AT-ST version 2.0

As he looked down at the forest moon of Endor through his screen o vision 3000 from his battleship, the S.S. Decimator, Lieutenant Jim "funny helmet" Burke watched as the Ewoks jumped up and down, dancing the night away to some really horrible showtune-like music. He pondered deep about the only assignment ever given to him directly from commander Vader several days ago to formulate the logistics for defeating several hundred overgrown teddy bears with bad teeth. As soon as Vader had stepped away on that fateful day, Jim jabbed his buddy Ted in the ribs with his elbow and chuckled hysterically. "How easy is my job?", he commented as Ted shook his head in disbelief. Jim then rang his comrade Phil who worked at the armory on Endor telling him to get four AT-ST walkers and fifty storm troopers prepared for this "big" battle he had been charged with.
As we all know, the battle did not play out as Jim had planned. For one, the armor on the AT-ST's was too thin and, hence, easily crushed by two opposing battering rams on strings. Secondly, the AT-ST's were easily thrown off balance by just a few strategic logs rolling down a hillside. These were not the mighty machines he had long believed in.
A tear ran down his face as he personally bore full responsibility for the overthrow of the empire.

For the next couple of months, Jim could not sleep. He tossed and turned all night with visions of little fuzzy creatures shouting "jub-jub" in his face. He could only guess at what type of insult this was, but he was pretty sure the gist of the meaning was "wussy boy". Jim's fury grew.
Having had quite enough of his torment, he came up with a plan to put the empire back on top again, which would start with the defeat of those vile pint sized Wookiees. He set his screen o vision 3000 to peer long into the future, to a galaxy far far away seeking superior walkers of a more advanced technological age. His search ended as he found the distant planet Earth where there lived a sure footed creature named the Zachers. Jim's heart raced as he watched the Zachers negotiate difficult obstacles like the dolly pram of Mr. Steve's Daycare as well as the deep layers of mulch next to the monkey bars of Thompson park just down the street. "This little man is a thousand times more stable than the AT-ST walkers. I must have him." He shouted, his dialated pupils bearing a slight resemblance to Captain Ahab's whenever he spoke in reference to the famed white whale of lore.
Since Jim had several connections in his Facebook network with Klingons from Kronos, he decided to send out a batch IM to see if any one of them could lend him a long range time transporter so that he could acquire his secret weapon. A particularly nasty Klingon named Klackor, who shared the common goal of destroying anything good in the universe, agreed to allow Jim to borrow his. "Make sure you get it back to me by Saturday or my mom will kill me." Klackor warned; he was serious, too. His mom had a hair appointment on Sunday morning and tends to get quite violent in those few hours before church.
"No problem.", replied Jim. He would only need the device for one afternoon anyway.
After receiving the transporter from the UPS guy, he assembled it in the living room of the S.S. Decimator next to his Wii, focused the sights on Zachers, who was in the middle of his first naptime of the day, and pressed the "grab" button. Zachers whipped through space fast asleep completely unaware of what was happening around him, especially due to the fact that he had awoken at five AM that morning and would not let his mom, Jen, go back to sleep. He was truly exhausted.
When he finally arrived on the Decimator, Zachers was beginning to stir at the sound of Jim's uproarious laughter. He looked around a little confused, but, as he is pretty easy going, Zachers gave Jim a little smile as he rose to his feet.
"Zachers, I will now send you to the planet Endor to defeat the Ewoks. Do you hear me? Defeat the Ewoks!!!"
Zachers smiled again and nodded his head.
Jim pounded the controls of the transporter once more to beam Zach down to the forest moon, smack dab in the middle of Ewok territory, and he appeared among them with a tiny little pop. Somewhat startled by the sudden appearance of this superb walking machine, the Ewoks readied themselves with their ineffective little sticks and slingshots. Zachers walked over to a tiny warrior Ewok named Bob, moved his stick out of the way, and gave him a big long hug.
"Drat.", Jim quietly exclaimed and hit the reverse button on the transporter.

The Ewoks then played another ridiculously bad song in celebration.

The Maine Loon

Maine loons are very social creatures even to the extent of prizing close familial bonds over their own safety and well being. No matter how far apart the habitats they each respectively call home, loons always maintain an almost supernatural connection with their extended families. A little known fact about loons is their tendency to congregate at the lakes of their relatives for reunions during warm summer days. It is not uncommon to see large groups of loons swimming together in ponds of the desolate Maine wilderness on sunny Saturdays all the while catching up on old times in their unique way of speaking. In between swims, they feast on the local underwater fare until every last one of them is completely stuffed and cannot eat another bite. When the sun crawls over the mountains of the west giving its grand finale of orange fire sprawled across the evening sky, one can hear the loons late into the night laughing away, each trying to outdo each other with funny stories and amusing anecdotes. When the all together too short visit is over, they lovingly say farewell to their children, cousins, grand-kids, aunts, and uncles and assure them that it will not be such a long while before the next time they meet. As the loons from afar fly back to their homes, they reflect on the great time they had, how special their family is to them, and start planning when the next great get together will be.

Curiously, aquatic birds of an identical namesake exhibit similar behaviors.

Play Date

Elijah had arranged for a play date this morning with his friend Julian to begin at 10:00 AM. On most days the critters under my care can't make it past nine thirty let alone 10 so I figured it might be in all of our best interest to keep the agenda packed to avoid any realizations of fatigue from setting in. After the flurry of diapers changes, bananas, and outfitting we were ready to walk out the door at 8:40. Since Julian only lives fifteen minutes away and we had a little more time to kill, Elijah suggested that we play in the back yard for a bit. Great idea. I set up the water table and got a soccer ball for Amelia. We had a great time until Zach noticed that the morning dew was beginning to soak the soles of his monkey shoes and made him feel a little funky. Plus, Amelia had decided that she was already way ahead of the 16 month old curve in her soccer skills and instead wanted to start climbing the neighbors steps.

OK, check the time. 9:03. That's it? Still not soon enough to jump in the car.

I got out the jogging stroller and asked Elijah if he would like to go for a walk with me to pass some time. Fortunately he said yes, otherwise I would have just forced him to go thereby removing the illusion that he actually had a choice in the matter. The less of those letdowns he experiences the better, especially at this pivotal age where his friends seem so much cooler than his dad.

We walked for a few minutes up the hill when Elijah decided he would rather jog since he is at the threshold of a new soccer season and needs to be in shape in order to beat the seven year olds. Even though I was not dressed in my usual exercise garb, he never has to twist my arm to go running. We were now moving much more quickly and would be back to the house ahead of schedule so I decided we had enough time attempt one of my usual jogging routes which is quite a bit longer than the walking route originally planned. Seven year olds are really good at soccer.

9:30. OK perfect. We are right at the halfway point and will be back home just in time to climb into the car on schedule. We'll just turn to go east on this street here. Hmm, what is that thing next to the road there? Oh my gosh, it is a hawk laying down in the grass . Stop for a second and make sure it's not just stunned; It's pretty big and could be dangerous. No, it's definitely dead.

"What do you think happened to it?" Elijah asked peeking around me at the bird of prey laying on the ground, frozen with its legs in the air.
"I think it was probably hit by a car." I answered.
"I think it was a cat. Maybe Hagbard."
"Well if any cat could do something like that and get away unharmed, it would be Hagbard. He is a mighty hunter."
I'm not proud of that fact, but it is unfortunately true.

I then explained my scenario of how I think it may have happened; with the hawk swooping down in pursuit of the famed neighborhood white squirrel as it dashes across the road in a last ditch effort to evade the hawk's crushing talons. The albino rodent spots an approaching Fed-ex truck closing fast and really turns on the scamper gas to get clear. There is one hair at the very tip of it's fluffy tail which gets caught under the left front tire of the truck and stings slightly as the squirrel yanks his tail free diving deep into the dense holly bush next to the Waterson's front door. Before the Fed-Ex driver can even react to the situation (he is too busy searching for 684 W Pike Ave.) the majestic predator soars within inches of the delicious albino squirrel and is intercepted instead by the steel giant in its mad determination to reach its final destination.

"Oh." Elijah said.

We were almost home by that point. We had slowed down to a walking pace again while we talked about the hawk and other stuff that dads and sons talk about, and it had taken a good chunk more time than anticipated.

It's 9:50. That's fine. So we'll be a few minutes late; not a big deal. Play dates are usually planned liberally in the start time, so really 10 could mean any time in the vicinity. OK we're almost home and...where is Zach's monkey shoe?
"Elijah, have you seen Zach's monkey shoe."
"No."
"Oh, no. I think we lost a monkey shoe."
"Oh, no."
"Alright, let me look under their seats to make sure it's not...no, it's definitely not in the stroller."
"It looks like it's gone for good."
"We have to go back and try to find it."
"But my legs hurt."
"Come on. We have to. It's a monkey shoe."
"OK."

Elijah reluctantly agreed to retrace our steps in search of the monkey shoe. His spirits were a little down, so I pulled the other monkey shoe off Zach's foot and spoke to it, "Monkey shoe, go find your friend!!!" and threw it in the grass. Elijah loved that joke.

We started nearing the half way point on the reverse route. Both of us were starting to lose hope of recovering the monkey shoe, when out of nowhere it appeared in the front yard of a little green cape cod home. Without another word, we snatched up that monkey shoe and turned 180 degrees for the second and last time today. It made me especially happy we had found it before we had to walk by the hawk again. I think we all were.


A good week's end to you all.


Vacation begins for the Family of Mr. Steve today as we prepare to visit the extended family in Maine. Sure to be an exquisite affair. I'll see you the following Sunday and be sure to post some picture

The only downside of our vacation is that we won't be able to see Mr. Zach on his birthday, but I know it will be a fantastic one with his loving family able to share in his happiness. Enjoy, little man, and happy first birthday to you.

Writer writing

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a writer. I was temporarily cured of that affliction for the decade following the acquisition of my writing intensive Philosophy degree from the University of Florida. Fortunately, the shock of elaborating about Plato's Symposium has finally worn off; I've cleared away the spider webs from my typing fingers, and I am at it once more. After all, I don't think there will be a better opportunity to fulfill my dream in this lifetime than I have right now.
I will keep you posted on projects coming to fruition. Thanks to all who have encouraged and maybe even to some who have discouraged.

FSF- I- IV

The pear shaped man continued to chuckle in a way that seemed well beyond his means of control. His hands we're firmly pressed against either side of his belly button and every fifth laugh or so, his hands shifted down to his knees as he held himself from toppling forward.
'This is the laughter of condescension. This man is mocking me.' He thought as he could feel the heat beginning to rise again under his three coats once again. Still, he fully realized the need to be civil. Keeping an emotional levy strong against the blunt force of insulting laughter dropping heavily from the fat man's perch high atop the ladder of privilege was no less than a matter of complete success or failure.
"Listen, I would like to talk about your horse."
"Hahaha. I thought you said she was your horse. Bwahahaha!"
Breathing in ever so deeply to weigh his words and tone, "I believe you've misunderstood me. I'm looking for a broodmare to breed a champion. I'm interested in your horse for that reason."
Still smiling widely but starting to catch his breath, he finally brought his chortle under control.
"What is your name boy?"
"Adolphus"
"I don't mean to be rude, Adolphus, but you must have a very poor knowledge of the horses in this circuit. Helen has tried unsuccessfully six times to birth a colt. Everybody knows about her and doesn't want to waste their time. We have given up on her bloodline. She just will not reproduce."
"I know all about Helen. Her bloodline is immaculate. Her quality is beyond this circuit."
"Thank you. We are very proud of her performance."
"The fact that she cannot breed is the very reason I have sought you out. Berndi Haut, I presume."
Berndi turned his head to face Helmut still standing in the doorway who was now shaking his head to affirm he had also not heard him utter his name in front of the stranger.
When he looked back at Adolphus, his look of merriment had been replaced by one of profound confusion.
"Let me get this straight. You know all about Helen and about me. You are aware of the fact that she cannot breed, so that is the reason for seeking her as a mare stud. Pardon me, but that doesn't exactly fit any standard of logic I'm aware of."
Hulmut let out a small Guffaw from the doorway. As Adolphus glared over at him, he decided it in his best interest to depart. The aluminum door slapped shut behind him.
"Berndi, I am not a rich man."
Berndi smiled smugly, "I would not have guessed that."
Unstirred by the obvious jab at his squalid appearance he continued,"But I must own a racehorse. A winner. It is not even an option for me. My life will be meaningless without realizing this dream."
"But why me, why my horse? There are thousands of winners you could breed from. What makes her so special?"
"I would like to make a proposition for you, Berndi. I have saved 40 thousand Deutsch Marks to buy a horse from you."
Berndi's face lit up again as he burst into laughter. "Son, if she produces a colt, it is likely to be worth 15 times that at least! Why would I give you a colt for such petty pocket change?"
"Because the money is yours regardless of whether the birth is still or live. I give you the money just to have Helen impregnated. You keep it no matter what. It's not like the other six times where you received nothing."
"That would be terribly unethical. No one pays for a dead horse, son. Agreements are made for live births only."
"How long did it take for the horse to miscarry?"
"Two month."
"Easily within the off season for her. 40 thousand for two months is not a bad deal for you any way you cut it. For me, it is my one shot at getting what I want. I will never have this much money to throw at my dream ever again. If your odds are correct, there is almost no chance that the colt will be carryied to term and she would be ready to race in the spring."
"Yes, but ethically? No one would buy another horse from me if they knew I operated in a manner as you propose."
"Absolutely no one would know about this arrangement. You have my word."
"Do you have a stud already in mind?"
Adolphus smiled at Berndi, nodded, and extended his right hand, which Berndi cautiously accepted.

The Picket Line

6:30 came early this morning. Nadine notified me of its arrival as I reluctantly receded from slumber on our living room couch. The reason for being on the couch was not one of a domestic dispute nature as many would hastily assume but rather of a giant mutant lobster who paid a visit to our home over the extended weekend. The nature of this beast is an interesting one if you will indulge me for a brief overview. First, the lobster selects a couple of fun loving hosts and lays one egg in their tummy each. Amazingly, that little egg will grow to a one hundred fifty pound adult in the matter of two hours. Its first act of president under his flawlessly orchestrated coup d'etat, the lobster begins to flap its tail forcing all liquids from the body in every of their respective shortest paths. When it has cleared away everything which may stand in its way, it crawls slowly to all two hundred points of articulation in the body and pinches the joints with its strong claws until they become almost numb with ache. One would hope that at least as a consolation, this beast would become the equivalent of a lobster dinner when its life cycle of three days was complete, but alas, the creature merely degrades directly from a solid organism to methane gas when it curls up in eternal slumber.


But that wasn't even what had awoken Nadine, whose lobster had expired sometime in the night. No, what woke her up was the sound of organized chants emanating from the front yard. I picked up my eye-glasses from the couch cushion next to me and walked to the window. Outside I could see a hundred grandmothers all carrying picket signs which read something to the effect of, 'We're tired of hearing about your computer problems and other non-baby topics. We want to hear about the kids and see some cute pictures'. To quell what could have been a full scale riot, I walked out to my front stoop and announced to the agitated crowd that today I would be sure to give a write up of both Zach and Amelia. Oh, and pictures. Cute pictures.




As you know, Zach has been flirting with the prospect of becoming a featherless biped. Aw, who am I kidding. Zach has already rounded a sloppy third base with that prospect and the coach is waving him home. The transition from a single step to five took a matter of days as Zach is now zombie walking from couch to fireplace to bilibo with little to no reinforcement. Zach's vocabulary is picking up, too. He has become fluent in English assuming that the subject of the conversation can be covered solely by the words "hi" or "yeah", which most conversations can.




Amelia is going through perhaps the most difficult time in a toddler's development or at least the most difficult for those around her. She has discovered the power of physical dominance as a means of dictating her will. Poor Zach and Elijah have had first hand accounts of this dangerous phase she struggles to pull through. As much as humanity would like to ignore the fact that overpowering another can temporarily get the result the assailant seeks, its existence pervades our world to an almost nauseating level at times. What Amelia is finding out, though, is that all physical dominance is eventually dwarfed by a power much greater. Whether that power be love of life, love of family, respect for society, or Mr. Steve, the peaceful way will always prevail.

Freestyle Friday- Installment III

http://stevedaycare.blogspot.com/2008/05/there-lived-young-man-in-small-village.html


http://stevedaycare.blogspot.com/2008/05/short-nap-day.html

As he came too, several things became immediately apparent. The high wattage fluorescent lights appearing overhead as his stinging eyes pealed open left no question he was no longer walking the street. The small group of concerned looking people standing over made clear that he must have passed out, most likely from heat exhaustion. He wore on him three jackets, so he wouldn't have to carry them in a garment bag adding to his already long and heavy aventure. He was completely doused in sweat.
He sat up quickly and felt a jarring pain shoot from his right temple to matching shoulder. "I must have been running when I fell." He wasn't sure if this was said aloud but judging from several nods in the room it was quite likely.
"I don't have much time. I have to find my horse before the races begin!" He was surely speaking aloud now.
"OK. Calm down, we'll find your horse. Everything will be OK, but you really must rest your head. You fell very hard, sir." The man speaking was a rather rotund man with a large red nose that shone like a glass christmas ball. His gaze was piercing and determined like that of all race horse owners.
"My head is of no concern to me right now. Please, just let me get to the stables."
"Sir, the stables are directly behind our trailer. What is your horse's name? We will have someone go check on him for you."
"It doesn't have a name! It's not even a horse yet!!"
The man took a step back and turned his head to the man standing in the doorway.
"Helmut, call the hospital and have them send an ambulance right away. It seems our friend has a nasty concussio-."
"Don't you dare touch that phone, Helmut! I'm just fine! OK...see, I'm lowering my voice right now. See. Calm."
He was tired of attempting to reason with this man. Time was wasting. As he looked around the room he could see obvious American Midwestern decor suggesting these people either came from, or possessed relatives from far away; possibly Ohio. Possibly western expansion beer emmigrants manning the breweries which paved the road to the wild west where much harder things were known to dwell.
"OK. Maybe you could help find a horse for me."
"I will see what I can do."
"Her name is Helen September."
The man suddenly wore an expression of utter bemusement.
"Ahaha..oh, hoho. Oh-"
"Why is that name so funny to you."
"We won't have to go very far to find her. Just stand up and look through that window back there."
Slowly, he rose from the couch and split the blinds with his thumb and forefinger. In front of him was a magnificent sorel mare saddled up and ready to race.
"That is her?" He turned his head to face the pudgy man beside him in soicitous disbelief.
"Yes, boy. She's my horse."