This may be the last day of rain for awhile. Most are happy. I enjoyed living in Little Seattle for the last three weeks. They say a change is as good as a rest so I’m feeling pretty rested and ready for warmer temperatures. I think all of us will agree that this cool June will be fondly remember when the temperatures inch over 100 in the next few weeks.
We had a really good Overnight Camp on Thursday. I’m sure all of the staff and volunteers will agree with me when I say that our one night overnight camps are soooo easy when compared to the three day camps. During the school year the Overnighters are THE camp of the week which makes them seem longer. In the summer the three day EdVenture Camps become the long camp making the Overnight Camp seem like an extended private mission.
We want to congratulated Megan Warner and the Phoenix staff for winning the Director’s Trophy for the Overnight Camp. Megan told “Dark Origins” for the first time. “Dark Origins” was written by Dave Daymont. It is one of two new Phoenix missions for the summer season. The other mission is Currahee, written by Megan Warner.
The Center is busy every day this summer with camps and private missions. We also have a few university students using the Center as the setting for independent movies they’re shooting as school assignments. The film crews arrive after private missions end and stay through the night shooting. They are gone in the morning before I arrive to open the Center.
This coming week will be much the same as last. We start with our third EdVenture Camp. Swimming is back on the agenda for day two of camp! That was the longest stretch of no swimming in any camp since we opened eighteen years ago.
Well, not much else to write about today. One small item I’ll mention and then close. I got a letter from the mayor of Salt Lake County yesterday appointing me to the Board of Director’s of Clark Planetarium. I know, it’s one more thing to add to my plate. Its not too bad though, there is a Board Meeting once a month and that’s about it.
Let’s have a great week at camp and I wish all of our kind readers a great first week of summer.
Mr. Williamson
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 2
This is just for fun. Any resemblance to people who work at the space center is intentional, although these characters aren't really them. Any resemblance to an actual mission is your imagination.
Aleta Clegg.
Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 2
I swiped a rag across the metal counter, leaving a greasy trail. Why had I agreed to this? Two days into the flight the food replicators had failed. Completely and utterly. We needed parts to fix them, parts that were two days travel behind us at Starbase 74. My two assistants and I were stuck cooking with real pots and pans in a galley much too small. Exhaustion didn’t even come close to describing what we felt.
Leuitenant Bradley stuck his head in the door. “Quartermaster Stevens? Captain Herring wants his dinner delivered to the officer’s mess in exactly twenty three minutes.”
I told him exactly what Captain Herring could do with his dinner.
Bradley’s lips pinched, like a fish sucking lemons. “He expects you to be in dress whites for serving.”
“Then tell the captain I need functional food replicators. He’ll get his food when it gets cooked. We’ve been slaving over those pots for the last eighteen hours straight. He will just have to wait his turn.”
Bradley stepped into the kitchen, looming over me. His attempt to threaten me wasn’t going to work.
“I don’t own any dress whites. I will deliver his food when it is ready. It would help if he gave me more staff, but there isn’t room for more than three people in this galley. This ship is not designed for old style cooking, not for the full crew. You tell Captain Herring the crew will have to go on shifts for meals. And I want at least two extra staff for the other rotations.”
“You are in no position to make demands!”
“Go hungry.” I turned my back and swabbed my rag across the counter.
“You have been given a direct order by a superior officer.”
“And I’m telling you, Officer Bradley, I can’t do it. It’s physically impossible.”
Bradley tapped his comm badge. “Security, report to the galley immediately. Take Quartermaster Stevens into custody on charges of mutiny.”
Turner and Quan’Li, my assistants, both thumped their spoons down.
“You arrest her and you have to arrest both of us,” Turner said. “The two of us quit. Cook your own food.”
“You’ll regret this,” Bradley warned.
“Not before you do,” I answered.
Security arrived, uniforms a bit rumpled. Security detail was usually pretty boring, except for the few minutes when it was extremely exciting. I suspected they’d been playing cards.
I held out my wrists. “Arrest me. Throw me in the brig. At least I’ll get some sleep.”
Turner and Quan’Li were right behind me.
“What about our food?” the bigger security guard questioned Bradley.
“Mutiny is a serious charge. These three disobeyed a direct order. Take them into custody.”
The guards hesitated. “We put them in the brig, we won’t get food.”
“Another team will be assigned.” Bradley frowned. “Do you want to join them on charges of mutiny? I gave you an order!”
“Not a good way to make friends, Bradley.” I couldn’t help the sarcasm. It was my nature.
Bradley’s face burned red. I wondered if I could actually make steam come from his ears.
“Throw them in the brig!”
“Yes, sir.” Security didn’t look too happy, but they marched the three of us away.
“Have fun cooking,” I called over my shoulder. “And watch that pot of sauce. It will burn if you don’t stir it.”
“You shouldn’t make him mad,” the security guard whispered as he marched me through the halls. “He’s got the captain’s ear.”
“And I’ve got his food. Who do you think Captain Herring is going to listen to?”
“You’re going to be put on report.”
I shrugged. “And I might get a nap.”
The lights flickered, changing to red. Alarms blared through the halls.
“All hands, battle stations!”
Security ran away.
Quan’Li sighed heavily. “I suppose we need to lock down the galley.”
“Let Bradley do it. We’re still under arrest.”
“Adrian, you can’t just desert your post.”
“I was officially relieved of duty. You heard Leutinant Bradley. I’m going to report to the brig, like a good mutineer. My feet are killing me.”
“What about the Captain’s dinner?”
“Under red alert? He isn’t getting it now.”
“Incoming!” the speakers blared.
The ship rocked crazily. Lights flickered madly. Smoke poured from the air vents.
Turner grabbed for support. “We’re under attack!”
“They said it would be dangerous. I’m hiding in the brig. Are you coming with me? The walls are thicker in there.”
Turner and Quan’Li were on my heels all the way to the brig. We checked ourselves in and made ourselves comfortable while the explosions continued.
Aleta Clegg.
Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 2
I swiped a rag across the metal counter, leaving a greasy trail. Why had I agreed to this? Two days into the flight the food replicators had failed. Completely and utterly. We needed parts to fix them, parts that were two days travel behind us at Starbase 74. My two assistants and I were stuck cooking with real pots and pans in a galley much too small. Exhaustion didn’t even come close to describing what we felt.
Leuitenant Bradley stuck his head in the door. “Quartermaster Stevens? Captain Herring wants his dinner delivered to the officer’s mess in exactly twenty three minutes.”
I told him exactly what Captain Herring could do with his dinner.
Bradley’s lips pinched, like a fish sucking lemons. “He expects you to be in dress whites for serving.”
“Then tell the captain I need functional food replicators. He’ll get his food when it gets cooked. We’ve been slaving over those pots for the last eighteen hours straight. He will just have to wait his turn.”
Bradley stepped into the kitchen, looming over me. His attempt to threaten me wasn’t going to work.
“I don’t own any dress whites. I will deliver his food when it is ready. It would help if he gave me more staff, but there isn’t room for more than three people in this galley. This ship is not designed for old style cooking, not for the full crew. You tell Captain Herring the crew will have to go on shifts for meals. And I want at least two extra staff for the other rotations.”
“You are in no position to make demands!”
“Go hungry.” I turned my back and swabbed my rag across the counter.
“You have been given a direct order by a superior officer.”
“And I’m telling you, Officer Bradley, I can’t do it. It’s physically impossible.”
Bradley tapped his comm badge. “Security, report to the galley immediately. Take Quartermaster Stevens into custody on charges of mutiny.”
Turner and Quan’Li, my assistants, both thumped their spoons down.
“You arrest her and you have to arrest both of us,” Turner said. “The two of us quit. Cook your own food.”
“You’ll regret this,” Bradley warned.
“Not before you do,” I answered.
Security arrived, uniforms a bit rumpled. Security detail was usually pretty boring, except for the few minutes when it was extremely exciting. I suspected they’d been playing cards.
I held out my wrists. “Arrest me. Throw me in the brig. At least I’ll get some sleep.”
Turner and Quan’Li were right behind me.
“What about our food?” the bigger security guard questioned Bradley.
“Mutiny is a serious charge. These three disobeyed a direct order. Take them into custody.”
The guards hesitated. “We put them in the brig, we won’t get food.”
“Another team will be assigned.” Bradley frowned. “Do you want to join them on charges of mutiny? I gave you an order!”
“Not a good way to make friends, Bradley.” I couldn’t help the sarcasm. It was my nature.
Bradley’s face burned red. I wondered if I could actually make steam come from his ears.
“Throw them in the brig!”
“Yes, sir.” Security didn’t look too happy, but they marched the three of us away.
“Have fun cooking,” I called over my shoulder. “And watch that pot of sauce. It will burn if you don’t stir it.”
“You shouldn’t make him mad,” the security guard whispered as he marched me through the halls. “He’s got the captain’s ear.”
“And I’ve got his food. Who do you think Captain Herring is going to listen to?”
“You’re going to be put on report.”
I shrugged. “And I might get a nap.”
The lights flickered, changing to red. Alarms blared through the halls.
“All hands, battle stations!”
Security ran away.
Quan’Li sighed heavily. “I suppose we need to lock down the galley.”
“Let Bradley do it. We’re still under arrest.”
“Adrian, you can’t just desert your post.”
“I was officially relieved of duty. You heard Leutinant Bradley. I’m going to report to the brig, like a good mutineer. My feet are killing me.”
“What about the Captain’s dinner?”
“Under red alert? He isn’t getting it now.”
“Incoming!” the speakers blared.
The ship rocked crazily. Lights flickered madly. Smoke poured from the air vents.
Turner grabbed for support. “We’re under attack!”
“They said it would be dangerous. I’m hiding in the brig. Are you coming with me? The walls are thicker in there.”
Turner and Quan’Li were on my heels all the way to the brig. We checked ourselves in and made ourselves comfortable while the explosions continued.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Day 3 in Camp. The EdVenture Continues.
EdVenture Camp 2
We are on day 3 of our second EdVenture Camp. The natives were quiet during the night except for two small disturbances. I was woken by a young man walking through the Briefing Room. He walked by my camp (a pad, my two pillows, my blanket, flashlight, alarm clock and whistle) and straight into the hallway.
RULE VIOLATION: No one is allowed to leave their sleeping areas without permission. He didn’t stop to ask me to use the school’s restrooms. I waited to review the rules when he returned. He came back several minutes later.
“Stop,” I said. “Come here.” He stumbled to my camp like a drunk after one too many.
“Remember to tell me if you need to use the restroom during the night. You’re not allowed to wander through the halls of the school.” With that said I dismissed him to return to bed.
“My mission, I’m worried about my mission,” he replied in an odd tone. The statement alone was harmless. I hear it all the time. He can’t sleep because he is in the middle of a tough mission and its weighing on his mind. The odd thing about what he said was in its delivery. Most boys will look at me when they talk. They also appear alert. This boy’s head was darting back and forth like a caged animal. He was agitated and couldn’t stay still.
“Go back to bed,” I said. He moved toward the Voyager's door. A moment later I heard a yelp. I jumped up and found him at hopping on one foot near the Voyager’s Control Room door.
“Did you fall?” I asked.
“I stepped on something but I don’t know....... but I stepped on something and I......... I don’t know what it was.” He was stammering. His odd behavior could be diagnosed as a stroke or sleep walking. I ruled out a stroke. The kid was 11. He had to be sleeping walking. I helped him to a bench and looked at his foot. He stepped on something but I couldn’t find what it was with a flashlight search.
“Are you awake or asleep?” I asked him. I know it was a stupid question but I was tired. I was also curious what a sleepwalker would say when asked.
“I’m not sure because my mission is Ghost Ship and I don’t know what to do because we are in trouble and .....” The stammering continued.
“Can you walk?” I asked.
He hobbled. That was good enough. “Go to bed.” I said again. This time I followed him with the flashlight. He walked onto the Bridge, found his area collapsed onto the pad, covered himself and was out.
I returned to my camp.
All was quiet again. Everyone, including the chaperons, were asleep except for me. “The calm before the storm,” I thought to myself. The silence was broken by coughing from the Odyssey's bunks. There was also the constant sound of the forced air conditioning over head.
A moment later I heard feet shuffling across the carpet. Someone was approaching. I sat up. At the foot of my pad I saw one of the 14 year old campers. He look foreboding in the faint light from the green EXIT sign over my head . For a moment I thought it was Ye Old Grim Reaper come to carry my soul away. The thought passed when I recognized the unruly hair. It was one of the campers.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I filled the Happy Bucket,” he replied. The Happy Bucket is a gray cleaning bucket given to children when they shows signs of imminent explosion (vomiting). They carry the bucket with them until the eruption subsides or the feeling passes.
“Bring me the bucket,” I said. He went to fetch it. “I got back up and waited. He returned a moment later. I took the bucket. It sloshed. He had indeed made a good deposit. I wanted to say “Good Boy." He deserved recognition for getting it all in the bucket and not on the carpet, floor, shoes, sleeping bags etc. (all of which has happened in the past). I let the moment pass and told him to wait while I cleaned it out.
I’m good with body fluids. They don’t bother me. I can even deal with blood - but not my own. Cleaning and sanitizing the bucket took a few minutes. In no time he was back to bed and all was well. I returned to my camp. It was nearing 2:00 A.M. I dozed off, waking up several times during the night to the various sounds of an old school. Mixed in were the melodies of children dreaming of starship adventures in places far away.
Wednesday Morning.
The kids are up and fed. Mrs. Houston and Mrs. Powell have them in the last two hours of their class session. It’s 9:05 A.M. One of our younger sixth grade volunteers just emerged from the Phoenix. He slept there last night. The staff go on duty at 11:00 A.M. Wednesday then is a happy day for them. They get to sleep in.
It’s spitting with rain. I’m not sure the campers will be able to launch their rockets. I could worry about that but won’t. It is the responsibility of Sheila and Lorraine and I really like that. I’ve enough on my plate. Its good to share the load with a great staff that are more than capable of dealing with hiccups in the schedule.
OK, now I’ve got to get back to work. There is a growing list of things to do and they won’t disappear without my attention. I’m good with that. I call it job security. I’ll update the Blog throughout the week to give you readers the taste and feel of summer life at the Space Center.
Mr. Williamson
We are on day 3 of our second EdVenture Camp. The natives were quiet during the night except for two small disturbances. I was woken by a young man walking through the Briefing Room. He walked by my camp (a pad, my two pillows, my blanket, flashlight, alarm clock and whistle) and straight into the hallway.
RULE VIOLATION: No one is allowed to leave their sleeping areas without permission. He didn’t stop to ask me to use the school’s restrooms. I waited to review the rules when he returned. He came back several minutes later.
“Stop,” I said. “Come here.” He stumbled to my camp like a drunk after one too many.
“Remember to tell me if you need to use the restroom during the night. You’re not allowed to wander through the halls of the school.” With that said I dismissed him to return to bed.
“My mission, I’m worried about my mission,” he replied in an odd tone. The statement alone was harmless. I hear it all the time. He can’t sleep because he is in the middle of a tough mission and its weighing on his mind. The odd thing about what he said was in its delivery. Most boys will look at me when they talk. They also appear alert. This boy’s head was darting back and forth like a caged animal. He was agitated and couldn’t stay still.
“Go back to bed,” I said. He moved toward the Voyager's door. A moment later I heard a yelp. I jumped up and found him at hopping on one foot near the Voyager’s Control Room door.
“Did you fall?” I asked.
“I stepped on something but I don’t know....... but I stepped on something and I......... I don’t know what it was.” He was stammering. His odd behavior could be diagnosed as a stroke or sleep walking. I ruled out a stroke. The kid was 11. He had to be sleeping walking. I helped him to a bench and looked at his foot. He stepped on something but I couldn’t find what it was with a flashlight search.
“Are you awake or asleep?” I asked him. I know it was a stupid question but I was tired. I was also curious what a sleepwalker would say when asked.
“I’m not sure because my mission is Ghost Ship and I don’t know what to do because we are in trouble and .....” The stammering continued.
“Can you walk?” I asked.
He hobbled. That was good enough. “Go to bed.” I said again. This time I followed him with the flashlight. He walked onto the Bridge, found his area collapsed onto the pad, covered himself and was out.
I returned to my camp.
All was quiet again. Everyone, including the chaperons, were asleep except for me. “The calm before the storm,” I thought to myself. The silence was broken by coughing from the Odyssey's bunks. There was also the constant sound of the forced air conditioning over head.
A moment later I heard feet shuffling across the carpet. Someone was approaching. I sat up. At the foot of my pad I saw one of the 14 year old campers. He look foreboding in the faint light from the green EXIT sign over my head . For a moment I thought it was Ye Old Grim Reaper come to carry my soul away. The thought passed when I recognized the unruly hair. It was one of the campers.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I filled the Happy Bucket,” he replied. The Happy Bucket is a gray cleaning bucket given to children when they shows signs of imminent explosion (vomiting). They carry the bucket with them until the eruption subsides or the feeling passes.
“Bring me the bucket,” I said. He went to fetch it. “I got back up and waited. He returned a moment later. I took the bucket. It sloshed. He had indeed made a good deposit. I wanted to say “Good Boy." He deserved recognition for getting it all in the bucket and not on the carpet, floor, shoes, sleeping bags etc. (all of which has happened in the past). I let the moment pass and told him to wait while I cleaned it out.
I’m good with body fluids. They don’t bother me. I can even deal with blood - but not my own. Cleaning and sanitizing the bucket took a few minutes. In no time he was back to bed and all was well. I returned to my camp. It was nearing 2:00 A.M. I dozed off, waking up several times during the night to the various sounds of an old school. Mixed in were the melodies of children dreaming of starship adventures in places far away.
Wednesday Morning.
The kids are up and fed. Mrs. Houston and Mrs. Powell have them in the last two hours of their class session. It’s 9:05 A.M. One of our younger sixth grade volunteers just emerged from the Phoenix. He slept there last night. The staff go on duty at 11:00 A.M. Wednesday then is a happy day for them. They get to sleep in.
It’s spitting with rain. I’m not sure the campers will be able to launch their rockets. I could worry about that but won’t. It is the responsibility of Sheila and Lorraine and I really like that. I’ve enough on my plate. Its good to share the load with a great staff that are more than capable of dealing with hiccups in the schedule.
OK, now I’ve got to get back to work. There is a growing list of things to do and they won’t disappear without my attention. I’m good with that. I call it job security. I’ll update the Blog throughout the week to give you readers the taste and feel of summer life at the Space Center.
Mr. Williamson
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