Winter Solstice 2010

Winter Solstice 2010 - a reading (on YouTube)

Now is the winter of our discontent and the beginning of our discontent with winter.

Winter has come early this year. The past two weeks have been more reminiscent of January than a stretch of early December. People are more bundled up than normal. You can tell the natives by how they layer. Not from experience, from necessity. Down here, not everyone has winter coats and clothes.

The myrtles are bare, the maples will soon follow. The coleus are wilted to the ground despite being bundled up at night. The ferns and periwinkles look peaked. The ixora and ficus that took the freeze so hard last year might not survive.

The cats have taken to curling up inside my sweatshirt, with me already in it. The north wind cuts. The chill, when it finds you, settles deep inside and can't be shaken. People have begun cursing bitterly as they complain about the cold. They are grouchy and grinchy fearing the plunge in temperatures that January might bring.

But it doesn't have to be that way. Today is the winter solstice, a time of magic if you're willing to believe.

Thirty-six years ago, I believed in winter magic. I was ten. My sister was twelve. Old enough that we didn't believe in Santa Claus anymore, but young enough that we still wanted to believe in something. We needed to in a way.

Four months earlier, my parents had divorced. Looking back and having talked to them, that was the right decision. Ours was not a happy family. Still isn't in many ways.

That year, my grandparents, my mother's parents, wanted us to fly us up north for Christmas. Both my parents are transplants to Florida, both originally from near Boston. My sister and I were excited. We each had an ideal picture of Christmas in New England in our minds. When we asked if there would be snow, my mother said, "I hope not." My grandmother and aunt both said it wasn't very likely. My grandfather, on the other hand, said he'd see what he could do. We took that as a promise.

I'm not sure why the thought of snow excited us so much. Neither of us ever had ever seen it, at least that we remembered. We had lived in Florida since I was 2 and she was 3. Both of our parents hated winter. To this day, if the temperature drops below 70, my mother breaks out the sweaters and starts complaining about the cold.

When we arrived in Weymouth a few days before Christmas, the weather was warm, at least for New England in December. All my sister and I could talk about was the possibility of snow. All the adults, except my grandfather, told us that seemed increasingly unlikely. There was no snow in the forecast. Maine might see a dusting, perhaps northern New Hampshire and Vermont. Massachusetts was definitely out of the question. We were kids so we didn't pay any attention to what anyone else said or thought. We just wanted snow.

My grandfather, however, did pay attention. To backtrack a little, I remember him as a serious man, a stern and orderly New Englander reminiscent of a Dickensian character who spent his days hunched over his desk, reading reports and working columns of numbers. I remember I was somewhat intimidated by him at the time. Raucous children, as I know we were, were a distraction he didn't really need. It's not that he didn't love us. He did. He was just set in a routine that children no longer had a place in.

So it came as a surprise that unlike every other adult we asked about the snow, he continued to answer, "We'll see." He always said it with a sprarkle in his eye like he knew a secret no one else did. My mother rolled her eyes and admonished him not to get our hopes up. My grandmother tried to prepare us gently for disappointment. My grandfather paid no attention to either of them. Not that he often did.

Soon after we arrived, he took us out to the fence in the backyard. It was all very hush, hush, and don't tell your mother. He said there was someone we needed to talk to. My grandparents' house backed up to the fields of an elementary school, though you couldn't really see the building through the bordering of trees. There was a man there waiting for us there, a nondescript New Englander in heavy flannel that struck us as light to ward off the cold. My grandfather explained that we were his grandchildren up from Florida for our first Christmas in Massachusetts, and that we really wanted to see snow. The man eyed us both appraisingly, nodded tersely as though making a decision, then said he would talk to some people. Definitely, we would see snow. Just you wait and see.

As we headed back toward the house, my grandfather explained that the man had connections, but he never said what they were. We didn't care as long as there was snow in the offing before we went back home so we could brag about it to our friends.

The eve of Christmas Eve, our fortunes began to change. The forecasters said the front that was supposed to hit northern New England had drifted slightly south. Weymouth might see flurries of wet snow on the day of Christmas Eve, maybe up to half an inch, but it wouldn't last the night.

Sure enough, the next day, an inch of ugly, sticky snow fell and barely stuck to the ground. The temperature was just below freezing, so it wasn't going to last. It didn't even stick to the walks and street, only the grass, not so much a blanket as a sodden towel.

My sister and I were undeterred. After donning our sweaters and coats and scarves and mittens as our mother insisted, we went out and played in the slushy mess as long as we were allowed. We tried to make a snowman, but he turned out to be hunched and pathetic because the snow wouldn't stick together. Even the snowballs we tried to throw at one another didn't quite hold up. Still, we were content. We'd seen our first snow, even if it wasn't exactly like what we'd seen on cards and Christmas specials. It lasted only a few hours. That was all everyone said we'd get.

The next morning, we were awake early for Christmas. We ate breakfast in the kitchen and were just settling around the tree when my grandfather looked out the window and smiled at us. "It's snowing." My mother and grandmother thought he was teasing us. We all peered out. Sure enough, white fluffy snowflakes were falling. Not the mushy, gray, translucent stuff from yesterday, full on New England snow, first tentatively then steadily and finally heavily where it started accumulating on the ground. A thick, white blanket was being laid down.

My sister and I were ready to abandon the tree without opening a single present. The adults convinced us the snow wasn't going anywhere this time. Soon the entire yard and all the walks were covered. Once we finished with Christmas morning, my sister and I went out to play. We made a real snowman, threw real snowballs and romped through the 4-6 inches of drifting snow. Later, I got to go sledding for the first time, which involved cousins, a flying saucer, a steep hill, rocks and a graveyard. What could be more fun?

For many years, I thought my grandfather could tap into magical powers. If not himself, he knew someone who could. Talking to him many years later, he told me that he wasn't at all certain it was going to snow that year. He knew there was a chance and just wanted us to be happy. Today, my sister would probably say that snow was a miracle. I attribute it to love, luck and a little magic, the kind that always exists deep inside. If you believe.

And the man he had us talk to, the one with the weather-changing connections? The custodian from the school.

Sometimes, it's the smallest kindness that sticks with you for a lifetime, even it's just a stranger playing along with children's dreams, even if he is only helping them believe.

This year, may you find a little winter magic of your own. And, as always, may your solstice be warm and bright.

Because now is the winter of our discontent and the beginning of our discontent with winter. But, remember, it doesn't have to be that way.

© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III

Manasota Key

We just got back from a getaway to one of our favorite motels down on Manasota Key. We discovered The Pearl on a driving trip down the coast over fifteen years ago and have been back four or five times since.

Recently, when I've written these trip reports, they have been frenetically full of all the places we visited and things we have seen. Not this time. This trip was meant as a two-day reset.

This place we stay is a small affair, only a dozen rooms, nine with beautiful views of the ocean. The two front rooms are right on the beach to the point where storms have tried to wash them out to sea. It was under new ownership again, as it seems to be each time we return. The newest ones have put in new lights, new fixtures, new furniture, paint and tile. Now they have wifi and satellite TV though we barely turned it on. But still no phones in the rooms, which is nice.

This is the Florida coast much as it might have looked one hundred years ago. As you walk the shore, all you see is ocean, sand, sky and scrub, with the occasional stairs leading down to the beach. The houses are set back into the trees, with only a few roof peaks peeking above foliage, a few windows visible from directly out. And just a few fellow wanderers enjoying the autumn sun.

We spent our days walking the beach and reading in the shade of the deck. The days were warm, but not too warm, the nights cool but not too cool. The sand is a beautiful white you don't see as much on the Atlantic.

Mornings, we watched a fisherman cast into the surf and a scuba diver prepare his kayak for his outing as we drank our coffee and ate our bagels at the table in our room. The room had everything we needed, a fridge, a micro, a coffee maker, a toaster. We brought our regular breakfasts and lunches with us. For dinner, we ate rotisserie chicken and drank white wine from the Publix less than fifteen minutes away.

We hunted sharks' teeth by the water. When we started, I wondered if my eyes were still good enough to pick them out against the sand. When I was sixteen, I could spot the really tiny ones, an eighth of an inch or less. I handed Karen one just over that size after a little searching in the surf zone. I guess my eyes still work, at least in bright daylight. We picked up a handful of brightly colored shells and one piece of clear beach glass.

As we walked, Karen took pictures of the birds we saw along the shore. Regal blue herons, furtive night herons, spastic sanderlings, probing willets. We saw dolphin in groups of twos and threes hunting several times near shore.

In the evening, we watched the sunsets and looked for a green flash we didn't get to see. There were clouds and haze that lit up on the horizon. When the sun was gone, they shone a few minutes longer like frosted red and orange glass with a dying candle behind them.

As we walked the beach at night, crabs scurried back into the surf to get out of our way, sometimes right over our feet. The beach was dark at night. The moon was bright and full. The stars were only washed out by its brightness, the only light pollution from Venice and Sarasota far to the north. The shadows it cast spilled across the deck by the water. This would be a perfect place to watch a meteor shower, which we are considering when the Geminids come around in December. It's a turtle nesting area, so there aren't an abundance of artificial lights.

As we slept, we could hear the waves lapping on the shore. We could smell the sand and salt air. So peaceful.

On our way back, we explored downtown Venice which has come up a little bit since our last visit to include a few nice boutiques and sidewalk bistros. A tempting little diversion for a day.

After two very relaxing nights, we came home with gently tinking, clinking memories and pockets full of wonder, looking forward to the next time we return. This time, we don't intend to let it get to be so long between visits.

© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III

Samhain 2010

Samhain 2010 - a reading (on YouTube)

Samhain is upon us, the season of leaf mold and decay.

Spun white threads of fungus creep across the forest floor like spider silk in hiding. The grove that glowed at midsummer has sickened, its heartwood is corrupt. In its final act of dying, the sacred tree laid a scent trail upon the wind. Now, rival colonies move in to fight over its remains. Under foot, its acorns crack and crumble, their soft interiors rot and blacken to reflect the misty night.

Beyond the hidden border, beyond the wall of thorns, the churchyard stands empty. A headless witch lurks near the crossroads, a black shadow snuffling beside her. She cradles a basket of steaming sweetbread to entice the unwary she plans to bake into her pies.

Deep in her woodland lair, tailors unravel the bewitching threads of her bloodstained kirtle. They whipstitch her victims' lips and eyelids shut. As her spellbound minions ply their delicate, golden needles, she stuffs unspun wool deep within their ears. Too late for them; they've already believed her lies.

Her shadow slides steel against naked steel in preparation to carve up thought and memory, like the dark familiars of an elder god already crackling within the fire. The smoke inside smells sickly sweet, like a horde of apples left to overwinter one year too many.

By moonlight, she ransacks the burial chambers of misty, musty cairns. She grinds their nitered bones beneath a pestle, then soaks them in rancid blood. She kneads the mixture smooth with ancient, arthritic hands. At midnight, she wagers with the shadow for butchered souls to leaven her sweet, dark, gobshite loaves. She stores their broken knucklebones in a bag beside her bed.

Behind her decrepit cottage, a midden rises where a single acorn soon takes root. A seedling feeds on discarded blood and bone until it grows strong enough to weave a spell around the somnolent, sated witch. Its golden branches then entwine through her rafters, its roots collapse her cellar walls, casting down her evil reign, crushing her quietly beneath.

And from the foundation of that tangled knotwork, the sacred grove will rise again.

© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III

Fall Equinox 2010

Fall Equinox 2010 - a reading (on YouTube)

The day dawns on a knife's edge, white light at right angles, reflected soft yet sharp and flinty. All the rose and gold is gone. The world is torn in opposite directions by two equally powerful horses, one white, one black, summer and winter, hope and despair. Within weeks, we'll know which one will win. Light and shadow grapple in a stranglehold. The light is fading. Like a sling stone arcing past its zenith, we prepare for the fall.

Soon the world will be cloaked in shadow. The time of illusions is upon us, a time when men see the world they want to see. We once again descend into a dark fairyland beyond the reflecting pool where acceptance becomes intolerance, moderation turns to greed, prosperity to war. Torture and surveillance come back in vogue, progress and reason fall out of fashion. Children sight security down the barrel of a gun. A candy apple potion waits outside my door, a bright pink post-it beckoning me to drink and share this common vision of the world.

I resist this temptation of the trickster spirits as their numbers build toward Samhain. I prepare my protections and sacrifices within an isolated circle. From behind the distorted hand mirror, an innocent seductress unleashes a jarful of beautiful evils upon our world out of curiosity. She seals their remedy back inside when she learns what she has done, where it sleeps alone in darkness against our future need. A lone candle burns brighter at midnight on midwinter. A lone voice carries farther in the silence a cappella. A long drink of water tastes sweeter after the rainless days of drought.

On days like this, I wish I could transform myself into a tree. A leafy sanctuary for birds and squirrels. A shady rest for weary travelers. A stepping stone for children to climb into the sky. I would not run when the axmen came, as they always seem to do. For a short while, I would stand resolute against their rusty blades as they ticktocked away my skin, their blows ringing as regular as clockwork up and down the grove. Little do they know the skulls of their ancestors lie buried beneath my brethrens' knees. The saplings feed upon their marrow. Trees don't attack or defend, they are patient, their acorns opportunistic. Even with their ancestors felled, seeds sleep peacefully beneath the long, harsh snows of winter, waiting only for the warm breath of sunlight to revive the grove again.

The wheel must turn through its progressions. One day, the world will return to balance. Then, brightly colored blossoms will beckon rather than the flickering flames of the discarded. A world of life and rebirth rather than leaf mold and decay. A world of hope. Just as there is no summer without winter, there can be no spring without the fall.


© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III

The Dao of Dragon*Con

Life after Dragon*Con seems so slavishly normal this morning. I need a 12-step, geek detox/reprogramming system just to fit back in. What panels am I attending this morning? Which concerts am I going to tonight? When will I ever get some sleep?

I started this trip to Dragon*Con with a heavy heart. I received the news day before we left that a friend from college had died. Each year we've gone to Dragon*Con, I've seen his doppelgangers and clones out of the corners of my eye and had to check to see if they were really him. They never were. While this year, I didn't have any major double takes, a picture very similar to his Facebook avatar was prominently displayed several places around the con. A hard reminder. I had been looking forward to telling him what I saw in this post. I found out Saturday that he chose the timing of his death.

I didn't sleep well or long enough Wednesday night, a trend that continued throughout the con. I'm not a person who deals well short of sleep. But Vitamin D has become my friend. It's like the Ecstasy of the vitamin world. Like the Red Bull of happiness and light.

Thursday came early with some annoyances at the airport. We flew a new airline, AirTran instead of Delta. They accumulated two strikes quickly. Because the plane was late arriving in Tampa on our way out, they boarded half of us through the rear door. Nothing like standing in the 90 degree Florida sun to put you in the right mood. Turns out that was foreshadowing. Strike two came when they didn't post our flight at baggage claim, so we had to hunt around an extra 15 minutes to find the right carousel. Combined with the 15-minute ground-stop in Tampa, we were 30 critical minutes late getting to the hotel.

We checked into the hotel, grabbed some water and headed for registration. By the time we got there, the line was wrapped around three sides of the block. By the time we left 4 HOURS later, it was all the way around. After the same experience last year (with a different registration process), I was less than pleased. But I was ok (think Dao, think Zen, read a book). Until I got to the front of the line. And met the woman behind the desk. Who gave absolutely no instructions. Just leaned back in her chair like we should know exactly what to do. By divination. And then waited for one of her associates (who was literally running between stations) to do her work. I about lost it.

The sheer inefficiency of the manual (as in non-computerized), poorly thought-out registration system easily added 2 hours to our time in line. I mean fundamental (expletive deleted) errors, like an alphabetical sort by line where they were pulling H-K out of line an hour behind us because, wow, there just aren't that many people with those last names. Yet they had a dedicated person to serve them, who by design, could do nothing else. ComiCon, GenCon both have many more people attend and 1/4 of the time in line. Then the con had the audacity to post on its Twitter Feed "Please limit the negativity in the Registration line." Sorry, but they earned every bit of negativity they got (not from me, who kept my mouth shut out of fear what might come out). With interest. By the time we had badges, I was completely power-down reset off-(expletive deleted)-line. Never a-(expletive deleted)-gain.

So we spent a lot of Thursday night trying to detox. We got some dinner (after no lunch) at 9, pre-bought two days of breakfasts and tried to get some sleep. Unfortunately, our room was on the first floor (good) right above the Motor Court (bad) and configured to where all the noise from it bounced directly at our window (ugly). For those who haven't been to Dragon*Con, it's a 24 hour event. So I slept fitfully a while. Then I woke up at 2 and each time I drifted off, someone screamed (like they were right outside the window). It was like sleeping in a dorm room where you knew words are being spoken somewhere but can't pick them out. With the exception of F-this and B-that. Those came through loud and clear. When Karen drifted awake at 3, I told her we had to move. So that's what we did between 3 and 4 am. The desk wasn't sure if we wanted to wait until morning to make the change. Uh, no, I'd like to get 4 hours sleep tonight, thanks. Honestly, the hotel was fine with it. I have no complaints about them. Just bad luck of the draw for us.

By early Friday, it was apparent there were a lot more people than last year. I'd say 10-20% more. To the point the Fire Marshall shut down the Marriott lobby three times over the weekend. The first time was Friday night as we were coming back from two concerts at 2:30 am. Hotel guests only and the floor was still cleared when we came through. We found out on the way home that someone had tossed a phone from somewhere high in the hotel (42 floors, all accessing an Atrium) and it crashed onto the lobby tile right by a friend of ours. No one hurt, luckily. Again Saturday at 2 am coming home, badges or hotel key-card for entry (for sheer crowds, we think). And Sunday at 3 am (crowds again, we think, which we've never seen that late).

All day, every day the place was more packed than we'd seen it. Several rooms filled to capacity. A couple panels we couldn't get into because they were SRO full. Not Celebrity panels, Science panels, Armory panels, Gaming panels. We were lucky that we were there 20 minutes early for a few panels just to get a seat. There was a huge line for the Cruxshadows concert, and they seated it an hour early, before the preceding concert. Though an advantage to being my age, stature and (button-down) shirt is when someone tries to cut between me and Karen (holding hands single file) to cut the line, one glare puts a complete stop to it. And the staff ignores us. The hall was as packed as we've ever seen it and this was our 6th time seeing them there. Great to see, but...

Monday I got to sleep about 4:30 am then woke up at 8:30 am to donate blood, my only chance without a line. Short-sleep, little breakfast, mildly dehydrated, bad idea. But I really wanted the shirt. I felt the wave of light-headedness sweeping down way too late to do anything about. Feelin'... kinda... woozy... A bottle of Gatorade and I was fine. Never happened to me while donating blood before. This is like my tenth or twelfth time, the last in February. But I got my shirt, which was way cooler than the con shirt I could have bought for $25. So did Karen, but they rejected her from giving for an irregular heartbeat. Just peachy.

On our way home, we got a look at the dark-side of the US Air Force in the airport. I've never seen a sergeant cut off in a brew-house before. For his own good, if he wanted to get home (they won't let him on the plane drunk). Didn't help that he was acting like a complete predator with the young woman at the table next to us. Luckily, he had an airman with him with a good (and clearer) head on his shoulders. And the staff handled the situation with understanding and aplomb.

See by now, you're thinking this was a vacation from hell. It really wasn't. I'm not sure why (ok, maybe the Ecstasy thing. Kidding). We just didn't have time for the drama I guess. We did what we had to do. We adapted. With everything else going on, we weren't in the mood to stress over it. So we made sure to be in the right place for the panels we really wanted to see and then hung out more.

On the plane Thursday, I started another story, writing seven pages in the notebook, set on location in Atlanta. This is the third year I’ve done this story in an hour trick. I’ll work on that next. Friday we hit the dealers’ rooms and got to catch up with our friend from England and her new beau. That was nice. Saturday was really thin after we got bounced from one panel (SRO out the door) and another was cancelled. But we hung out in the lobby for a while with a friend from St. Pete who Karen talks photography with. That was nice, too. We got to do the music tables without making them a drive-by. Sunday, we hung out more and got to see our group of friends in pretty cool Plan 9 from Outer Space costumes, shades of gray like the black and white movie, complete with face-paint on all exposed skin. We texted back and forth with a couple people, letting them know where we would be and vice versa. It was cool to have someone say, that sounds interesting, I think I'll go there instead.

This was the first con were we saw a number of people who seemed happy, genuinely happy, to see us there. Some called out across the room. One was bouncing up and down (seriously, that doesn't happen with me). There are a slew of people from St. Pete who go now (like 17+). On the way home, we had 6 others from our extended group on our flight, so we got to wander through Tampa airport and onto the shuttle to parking, and compare notes with them. That was really nice, too.

We got to see a photographer from Chicago who we'd met there two years ago and talked to online whose face lit up when he saw us. He knew I hadn't been in his panel because one of our friends ratted me out. I'm exchanging emails with another panelist I've written before who didn't make it this year, but wanted to. Even he seemed happy to hear from me.

Even people we didn’t know. The first time the maid came, we were in our room. I guess we did something right with her, too. Every time we saw her from that day on, even way down the hall, her face brightened and she waved. Not the corporate, be nice to the guests wave, but a hey, you're ok, thanks for treating me like a person wave. As an added bonus, it looks like the hotel comp'ed us for one night (without us asking). So between that and the Rewards we used, hotel was half price this year.

When did I step into the twilight zone? Cerebus feels good. Cerebus feels really good. Cerebus never feels really good.

Dragon*Con: it's like going to an extended reunion and seeing all the cousins you never met and maybe never wanted to know, but still feeling that draw of family and knowing that you're at home, however crazy they act and however normal you now might seem.

So the synopsis for the year, 17 panels, 6 concerts and 2 concourse performances. We came home with 5 CDs, 2 sets of dice, an auto-dice roller, 2 blood shirts and 3 t-shirts as gifts for friends. We didn't even kill off all the food we squirreled away in our luggage on the way up. But we didn't run out of room for purchases, either.

From here on is a breakdown of panels and concerts.

For us, there are four levels of panels: Great, good, worthwhile and bust. A Worthwhile panel is one that makes us think on at least one point, or one we discuss with someone (or each other) later even if we didn't agree with the panelists. A Good panel is one that entertains us, or strings together a number of good points that get us thinking more about the topic. A Great panel is one that has us laughing or one that is so interesting we look up a panelist, maybe even write them, or check out the material and websites they gave us. A Bust is one with a bad speaker, or a speaker who is unprepared, or worse doesn't know their topic (or is just plain wrong), or is cancelled or subbed without notice, or hijacked off-topic. With that in mind, here's a rundown of this year's panels.

Evolution by Leaps and Bounds (Science, Fri.) - Good. I circled three notes I need to go check out. First was Carotenoids, specifically in a species of sea slugs that stores chlorophyll from things it eats bit by bit until it achieves the ability to photosynthesize. Second was an article in Nature in 2004 by Adami on treating AIs like a biological systems. And finally, the Red Queen Hypothesis from virology that evolution is a continuing race for a species just to continue to survive in its current niche. A speaker we'd go to see again.

Designing a Language (Writing, Fri.) - Good to Great. The speaker (a linguist) did a good job at teaching the audience the fundamentals of linguistics by using science fiction and fantasy languages as examples. The only mark against was that he ran out of time, thinking he had 1.5 hours instead of 1. But he had handouts (which usually rates a Good, minimum). I need to contact him to see if he can recommend an introductory book on linguistics for laymen. I also want to see where a particular characteristic of Welsh fits in to what he said. A speaker we'd go to see again.

Earthquakes and Volcanoes (Science, Fri.) - Bust. I felt sorry for the speaker who was very nervous. I got the sense she was talked into giving the presentation. Someone else wrote up the description of it for the program, which she quickly said she wouldn't cover as advertised. Biggest problem was that she wasn't a geologist, and the geologist sitting beside me just shook her head every time I looked over questioning what I heard. The USGS seriously needs a presence up there.

How Your Brain Works (Science, Fri.) - Good to Great. Missed a definite Great because it was well under time. But the speakers were good. And there were highly entertaining examples of what they were trying to show us. They opened with an example of how you mishear lyrics, O 4 Tuna (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1KaOV3dBlts). You will never hear Carmina Burana the same way again. The only issue I had was with single, tangential comment on mammography that I may write one of the speakers about. A couple websites I need to check out (http://www.quirkology.com/ and http://www.theinvisiblegorilla.com/). Two speakers we'd go to see again (one an old favorite, Dr. Jason Schneiderman).

Intuition (Art, Sat.) - Great. I connected to both the speaker (an artist who draws and paints) and her husband (a writer). She had a handout. But because of a technical issue getting her Power Point to the monitor, she opted to give a sketch demo for examples. I have a couple ideas she tossed out circled (steal other people's dreams, use a light table to preserve elements of sketches that work in an otherwise unworkable piece). http://www.paulina.ws/

Future Weapons (Science, Sat.) Good. An entertaining speaking who is in the Senior Executive Service of the US Army's R&D, Engineering Command. Another speaker who did an excellent job at teaching the audience how the military actually develops weapons using science fiction and fantasy weapons as examples. On the downside, he showed a US Army video of what they blue-skyed of what a high-tech war in 2035 would look like. Almost hilariously out of touch with both capabilities of the enemies we are likely to face and the current budgetary constraints. But he seemed to know that. My friend who works in that arena as a contractor would have torn apart a several statements. Most interesting part was he was setting up a contest for the people in the room to take what they learned and use it to propose a new weapon or armor system. He and others in his office would judge them, and if the were good enough, would put together a paper/proposal that they would present higher up. The previous administration talked a lot about tapping into the knowledgeable but creative general public to see if they can help think outside the box. Took a while, but here it is.

Literary Attraction (SF Literature, Sun., E-only) - Good. The panel had two authors and a neuro-psychiatrist to discuss the differences in what men and women like in what they read and how much of that is biologically based. A couple fascinating points. First, people only fight for two reasons. One, for survival. Two, for the right to breed. There are no rules in fighting for survival, while there usually are in fighting to breed. Women ONLY fight for survival as they already assume the right to breed. Second point, gender and sexuality are two different things in the case of what's attractive in literature to women and men. There was a book recommendation I need to check out called Sperm Wars. Again, one of the panelists was a favorite, Dr. Jason Schneiderman.

Live Portrait (Art, Sun. K-only) - Great. Donato Ciancola gave a portrait painting demo using a photograph as a subject. Karen said it was fascinating to watch. So much so she found me after my panel to come see the mostly finished product, which I got to see again in the Art Show. Yeah, he's good. http://www.donatoart.com/

Board Gaming (Gaming, Sun. E-only) - Great. Two entertaining, knowledgeable presenters (one is the director of the board gaming at Dragon*Con) with the Gaming track director acting as a light-handed moderator from the side. I have a dozen games I need to check out on www.boardgamegeek.com. These two were hilarious speakers. They hold a regular board game night at their church. We're talking Settlers of Catan, Last Night on Earth, Pandemic, Arkham Horror. As they said, perhaps theirs isn't a normal church. Best piece of advice for checking out games was to search YouTube. People have put together demos for many, many games. Dragon*Con owns 300+ board games and gets another 1000 on loan that people can check out (library style) at the convention to give a test run.

Photo to Fantasy (Art, Sun. K-only) - Great. A introductory to intermediate panel on using PhotoShop to enhance your photographs. Inspired Karen with a number of techniques she wants to try. Given by another speaker we'll listen to any time, both for his technical knowledge and his ability to make us think, Amul Kumar. A great photographer, too. http://amul.biz/ - NSFW

Dungeon 101 (Gaming, Sun.) - Great. The Gaming track director, who is a credited game designer gave this one. Highly entertaining and informative. His second panelist canceled on him, so he gave a 5-10 minute intro on what a dungeon is (from a design perspective) beginning with verisimilitude and then took the rest of the time as Q&A. I've seen very few speakers who could pull off that format the way he did with a packed house of 150+ people. It was so packed they were checking badges at the door when Karen joined me halfway through. Another speaker we would see again.

Japanese Ink Painting (Silk Road, Sun., K-only) - Bust. Karen ditched out halfway through to join me in Dungeon 101. The speaker had a prepped talk (and a handout) but just read straight off the handout then asked if there were questions. She didn't think the few examples he showed were representative, nor did he really show how to do it.

Stealth in Space (Science, Sun.) - Good. Entertaining. The quick answer is, there is no stealth in space, at least in the way it's portrayed in Science Fiction, at least with our current understanding of physics. The speaker did his homework, complete with calculations. Not a lot of new information for me. Another speaker we would listen to any time, Dr. Stephen Granade http://granades.com/

The Future of Pen and Paper RPGs (Gaming, Sun.) - Good. We only caught the last 1/3 of it (when we ducked out of the previous panel's Q&A). From what we saw, another solid performance on the Gaming track by two panelist in the RPG publishing business. And coming out of the panel was one of the first times someone has struck up a conversation with me based on what I was saying to Karen. Kind of weird, but kind of cool too.

Old School Techniques (Art, Sun) - Good. Don Maitz gave a show and tell of some of his work from art school 40 years ago. I took a fair number of notes on things like value drawings, light, background color, positive and negative space, etc. If nothing else, for me, it helps to appreciate the art that I see. Plus he had some really cool head-shot sketches of people he'd seen around various cons that he'd converted to fantasy characters. Very accessible, and knew the ins and outs of traditional art subjects, including how you need to bring your knowledge of the physiology to a painting. His best advice, remember your eye is better than any camera. Photographs can't tell you where to build color and where not to. Photographs lie, your eye doesn't.

Cult of Personality (Apocalypse Rising, Mon.) - Worthwhile. Barely. Started as a Bust with the psychologist running the panel saying she didn't know much about it but thought it would be cool to talk about, and then left ALL her research and notes at home, so she couldn't confirm what she said was right. But one of the audience members had a PhD in History focusing on Apocalyptic Studies. They drafted her onto the panel. The one piece of information that sparked discussion between Karen and I was why Steampunk was rising in popularity just as Goth was declined. We didn't necessarily agree with the speakers on that point completely, but an interesting set of thoughts.

Staying Sane (Writing, Mon.) - Worthwhile. A large panel of authors and editors talking about how they stay sane in the publishing world as well as what drives them crazy. I was hoping it would be more from the point of view of the type of things writers struggle with (validation without publication, friends/family not understanding what they do, the day to day isolation, etc.). While they lightly touched on that, it was going to quickly move to war stories from the publishing business, which seems to be what the attendees of that track really want. We opted to leave early so we didn't feel rushed at the airport. The one good point they brought out was on how contracts were structured, specifically a common Catch-22 regarding advances, royalties and reserves against returns, as well as the devil's bargain the publishing houses struck in the 30's regarding returns and how e-books are finally changing that.

Concerts are an easier grading system. Either we like them or we don't. I try not to judge too harshly. These are some of the hardest working people at the con. I couldn't do what they do. They lay themselves out in the arena of public opinion then have to sit by a table for four days as people just walk by.

Attention System (Friday, concert) - Worthwhile, but not our thing. There is nothing technically wrong with them. Polished but forgettable. They remind me of another group I listened to in college (that I can't remember either). More straightforward rock than I was looking for. http://attentionsystem.com/

Ego Likeness (Friday, concert) - Great, as always. Even when the singer's mike went dead mid-song, they didn't miss a beat. The guitarist just stepped to center stage, and the singer sang to the front row. And the lead singer was just recovering from laryngitis. So not a long set, but you wouldn't know if they hadn't said. They kept coming out for encores. This is one of the bands that saw Karen through chemo. I feel like I owe these guys. And that's not a mercy recommendation. They make great music. I felt bad when the lead singer had to wake up the guitarist (her husband who was sleeping with his head on the table) to get him to sign Karen's CD. But he was immediately right there to interact, then crashed again. http://www.egolikeness.com/

I:Scintilla (Saturday, concourse and Saturday, concert) - Great. We caught them on the concourse first to see if they were any good. You can tell a lot about a band when they perform an acoustic set, no matter what type of music they play. You can't fake that type of talent. They were good enough to buy 2 CDs on the spot. The lead singer has a powerful voice. She overpowered the two small Bose they had setup on the concourse. Not blew them out from kissing the mike, just blew right past them into the audience. I thought, well, she will be interesting to hear with some real speakers and amps. She blew through those, too. Pure, raw talent with great control. The speakers just couldn't handle her. You can't quite hear it on the album. I've never heard anything like it. Their music would be zoned light industrial. http://www.iscintilla.com/

Black Tape for a Blue Girl (Saturday, concert) - Worthwhile, but not our thing. In fairness, we only caught 2-3 songs at the end of their set, as they were on opposite I:Scintilla. What we heard reminded me of a kind of Blue Velvet sound, strange, oddly kind of 30's/40's/50's fused into something out of the 80's. Dark cabaret really does cover it. http://www.blacktapeforabluegirl.com/

Celldweller (Sunday, concert) - Great. I considered just seeing him, but they forced seating for both his concert and the Cruxshadows at the same time, with a massive line. When we told the guy who is Celldweller, that we actually intended to see him that night, and not just to get into the Cruxshadows concert, he was shocked. "Really?" Really. Made his morning. Great video presentation with the concert. And 2 CDs worth of goodness. http://www.celldweller.com/site/ http://www.myspace.com/celldweller

Cruxshadows (Sunday, concert) - Great as usual. Ok, not the best we've seen. But we knew going in that their lead singer came down with the flu three days earlier. We could tell immediately that he wasn't holding his notes as long as usual. He didn't break, he was just preserving his voice as long as he could. Of course, the entire sound system crashed mid-song on them, requiring the con-staff to reboot the amps (?!). He didn't understand either, but did White Rabbit a cappella to fill in. A consummate professional. I saw him in the Ego Likeness concert, doing a sound check of the hall, ignoring an idiot who was messing with him, and talking to the mixers. They performed a one hour, forty-five minute set. He left it all on the floor. By the time he came to Marilyn, My Bitterness (always the closer), he needed help from us to sing. And they didn't have a new single they were trying to chart. That was just for the fans. This is another band I owe. Several of Karen's chemo anthems came out of them. Again, not a mercy recommendation. They. Kick. Ass. http://www.thecruxshadows.com/

Violin Jam (Monday, concourse) - Worthwhile. A collection of violins and strings that started as an impromptu jam near the music tables a few years ago. Led by the violinist from The Ghosts Project, who we've seen on the concourse before. Just something different before we said goodbye. http://www.myspace.com/theghostsproject

As with everything in life, Dragon*Con changes year to year. Some good, some bad. It's a matter of how it all balances out. We'll see what we do next year. At the very least, we'll make a reservation in October and go from there. Next year is the 25th Dragon*Con, so it might be must-see.


© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III

Lughnasa 2010

Lughnasa 2010 - a reading (on YouTube)

At twilight, the battle rages. In the war between light and darkness, each side gains temporary supremacy only to cede its conquests as the annual cycle marches on.

The sun recedes from its high water mark. The blitzkrieg of Beltane is no longer seen as a benevolent liberator by Lughnasa. Darkness amasses a counterforce set to strike on the equinox. By Samhain, a series of nighttime raids will reoccupy the border strongholds in the empire of the sun, whose string of minor setbacks transforms into a rout.

But the sun remains high and bright this morning, a piercing tyranny of light. Little hides from its unrelenting gaze. Just a softness lingering near the margins, more shade than shadow, sensed but not quite seen. Until darkness swells on the horizon and low clouds grumble their righteous indignation until their indigo anger flashes brilliant white against the despotic summer blues.

At dusk, sunlight melts into the crucible of another day, its molten gold briefly shining through the accumulated dross before staining the horizon a bloody red as it reluctantly yields the field to night.

Storms of yellow twilight bring a gentle rain of lavender flowers, each tiny blossom replaced by another in seemingly inexhaustible clusters. Soon, their colorful numbers will dwindle, unreplenished, as summer's tears wash the fallen into shallow, muddy graves and a chorus of the night sings in requiem.

But tonight, that insurrection is merely in the planning phases, bright lines on a celestial map, shadows gathering behind the garden wall. The lords of light still reign resplendent, while dark princes wait impatiently for their time to rule our terrestrial realm.


© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III

Summer Solstice 2010

Summer Solstice 2010 - a reading (on YouTube)

It is winter in the Southern Hemisphere. The crescent moon tilts in the wrong direction, a shallow bowl whose water spills as moonlight across the plain at night.

Clans gather beneath an evening star, its golden torchlight guiding them through the long, dark journey back to summer. There are new shields and some long lost emblems interspersed with standards present from the beginning, sigils as immemorial as time. Totem animals adorn each tent, lions, elephants and eagles, pegasi and dragons, guiding spirits their people pray to through the night as they invoke the numen of their ancestors. They all celebrate in tribal colors, in dance as well as song.

The battle horns have sounded, drawing each clan's iconic warriors onto the field to engage in ritual combat. Their feet flash like lightning off a spear point, their footfalls echo like thunder across the plain. While their prophets murmur each name like a touchstone, the clans draw comfort from the repetition as the battle performs its rosary across the field. Veterans will fall as fresh, young warriors fill the gaps and are lifted onto the shoulders of their companions, paraded around the field.

While only one will lift their voice in victory, for a moment all the clans stand together, united beneath that distant star. Ubuntu: there can be no lauded victor without a host of the honorably defeated.

Slowly, the orange and blue, the furious reds, greens and golds will wash away into a savanna sunrise, the quadrennial danse macabre suspended for four more peaceful years. Until the battle horns sound again and recall those far-flung clans to another field half a world away to celebrate a summer festival beneath a winter's moon.

© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III

Homesickness

Homesickness - a reading (on YouTube)

Our room is haunted.

The other guest room is clean and pure, as innocent as the children's silhouettes hanging in the sunshine above one of the chaste twin beds.

Ours is cluttered and crowded by the memory of choices entangled in a double bed, his and theirs, neither in her favor. His in the actions that wounded her that night. Theirs in the inaction that stanched neither tears nor blood. His choice remains incomprehensible, the inviable infant offspring of an inviolable, ancient instinct. Theirs was simple and pragmatic. When faced with a sufficiently severe crisis, every tree cuts off its least productive branch.

So I lie awake at night, detached and melancholy as a ghost, anchored but no longer fully present in this world, yet unable to move on to any punishment or reward. The faded shade of Christmas past before she revealed her secret, before my vision of becoming a part of someone else's family was completely torn apart. I have joined a divided clan that will never be reunited.

Down the road, trapped behind a graveyard wall, two maple seedlings seek nourishment from the rotting stump of an ancient ancestor, feeding off its memories as they trace the remnants of its roots, hoping one day to grow beyond them and dig their way to clean earth below.


© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III

Western New England: A Collective, a Cooperative and a Volunteer

Once again, we've just taken off our traveling shoes. Once again, they look a bit dusty and worn. Just like our trips to Scotland, we put a few miles on both them and a borrowed car.

Like all of our recent adventures, this one was short but filled with activity. Though unlike many others, this time exploration was tempered with social visits. Karen's parents were kind enough to put us up, even though they weren't home until our second night, provide us with breakfasts and loan us a car. Between that and the frequent flier tickets we'd scored, it made for one of our least expensive vacations, if you didn't include the soccer tickets that were the excuse for this little junket. But, of course, the weather called for it to be hotter up there than down here at home, peaking in the mid-90's the first two days. Perfect New England weather for touring around in May. Yeah, right.

We landed in Hartford after a bumpy flight. A high school friend of Karen's who still lives in her hometown was kind enough to pick us up on her way home from work just a short distance away. We repaid her with dinner at an Italian restaurant in the center of town that had a very good mushroom and spinach lasagna and an excellent Peak Organic IPA on draft. Bright and fresh, one of the best pints I've had in a long, long time.

The next day we set out early with a couple game stores and a yarn store on our list. The first game store was in Amherst, my parents old college stomping ground. As we parked to hunt for the game store on foot, we found ourselves in front of a bookstore called Food for Thought: A Non-Profit Worker's Collective. With advertising like that, we just had to go inside. For a small store, it packed in a lot of intriguing titles. We had to keep ducking out to feed the meter. I haven't seen a collection of books quite that radical since browsing Left Bank Books in Seattle. I was beginning to see why Karen's parents didn't want her going anywhere near this place for college. My parents would hang their Republican heads in shame. I ended up with two titles, Apocalyptic AI: Visions of Heaven in Robotics, Artificial Intelligence and Virtual Reality, and Storytelling: Bewitching the Modern Mind.

From there we found the game store in a sublevel basement beneath a row of shops. Turns out it's run by volunteers. But again, we uncovered a few offbeat finds, two independent pamphlets, one of which uses plastic cowboys and Indians like you can still find in the drugstore to create a miniatures combat game, and a board game where the goal for winning requires cooperation rather than competition. From there, we wandered to another bookstore that serves both UMass and Amherst College with both new and used titles, then had lunch at the Amherst Brewing Company which makes a respectable Honey Pilsner. My father told me somewhat wistfully that nothing like that existed when he went to school there. We could have spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the variety of shops and restaurants in the revitalized downtown, but that would have to wait for another trip as we had other stops to make.

So we headed off to Northampton where we easily found a game and comics store run as a co-op, a continuation of the theme. While they were more heavily invested in comics than games, they had a great selection of independent role-playing games, mostly one-off, short run titles in booklet form. Had we been in the market, there were easily a handful we could have walked out with. As it was, Karen only picked up one graphic novel with absolutely no dialogue in it. I was impressed.

Next we hit a yarn store Karen's mother and sister liked to frequent. Now, I know you are thinking yarn store, oow, how exciting. And normally you'd be right. Except I suspect the two game stores and the two bookstores might have fit inside this place. If you can knit it, spin it or crotchet it, they have it. They have a warehouse in the back filled with shelves of the stuff, from wool to cotton to bamboo to silk to things I'd never heard of (let alone knew you could make clothing out of), and every blend between. Karen broke down and bought a $46 skein of a silk/wool blend that kept calling her name. When we got back to the house, her mother had to see it, if only to say she had seen what one that expensive looked like.

After that we took a leisurely drive down an alternate route to the highway. Karen remembered visiting a set of fossilized dinosaur tracks in a park by the Connecticut River from her days as an undergrad and wanted me to see them. After a quick check with the iPhone, we found the pull-off without much problem. The tracks themselves are in an exposed rock bed by an overpass on the highway. It looked like a geology class had been there just before we were, as most of the 100+ tracks had been outlined in chalk and assigned numbers of individual Eubrontes (15 high, 20 feet long carnivores) that made their way across the ancient mud, whose ripple marks could still be seen. Spectacular, even if it wasn't as eye-catching as the group of teens there with us would have liked.

You would think by now our first full day would have been coming to an end. Not so. With a quick stop at Karen's parents, we were off to see the US Men's National team take on the Czech Republic in E. Hartford, at Rentschler Field (where UConn plays). After almost getting snagged in heavy traffic, we heeded the highway signs informing us of an alternate route (again with the help of the iPhone) and were parked and in our seats just five minutes before kickoff, unlike a number of other people who came in the main way. The game was a little disappointing. All the stars we thought we'd be seeing in this first of a two game sendoff series were in the skyboxes eating hot wings. Once again, just like Tampa in February, we got to see the backup squad. Though the Czechs brought at least a few of their real players, including perhaps the best goalie in the world, Petr Cech, who made a signature Premier League save completely stretched out late in the first half. The game was competitive until the second half when we made wholesale changes to a number of players who won't be going to South Africa this summer. After that, the wheels pretty much came off. At least we got to see a couple players we hadn't before, including Demarcus Beasley and Oguchi Onyewu, so it wasn't a total bust. A nice venue and decently cool weather for watching a game. Refreshing after wandering around in 94 degree heat all day. Still, it took us an hour and a half to get out of the parking lot, which got us home after midnight but before Karen's parents arrived from the airport after one of their flights had been delayed.

The next day, we slowed down some if only because of the heat. After a relaxing morning getting caught up with Karen's parents, we hit Mount Tom, a state preserve in the water gap along the Connecticut River. Again, Karen wanted to share a place she had first seen as an undergrad, even though it was only about 30 minutes from home. After hunting around a bit to find a pay-station mentioned at the unmanned gate (that was really for donations but regardless Moogie always pays his debts, especially for natural spaces), we drove around. Now "mount" in this part of New England means about 1000 feet of elevation, big by Florida standards but not quite even the Appalachians. There was a decent view off to the west from an observation tower by the road, but the road to a second tower was "closed for winter." Again, this is New England, so winter is technically the nine months between Labor Day and Memorial Day, though at 96 degrees, I don't think there was any danger of ice on the road. Undeterred, we found a trail and hiked up between 1/2 and 3/4 of a mile climbing several hundred feet in the process. Not exactly challenging except we were in street clothes and sneakers (the Floridian in black). Less than ideal, but we made it. And were treated to an impressive view of the Connecticut River Valley and the hogback ridge through which it had punched some indeterminate number of millions of years before. At least we had a spot of water, but not entirely enough.

Afterwards, we retired to a tavern near the back entrance to the park. No beer this time as I was still trying to rehydrate from the climb. We did however sit next to two different tables, one of women, one of men, whose conversations were quite fascinating to overhear. The women got our attention when we first caught the words "out of wedlock" drift over. From there, they proceeded to discuss a funeral and all the levels of social violations surrounding it, including the family riding to and from it in a van instead of a limo (imagine the scandal). With deference to my gentle southern readers, no one gossips like New England women. Where for southern women gossip is an art form, with New England women it is more of a career. There is no subtly about it. On the other side, the men, all salesmen and marketers, were recounting the levels of corruption they encountered in various cities of the northeast. Key safety tip: if you want to move your goods in the high-rises of New York, remember to bribe the freight elevator operators. And don't be stingy. A Jackson only buys you entry into the line. It takes a Grant to ensure you're first in the queue. Of course, that doesn't compare to Boston, where they said the graft was naked and direct. You want to be a subcontractor on this project? Here's exactly how much I expect to get paid, up front. No one does corruption like the industrial northeast.

Having cooled off a bit, we headed out for Old Sturbridge Village, a neat little historical attraction just short of midway between Springfield and Boston, where they have re-enactors set as residents in a New England town circa the 1830's. A fascinating mix of museum and live interaction, with people working the old crafts and talking to you as characters from the village. We only had a couple hours to wander as the earlier hike up the hill had taken longer than we'd budgeted for. Between that and the weather, still in the 90's, we were tired and moving pretty slowly by then. We got to see a handful of exhibits, enough to get a good feel and want to go back, before they started to close up shop.

From there, we headed into Sturbridge proper to meet my aunt's family at an outstanding Italian restaurant. She had arranged for my three cousins and their families to gather there, almost a perfect midway point for everyone. Two of my cousins I hadn't seen in over ten years, the other in more like thirty. We had a pleasant evening, if too short to catch up with and meet everyone properly, with excellent food, including superb scallops and pasta. I know it meant a lot to my aunt to see everyone together again. I only wished I'd been in the position to enjoy some wine.

We drove home on the back roads in a beautiful New England twilight. The quality of the light is so different up there. It reminds me of late fall down here, when all our trees still have their leaves but the sun is no longer arc-welding bright in the sky. Most of the trees were in bloom up there, with the cottonwoods dusting the ground with a fuzzy snow that looked like a dandelion warehouse had exploded somewhere nearby. Fortunately nothing that was in bloom bothered my head overly much.

We thought our night had ended when we got home, but nature still had one last surprise in store for us. Not long after we went to bed, a line of thunderstorms rolled through. Of course, me, the Floridian, woke up, said to myself "thunderstorms, no big deal" and went right back to sleep. Karen stayed awake to watch and listen like she used to when she was a kid. Sometime in the middle of the storm, she heard a crack, crack-crack, which turned out in the morning to be two separate one-foot diameter oaks that had come down behind the house. One uprooted, taking a small maple with it, the other snapped off about halfway up. Both were maybe fifty feet tall. Fortunately, they fell clear of any structures, Karen's parents' or the neighbors'.

The storms finally brought a touch of cooler weather the next day, somewhere in the mid-80's. We spent the morning again visiting with Karen's parents (and checking the excitement from the night before), then drove with them over to Karen's niece's to meet the family's newest, three week-old addition. Karen's grand niece was beautiful but so tiny. But very attentive to her surroundings as Karen held her. After a brief visit so as not to overly expose her to the colds Karen's parents had returned with from their trip, we headed back home. Karen and I took the afternoon to wander through a Springfield city park maybe fifteen minutes away. This is what parks should look like, spreading lawns, tall trees, ponds connected by waterways with bridges, a rose garden, geese and ducks in abundance, brick buildings with slate roofs. It reminded me of Montgomery County's parks in Maryland only larger and more manicured. It makes our little park in the backyard feel almost completely untamed. The quintessential New England park. That evening, Karen's parents took us out for a lovely dinner in honor of her birthday. And she even got to have some lobster, both in an outstanding lobster bisque and a stuffed tail with her steak at dinner. My roast duck was excellent, though I must say after two hand-crafted beers, the bottle of Bass I had (the best they had to offer) was wan by comparison.

The next morning, we drove to the airport early to catch an 8 a.m. flight to Tampa, the only direct flight of the day. We were back home before noon, which felt pretty strange for coming back from a whirlwind ninety-six hour trip to a place we would like to explore a little more. As vacations go, it was short and packed, but at least Karen got to spend a little time on her birthday in both the places she calls home. And the cats were content to sniff our shoes to discover all the interesting places we had been.

© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III

T Minus 3 and Counting

Last Friday we drove over to the Kennedy Space Center to watch the final launch of Space Shuttle Atlantis from the Visitors Center as it began STS-132. A friend of ours had scored two vehicle passes and eight individual tickets from NASA online, and kindly offered a car pass and two tickets to us.

Our day started early, meeting a pair of passengers at a Starbucks across the county at 7 a.m. The only way to begin an early morning road trip is with a tall cup of strong, fresh, hot 3 Region blend.

Our car pass listed an entry time of 11 a.m. for a 2:20 p.m. launch. Of course, there was conflicting information between the packet that came with the passes and two different NASA websites as to whether we would be allowed through the gate if we arrived early or late, as well as what items might or might not be allowed on the base. It turned out not to matter. After a pleasant ride over with little traffic (except briefly when the majority of people turned off the highway for the main gate where we diverted to a lesser used side gate thanks to the Google Maps traffic feature on the iPhone), and a wave through the impromptu security station whose guards looked annoyed and distracted when Karen rolled down her window, we arrived at the Visitors Center an hour early. Neither of our passengers had experienced a launch from there before.

The sky had cleared on the way over from intermittent fair-weather clouds that still might have scrubbed the launch to a near perfect and piercing azure. The sun was strong enough, the air dry enough that NASA employees were warning everyone to keep hydrated. The kind of perfect weather where not having enough water could sneak up on you quickly. Still, it wasn't as hot and humid as mid-May in Florida can get, which misled both Karen and I into being slightly complacent with our sunscreen. Fortunately, we both remembered hats and shade for our necks.

With a rough count we calculated about 3500 or so cars in the parking lot, plus buses. That translates to maybe 10k people, including those who would board the charters to view the launch from the VIP area. Neither Karen and I are much for crowds much these days, so we spent most of our day reading by a little trafficked side building in the complex. While the rest of our friends stood in various lines for 3-D IMAX movies and the Shuttle Simulator, I was enjoying spending time outside watching the green and the water with the wildlife that actually owns most of the property, alligators, turtles, hawks, turkeys, Sandhill cranes, as I read an introduction to game theory. To each their own, right?

The crowd was young, on average younger than Karen or I, mainly younger parents with their children. The people we encountered seemed to accept the crowded conditions and were in no real hurry to get anywhere. While most of the cars in the lot bore Florida plates, accents from English to German to Georgian and North Carolinian filtered through the crowd. The grounds were awash with folding chairs, blankets, soft-sided coolers, strollers, backpacks, camera bags, phones and tripods, like the flotsam and jetsam from an unseen cruise ship that might have sunk off Port Canaveral. There was a carnival atmosphere with excited children playing, barely more contained adults watching, distorted announcements coming over the loudspeakers, the scent of sunscreen mingling with the aroma of hardwood smoke, popcorn and pulled pork sandwiches, and nearly everyone clutching either brightly colored soda cups or brighter shuttle-shaped water bottles in their hands. Kind of like a county fair without the barkers, games or rides. Or maybe a laid back, outdoor summer concert, more Lilith Fair than Ozzfest.

Everyone cheered when the big screens showed the astronauts coming out of the prep area and loading into the van with that would take them to the pad, accompanied by a couple police cars and a cute little black, machine gun turreted APC. Yeah, they take that part of security pretty seriously.

As launch time approached, all the exhibits evacuated. People had staked out viewing locations early, the rise by the shuttle simulator near the entrance, the knoll and the small set of bleachers next to the jumbo-tron toward the back, the platform of the Astronaut Memorial between the two. Connecting these was a pretty much forgotten walkway by a small lake that no one claimed positions on until less than an hour before, I think many were uncertain whether the Astronaut Memorial (that looks like an old-style, flat-faced radar installation) would block their view. Once again, we had the technology, scientists and engineers to solve this problem. Bring up a very slow, overloaded Google Maps app on the iPhone, study the road patterns, remember the satellite view from the night before, drop a pin at the consensus location of Pad 39A and voila, we could see exactly where the shuttle should clear the trees, well to the correct side of the memorial. Of course, had the 3G network loaded much slower, I was ready to geek out and do some basic trigonometry to calculate the tangent of the viewing angle based on the right triangle defined by the Visitors Center, the landing facility and the launch pad that one of our number remembered with a rough idea of distances. We are geeks: we have the tools, we have the talent.

Honestly, I think we had one of the best spots at the Visitors Center. There was no one in front of us to have to peer around, and a long, clear run-up to the trees across the road from the decorative lake. But it wasn't a main thoroughfare, so I think a lot of people overlooked it as an option when they tagged their turf with chairs and blankets. The one drawback was there were no loudspeakers nearby, so we couldn't hear any of the status updates or the countdown to know whether we were on schedule for an on-time launch. By then, 3G updates had slowed to a crawl, with Internet coverage nearly completely shut down. We didn't much care. We knew the crowd would let us know if the launch had been scrubbed.

They also served as a countdown clock, providing a chanted warning as they counted off the final seconds en masse. At "ONE" we all scanned the tree line together.

Karen was the first to spot the trees catching fire as Atlantis lifted off, just slightly short of due NE, very close to where we projected it would be. Everyone stood silently watching as it ascended on a pillar of fire that faded into smoke and vapor, both the orange flame and the bright white contrail contrasted nicely against the cerulean sky, until its trajectory was almost completely obscured by the cloud it had created.

Several seconds later, the audio caught up with the visuals. It started with a low rumble like distant thunder that quickly crescendoed into a speaker rattling bass like you might hear from a teenager's overloaded car subwoofer resonating within your chest. By then, the tiny sparkle from the shuttle's exhaust was playing hide and seek between its own billowing, serpentine contrail. Karen's snapping camera shutter provided an impromptu metronome for us to judge the time since liftoff. Only when she got home did she realize she had captured a perfect shot of the solid-rocket booster separation during one of those brief glimpses.

Soon, people started drifting away, much like segments of Atlantis's vapor trail. This was the first time I'd seen a contrail disperse unevenly, along distinct transition layers. Near the ground, it held together in a puffy mass. A larger section above it dispersed as though someone had smeared it across an artist's canvas to create an impression of fog. Farther up, another piece seemed to reconstitute and hold together as though time moved differently up there. The uppermost section scattered into haze. Together, they gave us a very striking indication of the atmospheric conditions at various altitudes.

We quickly packed up our stuff and headed home, succeeding in escaping before the bulk of the traffic. Unlike us, most people were content to make a day of it, spending the rest of the afternoon wandering through exhibits while they waited for the traffic to Orlando to unknot. Here, we got tricked by our technology, opting for a more southerly route that looked clear on the iPhone when we started for it, only to update to just as locked solid once we had committed. (You said "clear." I said "looks clear." Well, how's it look now? (shrug) Looks clear). But we made up that time when traffic stopped dead in Tampa and we found a detour the bypassed the 15-20 minute backup. That felt like redemption (at least for me). Though I got the sense that others in our car were feeling a bit more competitive with the other vehicle in our party.

By the time we got home, we'd logged almost thirteen hours, nearly eight of them on the road. A long day and a lot of driving by our standards. But completely worthwhile for a great launch in superb company.

This makes the fourth shuttle launch I've watched from the KSC property, including two from different causeway locations in high school (one day launch, one night), a night launch from the VIP viewing area ten years ago and this one. That doesn't include the ones Karen and I watched from FIT or just standing outside our front door. A good variety to remember NASA's shuttle program by as it winds down. Here's hoping this isn't the last manned launch we get to see from over there in our lifetimes.

© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III

Beltane 2010

Beltane 2010 - a reading (on YouTube)

As frost retreats from sunlight, winter trickles into spring. Snowmelt fills the northern passes as torrents of wildflowers flow down the mountainsides like honey drizzled into tea.

The sweet scent of whitethorn battles with the juniper heaped upon the need-fires whose smoke weaves a web of protection against the Otherworld as we approach the Eve of May. Bonfires besiege the forest where the dark horned king calls his spirits out. He seeks the pattern in the burlwood, the grain in wisps of smoke. He performs divinations in a mat of pine needles, interpreting how one lays atop another, enchanting sacred pools and casting for a reflection of his fate come fall.

Shrouded in brightness and morning fog, an ivory maiden becomes the huntress in white doeskins as she stalks the trees in search of a sacred hart. Last night, her lover was stolen by the Wild Hunt, transformed into the stag she seeks to pierce with a faerie arrow loosed from her tiny, elfin bow. Pursuit by Wodan's wolf pack has left him weary and marks him easy prey.

With the stinging note from the pluck of one high harp string, they are forever intertwined, the huntress and the forest king, ancient avatars of the Great Mother and the Antlered God who shield their unruly brood as they hold the moon at bay. With a little luck, their lesser children might glimpse the stars this night and know from whence they came.


© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III

Robert Pinsky at USF

For those who think of me as exclusively a science fiction and gaming geek, I would politely remind them that no life is simply quantified and labeled. When I was a sophomore in college, I wanted to change my major from Electrical Engineering to Humanities. By then, I had been exposed to two inspired professors in that department at FIT, Drs. Patterson and Haberhern. Then as now, I had a passion for writing, literature and history, and had developed an appreciation for art, at least to some degree. But it all came down to an issue of parental prerogative, which, for those who don't know, translates to money.

I remember a conversation with my father around that time arguing there were many forms of entertainment that didn't require money. One of the perks of living near a major university is that they open events to the public as outreach. Where else would you get to hear a three-time US Poet Laureate read his work for free? Of course, my father wouldn't be caught live or dead at such an event, even if they had an open bar and let you smoke. Though, oddly, he has an interesting memory from when he was in college of a talk given by Robert Frost back in the 50's. As I said, no life fits neatly into those tidy, little boxes we all admire.

Last night, we drove over to the main campus of USF to see and hear Robert Pinsky read in a hall in the Alumni Center to a full house of about 250 people. Behind the podium glass doors led out to a courtyard lawn surrounded by spreading, southern oaks draped with Spanish moss before a silver sky and the setting sun. Like the scenery in a play, it formed perfect backdrop for the evening. Mr. Pinsky had no trouble keeping our attention focused in the room.

When he entered, he looked familiar to me, perhaps from one of the many programs we've seen on PBS about the Dodge Poetry Festival. During his introduction, I recognized the phrase "The People's Poet" and could hear Bill Moyers' voice saying it. He struck me as a deliberate man, both in his demeanor and delivery, and in repeating back each question asked for the audience to hear. We were in the second row, close enough to see the movements of his mouth as he purposefully formed each word.

Robert Pinsky is a man who knows words, knows the way they sound. He knows voiced and unvoiced consonants. He knows not only the difference between the sound of the "th" in "these" and "thick" but also where each hits in your mouth and throat as you make it. The same with the initial "s" and the ones following in "scissors." He says he's been thinking about the sound of words for as long as he can remember. I believe him.

To him, poetry is a vocal not a performative art, a mixture of the music and the message of words. The medium of a poem is the voice and breath of the reader for the body of the audience.

At one point, he recounted hearing another poet read a poem about 9/11 at the Dodge Poetry Festival and catching a line about all the Jews getting out of the towers. He heard the crowd cheer, and thought: They aren't anti-Semitic, they just aren't listening.

When he reads, you have to listen. Even when I became transfixed by the music of his work, a line or phrase would grab and shake me, and send my brain scrambling to review what had come just before. There were times when the audience reacted to a line, usually with knowing laughter, and the next would snap me back to see that laughter might have been premature as his words and direction turned.

He read his own work and a few works of others. He read several poems, paused to take questions, then read several more. Some were as long as 3-4 pages, one was only two lines, another only 26 words. He read some twice in succession, the first time noting certain features as he read it, the second straight through to let it sink in. He read "Samurai Song" twice as well, once near the beginning of the program, and again at the end to fulfill a request. As someone in the audience noted, the inspiration and focus for each poem remains off the page though you can see it plainly if you know where to look. My favorites were the ones about ordinary items, "Shirt," "Book" and "Other Hand."

His answers to the questions were as fascinating as his poems. Like many writers, he wanted to be a musician when he was young. Not a rock-star but a jazz great. After a particularly uninspired clarinet performance with his band one night, he decided that he was using music to avoid words. He said words were his destiny and couldn't be avoided.

He was asked how he knew when a poem was finished. For him, it's a physical sensation, like sanding a piece of wood, at some point after you've sanded with the very finest sandpaper, you run your hand across the surface and you know it's done. Or you repeat it to yourself as you fall asleep at night. Or, you ask your friends.

He was asked if he set out to memorize his poems. No, but sometimes it just happened. Did he practice his delivery by recording himself as he read? Never. Like most people, he doesn't like the sound of his own recorded voice. When we speak, our voice resonates through the bones of our skull, so when we hear a recording of it, it sounds higher than it should, like all the bass is missing.

His advice to would-be poets: Listen to words like a cook tastes food.

While his delivery was more polished than I will ever be, it was not perfect. He tripped over a word in one of his own poems, and stumbled once in reciting a poem by Ben Jonson from memory off the cuff. I don't say that as critique. I say it because it warmed me, because it gave me hope. It also made him human.

I plan to add the books of his own works from which he read (Jersey Rain, Gulf Music and The Figured Wheel) to our poetry collection, as well as the anthology of other people's poems in his collection titled Essential Pleasures which includes a CD of him reading each aloud. All poetry is meant to be heard rather than read silently. It's more engaging that way.

In a literate society, I think we should open our Congresses and Legislatures and commencement ceremonies with a poem rather than a prayer. Last night reminded me that, at their best, one is not vastly different than the other.


© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III

Terra Cotta Warriors

I'm certain people think we are odd. We don't travel much, at least by many of our friends' standards, but when we do, we pack in the places we want to see like a tightly-matrixed metamorphic rock. This past weekend in Washington, DC was no exception.

We left Tampa first thing Friday morning, arriving at National airport just before noon. Travel went smoothly the entire trip, with the exception of one or two minor, somewhat expected snags. Even traffic in and around the city cooperated for the most part. We rented one of the smallest cars we've ever driven, at least in the States. It was no 3-cylinder Peugeot, but that's about all you could say, except that driving it was like dropping back twenty years, with hand-crank windows and completely manual door locks. The things we take for granted are amazing. But a basic car was all we really needed. Big enough to haul four people to dinner without having to fold anyone quite in half.

We dedicated the first day to a pair of game stores. The first was an old haunt from our days in Maryland. Still in business but in a new location. That one was kind of hurting, not much real traffic, dusty stock, more floor space than merchandise. A shame to see an old friend slowly decaying into demise. Our second stop was much more vibrant, a game store we'd found in Virginia on one of our last excursions into the area. This one was more alive, both with customers and a great variety of stock. It was kind of nice to eavesdrop on a trio of guys not much younger than I am, playing some sort of figure based WWII tactical game at one of the gaming tables while they bantered German tank trivia back and forth. I do miss that. We ended up picking up one game and one expansion while we were up there. The game is called Revolution: The Dutch Revolt 1568-1648, my anniversary gift from Karen. Such an atypical historic simulation, I had to have it. It appears to be a strategic simulation similar to Avalon Hill's Machiavelli, though I haven't cracked it yet. Thank goodness for iPhones and BoardGameGeek.com. On the fly reviews right in the store. I love the world we live in.

Saturday we got a lazy start, heading to the National Mall around 11 in the morning. The DC Metro is an easy, convenient form of transport for getting in and out of the city without having to worry about parking. Of course, the Metro card we had leftover from our list trip wouldn't work. No big deal. The tone for the day was set by the tea party demonstrators, complete with obnoxious t-shirts ("Torches and pitchforks, keeping politicians in line since 1792"), flags and hand-inked poster board signs, arriving from the hinterlands of Virginia. The station was as mobbed with people as we've ever seen, most never having used the metro before and asking us for advice. We didn't even direct any of them wrong, though it was tempting. (As an aside, there is a huge piece of irony watching the these budget slashing tea-baggers swarm the FREE museums on the National Mall after protesting on the capital steps. Something about a failure of education in this country regarding putting two and two together. But I digress.)

Our first stop was the National Museum of the American Indian, which opened sometime after the last time we were up there. I like this museum almost as much as the National Holocaust Museum, though for very different reasons. When we first arrived in DC (was it really 24 years ago?), we went to the Museum of Natural History. Wandering through, it struck me how wrong the section on Native American felt with its old 50's era abstract, anthropological presentations rather than the history of a still living, breathing people. The NMAI is just the opposite. It tells you not to take everything you read and hear at face value, it challenges you to argue with it. The great thing about it is that it allows the different peoples to tell their own stories, some of which were denied by the US Government until very recent times. There are a lot of videos and audios, a lot of creation myths and stories, as well as a lot of modern perspectives. We only spent a couple hours poking through as we didn't want to suffer museum burn out. I highly recommend this museum and look forward to going back, especially on a day when there aren't a few hundred tea-baggers with their patriot flags crawling through the lobby.

From there, we dodged across the mall to the National Gallery, were we did a cultural drive-by on Thomas Cole's Journey of Live series (where we caught additional details we'd never seen before), then up to the Vermeers and Dutch still lives, over to Dali's Last Supper (where one of the volunteers was pointing out some of the less known aspects of the painting) and finally through the Boticellis, Raphaels, Titians and lone Da Vinci for good measure. We picked up a CD with information on some 600 pieces in the National Gallery collection. We are both looking forward to hearing/seeing what the professionals have to say about some of the works that move us so much.

After that, we trekked over to the WWII memorial, another debut since our last visit. An attractive, open space that had a ton of people, many of whom were jockeying to get photos taken in front of their home state markers. A very well-constructed monument and public space with a nice mixture of stone and water. Though I must say, it doesn't have the same impact as either the Vietnam Wall or the Korean War statuary when you stumble through them. Diagonally across from that was the impromptu memorial to the dead soldiers from the Iraq War at the base of the Washington Monument bordering the Ellipse. A moving counterpoint.

Finally, we street hiked to a professional bookstore I'd been to once before, on a business trip, up on K Street. As we passed the White House, an anti-war rally was just breaking up (after 5 arrests). As we continued on, we wondered if they were going to encounter the other protestors on the Metro and how that was going to turn out. I'm guessing they weren't going to share a quiet cup of tea. We passed the Federal Reserve (which had an exhibit about the meltdown that we didn't go into), the World Bank and the IMF (both of which have bookstores in their lobbies!). If we'd had more time, we definitely would have gone into all three. Instead, we took the opportunity to poke through the professional bookstore for an hour. I found a great book in the psych section titled "Science Fiction and Philosophy." You know that one came home with me, along with an introduction to game theory. I was seriously lusting after several titles in the EE section, including one on Bayesian analysis in signal processing. Just couldn't justify the $100+ after the 25% moving sale discount to satisfy my curiosity. Another Metro ride put a wrap on Saturday.

Sunday, we headed out to Great Falls National Park, and hung out by the Potomac for a couple of hours. It was a delightful day, warmer up there than down here at home. The water was high, but not the flood stage that Karen found pictures of this morning. We sat on the rocks, listening to the rushing water as the warm sun and cool breeze kept the temperature ideal. The day was a near perfect balance of the ancient elements of earth, air, fire and water. When we were driving around on Friday, both Karen and I commented on feeling like strangers in a strange land again after so long away. By the time we left Great Falls, we felt as though we were leaving a piece of home behind. So much up there that we miss. Though not the people. The park was crowded on that second day of spring.

From there we made the type of abrupt transition only possible around DC, and drove over to an immense two story Barnes and Noble in Tysons Corner. We poked through their stacks and aisles for an hour or so before collecting the books we didn't think we'd see at home and headed out. We made a brief stop in the LL Bean store, and both wished we had access to the variety of stores that one mall contained. We could have spent a couple hours poking in specialty stores, but didn't have the time. Worthwhile if only to browse the selection in a DC area bookstore (especially armed with a couple gift-cards from my birthday). Very little down here can compete.

Monday was the one day with inclement weather, cool and raining. Fortunately not the initially predicted 54 for a high, but a more temperate 66. We drove the rental back to the airport, parked in daily parking and jumped the Metro back into the city. This was the day we had our appointment with the Terra Cotta Warriors at the National Geographic museum. We arrived just in time to take in a free movie on the history of the First Emperor of China (who had the Warriors made). Not a nice individual. Though like many despots, one who modernized and standardized China in ways that remain today. We ate a light lunch at the museum cafe, toured a photographic exhibit called Sacred Water, then queued up for our appointment. The exhibit was impressive, with a nice mix of Warriors and other artifacts from the Warring States period. The most fascinating piece of information I picked up was that in the Warriors tomb, they had found several bronze swords in nearly pristine condition. That was because in 200 BC, the Chinese were using a chromium anti-corrosion alloying system that was not replicated until modern times, only with steel. I mean, you could still see your reflection in the blade of this sword.

Of course, the highlight was the warriors themselves, of which they had an impressive selection. Some individuals they had on display were one of only 8 of a given type they'd found. The detail and artistry was amazing, down to shoelaces, hair, and buttons of the backs of boots. They think at least 8 models were used for faces, augmented by different noses, ears, mustaches and beards so that each soldier guarding the emperor's tomb looked unique. They also had examples of statues of acrobats and entertainers found in another area of the tomb complex, along with some of the water birds they'd found in a river simulation there. Completely fascinating and immersive. I was curious how the Chinese government would choose to portray this piece of their history. I was presently surprised. Definitely a good excuse for an excursion to DC. And a great conclusion to our trip. Karen even got a pair of silver earrings and a necklace with embossed with a Chinese character as her anniversary present from me.

From the museum we wandered back down by the White House, taking our first opportunity to see it from the front side. Without realizing it, we passed right in front of Blair House. From there, we headed to the tidal basin to check the status of the cherry trees which we'd never managed to see in bloom. They were tightly budded, probably emerging next weekend, but none were out. At least until we crossed in front of the Dept. of Agriculture on our way to the Metro. There, a lone tree was adorned in bright pink flowers. Beautiful. Remind me to send a thank you note to Secr. Clinton for planting that tree as First Lady before she left in 1999. By the time we got on the Metro, it was raining steadily and about to come down harder, so we opted to defer a tour of Arlington National Cemetery for another day. We turned in the car, checked our baggage, had a filling dinner of Five Guys burgers, relaxed a little with our books and headed home, where Mara and Nyala were waiting by the door.

After all that, you are probably wondering what we did at night up there. One of the best part about the trip was our accommodations. Friends we hadn't seen in a long time graciously put us up in their beautiful colonial home in Virginia. Their guest room had a delightful view of sunrise through the trees and hills each morning. Martha and Christopher were the epitome hospitality, including being very adaptive to our schedule. They prepared two delicious suppers for us, including the evening of our anniversary. They provided perfect breakfasts to fuel us through our days of exploration. We engaged each other with intelligent and entertaining conversation, though it probably helped that they had good alcohol always at hand, including a wonderful sparkling wine they served on our anniversary. Even their cats were accommodating, kindly supplying us with requisite rubs and purrs until we could get back to see our own. We thoroughly enjoyed their company, and remember how much we've missed them. It was very kind of them to share their beautiful home with us for an extended weekend.

Another successful adventure, one we would consider repeating for many years to come. Maybe next time we will be able to build in enough time to spend some with our other set of friends in the area, up on the Maryland side of things. Hopefully.


© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III