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July 27, 2005

Volume 4, Issue 27

The theme for the day is the word wind.

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We told Dad that the sailcar would never work. It's madness, we said. Just buy a hybrid, we said. The wind doesn't stand a chance.

But Dad never was one for listening. Last Monday he called me to announce proudly that he'd finished, and would I come see him off?

So the whole family gathered on the edge of the salt flats to watch as Dad raised the sail he'd mounted in a beautiful '73 De Soto convertible. When it started to roll off, I admit we were proud of him.

The funeral's Saturday: he never saw that tornado coming.

Posted by: Thomas at July 27, 2005 6:32 AM · Permalink

Did you ever know that Leonardo DaVinci, in addition to planting bible codes and designing ornithopters, built an entire race of Clockwork Angels? They live in the uppermost vaults of the Vatican, observing humanity.

One day, Archangel Gabriel Seven was giving instructions to his new subordinate, Ur-Seraphim Raphael Three, but the rookie was having difficulty understanding.

"AG7, what do you mean? I've already wound up the springs at your ankles, head, and back as tightly as they'll go."

The Archangel sighed. "Those are the secondary clockworks. The main gearwork is accessed directly beneath the shoulderblade. UR3, wind beneath my wings."

Posted by: Jeff R. at July 27, 2005 8:50 AM · Permalink

Great story, but is it nitpicky to point out that "seraphim" is plural? The singular form is "seraph."

Same deal goes for cherubs. One cherub, two cherubim.

Carry on.

Posted by: Elisson at July 27, 2005 9:12 AM · Permalink

True; should have thought of that. Anyone bothered by the problem should feel free to substitue "Ur-Dominion" or "Ur-Seraphim". [I'd rather shift choirs entirely than break up the rhythm.]

Posted by: Jeff R. at July 27, 2005 9:31 AM · Permalink

Both of you, off the island.

Posted by: Sekimori at July 27, 2005 10:53 AM · Permalink

Bedsheets on clotheslines billow in the wind.

Mile after mile of pipeline roads lead through endless cornfields.

A straw-hatted farmer sits astride a slow-moving combine in the hot summer sun.

Paint fades on white farmhouses and red barns, cows and chickens standing nearby.

Narrow corridors of trees frame slow-moving rivers and creeks.

Wide open skies quickly darken as tornadoes approach.

Lifelong friends sit on deep-cushioned easy chairs, passing the hours away in idle conversation.

Supper tables covered with platters of fresh vegetables, chicken and dumplings, and home-made blackberry pie.

Life moves at a box-turtle's pace.

Midwest memories haunt my mind.

Posted by: K. Brown at July 27, 2005 1:25 PM · Permalink

"So, you're planning to take Larry out up to the Ranch this weekend?"

"Yeah; it's just not right for him to be turning eighteen without getting laid."

"Okay, well, if you do, just make sure you get him any one of the girls except for D. Z."

"Dizzy?"

"No, D. Z. Stands for Diseased Zephyr."

"Diseased? I thought Molly made sure none of her girls had the clap or nothing."

"No, it's not that. It's just that she's the world's single least talented fellatrix."

"Huh? I don't understand."

"Haven't you ever heard that it's an ill wind blows nobody good?"

Posted by: Jeff R. at July 27, 2005 2:31 PM · Permalink

The Heinlein itself was a relatively small ship. She carried enough supplies to keep her crew of ten healthy for ten years, but without the hibernation chambers that wouldn't cover a fraction of the time required.

The Heinlein was nestled among a vast array of constructs. Most were solar sails, designed to capture the free energy from the protons making up the solar wind. They formed a five mile diameter disk around the Heinlein. Some were solar arrays to keep the power flowing, and other scooped hydrogen to fuel the braking engines.

Man's next giant leap was about to begin...

Posted by: Gahrie at July 27, 2005 9:18 PM · Permalink