Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
It’s a sign that things aren’t going well, computer-wise, when you try to reach http://www.isitdownrightnow.com to see if a website is having problems, and you can’t reach it because it’s down.
Amazing how frustrating something like the inability to reach one or two sites makes me.
I’ve been away, traveling across America (southern Oregon to western Pennsylvania) to visit with Mom and my sisters and their families for Mother’s Day. It was an impressive gathering. All five of Mom’s children were present, along with spouses, children, and grandchildren of three.
Mom and my little sisters
Besides that, to celebrate my older sister’s birthday, we did a Gateway Clipper Sunset Dinner Cruise. Fun and informative, we saw Pittsburgh’s bridges and buildings from the Monongahela, Allegheny, and Ohio Rivers, or we danced to the DJ’s music. Oh, yeah, and we had a buffet dinner, and we drank.
A large group of teenagers were on our cruise. When the music broke out, they appropriated the dance floor by forming a large circle. People then danced inside the circle. I wasn’t familiar with this practice, but others assured me that it started with the first homo-sapiens centuries ago.
The young ones were friendly and inclusive. I requested “Celebration” by Kool and the Gang for my sister’s b-day. When it started, they all let out a whoop, and then began dancing and singing the song. Sis got up to dance to her birthday song, and they all started dancing with her. “Happy twentieth,” one girl called to my sister, who replied, “Twenty-fifth.” “Can’t stray too far from the truth,” my sister later confided.
Fun as that was, more fun was the “Cupid Shuffle”. All were familiar with this, and it was terrific. Most didn’t know how to cha-cha, though, but one of my little sisters had it nailed.
One of my younger sisters organized everything for us. She’s my little sister (one of three), but she’s also a grandmother. My sisters are all attractive, intelligent, and accomplished, so I’m always nursing a suspicion that I might have been adopted. Of course, I inherited Dad’s face, arms, and hair, and Mom’s chest, shoulders, and legs, so there’s no doubt I wasn’t adopted.
My younger sister and her husband were also our hosts for several days of eating and partying. They took such great care of us. Her husband, Pat, is a fellow who remembers everything that I tell him. Told him once that I like Blue Moon with orange slices. Guess what he had on hand for me? I’d mentioned in a previous visit that I prefer other cheeses over American, so he had sharp cheddar available for my cheeseburgers. They’re good people.
Oh, the food was good. I immediately transformed into a glutton. I don’t regret it.
I didn’t write during that period. That wasn’t planned. As other writers have noted and been quoted, writers don’t take vacations. No, I didn’t sit down at my computer or even pull out a notebook, but I wrote in my head. I did attempt to get up and go write in the early mornings, but frankly, I was lazy, and chose sleep.
So now, a little R & R is required: reconnect and recommence. That is, reconnect with my novel and characters (done, thanks!) and recommence my writing routines and rituals (done, thanks!)
Time to write like crazy, once again.
Inflammation surged in her right shoulder through several days, demoralizing her. Pain afflicted her with the smallest motion, dressing, cleaning, even brushing her teeth and combing her hair. Trying to think through options, she put bread in the toaster and considered conversation with her rheumatologist. He disliked giving cortisone shots. What else was there for the agony?
The toast popped up. Flinching her shoulder at the sound, she cried out in pain and fell to the floor, where all she could do was laugh and cry. Sometimes, that’s all that’s left.
Once again, I’ve been reminded that travel brings out the best and worst in coffee. People have different ideas about what tastes good, but they’re also part of geographic trends. “Isn’t that good coffee?” they ask, handing you some swill.
Which challenges politeness. I always err toward gratefulness. Coffee’s aroma helps ground me and restores my balance, to give nothing away about what the caffeine does to stoke my will to live. “Yes, yes, it’s very good coffee,” I reply. If pressed, I’ll mention, “It’s not quite what I would usually drink, but this is delicious. Thank you.”
Unless, of course, my taste buds are so offended that they’re lobbying my brain to spit it out. Then I swallow the coffee and say, “Mm mmm,” and complain privately later.
Some of that hotel and aero-plane stuff really pissed off my taste buds, though. I was afraid they were going to stop speaking to me. But then, they were given pie, and they were happy.
You ever hear someone sleeping and think, I wish that motorcycle would shift to a lower gear?
No?
To begin, car and truck exhaust mixes with light snow flurries in a hilly town. Slurry covers broken asphalt. Wooden utility poles leaning at crazy angles hold up sagging lines. Snow and ice weigh down the lines. A maroon Honda Prelude, rusty and missing a door, with a broken tail light and dented sides, is trying to navigate a turn through the slush and go up a small hill when the engine stumbles and dies in a cloud of blue smoke. People stumble out of the car to help push it up the hill and out of the road. I run over and help, putting hands on the cold, wet trunk lid, and push, slipping and sliding on the broken, icy asphalt road. We do it. A small cheer goes up.
I know the people in the car. I wish I could help them more but I have problems, and wave good-bye, rushing on to school. The classroom is packed. I’m in fifth grade. The teacher explains an assignment. The students will be divided into teams. Each team will be given an article. They’ll read it as individuals, discuss it in a group, and then write individual essays about the article. Then she singles me out to tell me that she has a special essay for me, and I will work alone. My reading assignment is denser and longer than the others. I feel isolated and confused.
Taking the article with me, I head to my work. Two concrete buildings make up a small compound. I live there with others. Most are young, but a few are older than me, but I’m in charge. A storm is coming, but we also worry about attack. I explain that we have to secure everything outside so it won’t blow away, but also so we’ll be safe inside. I put Randy in charge of the rest to do this. Randy is upset because he doesn’t think others are contributing. I have to talk it through with him. Meanwhile, he and his team are doing a terrific job of moving things to make us safe and boarding up the place. I just need to keep encouraging him.
I discover a problem with our plan. The main room has a big window that overlooks the sea. It’s calm but I worry about that window. The rest is all covered, but all someone would need to do is circle the building. They’d discover that window and smash it in.
Options are discussed, decisions are made. Some of which we’ve done must be undone. Showing me what must be undone, Randy shows what they’ve done. I’m impressed, but I also spot weaknesses and explain that to them. They begin the re-work.
Going to the second building, I discover an old man living in the cluttered, windowless back room. The room reminds me of part of an old gas station. The old man is a friend and has a cat. I help him lock the cat up, but the cat is trying hard to get back out. We discuss papers that need to be read and written. Then I make sure he’ll be okay for the coming storm.
Returning to the first building, I check on food and supplies. We’ve done everything that we can, but anxiety that we’re not ready nags me. I can’t think of what else we can do. Feeling helpless, I try to think up answers but I don’t know the questions and issues.
I’m left waiting.
My conversation with Salazin brought creeping memories of conversations with Dad. I played the part of Salazin, then, bearing good news. Dad was the skeptic.
It was about his new truck. I’d made my first million, thanks to Salazin. Dad was retired from the military, paying the mortgage, working two jobs, and driving a Chevy pick-up that leaned to the left when it was going straight. The engine sounded okay, but its interior was squalid. Dings and scratches pockmarked its blue and white body. It seemed like it always needed new tires, too.
So, hey, wouldn’t it be nice of me to buy Dad a new, loaded truck?
Do y’a think?
Proud and excited, I went to his house and was there when the new Dodge truck was delivered. “Come on, Dad,” I said when the truck pulled up. “I bought you something.”
Mom was looking out the window and talking about, who was that? Realization struck her. Her blue eyes went wide.
Dad isn’t dumb. Hearing the noise, he’d probably begun to guess what was going on. He was reading his Sports Illustrated. He didn’t move.
“Dad?” I said.
“In a minute,” he said without looking up.
Mom gave him a look. Then she looked looked at me with a weary head shake of frowns and an eye-roll.
“Your son brought you a gift,” Mom said.
Dad kept reading.
Mom said to me, “Let’s go outside.”
We went out. She asked questions. Her reaction pleased me. “He’ll really like it,” she said as she walked around the truck. She didn’t sound convinced. “He might not show it, but he’s really proud and impressed by what you accomplished.”
Sure. Dad was suspicious about my wealth. He didn’t buy the story of Salazin’s stock picks at all. He was certain I was doing something illegal like selling drugs, I guess.
I’d also bought a vehicle for Mom, a Cadillac. She was still driving this ginormous Olds Tornado. Red with a white Landau roof, I swear the front end was in a different time zone from the rear. It got terrible gas mileage and bounced along the highway in search of new shocks.
Her Cadillac was arriving now. “Here’s your car, Mom,” I said.
Gasping and smiling, she turned and hugged and kissed me, saying, “Thank you, thank you, but you didn’t have to do that,” as Dad finally emerged from the house.
Magazine in hand, he stood on the porch looking at the scene. He looked like he was chewing something. He looked at the Caddy first. Then he looked at the truck.
“It’s American,” I said, to point it out. Because of Grandpa Diehl and World War Two, Dad didn’t like buying anything from the Japanese, Italians, and Germans, especially a “big ticket” item like a truck or car.
“Who’s that for?” he asked, looking at the Caddy.
“It’s for me,” Mom said. “Look what your son bought me. And he bought you a truck. Come and look at it.”
“I’ll look at it later,” Dad said. “Thanks.”
He turned and returned to the house.
I felt crushed. As Mom tried softening the blow wtih soft touches and words, I said, “It’s a good fucking thing I didn’t buy you a new house, like I was going to.”
She said, “I like this house.”
She looked at her blue and brick ranch house. “I wouldn’t mind a new house.”
Smiling at me, she said, “But we’d better talk about it a while, first, okay?”
I didn’t answer. I never did buy them a new house, but I bought Mom a new townhouse after Dad died.
Watching others cope with diseases and declining health, slowly moving hunched bodies as they struggle to remember simple words and phrases and master common movements, do you ever wonder, what’s secretly going on inside yourself that’s waiting to come out?
It’s like looking for the monster hiding under the bed.
He sighs when he wakes up, realizing it’s another day, and sighs when he gets out of bed, stands, and sits, motions stiff with pain. Sighs slip out as he makes his meals and eats them, and as he reflects on his life. Sighs accompany every task, as if his world is filled with strife. Sighing, he works hard to do what he can, trying to get by, contemplating his death, sighing, holding on, and trying to stay alive.
“Start again,” I said. “Let’s start again.”
Salazin was posed to listen.
I composed myself to think and speak. “Ten miles is a very long vessel.”
“Yes.”
“Why does it have to be so long?”
“Don’t think of it as just a vessel.”
I waited.
“Think of it as a destination, Dylan,” Salazin said. “Think of it as an exclusive island floating in the sky. Think of it as an exclusive destination. We will grow organic food and raised organic animals. We’ll serve them in our exclusive restaurants.”
“We’ll have more than one restaurant?”
“Yes, yes, why not? We will have an inland sea and luxury villas. And vineyards, wineries, and breweries. We will sell Nautilaus wine. Imagine it.”
“I’m trying to. Why call it Nautilaus?”
“Nautilaus is the perfect name. Nautilaus is associated with adventure and technology.”
“Maybe for you, but I think of exercise equipment.”
“No, no, not exercise equipment. Think of Jules Verne and Robert Fulton.”
“Robert Fulton?”
“Yes, yes, he named his steamboat the Nautilaus, and Jules Verne named his submarine after Fulton’s steamboat.”
“That’s another thing,” I said. “The Nautilaus is a submarine.”
“It is a masterpiece, Dylan. It is a luxury jewel, a vessel to fire imagination, inspire adventure, and embrace luxury. It’s mysterious and unique.”
“Fine.” I’d drop it for now. Salazin was smarter than me, and he’d thought about this more, so I was behind. I knew I’d probably give in soon, but it’s my custom not to be graceful about these things. Actually, it’s not my custom, but my nature. I think I get it from my parents, or maybe the whole damn clan. None of us surrender with grace. We fit to the bitter damn end. Come see us at the holidays, and you’ll understand.
“But ten miles seems extremely long,” I said.
“It needs to be so long for what it will have and be.”
“It won’t be able to land anywhere.”
“Yes, it will. It can land on the ocean. It can land in many other places.”
Salazin leaned in toward me. “Dylan, Dylan. Listen. I know that you must think about things before you say okay. I love that about you. I do.
“But, let me give you more to think about so we can hasten the moment when you say okay. Imagine a floating island that can travel anywhere in the world and be there in a matter of hours. Imagine living in a place isolated from war, disease, and pollution. Imagine being able to dine in a fine restaurant while watching a volcano in Hawaii explode, or floating over Antarctica or the North Pole, watching the glaciers break off and float away. Imagine being able to go to the best place to see meteor showers, eclipses, and the Northern Lights. Imagine the greatness of such a vessel. This is why it’ll be more than a vessel, but will be enshrined as the ultimate destination. As a destination, it can be anywhere.”
“On Earth.”
Salazin winked. “And maybe further.”
