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Hey, did you know that I am a scientist? I don’t play one on TV, I am not that cool. But I really do get paid to do science every day of the week (except for Friday, Saturday and Sunday.) Truly it is awesome.

As a scientist, I can do stuff that has some serious explosion potential. I can melt stuff with acid or freeze it with liquid nitrogen. Hell, if I’m really bored I can slice it up into tiny little sections 5 microns thin (I rarely get this bored.) These things I can do because I work in a laboratory that has dangerous chemicals which I have been trained to use.

Also as a scientist I get to plan my day around experiments. Sometimes I have to let my experiments incubate for an hour or so. This means I have free time to kill right smack in the middle of the day. Most people like to call this “lunch” but I generally take lunch around 11am so I like to pretend that I’m working hard when really I’m just trying to figure out how to blow shit up with the judicious application of dry ice.

Again, this is because I work as a scientist which is fun and rewarding and (still) awesome in a very precise way.

Sometimes I find that people confuse “being a scientist” with “anything” on CSI (or other television shows.) It may shock you to hear that this is not actually the case.

CSI may be cool. The X-Files was certainly cool. Hell, Dr. Frank-N-Furter has been cool for thirty years now. But the people on these shows are not real scientists, they are actors. Actors get paid to be cool. It just so happens that those particular actors were playing scientists.

I know, I know -  it is hard distinguish between Hollywood Cool Scientists and us regular, real-life bench scientists.  So for those of you that may have difficulties with this concept I have written up a short list detailing the differences between an actual scientist and a scientist as portrayed on TV. Feel free to use this next time you are faced with a scientist and can’t decide if they are a bona fide nerd or a re-run of “CSI: Manitoba, revenge of the Sasquatch”

How to tell the difference between real life and TV scientists:
A short questionnaire

1. Are the lights on?

Yes: Good, they should be. How the hell else are you going to see anything? This is a real scientist.
No, but they have a cool lamp: You are watching TV. This is an actor.

2. Does the scientist in question have on a lab coat?

Yes: proceed to question 3.
No: Are they “In the field’?

Yes: Indeterminate, proceed to question 2a.
No: Indeterminate, proceed to question 2a.

2a. Is this person wearing tailored pants, Italian loafers or Burberry anything?

Yes: You are watching TV, this person is an actor.
No: Do they look as if they haven’t showered in two days?

Yes: This is a grad student. Definitely a scientist but highly unstable, do not make any eye contact or sudden moves.
No: This is a regular scientist.

3. Does the person look sexy, smart and stylish in their lab coat?

Yes: You are watching TV. This is an actor.
Not really, more like a goom-bah: This is a real scientist.

4. Can this person sequence the entire human genome in an hour?

Yes: You are watching TV. This is an actor.
No: This is a real scientist.

5. Are there lots of flasks full of colored liquid bubbling in the background?

Yes, and smoking too!: You are watching TV. This is an actor.
No: This is a real scientist.

6. Does this person use lots of big long words which you don’t understand?

Yes: Indeterminate, please continue to the next question.
No: Possibly this is your mom.

7. Does this person immediately explain what they just said in two sentences using allegory and metaphor to drive the point home?

Why Yes! How did you know?: You are watching TV. This is an actor.
No: Is this person looking at you as if you are retarded?

Yes: This is a scientist.
No: This is a scientist who feels sorry for you.

8. (If female) Is this person wearing a revealing skirt or low cut blouse?

Yes: You are watching TV. This is an actor.
No: She is a scientist not a hussy you greasy bastard.

9. Look at the work area, is it messy?

Yes: Is the mess artistically arranged?

Yes!: You are watching TV. This is an actor.
No, it looks like Hurricane Einstein hit it: This is a real lab.

No: You are watching TV. I have never seen a clean lab. Ever.

10. Is anyone eating a sandwich (with gloves on)?

Yes: Really? That is seriously gross. You are watching TV.
No: Good because ES&H* would be on their ass in a heartbeat. This is a real lab.

11. Is anything glowing under black light?

Yes: Is it a Jimi Hendrix Poster?

Yes: You are in a dorm room you perv, how the hell did you get there?
No, it is some sort of evidence: You are watching TV. This is an actor.

No: This is a real lab. We have other ways of making things glow.

Okay, so let’s recap:

Are you looking at dark work benches with sexy lab coats and bubbling green goo that glows under black light? That’s TV!

Do you find yourself in a well-lit area with people in stiff white coats four sizes too large babbling incoherently at each other? You are in a real lab! Congratulations and enjoy the science.

Nothin' says 'science' like colored water.

*ES&H – Environmental Health & Safety. You better watch your ass when they come around. They will ticket you for any infraction of the safety code, no matter how small. Eating in the lab is a BIG no-no.

By Cherie Priest

Good Lord if this actually happens we are all screwed.

Five things I liked about this book:

• Steam-punkocity
• It is set in Seattle
• The characters have awesome names (Leviticus? Who names ANYONE Leviticus anymore?)
• Dirigibles
• Zombies

Now, as we all know, Steam-punk zombies can be quite frightening in an oily-gears and menacing-hydraulics type of way. But these were not Steam-punk zombies they had no gears or extra metal implants at all. No, these zombies were frightening because they were super fast.

In case you aren’t aware of it, I’ll tell you straight up: I am not down with super-fast zombies.

Not because I think they go against all horror movie convention, zombies are meant to be slow and stupid yadda yadda yadda…

No.

I am not down with super fast zombies because the scare the bejesus out of me.

Don’t believe me? Read this or this.

But that’s okay because Ms Priest seems to understand the terror and dread that the super-fast zombie (SFZ) wields and uses the SFZ threat sparingly. Thank Gods for that.

As for the rest of the story I have to say, I am impressed. The ending, while not a complete surprise, was very satisfying. Her use of language is hypnotic and engaging. Her characters are interesting people that you want to know more about. The story she weaves is plausible, in a super-fast zombie/steam-punk/post-apocalyptic/Industrial Revolutionary type way. And more importantly, everything fits. All the characters, all the things they do, everything they say – it makes sense.

It was hard to put this book down.

Go buy this book.

This one is on par with the tiny crying elephant coin bank.

Ah, Christmas. EVERYONE loves Christmas, right?

Well, except for Osama bin Laden. I’m pretty sure he hates Christmas.

But aside from him and a few million other people that don’t really give a crap about the little baby Jesus’ birthday EVERYONE loves Christmas, right?

And if you work in my lab, how can you not?

I mean that literally.

We are 18 people (give or take a few work-study students) and we’ve had no less than THREE Christmas celebrations this month with the promise of another one in January (when people aren’t so busy, y’know?) We have had the department-wide Christmas party, a Christmas luncheon for our smaller group and, of course, the obligatory “Secret Santa” pot luck.

Ah, Secret Santa. EVERYBODY loves the Secret Santa, right?

All the worry about who’s name you’re going to draw and what if you get Lousy McJerk-face? What will you do then? You can’t stand that guy. OH GOD WHAT IF YOU GET MAVIS THE CAT LADY? You fret about and when you do draw a name you are secretly chanting “please let me get [insert your best friend at work here]” over and over again while you’ve got your fingers crossed but in the end you draw that guy from accounting that you barely knew even existed except for the fact that he once wore that Star Trek t-shirt you thought was funny.

Yeah, no.

This year, when asked if I wanted to draw a name for the gift exchange I said  “No. I want Marty’s name.”  At first that did not go over very well. Or rather, she did not understand me. I repeated myself. “Please dig through the names and give me Marty’s, I already have a present picked out for him.”  To her credit, she barely argued.

So that went well for me.

When the day of the gift exchange loomed nigh, I dutifully lugged my present to the bus and eventually down to Seattle. I tossed it in with the other gifts and hoped in a fit of selfishness that I would not be forced to relive the gift exchange from last year but secretly knew there was a high probability.

As I had expected, the gift I gave Marty (pizza making supplies) went down a treat. You see, we have been talking pizza for some months and I knew he needed a few things which was the reason I wanted his name at the start. To my astonishment I did not receive a $25 gift certificate to ANY restaurants. Nope.

I got a Ms Sassy Cat Pillow Pet which is hilarious in a completely WTF-made-you-think-of-ME-when-you-bought-this? sort of way. It was later explained to me that yes, it was a ridiculous gift but who else would appreciate a stuffed animal that, with the judicious application of velcro, can turn into a pillow?

Why, ME of course!

It turns out they were right.

For some reason I cannot fully explain, I LOVE that thing. Here is a link for you to see what it looks like all Velcroed-up. It really is super-soft. And strangely, when it’s in Cat mode it almost looks like a real cat with a goofy face.

Aaaaaaaaand, that’s where the problem started.

In case you weren’t aware of it, I already have two goofy-faced cats (no Velcro needed) one of which looks suspiciously like Ms Sassy Cat. His name is Katzu.

Team Illiterate

He is not pleased with the Ms Sassy Cat Pillow Pet.

The first night I brought it home, I put it in the spot he usually sleeps (you know, for a laugh.) Not only did he hiss a little bit but after he realized it might not be a real cat but instead someone’s idea of a bad joke, he was so upset that he ignored me for the next two days.

Let me just re-iterate that we are talking about a cat that can be found waiting at the door for me everyday when I get home. Rarely does he let me out of his sight even to go pee. And now, thanks to Ms Sassy Cat Pillow Pet, he was no longer speaking to me. He sat on the end of the bed, pointedly turned away from me. Not purring, not moving. Nothing.

But alas, he is just a cat and the first really cold night after the arrival of MSCPP Katzu decided to be friends again. I am pretty sure this had something to do with my super-fuzzy blanket but I am big enough not to mention it. He still does not like the Pillow Pet though and I have to keep it slightly hidden or he will stalk off and go to sleep in the linen closet.

Catching up with today, it is my Birthday! Yay hooray!

Not really. It is Christmas Eve. Who wants to celebrate someone’s birthday on the day before CHRISTMAS ferchrist’s sake. (Um…that sentence seems a little wrong. Sorry baby Jesus) But that’s okay because my husband is very kind and giving and this year he and the kids gave me an iPod for listening to audiobooks on my morning commute. It is green and awesome.

You know how sometimes you get a little gift for someone but think it might be over-kill to give them a BIG gift and then tack on that little gift too? No? Well, okay, just bear with me then. When that happens in my family, those smaller gifts are always from the cats – complete with cards.

Over the past few years the gifts have remained small, usually socks or gloves, but the cards have morphed into something else. I can honestly say that if they had thumbs, brains and a Bic these cats would say exactly what has been written in their cards year after year, without fail (although they would probably coerce Brian into writing them anyway.) There is no way to describe the cat cards other than

“yep. exactly.”

This year, for my birthday Katzuhiro and India gave me pirate socks, bird-on-a-wire socks and cherry blossom socks. My card has a picture of 5 dogs on the front. Here is the inscription:

I get the feeling that he's trying to tell me something...

The following picture is the actual Lego advent calender toy for December 21st, 2009:

Happy Solstice kid, have a Lego Axe Murderer.

Aaaaaaand, now their taking this shit real. Here we have the toy from December 22, 2009:

WTF? THEY GAVE HIM A CHAINSAW.

Merry Christmas kid, you’re gonna need this for Lego Zombie Santa.

I know it’s no excuse but still….I didn’t know that they were listening.

I went to pick the kids up from “school” yesterday (read: day care/Montessori.) It was pretty late in the day and most of the kids had already gone home. This is nothing new. By five o’clock most of the kids have left and it’s usually Catfish and two or three other boys plus the Admiral and the baby.

Yesterday was the usual crew:

Baby Eleven is the newest (note: Eleven is not her real name but Catfish can’t pronounce her real name so he calls her El-E-ven.) She is just now learning to stand on her own. When she’s happy she sticks her tongue out, which is awesome because Eleven’s baseline mood is happy so she sticks her tongue out a LOT. Also, my daughter thinks that Eleven is her own personal baby-doll and gets very excited when she sees her. I hear a lot of “BABY! BABY! BABY! BABY!” when Eleven is near.

John has strawberry blond hair, a determined attitude and a strong right hook. He also seems to be in love with my daughter and will valiantly defend her, at all costs to his personal freedom, from ….

…Christian. Tall, likes to build spaceships and refers to me as “Catfish’s Mom” unfortunately for Christian, he is also somewhat of a scapegoat for the kids at school. I know this because I have personally witnessed him blamed for a lot of petty crimes involving crayons, milk and broken toys on days when was absent from school, at parties he has not attended and once in my own living room, on a Saturday even though he has never been to my house. Poor Christian.

Last but not least we have Raj. Raj is the younger brother of an older girl that was at Montessori with Catfish up until this last school year when she started first grade. Without his sister around to harsh his mellow, Raj has become even more extroverted, talkative and generally just a fun-loving little guy.

I have come to know each of these kids over the past year or two and, in turn, they have come to know me. I tell you honestly when I say that they all hold a special place in my heart. They are so completely different from my own children and I truly enjoy their personalities: John and his brawling, Christian and his goofiness, Raj and his confident swagger, Eleven and her happy happy joy joy.

Every evening they are genuinely happy to see me. They delight in shouting “CATFISH YOUR MOM IS HERE!” even though he may be standing right in front of me. While we ready ourselves to leave, they tell me about buildings they have built, adventures they have recently had and the latest playground gossip including who hit whom at lunch and how long he was in time-out.

Also, they love to high-five like no body’s bidness.

(Eleven is working on it.)

Okay.

Getting back to the gist of my story, yesterday Brian wanted to stay late at work in order to attend his company Christmas Holiday Winter get-together (no spouses allowed this year.)

That’s fine. I can take a hit for the team. Plus, Brian needs to blow off some work-related steam after this last project. I girded my loins and steeled my nerves for an evening without the daddy.

I must confess that Brian is 100% better at dinner time that I am. This is because he is the cook of the family. When I make dinner it goes something like this:

“Hey, you guys want Macaroni and Cheese?”

Fortunately for me, they haven’t figured that out yet. Either that or they really REALLY love Macaroni and cheese.

Anyway, our usual Thursday routine involves me picking up the baby while Catfish stays at school waiting for his dad to pick him up and take him to his swimming lesson (he refuses to go in the girl’s changing room with me.) But yesterday was not a usual day. Brian had his work function and swimming lessons were over for the duration of the holidays.

I arrived at school a few minutes past five. John, Christian, Raj and the Admiral were all watching a Christmas movie and singing “Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel” (Montessori school brings ALL the holidays on the bus. They celebrate everything. It is awesome) Eleven’s tongue was sticking out. As soon as he spotted me, Catfish yelled out:

“MOM! Guess what? NOOOOOO SWIMMING TODAY!”

Missing a swim lesson is is not always greeted with such enthusiasm but the closer we get to Christmas, the more excited we are for everything. I met his zeal and raised him an intense:

“Right on little Dude! Let’s go home and make a HUGE MESS!”

His reply was fast and furious:

“YEEEEEEEEAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!1!!eleventy!!!!!!”

Now, if you were coming from my position, which I have tried to accurately reconstruct here for you, it could be argued that I was only trying to start the impending Daddy-less evening on a high note. While we gathered our gear to go home Catfish and I had a great time making plans to:

A) Go Home
B) Have a snack
C) Go upstairs to the play room and play while making a
D) HUGE MESS

Which, after a round of high-fives, we promptly went home and put in to action.

This is perfectly acceptable because the upstairs room is, in fact, Catfish’s bedroom. It started out looking like the demilitarized zone from World War Hot Wheels and in order to make a huge-er mess we would have had to clean up a significant portion of the floor (room cleaning day wasn’t for another 48 hours.) So instead, Catfish raced a truck back and and forth incessantly while the Admiral made an elaborate meal out of fake succotash and a plastic wine goblet filled with Mardi Gras beads. She even used a fake napkin (I was so proud.)

On the other hand…

…It can also be argued that I am a complete idiot.

Because, while I was making the plans to go home and do no more damage than rearranging the chaos that already existed in our home, I completely failed to recognize the fact that there were three other sets of ears, attached to three independent brains, listening to our conversation about going home and “making a HUGE MESS” (Eleven was still sticking her tongue out and thus does not count in this respect.)

Fast forward to today. At lunchtime we had the annual Montessori Christmas party wherein all parents are invited to come and celebrate with the kids. Like any good parent that doesn’t work on Fridays but has tons of stuff to do because it’s the week before Christmas ferchristsake, I showed up late. I had no idea they were waiting for me – that Catfish was making everyone wait for me. But I got there as fast as I could and apparently, it was just in time for the caroling.

Oh the Caroling! We were up on the rooftop with Rudolph and Frosty had FIVE GOLDEN RINGS with a side order of Dreidels.

Afterward there was a vegetable tray and grapes and cheese pizza (Teacher is a vegetarian Hindu) and I was able to talk with a few of the parents that I really enjoy even though I always get the vague feeling that that they know I’m not a real parent because no real parent would act like such a child. This goes to show how sophisticated and urbane they are since they have not once said anything to me about it.

Then I opened my big, fat stupid mouth and told them about how I survived my daddy-free evening. When I got to the part where I suggested to the Catfish that we go home and make a HUGE MESS, I noticed all eyes widen all around me. It was then that I realized my mistake.

“So THAT’S where he got it!”

*eye daggers*

It seems that when I announced our plans for creating said havoc, I was not speaking solely to my own son. There were three other little boys in attendance, listening to every mouth-watering promise of carnage, devastation and the absolute joy that would ensue from such employments. They were convinced.

In my defense, it does not take and act of congress to persuade most boy children between the ages of two and (seventy) nine to destroy, pillage and plunder. It seems to come as naturally as peeing outside and shoving things up their noses. But alas, I did not intend to inflict three battle-ready boys upon their unsuspecting mothers.

Chagrined, I listened to “Raj’s Mom” tell me of how, after they got home the previous night, Raj proclaimed his intentions to

“Make a HUGE MESS!”

and immediately dumped a bucket of toys on the living room floor. He then decided to clean up his mess by tossing each toy into the next room, thus making an even larger mess as his aim is not all that great.

This was made all the more embarrassing because she (Raj’s mom) had just finished telling me of how she was only now starting to feel better after weeks of being ill.

And all I can think is: “OMG I’m such an ass.”

“Christian’s Mom” heard this conversation and wandered over to tell me how he had pulled a similar stunt within moments of getting home last night with the added benefit that he had no intention of cleaning up after himself.

And John’s mom?
I don’t know, they weren’t at the party.

So here I am, stating for the record that I am very sorry. I have learned my lesson. I know now that the public authorization of such wanton demolition was wrong. I should have realized that there were impressionable yoots within earshot. In short: I apologize.

In my defense, the Admiral DID use a fake napkin to eat her fake succotash and drink her fake Mardi Gras wine.

Have I not told you about my father-in-law?

No? My mistake, I am so sorry.

John Leland Pitts, Hello nice to meet you. I have met your son and we are thinking of getting married, just as soon as he asks. What a lovely house you have here. You say you built it yourself? Oh now, I can’t believe that. Oh, but look at the pictures! Well I’ll be damned, you did build it yourself.

I have no experience with men such as you, John. My own father decamped early on and my step-father is not like you. He is Austrian and very respectable and he does not tell jokes like you do.

You think it may be too soon for us to have children? I am sorry for you but we are having a boy and I am sure you will get used to it.

Brian, who is outside our window? It is eleven o’clock at night and there is someone outside our window shouting what sounds like “Farm Boy!” Threaten to call the cops if they don’t leave. Oh. It’s your father. Threaten to call the cops anyway. Why the hell didn’t he just knock? He didn’t want to wake the baby? So he decided to give us a heart attack instead? I will never understand that man.

So kind of you to visit John. What’s this? A packet of pens. Oh, my mistake! A twenty year old packet of pens. Thank you John. I am sure the boy will love them but right now he is only six months old and he cannot walk, let alone draw with – ah, I should have guessed – a packet of twenty year old, permanent ink pens. How about we save these for later? You say you will get up with him in the morning so Brian and I can sleep in? Aren’t you the most wonderful person. Thank you John.

Why is the baby wrapped in a towel? Oh, I see. Well, next time you are more than welcome to come into our room even if we are peacefully sleeping, and get a fresh diaper. At the very least I humbly request that you take the soggy one off before wrapping him in a towel. Ah, but you two seem to be having a great time. Mind if I steal him away for a second to rinse off the pee? I won’t be long I promise.

Brian, there is no separating those two. We must make sure your father knows to feed him or I fear that they will whither away into nothing. Maybe we could enforce nap time after lunch? No, I thought not.

No son, Papa is not here yet, there is no need for hysterics. He will be here tomorrow. We should never have opened our mouths. Next time we give him twenty minutes notice. Now he’s never going to go to sleep. The faster you go to sleep son, the faster Papa will be here. I promise. Go to sleep. Go To Sleep. It’s past twelve, you get in bed or I will call Papa and tell him he cannot come over to play. Next time maybe we give him five minutes notice.

There will be a new addition to the family in May. I know this is hard to believe my son, but you may have to share your Papa with a sister. No, I know it is not fair but that is the way life goes sometimes. You will have to share, but perhaps not right away.

Hello John, please – Son, don’t tackle Papa like that. Sorry John but it’s the safest way. We can no longer give him advanced warning of your visits, he simply will not calm down until you arrive. But it is so wonderful to see you and, okay – bye then. We will come extract you when there is food on the table. Sagan, be nice to Papa. Don’t jump on him like you jump on your dad. We would like for him to come back to visit. And thank you John, for the paper mache skeleton. It will match the cut out pictures of dogs and all the enormous palette of Styrofoam intended for car parking.

Did you have a fun time at Meme and Papa’s house? What did you do? Swimming and hiking and fishing and earth ball and saw dust and in a boat huh? Well that sounds fine. Right now we are getting ready for dinner so you must go and put some pants on. You know the rules. I know that you get to run around in the nuddy at Papa’s house but you KNOW the rules. You are not allowed to eat dinner naked at home. Now do as I say and go put some pants on.

YOU ARE NOT AT PAPAS HOUSE, PUT YOUR PANTS BACK ON! I don’t care if you’re not done peeing put your pants back on! Yes, I know Papa lets you pee outside but we live in the city. Papa lives in the country. You cannot pee in the front yard at home. You must pee in the toilet. Because life is unfair, that’s why. Now put your pants back on.

Brian dear, what happened? You have to go? Go where? It’s dinner time and you are going to the hospital. Oh, I see.

It’s six in the morning, Brian can you still be at the hospital? Oh I see. Is it as bad as that? I will get the kids to school and come down there.

Hello John! No, don’t try to get up. You have some sort of bolt in your head and there are numbers that should be below twenty but keep creeping back up. I think perhaps you are pissed off that you are in a coma. Are you angry John? I would be too. Madelyn, are you angry? No, you are on the phone. I am so sorry.

It’s been three days Madelyn. Would you like for me to stay here so that you may go home for a few hours? I know you are exhausted too dear but please can you drive her? I don’t think she should drive all that way by herself. You go, I will be here.

Lady, we are separated by a thin cloth curtain and oceans of grief but that will not stop me from coming over there and thumping you upside the head if you do not shut up. How can one person talk so constantly about nothing? Do you see this man here? He is my father-in-law. He is in a coma and you are annoying the shit out of him. How much of a shrill harpy must you be to annoy the crap out of a man in a coma? Look, they even gave him earplugs so he does not have to listen to you.

John, if she wasn’t related to the man next door I swear I would go over there and at the very least, verbally abuse that woman. Perhaps she might think of other people for a second. But right now she is painted loud and red with the fear of her brother dying. As we sit here in dark hues of blue and purple waiting to find out what you want to do.

Oh good she has gone. You look so much more relaxed John. Sleep for a while. I will be here until Madelyn comes back. I will defend you from the over-zealous nurses that pinch you in order to get a response. They will have to pinch through me first.

Damn. Your sister and her husband are here John. The first thing she said to me was Damnit. And I feel the same way. How am I going to tell Sagan? You are his favorite person in the world John – and that’s including Santa Claus. Don’t you leave this world without saying goodbye to him some how. I trust that you will find a way.

I know that we are in a hospital but I think it would be okay if we had a little shot.

To John. To John. To John.

Wow, that is strong stuff. Made from Bosnian plums you say? Oh, Croatian plums. That’s right, we still have a little box full of nails and screws and a super ball that John found on the ground there. I am not sure what happened to the five pound box of soap though. If we go to Cuba we will be sure to bring that along.

It’s ten am and the party has been over for some minutes. You have decided that another night sitting next to that annoying woman is just not worth it. Or that we had better things to do than sit around a hospital room weeping over you. Get on with it! You are saying. And, does the funeral home offer an AARP discount? I am supposed to tell Sagan in a few hours. Brian can’t. He can’t get past the first three words.

You know Papa was very sick. You know Papa was in the hospital. But this morning Papa John got so sick that he died and that means that we will not see him any more and he cannot come over anymore because he is dead. Crass but true and he is only four. Truth is more important than tact at age four. Still he does not understand why we are so sad that Papa is gone because Meme is still here and she is willing to play Legos and she will sleep upstairs with him in his room that smells of little boy.

Heartfelt words pour over the internet saying how sorry they are and how much of a loss this is for humanity. John was a great guy unless you worked for customs and then he was apparently a bit of a bastard. A lovable bastard but a bastard none the less. He told jokes people remember, he made lives better. He loved and he drank and he laughed and he was a bastard to the customs people of several different countries. Or perhaps just Canada.

Madelyn, you can stay here as long as you need. I see that you are ready to face this challenge. Maybe not today but certainly you are ready. And you will go home and you will go on. Brian will go on too. Sagan will understand and Wellington, my dear baby girl, you have been inconsolable for three days and no one even suspected that you knew. You will be okay sweetheart. I will be okay. Sagan will be upset, but he will be okay. And eventually daddy will be okay.

But just for now, this is the Pitts.

“There is no such thing as a wind of two hundred miles an hour, I said – the air would catch fire.”

- Narrow Dog to Indian River, Terry Darlington; p. 4