My Week at the Space Education Center and Other Things. Really. I'm not Kidding.

Where is this place of Perfect Children?
I've got an Idea. Let's adopt these outfits for our Simulator Uniforms. Your Thoughts?

Hello Troops,
It’s the kind of Sunday I enjoy. Its cloudy, its spitting with rain but not too cold. It reminds me of an unsettled early spring day. I was out and about today. While driving I noticed Pleasant Groves’ roads are getting pocked marked with blemishes. Some of them are large enough to feel in spite of my Battlestar’s (my Lincoln’s) luxurious feather bed suspension system. Dodging the pot holes meant dodging the other cars around me. It made driving entertaining. I think I’ll go out and drive some more once I finish this post.

People usually steer clear of my Battlestar. Its big, its heavy and its something they don’t want to mess with in their little shrink wrapped cars. And if the Battlestar’s size doesn’t convince them to give me a wide berth one look at me will. I wear my aviator’s leather cap with goggles and my Nottingham Forrest Soccer Team scarf wrapped around my neck. I drive with the window down and head stuck part way out so the scarf flaps behind me in the wind. If I’m feeling lucky I’ll open my sunroof, straddle the center arm rest, and stick my head and shoulders up through it. I steer with my knee. The cruise control provides thrust. Forget braking, so I do this on a long open piece of road. What a rush. The locals call me the Red Baron of PG as I dodge the potholes in a beautifully choreographed dance of rubber on pavement.

OK, back to reality. Forgive the way my brain works. I get a thought that sometimes get stuck in a loop as it works its way from my head to my finger tips. Its the potholes in my brain. They are the result of age and the company of 600 hyper kids a week. One day I’ll take a long rest in Willowing Acres Rest Home for Teetering Teachers. I’m paying a little bit monthly so the Home will reserve a room for me on the third floor. My family and friends know my thoughts on having a room with a view. Willowing Acres is quite a nice place - known for peaceful quiet and green gardens. Its attached to a monastery hidden somewhere in the Uintahs. The monks will subsidize your rent if you spend time copying their old books onto parchment. I suppose the monastery is a few hundred yards off Modern Road but I’m good with sitting on a hard bench and doodling on vellum with a quill and colored ink as long as I get help with the rent. I refuse to wear the woolen robe but will consider wearing the funny round skull cap. It would be something nice to cover my growing bald spot.

OK there i went again. Will somebody stop me!? I’ve got to get focused on what I sat down to write about............. What did I want to write about? If you know send an email and I’ll write about it next week. Until then I’ll talk about a few things that happened this week.

Monday:
We had Monday off from school so no field trip. I sat through teacher training meetings. They took us into the gym to show off Central Elementary’s new PE equipment. I got to stand near a cone and jump on one foot. After that they said to gallop like a horse in circles. I felt like a right twit! Wait, it gets worse. I was handed a hockey stick and plastic puck. We stood in the four squares painted on the gym floor and had to pass the puck around the square to the other three players. Kind of hard to do when the stick is designed for midgets. I may have slipped a disk in my back. After five minutes of that I used my stick as a cane and kicked the puck with my foot. What was the teacher going to say? One look on my face and she walked by with her eyes glued to the floor and her lips holding back the laughter. Willowing Acres was looking better and better.

Tuesday:
Don’t remember a thing about Tuesday at the Space Center. Funny to live through 24 full hours and not remember a thing about it. Kind of like driving to the store and realizing you drove the entire way unaware of anything. One minute you were getting into the car and the next you were fighting some messed up lady wearing sweats and carrying two snot nosed kids for the shopping cart shaped like a rocket.
Wait, something is coming through. There is a memory emerging from the fog in my head. I remember telling Kyle Herring he had the Voyager private mission that day. Of course he had forgotten. He is the only person I know with a memory worse than mine. I remember him as a young overnight camper. He was the kid that would arrive for breakfast still in just his underwear and Marvin the Martian slippers.
“Kyle, go put your clothes on,” I’d say to him as he entered the cafeteria. He’d stop, look at me, then look at the shocked faces of 44 other campers - all frozen in horror, some still in mid chew. A few, with weaker stomachs, swallowed down their rising partially digested doughnut . There was always one that fainted. Oh I forgot the screamer. Yes, you could bank on a screamer.
Kyle was the kid that always dreamt he went to school without his pants. We’ve all had dreams like that. In Kyle's case, it wasn't a dream.
“Is this a dream?” he would ask.
“No Kyle. This isn’t a dream. Now go get dressed.” I’d reply in a calm understanding way.
Once he was gone I’d explain to the kids that the whole thing was planned. It was a way to save him further embarrassment. I told them that the ghostly white thing they saw was a a lost alien trying to hitch a ride home on one of their starships.

Wednesday and Thursday:
Parent Teacher Conferences both nights. I’ll get a parent or two of one of my pre-algebra students wanting to visit. I’ve got a great class this year so the conversations were pleasant. We ran a few Odyssey missions in the evenings. One was a junior mission. Poor Emily, Aleta and BJ. They truly distress over Junior Missions. You want to see what someone looks like after getting run over a car? Come look at Emily, Aleta, or BJ after a Junior Mission and witness what an adult looks like after being savaged by 9 hyperactive, uncontrolled pre-humans! Oh the humanity! I feel for them. I truly do. CAUTION, they shouldn't mistake my sympathy for a desire to give them battle pay for Junior Missions.

Friday:
Overnight camp. We hosted 37 students from Cedar Hills Elementary. They were great kids. No throw up - the Gods be praised! They were kids from the school’s STY sixth grade class (they call it ALL - you know, the gifted kids. I call them STY standing for ‘Smarter than You’).

Saturday:
Brittney and I had a laugh Saturday morning as the kids ate breakfast. No, Kyle didn’t come walking into the cafeteria in his underwear - get that image out of your head please.
I usually hover over the kids to keep them from escaping to the rest rooms. If you let one go you’ve lost the group. We keep them in the cafeteria until they finish eating. The flight directors take them to the rest rooms for hand washing and drinks afterwords.

I saw one boy holding a banana sitting at the table nearest to me. Now remember, this is an STY child. The boy was staring at the banana in apparent confusion. He turned it one way and then another. He smelt it and ran it over his face to feel its texture. He started to peel it and stopped. He noticed that the peeled portion of the fruit would flap as he moved the banana up and down. He was totally engrossed in this wondrous work of mother nature. I was doing everything in my power to keep from bursting into laughter. I walked over to him.
“That is what we call a banana,” I said. “Its fruit and you can eat it.” He looked at me like I was the stupid one. Then came the smile. He understood what I was talking about. I turned away and started laughing. Brittney was sitting on a small table near the serving line. She was laughing as well. She saw and heard the whole thing. Sometimes Kids say and do the craziest things.

I Love My Job.

Take Care Troops and Have a Great Week,

Mr. Williamson

P.S. I made up the whole thing about Kyle and his underwear. He will kill me but I told him I’d get even. He always makes fun of my Cloverdale Blog. He tells me I need to get a life. So there Kyle. We are only partially even. Go ahead and say something derogatory about Cloverdale now. I’ll show you what a true Dunce is capable of doing when you get their dander up. ;)

50th Year Anniversary: Titan I Test Launch

The Titan series of rockets is one of my favorites - and today marks the 50th anniversary of the first test launch of a prototype Titan ICBM, called the A3, from the Cape Canaveral station. Of course, by 1959, ICBM development was in full swing as the nation tried to create superior launch missiles against the Soviet Union and their successful heavy launch rockets. Eventually, the Titan series would develop into a wonderful satellite launcher and the propulsion for the Gemini spacecraft- but that was in the future.

I couldn't find a photograph of the actual launch of the A3, but it would have looked very similar to the Titan I in the above picture. To find a good overall history of Titan I development, just look up Titan I on Wikipedia. If anyone finds some other cool resources on the web, let me know!

For my younger readers from the Space Center, "ICBM" stands for InterContinental Ballistic Missile, those big heavy lift rockets that would launch one or more nuclear bombs to the other side of the planet. When I was very young, people were terrified by the thought that the world could experience a nuclear war. Fortunately, we didn't. Yet.

Mark Daymont
Space Center

Sir Brent Anderson's Farwell. An Evening at the Castle.

Hello Troops,
This is a telling of the goodbye party we had last night for Brent at my home. I'm guilty of changing the setting and putting it into one of my worlds and for that I apologize, but it is a written gift from me to Brent and a thank you for his years of service to the Space Center.
Thank you Brent. Any now your story.......

Mr. Williamson
A Troubadour


The Guests Assembled

Last evening the Great Hall glowed in torch and candle light when the guests arrived from all parts of the Kingdom to bid adieu to Sir Brent Anderson, a member of our troupe of troubadours for many years. The lord of the manor was in particularly good spirits and remained with his guests until the twenty second hour. Such a night of levity was unusual for him at the end of a week. The pressing duties of the manor weigh heavily on him. At week’s end the burden forces him to take to his bed for an early evening’s rest.

The banquet table was crowned with delicious foods from all parts of the kingdom creating a festival of colors, smells and tastes. Many suspect this enticement was the reason for the lord’s stamina. We are familiar with the lord’s weakness for fine dishes and their effect on his palette; therefore we noticed that, as the evening progressed, the lord never strayed far from the feast. He beckoned his guests to him rather than the opposite to spare him from missing a newly arrived dish from the cookhouse. The servants brought platters of new cuisine from the cook house across the courtyard in a never ending stream to insure his spirits remained high.

Earlier in the day at chapel, the King knighted Sir Anderson into the Order of Saints for his technical creations bringing the castle new masterworks of thought and craftsmanship. His creations were evident everywhere one traveled in the castle. His newly designed serving carts carried twice the amount of food the old carts could carry, and kept the dishes warmer between the cookhouse and Hall. His invention of multi wicked candles and chandeliers suspended by pulleys for ease in lighting brought savings in time for the castle’s staff. His works in pipe and fittings brought fresh running water from the wells into the castle’s rooms. Sir Anderson credited the Romans for that innovation.

Sir Anderson’s mixings of powders and liquids, derived from his herb and vegetable gardens, along with fungi and weed gathered in expeditions in the lord’s forests, brought relief to many afflicted with sickness and melancholy. All assembled in the hall could testify to cures after ingesting one of his remedies.

Sir Anderson’s greatest contribution to the Kingdom came from alchemy. In his never ending search to find the relationship between iron and gold he found new ways to strengthen brass and iron, thus strengthening the King’s swords and cannon. These inventions brought security to the land and stability to the crown.

Sir Brent Anderson's Arrival at the Feast

“Sir Anderson,” the Footman announced in a loud commanding voice. Sir Anderson’s arrival into the hall brought hushed silence from those assembled. All stood standing as the lord departed company with the banquet table and moved through his maze of subjects toward the double oak doors framing the figure of one so well respected by a Kingdom. The Lord embraced him and then turned toward the assembly.
“Here is a gentleman this manor and kingdom owe great gratitude,” spoke the lord as he raised his arm and swept it across the room to demonstrate everyone’s indebtedness. “We gather this evening to bid him adieu as he leaves the Kingdom to answer a call from His Holiness to carry the words of salvation to God's children living in the lands of the Czech.”

The assembled gathering gasped upon hearing his destination. It was assumed that Sir Anderson would be accompanying the Cardinal to Rome to take a position in the Office of the Holy See. All expected him to exchange his black cloak for one of Cardinal Scarlet. Now, instead of power and glory, their Knight would wear the simple wool of the traveling friar and bring risk and perhaps even death upon himself laboring in the land of the Czechs. Many women in the room drew handkerchiefs to their eyes. Men grasped the hilts of their swords in a jester of kinsmanship to the great task that laid before him.

“All will be well my friends,” The lord said to comfort the hushed room. “Why would God want to take Sir Anderson away from this Earth? If he died he would go straight to heaven and want to change everything from the rotation of celestial bodies to the size and shape of the clouds in our blue sky. God would grow quite weary of this I think,” The stillness broke into laughter and the somber mood lifted. Scores of well wishers pushed forward to embrace this Knight of God. The musicians broke into song and couples took to the floor in dance.

Sir Anderson worked his way across the Hall toward us, his fellow troubadours. We waited patiently for his company. A quarter candle later he sat and took food and drink. Sir Anderson was first and foremost one of us. A lover of story and song. In his short nineteen years he traveled beside us across the length and width of the land bringing joy to village and hamlet. His nature kept him behind the curtain providing the support and expertise to ensure each presentation went flawlessly. His creations made the life of a troubadour bearable, and for that , we presented him our thanks.

“Entertainment,” shouted the lord from his High Chair while waving a leg of turkey in each hand. His voice bellowed across his audience of delicious dishes to the crowd assembled.
Maidens Emily, Stacy, Lorraine, Aleta and Brittany rose from our table and walked to the center of the hall. The chief musician stuck the tune and the ladies took to pose. On the second chord they began to move with the music. The step was identified as The Rave. Their arms moved gracefully overhead as their hips traveled in extended circles causing their dresses to sway in motion to the melody. This display of flexibility caused several of the ladies present to turn to each other and engage in critical whispering, the nature of which was not understood because of covered mouth. The men kept their gaze fixed on the performance, bringing new rounds of whispering from their fair ladies.

At the end of the dance we joined the maidens. With me stood Masters Maxwell, Long and Alex the Younger. Our combined voices filled the hall with song. With an approving nod from the Cardinal, Sir Anderson joined us for one last performance.

At the end of the banquet table sat our friends, brothers Daymont, Master Hadley and Master Clegg. They were completely ignorant to our entertainment. They were in deep thought as they discussed the news of the Kingdom and other such things. There was occasional laughter which spoke of the levity of some topics.

The evening drew to a close. The entertainment was complete. The cook house closed and all that remained eating were the lord’s dogs, finishing the remains of a great feast. Sir Anderson rose to leave. All stood with him. He walked toward the towering doors and stopped at the same place where he entered hours before. He turned toward us, his fellows, and surveyed a scene he would not see again for two years.
“God Bless you all,” he said in spirited voice.
“May God Bless You,” we all answered. Silence followed the closing of the oak doors. He was gone. His horse was heard galloping away into the cold winter’s night toward the Salty Sea and from there - onward to the Land of the Czechs.