I’ve been on call since 10 AM Friday morning.  Due to network issues, I missed a good deal of sleep that night because our overseas crew could not support the environment—so they paged me some five hours after I finished my first shift.  I then handled our architecture for another 18 hours before going off-line, only to find myself back at the helm a mere five hours later.

I missed my godson’s birthday party, an unexpected vexation that cursed me at the last minute.  My chores remain uncompleted.  I need to spend time with The Kids, but no such time is available.  Work on my novels requires attention.

Hell, I’ve not eaten lunch yet today.

The point is this: Despite what I planned to do, all I can offer under present circumstances will be a few tidbits here and there, perhaps a photo or two, perhaps some rummaging about the mental attic for a shiny bobble to distract your attention, but that’s it—if even that.

My apologies for this disruptive mayhem.

If the research bears out as reliable and verifiable, this is very cool!  Part of theoretical physics (or, more specifically, quantum mechanics), something called the all-worlds or many-worlds theory (a.k.a. multiple histories), states that all possible events occur, each giving rise to its own universe and time line.  That is, for every possible outcome, divergent realities are created where those outcomes take place.  To wit (from the article):

Parallel universes really do exist, according to a mathematical discovery by Oxford scientists described by one expert as “one of the most important developments in the history of science”.

The parallel universe theory, first proposed in 1950 by the US physicist Hugh Everett, helps explain mysteries of quantum mechanics that have baffled scientists for decades, it is claimed.

In Everett’s “many worlds” universe, every time a new physical possibility is explored, the universe splits. Given a number of possible alternative outcomes, each one is played out - in its own universe.

A motorist who has a near miss, for instance, might feel relieved at his lucky escape. But in a parallel universe, another version of the same driver will have been killed. Yet another universe will see the motorist recover after treatment in hospital. The number of alternative scenarios is endless.

It is a bizarre idea which has been dismissed as fanciful by many experts. But the new research from Oxford shows that it offers a mathematical answer to quantum conundrums that cannot be dismissed lightly - and suggests that Dr Everett, who was a Phd student at Princeton University when he came up with the theory, was on the right track.

Read the rest of the article for a fantastic journey into scientific discovery, this one stabbing at the very heart of the universe’s nature as we assume it to be.  I realize it’s a bit complicated for novices in this arena, but still I think you can glean the gist of the finding from this exciting article.  I’ll be watching this closely.

Friday Ark #158 is boarding and already has a plethora of zoological goodies for your consumption.  Don’t miss it.

Extreme & Beautiful Weather.  Photos.  And the video at the end is very fascinating.  Need I say more?

This is a paraphrased edition of song lyrics I have written in one of my journals from some twenty years ago.  While the song was contemporary Christian in nature, I’ve taken editorial liberty to modify it in such a way as to be applicable to present times.  Neither do I remember whose song it is nor claim to be the author.  Creative liberties aside, these thoughts are someone else’s while being my own.

see him in the barrio
in the inner city
surrounded in an alleyway
shot down dead for stealing money
see him on the reservation now
drunk on stinging water
trying hard to drown the memory
of his people’s slaughter
see him in the Nazi camps
a child at the gallows
offered as a sacrifice
his mother stabbed with sorrow
see him in El Salvador
raped and murdered at the roadside
we don’t even recognize our brother
and so we kill him again and again and again

I don’t wanna be a soldier
marching off to war
justified by a man-made cause
all in the name of some lord
and I won’t carry any banner
or step out proudly to the drum
or ravage others while I disagree
just to win and overcome
all in the name of some lord

but I am willing
and desire to be
a simple flute
made form a hollow reed
fashioned by the hand
of peace and kind
to play
for yours and mine
a haunting
universal melody
one that’s ringing out
the theme of peace
though I may be slapped
upon the cheek
I hope to love my enemy

[if you happen to recognize this and can provide the original author/singer/title, I'm more than willing to update this post to give due credit; circa 1985]

Patriotism is your conviction that this country is superior to all other countries because you were born in it.

— George Bernard Shaw

Consider this a quick smack upon the brow of Saturday’s journey to the family farm.

While there, we visited a neighbor (in the rural sense, meaning someone quite a distance away).  Her grandson has saved some local wildlife from certain doom (one having been found while “mowing the yard” and subsequently having been rescued).

Keep in mind the farm rests quite near the bayou.  That remains the single most important reason so much wildlife thrives in the area: the availability and accessibility of a major, natural, fresh water system.

Anyway, here’s what we found while helping out a local friend.

Three of these were rescued.  This one, I think, is a male (having seen its tail in detail, although I might be wrong).

The method I used to differentiate it from its two siblings doesn’t apply given the clarification on the species.  Its gender therefore remains a mystery.  But when you’re that cute, does it really matter?

No matter the similarities and regional occupancy, I believe this to be a western painted turtle (Chrysemys picta belli).

As Sven pointed out, this is actually a “hatchling river cooter (Pseudemys concinna).”  I don’t know how I missed that species while trying to identify the little rascal.

While East Texas is well outside its normal range (so far as I can tell), this tiny master of curiosity resembles only one species of this reptile.  The others (eastern, midland, and southern) all fail to describe its marvelous coloring and style.

It does resemble the western painted turtle.  But closer inspection and comparison with photos of the river cooter make clear Sven’s da man for knowing his reptiles.

That’s my hand it’s resting upon.  But resting doesn’t describe it, methinks, for this turtle spent the entire time in my grip by marching about looking for the best vantage point.  Each time it reached the edge of my skin, it stopped, lifted its head to look about, and consumed with minuscule eyes all that could be seen.

That one should give you a bit of scale.  Remember that’s my hand.  To call this creature petite would be to understate things, at least in human terms.

But curious?  Indeed!  I’d call it that with even the simplest of comparisons with the word.  All he wanted to do was get into position to look, to observe.

The fourth discovery, the one saved from the mower, was this eastern box turtle (a.k.a three-toed box turtle; Terrapene carolina triunguis).

While I didn’t capture any presentable images other than this one, you need only look at the larger version of that picture to appreciate its size.  The largest picture shows the depth of what it’s eating.  That’s a piece of lettuce.  Look at the leaf’s thickness in comparison to the turtle’s head if you want to fully appreciate how small it was.

[Update] I modified a few bits based on Sven’s comments.  See, I only read the brochure but that didn’t make me an expert!  I’m always happy for someone to give the real answers if they have them.  And now you see why nature is a hobby and not a career; I’d be dirt poor!

She looks all sweet and innocent lying there, doesn’t she?  You’d think her an angel when she deigns to bless the world with her own kind of sweetness.  But don’t be fooled.  She’s equal parts sugar and vinegar, and the sugar’s only there to put you at ease so she can get her way.  Remember, she’ll hit me if I point at her.  She knows that’s the cousin of discipline, so she gets her preemptive strike in before it goes any further.  And there are other tales, but let me share this one with you.

Derek called me and asked about dinner.  I was running late from work, so I told him to grab something on the way home as I’d be there shortly after he arrived.

I completed my duties at the office before making my escape.  I drove home quickly, parked the car in the garage, then stepped inside the air conditioned space.

“Don’t push me, Woman!” I heard him say with a great deal of jest in his voice.  He loved pushing her buttons, Derek did, for her adamant disposition always won the day.  He therefore enjoyed the challenge of making her make him behave. . .or at least do what she wanted.

He continued, “I told you you can’t have any until Daddy gets home.”  By then he was looking at me, as was she.

With one front paw resting atop the coffee table, she stood on her hind legs swinging at his hand.  He was trying to keep her at bay.  He would gently push her away, she would come back more obdurately than before, swinging all the while, and the game would cycle through again.

But my presence changed all that.  She turned immediately and looked at me, an insistent call for some of his chicken still ringing from her open mouth.  Then her approach changed.  If she couldn’t get to his food directly, she’d use me to get what she wanted.  That always worked.

Without hesitating, she dropped from her perch, turned, and ran to the kitchen where I stood.  She griped the whole way.  I don’t mean she meowed or howled or whined.  No, she griped.  In fact, she told on him as she trotted to my side.  There was no denying what she was saying.

“Daddy, I told him to give me some chicken and he said ‘no.’  That’s a pretty dumb one you got there.  You better tell him to give me some of that chicken right now before I take it.  Don’t make me hurt him, Daddy.  Oh, and by the way, he’s been teasing me, too.  You know, telling me I can’t have any until you get here, and even then I might not get any, and all that crap.  I’ll kill him if you don’t make him give me some chicken, Daddy.  I mean it.”

Her entire waltz across two rooms echoed these complaints throughout the house.  She was very unhappy.

Both Derek and I began laughing uncontrollably because we knew precisely what she was doing.  She was telling on him, yes, but she was also making it clear she wouldn’t be putting up with any more of his shenanigans.

Once I caught my breath, I looked at him and said, “Now that Daddy’s home, you’re gonna pay.  You heard the lady.  Either she gets some chicken or you lose some blood.  It’s now your choice.”

Again we laughed.  Nevertheless, she understood me enough to know the hammer was down.  She turned tail and ran back to his side, propped herself up on the coffee table once again, and reached into his plate to grab a bit of chicken.

One quick glance back at me proclaimed loud and clear she’d get her way because Daddy was home, and Daddy said she was gonna have some chicken, by golly, and I mean post haste.

Derek moved his hand and let her fetch a piece of fowl, one just right and to her liking, which she pulled from his plate and dropped on the floor where she could focus on its sumptuousness without his interference.

I’ve never forgotten that day, a moment of time when she challenged everyone involved to get what she wanted, beating up on one and manipulating the other.  Sure, she was willing to put the hurt on Derek if she had to.  Using Daddy, though, made more sense as it required less effort.  And it always worked, as she knew quite well.

She still only purrs for me, and more importantly, she still manipulates and abuses me at will just so she can get what she wants.  I love this little lass!

The more I study religions the more I am convinced that man never worshipped anything but himself.

— Sir Richard F. Burton

I awoke just after one this morning and found myself so ill that I didn’t go to work today.  The fight with some kind of stomach ailment continues, so I don’t have much will to do anything.  Nevertheless, I thought I’d share some photos from my recent trip to the family farm.  Hey, I might not have the strength to write anything of interest, but at least I can post some eye candy.

Consider this a visual story about traveling from Dallas to deep within the heart of East Texas woodlands.

As I drove out of Dallas, a giant red Sun hovered
over the distant horizon

The interstate quickly moved me from urban to rural Texas

After cutting through a few progressively smaller towns,
I continued traveling further away from civilization

Finally it was time to leave the beaten path

This small one-lane road wends its way through the deep forest

At times it seems a path through and to a very different world
than what most of us know

Yet along the way, if one is observant, small signs of human life
can be found . . . and not all of them are unseemly

I take the time every now and then to grab a box for The Kids.  Whether it be at the liquor store or the office, I think of them constantly and understand their need to enjoy a bit of enclosure.

Presently, four boxes rest about the homestead.  Kazon has claimed the two newest ones for his own use.

Oddly enough, he’s too large for one and just right for the other.  Do you think he cares?  Not!

This is Mr. Man in the box that is too small for him.  I wish I’d captured a better photo of how cramped he looks.  It seems terribly uncomfortable.

For Dreamdarkers.  Remember when?  Here’s an update.

Pages: 537 (single-spaced, 12-point, maximum 50 lines per page)
Words: 430,441
Characters (no spaces): 1,800,987
Characters (with spaces): 2,031,402
Paragraphs: 5,106
Lines: 26,339

Keep in mind I’ve yet to begin the first rewrite.  This version represents the preliminary brain dump based on the original short story.

I do expect those numbers to fluctuate dramatically.  Up or down?  Both.

My guess would be that the final product will range below the number of pages shown (and, therefore, below all the other markers).  Then again, this tale might require more.  I won’t know until I’m done, and even then I won’t know until it’s been proofed, edited, proofed again, edited for publication, and turned into a final version.

Let’s see how it goes. . .