Story: Rapture, Pt VI (and last)

I had reached the bottom of the broad stairway when, across the room, a great cheer began to go up. I peered across the multitude to see the reason for the sudden expression of joy. At first, I saw nothing. Then, I saw the top of a brown head of hair that looked instantly familiar. I worked my way through the crowd, trying to reach the head of hair.
It was not an easy task. Numerous people were milling around the person with the brown hair, all of them talking joyously. Finally, I was able to get close enough to hear the voice of the person with the brown hair.
"I'm looking for a friend of mine," the voice said. "He has sandy hair and is wearing a gray sweatshirt." It was the voice that I heard thousands of times as I was growing up. It was the voice that had rejoiced with me in my brighter hours and consoled me in my darker hours.
"Jeff!" I shouted, waving broadly.
"Hey, Jimson," he called back, walking up to me through the crowd. "Are you up for a party?"
"A party? Is that where you've been?"
Jeff shook his head. "I haven't been at a party, Jimson," he said; "I've been preparing one for my friends. Didn't you get my note?"
I pulled out the note. "Yes, it said you had something to do, but I was worried that you had gotten trapped in the blizzard."
Jeff laughed. "Well, don't worry about it, Jimson. I'm here now."
"Jeff!" Meghan exclaimed joyously, walking up to him from the couches.
"Hey, Meghan," Jeff said, hugging her. "It's time for the party."
"I'm ready," she replied.
We started out the door with about fifteen other people, all of whom were friends of Jeff. Before we made it to the door, a familiar voice crackled, "Just a minute there, sir." We all turned, and there stood the old man I had talked with on the balcony. The red tint on his face matched the color of his sweater, and a resentful flame burned in his eyes. "I've been up here for years," the septuagenarian continued, "and I know all about you, Mr. Jeff Bardot, although I admit I am surprised to find that you are real. Why am I not invited to the party? After all, I've been up here for years, and I know more about you than maybe even your closest friends. I should be invited, and it’s unfair that I’m not!"
Jeff looked somberly at the old man. "I don't know you, sir, and there is no extra room at this party. You've had years of chances to get to know me, but you took none of them. If you had talked to me sooner, I would have been able to prepare a place for you, but this party is for my friends only. I'm sorry."
He walked out the door, and we followed him.

Story: Rapture, Pt V

It was getting later in the night, and already I could see snow falling outside through one of the windows. As I looked at the window, I noticed the balcony on the second floor.
"What better place to wait for Jeff? I’ll be able to see him the minute he arrives." I thought as the inspiration hit me. I moved across the floor over to the grand staircase that led up to the second floor and its balcony. I climbed upward quickly, taking the steps as an anxious child would, two at a time.
I reached the balcony and discovered that, to my surprise, there were low, padded benches lining the wall all along the balcony. A few of these benches were occupied by people, mostly couples engrossed in serious discussions about the important things that couples discuss. A gray-haired old man sat on one bench, staring at the ceiling. His hair, frizzy and unkempt, gave him the appearance of a mad scientist. Ancient spectacles covered his eyes, and he had his hands interlaced, resting in his lap.
Walking over to the railing in a space away from the people in the balcony, I surveyed the room below. Still no sign of Jeff. I ran over all the possible scenarios as I continued to survey the room. He could have wrecked up on the ski slopes and be trapped right now out there in the blizzard. Or he could have gotten lost in the blizzard on his way here. Or.... The possibilities overwhelmed me. I shook my head to stop the analyzing.
"Where are you, Jeff?" I asked in a whisper.
"Looking for someone, young man?" a voice inquired. The voice rustled and crackled like leaves in the autumn wind. It was the old man I had seen when I'd first entered the balcony. Now he was standing next to me, leaning on the rail with his forearms.
"Yes, sir," I replied, glancing only far enough to see that he wore an old, red sweater. "I'm looking for my friend Jeff Bardot. He said he would meet me here just after 6." I looked at my watch, which said 6:35. "It's already past 6:30, and he's still not here."
The old man said, a touch of amazement in his voice, "I've heard lots of people talking about Jeff, but I always thought he was some character, like Paul Bunyan. You know, something somebody made up to inspire people to ski well. After all, some of the accomplishments on the ski slopes which they say he did seem a little too amazing to me."
To hear my friend dismissed as fictitious startled me, but I regained my composure before answering, "Oh, no, Jeff's real. I've known him since I was in grade school. We used to hang out together all the time. In fact, I came up here to ski with him. He comes here often." I turned around, looking out the window across from me.
"I don't believe it," the man answered indignantly. "You're just making all that up! I've been coming here for years and never met any world-class skier named Jeff."
I could not understand the old man's indignation. It was as if I had just told him that everything fell up and the sky was orange. "Sir, I'm not going to argue with you," I countered calmly, turning to face him. "I merely ask you to believe me when I tell you that Jeff is real. And he's here, somewhere, at this resort, although I don't know where. He said he'd meet me here in this note. Then, you can see for yourself."
The old man huffed in response. I looked at him more closely. His cotton-like eyebrows were drawn downward together in a scowl. After several seconds of awkward silence, he limped away from me, muttering snippets of statements, reassuring himself that he was right and that I was a raving lunatic.
As his mutterings faded into the distance, I glanced out the nearest window. The blizzard was raging strongly now, the snow falling almost horizontally. I once again regarded the room below me. Many skiers had arrived during the short time which the old man and I had conversed, turning the lower level from an open wilderness into a bustling metropolis. I decided to go down and join the throng of people. Maybe one of them had seen Jeff.

Story: Rapture, Pt IV

In the hope that someone might have seen Jeff and talked to him, I decided to talk to some people in the room. I knew that Jeff came here often and that he was somewhat of a legend for his skiing exploits.
Carrying my cider with me, I walked over to the couches surrounding the fireplace. As I approached the couches, I saw that an attractive young woman with emerald eyes sat alone on one of the couches. A tan cup filled with some sort of coffee blended in with her tan pants. She wore a brown sweater that matched her shoulder-length, chestnut-colored hair. It was one of Jeff’s friends, Meghan. She lived in Colorado and had joined us on the ski slopes for the past two days. I had gotten to know her a little bit, but I did not know her nearly as well as I would have liked to.
Putting on my best smile, I tried to remain calm as I approached her. Pretty women made me nervous. I always felt intimidated by their beautiful features, and even though I had already met her, this woman still intimidated me some.
"Hi, Meghan," I said, my voice cracking only slightly.
A warm smile flooded her face. If she found my pubescent-sounding introduction awkward, she gave no sign of it. "Hey, Jimson." Without pause she asked, "Did you just get back down the slopes?"
I nodded in response. "Yeah, I did. I stayed on the green runs," I elaborated. "I'm not that good a skier and nowhere close to the level of Jeff. He's world class."
“He is really good,” Meghan agreed. “He has that amazing knack for knowing how to turn and when to turn to avoid a fall. Was he with you?”
"No,” I replied, “and that’s why I’m a bit worried. He said he'd meet me here after the runs closed, but he's not here yet even though it’s getting dark."
"Be patient, Jimson, I’m sure…" Meghan said reassuringly.
"That's not all, though," I interrupted. "There's also a blizzard coming, and it will be here by 6:30 p.m.! Jeff said he would meet me here at 6, but it's after 6 now, and he's not here!"
I handed the note to her. She read it, but her reaction was the not the concern that I expected. "I'm sure he'll be here, soon, Jimson," she said placidly. "This note says as soon after six as possible, and it's only a little after six right now. I'm sure he'll be here any second."
I agreed half-heartedly with her, but I still was anxious to see Jeff, especially with that fierce winter storm nearing. "I think I'll roam around the great room for a while," I said. "I’ll talk with you later, Meghan."
"Good talking with you, Jimson," she replied as I got up from the couch and headed back to where I had been sitting at the bar.
My cider, which I had been sipping the entire time I talked with Meghan was now cool enough for me to gulp down. Finishing my drink, I left the cup on the bar and resumed my roaming of the room.

Story: Rapture, Pt III

My thoughts were interrupted as a young woman looking very comfortable in her leisurely attire asked me for my order. Her blonde hair cascaded off her head and over her shoulders.
"Hot apple cider, please," I said. As she started to walk away, I called to her, "Miss, could you tell me whether they're expected a blizzard to move in tonight?"
She looked at me with gentle blue eyes. "I don't know, sir. I'll turn on the Weather Channel and see what's going on." She grabbed a remote and switched the channel.
A man dressed in a black suit appeared on the screen in front of the surface map. "If you're near Denver right now," he said, "you might want to get to where you're going. There's a strong blizzard heading right towards you, and it should be in the Rockies west of Denver by 6:30 p.m.. The National Weather Service in Denver has issued a blizzard warning for the area, effective until ten tonight. This is quite an unusual storm, as it’s moving northward instead of southward as most winter storms do."
The blonde stared at the TV with concern. "I hope everyone gets off the slopes before that hits." She walked over to prepare my drink order.
I nodded to myself in agreement, glancing at my watch. It was 6:00 right now. If Jeff were stuck on the slopes somewhere, he might not make it down before the blizzard hit. I turned around, looking to see if Jeff had entered the room. Seeing no sign of him, I turned to face the bar again, my concern growing with each second.
Across the bar from me was a long mirror, with multiple bottles of various liquors ringing the bottom. Staring straight at my reflection, I sighed in worry. My reflection sighed back. I looked at myself still dressed in my ski clothes. Definitely not something worth writing home about, I thought. I wore a gray sweatshirt that bore the name of the university I attended, which had several wet spots on it from places where snow had worked its way underneath my coat during one of my falls. My egg-shaped face exploded off of my neck, and the wire-framed glasses that encircled my eyes gave me an appearance that was more scholarly than studly. My blue-gray eyes resembled the color of distant storm clouds on a summer afternoon, and they glittered with worry.
I brushed a rebellious lock of my sandy brown hair back into place with the others. The effort proved as futile as racing a Model T in the Daytona 500. The hair slid back into its original place with impunity. I tried again to contain the loose lock, and again it flew away. As I continued the war versus my hair, the bartender brought me my hot cider in a wide, white mug of porcelain.
I took a sip of the steaming juice and sighed deeply. I loved apple cider, and, as the scalding liquid assaulted my tongue, I slipped off for a second into nostalgia, remembering when I was very young, drinking hot cider on cold, winter afternoons. My mom would heat the spicy apple juice in a kettle and then serve it to me with a cinnamon stick in it. Often Jeff would stop by for a cup on the way to his house, and we would play (when we were younger) or talk (when we got older).
Jeff and I had talked and drank numerous cups of cider after I had broken up with my first girlfriend, and we had downed just as many cups each December at Jeff's birthday party. Over cider we had shared our dreams and our complaints, our frustrations and our fears. I could never drink cider without thinking about him.
Coming out of my reverie, I looked around the ski lodge. Where was Jeff?
A baritone voice burst over the din of the room. "Paging Mr. Jimson Williams!" The voice belonged to a man dressed in a brown suit who had just entered the room. "Message for Mr. Jimson Williams!"
I got up and walked over to the man. Identifying myself, I took the note from his hands. It was written on white notebook paper, narrow ruled. It was folded in half length-wise, and on the top flap my name was written in Jeff's firm hand. I read the note:
Jimson--
I have some business to take care of before coming to the lodge. I will meet you there as soon after 6 o'clock as possible.
Jeff
As I read the note, my concern grew greater. It was already past six o'clock. Why had this note come here now? And where was Jeff? Hopefully he wasn't outside with that blizzard nearing.

Rambling: Cloud Photos

The clouds this morning were simply astounding. Here are a few of the photos I took of the turbulence. They are a bit large in size, but they are beautiful. Take a look and let me know what you think.

Story: Rapture, Pt II

"And now I'm here," I thought, coming back to the present. The sky in the far east was a shade of deep blue reminiscent of blue pen ink. I could also see clouds black as soot on the edge of the horizon. I looked closer and saw that they were cumulus towers, pretty well developed ones, especially for winter. It appeared that a blizzard was raging to our south.
"We'll be okay," I thought as I resumed skiing toward the ski lodge. "Those systems generally track to the south."
Three minutes later, I reached the edge of the snow, forcing me to take off my skis and clunk around instead in my heavy, plastic ski boots. As I climbed over a small hill placed at the end of the run to aid runaway skiers in stopping, I saw the ski lodge.
It was a tall, brown pile of logs exploding straight out of the deep snow. The logs that made up the building were worn smooth from years of snow blasting against them. Snow partially covered the roof, the shingles peeking out from underneath like shy children hiding behind their mothers' skirts. Wispy, gray smoke floated out of the red brick chimney into the atmosphere. The last rays of the setting sun caught the smoke as it rose, lighting it on fire and turning it vibrant shades of orange and red.
The main doors of the ski lodge were taller and wider than normal doors. Whoever had built the doors had carved them in intricate fashion, fashioning a large lattice pattern into the sturdy oak wood. The doors in my mind ceased to be doors and instead became gates that led into a city. No warden or men in armor awaited me, and no one stopped me as I approached. Chocolate-colored shutters flanked all the windows on both the first and second floor.
I entered through the wooden gates, leaving my poles and skis just inside the door on the left-hand side. This ski resort was small; I knew no one would take my equipment. The entryway in which I stood held more than one set of skis, boots, and poles of various sizes and styles. I did not see Jeff's skis among them, though. "That's odd," I thought. "He should definitely be here by now since he stopped skiing far earlier than I did."
I examined all of the ski paraphernalia which ran up and down both sides of the long, narrow room, clumped together in groups of two, three, or four. In front of me was one double-wide, ornamentally-carved doorway. This large portal led into the lodge's main room, and it was through this door that I entered.
The main room stretched upward and outward, its ends distant from me. In the very center of the room sat a large, open fireplace. Already a large fire glowed, providing more warmth and cheer to a warm and cheery room. The fireplace sat raised on a cylindrical pile of rough, limestone-colored stones. Numerous couches surrounded the fireplace, sunken a half a foot below the level of the main floor. Skiers in various states of tiredness occupied the couches, their faces all glowing brightly after having been outside in the sun all day.
I surveyed the room, hoping to see Jeff. Having no luck, I headed over to the long bar which was on the right-hand edge of the room. Bartenders dressed in inconspicuous brown sweaters were serving drinks, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic, to thirsty customers. The mahogany bar stretched along one wall, overshadowed by the second-level balcony, which ran around the edge of the main room, providing the more claustrophobic a way to escape the press of the crowds. The wall framed windows that were spaced every fifteen feet. Through these windows I could see the sky and the clouds that appeared to be moving closer and closer.
"That blizzard appears to be moving closer," I thought, a small amount of worry beginning to seize me. "If that blizzard draws in and Jeff's still out on the slopes..."

Rambling: A Little Quiz

I found this in one of my computer's e-mail storage folders. I'll list the quiz questions first, and then put the answers in the full post.
The following short quiz consists of 4 questions. Click "See the full post" to see the answers and the anonymous author's comments on each answer.
The questions are not that difficult.
1. How do you put a giraffe into a refrigerator?

2. How do you put an elephant into a refrigerator?

3. The Lion King is hosting an animal conference. All the animals attend except one. Which animal does not attend?

4. There is a river you must cross. But it is inhabited by crocodiles. How do you manage it?

1. The correct answer is: Open the refrigerator, put in the giraffe and close the door. This question tests whether you tend to do simple things in an overly complicated way.

2. Wrong Answer: Open the refrigerator, put in the elephant and close the refrigerator.
Correct Answer: Open the refrigerator, take out the giraffe, put in the elephant and close the door.
This tests your ability to think through the repercussions of your actions.

3. Correct Answer: The Elephant. The Elephant is in the refrigerator.
This tests your memory.

4. Correct Answer: You swim across. All the Crocodiles are attending the Animal Meeting.
This tests whether you learn quickly from your mistakes.

Commentary: Global Warming?

I just read an interesting article arguing against man-made causes of global warming. The article, written for laymen, is available here from FoxNews.com. Since I trained as a meteorologist, I find this article to right in line with some of the data I remember observing in my classes on climate.
A large part of the increase in global temperatues sure seems to me to be due to the "urban heat island effect". This effect occurs as the result of the tendency of hard, urban surfaces to rise (and thus emit) greater amounts of heat than their rural counterparts. We all know from experience that concrete gets warmer than grass, even when the two are right next to each other. A similar thing may be happening with many of the observation stations around the world. As more people move to cities, urban areas expand, surrounding weather stations, resulting in warmer readings. The overall planet, then, may not be suffering a greenhouse effect, but rather, our observations may be increasingly inaccurate. In light of that, I would love to see more studies (open-minded ones, not ones funded by extremist environmentalist groups) on what really is going on. We shouldn't commit ourselves to economically-damaging treaties (like the Kyoto protocol) until we know for sure whether it will really do any good at all.

Pondering: What Right Have I?

Here's a random thought that I had as I was thinking about my reaction to some of the things that didn't go the way I wanted them to go the other day.
You see, I was upset when circumstances didn't turn out the way I wanted them to. I was angry because I wasn't getting my way. I was asking myself, "Why aren't things going my way? Why are all of these things going wrong?"
Now, here's the question I'm pondering, and you can react to this or correct me if you wish -- who am I that anything in the world should go my way? Am I God? Did make the world? After all, but by the grace of God and Christ's death on the cross, would I not still dead in my sins and on the way to hell?
I think I'm thinking rightly there. After all, it's easier to thank God for even the littlest blessings when one stops to consider that even those are undeserved. And it certainly is a humble reminder that the universe does not revolve around me.
And that's the pondering of the week/month/year. I welcome any thoughts.

Story: Rapture, Pt I

I had been skiing all day, and I was tired. I was now reaching the very bottom of the ski run, which I knew would be the last one of the day, since I had caught the last lift up to the top of the mountain. At the bottom of the run I turned around and looked back at the mountain I had just descended. The candlestick-like trees stood out as dark statues against the purple sky. No wind blew, and even the birds had stopped chirping. Day had ended; now it was time to rest.
At least, for most people. In the distance, I could hear someone attempting to start a snow mobile. The noise caused me to think back to when the idea of this ski trip with my best friend Jeff had first began to take shape.

The hot summer sun beat down upon me as I prepared to mow the lawn. The humidity engulfed me, making walking, talking, and even breathing feel as if it were being done under water rather than in air. It was a typical summer day in eastern Kansas. I placed my sandled left foot upon the edge of the mower, and I pulled the starting cord. The mower sputtered, whirred, and gasped in its struggle to start. After much effort, the mower wheezed and died.
Before I could make another attempt to start the mower, I heard a voice ask, "How's it going, Jimson?" It was my best friend, Jeff, looking calm and relaxed as usual, dressed in jean shorts and a plain white t-shirt. He had his brown hair combed straight back to allow air to reach his scalp below his thick hair, and his brown eyes reflected the heat of the summer sun.
"Okay," I replied with a frustrated smile. "I'm just about to embark on one of the great suburban adventures: starting the lawn mower. Would you care to join me?"
Jeff laughed. "No, thank you," he replied. "I have some errands to run. Besides, I wouldn't want to deprive you of a great adventure. After all, the humidity's what, ninety percent?"
"More like seventy," I corrected him instinctively.
"Whatever you say, Mr. Meteorologist," Jeff replied with a bright smile. He snapped his fingers. "Oh! I just remembered. I'm thinking about going skiing at Emerald Springs over Christmas Break. You want to come along?"
"Sure! That sounds great!" I exclaimed. Jeff and I had grown up together, and we'd known each other since grade school. He was my best friend, and for a year we had even gone to the same college in the same major, meteorology, before Jeff had decided to head off to another school that was closer to home. We saw each other only once or twice at most each year because of this, so spending a week-long ski trip with him appealed to me.
"Cool." Jeff said. "I'll let you know more of the details later." He smiled a laughing smile. "Enjoy your mowing adventure, Jimson!" He waved goodbye and roamed down the street.
I returned to the task at hand. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I attempted again to start the mower. I pulled viciously on the cord.
Nothing happened.
With great force, I hurled myself backwards again.
Nothing happened.
I pulled again, this time nearly flinging myself onto the ground behind me. My efforts were successful, as a roar like that of a small lion reached my ears.
I got behind the mower and began mowing, dreaming of the snowy, cool ski slopes of Colorado in order to escape the ninety-degree pool of summer air.

Rant: Immoral Heathen Spammers

<rant>To all who commented on my story: thank you so much! I was forced to remove the post after the comments section was spammed by an anonymous, computerized commenter. The story will be back up soon. Oh, and anonymous commenting is no longer allowed. Sorry!</rant>

Poem: This Valley

In this valley, it’s hard to see
There’s thick fog and haze
And the noise, the noise
Of my enemy all around
Screeching and squealing
Railing, mocking, jeering
Telling me of my wretchedness
Telling me I’m a fool and damned

But heed the cacophony a little
And off the path I stray
Into mire, muck and slime
My progress slows in the swamp
And as my treading slows down
I become downtrodden and sullen
I stop trying and stop hearing
And stop listening to Your voice

Only You can pull me back on track
And only You will walk beside me
Like the Lion with the peasant boy
Keeping me from straying away
So to You I turn and to You I listen
Until this wretched valley I leave
Ahead joyous glades of Your presence
Where walking and hearing are easy