won't cost us a thing, which is good because we don't have any money on hand. We can ask someone to take us to the -" Peter paused to think, "the gas station on Higher Street. It's a little street that's more like an alley than anything else, and isn't in the best of environment, you know, sketchy neighbourhood. But it's not much better here, and the gas station is only about 1 mile from here," Peter figured quickly.
"Wait! How do you know this neighbourhood so well?" Kevin interjected.
"I took note of it when me and Henry picked up the machine from the jail. Now we just have to climb in the trucks and act normal, okay?"
"You mean normally crooked," Kevin clarified.
"Yes," Peter grinned. He saw Henry watching him out of the corner of his eye. "He won't stop looking at me," Peter sighed.
"Do you think he's suspicious?" Kevin asked softly. Their conversation had not been overheard due to the commotion the robbers were making as they loaded and boarded the trucks. Nevertheless, Kevin suddenly felt the need to be more careful.
Peter shrugged in answer to his friend's question, and began walking bravely towards one of the trucks. Kevin followed him at a slight distance.
"Hey, youngster!" Henry clapped Peter's shoulder.
"Hi."
"Ya still feeling sick?"
"I'm feeling better, thanks."
"Ah, very good, very good." Henry looked pleased. "What were ya talking about with that other boy; what was 'is name again?"
"Kevin?"
"Ah, ya. Kevin. Ya looked intense."
"I'm just a little nervous. You know, first big robbery and all," Peter said casually.
"Ha, ya'll get over it!" Henry said in his booming voice. "Ya better climb on now. It would be bad to get left behind!"
"Indeed," Peter wished he could roll his eyes. He wished he could be left behind. But Henry wouldn't let him, he felt sure of that, as even now, Henry was watching his every move as he climbed into a large truck. Kevin managed to push his way next to Peter.
Peter grabbed his friend's hand and found that it was cold and shaking slightly. "Don't worry, Kev! We'll make it!" He whispered, though he doubted Kevin could hear him. He had forgotten Kevin's "remarkable ears."
"Of course we'll make it!" Kevin said hastily. Peter detected a note of anxiety in his friend's voice.
The truck started up quietly. It began to move. This was the beginning - or the end.

Tip #1

2009-02-10T15:41:00.001-05:00

Don't retain bitterness. It could start a world - war.

2009-02-05T16:10:00.000-05:00

"Only the wise can write a truly witty saying, but only the foolish will try to."
~R. Richards

The Stuck Truck

2009-02-04T11:39:00.001-05:00

The door bell rang gently. I opened the door a little bit and peered out at the visitor.
"Hi, is this number 170?" the middle-aged man in a leather jacket and baseball cap asked.
"No, this is 178, I think," I replied. I could never remember our street address.
"Oh, this isn't the residence of Philip R.?" the man asked. (R. substituted for full last name.)
"No, it's not," I glanced at the clip board, pen and camera in his hands. Tax assessor, maybe?
The stranger puzzled aloud over the street numbers and was clearly annoyed at the seeming absence of Philip Somebody on the entire road.
I noticed that my grandparents, who lived just next door and bring us the mail from our little country post office box everyday, had just pulled into the driveway, as well.
After expressing his apology, the stranger hopped back into his large, tan truck, and backed out of the driveway. Or tried too. He got stuck in a snow bank at the base of the driveway. His wheels spun and caused a light powder to fly up, but the truck insisted on remaining where it was.
After that, everything was a blur. My grandmother was inside drinking tea and my grandfather was helping to shovel snow and tug at that stubborn truck. My brother brought out ashes from the fire place and we got sand, too. At last, after a good workout of a couple of hours in 15 degree (Fahrenheit) weather, the truck pulled free.
The stranger expressed his desire to pay damages done to the little sign that used to bear the numbers "178," and left his number. Apparently, his GPS led him to the wrong street, and consequently, the wrong house. He seems to be a very nice sort of stranger, but I wonder why he God had him show up today?
That was my morning.

The Tragedy of Tiffany Red.

2009-01-26T16:30:00.001-05:00

Tiffany Red was a red blood cell. She lived in the vast expanse of Blood Vessels, and enjoyed frequent trips through the heart.
One day, as she was making her daily rounds to provide organs and other cells with oxygen and nutrients, she caught sight of a handsome white blood cell. He was carousing lazily along when she spotted him. Tiffany gazed in admiration at him. But she couldn't stop. She had a job to do. As she passed through the liver and heart again, all she could think of was the handsome blood cell she had seen.
As Tiffany reached the end of her round, a dreadful cry went up. Some invading bacteria threatened to take the life of the body they all worked for. If the body died, then that would be the end of the blood cells, too.
Tiffany gasped in alarm at the news. She saw a menacing capsule of bacteria making its way towards her. There was no time to redirect her course!
Out of nowhere, the handsome white blood cell she had seen earlier swooped down and killed the bacteria. A great mass of the bacteria's friends rushed at him in anger, but he stood fast. When the invaders had at last been terminated, he engulfed them and toppled over in death.
His self-sacrifice drove Tiffany to tears, and stirred the very nuclei of his comrades.
The Army of the White Blood Cells swore to never forget the brave white cell or the bacteria that destroyed it, and prepared to execute vengeance on the bacteria should they ever return. They never did forget. Always were the antibodies circulating the blood, watching for the moment when they could avenge their brave white blood cell friend.
Tiffany drooped sadly as she carried out her job. The tears had cost her the whole supply of water she had held, and she was caught by the liver on her next round and sent to the spleen for dismantling.

Disclaimer: this is my biology-book's fault. I don't even like learning about anatomy.

"The Dumbest Generation"

2009-01-17T14:14:00.000-05:00

The book sat in the pile of other library books my dad had borrowed. Its title was composed of the encouraging words: "THE DUMBEST GENERATION (by Mark Bauerlein)." Intrigued, I lifted the book and opened its cover. Inside, I was greeted by a host of statistic; "this many 12 graders failed this test," "this many college students couldn't name the three branches of government," you get the picture.
So what was the point of this book? It was to encourage more people under 30 to read and be involved in more activities other than TV and video games. A worthy cause to write a book on. But there seems to be a disconnect in the head of the author. Why would some one encourage reading due to the lack thereof, in a book form?
Either the poor guy is part of that dumb generation and doesn't realize it, or he wrote it for the concerned parents of nonreaders? Let's hope its the latter.

The inconsistency of truth

2009-01-06T11:59:00.000-05:00

Truth is whatever you want to believe is true. Therefore, you can interpret Scripture anyway you choose. Truth is always changing, therefore there is no definite truth.

You pause a moment and reread what I wrote above. "What is wrong with this girl?" you ask yourself in alarm. Before you click that reassuring red "x" at the top of the window, to make this page completely vanish from all but your memory, please allow me to explain.

The sentences I wrote were ones I concocted after reading various books. A science fiction series, a history book going through the separation of science and religion and the developing of cults, and a book I am reading by Martin Lloyd Jones, not to mention my own observations of the world, were what inspired me to write those sentences. So why did I write them?

I was suddenly annoyed after seeing the phrases repeated all throughout the world. I observed them, and realized the contradictoriness of the phrases. If truth is always changing and there is no definite truth, than what do we call that which we have just determined? We claim there is no truth, and in that, have declared a truth.
Suddenly, my annoyance disintegrated. I felt so moved for the people who are constantly living on the basis of the shifty phrase. I wanted to do something for them; show them where they are wrong and point them to the real, unchanging Truth; the Source of hope to a bleak life.

But how is one to reach into the lives of people across the world? The only way I know of is.... through this blog. So here is this post. I pray that this post was not a jumble of words, and that it helped you, reader, saved or not.

Happy Day 365 of 2008!

2008-12-30T15:00:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow ends this year. The lovely numerals of 2008 will give way to the more important-looking, almost stern, ones of 2009. I think that considering this, it would be well to part with the old year and enter the new one on a more serious note than I have portrayed most often in my posts on this blog.
I hope to encourage you, dear reader, by reminding you as I so often have to remind myself, that

"as it is written: 'None is righteous, no, not one...'" (ESV, Romans 3:10)

Why am I bringing this scripture to mind? How on earth will this bring us joy as we begin a new year?
Just wait; I am coming to that. I am bringing this scripture in as a mere beginning; an introduction, as it were, of an even more important message.
If none are righteous, than how can their deeds be righteous? And how can un-righteous deeds be perfect? They can't.
So for me, the perfectionist, the fact that I can't get everything done and everything done correctly, makes me quite discouraged. After all, what hope is there in this?
Hope comes into the picture when Christ does.... And hence the main point of this post:

"He [the Father] has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son,
14 in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.
15 He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation.
16 For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. 17 And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together.
18 And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent.
19 For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell,
20 andthat through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross.
21 And you, who once were alienated and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds,
22 he has now reconciled in his body of flesh by his death, in order to present you holy and blameless and above reproach before him,
23 if indeed you continue in the faith, stable and steadfast, not shifting from the hope of the gospel that you heard, which has been proclaimed in all creation under heaven, and of which I, Paul, became a minister." (ESV, Colossians 1:13 - 23)

We are not righteous or perfect, but Christ is. And Christ will present us "holy and blameless and above reproach" before God.
And as a response to such great love as this, I am full of awe and motivated to do my best that I might "pay Him back" to the very small extent that I am able, in order to show Him my intense gratitude.
And that is how I want to start my new year.

Clothes and their associations....

2008-12-29T17:52:00.000-05:00

It wasn't until just recently that I noticed something concerning my clothes that interested me immensely. Each article of clothing reminds me of a certain thing. Like, for instance, a purple shirt that reminds me of Star Wars, a green sweater that reminds me of the 1980's, and a black skirt that somehow brings to mind a friend of mine. Then there's the blue pants that are associated with exercising, and the white jeans that bear semblance to flour sacks.

And in discussing clothes, I suddenly realize that everything I encounter throughout the day calls to mind another thing.

There are colours for days of the week:
Friday = green
Saturday = orange
Sunday = red
Monday = red
Tuesday = blue
Wednesday = yellow
Thursday = a darker shade of blue

There are genders for numerals:
Odd numbers = male
Even numbers = female

There are thousands of songs that bring to mind hundreds of objects, some reasonable and others - such as glass-bottled ships for that song that includes the line "Shine, Jesus, shine" - that seem to have no relation whatsoever.

I wonder why our brains do that to us...

Friday; the organizing day.....

2008-12-26T11:26:00.001-05:00

It's Boxing day. So what is more logical than cleaning out boxes? And in cleaning out boxes (and files and emails and things), what is more natural than finding odd things to post here?
And I have found something indeed; an old poem I wrote for my Mum's blog, April 29....

I went to post a list upon this blog,
but stopped when I saw a button....
My finger leaped to it in surprise,
and before I knew, it was on.......

A loud explosion followed it,
And I was left in some smoke....
Nothing but ashes and metal remained,
Of the computer I had just broke.

Time....... (Part 17)

2008-12-25T12:47:00.000-05:00

Peter clutched his knees nervously. Waiting was such tiresome work. Tonight was the night the robbers had planned to rob the bank, and it was also the night Kevin and he hoped to escape from the thieves' den and somehow get to California. Yet even as he thought the plan over again, the nagging question of transportation would not go away. How could they get the California?
Planes were rather expensive, and how could they bring the machine on a plane with them?
He sighed. This whole plan of coming to Earth was a total mess. Yet the leader was a wise man; why would he overlook prominent problems in the creating of the plan for this mission?
The answer came to him like a flash; the leader had never been to Earth before. Problems that seemed so out in the open where problems that the leader had never had to experience before, or never knew about. But they had been observing Earth for some time, as the leader had said. Couldn't they have learned about these things from their observations?
Well, that depended on what they had been observing. They might have been taking note of its orbit around the sun, for all he knew. Yet they had come in contact with something human on Earth, for they were always harping on how stupid "Earthlings" were.
Great. So it was he who had been the problem. After all, he knew the problems and didn't mention them to anyone. Why hadn't he mentioned them? Peter kicked the grass irritably.
"I wasn't thinking about them then. I assumed the leader had everything under control, and knew what he was doing. And, I've never been in this situation before, so how could I have comprehended all the trouble I would run into?" he sighed.
But it was too late to think about what he would have done, or should have done long ago. What could he do now?
"Pete!" Kevin interrupted his friend's thoughts. "I say, Pete, what's wrong?"
"Wrong? Oh, every thing's just fine. Don't worry," Peter said hastily. A little too hastily; Kevin detected something other than carelessness in his voice, and scrunched up his brow.
"If nothing's wrong, than why are you sitting here in moody silence?" Kevin queried.
"Sorry," Peter shrugged. "I didn't want to worry you."
"Peter! I'm not a little boy! In fact, I'm older then you! Just tell me what you're worried about, and I'll see if I can help you."
"Maybe I should wait and tell you later," Peter hinted, as he saw a burly robber approaching them.
"Sure," Kevin grinned. "I like hot dogs, too. The ones from the restaurant, MacApple, were really tasty."
"Those were nothing compared to Mixers'," Peter replied, quick to see Kevin's game. The burly robber stopped in front of them.
"You boys ready for the little fun we're going to have tonight?" he chuckled in hid deep voice.
"Yeah, just about," Kevin grinned at him.
"That's good. I'm not!" the robber walked away, laughing like one who has just told a joke that they find humorous, even though no one else sees it as so.
"I'm glad he didn't stay," Kevin muttered. "I can't make a fool of myself by constantly chattering about hot dogs!"
"You're becoming a good actor, that's for sure," Peter smiled. "Do you even like hot dogs?"
"They're good. I can't wait to try pizza, though. Apparently it is very good."
"You'll try some soon enough," Peter smiled again.

The hotel was situated very neatly in the middle of NYC, directly across from a lovely row of small, neat shops. Edmund and his father had only just arrived at the place, and both agreed that it was a rather noisy street due to the traffic.
Ed unpacked his trunk and stuffed its contents into a drawer in the dresser. He gazed out the window with something not short of awe. He had been to several large cities in the past, but they never lost their thrill for him.
"I'm really tired," dad sighed. "Do you mind if I take a short nap?"
"Not at all," Ed turned from the window to smile at his dad.
"What do you want?"
"What do you mean?"
"Don't pretend to be innocent; I see your smile. You've got that look again; the look that says you would really like to ask something but you're not sure if you should," dad teased.
"Sorry. I just wanted to - to know if I could go exploring outside."
"I thought so. I guess if you don't lose sight of the hotel, you can. It is easy to get lost in a city you don't know."
"Thank you," Ed grinned. He picked up his sneakers where he had let them fall in a heap on the floor, and put them on again. "Bye, dad!"
"Bye. Be back by 6, okay? We're going to be eating dinner."
"You don't have to tell me; I won't miss dinner for anything!" Ed said cheerfully. He stuck one of the hotel keys in his wallet, placed it in his pocket, and locked the door behind him.
The air outside was thick and stifling with the exhaust of cars and the humidity of summer. Ed picked his way through the crowds, and stopped to look at every shop window and building he could find. Every now and again he looked back at the hotel in order to keep it in sight.
He was standing outside a window displaying fresh cheese party-platters, beginning to think that it would be a good time to head back to the hotel, when he felt something touch him at his side. It was not unusual to bump into someone in the crowd, but he turned towards it anyhow, and saw a figure making off with his wallet!
"Oh, great!" Ed groaned, as he felt his empty pocket. He was considering letting it go, when he remembered that the wallet had contained the hotel key, and he started running after the figure immediately. Getting back into his hotel room would have been no problem; he could simply knock on the door, and dad would let him in. But the key wasn't his. It belonged the the hotel. And supposing the wallet thief took advantage of the key and broke into the hotel? It never occurred to him that the hotel could replace the lock with a new one.
He ran on for what seemed like forever, losing and regaining sight of the thief on a regular basis. And all the while looking for policemen, but none appeared. The crowd was getting larger as time slowly went by; people were getting out of work and starting to look for places to eat at. The street was full of the sound of honking horns and squeaky brakes. Ed stopped running to catch his breath; the thief was quickly getting out of sight.
Ed groaned and glanced at his watch: 6:13. He had to get back to the hotel. He would just have to tell the hotel manager what had happened. He searched the skyline quickly for a glimpse of the hotel to get his direction. Then he realized the horrible mistake he had made in following the thief: the hotel was out of sight. And the worst thing was that in the midst of the excitement over the loss of his wallet and trying to catch the thief responsible for it, he had forgotten to take note of landmarks and directions.
He started walking towards a shop, certain of having seen it before, only to find that the store was anything but familiar as he approached it. This happened again and again, till he began to go in circles, and recognize shops merely because he had passed them while searching for something he knew.
"I knew this was a mistake!" he cried at last. Though what part of his journey had been a mistake was something he couldn't clarify. He was growing hungry and the sun was starting to set. He checked his watch again and found it to be past 8:00. He had no way of getting in contact with his dad. "Maybe I should ask for help?" he thought. But the saying "never talk to strangers" had been so drilled into his head when he was younger that he found it hard to even consider going against it. His head whirled and his legs were growing tired. He sat down on a bench outside a cozy little store and tried to think of his next action.

The robbers formed a noisy group outside by the trucks. More trucks were arriving from distant locations; the Scallions were a huge, widespread gang that came together for certain important missions. By the number of robbers here (60 going on to 90, approximately), the bank was a very rich one and the mission to it could not fail.
Peter tried to stay keep an eye on Kevin in the midst of all the activity. It wasn't an easy ordeal as the large Scallion gang was growing the whole time. He and Kevin had planned to slip out unnoticed as the gang took off. It was important that the two of them not get separated.
At last, the trucks had been loaded with tools and weapons, and the men began to climb on. Peter spotted Kevin and was making his way in that direction, when a large hand clasped his shoulder. He turned slowly around.
"Ha! Scared ya, didn't I?" Henry laughed.
"Ha, ha. Yes, you did," Peter said, trying not to show his despair. Henry would, of course, be sure that Peter was squished in on a truck somewhere. Which meant that plans of escape would be of no use. "Look, Henry, I'm feeling a little sick...." (his stomach was hurting. But that was because he was so nervous). "Do you think I could stay here tonight?"
"What? And miss the big game?" Henry slapped him on the back with a loud laugh. "No, youngster! Ya can't do that."
"Well, what if I were to get sick or something in the middle of the mission? It wouldn't be pleasant for all concerned, and it might leave evidence," Peter said desperately. He had to get out of this somehow. But did he have to lie in order to do it? No, he wasn't lying, he was sure. He could get sick with his stomach all in a knot like it was. It had happened before when he was nervous; it could happen again....
But it didn't matter whether he was sick or not; Henry was determined to have him along. Peter stopped resisting, knowing it was hopeless and might raise suspicion. He looked around for Kevin and signalled to him helplessly.
"What is it, Pete?" Kevin asked, coming up to his friend. "You look sick!"
"I feel sick, but that's not the point. My old 'friend' found me, and won't let me stay behind for anything."
"Couldn't you escape now?"
"No. He's keeping a constant watch over me. I can see him doing it. And when I can't see him, I can feel him. No, I have to go."
"Well, I guess I'll go too, then," Kevin smiled.
"No. I want you to continue with the plan," Peter remarked, to his friend's surprise.
"What?"
"There's no other way, Kev. I'll have to join you later."
"But how? And what can I do alone? And why can't we just plan for another time?"
"Time, time!"Peter sighed miserably. "Something there is a severe lack of at the present! We've got to go on with our mission. And there may not be another chance for escape."
"But-"
"No, listen! The machine has to be slipped out while the gang is gone. Try to get it some where away from this hideout. Then, go on with the plan and find some way to get to California. I'll try to get out of here as soon as possible; maybe even tonight after the robbery. Then I'll follow you to CA."
"No!" Kevin said suddenly. "We can't get so separated! I don't know how to get on in this dismal country without your help. And we may get so separated that we can never find eachother again, let alone the machine. The mission would be a failure then. And there would be no way of duplicating the mission, meaning Andromeda's doomed."
"But the prophecy! It can't be wrong! Andromeda will not perish."
"But Peter, you are one of the ones prophecied about; not me. Who's to say I won't be stuck on Earth for the rest of my life?"
"But who knows if I am the Sperring prophecied about?" Peter said desperatly. "I can't think of any other ways, Kevin! I've thought till my brain is dead!"
"Then it's time to use mine," Kevin grinned. "That's what I'm here for."

Copyright - 12/25/2008 - Curious Cognitive Content (CCC)
Please do not reproduce without permission from the author(ess).

Time......... (Part 16)

2008-12-21T17:02:00.000-05:00

Note: I apologize to my readers for the slight delay in Time........, and hope to be more consistent in posting later sections throughout the Christmas break. :)

Frank paced the floor uneasily. It had been six days since Peter and Kevin left. Of course, one wouldn't expect them to build a couple time machines in anything less than a month. But the time was passing so slowly, and where had they landed on Earth? Supposing it was in a location where metal was unavailable, and the machine they were traveling couldn't be fixed? They couldn't get back, which meant that Frank would have no way of returning, and thus would be stuck in Andromeda for the rest of his life!
The thought alarmed him and he closed his eyes in prayer. The soft treading of a soldier disturbed his thoughts.
"Master Liftun," the soldier said, "I didn't want to disturb you, but I must inform you that your presence is required in the ITC."
"Thank you," Frank said with a sigh. He started walking down the tunnel now so familiar to him. He reached the gate and punched a password into the type pad. The gate did not move. "Oh, bother it all!" he cried, and gave the gate a determined kick. He heard someone in the ITC approach the door quickly and open it from the inside. It was Fromere.
"Liftun!" Fromere exclaimed. "What's up with you today?" His eyes traced the droopy figure of Frank, from the head that stared fixedly at the floor, to the feet that barely dragged along.
"Hullo, Fromere," Frank's voice droned. He lifted his head and saw everyone staring at him.
"Um, Liftun," the leader said. "I hope you aren't sick; we're going to need your help here. There's a bit of trouble coming."
"Sick? Never!" Frank said scornfully. He instantly perked up. "What sort of trouble, sir?"
"Sit down and I'll tell you," the leader motioned to a chair.
"Right. So what do you need me to do?"
"Well, the wall on the North side has been mysteriously weakened. Which points to one thing: a spy or traitor."
"Why is that?"
"The computers have been closely watched, and we have seen no signs of UMO's. And the walls of this fort were built so that the outside of them is like a hard shell -"
"Me and Peter didn't have that experience," Frank interrupted.
"You fell through a window that had been opened for fresh air," the leader said crisply. "It doesn't count."
"Oh. Sorry."
"As I was saying, the shell acts as a type of armor. The only way it can be weakened is on the inside. Thus someone or something belonging to the enemy has sneaked in and performed the task remarkably fast, over night in fact, presumably in preparation for an attack."
"And that attack may be launched at any time," Frank nodded. "I guess it will come sooner than later, though. Maybe even today."
"Why do you think they'll launch it today?" the leader smirked.
"For a number of reasons. For instance, they know that we'll find out about that wall in a relatively short period of time, and will try to attack before we can strengthen the wall again. It's that simple," Frank explained.
"Maybe too simple," the leader muttered. "The Nagars aren't idiots."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you think they'd be so stupid as to weaken a wall at their own risk, right beneath our eyes? And then to attack on that very wall when they know we'll be expecting them there?"
"I don't see what your getting at," Frank furrowed his eyebrows in thought.
"I think they're more likely to stab us in the back," the leader explained. "Look, they figure that as soon as we see the damage, we'll expect them on the north side. Naturally, we'll call our forces to the north side for defense, leaving all of the south side exposed. And they'll take advantage of that."
"But they can't!" Frank cried. "The south wall is impenetrable. You have a good theory there, but I really don't think -"
"How do you know it's impenetrable, though? And what if they have a newly-developed weapon that we don't know about? They have been leaving this fort alone for a good six months. What better time could they have for creating a new weapon?"
"But I don't see...." Frank hesitated. "Is six months enough time for building something like that?"
No one answered him. Fromere shifted uncomfortably and finally stood up.
"Sir, if your theory is correct, why are we sitting here?" he said.
"I'm sorry?"
"We have to evacuate!" Frank said hurriedly.
"No." the leader said calmly. "We will not leave. Limblon is the shield to the rest of the galaxy. We can't betray our people!"
"Then we're going to sit here and be blown up?" Frank asked pointedly.
"No. We are going to fight."
"So, the Nagars fly by and blow us up and we respond with- ? It's a faulty plan, sir," Frank said.
"A half-explained plan will always sound faulty, Liftun. Let me finish! We must organize a heavier lookout. Then we can destroy the enemy before they destroy us, do you see?"
"A heavier lookout? A couple of fat guys are going to fight a whole army!" Frank said.
"Fat guys?" the leader's eyes widened. A couple of the men at the table had a sudden fit of coughing.
"Um, sir? Your orders?" Fromere grinned.
"Send out the emergency signal. Get all of the men ready, so that when the enemy is spotted, our men are on the spot almost immediately."
"Yes, sir."
"Doremat, you appoint more men to the lookout posts, but order them to remain hidden as much as possible."
"Yes, sir."
The leader gave more orders concerning weapons and provisions. The men filed out to tackle the jobs before them.
Frank looked at the leader questioningly. "Sir, is there anything for me to do?" he asked.
Yes, I want you to monitor entering and leaving persons on the computer and report anything suspicious."
"Why do you want me to do that? I mean, I'm clueless when it comes to computers!"
"You can easily figure out passwords, and -"
"I couldn't even open the gate today!"
"I have a feeling that it was because you didn't set your mind on it. Look at the job this way, that anyone who leaves may be a traitor, and everyone who enters is a spy and if you fail to report their movements, it could result in the loss of the fort and everyone in it."
"That's encouraging," Frank said sarcastically.
"It wasn't exactly supposed to be; it was a motivation," the leader replied dryly. "I've got to go make sure everything is going smoothly in preparation now."
The leader left the room, and Frank sat down at the computer with nervous jitters.

Copyright - 12/21/2008 - Curious Cognitive Content (CCC)
Please do not reproduce without permission from the author(ess).

Time......... (Part 15)

2008-11-29T20:54:00.000-05:00

Peter and Kevin managed to pick up a good amount of information from the notebook Kevin had picked up. They soon learned that there was a purpose for the release of the gang-members from jail that went beyond a mere longing to have those gang members back. The Scallions were planning an attack on a major bank in NYC, and needed all the people they possibly could. The Scallions worked by numbers; they figured that they could get away with more things by striking people with fear by their large number.
The night of the robbery was to take place in a week.
Peter and Kevin managed to get by unquestioned for the most part by keeping fairly quiet. They couldn't talk even to each other as much as they would have liked. But this only left all the more time for thought, and there was a lot of thinking to be done.
Kevin was able to slip the notebook back into the robber's possessions while everyone was asleep, thus removing any suspicions that might be aroused by the finding of it in Kevin's pocket. Peter began to work out a plan that would cause their "friend's" interest to be aroused in the releasing of the "time" machine, but it seemed to be a hopeless plan. It only seemed that way.
It was the third night Peter and Kevin were about to spend at the gang's hideout. Their "friend," whose name was Henry, was sitting contentedly in a group, telling stories in his loud, bold voice.
"I liked to build inventions when I was a youngster," he was saying. Peter looked up from the knot in the wood floor he had been studying drearily. "And I tell you, it wasn't easy, but I managed to build a machine that would make a bed."
"Yeah, right, yeah," several others mocked him.
"Really! It was made out of a couple o' pipes and an old motor, and...." his voice went on and on in description. Peter had stopped paying attention though; he had learned all he needed to know. He stood up quietly, and left the room. Kevin saw his friend rise and go outside, and waited for a moment before following.
"What is it, Pete?" he whispered when he spotted his friend sitting on the doorstep in deep thought.
"Plans," Peter said vaguely. "By the way, did you know Henry used to build machines? He is a great supporter of the idea that youth need to be more inventive."
"Really," Kevin said, trying to appear casual and uninterested. He knew what Peter was getting at.
"Yeah," Peter said softly. He turned to face Kevin, and allowed himself a grin. He stood up stretched as one would do when tired and left Kevin on the doorstep. Kevin sat there for five minutes more before he too entered through the door. This was the way they had been carrying on conversation for the past few days. It was aggravating and very slow, but it seemed the only way that would not cause suspicion.
"We'll be champion actors after this," Kevin thought with a grim smile.

"Henry, wait!" Peter called to the large man.
"Hey? What do ya want?" Henry paused in his tracks. It was the next morning, and the gang was working on getting their trucks up to an ideal condition.
"You were talking about machines last night?"
"Yup."
"Well, I like building inventions too. I have a machine that - rather, I had a machine. The police took it away when I was arrested."
"Ah, that must have been hard on ya," Henry said, his voice never once changing.
"Yeah. And I'm not sure how to get it out of the police station without being caught again!" Peter heaved a sigh to portray desperation. It was all Henry needed.
"Now, that's not so hard to do, youngster!" He said. "Tell, ya what, I'll get my tools and help you get it out tonight."
"Will you?" Peter didn't have to pretend his surprise, he was surprised. Henry was compassionate?
"Sure will. I believe robbers ought to be inventive; they get more accomplished that way." Thus saying, Henry hurried off to the trucks. Peter heard his voice raise in anger as one of the men splashed water on his tall boots.
"I'll kill you! I'll kill you for this!" Henry was yelling. There was a scuffle and a scream; then all was drowned out by the voices of others cheering and jeering.
Peter cringed. Henry was not compassionate. But why then had he taken an interest in Peter's affairs? Did he like mechanical devices that much? Or perhaps he knew that Peter and Kevin were intruders and decided to lure them into a trap by pretending to help them. Peter's face went warm at the thought.
"What am I to do?" he groaned in despair. He decided to risk it and go with Henry to regain the machine. After all, if Henry wasn't suspicious, he would become so by the mere refusal on Peter's part. Of course, it might be a trap. But in that case, even if he refused to go along, he and Kevin would be in grave danger by sticking around the robber's camp. And there wouldn't be a chance to recover their machine.
"And I used to think choosing between chocolate and strawberry ice cream was hard?" Peter laughed at himself.
Tomorrow night was the bank robbery. Peter managed to get in touch with Kevin and tell him the news; they would make their escape from the robber's camp during the confusion of the robbery.

Kevin sat on the doorstep and swallowed hard. Peter had just left with that man, Henry. Would Peter be caught by the police? Or would he be killed by Henry in a dark alley? No, he couldn't be killed. He was part of the prophecy and was destined to save Andromeda with those other three people from this planet.
Who were the other three though? There was Frank. But what about the other two?
"Maybe I'm one of them," Kevin thought hopefully. "I'll be coming back from Earth anyways, and I'm helping save Andromeda by this whole expedition, aren't I? But I think the prophecy meant people born on Earth. And besides, I'm not good at computers, and I don't have tantrums. Wait! Carrying on; couldn't that mean someone highly encouraging? Someone who "carries on" a task in the midst of everything; you know, perseverance? But I'm not encouraging, am I?" Kevin suddenly felt left out and lonely. He scanned the dark landscape in the hopes of seeing Peter, but no one appeared. He felt a bad pain in his knee, and looked down to find himself pinching it. He released his hold and drew out a long breath, trying to steady his knotted stomach.

The task was done quickly. Henry was an expert at picking locks and the shed in which the machine had been held captive was not the sturdiest of structures. The machine was loaded on the back of Henry's truck. Peter sat beside it to hold it in place, and was relieved to have an excuse for sitting alone.
Henry was not suspicious of him, but it was best to stay as far away from the robber as possible. When they reached the camp again, Peter relocated the machine to a safer place, with Kevin's help.
Kevin opened the engine and began reconnecting the broken pieces quickly. Peter helped him.
"Does this machine, by any chance, happen to have the ability to travel to another location on the same planet?" Kevin asked.
"I don't know. I haven't played with it enough. I suppose if we were to pull the lever forward just a tiny bit, it might."
"Couldn't we become stuck in the middle of the solar system, though?" Kevin asked.
"I'm not sure. Forward from Earth brings us to Limblon, and backwards from Limblon brings us to Earth. Presumably, if you were to go backwards from Earth, you would find yourself in a different location than Limblon, and so on. But supposing we were to fit another lever in here; a horizontal lever. Would that take us to a different location on the planet?"
"I - I don't know," Kevin sat back on his feet and paused in his work with thought.
"There's no time for experiments, unfortunately," Peter sighed. "We'll repair this, and take the flight to California."
"California? Why there?"
"Because everyone knows that's where the movie star's home is," Peter replied. "We're going there to ask the star if he'd be willing to let you play in one of his movies; we need the money from it for the metal we need for our time machines."
"Wait a second! You can't come up with a better idea than that?" Kevin cried. "You, who has always tried to evaluate and make sure things are safe and so and so forth - I mean, this is totally an illogical solution!"
"Do you have a better idea?" Peter hinted.
"Well, not exactly. But couldn't we, like get a job or something instead?"
"We're running out of time, though! If you were to fake an actor for a time, you could be bringing in the money while I built the machines we need. We've got to work together on this in order for it to go fast."
"But I don't want to be an impersonator!" Kevin objected. "We're in trouble with the law already, and you would have us get into more?"
"Oh, Kevin!" Peter said in desperation. "I can't think anymore! I'm tired of the trouble that is chasing us around; I tired of trying to pretend to be a 'bad guy'; I'm tired of having to think!"
"So you'd rather just risk our lives and be done with it?" Kevin asked.
"Yes," Peter said firmly. Kevin was silent a moment.
"Get some sleep," he said at last.

Peter tossed and turned that night. There wasn't a better way, was there? And how many machines were they planning to build? How many could they build? There was only two of them And therefore could only build one extra, and that would not be enough.
Peter sighed miserably. The whole plan seemed a failure. All at once, he sat up quickly and gasped at the idea forming in his head. Maybe they could only build one more machine, but who said it had to be the same machine? He could redesign it so it would hold many materials besides its pilot; thus the delivery to Limblon would be worth while after all.
But there he was, stuck in a rut again. He could see how he would build the new machine sure enough, but it still left one wondering where the money would come from for it and its stock of supplies it would be shipping.
He could write home requesting money. Yeah right! That would really help.
Maybe he should take up a job like Kevin had suggested. No, for they were running short on time.
Robbery was out of the question.
Could he strike up a deal somewhere, like with a metal company? But what could a boy like him have to offer?
No, the movie star seemed to be their only hope.
Peter shut his eyes and tried to stop thinking. Kevin was right; he needed sleep.

Copyright - 11/29/2008 - Curious Cognitive Content (CCC)
Please do not reproduce without permission from the author(ess).

2008-11-26T14:38:00.000-05:00

Help!!!!!!!

How does one delicately say that after a series of mistakes they created five pumpkin pies, without raising a gasp from their family?
So you see, I started to make some pies. Three of them, because I thought three was as good a number as any (ordinarily I would only make two). So I mix the spices and eggs together, and open up one of those large cans of pumpkin that make two pies. The contents of that can looked darker than usual. What was wrong with this pumpkin?
Wrong with it! I almost wish there was something wrong with it! It was an "easy pumpkin pie mix," just add eggs and milk. One can't add an already-spiced up can of pumpkin to more spices, and one can't stash spices and eggs beat together in the pantry. Meaning that I needed plain pumpkin to finish the three that I started, and I have to make this "easy" pumpkin mix into two more pies.
What was it that I said about reading labels? Oh, where is my head! Where is my head!
Now how do I phrase this over the phone to my currently-shopping mom and sisters?
"Oh, I hope you don't mind pumpkin pie for dinner."
"By the way, do you know anyone who might like a pumpkin pie?"
"Might want to buy some foil pie plates; we have a few pies here to freeze."
"I knew I should never have started on this!"
Hmm..... What does God want me to do with extra pies?

Pumpkin Pie

2008-11-26T13:36:00.000-05:00

Partly from the back of the pumpkin can; partly the family's additions.

1 1/2 cups sugar
1 tsp. salt
2 tsp. cinnamon (ground)
1 tsp. ginger (ground)
1/2 - 1 tsp. clove (ground)
4 eggs
30 oz. canned pumpkin
24oz. evaporated milk (or 2 cups milk, 1 cup yogurt)
2 pie crusts (unbaked)

Preheat oven at 425.

Mix spices. Beat eggs in separate bowl. Dump spice and pumpkin in with eggs. Slowly drizzle in milk till no more milk is left to be drizzled. (or, just pour milk in all at once and save time.)

Pour mixture into pie crusts (Note: pie crusts must be in pie pans when this is done).

Cook for 15 minutes at 425; bonk-down temp. to 350 and cook for 40-50 minutes. (Or, cook for an hour at 425: the black crust adds a special touch). Stab pie to make sure it doesn't bleed (isn't runny). If pie is cooked, serve. If pie is not cooked, cook until it is.

(Note: do not confuse the orange can of peaches for the orange can of pumpkin as I did; always read labels. Spicy peach might be an interesting combo, though.....)

Time......... (Part 14)

2008-11-21T16:12:00.000-05:00

Mr. Sperring discussed his son's absence with the movie star's uncle, Abraham Hethe.
"What do you make of it?" he asked.
"Well, my nephew has been acting odd lately, but I have no clue how he got in New York City. I doubt that he had any thing to do with the Scallions's break in though."
"Has it been proved then that it was in fact the Scallions?"
"Oh, yes. They found the green handkerchief by the door, and it has been identified by the police. Clever trick they had, in order to get into that jail."
"But why would they release my Peter of all people?"
"That's beyond me. Unless they made a mistake?" Mr. Hethe asked the question in a hopeless sort of way. Both he and the Sperrings feared the worse: Kevin and Peter had joined a robber's gang and were hanging around in who knows where.
"Wait!" Mr. Sperring said suddenly. "Surely your nephew wouldn't leave a blooming career as an actor to join a robber gang, would he?"
"Not normally," Mr. Hethe admitted.
"And Peter would never go and do such an outrageous thing; he had his heart set on becoming a chemist."
"Do you think they were mere victims then?" Mr. Hethe said hopefully. The next moment his countance dropped. "That doesn't explain the odd machine they found with them in the street."
"True," Mr. Sperring agreed. He pondered it all in silence for a fewe moments. At last Mr. Hethe made a suggestion.
"Let's go have dinner now, and leave the problem for later," he pointed to a restraunt across from the police station. "From there, we can see if anything odd appears to be happening around the station."
Mr. Sperring took a deep breath and took his wife's nervous hands. "Alright," he said at last.

Peter felt slightly relieved when the trip was over. He clambered out of the truck in a hurry and tried to find Kevin.
"Hi, Pete!" Kevin called, suddenly appearing on Peter's right side. "I was looking for you."
"So was I. I mean, looking for you."
"What do we do next?" he whispered.
"Get out of here?"
"Yes, but how?"
"Let me think a little while," Peter shrugged.
"We don't have a while. We could slip away now in the midst of confusion, but how would we get the machine out of the police station without being caught?"
"Um, make friends with a pick-lock, I suppose," Peter grinned.
"Peter! I'm serious!"
"I know, Kev. But I'm all out of ideas."
"Humph," Kevin sighed. "Could we swipe a few tools perhaps?"
"We could, but I'd feel bad about doing that - even to a gang of robbers."
"So do I. Oh, hang it all! There must be some way!"
"Hey, fellows! What are you trying to hang?" a burly robber pushed his way into their midst. Peter noted with some alarm that this was the man who had tried talking to him while on the truck.
"Um, just a - you know - um," Peter murmured.
"Hey? Speak up! I can't hear ya!" the man yelled in Peter's ear. Or at least, it seemed like he yelled.
"Nothing!" Peter yelled back.
"Oh, okay. Say, have ya met Maxamillia yet?"
"No, I haven't had a chance -"
"She's over there! Just tell 'er you're a friend of mine."
"Um, thank you," Peter walked determinedly towards the woman indicated as Maxamillia, closely followed by Kevin. Both were glad for an excuse to get away from the man.
"What was that about, Pete?" Kvin whispered.
"An old friend of mine I met on the truck," Peter said grimly.
"Did you say 'friend'?" Kevin said suddenly, halting in his stride.
"Well, you know what I mean. He isn't exactly a friend, I just -" Peter stopped as he realized what Kevin was getting at. "If we want to get the machine out, we have to make friends with a pick-lock," he said slowly.
"Yes, and it looks like you've already started the process. We've come up with a plan for making that guy convinced that releasing a machine is worthwhile."
"I sure feel sorry for the police, though," Peter said dejectedly. "If I ever get out of this adventure alive, I'm going to be in hot water with the authorities, no matter how much I'd have done to save a distant planet in Andromeda."

"Edmund! Did you pack socks?" mom called.
"Yes, I did."
"And and extra shirt? You never know when it might rain."
"Yes!"
"And your tooth brush?"
"Yes, mom! I've got everything!"
"Well, I'm just checking. You'll be away a whole week with no one to look after you!"
"I'll have dad."
"I mean no mother to look after you. Guys are so disorganized without girls around."
"I wouldn't make so broad a generalization. After all, my friend Luke is so organized, his mom always complains she can't find anything, because he picks up all her things when he has none of his own."
"That's Luke. That's not you or dad."
"Okay, don't worry about it mom. We'll just be in New York City for the conference, and then we'll be home."
"Ah, web designing!" mom wailed. "When you come home from the webdesigning conference, I never understand a word you're saying for a week afterwards!"
"I'll try to talk English then, for your sake," Edmund smiled.
"You're too kind," mom said sarcastically.
At last the suitcase was packed, and Edmund went to bed. His laptop was packed away.

Copyright - 11/20/2008 - Curious Cognitive Content (CCC)
Please do not reproduce without permission from the author(ess).

Time......... (Part 13)

2008-11-16T16:40:00.000-05:00

See past sections of this story here.

Frank licked his dry lips thoughtfully. Without Peter he was feeling rather lost. And he didn't realize how much Kevin had grown on him in the two days they had spent here together.
He wondered whether Peter had gotten to Earth safely, and where he had ended up landing. Probably in Africa. Frank had always wanted to go to Africa, so of course he would miss the opportunity. He felt a twinge of jealousy towards Peter, but the next moment he laughed at himself. Here he was in the middle of a different galaxy, wishing he was in a small section of land on the common-place Earth? But Earth wasn't common-place; it was home. And he was starting to miss home.
"What's the news?" he asked one of the men approaching him.
"Got another note from that Earth-geek."
"Who, the computer-hacker?" Frank laughed.
"Yup, who else?"
"What did he say?"
"That's confidential. Ask the leader."
"I've been wondering about something; why doesn't anyone know the leader's name? Why do they all call him 'leader'?"
"Oh, please! I'm sure I don't know," the man turned and walked away briskly. Frank reflected on the man's behavior. Everyone was that way when he asked a question. Maybe he asked too many....
He guessed the new password of the gate to the ITC, and entered the chamber to find the leader leisurely sitting at a table, drinking water and looking entirely stressed-out. He looked up in surprise as he saw Frank open.
"Oh, it's you again. You know, I can't keep changing that password."
"I'm sorry, sir. I wanted to ask a question."
"Well, things can't get much worse. Go ahead."
"Okay, so - wait a second!"
"What's wrong now?"
"You're drinking water?" Frank asked in a tone of disbelief.
"Um, yeah. We do have water here, you know."
"I knew that, but why don't you drink coffee instead? It would help handle stress better."
"Oh great! Now you're an advertiser! Just be so kind as to explain what coffee is," the leader said semi-sarcastically.
"You don't know what coffee is?" Frank cried in shock. "You've never heard of mocha? Or coffee beans? Oh, man! We've got to get Peter to bring some coffee back with him. I'm sure we could find some way to grow it here!"
"Anyways, about your question?" the leader said, a trifle annoyed.
"Oh, right. What was the note the hacker left?"
"Figure you'd ask that. We can't keep anything from you, can we?"
"Nope."
"Here, read it for yourself. I can't make head or tail out of it," the leader handed a slip of paper to him.
" 'From my calculations, you are located in a different universe and are therefore unable to be communicated to. My calculations are either wrong, or you are not real. Please clarify this for me,' " Frank read aloud. "Well this is nuts! This guy must be fancy with jokes or whatnot. Of course we exist! How else would he be getting answers from us!"
"We might be robots for all he knows."
"True," Frank puzzled over the note. "Have you responded?"
"No, I was hoping you might be able to."
"Why me?"
"Because you come from the same planet, you might understand each other better."
"I'm not so sure I understand him, though. But I can try."
"Good." The leader called a man over to help Frank with the computer.
Frank stared at the blank document nervously. What should he tell this hacker, or "Earth-geek"?

Edmund entered the house with a sigh. He pulled out the stack of homework and slapped it on the kitchen-counter in annoyance.
"What is it, dear?" his mother asked anxiously.
"This homework. Half of it is incredibly hard and due on Monday, and the rest of it is a bunch of dry articles I've got to read."
"You didn't used to find homework very hard," mom interjected.
"No, but as a year progresses, things gradually get more difficult."
"Gradually, yes. But not all at once!" mom protested. "You've been looking pale, too. Are you feeling sick?"
"No."
"Perhaps staying up late has made the sudden change," mom said slyly.
"Staying up late?" Edmund asked innocently.
"Yes, You haven't turned the light off until after midnight for the past week."
"Oh, that." Edmund grinned and left the kitchen. He sought refuge from more questions in his bedroom. The laptop was pulled out again, and he gazed at the screen intently. what strange document was this? This eyebrows raised in surprise as he read its contents.
We're not robots, you know. I'm Frank Liftun, and I'm stuck in Andromeda. Ever heard of me?
Edmund looked at the name again. He'd seen it somewhere. Where, though? Ah, the news! He pulled up another window and searched for the correct article.
Two boys, Peter Sperring, 16, and Frank Liftun, 15, mysteriously vanished from Mrs. and Mr. Greg Sperring's garage, sometime between noon and 4:00 P.M. on Monday. Police investigated scene and report that the only curious things they found were a hole in the roof, and a burned floor....
So that was where Frank Liftun came from. But what was this whole joke about him and Andromeda?
"There's something I'm just not getting," Edmund thought. But he wasn't going to give it up as some crazy joke; he was going to get to the bottom of it.

Copyright - 9/17/2008 - Curious Cognitive Content (CCC)
Please do not reproduce without permission from the author(ess).

Time......... (Part 12)

2008-11-08T14:07:00.000-05:00

Peter looked at Kevin.
"What's that noise?" he asked. A loud grating sound, and numerous yells echoed all around them.
"How am I supposed to now?" Kevin groaned. "I've never been in jail before."
"Neither have I," Peter replied. He put his ear to the wall and listened harder. "It's coming closer, whatever it is. In fact, I think it's in the cell right next to this one."
"Can you tell what it is?"
"Some kind of mechanical device, but I'm not sure - Kevin, you have good ears. See if you can figure it out."
"Okay," Kevin listened for a moment before exclaiming, "Great Galaxy! Someone's breaking down the door with a drill!"
"A drill? How could they -"
"In other words, they're trying to open it."
"But the guards - policemen - whatever! They wouldn't let them, would they?" Peter puzzled over it.
"No, unless you Earth-people are nuts."
"Thanks a lot. Can you hear anything else?"
"Yes. The drill stopped now, and -" Kevin strained to hear. "They're talking."
"And? What are they saying?"Peter asked eagerly.
"Something about - scallions?"
"What?"
"Oh, I see now!" Kevin said after a moment. "Somehow, these people got in here, and are releasing scallions."
"Releasing scallions?"
"Well, how should I know?"
"I wish I could hear myself."
"You doubt my ears?"
"Well, when it comes to scallions -" Peter paused. The drill had started on their own door. "We need to be quiet now."
"Yeah," Kevin gulped. "Who are they, and what will they do to us?"
The door swung open, and three men, dressed in tight-fitting, green clothes, rushed in. The stopped when they saw the two boys.
"You must have got the numbers wrong!" one of the men growled to the one next to him.
"Boss said number 46! I have the list to prove it!"
"Let me see that! Hmmm, 46 alright. But these boys - I don't remember them being a part of our gang."
"Boss never makes mistakes. Better bring them along."
Peter and Kevin were dragged up onto their feet and into the hall.
"The Scallions must be the name of a gang, then!" Kevin whispered to Peter. Peter nodded and pressed a finger to his lips.
"Pretend you knew that all along," Peter whispered back. "Pretend you are a part of the gang, and there less of a chance of them killing you."
Kevin gulped, and he tried to hide the fear on his face.
The gang traveled throughout the rest of the wing, opening certain doors, and bypassing others. It soon became apparent to the boys that this gang had organized a crusade to the jail, releasing all members that had been caught. The numbers of the rooms in which these members had been placed had been recorded on the slip of paper one of the men held.
Room 46 had obviously been either a typo, or the room had originally contained one of the gang who had been transported to a different place.
How the gang had got passed the guards was more than the boys knew - or wanted to know.
"Peter," Kevin whispered suddenly.
"What?"
"Look what I found," Kevin showed a ship-shod notebook to his friend. Papers hung out of it, and the funny scraps left behind from torn-out pages.
"Where did that come from?"
"That fat guy ahead of us. It fell out his pocket."
"Hide it well, Kevin! We must not loose it for anything!"
"Oh, I'll hide it, never you fear." He shoved it into one of his deep pockets.
"How will we get to the time machine?" Peter said as the thought struck him. "And where will the money come from to help us buy the metal we need for constructing more of them?"
"Great Galaxy! I never thought of that!" Kevin gasped.
"Look, maybe we can - oh, I don't know. We'll have to earn money somehow."
"Like faking I'm a movie actor?" Kevin grinned.
"That would definitely bring in money - if it worked," Peter agreed. By this time the gang had released the last of their gang, bringing their number from 10 to 30 or so. They left the jail in a hurry and piled into several pick-up trucks just outside. Peter and Kevin were separated in this ordeal.
"Hey, youngster! I don't remember you as part of the gang!" One of the men punched Peter on the shoulder.
"I'm - sort of new here," Peter replied.
"Yeah, I'll bet the size of the gang just about doubled in the time I've spent in the old lock-up. How many's in the group, now, huh?"
"Um, I haven't exactly had a chance to count -"
"Oh, yeah. That's always a difficult thing to do. Is old Smithy still running, or has Chief put him down?"
Peter forced a smile, and the man roared in laughter, presumably at memories of old Smithy. Then the man turned to one of the other men, and Peter sighed with relief.
"Maybe he'll leave me alone now," Peter thought. But the next moment -
"How's Maxamillia?"
"Um, fine, I guess."
"Mmm. Nice girl, she."
"Yes."
"Is Blacky still hanging around her?"
"Um, no. Phil is," Peter said desperately, and not exactly wisely.
"What! Phil! And I always thought him a nice fellow! Well, he won't be hanging around her for long!" the man sneered. He gritted his teeth and shook a large fist. Peter gulped and determined not to say anymore. He didn't have a need to speak anyhow, for the man was growling to himself moodily, dwelling on revengeful thoughts.
"Why is it that just when I think things can't get worse, they always do?" Peter thought.

Copyright - 9/17/2008 - Curious Cognitive Content (CCC)
Please do not reproduce without permission from the author(ess).

2008-11-04T12:58:00.000-05:00

Time......... (Part 11)

2008-10-26T18:01:00.000-04:00

Peter dragged Kevin along, and they worked on repairing the machine together. Peter soon found that, if Kevin was good at getting into trouble, he was even better at repairing mechanical devices.
"This machine shouldn't have blown up," Kevin remarked as he investigated it. "It must of malfunctioned somehow."
"Yeah, maybe because of all the stress it went through. I'm surprised it didn't blow me and Frank up, too."
"And considering all that stress, all of the materials we have here would have blown up first thing! Earth must be an amazing place to produce all these things!"
"Yes, I suppose so. How are we going to build duplicates of this machine if there aren't any materials that stand up as well?"
"Maybe we could smuggle some things from Earth in this machine," Kevin suggested.
"I hope it won't be too much stress on the machine, going back and forth with extras on it."
"Then maybe we could build the machines on Earth, and fly them back here. And then, if I could go with you, I'd be able to see Earth!"
"Oh, no!" Peter mocked horror.
"What?"
"You'd be in trouble every two minutes!"
"Stop talking like my uncle - or Lt. Fromere - or Lady Elwes - or the leader - or, oh bother! Like everyone else in this fort!" Kevin said, agitated.
Peter hid his grin in his sleeve. "Be careful with that screwdriver; you nearly poked me in the eye," he said simply.

Peter discussed the issue of materials with the leader that night.
"We have the plans all worked out, but we definitely lack the correct materials. We've tested the major ones on this planet, and nothing seems to hold up to anything higher than 1000 degrees Fahrenheit."
"How did you figure that out?"
"Labs," Kevin grinned. "We asked the lab-guys to test them for us, and they did."
"Scientists, not lab-guys, Kevin, please!"
"Yes, sir," Kevin said meekly.
"We had an idea though," and Peter told the leader the plan he and Kevin had discussed earlier.
"Where will you land on Earth, though? You may be miles away from where you can access materials!"
"That's true, but it's worth the risk, sir."
It took a lot of convincing, but in the end, they resolved on sending Peter and Kevin in the machine. It was determined that if Peter and Frank really were the ones prophesied about, they would survive in order to deliver the galaxy. It was risky, but it seemed the only way.
Frank would stay behind to see if he could help with the computer trouble; guessing passwords could become very useful.

Kevin followed Peter into the machine, and clenched his hands as Peter pulled the lever downward.
A click, a whizz, and a bump, then the engine began to smoke.
"I think we're here," Peter said. He opened the door and stepped out.
"This is Earth?" Kevin asked, gazing with admiration at the tall buildings surrounding them.
"Ah!" Peter almost screamed. We've got get out of here!"
Cars were stopping and beeping their horns; other simply whizzed by; a policeman began yelling to them; the tall skyscrapers - this was New York City. And the middle of it at that. And in the middle of a noisy, busy road, too.
Kevin, though he had never encountered anything that looked like a car, knew enough to start helping Peter drag the machine onto the side-walk. With the help of a couple of policemen, they succeeded within a minute's time.
"Now, then, what are you doing here? Int he middle of the road? With an odd looking, um - whatever it is?" one of the policemen demanded sternly.
"We were - trying to cross the street, sir," Peter said.
"And what is your name?"
"Peter Sperring, sir."
"And yours?" He pointed to Kevin.
"Kevin Hethe, sir."
"Now, none of that nonsense! You won't get out of this fix by telling me you're a movie star."
"I'm not a moving star! Besides, I thought they were called shooting stars, not moving stars!" Kevin protested.
"I'm not playing games with you!"
"Neither am I. What are you doing, though?"
"I'm bringing you two along with me to the station. You both look young, so no doubt you have parents or guardians, and we'll have to contact them." With that, he put a firm hand on both of their arms and lead them off the busy side-walk. The accompanying policemen towed away the machine.
"Peter," Kevin said, "it's really loud here. And are we going to have be questioned again?"
"Yes, you will," the policeman answered for him.
"Bother! I'm always getting into these fixes. Only this time, it's not my fault!"
"Well I didn't know where it would land," Peter replied.
"Does it fly, then?" the policeman interrupted.
"Sort of. I mean, it used to, but it's kind of broken."
"And may I ask you if you have a license to fly machines around?"
"Yes, you can," Kevin said promptly.
The policeman looked furiously at him, but didn't respond. They arrived at the police station, and were searched for identification objects.
"What is this, a wrench?"
"Wrench? No, that's a turn-screw," Kevin said.
"Turn-screw? What on earth is a turn-screw?"
"He means a wrench," Peter intervened.
"What does this card mean?"
"That? Oh, that's from my uncle."
"Major Abraham Hethe? And here's an address. We'll have to contact him."

Peter and Kevin were left in custody until their "guardians could be contacted." Kevin looked at Peter with excitement and despair.
"How long will they keep us here?"
"I don't know. I never was arrested before."
"Arrested? Is that what we are?"
"Yes."
"Then those people are the guard?"
"No, not guard; police."
"You mean like 'police wash my boots'?"
"Um, I guess so," Peter grinned. "I'm glad of one thing."
"What?"
"You're here. I know it won't be dull by any stretch."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"Yes, I think so. I'll also be glad that my parents will here about me. They must be worried sick!"
"What will happen to me, though? They're going to try to contact my uncle, but they can't do that; can they?"
"I doubt they can," Peter pondered Kevin's words. What would the police do to Kevin?

Ring, ring!
"Hello?" Mrs. Sperring picked up the phone. "Peter? You found him? Where is he?" Her voice betrayed her excitement and delight. Mr. Sperring put down his book and looked up expectantly.
"Yes, we'll be down to pick him up tonight!" She put down the phone, and looked at her husband. "Oh, I'm so glad! They've found Peter!"
"Where was he?"
"In the middle of a street down in N.Y. City," she replied. "He was there with an odd mechanical device and another boy they've identified as the movie star, Kevin Hethe."
"Kevin Hethe? How in the world did Peter hook up with him?"
"I haven't a clue. There was no word of his friend Frank though," She puckered her face in anxiety. "I hope he and Peter haven't quarreled, and gone and down something dreadful!"
"Nevermind, we'll soon learn. I'll see if I can reserve a place on a flight to NYC tonight."
Mrs. Sperring nodded her agreement, and began packing at once.

Copyright - 9/17/2008 - Curious Cognitive Content (CCC)
Please do not reproduce without permission from the author(ess).

Time......... (Part 10)

2008-10-23T20:47:00.000-04:00

"Edmund! Come to dinner, please!"
"Yeah, I"ll take out the garbage in a minute!" the answer came back.
Edmund's mother put her hands on her hips and puzzled over her son's reply. "Not the garbage, dinner!"
"Okay, mom, sure."
Mom rolled her eyes. What was wrong with Edmund today? She knocked on his bedroom door and waited for an answer.
"Hi," was all that came to her ears.
"Ed, can I come in?"
"Yeah, that sounds good," the answer was without inflection and the tone one of total ignorance to that which was happening around him.
Mom entered the room and found him sitting on the floor with his laptop between his knees and an extremely serious expression on his face.
"What's wrong, homework?" mom asked.
"What?" Edmund looked up with surprise. "Oh, what do you want, mom?" he shut the laptop closed with a guilty expression.
"I asked if you were having trouble with your homework. I was calling you for dinner, and you didn't seem to hear me."
"No, I didn't. Sorry." Edmund stood up and shoved his laptop underneath a pile of papers. "But I've heard now," he grinned.
He was pleasant enough at dinner, but he seemed to be very vague and distracted. Mom decided that it was definitely homework that was troubling him.

Frank rolled over in his sleep. Why was the bed so hard? He woke up with a start and realized he was lying on the floor. Peter saw him stand up.
"What's wrong, Frank?" he whispered.
"The beds here are too narrow. That's the second time I've rolled off of it!"
"I expect you'll get used to it," Peter smiled.
"I'm not so sure," Frank replied. He looked around the narrow bedroom. The two rows of bunks that lined two of the walls were occupied by several soldiers. The only thing it lacked was some light. And fresh air. But when you show up unexpectedly, you took whatever you were given, not daring to complain for fear of something worse. And they had been promised a better room tomorrow night.
One of the soldiers stirred in his sleep. If he was asleep. Frank had a feeling the soldiers were only pretending. Unless they were very deep sleepers.
"Go to sleep, Frank," Peter mumbled sleepily.
"I can't see which way by my bed is," Frank said. "Holler out and I might be able to locate the general direction."
"I'm making enough sound, aren't I?" Peter continued in a whisper. One of the soldiers smothered a cough. Frank sighed, and with a shrug that no one could see, felt around the room till he found his bed again. But he didn't fall asleep.
"Pete, you know, we still don't know what this whole fort is here for. And Pete, why were we a part of a prophecy yet couldn't do what they need most? Pete?"
"Shut up!" Peter hissed between his teeth.

The leader still sat at his desk, his thoughts whirling through his head. Everything had gone wrong today. First the two boys show up and confuse everything. Then they raise hopes by producing spinning-watches, and making everyone believe they were the ones spoken about in the prophecy. But how in the galaxy could they do anything to help?
True, the boy could build a fast-traveling machine - that is, if what he had told them was true. And yes, one of them could guess passwords. But what good were those strange gifts? And was the prophecy indeed true? What if the boys were intruders that knew about the prophecy and were just faking it?
And why did Kevin have to get himself tangled up in everything? Because Kevin...was...Kevin. A smile flashed temporarily across his face. Kevin's father was a real mischief-maker too.
But his affair about the computer. Who had broken into it, and what had they seen?
The leader groaned and rubbed his aching head. He rose from his seat, looking pale and haggard. What good was asking the unanswerable when what he really needed was more sleep?

Edmund scanned the files again. "What's all this about Nagar?" he wondered.
"The Nagars's plans were discovered earlier today," a file dated two years ago, read. The captured plans were attached to the document. Edmund scanned them quickly, gasping with alarm.
The strategy was simple, or at least it appeared so. The tactic was to attack and defeat the hundreds of planets in Andromeda. They appeared to want to take over the Galaxy, or at least a large portion of it. But it was evident that Limblon was in the way, and was preventing the rest of the plan from working out. But it was clear from these plans, too, that they were trying to concoct some sort of a space-craft that could reach planet Earth in much less time. Earth apparently had great resources they could use.
"This is a joke," Edmund muttered, "Who ever heard of Andromeda being inhabited? And why would they take interest in Earth of all planets in all galaxies? It might have great resources, but could it actually be that much use to them?"
It could, so all the plans said. And then came a portion about some anciet prophecy being fulfilled by certain people from Earth, and how it must be stopped from coming to pass.
"This is weird," he said out loud.
"What's weird, dear?" mom came into the room. She had been keeping a close eye - and ear - on her son; he was acting so strange.
"Um, just something - I was -reading," he stuttered.
"I see. Tell me if you need help with it."
"What?"
"With your homework."
"Oh, okay," Ed grinned sheepishly as his mom turned away. He looked back at the screen. Everything was looking choppy, and the graphics were even worse. He couldn't click on any files; an error message kept popping up. "Someone knows I've been on their computer, and there trying to stop me," he thought. A firewall was blocking him out now.
"Oh, come on, you thing!" he sighed. After a couple of tries, he managed to break through the firewall. He pulled up a document, and typed a sentence, then saved it. Whoever owned the computer would have to try hard in order to overlook the document. Which mean they would read it, and that was just what he wanted.

Peter sat back in his chair and pondered what he had heard. "So Nagar is convinced it can actually undertake a job like conquering a galaxy?"
"Yes, and it has been fairly successful. Until they got to us. We were warned ahead of time that they planned attacking us next, and to evacuate the citizens, and organize a fort of some sort," the leader said.
"I see. But why is it so interested in Earth, too?"
"Because they know the prophecy," Fromere interjected.
"Yeah they know it better than we do," Frank hinted.
"But what does the prophecy have to do with Earth?" Peter asked.
"The prophecy says that the people who will save Andromeda will come from Earth. No one knows how, or how many, or anything," the leader replied.
"How will people like us from little Earth save a big galaxy?" Peter said, overtaken suddenly with an awe of the bigness of outer space.
"It has long been thought that Earth was a blessed place. It is unlike any other place discovered thus far, and it is believed that all life originated from it."
"How did people get to Andromeda then?"
The leader pressed his lips together in deep thought. "I didn't mean for this to be a history lesson," he said at last. "All you need to know is that we have a fearful enemy who wants control of the galaxy and of Earth, and you will probably encounter many fights here. As far as history goes, everyone in Andromeda came from Earth, and I don't have time for other details at the moment."
"Yes, sir," Peter replied. His eyes glittered with excitement. And perhaps a hint of pride. After Earth had been talked so poorly of, it was comforting to note that the leader actually admitted having originated from that planet. But how had they gotten to Andromeda?
His thoughts were interrupted by rapid knocking at the door.
"Who on earth could that be?" Frank wondered aloud. The leader glared at him.
"We aren't on Earth, so will you please keep your remarks to yourself. Let whoever it is in, Fromere."
"Yes, sir." Fromere rose to answer the door. Peter guessed he was the leader's right-hand man, because he seemed to always be around him.
"Why do people always seem to come in the middle of conversation?" Peter said softly. Kevin grinned at him.
"It's normal. You'll get used to it," he replied in a low tone.
The visitor was one of the men from the ITC (Information and Technology Chamber), and was there to give the updates on the hacker-situation.
"He broke through the firewall, sir. But that isn't all. He left behind a line, to."
"A line? What kind of a line?"
"A line of words, you know."
"Ah. What do they say?"
" 'If you guys are writing a Science-Fiction novel, I suggest using a stronger security system; someone could steal your ideas.' "
"That's all?"
"Yes, sir."
"Remarkable!" the leader scratched his head thoughtfully. He turned towards Peter and asked in a low tone, "What is a Science-Fiction novel?"
"A type of story, sir," Peter smirked.
"Does this know-it-all suggest a stronger system?" the leader asked of the messenger.
"No, sir. And I've no idea how to contact him."
"Leave him a document and see if he replies," the leader said. "Now, then. We've got work to be done. Peter, I wanted you to fix that machine; our robots have written the plans of it, but since it is needing repair, the plans are slightly messed-up."

Copyright - 9/17/2008 - Curious Cognitive Content (CCC)
Please do not reproduce without permission from the author(ess).

Time......... (Part 9)

2008-10-22T18:05:00.000-04:00

Millions of trillions of miles away from where Frank and Peter sat contentedly eating dinner, planet Earth continued its slow revolution around the sun.
Edmund shouldered his backpack, and turned to leave the school. He stopped where he was, however, when he overheard two teachers talking in the hallway.
"There's got to be some way of getting the school board to hire a better web designer!" one of them said. "The school website is done very badly!"
"I agree; shades of black and white are not what I call inspiring," the second one replied.
"Are you sure we can't convince them to -"
"Certain! I've tried several times. I have a feeling that if we made the website look more appealing, more people would want to come, but the school board doesn't seem to get my drift."
Edmund grinned and turned away. He didn't need to hear any more. He was an expert with computers, and knew just how to fix the website.
As soon as he arrived home, he hid in his room with a laptop between his knees, and began the process of hacking into the school's website. At least, he thought it was the school's website. It soon became apparent that he had made a mistake.
"Some other weird system," he sighed. "But what is this? 'Reports from the fort at Limblon, Andromeda,' and it lists a bunch of names. Andromeda? Is this a joke of some sort?" he leaned closer to the screen and, after a moment or two, was able to bring up a map. It was an odd map, with all sorts of tunnels and chambers branching this way and that. And what were all those red dots?
"I've found something. But what I mean by something, I don't know yet," Edmund scratched his head thoughtfully. The graphics were bad, he noticed. Like it was coming over a long distance. "One thing's certain, it must not be anything important, or else they would have set up a better defense than they have!"

Frank stared at his empty plate.
"You know, wishing for food never got anyone any," Peter smiled.
"Not without some kind of action," Kevin agreed. "By the way, I wanted to thank you guys for letting me stay with you."
"You're the only one we really feel like we know here," Peter replied. "I'd try and stay out of trouble from now on, if I were you, or the leader might change his mind."
"The leader?" Kevin laughed. "Don't you know his name?"
"No. What is it?"
"I don't know. Everyone calls him sir," Kevin said.
"Another mystery!" Frank groaned. "I feel like I don't know anything here!"
There was a sudden knock on the door, and a guard walked in. He presented them with the message that they were wanted by the leader now. The boys promptly rose and followed him to chamber A2.
The leader was there with the original five men, and a few others. Chamber A2 was more furnished than A1, and looked more like a living room than anything else.
"Now then, you want to know more about what we are up to, don't you?" the leader asked.
"Um, yes; if you don't mind," Peter said.
"Well, first off, there's -" he was interrupted by an urgent entreaty at the door. Three men rushed in and breathlessly broke the news to him.
"Someone's hacked into the system!"
"Hacked into the system? The computer system?" the leader stood up hastily.
"Yes, sir! And what's more, the hacker is identified as coming from Earth!"
"Earth? Those idiots don't know how to break into computers in different galaxies! They're so concerned with themselves, and never imagine what might be happening around them! They don't even know the danger they are in!" this passionate speech from the leader roused all of the men, and made Frank and Peter look helplessly around. To be told that you come from a planet of idiots is not exactly encouraging.
"But what danger are we - I mean Earth - in?" Peter said at last. "You keep on talking in riddles! Some people from Nagar is all I've managed to piece together."
"I'll tell you that in a moment. Now you boys will have your chance to prove your usefulness to us."
"How, sir?"
"How? Aren't you two good with computers?" the leader asked incredulously.
"No, sir. I always made odd windows pop up on my mom's computer, and didn't have a clue as to what to do with them," Peter admitted. Frank nodded his head in agreement.
"But - the prophecy - and -" Fromere gasped out.
"What about it?" Peter asked.

"One will rule with iron;
One with words and symbols;
One will carry on,
One will computers control,"

Fromere recited.
"And you thought you couldn't remember that much," Peter grinned at Kevin.
"At least he told the truth," Frank said innocently.
"But obviously, one of you are good with computers?" the leader asked again.
"No, we're not!" Peter said frantically.
"Couldn't it refer to four people?" Kevin asked.
"But carrying on doesn't make any sense," the leader replied.
"Unless they were having a tantrum," Frank said. Peter nudged his arm.
"What should we do about the hacker, sir?" one of the three messengers persisted.
"Ah, me!" the leader groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Get someone in there to determine how much the person has seen, and try to stop them from seeing more!"
The men left to do his bidding. And the leader dismissed everyone from the room. He was having a hard day.

Copyright - 9/17/2008 - Curious Cognitive Content (CCC)
Please do not reproduce without permission from the author(ess).