The Chronicle

It sat on the top of a huge pile of garbage in a dump that was soon to be turned back into green space. The images inside showed smiling faces, laughing babies and holidays filled with love and joy. One image was quite remarkable. It was an image of a young woman sitting on a park bench surrounded by small children. Every face looked serious and their clothes attested to the fact it was some time in the early 1920’s. Images like this exist in many places that is not what made it remarkable. On the back of the picture hidden from view were the names of those who had posed for the picture, one being the owner of the photo and the book that contained it, and if you knew history and understood what had happened in Russia during the Revolution you would have known why another name, the name Anastasia Romanov was remarkable. But it sat there on that heap of trash forgotten by those who had loved the one who had cherished it. She had died years ago and as it passed from generation to generation it become nothing more then one more book to be stored. And finally when it passed to the great granddaughter and she got married and started her own family it was abandoned, this chronicle of one woman’s life was thrown on a trash heap and would soon disappear for good. And once more a history would be lost forever.

I like Robots

I like Robots that is why I like fantasy. The kinds of Robots I like do not exist in reality. They have laser beam eyes that can blow up whole cities. They have computer brains that allow them to feel anger and hate. They want to destroy the human race purely for the reason that they are more intelligent then humans. I like evil computers as well. Ones like HAL and the computer from War Games. Give me a good story about evil robots and super computers and I am hooked. Robots Rock!

In the blink of an Eye

In the blink of an eye the idea was there, as if it had always existed and just needed to be noticed. She gathered up her things and threw them into a backpack. She left through her bedroom window hoping against hope that her parents did not hear her as she shimmed down the trellis by her window. She made not a sound and the house remained dark and quite and like that she was gone. When her parents woke the next morning they would think she was sleeping in. It was Saturday morning and teen-agers liked to do that they would think, each privately wishing she would get up so they would not have to talk to each other. They had loved once but that love had died with Greg there first child. They knew and Susan knew it, but no one said anything and they all went on living their lives together in that house but being utterly and completely alone. That was why Susan knew the idea was sound and why she had left. Her parents finally decide that 2pm was a long enough sleep in and went upstairs to rouse their daughter that fateful Saturday morning. When they realized she was gone they became frantic, calling the police and everyone they knew. But they slowly came to realize that she was gone and no amount of searching, pleading on television news programs, posting signs or milk cartons was going to bring her back. For years they continued the charade pretending to be the concerned loving parents of the missing girl. Until one day they both knew it was over, and it seemed as if at one exact moment they both had the same idea at the same time. They both packed a bag and the Mother left through the front door while the Father slipped out the back. When it became evident that they were gone the bank foreclosed on the house and it was sold to a lovely young couple with two young children, one a boy and one a girl.

Too much kissing

All the kissing was too much for her. Every where she went in the small village people would stop to greet her and kiss her on each cheek. It was what they did. After only a week in the village she had stopped leaving her apartment. She did not want to risk bumping into someone on the street who would greet her with kisses. Her family had never been really demonstratively affectionate. She knew they loved her and she did not need them to touch her to prove it. She had told her friends her loathing of being touched and they knew not to touch her, but here where she barley spoke the language and did not want to offend the culture she had said nothing and had to endure the numerous kisses. Her first two months there she barley went out. She avoided places where she knew people gathered. She cringed when she saw people she knew. But slowly ever so slowly things began to change, she began to change. It happened quite by accident about 8 months after she had first arrived. Someone who understood English over heard a conversation she had with a visitor about her dislike of being touched. Word spread around the village. Out of respect for their beloved American they stopped touching her. They no longer kissed her cheeks or looped their arms through hers. She did not notice at first, but as the days and weeks passed she felt as if something was missing and she slowly started to crave a kiss on the cheek. One night she had a vivid dream about a village where no one touched or kissed. When she awoke in the morning she realized that she lived in that village, but it was only her they did not touch or kiss. She worried she had done something to offend them. She spent the next few days deep in depression. The villagers noticed, they became concerned, what should they do. One brave soul decided to take action. He approached the American and touched her arm, forgetting the villagers pact, she burst out crying. The villagers poured from their houses, what was wrong they asked. She burst out with her fears and how sad she was they no longer kissed her cheeks. They responded with their fear that they had been kissing her too much and knew she had not liked being touched. Then they all hugged and proceeded to kiss each other on the cheeks, this took several minutes while everyone laughed and hugged and kissed. When she returned to America a year later she was a changed person, she greeted everyone she meet with a kiss to each cheek.

The Common Cold and the Koran

The past week has been filled with a stuffed nose and four boxes of Kleenex. With all of the technological advances we have made in the past 100 years and all the new medicines you would think that we could eradicate the common cold, but no we all continue to suffer through bouts with this miserable little virus. I hate having a cold, hate it hate hate it. I am not a good sick person. I hate laying about not being able to breath and trying to think of something else when all I can think of is that I can not breath. You would think that those doctors who have perfected the perfect breast implants would have used their talents for something more worthwhile, like finding a cure for the common cold, but alas there is no money in that.

obviously I am in a grouchy mood because of said cold but this has not diminished my loathing of a certain congressman from Virginia and the thousands of journalist and others who were first shocked then offended by the new Congressman from Minnesota who being a Muslim will of course be using the Koran for his swearing in. This is of course completely sensible to me, of course a person who is being sworn in to an office that has a swearing in would use the religious text of their choice(or maybe a copy of Kurt Vonneguts, "slaughter House 5" if they have no religion). But apparently the congressman from VA and many people have not read the constitution, particularly the first 10 amendments because they were under some sort of illusion that this country has a specific religion. Because it does NOT! And the argument that it says "IN GOD WE TRUST" on our money does not wash. That was added in 1954 the same year that "Under God" was added to the Pledge. We can choose any religion we want or no religion at all. This is the USA for #%$%^& sake. Of course a Muslim being sworn into office would use the Koran. Stupid Dumb Americans, get off your asses and read something. No wonder the world hates us when we make it so easy for them.