A Time for Gratitude

Hello Troops,

Thanksgiving 2008 has passed. Tomorrow we return to work.
We all have much to be thankful for. We live in the world's most powerful and free nation. Compared to the rest of the world we all live in various stages of luxury. We have access to the
world's best medicine and educational systems. We have good friends and loving families.

Today I sat in church looking at my extended family all gathered for the holiday. Many of us are reaching that point in life where the dust won't brush off any longer. It gathers in our hair, shading the dark hair of youth with white strands of time. In some, the rich forests are thinning
- a thought that passed through my mind as I ran my hand through my own hair. I smiled, remembering how thick it was thirty years ago. Back then the BYU barber needed to take the thinning shears to it. Now I ask the barber if I can get a discount; after all, it takes less time to trim what's left. It causes a chuckle - the courtesy laugh you get from someone that has heard that one a number of times.

During one of the talks I studied the face of my older sister. She is eleven months older in actual age but years older in life's experiences. Her face shows the brushstrokes of time. How quickly it paints its masterpieces. Was it yesterday we shared a bedroom as children? Was it yesterday we walked to school together - or the day before? We were children, and in the time it takes for a
season to change, I see her surrounded in her children and grandchildren's love. When did it happen?

Her face is a work of art in the making. Each year lines are added where there were none. Each
line - a story beautiful in the telling and others painful in the living. Each line a reminder that time has its way with us. When you are young you don't understand, but you soon learn. Time will paint with oils based in laughter and tears. My sister's face has the marks of a young mother sitting by the bedside of her oldest child in a hospital. He is clinging to life after being struck by a car. He lived but damaged. The tear red color left her eyes years ago but the experience is forever
recorded for all to see.
I glanced over at my mother's hands holding a hymn book. Time has been at work. Her hands bring memories of my grandmother's hands passed from mother to daughter. Those are the hands that raised eight children. Those are the hands that ran a household on a budget so lean we all feared a long dark winter. Those are the hands that prepared her own mother for burial.
Hands that someday I won't be able to hold any longer.
I look at my own hands and see my father's. They are looking old. Time is at work. I look around at the young faces around me. So many young couples and so many children. What will time paint on their faces? What lessons will they learn? When will they sit in church one day and realize what the seasons have brought?

I'm thankful this week for each line on my face and the wrinkled hands. Each, like grooves on a record, play the notes of happy and sad tunes. Each a part of me. We are all unfinished works of Time. It will continue painting until it is done with us and the completed masterpiece is
carried into the last good night.

Spend this holiday season thanking the people that have played a role in your life. Enjoy family and friends. Enjoy the meals and the football. Enjoy making new memories. At the end of the day touch your face and hands and remember - all is recorded there. A badge for all to see of courage and life!

Mr. Williamson

A Happy Thanksgiving and other Thoughts

Hello Troops,
I hope all of you enjoy a very carnivorous Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving make us all happy because we are meat eaters and hold the place of Supremo Honchorus on Nature's food chain.

A Williamson Thanksgiving Day -
All I can say to describe a Williamson Thanksgiving is this. Have any of you seen the Simpson's eat a meal? If so you know they sit around a table without talking. They are totally focused on their food. The only sounds are the guttural expressions of chewing, gulping, gnashing of teeth, swallowing, slurping, and the screeching of forks scraping the surface of empty plates. Now, take that mental picture and double --- no triple it and you have an idea of Thanksgiving with the Williamsons.

Thanksgiving is how Williamson children are initiated into the adult world. All the food is placed on the Adult's table. The children sit on the newspaper covered floor. They wear swimming suits so they can be hosed off after the meal. The oldest male in the room gives the blessing with his eyes open, surveying the food as his booming voice gives thanks to the Lord for the bounty before him. As his voice begs God's blessings his mind is preparing the game plan. No football coach is better than a Williamson male at perfecting and executing plays. The only difference is the football coach's art is on the field and ours is the dinner table.

The meal spilled into the Kitchen

We all wait for the Amen with our tools of the table ready for battle. Once sounded the battle begins. No Roman battlefield ever sounded like that. After 2 minutes the haze of partly chewed food and spittle hangs over the table like a fog. The newly initiated are reaching for the
Band-Aids to stop the blood from oozing onto the food from nasty fork wounds caused by the blinding light of swirling utensils at the table.

Children not dressed correctly pay the price

As for the children - well, as I said. They earn a place at the table and in the circle of Williamson adulthood by proving they can take enough food from the table to feed themselves. I remember my introduction to the table. I was 12 years old. The Thanksgiving meal had just begun. I stood there in my swimsuit with my brothers, sisters, and cousins. They attacked while I stood trying to remember from years of experience and mistakes. I ducked just in time as my 4 year old sister was head butted across the room by my football playing uncle. That is when I saw my chance.

Grandma halfway through dinner wearing her gravy nicely

Grandma wasn't feeling well that day and wasn't in true form. Usually we steered clear of Grandma. Everyone knew nature had blessed her with with a defense mechanism far better than horns, muscle, or wits. Grandma had GAS! All during the meal, as children approached to steal her mashed potatoes or turkey, Grandma would - on call - rock up onto one buttock and release enough of the substance to warm two houses for a normal Alaskan winter. Deadly.......... Anyway I saw that Grandma's intestines were not up to normal output and moved in her direction. Her eyes were darting around the table. One hand was shoveling in the food while the other, armed
with two forks, was stabbing in all directions keeping the foolish at bay. I moved closer, ever closer. She saw me out of the corner of her cat eyed glasses with the pearl trim with ruby inserts. She started to rock upwards.

Wait a minute. I'm getting carried away. You didn’t log onto this blog to read about my childhood. Forgive the ramblings of an old fool.

It has been a very relaxing week for me. It started with the 5th grades from Cascade Elementary School on Monday and Tuesday. They did a great job. On Tuesday evening I locked up the Space Center for the Holiday. I'm sure our simulators will wonder where we are. They aren't used to being left on there own for so long. I wonder if they've been playing nicely?

The question I put to all of you is this, What do you think our simulators do when we are not around. Do they take off and fly without a crew? If so, where do unleashed simulated starships go? Does the Voyager, Odyssey, Phoenix, and Galileo soar around the Magellan taunting and teasing as they circle because it just sits there? If so, does the Magellan get its revenge by unloading its massive weapon systems? I wonder what the computers that run these powerful machines say about us when we are not there?

Voyager Computer: "You know Odyssey, If I have to say “working” one
more time I'm going to short circuit and cause the nastiest shock my Flight Director has ever experienced !!!!!

Odyssey Computer: "I know how you feel. I cringe every time I feel that mic switch activate wondering what kind of stupid thing I'm going to have to say next. I mean do I have to run the ship for these semi conscious Flight Director’s all the time? Aren't they suppose to tell me what to do? For heaven’s sake, next thing you know I'm going to have an extension of myself placed in the staff toilet to remind them to wash their hands!

Voyager Computer: " You think you've got witless Flight Director’s? Try doing this for 18 years! I've seen it all. And what's with this Tex? He hogs all the air time giving me little if anything to say. I've got a surprise for him next time he sticks his Texan lips near the PA system. He will be sipping his chili and barbecue through a straw after I pass 5000 volts through him. Does it seem like I've got a lot of pent up anger?

Odyssey Computer: "Yea man...... Take a chill pill. I mean - count your blessings. You want to hear a computer that has something to complain about? Try talking to that poor processor that runs the Magellan. Last time I got it talking I ran out of memory just listening.

Voyager Computer: "You're right. We should count our blessings. After all we could of ended up running the Galileo! (HEARTY LAUGHTER ALL AROUND)

Galileo Computer: "Hey guys..... What's up? Hey its me. Down here Not there - I said down here....."

Well forgive my imagination running rampant. If any of you would like to continue this conversation between our computers please feel free to do so.

I hope you all have a great Thanksgiving and are ready to come to work
refreshed and in good spirits.

All the Best my Friends.
Mr. Williamson

I'm Addicted.

The slide into addiction is a solitary journey through a tunnel dark and dreary. It begins with a taste. Just a taste in a fraction of time that, given any other circumstance, would be forgotten once lived. Suddenly a mysterious world you’ve only read about is unveiled before you. Like Alice, you step lightly through the Looking Glass.
I’m between worlds, looking back into what I know, and with a turn of the head, look into the mist both tempting and beaconing. I hear the song of the Siren captivating the sense of sound. Like a spreading cancer, the sound develops taste. Colors from a crystal rain accompany the melody. I find myself moving, inch by inch, into this new world and yet, memories acting like an anchor, refuse to yield my foundation in the old. It is epic.
My journey began at the start of the week. I was on the Voyager’s Bridge speaking to a teacher I've known since our days together teaching hieroglyphics to the Pharaohs children.
“What’s the hardest part of your job?” he questioned.
“The repetition is challenging but there is a close second,” I said, realizing the top ten list of why running a Space Education Center is hard has items so close it is hard to list them from most to least.
“Is it the kids,” he asked, attempting a guess.
“No, it is the ever nagging fear we will lose a piece of equipment that would force me to cancel a field trip. That's a disaster for a teacher . Your class is all ready to go to the Space Center and suddenly it is canceled because such and such broke and can’t be fixed in time. Imagine said teacher facing his class with that kind of news? There would be a modern day tar and feathering of spit wads and pencil shavings. It haunts me.”
“Well, that can’t be avoided,” my friend said to bring reason to the discussion.
“We try,” I replied. “We have duplicate equipment for most things so if something breaks we drop in the spare. That makes running this Center expensive. That takes me to the third item in my ‘stress’ factor list for running a Space Education Center.”
“Have you ever had to send a school back because of a break down,” was the next question.
“Never, we’ve been lucky. This year has been very good. Our equipment has been trustworthy,” I said with a feathering of pride.
Suddenly I realized boasting of good fortune may cause Fortuna, the Goddess of Fortune, to abandon you to the Fates. I quickly found the nearest piece of furniture and touched it to ground any misfortune.
The mission started. We were running “Intolerance”. Toward the end of the mission I heard Metta at the other end of the Control Room. She was saying something about our primary DVD player. The Primary DVD Player is used to play the story DVD. These are the DVD players impossible to find today. They have an option to cancel the on-screen display of the play and pause feature.
“What’s wrong?” I said in a pause in the action.
“The DVD player won’t play the DVD. It keeps switching off when I put the DVD in. The other DVD players won’t pause.”
I knew we were in a small crisis but nothing professionals couldn't handle. I had to continue the mission. We all know the show must go on. My faith in Metta’s ability to perform miracles would be put to the test. I watched with fascination as she skillfully used the reverse feature on the working DVD player to prep the upcoming scene. Her timing was perfect. Just as I said the key words her hands began moving like the hands of an organist playing a five keyboard instrument. She switched from the science screens to the effects just as the play display disappeared and switched back at the end of the scene. Then, back to the reverse - backing the DVD to a point where it would play up to the next scene just as I called for it.
Metta earned her Space Center Purple Heart for what I saw that day.
The school went home. I sat at my desk watching an approaching storm of epic proportions. Panasonic doesn’t make the S29 or S35 model. The only current DVD player with our required features is the S97 model and they are several hundred dollars each. I turned to my computer to make the necessary keystrokes to spend money I regretted to spend. I felt the tempest about to break down my defenses.
I was about to be carried away by a situation. A situation was in control instead of me controlling the situation - as I prefer to run things. I am a proactive manager - I anticipate the worst. I believe you should prepare for the worst and then expect the best. I felt myself being pulled off my chair into the mouth of a swirling vortex braced by bolts of white lightening. Suddenly - a word entered my mind. It was inspiration. I was saved.
“EBAY!” I shouted. The room settled into quiet. The hurricane was gone replaced by the shocked look of the staff sitting around me. I ignored their looks and began the process of joining this mysterious club of bargain hunters connected together in the world of Cyberspace. In a few minutes I found seven used DVD players with the proper sequence of letter and number: S29. S35. S97.
Within one hour I navigated the uncharted waters of Ebay and Paypal. I earned my captain’s hat. I saved hundreds of dollars. I was dumbstruck.
That was this addict’s first taste of the forbidden fruit. Later that day when my defenses were at their lowest, I stepped through the Looking Glass by searching for other things I needed at home and at the Space Center. As if by magic the items were there - pictured with full descriptions. The prices were perfect. I wanted to stop but there was always something else I knew we needed. Buying cheap is the enticement of Ebay but the addiction comes from the bidding. On some of the DVD players I was locked into a bidding war with other Ebay warriors. It was mortal combat and I’m a competitor. I would crush all who dared to challenge the supremacy of the new player in town: CMSEC.
Several days have passed. I won my bids and two of the players arrived. One is safely in the Voyager working perfectly. The other, a spare, was installed in the Phoenix on Saturday when their effects DVD player went on the fritz.
This week I look forward to taking mental inventory of the Center. I’ll be looking for other equipment I’ve hesitated to buy because of cost. Now, as a member of Ebay, I no longer fear the dark.

So, Im addicted to Ebay. Is there an Ebay Anonymous? I’m only into this addiction one week. I can beat it. I’ve got determination to use Ebay responsibly, but ........... Christmas is coming. Think of the gifts I could buy cheap. No one needs to know my gifts were ‘broken in’ by someone else. It would be our little secret.
Well troops, keep me in your thoughts. Staff and volunteers, check on me when you come in to work. If you see me on Ebay you have permission to fill one of the custodian’s buckets with ice cold drinking fountain water and douse the fires of bargain passion.
OK, enough of this. I have two sisters in California that need a little something for Christmas from their suddenly generous big brother. I’ll see you all in the trenches. Have a great week.

Mr. Williamson