Three Word Thursday

Three Word Thursday, hosted by Quilly, is a challenge for writers to come up with a story using archaic words Quilly has mined from her various sources. If you play you can feel smart. If you continue to use the words in conversation, you can feel like the 911 for old words! This week's words:

• curglaff, n. the shock one feels when plunging into cold water
• auriferous, adj.  gold-bearing; a stone bearing gold
• heimish, adj. Warm and comfortable; homey; folksy

The young boy peeked out of the woods into the clearing. He was sure that he had heard many voices in this clearing the night before. Letting his eyes wander, he could see where grass had been trampled down.  A hush  told him that even the birds were uneasy.

A gleam in the middle of the clearing caught his eye in the bright morning sunshine. Cautiously, he emerged from the cover of the trees and started toward it. He reached the source of the sparkle and marveled at the auriferous stone lying on the ground. It seemed to call his name with a loving tone - inveigling with a sweet voice. His head knew that this was a thing of magic and he should leave well enough alone, but the warm feeling was compelling his body toward the beautiful stone.

Slowly, he reached out to touch it. But before his hand actually connected with the rock, a shock like a curglaff pierced his hand and traveled up his arm. Instinctively, he jerked the arm away from the temptation and stumbled back.

"Strewth!" he whispered. "Tis heimish and inviting, yet the touch of it gives great offense!" Where his hand had almost touched the stone, there was a strange rune, almost like a brand, that glowed brightly against the tan of his skin.  The small amulet he wore around his neck also glowed, as if it were in communication with the beautiful stone. He hesitated, began to reach again toward the stone, and then stopped. Clearly a battle was going on between temptation and fear.

Despite his youth, which usually caused his curiosity to trump his fear, this time fear triumphed. He turned and fled the clearing, certain that the Midsummer magic was too dangerous for the likes of him.

Miles away, the boy's mother saw the rune stone on her windowsill cease glowing and fade. "Good!" she thought. The amulet had protected him once again. Raising sons was difficult enough. In these days of magic, it was thrice dangerous and a mother needed all the help she could get!

Three Word Thursday

Since Quilly was kind enough to blame me give me credit for the words, I should at least post something! So here it is, and it's a true story.

Rethink That

Siri sat at her computer, stunned by the vitriol in the e-mail she was reading.  She had sent a request to be removed from a mailing list the evening before.  It was a fairly standard request these days when e-mails piled up faster than she could read them.   In the request, Siri had referenced that the church directory was the possible source of the conflict since the only intersection of their lives were that they attended the same church.

 

The reply read:

I would never purposefully send e-mails to the likes of you. I have not seen a church directory in years. Any electronic one goes straight to my spam folder. I do not know how my business and personal e-mails synced to include you.

Remove my e-mail, my families’ e-mail, and any other contact info you have for me from all of your contacts. I would not have included you in my contacts. Trust me.

“Wow,” she muttered. “This woman needs meds.”  Siri sat back and reflected on her contacts with this woman over the years wondering what might have prompted this animosity.

When Siri first started attending the church six years prior, she had made a point of meeting as many people as she could.  She had introduced herself to the woman one Sunday. The woman, childless at the time, asked where Siri’s children went to school.  Siri named a particular local Christian school.  The woman said, “Oh” and turned away. Siri was told later that the woman and her family ran a for-profit Christian school near the church.

From that moment on, Siri could not remember a time that the woman had been friendly or even interactive.  If there had been momentary conversations forced upon them by circumstances, they had been innocuous enough to be forgettable.

In the fatuity of her Christian cocoon, Siri had moved on to people more friendly and helpful. There was no need to compose a jeremiad regarding lack of contact with one member of the congregation. Everyone else was friendly and relaxed.

The family kept themselves very distant from the rest of the congregation as well.  They always entered church late, with the husband leading the procession like a panjandrum. Because she was on the worship team and felt joy when she noticed people who were worshiping in song, Siri had noticed they did not join in the music unless it was an “old” hymn. “Perhaps they are traditionalists,” Siri had thought, and then thought no more about it.

Siri also helped in nursery, taught Sunday School, and led the children’s church services when needed.  The family’s two children had never participated in any of these activities. They always sat between their parents, hands folded, and eyes straight ahead. Siri thought it was odd, but recognized that different families have different ideas of children’s roles in church. She herself had struggled with the idea of providing children coloring pages for the days that there was no children’s church service – thinking that once a month the children could learn how to participate by emulating their parents – but Siri’s children were pretty compliant. She knew that some of the bouncier children in the congregation might be more of a distraction if their parents didn’t allow them to color and do the puzzles quietly. So she conceded that different parenting styles dictate different rules for children.

But Siri had also been involved in setting up women’s retreats and prayer events. She always included the woman in the invitations, but the woman had never responded or attended.  “Oh!” Siri thought as the light bulb went on in her mind. “That must be where the contact came from on my end – the list the Womens Ministry director gave me for the invitation list last December!”

That didn’t explain how it synced with the woman’s business e-mail, but these days, who could keep track of which pieces of software were talking to others?  As Siri thought more about the whole situation, she realized the absurdity of it. This was a woman who was either herself, very troubled, or was in a marriage that was very rigid and it had affected the woman’s judgment.

“Darn it!” thought Siri. “I want to be judgmental and harsh but you’re giving me a picture of a woman who needs compassion, Lord! I know what I need to do.”

So before she composed an e-mail back, apologizing for leaping to a conclusion about the church directory, Siri bowed her head in prayer.

Three Word Thursday

Three Word Thursday, hosted by Quilly, is an excellent opportunity to resurrect useful words. I wanted to blog about something today that has been bugging me for a couple of days, so Three Word Thursday gives me the perfect opportunity! Sorry for the non-fiction approach. As most of you who read my blog know, I am a lawyer. And as a fairly idealistic one, I take assaults on the integrity of the law very personally.

On May 3, 2010, the front entrance to the Supreme Court was closed. A decision was made by people ‘smarter than us’ that the security threat those great front doors present is too great. The symbolism in this move cannot be overstated.

In England, up through the Edwardian period, only people of a certain social class were permitted to approach a home through its front entrance. Tradespeople and others of lower class were expected to ‘go around back’ to enter. This applied even to police officers. In the U.S., cruel laws, called “Jim Crow” dictated who could eat, sleep, sit, and even walk in certain areas of the public. And again, “go around back” was the order of the day. My children study this in school and cannot believe it was still the case in my lifetime. It floors them that it took the Supreme Court until 1967 to strike down Virginia’s law against interracial marriage in Loving vs. Virginia. But once the Jim Crow laws began to fall, dismantled by the U.S. Supreme Court, it was a tantivy conclusion the country reached – separate but equal was NOT equal and we must, as a nation, accept nothing less than EQUAL access to justice.

Supreme Courts of the U.S. have not always been at the forefront of courage. Decisions made in the interest of political expediency are painful to review. The Dred Scott decision and Plessy vs. Ferguson are shameful examples of knuckling under by men who should have shown more fortitude. After all, if the Supreme Court is afraid to uphold what is morally right, then what hope do the rest of us have?

The closing of the Supreme Court front doors for access is symbolic. You can be kicked out those doors, but you cannot enter through them. Ridiculous. Supreme Court buildings in much more dangerous places in the world (Pakistan, Israel), have not, despite many threats, closed their front doors. As countries move from totalitarianism to representative government, constructing their justice system modeled after ours, they have learned that the very legitimacy of the court rests on access to justice.

So now the great model for judicial authority, the U.S. Supreme Court, is running scared. It is interesting that the Supreme Court itself issued the decision (of course, with 2 dissents). Apparently it is within their discretion to do so. I do not know whether Congress or the President can override such a decision, although Congress could simply by using the power of the purse to either enhance the security arrangements or by stalling further appropriations until the doors are re-opened. But both of the other branches of government can certainly decry it. And have you heard the deafening silence?

And oh, irony of ironies…at the same time this imbroglio arose at the Supreme Court, the President was giving a commencement speech at University of Michigan. During the speech, one of the things he said was:

This democracy we have is a precious thing. For all the arguments and all the doubts and all the cynicism that's out there today, we should never forget that as Americans, we enjoy more freedoms and opportunities than citizens in any other nation on Earth. We are free to speak our mind and worship as we please. We are free to choose our leaders, and criticize them if they let us down. We have the chance to get an education, and work hard, and give our children a better life.

None of this came easy. None of this was preordained. The men and women who sat in your chairs 10 years ago and 50 years ago and 100 years ago -- they made America possible through their toil and their endurance and their imagination and their faith. Their success, and America's success, was never a given. And there is no guarantee that the graduates who will sit in these same seats 10 years from now, or 50 years from now, or 100 years from now, will enjoy the same freedoms and opportunities that you do. You, too, will have to strive. You, too, will have to push the boundaries of what seems possible. For the truth is, our nation's destiny has never been certain.

What is certain -- what has always been certain -- is the ability to shape that destiny. That is what makes us different. That is what sets us apart. That is what makes us Americans -- our ability at the end of the day to look past all of our differences and all of our disagreements and still forge a common future. That task is now in your hands, as is the answer to the question posed at this university half a century ago about whether a free society can still compete.

It sounds to me like he challenged those graduates and others among us, to get those doors opened back up.  The decision to close the front doors of the U.S. Supreme Court for access is a delenda and we should be ashamed of it. I haven't figured out what my course of action should be. I'll start with prayer.

Three Word Thursday

Thank you Quilly for challenging us with difficult, archaic words. To resurrect a good word is a good thing to do! If you love words, you should join us.

The challenge this week was to use any three words from any of the 3WT words from 2010 (so far).  Here's my attempt. It is a continuation of the story from last week.

Paisley II

Philip found himself on the sidewalk outside the hospital. A man out walking his dog jostled him, “Hey, mister! You’re blocking the sidewalk!” the man growled. The dog growled as well. Philip blinked his eyes and shook his head.  “My apologies,” he said, snapping out of his accidie, “I’m trying to figure out what to do next.” The man with the dog looked at him askance and ventured, “you might try just getting out of the way.” Philip sighed and turned to walk towards Logano South, the part of town he lived in.

Climbing the front steps wearily, he got out his key and reached forward to put it into the lock, and then noticed the door was ajar. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle. He debated whether to call the police or investigate on his own. He’d feel a fool if the police showed up and nothing was wrong. But if it was a burglar, the police would want evidence and even better, Philip might catch the thief red-handed. A moment of bravery motivated Philip to nudge the door with his foot. It swung wide.

Philip cautiously stepped into the front hall and then relaxed. The house didn’t “feel” like a stranger was in it and he didn’t see anything immediately out of place. His collection of antique pocket watches, many quite valuable, was still intact in the shadow box hanging on the wall. Convincing himself that he had just failed to close the door completely, he laughed to himself, “here I was going on as if someone was waiting to thropple me!” He closed the door behind him and dropped his keys on the table by the door. A quick run up the stairs reassured him that he was alone in the house. He went back down to the front hall.

He went into the kitchen and put the kettle on to make himself a cup of tea. While it heated, he leafed through the mail. Amidst the usual junk, there was a small envelope addressed by hand. It was the size of a small invitation or thank-you card and had no return address.  He couldn’t think of any occasion that might explain it, but still, it was a handwritten envelope, so he began to open it.  Just then, the kettle began to whistle. Philip tossed the envelope on the kitchen table and brewed his tea. Taking mug in hand, and a couple of cookies, he stepped through to the living room intending to go to his back deck and enjoy his tea while he watched the birds.

As he rounded the sofa to get to the sliding door Philip stopped in his tracks. His eyes rested on a scarf, neatly folded, placed on the center cushion of his sofa.  It was charcoal gray and covered in amoeba shapes. The pattern and colors were exactly the same as the one that the strange woman had been wrapped in, even as she had been transported in the ambulance to the hospital. Philip’s left arm came up and rubbed his neck uncomfortably. “This is incompossible,” he thought. “The scarf cannot be there and here at the same time. And it should not be here. There is no reason for it to be here.” He backed up slowly, moving away from the scarf.

Philip bumped into the doorframe, and suddenly craving human company, he put his mug of tea down on a nearby table, went back to the kitchen and ensured the kettle was off. As he passed the table, he grabbed the small envelope, and stuck it into his pocket. Snagging the keys from the entrance table, Philip left his house. This time he specifically locked the door and checked to make sure it was completely closed. He turned, went down the steps, and this time turned away from the river, heading to the pub at the end of the next block. He had to sit down and think this through.

Better Late Than Never

I was in and out of the car so much yesterday it took forever for me to write my 3WT post. And then, by the time I got home, I had only 5 minutes to post it before the router went off...so, here it is, late.  My apologies. I understand from her blog that our 3WT host, Quilly, is under the weather and under the blankie. Hope you feel better soon, Q!

The words:

• acersecomic, n. — someone whose hair has never been cut
• uberate, v. — make plentiful or nourish
• snilch, v. — to eye someone or something

My Story

Pacing nervously up and down the corridor, Philip tried to convince himself that the yelling he was hearing had nothing to do with him. It had nothing to do with the woman he’d brought into the emergency room. The note of urgency in the ER personnel voices must be connected with some other patient. After all, the woman he’d brought in wasn’t bleeding or obviously hurt. She was just . . . different.

He had first noticed her four weeks earlier when he headed out for a morning run. Pursuant to his New Year’s Resolutions that he was finally following through on in March, he began a slow jog.  “I hate this,” he muttered.  As he turned the corner at the end of the street to head for the river he saw a huddled shape in a doorway to his left. The fog was thinning enough that he discerned the shape was a woman, wrapped in a multi-colored scarf. “Not my problem,” he thought, and continued on.

The next day was sunny so he had no trouble at all seeing her in the doorway. The scarf was an interesting pattern of shapes. His ex-wife had called them amoebas, Philip remembered. But true amoebas weren’t a regular shape like these. Philip then mused upon the possible origin of such a pattern. Was it borrowed from Eastern cultures? Did they represent heavenly bodies? Such were the meanderings of his thoughts until the run was finished.

The third day he noticed the background color. It was a smoky charcoal. Leaning into the slight breeze he wondered whether smoky charcoal really was killing the planet. He mused upon the idea that electric cars were more efficient, yet needed to be plugged in to some kind of power generating device that operated by coal burning. From there he considered whether the early charcoal makers discovered its use by chance, and how they might have devised a way to actually create charcoal themselves. These thoughts became so serious that he ran past his front door a few paces before he realized he was home.

On the fourth day, he noticed that the amoebas were different colors. Amber, Umber, Vermilion, Cerulean, Viridian . . . the colors just rolled out of an ancient memory of his brief stint as an artist. They were so fun to say that he chanted them as he ran. Once he reached the river he began to think of famous artists, and the colors they used. Monet, Van Gogh, Michelangelo, Vermeer . . . their names were almost as fun as the colors, so he chanted them as well.  The run that morning seemed almost too brief.

A few days more of noticing the woman sent his thoughts further afield. The interesting thing was that each day he noticed something new about her scarf, and the thought it produced kept his mind active while he ran. He hardly noticed that his running had become less labored.

By the second week he began to notice the woman herself. He thought he could see that her hair was an ashy blond. From the way it showed on her forehead, and from the braid he saw sticking out below the scarf, he thought of her as an acersecomic. Like the Nazarenes of old, only female.  The thought of the Nazarenes' strict dietary laws sent him off on another tangent. Just how did this woman uberate herself?

On the fourth day of the second week, she looked up as he went by. Her eyes were a startling turquoise color.  He broke his step and REALLY looked this time. She said nothing and he felt an invisible hand move him forward to continue his run. It wasn’t right to intrude upon her solitude. That thought occupied him throughout the run. Just how much solitude does a person kipping in a doorway want?

On the Sunday of the third week, before he headed out for what had become a morning ritual, he put together some croissants with ham and cheese. He had never seen her teeth and had learned from the newspaper  that many homeless people had teeth problems, so he chose light pastry with thinly shaved ham. He had read that fresh water was also a problem, so he added a full water bottle. As he rounded the corner and looked at her customary station, he saw that she was heads down in the scarf once more. He paused, placed the bag at her feet and went on.

Each of the following four days were the same. Whatever Philip had for breakfast, he made an equal portion for her, and left it for her as he went by. He did not try to speak to her or snilch her in a way that implied intimacy or curiosity. She never commented, never reacted, and never looked at him again as she had the day he had seen those startling eyes.

Philip’s morning routine had completely altered. Instead of the three to four cigarettes, black coffee and stretch on the back balcony, the intrigue provided by this woman had motivated him to change his pattern. He was healthier, his clothes were hanging better, and one of his work colleagues had mentioned that Philip was acting like he was in love because he had become so uncharacteristically pleasant to everyone at the firm.

On the second day of the third week, Philip rounded the corner, glanced at her customary spot, and continued a few feet before the doorway’s emptiness registered on his brain.  He stopped dead. She was not there.  Nonetheless, he walked back to the doorway, and put the breakfast bag down in case she had just stepped away for a minute.

The next day was a repeat of the prior. He rounded the corner, with her breakfast, and she was not there – but neither was the bag from the day before. He put down a fresh bag with breakfast and continued.

The third day of the third week, Philip found himself gazing at the breakfast he was making for her with annoyance. “If she’s not going to be there, I’m wasting my time and effort!” he thought. Immediately shamed, he continued the preparation and included some fresh blueberries as a quiet apology. “Who do I think I am?” he muttered to himself. Couldn’t she move without his permission? Perhaps the police had told her to go somewhere else. Or by chance the owners of the house (Philip had never considered them before) had come out early and told her to shove off.

For two more days, he prepared a breakfast and left it in the empty doorway.

Finally, he could stand it no longer. On the 21^st day since he had first seen her, he stopped at the door and pushed the bell.  “RRRRRRRIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNGGGGG!”  The urgent noise seemed to echo through the door and into the building. “RRRRRRRIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNGGGGG!”

Philip was jerked back to reality.  The alarm was in the emergency room area. The fervent voices were several notches higher on the urgency scale.  He tried to look in as the doors opened to admit or spit out specialists and technicians garbed in hospital green.  No one had a word for Philip.  He wasn’t even sure who was on the gurney they were crowded around.  A tall gowned figure stepped back from the table for a moment. At that moment Philip was able to see the figure on the gurney flutter its eyes.

They were turquoise.

Three Word - Er - Thursday

Better late than never. I finally thought up something for Three Word Thursday…okay, so it’s Friday. I’ve been busy.  But since Quilly is discombobulated too, I figure I'm in good company.  As to the words this week, I think the second word in the form given here is a noun.  I think the verb would be assectate.  At any rate, that's how I'm using it.

  amarulence, n. — bitterness, spite

• assectation , v. — to bear a heavy burden
• defedate, v, — to defile, to pollute

Trisha gazed at Michael longingly while he worked on the paper. The way his hair flopped down over his eyes, the way his shoulders filled his jacket. The way when he sat in a chair his muscles stayed taut.  Sigh.  He was oblivious to her adoration of his finer attributes. Heck, he was oblivious to her completely unless he needed homework help. He was an athlete and she was . . . not.  He looked up and asked, “what are you staring at?” She immediately snapped into defensive mode and retorted, “trying to see if the wheels actually turn inside your head when you’re writing your name on a paper.” He laughed uncertainly, not sure whether he’d been complimented or insulted. Instead he turned the paper he'd been working on toward her. It was covered with scratch outs and and mark-throughs. There were places where an eraser had torn through the paper in his attempt to restart a problem. In short, it was a disaster. And that was before she even started looking at whether any of the answers were even close.

“Look,” she began. “It is my assectation to tutor you. I do this without amarulence and without remuneration. It is your responsibility to not defedate my efforts to get you off of academic probation.”

Michael leaned over toward her. Trisha leaned forward as well, thinking he was about to fulfill her fantasy. She parted her lips expectantly. He parted his and then asked, “huh?”

Trisha leaned back and muttered, "expectations, yes. Fantasies, not even close."

Three Word Thursday

• odynometer — n. instrument for measuring pain
• brephophagist — n. one who eats babies
• sagittipotent — adj. having great skills in archery

Taking a break from my chef story, this morning I will do a little non-fiction for Three Word Thursday. Why? Because this morning I had to go to my annual mammogram. And who knew that these words would lend themselves so beautiful for such a FUN time!

Because my mother is a breast cancer survivor, I'm diligent about having the annuals. The technician was very kind, but she still had to do her job thoroughly. If there had been an odynometer attached to the machine, it would have shown intense spikes!

I always try to be extremely cooperative because the worst thing they can say after they do the 'first check' of the image is "we have to do another one (or more)".  When that happens, I am tempted to morph into a brephophagist -- and I love children! (not in the edible crunchy way, of course)

The second image they take always makes me feel like I should come out of the office with olympic level sagittipotent skills. With that arm held up and out for the duration of the image capture, everything from the triceps to the ribs is in perfect position to let the arrow fly...right into the backside of whoever designed these machines.  There's gotta be a better way.

For the few guys who read my blog, sorry.  This is probably TMI for you guys.  Just imagine if the only way doctors had to examine your squishiest most sensitive parts for health was to flatten them, tell you to hold your breath while they take an imagine, and then do it again from a different angle.  Yeah, you'd be spitting out baby parts too.

However, I know my female readers are nodding their heads and saying, "yeah, and you know what happened when I had my last one ? ? ?"  Feel free ladies to vent it in my comments, but promise me that you'll get the screenings regularly. Having lost one blog friend this month, I don't want to be losing any more any time soon!

If you don't have health insurance, there are free programs to cover mammogram screening.  If you do have good health insurance and you want to help other women who don't, take a look at this site.

Blessings and love, K

Three Word Thursday

I missed Three Word Thursday last week as my muse was frozen.  I don't think it is completely thawed this week but working on it.  Quilly's words are engaging, so come play along!

The words:  facinorous, extirpate, hebodomadal

The detective walked into the commercial kitchen and sniffed appreciatively.  His trim figure belied his love of all things fresh-baked. He turned to the chef and inquired, “scones?”  Chef Charles bobbed his head in a restrained assent. “Yes, but they’re for an event.  Back off.”

Hanging his head, the cop ambled over to the crime scene where the technicians were almost finished. He turned on his heel to face Selma. “Are you Selma Rodridguez?” he asked.  She nodded.  “You are under arrest for the murder of Theodore Deum. You have the right to remain silent.” The Detective finished reading her her rights and asked if she understood them. Selma said “yes” and then added, “but I didn’t kill him.”

She looked at the name tag on the cop’s chest and said, “Detective Sims, this arrest will extirpate what little remains of my career as a chef. On what evidence are you arresting me?”  The officer replied, “your prints are all over the murder weapon.”  Selma’s eyes widened as she responded, “it’s a kitchen! My prints are all over all the knives here!  Weren’t there any others as well?”

Sims looked uncomfortable and admitted, “well, yes, but we understand that you had more reason to hate this guy than most. He’s been blackmailing you hebdomadally for the last six months.”

Selma shook her head slowly. “No. I will not let that facinorous man continue to ruin my life. Yes, he was blackmailing me. I had been involved in a Ponzi scheme back in New York that claimed many victims. But I was a small cog in a really big scheme. I paid back my share and had started a new life.”

Chef Charles had moved closer to the pair. “So why did you pay him, Selma?”  She looked at Charles and offered, “because I was doing so poorly here that I thought you’d use it as the final reason to get rid of me.  I was finally making a life here in Peoria and I didn’t want it to end. But I didn’t kill him.”

The officer put his arm out to her and asked, “do I need to put cuffs on you or will you come quietly?”  She squared her shoulders and said, “I’ll come with you.  Charles, will you call my father please? Tell him I won’t be home for dinner this evening but he’s not to worry.”

Three Word Thursday

Quilly is back (yeah!) and her words are still quite challenging. Resurrecting old words is tough, but fun. Join us!

The words: scaevity, gnathonize, roblet

Kitchen Calamity

"What on earth were you thinking?" roared the Chef.

Selma lifted her hands in the universal helpless gesture. A large bandage on her right hand testified to her scaevity. "I just don't know how it happened," she began. "I was unloading the dishwasher and the knife began to fall and I didn't want it to cut through your new kitchen floor . . ." she trailed off, wide-eyed, as if for the first time fully comprehending the stupidity of saving a floor from a very sharp knife.

Chef Charles shook his head at her. "Selma, that's your problem in the kitchen. You just don't think. To be a successful chef you'll have to learn to think three or four steps ahead all the time. The knife shouldn't have been in the dishwasher in the first place. Last week you used it on raw meat and then went straight to vegetables. We had to throw all of them out. Two weeks ago you nearly severed your pinky finger while trying out new handgrips. If I remember correctly you were singing and dancing to an iPod while you were doing it!"

His demeanor softened as he noticed her eyes filling with tears. "You are incredibly creative at combining flavors and textures - one of the best I've ever met. I learn from you in that area," he said gently. She sniffed and replied, "don't gnathonize me. I know that my being here has been more trouble than it's worth to you."

Charles protested, "no, Selma, I truly do learn from you. But the greatest chefs can balance safety and productivity as well as hold the linear time-line in their head while they also execute the creations their minds have devised -- which is why they're really few and far between. I think you can do that. And once you get a following, you won't have to do as much of prep and clean-up, so you'll have far more time to enjoy the creative process. Those celebrity shows roblet people all the time, making them think that stardom is just around the corner without hard work."

"So, you're going to keep me on?" she asked. "Yes, but I'll have to find something else for you to do today with that wound. Even with a glove over it you'll still be awkward since it's your right hand. First, let's get the mess cleaned up from the floor and counter. Please get the mop." Selma went over to the closet and started to pull out a bucket. Out tumbled a body, with a very sharp knife sticking out of its back. Selma looked at Charles and said, "I did NOT do that!"

Three Word Thursday

Quilly hosts this great meme. The idea is to resurrect old words into interesting (we hope) stories. It seems that taking the week off was exactly what I needed. The conclusion to my story dropped into place. So, with apologies to the dragons because it's a little bit long, here is the end. And Thom, I guess you'll just have to imagine the rest of the romance!

Alice pulled the car into the parking lot in front of a gray industrial building. “Um, Alice?” Luke began cautiously. “The sign says we need a parking pass.” She flashed him a grin. “Well, that’s why you’re deaf and have two enormous dogs with you.” As Luke counted to 100 inside his mind, Alice got out of the car and headed into the building.

Inside, the building no longer looked industrial. The corridors were softly lighted, and on the walls were displays of interesting projects in science. Alice paused at one, examining what was labeled as a water piddler. She pushed a button to activate a strobe light, watching how the water moved as it adimpleated the bucket. By turning the knob she made the droplets freeze in mid-air. It was all an optical illusion but she was fascinated by the science behind the project.

“Enjoying our display?” asked a familiar voice. Alice turned to see Adam’s father, Trent Tradoch, smiling behind her. It was a weird smile and he had a strange gleam in his eyes. “Actually, yes,” answered Alice. “I’m pamphagous – I receive great lubency from the law, but I’m fascinated by science as well,” she continued.

Tradoch didn’t engage. “What are you doing here? Why are you interfering in something that doesn’t concern you? I could have you arrested for just being in this building without permission.”

Alice took a deep breath. “Look, I know that Adam has disappeared after exhibiting some pretty hostile behavior. I also know that you have been working on microchips for humans for almost your entire career. And while this great institution helps fund you, they’ve repeatedly refused you permission to try your experiments on human subjects. My guess is that you decided you could use your son for that.”

Tradoch’s face became enraged as he hissed, “even here, at Rensselaer, where the most brilliant minds in the country gather, they don’t understand that the next step MUST be implanting these chips into biological subjects! We’ll never know how well they work if we don’t start somewhere.”

Alice started backing up and spoke softly, “Dr. Tradoch, it is apparent from being around Adam that the chips aren’t working perfectly. You need to free him from this and let him be a little boy.”

The scientist snarled, “he is MY son and I can choose what will happen to him! The problems with his chip are due to his age. If we implant them into young adult males we can control entire armies! Now turn around and walk down this hallway before I hurt you.” Alice saw that he had a taser in his hand. Because of where they were, she wasn’t sure whether it was just an ordinary taser or something that might hurt her much worse.

She moved slowly, trying to think. All of a sudden she heard an explosion of shouts.

“Get them out of here!”

“No dogs allowed in a lab area!”

“What are those, ponies?”

She turned to see two giant wolfhounds bounding down the corridor towards her. Before he could even react, Cicero had Tradoch pinned to the floor. He extended his giant body across the man, carefully putting one paw across each bicep. Cassius very delicately mouthed the device out of Tradoch’s hand and brought it over to drop it at Alice’s feet. As she sank to the floor in relief, she buried her head and arms in Cassius’ fur.

Luke came running up with several irate scientists trailing him. Alice handed him her iTouch. “Touch the microphone button. I got it all. You can take it to the authorities. I think it will give them what they need to build a case with international implications.”

She looked at the most unassuming of the scientists. “Are you Dr. Soza?” He assented. “In Dr. Tradoch’s lab you’ll find a small boy. He’s very frightened. Please take Cassius with you. The boy’s name is Adam.”

“It is highly irregular to take a dog into a lab…” he began. Seeing the look on Alice’s face – or maybe it was the look on the dog’s face, the scientist continued, “…but perhaps we can make an exception.”

It was a long ride back to the farm, and a little cramped with the two dogs, Adam, Luke and Alice, but it was a very comfortable silence. While Luke drove, Alice searched for the right words for Adam. Finally she gave up and just looked back at him in the rear seat. He was totally engulfed by wolfhounds and was sound asleep. Alice smiled.

Luke cleared his throat, "Alice, what were all those things you gathered up? And what was in the rainstick?" Her smile became a grin. "The things were to distract whoever tried to follow me, like the sheriff. Inside the rainstick I had stuck a copy of the code." She yawned.

"Code? What code?" he asked.

But Alice was asleep.

~The End~

That’s all folks! The astute among you will realize that the Corridor Lab is at MIT, but the setting is Rensselaer. I wanted to highlight the MIT projects, but Trent Tradoch is an AI/computer guy. So I transplanted the lab. Sorry if it bothers the purists. This Corridor Lab project really does exist at MIT – it is a display area where they use science as artwork. Or maybe it’s the other way around. You can see this one here.

Three Word Thursday

It's time for Three Word Thursday! I almost forgot in my excitement over winning something for a change! Quilly gives us 3 words and we try to make them make sense in a story. The others who play are very inventive and entertaining, so visit them! And play Quilly and Thom's Mele Kalikimaka 12 Days of Christmas Hawaiian Style as well!

Alice swung into the parking lot at the Winn-Dixie and parked. She sprinted to the door, but skidded to a halt inside. Luke was at the cashier stand finishing a purchase. He lifted the case of water he was buying and started toward the door. “Hey, Alice! I was just stocking Brian’s place. He and Liz are coming home this evening, you know. She’s such an aquabib snob and all he has in his refrigerator is beer…” his voice trailed off as he felt the intensity of Alice’s gaze.

“It’s Adam. He’s run off from school after causing a big ruckus. I need to go find him but I need a few supplies first.”

Luke immediately sobered, “okay, let me help you with the list.”

Alice replied, “No, I’ll get it – if you want to go with me, put that stuff in your car. Oh, here are my keys. I need gas – will you fill it while I grab these things?” He caught the keys, nodded and took off for the parking lot.

Alice whirred through the supermarket getting the seven items. The entire time she fumed under her breath, “that stupid ficulnean man. I can’t believe he’s done this. Why the God of the universe allows some people to reproduce in beyond me!” Alice stopped when she noticed the startled look on the young stocker’s face. He was only about 13 and at the age where his face resembled brochity encased in steel. The poor kid’s face wasn’t only startled, but bright red. She thought back over her rant and realized the whole idea of breeding was probably embarrassing when overheard by a young teen. She flashed him her most brilliant smile, muttered “sorry” and sprinted to the check out.

Back in the car she went over the list with Luke. “Aluminum foil, lemons, yogurt, cornmeal, batteries, sippy cup, and cranapple juice” she barked out. Luke replied, “Check” for each one, desperately trying to figure out the connection in his head, but totally intimidated by this side of Alice he’d not seen for a very long time. The dogs looked on, amused expressions on their big faces.

“Okay,” she said and started the car. As they hit the highway Luke ventured a question. “Um…Alice? Just where are we going?” he asked. “Troy!” she snapped and down-shifted to pass a slow moving truck. Luke sat back in his seat figuring it was dangerous to ask anything else for a while.

Three Word Thursday

It's time for stretching your brain, manipulating your neurons, getting your gray matter to ease its way around new words, and while you're at it, be entertained by fellow wordies. Quilly hosts Three Word Thursday. These words are obsolete unless we rescue them! If you want to participate in this 911 party for words, see Quilly!

The words this week: gardeviance, kexy, aretaloger

To catch up with the story, go back to here for the start, and then just follow 3WT.

Alice’s mom heard the car in the driveway, the slam of the front screen door, and the pounding of Alice’s feet up the stairs. She went up to see what was so urgent and found Alice on the floor next to an old gardeviance they used for storing family treasures. “What are you looking for, Alice?” she asked. “I need the rain stick, Mom!” “Oh, I donated that to the charity sale,” her mother replied. Alice sat back on her heels. “I didn’t think they’d want it because it was so kexy. I mean, how can a rain stick be a rain stick when all the beads inside have disappeared? But they were happy to take it.”

“MOM! I took the beads out because I put something else in there! I need to get it back! It’s the one thing, besides the dogs, that can help me locate Adam! Where do they store the things for the sale?” Alice demanded.

“Patricia Rock was the one who came by. You can call…” but Alice had already flown by to the phone. By the time her mom reached the base of the stairs, Alice was on the way out the front door, whistling to the big Newfies to come with her. To her credit, Alice’s mom didn’t try to slow her down for an explanation of how Adam was missing yet again. Being a mom, she focused on the practical things.

“Will you and Luke and Adam be back for dinner?” her mother called. Alice shot her a look full of exasperation. So much precious time had already been lost. “Probably not. Thanks mom.” “Why are you taking the dogs, Alice?” her mom asked as she approached the car. Cass and Cicero eagerly jumped into the back seat and took up their sentinel posts at each rear window. Alice paused, “Mom, I need to go see a bad guy about a bad plan he had. He’s such an aretaloger that he wastes a lot of time telling everyone how smart he is. I need the dogs to impress upon him the urgency of time. Don’t worry, no one will hurt these big babies!” Alice’s mom looked at her reproachfully. “Alice, my concern is for you and that little boy. Find him and get him to safety…and take care of the dogs too.” She kissed her daughter on the forehead and pushed her down into the driver’s seat. “And bring Luke with you!” she added quietly as her daughter zoomed down the road.

Three Word Thursday

This week Quilly asks us to go back through the October word list and use three. It's almost like revisting old friends...who seem like the ones you used to know but who aren't quite the way you remember them! Thanks Quilly!

Alice stood to face Judge Hanson. “May it please the court,” she began, “my client respectfully requests a recess for three days to examine the evidence and prepare a defense.”

The judge looked over her glasses at the assistant D.A. sitting there. “Any objections?” she asked. The fresh-from law school young man stood, banging his knees on the table and causing the laptop to rock precariously. “No, your honor,” he managed to get out.

Alice stifled a smile. She remembered when she had experienced that kind of xenization in a courtroom. “Granted,” said the judge. “We will reconvene on Thursday at which time I will expect to proceed through the entire body of evidence. You are lucky we’ve had a plea on a trial that was scheduled to begin that morning.” Alice nodded, “Yes, your honor.”

“Okay, we’re adjourned,” the judge said. “Alice, come see me in chambers please.”

Alice looked up, startled, and then answered, “Yes, your honor.” She gathered her materials and instructed her client to go track down that “miracle witness who would exonerate him”. She also told him to shower before he returned to court and to wear a shirt with a collar. Finally, Alice made her way back to the judge’s private area.

“Come in,” Judge Hanson called in response to her knock. “We need to talk about Adam Tradoch. Just listen – don’t answer. Alice, you’re sailing very close to the wind on this one, and you could lose your boat over it.” The judge was an avid sailor and most of her warnings had to do with high seas and strong winds. “I’ve just had a call from Ben Carmody. Adam has run away from school and disappeared. You’re the one who got him out of the woods and into the situation he’s in now, and while my first priority is Adam’s welfare, I am also concerned about your bar license. His father is rich and can go after you in a way that even if unsuccessful in the end, can destroy your reputation and practice. More importantly, this little boy is running all of the adults in this case around like he’s the puppet master. None of this is good and I really don’t like it occurring in my jurisdiction. Now go do something about it.”

Alice started to reply but the look in the Judge’s eye changed her, “But…” to a “Yes ma’am,” and she turned to leave. “Oh, and one more thing,” said the judge. Alice turned back with her eyebrows raised questioningly. The judge’s face relaxed into a tenellous smile. “It’s good to see you and Luke working things out.”

Alice’s jaw dropped. Judge Hanson had been one of the few people who had scrupulously avoided comment as the drama of Luke and Alice’s first go-round had unfolded. She winked at Alice and said, “now go find that boy.”

Alice’s thoughts were in a whirl as she walked to her car. She lifted her suffarcinated briefcase into the back seat. As she slid into the driver’s seat, she mused. “Adam…where could you be? Why are you running?” Her mind ranged back over all the events of the last three weeks, probing into all the non-verbal messages she had received from Adam along the way. Body language, avoiding her eyes, and intonation when he did speak all gave a subtext to the events. "C'mon Alice, you've had special training in this so you can pick juries. Use it here," she whispered to herself.

The pieces started to come together. Then, all of a sudden, Alice knew exactly where to go.

Three Word Thursday

Quilly is at it again! Handing out old words and challenging us to use them creatively! Well, everyone wanted Adam to be part of the problem, so here it is!

Adam sat at the lunch table and stared at the sandwich Mrs. Carmody had packed for him. As usual, the peanut butter was so spiscious that he knew it would dwarf the taste of the jelly. He decided to pitch it and go get something from the vending machine. Pulling money out of his pocket that he had liberated from the teacher’s purse, he realized that he could suffarcinate on carbs and sugar. He eagerly searched the choices behind the glass only to find that nothing looked the least bit appealing. Some do-gooders had gotten to this machine and required them to offer healthy stuff. Adam’s tristifical response to this final insult caused heads to turn as he flung himself down on the floor howling. When Adam felt adult hands pulling him to his feet, he snapped. He wrenched himself free, took off running down the hall, went out the front door, and disappeared through the back yards across from the school.