What's an Overnight Camp?

They're outside, moving slowly across the playground,
looking for anyone wearing wool or smelling of lamb chops

Hello Troops,
"What's an Overnight Camp?"
That's a good question, considering we haven't had a regular one night overnight camp in several weeks. Our last two Overnight Camps were part of the Ultimate Camp. Tonight's camp is 100% traditional so during the staff meeting I reminded everyone how an Overnight Camp differs from an EdVenture Camp.

• The campers are not issued name badges.
• There are no death dots or bonus signatures.
• There is no before bed video.
• The camp stops for the night at 11:00 P.M.
• The staff get refreshments in the Discovery Room.
• I get up at 5:45 A.M. and make the WalMart doughnut run.
• The campers are up at 7:10 A.M.
• The campers go straight to the cafeteria for breakfast, bypassing the gym.
• The campers leave at 10:00 A.M.
• We have a staff meeting afterwords to review the surveys and award points.

There you have it, a traditional Overnight Camp. I heard several staff say , "I remember that," as I made each point. The longer camps are in their final few weeks at the Center and then the summer season will end. It's been a good run.

It's 9:58 P.M. and the simulators are running on full steam. Casey is running the Voyager. Dave is in the Phoenix. Christine is at the Odyssey's helm. Brittney is directing the Magellan and Ben is in charge of the Galileo. I'm at my desk with headphones on. My music helps me stay focused on the task at hand and, if turned up loud enough and the noise cancellation system activited, drowns out the thundering sounds of the simulators which surround me.

We run our joint camp with the Astrocamp campers from Thursday to Saturday. There are 13 of them coming from Ogden. They are usually great kids.

With all that said, I believe its time to visit Wonderland and look at what our Imagineers have been up to.

Our news from the Imaginarium begins with Carol Melps, a four year veteran tour guide with BiLo Tours out of London. She came to the Imaginarium's Center for Creativity Studies looking for treatment to restore and rejuvenate her imagination . After several tests our best therapist concluded that Carol Melps of 15 Wimpledell Circle, Little Bottom, Surrey had a chronic irreversible condition. Her imagination and creativity were in a severe state of atrophy. Despite our best efforts it was decided that she'd waited too long for treatment. She was discharged and sent back to the real world. Carol is once again directing tours for BiLo Tours in Spain. We wish her the best of luck and hope her condition doesn't infect her customers.

Carol, at work. Uninspiring and Wearisome to her Clients.
Click to enlarge

We leave Carol and move along to those who still harbor that spark of imagination and wonder.






It's nearly 10:30 P.M. In 30 minutes it will be ice cream, a cookie and bed. 44 campers will drift away on clouds of Space Center dreams (nightmares for some) and the staff will wander aimlessly through the hallways, too exhausted to think rationally, until I order them to bed.

Good Night,

Mr. W.

This Week in Words......

Hello Troops,
The highlights of the week:

• Day Camp 2 Monday through Wednesday. Great kids and great staff. The perfect combination for a great time all around.

• Bracken's injury (see previous post).

• Jon and his cane. Jon is another of our younger 20 somethings that many of you know as our boy's chief chaperon. He works as a flight director and supervisor in the Voyager. He hobbled around on a cane for a day or two. He claimed it was something genetic, I can't be sure because I wasn't listening as I should have. As soon as I heard it wasn't an injury sustained at the Space Center my interest wained. Some of the staff were overheard talking near the drinking fountain (the best place in any organization to hear the latest gossip). One maliciously suggested Jon was "faking it", claiming how strange it was that Jon's injury came on the heels of Bracken's. First of all, shame to the any of the staff for openly saying what we were all thinking - and let everyone be warned that the full wrath of Mr. Williamson will be unleashed on anyone that vocalizes what I'm thinking again :)

• Thursday through Saturday was our 5th EdVenture Camp. We had outstanding campers and staff. I enjoyed the camp even though I spent most of the time in a mental haze caused by lack of sleep. Living and working in a mental haze has its advantages, as long as I'm not driving long distances. I find myself dozing off at my desk from time to time thus giving the staff something else to talk about at the water fountain. I'm trying not to doze off as much, afraid I'll be caught by Alex Anderson and his newly installed web cam perched near the pencil sharpener on the bookshelf behind my desk. I heard it moving the other day while I had my feet up on the desk and my eyes and brain parked in neutral. I heard a noise, looked over and saw the camera moving in my direction. I spun around, grabbed a pen and pretended to be signing imaginary papers. Curse you and that camera Alex. I think we're finished with the trial run. Its time to put it in the Magellan so I can get back to work and not worry if someone is going to see me picking my nose or shepherding sheep over that white picket fence :)

• Our "Going the Extra Mile Award" this week goes to Aleta Clegg. Aleta is our Curriculum Director, Planetarium Manager and Summer Cook and Bottle Washer. She came to work Thursday looking like someone in need of a stiff drink. She'd been up all night with a very sick child. She ignored her body's screams for sleep and soldiered on, cooking outstanding food for campers, staff and volunteers. Thanks Aleta!

• Our second place "Going the Extra Mile Award" goes to Bracken and Megan. They saw a problem and took steps to correct it. Our twenty year old shower curtain in the Voyager's bathroom was developing some kind of organism capable of communicating by telepathy. This explains that strange feeling of something else in the shower with you that many of you have been reporting to me over the last few weeks. Bracken and Megan said they couldn't tolerate it one minute more. They drove to WalMart and bought another shower curtain with their own money. Great Job Bracken and Megan! I must now ask you a question I heard expressed by one of our newly hired supervisors near the fourth grade drinking fountain. How can you two afford to purchase and donate a new shower curtain on Space Center wages? Such extravagance is causing people to talk. Mind you, I'm not one of them but I am curious. Don't shower curtains cost like five to ten dollars? Come on, tell the truth. Where are you two getting extra money to throw away on luxuries like shower curtains? Is it something I can get into? Come on, share the joy.

• Tregan wins third place in the "Going the Extra Mile" award this week. Let me explain. There are rare occasions I'm allowed to leave the school. They usually involved spending money to repair this or that or an emergency toner cartridge purchase because the current one in the Voyager is kaput and won't print another legible paper no matter how many times it is shaken. Every time I've returned to the Center I've found Tregan standing at the intersection of the kindergarten and main hallway entrance to the school in full camo with one phaser in hand and two more strapped to each leg with another safely tucked in his waistband for good measure. "I'm here for the Phoenix," he said every time I passed. What a dedicated volunteer, always ready for his acting role! Of course, I didn't have the heart to tell him the Phoenix crew had already gone home and the mission was over or the Phoenix crew, along with all the other campers, were in the cafeteria having lunch.

It's a beautiful day so how about a stroll through the Imaginarium before Sunday dinner?

This first is a series of Greeting Cards from the Romance Section of the Imaginarium's Gift Shop. You would expect any greeting card purchased at the Imginarium to approach the subject differently, wouldn't you?







Hurry, Wonderland's Grand Theater still has ticket's for the world premier of Samurai Wars!


A brilliant idea to stop the conversation before it gets started. A God send to the injured tired of recounting the horrific accident over and over again. An Imaginarium gem for sure.

Pass? You Shall Not!

You want paradise? What universe do you come from?

What is it with us men and manuals?

We've got a great week ahead of us with an Overnight Camp and another EdVenture Camp (not to mention several private missions and birthday parties). I hope to see you all soon at the Center.

Mr. Williamson

The End of One and the Beginning of Another

Hello Troops,
Our Day Camp ended at 3:00 P.M. Thursday. EdVenture Camp 5 started at 7:00 P.M. The EdVenture Camp ends Saturday at 3:00 P.M. Let it never be said the Space Education Center let a day go by without finding some way to make it beneficial to ourselves and our students.

I have an injury to report. Tuesday, early afternoon, Flight Director Bracken is standing at the bottom of the Voyager's Spiral Stairs. A Voyager Security Guard slowly descends the spiral stairs - step by step, phaser drawn. He is more concerned with a possible intruder than minding where his feet are falling on the stairs.

Three steps from the bottom, with his back to Bracken, the security officer missteps. Gravity intercedes and pulls the boy toward an abrupt and possibly painful disagreement with the carpeted Crew Quarters floor. But wait, there is a rather large mass in the boy's way. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, its Bracken! Instead of colliding with the unforgiving floor, the boy falls into 6 foot 9 ish Bracken. The boy is spared and there was great rejoicing.

Bracken, on the other hand, wasn't prepared for this close encounter of the forth kind. The boy's mass impacted Bracken's, sending Bracken off balance. Bracken's left leg lost its structural integrity and gave way, sending Bracken's left rib cage into the metal bar of the small bunk bed next to the spiral stairs.

Bracken collapsed onto the floor, clutching his side. According to reliable witnesses he repeatedly called for his mother. Another remembered seeing Bracken lose consciousness. When he woke moments later he mentioned an unsettling memory of a bright light at the end of a long tunnel and a voice of rolling thunder say, "We don't want your kind here!"

It took the combined effort of four eleven and twelve year old boys to hoist Bracken off the floor and drag him to the comfort of a bunk.

"No, No," he said with hand upon his heart. "I will not rest while others work. Leave me here. I shall preserver." The boys left Bracken in the crew quarters clutching his side while struggling for breath.

I learned about the accident when I saw Bracken crawling on his hands and knees out of the Voyager and into the Space Center's office. I jumped up to offer assistance. It was refused.

"No No," he said with hand upon his heart. "I will not take your help, or help from any man while people starve in sub Sahara Africa! Help them I say. Leave me to the Fates!" With that, he collapsed onto the carpet, blocking the entrance to the Voyager.

We pulled him back to the world of mortals with smelling salts and a few of the camper's dirty socks found abandoned on the gym floor. Bracken, no longer able to crawl because of the pain, inched his way in a unflattering worm crawl into the office. He maneuvered around the metal filing cabinet to the area between the long wooden desk and the outside wall. He layed beside the Black Hole (The Space Center's Lost and Found). The twenty minute journey of eight feet left him exhausted and barely able to speak.

"Water, water," Bracken whispered through swollen cracked and bleeding lips. A young volunteer, holding back sincere tears of compassion, found a cup and filled it from the drinking fountain. He knelt beside Bracken, lifted his head and held the cup to his lips.

"Here Bracken," his voice wavered between sobs. "Water."

"No, No," Bracken said pushing the cup away from his parched lips and throat. "I will not drink until everyone here has had a drink. The Good Book says that the first shall be last and the last first." With that, he fainted.

Bracken, a Hero to Young Children.
A Martyr to Pain and Punishment

Bracken is an example of the kind of staff we have at the Space Education Center. They are people who put everyone else first. Our staff and volunteers are the salt of the Earth burdened with extreme humility as their only weakness. The thought warms a Director's heart.

Epilogue: Bracken badly bruised his ribs but thankfully there were no breaks. He is a trooper and was back to work the next day. He makes an interesting sight - a nearly seven foot young 20 year old hobbling around the Center looking more like someone 93 years of age who was unable to reach the toilet in time.

And now, on a brighter note, shall we take a few minutes to enjoy the Imaginarium?

Who are your top ten favorites?

The home of the richest of the Hobbits in the Shire.

Just one of the Imaginarium's favorite Watering Holes for our young gun slingers looking to spend a few hours washing away their troubles in lemonade, and Sarsaparilla while listening to Kitty at the piano. Later, a few hands of Uno before home, bath and bed.

See You Soon Troops!

Mr. W.

Imagination Amok

Hello Troops
What an electrical storm we had yesterday in Utah County. The lightening and thunder was an excellent follow up to the banging and booming of the fireworks throughout the night of the 4th.
The change in the fireworks laws created a spectacle I've never seen before. It was an amazing sight from my deck. The valley was ablaze in color.

I'm about to leave for the Space Center and another day of Day Camp followed by private missions. I thought I'd start the day with a few things from the Imaginarium. Enjoy and I hope to see you all at the Center soon.


The connection between the mind of a child and his television. A bond difficult to break.

It's a maze and at times quite a bewilderment, but what a journey life takes us on.

This is the last page in the Space Center's Emergency Actions Handbook titled "When all else fails...."

It's true, isn't it?

I'd like to post these at various places around the Space Center.

And an item from a grocery store with a sense of humor. Would you go a bit out of your way to shop there? I would.

Have a Great Day,

Mr. W.

Adrian Stevens Personal Log 3-2: Drill Sergeant Warner

This story is just for fun. Any resemblance to space center employees or volunteers is deliberate. If you want included in the story, just let me know, but be warned. You may end up as a bad guy or a whiner or the cook or something else entirely.

Aleta

How I Flunked Out of Starfleet Academy: Part 2

"Attention!"

The female cadets scrambled to line up at the end of their bunks. We'd been given one hour to settle in. I guessed that hour was up as the drill sergeant strode through the door, tailed by her assistant.

"Cadet, you are out of uniform." The sergeant glared at the first cadet in line. The girl still wore her street clothes. "These bunks are atrocious. And the lockers," she flipped open the nearest foot locker to reveal a jumble of belongings, "are not properly stowed. Your response time is also lacking. But I'll be generous since this is your first day. I'm going to walk out the door and come back in two minutes." She turned on her heel and marched through the dormitory door.

"Who does she think she is?" The cadet bunking on the other side of Christine complained.

Christine and I had the beds in the very far corner, right next to the lavatory. She and I traded glances. How stupid was the cadet? We straightened the military issue blankets on our beds and made sure our gear was stowed correctly. Wasn't hard for me, I hadn't brought much from home.

"She's drill sergeant Warner, thinks she owns the place." The cadet across from us jerked her head to the door. "And her assistant, watch out for her. That woman is a menace to everyone. I think her name is VandenBerger. They call her the Big V." Her eyes dropped to our collars where the lack of colored pips declared our status. "General studies? Losers." Her collar sported red piping.

"Attention!" Warner and Big V were back for inspection.

Christine and I jumped to position, at attention to the left side of our foot lockers.

"How long did they take?" Warner asked her assistant.

"Fifteen point seven three seconds."

Warner shook her head. Her hair didn't shift. It looked painted on, every lock glued into position. "That's over ten seconds too long. Do you know what that means?" She turned on the nearest cadet.

"No, ma'am." The girl swallowed nervously.

Warner shoved her nose into the girl's face. "Sir! Not ma'am. Sir. Got that? And next time, don't squeak. Shout like you mean it. Now, do you know what that extra ten seconds means?"

"No, sir!"

"Five extra laps of the track when we finish inspection. Show me your locker, cadet."

I tried not to fidget as Warner and Big V worked their way down the line of cadets. They were generous with the demerits. A wrinkle in your pillowcase? Demerit. Your clothing not folded precisely in the locker? Demerit. A stray hair out of place? Demerit and a recommendation to get your head shaved.

She reached Christine. Warner eyed her head to toe. "Your hair is too long for regulations. Your blanket is not tucked in properly. Do it again. Now."

Warner turned to me while Christine untucked and retucked the corners of her bed. "Sloppy. What's your name, cadet?"

"Stevens, sir."

"Well, Stevens, do you know what general studies cadets do while the other cadets are at morning training?" She smiled. It was evil, like a big snake preparing to eat it's next meal. "They get to scrub the barracks. You and your friend will find cleaning supplies in the closet. You have one hour."

My heart sank as the other cadets smirked. I didn't come to the Academy to clean barracks. I was here to be an officer.

Warner marched up the aisle between the rows of beds. "Cadets, report to training. Dismissed!"

Christine and I traded looks as the room emptied.

"Cleaning? Seriously?" Christine kicked her foot locker.

I grinned. "We can do it fast. I'll show you. I worked janitorial on the ship here to pay my passage. And then I've got an idea."

"That smile scares me." But she followed me to the closet.

An hour later, the barracks gleamed. The rows of short-sheeted bunks showed not a single wrinkle, the blankets tight enough to bounce coins. Christine and I stood at attention as Warner and Big V inspected.

"Very good, cadets. You have until lunch at twelve hundred. I suggest you spend it in the library and the gym."

"Sir? What about classes?" Christine asked, her voice squeaking just a bit.

"Study what you want, at least for the first month. Further training will be based on what you pursue." Warner paused, hands clasped behind her back. "General studies is just that. Many admirals were general studies cadets, as well as most of those directing special ops and undercover assignments. Specialists are necessary, but those who understand more than their chosen field are the ones needed at the top. Remember that."

I watched her and her assistant leave the room. A faint ray of hope glimmered in the depths of my mind.

"We should short sheet our own bunks, just to allay suspicions," Christine said.

"They're going to know, Christine. Who else has access to the dorms?" I shrugged. "They fired the first shot."

"And what if we get into trouble?"

"I don't think we need to worry about that, not with Warner."

I was right. The cadets who complained ended up with extra KP duty. Christine and I ended up with fifty-eight enemies.


Aleta Clegg, writing as Jaleta Clegg

A Mutiny at the Space Center! The Horrific Story Told Below!

Hello Troops,
I knew something was wrong Friday evening shortly after the last of our Galaxy Campers went home. The staff seemed anxious. Instead of seeing the usual excitement at completing another camp I saw concern laced with anger in their eyes. Instead of offering a smile in passing I got a cold stare. Many huddled in small groups whispering to each other. Occasionally one head would emerge from the pack to locate me. The group stopped talking if I was within ear shot or quickly and noticeably changed the subject of their clandestine conversation.

I first noticed I was being followed as I walked the hallways locking the doors of the rooms we used for the camp. The young volunteers tried to look like their was some purpose to their standing at the corners of the hallways. One turned and stared at the mortar between the wall's bricks after realizing he'd been caught by my suspicious eye. Another took a knee and quickly untied then retied his shoe.

"What's up?" I asked

"Nothing, just tying my shoe."

"I noticed you untied it first and now you're retying it?"

"I...... well..... uh......"

He stood and walked quickly away. Yes, something was amiss in the land of OZ.

"Mr. Williamson.... Don't go......," The voice came from the general direction of the office. It sounded like Julie Anna but I couldn't be sure. I could tell it was a female and in distress. It was a warning not to go somewhere but abruptly cut off before the danger's location was revealed.

I stopped and looked down the long hallway stretching the length of the school between the Conference Room and the south parking lot exit. I could see Casey Voeks (Rebel Rouser) standing near the Space Center Office's door. His arms were folded across his chest. His cold stare went straight through me. My gut told me to exit the building and run to the Battlestar to call for reinforcements. I could smell mutiny in the air and knew there were still loyal staff and volunteers at home who would come to my rescue if called upon.

My pride urged me to put aside my fear and face them. I did what any rational person would do, I listened to my gut and bolted for the nearest exit by the Computer Lab. I stopped dead in my tracks when I reached the doors. Staring at me in the dark of night through the double glazing were the faces of two volunteers. Their bodies, dressed in Space Center black, bled into the night. My exit was blocked. It seemed my luck had run out.

Casey shouted from the Office. "Mr. Williamson, there is no escape. Come here at once. We need to talk ."

Several staff and volunteers (minions) emerged from the darkest recesses of the classroom's doorways. One tapped a two foot section of metal pipe against his palm. Another had brass knuckles. I noticed one volunteer stood further out into the hallway. As I passed I noticed he was using his body to hide a mop and bucket and a can of chemical absorbent. It was the stuff our school custodian uses to absorb vomit and blood. The boy looked genuinely pleased with his assignment.

With chin held high in defiance and shoulders back, I walked purposefully toward my destiny.
"So this is how it ends," I whispered to myself. "A mutiny led by who else but Casey Voeks. I knew I shouldn't have let him come back after spending two years in Texas. He's come back with new ideas and new ideas can be dangerous."

I walked up to him in the doorway. "Is there a problem?" We stood face to face. He looked directly into my eyes, showing no fear. His overconfident smirk didn't pass my notice.

"Nothing you can't solve with a bit of common sense and respect for the crew. Now shall we proceed?" He motioned for me to enter the office.

My desk was surrounded by black shirted volunteers peppered with the blues and greens of the senior staff. I stopped when I saw Julie Anna (Statistical Saint). She was held captive in circle barricade made of overturned gym chairs, camouflage netting, wrestling mats, and plastic tables laying on their sides. A strobe light flashed rapidly over her head. Her cheeks glowed with intermittent red because of three rotating red lights near her face.

"What's this about?" My voice was firm. "Let her go."

"You're going to sit down and listen. If you cooperate Julie Anna goes free." Casey pointed to my chair.

"Mr. Williamson, what are they going to do to me?" Julie Anna shouted.

"One more outburst and you'll be gagged," Casey shot back. He waved his hand. Megan (Assistant Rebel Rouser and Recently Returned LDS Missionary) stepped forward holding one of the black fabric light covers we use to cover the hallway lights. She twisted the cloth into a tight spiral and held it tightly between her two hands ready and willing to apply over Julie Anna's mouth if necessary.

Brittney (Magellan Set Director and Nemesis to Casey - necessary for good story development) was obviously through with mercy and compassion. "What are we waiting for. Let's just finish her off," The mumbling that followed showed many in the room supported her more radical approach.

"I want a Priest to hear my last confession," Julie Anna shouted.

"There will be no Priest!" Casey's voice was decisive. "There is no forgiveness for what you've done."


Brittney pulled a Bic lighter from her pocket and continually struck it until it produced a flame.

"A Cross. Please, a Cross," Julie Anna begged. She looked at the youngest volunteers, many of whom were visibly shaken by what they were witnessing.

"Please?" Joseph asked. Casey hesitated then nodded. Joseph (Sympathetic Child who regrets his mutineering thirty minute past) reached into the pen bucket, took out two pens, pulled a piece of dangling string from his jeans and fashioned a crude cross.

"Bless you dear lady," He handed the cross to Julie Anna. She held it tightly to her heart and fixed her gaze on some spot on the ceiling, resigned to her fate. She drew some comfort knowing she would be the first martyr to Statistics in the modern age.

"Put the lighter away," Casey kept his gaze on Brittney until his wishes were obeyed.

"Weak. I knew I should have taken charge." Brittney looked at the other flight directors, then emphasized her point by pointing to each of them individually. "Betrayal is hard to forget." She stepped back with the others.

I sat down at my desk wishing the web camera that arrived the day before was installed so someone outside the Space Center could see what was happening and call for help. Alex read must have read my thoughts. He stepped aside so I could see the camera was still in its box next to the staff computer on the desk opposite mine.

"I'll get to it tomorrow. Sorry." His statement was typical Alex smug. I knew he would be the third to go after Casey and Brittney if I ever got Julie Anna and I out of this predicament.

"We have a demand." Casey held up a paper.

"We have a demand," Nicole (Supervisor and Recent Convert to the Dark Side) echoed with fist raised skyward showing her contempt of my authority. Casey looked annoyed.

Nicole jumped into the center of the room. "Demand, Demand. Demand," she chanted louder and louder until the rest of the room joined in. Brittney restruck her Bic Lighter. Julia Anna cried again for a Priest.

"Will you all Shut UP!" Casey shouted. The room quieted down.

"Get to the point," I said.

Casey read the demand. His voice was firm. His gift of leadership evident. At the end he gave a summation. "You will send this Statistical Demon packing and restore the old religion of calculating camper comment scores. Do we have your cooperation?"

The Mutineer's Document with the Conspirator's Signatures

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more."

Edgar Allan Poe

"And if I don't?"

"Brittney, GET BACK!" Brittney was crouched down trying to light the wrestling mat on fire. Casey's shouting frightened Julie Anna. She screamed, startling a few of the younger volunteers, many of whom fainted with fright.

"Fire, Fire, Fire, Fire," Nicole's chanting peaked over Julie Anna's screaming. The look on some of the senior staff's face showed an uncertainty of action. I could tell many were disturbed by this unpredictable turn of events. Casey stomped the small fire out then turned back to me.



"Will you meet our demands?" Casey glanced at the unraveling situation around him. " You know how unpredictable mobs are. I'm using their love and respect for me to keep them in check but I don't know how much longer that will work before anarchy sets in and we lose them to Satan. I need your answer!"

I thought for a moment to remember the root cause of our current predicament. It was I who agreed to Julie Anna's request to accurately measure the camper's comments and scores without rounding the numbers to the tenth's place as I'd been doing for several years. Should I reverse my decision and acquiesce to the mob or reassert my authority and refuse - consequences be damned?

My mind was working well under the pressure. I knew I could rely on my creativity and imagination to find a way out. I looked down and saw something shining in the fluorescent light over my head. It was my Shrieker 2000 whistle hanging on a blue lanyard around my neck. That whistle has been my faithful classroom companion for 28 years. I knew from previous experience with unruly children that it was capable of shattering ear drums out to twenty yards if blown with enough force.

"Never. I will not give in to mob rule." I shouted with renewed confidence in my newly hatched plan. Casey stepped back in obvious surprise. I knew he thought I'd give in. He wasn't prepared for my defiant stand. The staff and volunteers were shaken by my reasserted authority. I had called their bluff. It was time for them to play their final hand.

"You're a fool." Casey said in judgement. He snapped his fingers. "Brittney."

"Finally!" Brittney lit the Bic and moved forward. Julie Anna stared at me in astonishment, confused that I had just signed our fates away. I answered with a wink and smile.

"Look, its the COPS!" I shouted. Everyone in the room turned toward the office door. I put the Shrieker 2000 to my lips, covered my ears, and blew with everything my 53 year old lungs could muster. Julie Anna dropped her cross and did the same.

Stacy (Galileo Set Director and Poor Look Out) caught on to my plan just as the whistle reached my lips. "CASEY!" she shouted. It was too late.

I HAD RELEASED THE SHRIEKER. The sound was so loud even Fortuna awoke from high upon Mt. Olympus. Those nearest to me fell to their knees. Blood oozed from their broken eardrums. Those further back ran for the exit with their ears covered. The sound shook several of certificates off the Love Me wall. Two fluorescent fixtures exploded sending shards of glass to the floor. A small crack appeared in the Odyssey's drywall.

A minute later I stopped. The school was quiet again, except for the mutineer's moaning as they writhed in pain on the carpet. The rebellion was over and order restored at the Space Center. All thanks to a whistle and the quick thinking of the Director.

Saint Julie Anna
Our Saint of Statistics Bravely Standing for the Purity of Mathematics Against the Forces of Ignorance

Epilogue:
Yes, I was beckoned into my office after the camp on Friday. The staff was gathered and the petition above was read by Casey. It was done in fun. Julie Anna agreed to set up two sets of statistics, one with the traditionally rounded numbers and another with the more accurate numbers for her study. That's the boring tale. Didn't you like my version of the story better :)

Mr. W.

Let's Take a Walk Down Wonderland's There and Back Again Lane.

Hello Troops,
The July 4th weekend in America means rest and relaxation, time off from work, backyard barbecues, fireworks and a never ending stream of relatives playing catch up since the last family gathering at Christmas. Imagination is Rest and Relaxation's traveling companion and we all know that Imagination is driven by the good folks at the Imaginarium in Wonderland. So, while our American friends enjoy their holiday, the Imagineers will be working double, even triple shifts, to properly provide for endless hours away from the world of the Here and Now.

The Space Education Center is closed for 4th so our staff and volunteers can enjoy time with their own families and friends. Don't forget that we also need a respite to mentally run amok through fields of gold to recharge and heal our worn and bruised imaginations. On Tuesday we return to the battle field for four more weeks in the trenches before the August cease fire.

I'm leaving the Imaginarium for Wonderland Station to catch the 12:18 and thought you might like to walk with me to see the community's sights and wonders.

The Imaginarium sits on the corner of Wonderland Drive and the long and narrow There and Back Again Lane. There and Back Again Lane isn't the quickest route to the Station, but walking it's checkered pavement never disappoints those of us who seek the curious and odd.

An interesting film premiers tonight at the Star Theater on the Lane and I have an invitation from the director to attend. I'd like to go but hesitate because of the play's subject matter. You see, my sure to be negative reaction to the writer and director's dubious and unsatisfactory creation (based on reviews printed in the Wonderland Gazette) usually uses the generous and generic term "Nice" as its base. It's a word spoken to avoid insult. You understand.

This film strips that courteous crutch away, leaving me two uncomfortable choices; lie and offer false praise or tell the truth and risk destroying a writer and director's exposed and vulnerable egos. I suppose there is a third alternative. I could sit at the back of the theater and quickly escape as the house lights brighten. If I'm cornered in the lobby and an opinion is requested, I'll raise one finger to my lips and point to the bathroom to indicate the logical and universally accepted reason for my unwillingness to engage the conversation. Once in the restroom I'll find an empty stall and settle in for however long it takes to be sure the lobby is clear of anyone that might be interested in "what I thought".

Yes, that's the nice way to handle things.

Four minutes at a casual pace down the Lane brings you to the Arborius Necatius, a candy tree imagined by a youngster from some two horse town in Wyoming, and a required stop for those of us suffering from an insatiable hankering for sugar. His imagination became a reality in Wonderland.

Trixie and Jean never let a passing footstep go by without a peak. Wave one of the lollipops as you pass. The yapping won't stop until you're long out of sight.

a Garage Sale with a twist.

Maurice Mellon entertains the Lane's foot traffic on Tuesdays and Thursdays at the corner of There and Back Again Lane and Dream Blvd. Audrey Hepplewhite is his favorite fan and rarely misses a performance.

Careful of Teddy DiWit and his wand. He fancies himself a Wizard. In his enthusiasm, he nearly took out a passing teen's eye with his knotted hickory wand.
The teen insulted his Hogwart's house.

Teddy's Latin is crude and his magic clearly absent but the injuries he conjures with his wand / sword teaches Wonderland's muggles to tread lightly and respectfully
when we happen upon him.

Curiosities above and below



The back of Wonderland Bakery faces the Lane, or is it the front?
This sign on their front / back door never fails to confuse me because
the sign on the door says to enter the front door.
All I want is a sticky bun and chocolate milk. Why does it have to be so confusing?

A Sign in front of the Hairy Lemon Pub, a favorite night spot for the locals.
I'll not be ordering the Soup of the Day but that doesn't stop me from admiring the creativity.
"Make mine the broccoli and cheese with a side of bread and a Diet Coke on the rocks."

Two turns and half a whistle up the Lane brings you to the home of Heather Sanders, great granddaughter to Colonel Sanders of KFC fame. You can always expect a hearty chicken dinner when you pay them a visit. Heather was waiting for her drum stick, mash and gravy lunch when we caught her eye as we passed. Bless her heart, she is the curious one.
The family resemblance is striking, wouldn't you say?

Janice Dimple Jones works the cash register at the There and Back Again Quickie Mart. She is partial to honey and suffers from a stubborn streak of laziness. She likes to go to work in costume and quote memorized passages from her favorite Pooh books to all those with the patience to stand and listed while the ice in their Big Gulps melts away. Failure to listen and appreciate at least two quotes results in scanner malfunctions at the register.

"Oh, I guess I'll have to ring the items up myself," Janice says with a smile, which usually results in regrettable overcharges (when discovered). She claims the keys on the register are too small for her fingers.

There and Back Again Lane's Superheroes meet to plan their next campaign to stamp out evil and fight corruption on the Lane. They're a bit discouraged at the moment. All three Batmans are best friends to Marty Miller and Marty is the only one with a Robin costume. It's Batman and Robin, not Batmans and Robin. I'm sure you understand their problem.

Always expect the unexpected when exploring the Lane.


I enjoy my walks down the There and Back Again Lane.

More to Come Later, Enjoy your Holiday!

Mr. Williamson