Fast Boost to Mars

A main problem is providing astronauts enough food and water, and other necessary supplies for a long journey to Mars.

Considering that it took around 10 years to fully construct the ISS for habitation by six. Spend 10 years assembling your Mars spacecraft. Also assemble an accompanying rocket with supplies. In the meantime, launch a couple of test missions, with the chief objective being to see how fast we can get a test vehicle to Mars and back. Put some plants on them, some detectors and such. It will be money well spent, since this will help determine how to get humans there Fast. Less bone density loss, less exposure to radiation and etc.

Let's not plan for a 6-month trip. Let's plan for a six week trip, or less. Let's be optimistic and get this done. Werner Von Braun would already have it done by now. Develop your fast-boost spacecraft. Not a tortoise, but a hare is needed to get us there and back.

Let's plan for a shorter time duration trip to Mars, to save on supplies and astronauts radiation exposure. Boost them three times as fast towards a Mars approach orbit. They would get there, have a month to explore, and could lift off in time to make a fast Earth approach return. We could test this with a pathfinder mission specifically designed to test a fast-speed trip to Mars, orbit once and return to earth. This would be well worth the cost, to prove the idea that you can get people there in a shorter time span.

This Pathfinder mission could test the concept of a rapid trip to mars and back. You would want to take along some plant life or even animal life to test the effects of radiation during a fast trip. The caveat, of course, is that we would need to boost up a lot of fuel for the trip there and back, to boost the spacecraft to, say, 250,000 MPH. This does not seem impossible to me, since we have already sent craft speeding to Pluto at 50,000 MPH.

For a Mars mission, to boost up all of the extra fuel needed, along with the requisite cryogenic storage systems would certainly be expensive. But it seems to me that would be less expensive than keeping a 6-person crew alive for at least 18 months, if not longer. It took us over 10 years to assemble the ISS in LEO. If we spent around that time assembling a huge fuel storage cache and a Mars expedition craft, we could achieve a fast trip there and back, and bring back healthier astronauts as well. How about it – let's get there sooner. We can do it if we try.   

Deeper Tides

Pity the poor smartphone generation,

helpless – hooked on the latest updates.

Those who can work their way to

owning their own house get to glimpse

deeper, more enduring time currents.

Gardeners and outdoor enthusiasts

think in far longer sequences.

Daily rhythms give way to weekly

and finally seasonal stretches of time.

Last springs seedlings grow yellow,

spindly with seed-heads and final blooms;

sinking inevitably to the ground.

These get cut and added to compost,

to help feed future crops of food and

beauty. The cycle continues.

Gadget batteries go dead or burn up

in less time than a seedling reaches

maturity and begins to blossom.

The deeper tides of life satisfy

one more fully than any tweet or post

ever could. Time to shut down the PC

and go back outdoors to enjoy more.

- end

Fiction - Be Happy, You Lunkhead

    He kept reminding himself to be happy. In ages past, taking a flight like this would have been impossible. It was all once science fiction, just as other things had been in previous ages. It didn't seem to make a difference.

After all, this is 2175 now. A short day-hop to Mars is no big deal, his anger centers answered. People are flying out to Titan now, like they used to travel to the Hawaiian islands. No big deal. All Jase knew was that he had forgotten his nic-ene ampules. Damn that Stuze, she kept climbing his nerves about any little thing. So he had rushed around their pod, grabbing things in haste. He had not wanted to leave with both of them mad. But every time he tried to work into an apology, she would step on some other nerve. He had to get out of that situation.

But now here he was, going to visit his folks in Bradbury City. He was mad, he had forgot his nic-ene, and he had not shaved in four days. Things were definitely not looking good. And now the brats two aisles down were making cracks and laughing. Couldn't he ever get any peace? He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to control his temper.

Then came a sudden crunching impact, and then blaring alarms, and lights flickering out. A canned voice began repeating some warning, but was soon overridden by the robo-pilot AI.

“We have been impacted by a medium-sized asteroid. Please grab your Oxy-kits just under the seat. Unfurl the masks and put them on. We are in no danger unless we get hit again.”

“Shit. It figures,” grunted Jase. He felt weightlessness full-on now, since they were no longer under acceleration. But still managed to grab his Oxy-kit from under the seat and pull it out. He struggled with unfurling the mask, which was supposed to auto-activate. But how old were these units? wondered Jase.

“Hey, um, man, can you help us out here?” Jase heard a plaintive plea from behind

“I'm busy, give me a sec.” Damn teenage brats. Serves them right.

More atmosphere hissed out several cracks in the hull.

But Jase finally got his mask on. He turned to the brats, and tried to guide them with hand signals. They finally got it figured out. Meanwhile, the ship hull managed to auto-seal most of the cracks. But then the robo-pilot cut in again:

“I need the assistance of an able adult passenger, please. I cannot seal two of the hull breaches. If we do not get them sealed, all 45 passengers face death by asphyxiation. Please, I need assistance immediately. Would an able adult please move forward. You will apply some emerg-seal to hull breaches. I will guide you, but human hands are needed for this operation.”

Jase looked around the cabin. Mostly older people swivelled their heads, with shrugs and 'who, me?' looks on their faces. He swore, then yelled, “All right. I'll help.”

“Pardon me? Who spoke?” said the Pilot AI.

“Me, here, in aisle 7.” Jase stood and tried to wave. But he found himself doing a somersault. He managed to get righted. The weightless practices he had along with everyone else back in middle school helped out a little here.

“Oh, Jase Edwards? Thank you, sir. Please move towards the front of the liner. Thank you so very much. The rest of you sit tight, and try not to breathe too heavily.”

Jase grabbed the seat backs and carefully maneuvered himself towards the front. A narrow door slid open. “Please proceed through here, Jase.”

He did so, and then the door slid shut. Jase was faced with a flickering control center (at one time called a “cockpit”). There was no humanoid here – just rows of circuit cards, in racks. And a center bulkhead facing him, with an ugly gash, leaking out atmosphere.

The voice sounded tinny in here, but Jase could still hear it.

“Please grab the patch kit on the side, Jase. Remove a large patch and press down onto the opening...”

Jase followed the instructions of the robo-pilot, resident in the racks all around him. He got the larger gash sealed fairly quickly. He simply laid the patch over the hole. It was pressed against the hole by atmospheric pressure, and nano-elements within the material gripped, making the patch and the hull seamless. But the other gash was under some of the electronics racks.

“OK, Jase, all you need to do is to remove the lowermost rack. The toolkit is to your right...”

But naturally, it was to the Robo's right, and his left. He hunted around, locating a uni-driver tool.

“Good, Jase. Now, tap the four fasteners, and unscrew....”

The fasteners were covered with grime, and hidden. And Jase's mask kept getting in the way. He was dripping sweat by the time he got the screws undone.

He pulled on the rack, and it came out – but there were wires holding it in.

“i can't yank it out without disconnecting these. I'm getting dizzy, too...”

“jase, can you press the patch in underneath, just moving the unit a small amount? Try that...”

Then the robo voice went staticy.. A connector had pulled out of the small rack he was holding. Shit!

Jase grabbed a medium-sized patch, yanked it out of its wrapping, auto-activating the nano-tech embedded within. He would have to hit the hole the first time, or that patch would try and grab down on any surface it touched. So he pulled the rack out more, disconnecting two more wire assemblies. But now he could see the hole, a long, jagged crack already accumulating debris with the air leaking out. He aimed carefully, and slapped the patch right down over the hole, almost on the floor part of the forward area he was in. Immediately there was a change, as the patch grabbed hold and sealed.

“Pilot? Can you hear me?”

Jase saw some lights flicker on a small display. Words appeared.

“Atmosphere integrity restored. Voice unit disconnected.”

Jase looked down at the rack he still held with one hand. He carefully pressed two tiny wiring assemblies back into their sockets. He heard bursts of static. Looking at the display, he saw the problem.

“Voice unit reverse polarity. Please correct.”

Jase getnly tugged out the wiring groups, and re-connected them the opposite way. Belatedly he saw the color of the sockets matched the modules. He moved the rack closer, and managed to get the third one in, after more struggle.

“Hull integrity restored. Voice unit functioning. Thank you very much for giving me my mouth back, Jase. Our Oxy supply is stabilized, but will only last two hours, with a tiny reserve.”

“Two hours? What the hell? Do we even know where we are? Will we all die here anyway?” Jase was so upset he couldn't find any more words.

“Relax, Jase Edwards. We had a collision with a small asteroid. We are currently in the asteroid belt, approximately halfway to the Martian orbiting base. I've already sent out several distress calls. There are three rescue craft en route. The nearest should arrive in 27 minutes.”

There was a shift in volume, and robo-pilot repeated his reassurance to everyone over the shipwide intercom.

“We will be visited by rescue craft beginning 27 minutes from now. You may remove your masks, as there is a two-hour supply of breathable air on this craft. Everyone please relax and enjoy the view of the asteroid belt. We will be visited shortly. Please follow all instructions you are given, to make our transition swift and safe for all concerned....” Jase grunted his thanks to the intelligent racks around him, then moved shakily back to his seat. He was met with a chorus of “thank you's” and scattered applause from everyone, including the unruly teenagers.

Less than 24 hours later, Jase Edwards was at his parent's pod In Bradbury City. He had freshened up, and even shaved, borrowing his dad's razor. “After all, I have to look good for the mayor,” he said aloud to himself, grinning.

At a hastily-arranged award ceremony, Jase Edwards was presented with a special commendation, for helping save the lives of 45 people on an express liner to Bradbury city. That went well – Jase stayed on his best behavior. But a couple hours later, when his girlfriend called to try and patch things up, his inner demons rose.

“Get lost, Stuze, I've moved on now, since every gal here wants to date the person who saved 45 lives. I don't need your shit anymore. Have a nice life.”

Jase had a lot of fun the next several Sols. He only heard later about Stuze's suicide attempt. Then he thought to himself, Yeah, she screwed that up, just like everything else. He only felt a twinge of regret. Sometime he even surprised himself.

                                                                        - The End

 

Removing Summer's Friend

The nights grow darker,

days cool off degree by degree.

October rears a scary face,

we all know what is to follow.

The furnace kicks on for the

third night in a row -

my cue to pull out the window AC.

Jut one, not both – no need to hurry.

There are days in the high 70s

still coming up on us.

One cool source fan may yet

be a blessing on hot days ahead.

That heavy window unit gets pulled,

and the double-pane glass slides home

with a gentle tug. Quietude!

Now I can turn up the TV,

and bang on my little keyboard all night,

without fear of disturbing the neighborhood.

#enjoy the fall-winter is coming.

Perpetual Warfare

She naps upon the kitchen counter unaware,

until I creep up slowly with the green ampule.

Her ears twitch and she fixes me with a stare,

I freeze, then move up and croon reassurances.

“We're gonna get rid of those fleas, honey,”

I say, snapping open the applicator –

and swiftly put it down on her neck,

emptying a tiny bit of expensive medication.

She only moves a short distance away,

not even taking off like before.

She knows I am waging war on the

biting bastards making our lives hell.

After more reassurances, I go off to do

other chores. She sits on the counter and waits,

uncomprehending and shocked at what occurred;

Soon she notices a change and hops down.

Maybe by next spring I'll get rid of them,

then April will arrive,

she will want outside,

and the whole war will start again.

School Memories

Dad knocks on the door, says it's time to get up.

Time to roust out of bed and get ready for school.

Get up, get dressed, hurry downstairs.

"Did you wash and brush your teeth?"

Eat some cereal, throw on a coat,

get out the door and off to school.

Make it inside through the throngs,

hurry to homeroom and Mr. Yoder.

Bow your heads for a prayer –

no, a moment of silence.

There's the bell, now it's off to first period.

Geography, Mathematics, Shop class and Art.

Gym class and dodge ball and flag football.

There was an intensity about those years.

Your future was in others hands,

simplifying most day-to-day planning.

You had to think, but not very hard,

leaving the mind-numbing planning to adults.

Your world was day-to-day,

much more so than now when you are

nearing sixty and worrying about everything.

Now the only person you answer to is yourself,

and as easy as that can be sometimes,

at others it is the most difficult thing.

One can always quit one's job and suffer

the consequences, but oh no,

even thinking about your fathers reaction if you

said you were going to quit school...

Well, that was simply unthinkable, and wise

youths just did not go there, period.

This too shall pass.

Pigeon Woes

Sweeping along the sidewalk one day,

a brown lump came into awareness.

Upon jabbing it with the broom,

it animated itself most surprisingly.

A little pigeon, with broken wings.

Tried to give chase with broom and bucket,

but the thing had legs and used them!

It scurried up to the doors and past,

entering a nearby office building.

Perhaps seeking respite from the

cold concrete canyons,

or looking for food or comfort.

Alas, it was not to be.

I swept it up finally,

took it back outside and released it

to the air and elements.

My boss would not want me to

allow pigeons into a building

that we are supposed to keep tidy.

I swept up the feathers scattered

inside the doorway and moved on.

Another day, another pigeon

shown the stoop.

- end

Shifting to normality

Morning sun gleams bright into office windows,

a poor match for the operator's dark interior mood.

For he must walk out into the world, his day finished,

everyone else's just starting. His whole life feels

like one big misalignment of energy and purpose.

When he is rested, entering the computer room

at start of shift is a thrill: Indicator lights flash,

tape reels spin, printers chatter and clatter.

The room hums with life and excitement,

he is an integral part of the whole scene.

As the night wears on, his initial energy

fades and a coffee break is called for.

As he sips and gazes out a window,

he sees outside night life fading to a halt.

Soon the streets are empty,

pools of light and shades of darkness

permeate empty streets and alleys.

The city has gone to sleep,

but he and his co-workers must continue

to process insurance data with high mental acuity.

Any mistake means setback and do-overs;

The next day's processing might be delayed!

So the third shift hero keeps soldiering on,

dreaming of that bottle of beer and good

day's rest coming at end of shift.

That is,

if the kids and cars and commotion of

the following day will allow him anywhere

near his preferred seven hours of rest.

He has been doing this for six years now,

and sleep does come, easily enough.

But on weekends he reverts to night-sleep,

and that Monday change-back is sheer hell.

Sometimes he says to himself,

“One of these days I'll just quit -

say the hell with it!”

Then the day comes when he does.

he makes the call and quits over the

phone – just like that.

After hanging up, he sleeps soundly,

without a care in the world.

He has returned to the normal world

from the depths of night.

What could possibly go wrong?

It's October

October – time for raking leaves and cleaning up the yard,

Octoberfest and the fall party season.

Football games, sweaters and hoodies, talk of Hockey,

planting bulbs and harvesting late tomatoes...

Perhaps a walk in leafy forestland,

or hunting for your favorite game;

Leaf-viewing drives in the country,

preparing the homestead for winter.

Caulking windows, insulating spaces,

checking the furnace and buying filters.

Perhaps purchasing a space heater,

maybe throw rugs to keep the place warm.

Must get prepared for the coming onslaught

of snow, ice and bitter cold right around the corner.

Prepare to endure it while snuggled inside,

all while thinking of that ultimate reward come spring.

It's October again – full of the varied colors

of human and animal activity,

all preparing for what is ahead.

And a good time for a visit to a steakhouse too!

- end

No contest

An exercise in poetry.

It was no contest.

The tiny single-engine Cessna,

though perched diffident in challenge,

crumpled before the onslaught –

A thousand pounds of angry meat and horn

smashing into propeller, frame and wings.

An aerolon skitters away beneath flying hooves –

trhe bull charges on into the evening mist,

leaving a tumbling fuselage,

twisted metal struts;

A wing slowly twirls to a stop.

Distant hooves drum away into silence.

 

- end

They Should All Live Forever

All of our Video Stars should last forever.

The original Batman, Adam West, should remain

young and vigorous, along with Burt Ward. The

“Supermen” of the small and large screen should all

be here, not six feet under, drenched in memorials.

The favorite beloved actors throughout the years,

John Wayne, Cary Grant, Marlon Brando, etc

should all be kept in suspension in some other

dimension, ready to be re-animated whenever

desire strikes. Same with the mega-stars of the late 20^th century.

James Garner, Gene Wilder, James Doohan and Leonard Nimoy.

David Bowie, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix et all.

Would that they could all co-exist in some universe,

pleasing and adding joy, and even talking to each other.

Besides that of one's memory, so fallible and riddled with errors.

(Lacking such a wonderful universe,

where Howdy-Doody, the Mousketeers, Leave it to Beaver,

Lost in Space, Land of the giants, Daniel Boone

all the way on up to the latest pop sensations could

exist forever, we are left with the online electronic equivalent...)

Google, Youtube, Wikipedia and the rest will just have to do.

Fall not really

How hot can it get the day before Fall officially begins.   Seems like a record, to go outside in scorching heat, to a scorching car seat.  The sun is setting earlier and earlier, on schedule.  But the plants are wilting, the ground is sun-baked like desert tundra.  And the A/C units are working as hard as ever, pumping still more heat out into the summer-like air.   Someday I feel confident the cooler temperatures will arrive.  But climate change seems to be rearing up, and Mother Nature keeps reminding us she is in control.  We are just luckless passengers, hoping and praying for the next break.

Hang in there, everyone.

New Fundraising Campaign

Dear Mr. and Ms Politician,

Thank you for your numerous emails,

addressing me by name, urgent

reminders of how desperate your

situation is, and that of our country.

It is nice to receive up-to-the minute

updates on dire world conditions.

I was unaware that your evil opponent

nearly seized power and ran everything aground;

But you made me completely aware.

Now I must make you aware of my

equally dire financial situation.

I struggle to make expenses and income meet,

simply paying monthly bills and my mortgage.

While I do give a small bit occasionally,

I am unable to send money every day,

in response to your urgent pleas for help.

However, some of you politicians are fairly affluent,

and (I'm certain) live better than I on my janitor's salary.

Therefore, I make my own urgent appeal:

Just $5.00, nay, even $3.00 will help me today.

Especially if you give tomorrow, and the day after...

You know, like your emails suggest that I do?

Thank you very much in advance, and

I await your generous donations into my

local checking account.

(However, I am not holding my breath.)

Sincerely,

John Q. (broke) taxpayer.

KindleBooks for sale

Get them while they're hot, if a stream of bits can be hot:

Shadow Intersection – Poetry www.amazon.com/dp/B00AWZNGYA

Future Property – Sci-fi short stories www.amazon.com/dp/B008HHEWVQ

A Strange Enterprise – Short Stories and Alternate History - www.amazon.com/dp/B00MXP9D7Q

Epic Prime Collection – www.amazon.com/dp/B01D8107K0

Experimental Tales – www.amazon.com/dp/B01AWJSRBC

The Osmotics – www.amazon.com/dp/B00IDW1OFM

New Venture – First Contact in the Kuiper Belt – www.amazon.com/dp/B00U9URST2

Thanks for taking a look!

Post-Coital Fusion Song - fiction

 It seemed like magic long ago, as I look back on it all now. When we all had energy worries and struggles, from how to fuel our vehicles, to heat our homes and the like. When two inventors came up with a solution for achieving fusion reactions. All while lolling about after a night of partying. The rest is history.

Martin and Jack were known for good sex parties. Often on weekends one could find them sleeping on the floor, amid a tangle of blankets, mattresses, lube and sex toys. A tangle of human bodies that had spent every spare drop of their reproductive seed in an orgiastic frenzy. The two twenty-somethings awoke from one of these, one drowsy Sunday morning over three decades ago. They looked at the woman between them, and grinned. Martin extricated his lanky frame, covered with blonde-red fur, carefully from the woman, Lydia's, limbs, and crawled around to Jack. He laid down next to Jack's dark-haired, slender body, and tousled his hair. Then lay facing each other, and whispered.

“That was one amazing night, man,” said Martin.

“Yeah, wasn't it great,” replied Jack, grinning.

“Suitable exercise for us. Tomorrow is the next firing of the LLNL Dielectric experiment”

“Think we'll get there this time?”

“Probably not. Just another burst.”

“Another particle orgasm, yeah. Then, nothing.”

They looked at each other, and stared. Martin spoke first;

“You know, I was thinking. Humans can expend so much reproductive resources in one orgy. All that life, in one party. How can we make the Fusion process more lifelike?”

“You mean trick up a fusion reaction somehow?”

“Yes. I mean, instead of simply blasting the fuel with a billion-watt EMF charge, why couldn't we modulate it. Inform it with a pattern?”

“A pattern?” said Jack, looking bemused.

“Yeah. Instead of the typical oscillation, change it. I mean, when I look at the Sun through a filtered telescope, and watch the undulating flames and coruscation, it is almost as if there is some kind of burn pattern going on there.”

“Hmm. And you think if we could create some kind of a pattern firing or burst, we might create some kind of a reaction that would be self-sustaining. Kind of like AC Current, which alternates and therefore sustains itself through much longer distances.”

“Yes, only much more complex. Come on up to my room, I want to sketch it out a bit....”

So the two naked, bi-sexual 20-somethings left the sleeping Lydia on the floor, and headed upstairs.

Sitting on his bed, Martin got out a spiral-bound notebook, lay it on his lap and began scribbling equations.

“Hmm, yeah, yeah. Wait, let me add something here...,” said Jack.

Within an hour they had sketched out a rudimentary regime for oscillating and modulating a high-frequency RF source to create a plasma and engender fusion compression. The two high-fived each other, not noticing the soft clink of a door shutting.

“OK you can have first shower dibs. I ought to go check on our guest...”

But when Martin went down to check, Lydia was nowhere to be found. Not in the kitchen, the downstairs restroom, nowhere. He peeked out, and of course, her car was gone. His next thoughts were darker.

He looked around at the living room. And there, on the floor, were both of their wallets. The paper was gone, but the bitch had left their credit cards. As if that would make some kind of difference. But hey, at least we don't have to cancel them. Goddamn it.

He started to yell, then realized Jack was in the shower. He sat down heavily, and sighed.

No more cash. But at least we have an idea for a sustaining fusion reaction. If that works, we can write our own ticket. Modulate the firing intensity and pattern. Make a song – the fusion song. And if we hit the right notes, we could be rich.

“Who cares about that bar bitch. We might just make ourselves rich,” Martin finally said aloud.

“What...” came from the stairs. Jack was standing there, drying himself with a good bath towel.

“That Lydia just helped herself to our cash, and then left.”

“What the hell? That effing bitch.”

“Well, I didn't have a lot. And anyway, we are rid of her. Meanwhile we have one hell of an idea.”

“Yeah, if it works. I'm calling the cops on her.”

“Um, really?” Martin motioned around the living room scattered with remnants of last nights party, to the coke powder residue, and joint roaches.

“Fuck! Maybe not,” said Jack, shaking his head.

“Chalk it up, dude. Tomorrow we are going to make history.”

“If it works.”

“It will work. It has to be better than we've been doing.”

“Anything is that, dude.”

Well, those two succeeded beyond their wildest hopes. They got several others interested in their idea, and then they managed to calculate and program a modulated power burst. That succeeded in sustaining a twenty-five second flash with Sun-like temperatures. A seven-to-one energy profit return. Succeeding attempts produced ever longer sustained reactions.

Today, thirty-three years later, we have had a Fusion reaction going for several years that shows no sign of lessening, and we are drawing off power from it. New Fusion plants are under construction around the world. And for once, things are looking up on the international scene. Optimism is the latest dominant theme in the media – that is incredible in itself. I guess you just never know. Of course, now the two young scientists, Martin and Jack, are billionaires. And I hear they are going to name a local high school after them. I don't know what ever happened to the one-night stand that took their money and ran. She may still not realize that she had sex with, and then stole from, two guys who changed the history of the world.

Uncle-dom

Family

Uncle Charlie has long hair these days. Reminds me of my old deceased friend Gordon. It looks good on him, and he has lost weight too. Domiciled in Wisconsin, he is subject to their cold winters, so maybe he is just growing enough 'fur' to combat the cold, I don't know. We chatted about weight again – as we once did long ago. Back then he had talked about letting his pants out a notch so they still fit well. This time, he talked about his tailor taking his pants in a bit – so his pockets were very close together (and made his butt look funny).   

Uncle Thad is still kind of sharp, but forgets things every so often. At 80-plus, he is entitled to a senior moment. He talked about specially modifying mousetraps, with a piece of monofilament so the mice couldn't run off with the traps. Things that inform the mind even as my heart is warmed by the sharing of relatives who surely have many aches of their own.

It is so much fun when my uncles are like Uncles. Humorous stories, quips, observations. We become family again, and the long years are spanned in an instant. Suddenly I am 9 years old again, taken in by an Uncle's joke or humorous quip with a surprise punch line. And my heart is warmed – even though that heart is older than those Uncles were, when they first sprang their humor traps on an unsuspecting nephew so long ago.

The memories accumulate along with new offspring. This non-proliferating relation, now an uncle and great-uncle himself, can stand to the side and be amazed at it all. The sadness of loved ones now gone can be tempered with the happy memories, and the warmth of belonging to such a large, varied and wonderful family.

Roof Ecology

                    I look out on a surface was re-laid around 12 years ago, all black rubber and tar seams. It was pristine, replacing the mess that had bushes growing out of the surface. Over the years, though, things are bound to change. A reverie unfolds.

From somewhere comes gravel. First, just a pebble here and there. Then, larger accumulations collect near the drains. I suppose rain washes them into piles, but where do they come from in the first place?

My theory is that high winds pick them up off of fields and riverbeds, watersheds etc. Particularly tornadic-speed winds, which can throw a semitrailer like a toy. These must be carried aloft, and then eventually fall down with rain to collect on rooftops.

Anyway, the pebbles slowly accumulate. Pigeons make this particular roof their way-station and meeting-place – I'm sure they do with most other downtown roofs as well. So their droppings sprinkle the roof surface along with the pebbles. Sometimes there are larger droppings, since the crows like to roost there every winter. It would seem to me that all of these materials, along with a bit of silt carried in from the wind, could easily create topsoil on the roof surface, eventually. (If no maintenance were done, and if water was perhaps allowed to accumulate a bit more instead of being drained off.)

Do not know if roof maintenance includes spraying off bird droppings and gravel. But in any case, there is a substantial accumulation of debris on even a high roof over time. The birds pay a visit, the gravel and raindrops patter away, and the roof slowly wears over time. On this particular roof, the company has satellite dishes located, and such things. So undoubtedly there is some kind of cleaning routine that goes on. Despite the birds best efforts, the roof gets maintained, and any nests located too close to some kind of critical infrastructure get unceremoniously dumped.

But I like to play out a fantasy in my mind. The building, and the downtown area, gets vacated, by some major event. No more human occupation, it is left to nature. The 10-story building interior has no more air movement or ventilation of any kind. After a decade or two, the interior walls are covered in mildew and mold. Insects run amok in the basements. Perhaps some mice have made it inside. And the roof surfaces begin to get more coated with bird droppings, silt and eventually, seeds in the droppings. Some grass seeds sprout in the “topsoil” and grow. Soon, the roofs have a sparse carpet. More birds make their home – crows in the winter, perhaps sparrows, pidgeons and songbirds in the summer. Windows that were once tightly sealed develop tiny chinks as the building settles over time. Moisture that penetrates the building, along with any animal droppings and windblown silt, provide the new 'carpeting' on which more flora grow.

     The basement and interior floors might be populated by forests of fungi several feet tall, on the walls and floors. Bugs and rodents would make their way around in here. As our imaginary clock moves forward, to say over a hundred years, to two hundred, more windows get cracked by storms, or chinks develop. Minor building damage that would have been repaired is left to the wind and elements. More cracks and holes develop, and many more creatures get in.

     Small trees on the roof send their roots deep into crumbling masonry, speeding the process. Floors become caves full of detritus. Small critters battle it out, and some become food for larger prey. Birds populate the roof greenery, and the ground floors are crawling with rodents. Every few years, with enough wind and weather events, the building settles or crumples a bit further.

  

     At the 500-year mark, the building is hardly recognizable as a building any more. It is a tall mound of greenery. Interior spaces are largely populated with decomposed materials, soil, roots and the like. Where the roof once sat exposed to the elements, now there is a foot of topsoil with many growing plants on top. 

      At the 1,000 year mark, the building is a large mound, with very few intact elements.

Some of the plastics may survive in a browned-degraded state. Otherwise it is all streaked, discolored dirt and clay. And future civilizations returning to the area can only speculate and wonder what function this barely hinted-at structure performed. If they even detected that a structure existed.

Then I shake my head, awakening from this daydream. There is work to be done here, while I am around and alive and the building is intact! Onward, ho.

The adventure continues

     The great piano learning experiment continues. I try to forget the fact that I'm in my late 50's, and perhaps my dexterity is not as good as it was earlier in life. I practice playing some songs, and go through some built-in tutorials on my Casio Keyboard. (Unhappily, I find that trying to change the tones to a different sound I.E. to a synthesizer or guitar sound, will no longer work properly. Damn cheap defective keyboards.)   But as long as the grand piano sound works, I can use that to practice. Some songs are coming easier as I gain familiarity with the keyboard. It is a real pleasure to sit down and play some song running in my head, or at least the melody of it.

As for reading notes off of a songbook and playing them – or playing a bass line with one hand and the treble with the other -these skills are still far off. It seems enough for now to just get the feel of the keyboard and make the “correct” sounds. This musical adventure is gaining some tedium, some difficulty as I find the need to practice a whole lot. Sometimes my fingers go their own way, not the way I want them to. Sometimes I bang out a whole melody near-perfect one time, and can hardly do it the next. But it seems worthwhile to keep at it. After all, two months ago I didn't know playing a piano from teaching astrophysics. In a years time, who knows.  What fun  :-) 

Balancing

Visiting a place I attempted to move to 30 years ago.    Deep regret felt at first.  then the memories came of the people I met during my brief, 5-month stay there.   My roommates trying to set me up with someone.   Another buddy met, good times had, that Vietnamese restaurant he turned me on to in dinkytown, The Brie and crackers he served up in his tiny high-rise apt back then.  Several fine, kind people doing me good turns.  How could that be a waste?   That was a real boon, a benefit I would not have enjoyed had I not moved up there and gone through all the difficulties.

There is good and bad is everything.   Got to keep counting those blessings.  Like now I am so much older, yet still healthy and spry enough to go back and enjoy a tourism visit.   Thank goodness.

All Keyed up About Notes

Taking note of finger positions,

I launch into a tutorial.

Musical dreams come to fruition

only occasionally among all the

mis-pressed piano keys.

Videos are watched and easy guides read,

more practice is undertaken.

Slow progress,

fits and starts,

flashes of brilliant melody

punctuated by key misses

and some loud cussing.

I wonder if it was this hard

for the children starting out

in elementary grades,

Visualize teachers hovering over,

guiding and chiding and helping.

Those kids think they are miserable,

yet do not realize

how lucky they are.

I was the same,

which was why I avoided

music study in the first place.

Now I chat with folks who

learned five instruments by the

time they were thirty or so.

My eyes are opened anew,

even as my ears study the tunes

that correspond to this fresh

language of sound I am learning.

The wonder of discovery,

thrill of new achievements

just barely

make it all worthwhile,

even now.

Going to spin myself dizzy

on the Circle of Fifths,

so may you all

have a happy, musical evening.

Ciao.