Meet Ryven Ashcroft who fixes gas masks in a world where the air can kill you. Today, he gets a break. His biggest problem is a chess-playing drone.
*****
The chess set looked like it had escaped the teeth of a wood chipper. Barely.
Outside, the toxic Murk swirled yellow against the windows.
Ryven sat beside a small table and scratched his head. “Which bottle cap is my queen?” If he was going to play, he planned to win.
“The green one,” Edl said, not looking up from his remote.
“There are three green ones.”
Edl had to look. “Gyro oil. Hang on. Jinks isn’t ready.” A small drone that resembled a spider hovered over the chess pieces.
Jinks has opinions about chess. Not all of them are legal.
Ryven ignored him and slid the oil cap to a cracked square in the center of the board. Had he just moved a knight? Or a pawn? “Your turn.”
“Jinks’ turn, you mean.” Edl slid his thumb over the remote and then squeezed his eyes to focus on the chess board.
“Well, make your move,” Ryven said.
“He’s thinking.”
They both watched Jinks dip down and knock over a skinny can of seal compound. The can clattered onto the floor and rolled under a chair.
“What kind of play was that?”
“E7,” Edl said.
“In whose world?” Ryven grabbed a coolant lid and set it on a square. “That is E7.”
“Vintage rules. Jinks uses modern rules.” Edl slid his thumb on the remote again. Jinks beeped and then hovered again. It darted to the board and grabbed a fork.
“Is that your rook?” Ryven said. “What mastermind takes his own piece?” Switching from vintage rules to modern ones took some concentration that he didn’t intend to give.
Edl leaned close to Jinks. “Drop it.” The fork clattered onto the board, scattering pieces like a mini explosion.
They both stared at the cleared board.
Then Edl raised his free hand in the air. “Good job, Jinks! Check mate!”
******
Jinks is just getting warmed up. So is Ryven. Sign up here.
In a world far, far away, in a time nearly forgotten, my college roommate, Phyllis, and I buckled on skis to ride a T-bar lift.
T-bar lifts are extinct today. (That’s not accurate. See the footnote if you care.)
Back then, T-bars ferried skiers to the top of the mountain while weeding out the unworthy.
You’ll have to decide that part.
A T-bar requires two skiers to step into the loading area, grab a vertical pole attached to overhead cables, and stand as the crossbar hits your thighs.
Here are the rules:
Rule #1: Don’t sit on the bar.
Rule #2: Keep your skis pointed straight forward at all times.
Rule #3: Keep your balance while the terrain bucks like ocean waves under your feet.
Rule #4: Choose the right person for the trip up the mountain.
We stepped into the loading area and up we went. I slid up the incline, my skis holding straight.
Phyllis’ skis, on the other hand, began making giant S-curves on the slope. “Whoooooaaaaa,” she yelled.
I clung to the center pole until the T-bar bucked, twisting to the side, and dumping me onto the snow. The heel of my ski caught on the crossbar , dragging me up the mountain on my back.
After some frantic kicking, I broke free of the t-bar and rolled to the side through deep powder to escape the next pair of skiers.
I lost track of Phyllis.
I finally shoved through the trees and stood at the edge of the wide slope.
As I was resettling my goggles, which were resting more on my ear than my nose, Phyllis skied to a stop beside me.
She gave me a once-over. “What happened to you?” She had righted the T-bar after it dumped me and made it to the top of the slope. Now she looked like a sleek skier while I looked like a snowball.
I could have pointed out that she broke Rule #2 and #3. I could have complained about snow dribbling off my stocking cap.
But I had broken Rule #4. And that might have been the most important one.
Footnote: Today, out of approximately 2,400 ski lifts in the USA, only 88 are T-bars. They’re cheaper to install and operate. But they have more rules.
Things started when I received a patch from Dan Daetz after I backed his Kickstarter for The Hole Man. It had vivid gold letters, a striking jet image, and the words “Sci Fi Jet Pilot.” This could not stay in my desk drawer.
I snagged an Air Force colonel’s jacket from an estate sale and reached out to my sister, who sewed on the emblem with her machine.
Then a badge arrived from another author friend, A.J. Eliot, for her Kickstarter book, Windrider. I knew this patch needed to go on the uniform, too, plus I had a deadline.
I wanted to wear the blazer to a writers’ conference where I’d see A.J. I procrastinated but finally reached into my sewing box. It consisted of four microscopic spools of thread and a tomato pin cushion with all the pins driven to their necks.
And one needle that was already threaded. My miracle needle. Trying to push a thread the size of a hair through a hole the size of two hairs is a great way to spend your evening.
I didn’t have to do that, so I sewed. The strand got shorter and shorter. When I tried to knot the thread, I found out there wasn’t enough left.
I tossed the blazer over a chair. The patch stayed in place so I was set.
I flew to the writer’s conference and got many comments on the jacket and emblems.
During a session, I hung the coat over my chair and a writer sitting behind me tapped me on the shoulder. “Do you know that you have a needle hanging on the inside of your jacket?”
That forgotten needle. I shoved the point into thicker fabric.
I had already gone through security and flown about 1000 miles crammed in a tight seat with this needle dangling inside my jacket. I had to shed my belt, my watch, and a necklace to get through the security gate, but the needle didn’t trigger a single alarm.
My trip home included the same airport security and the same 1000 miles. The needle never registered an alert.
It hasn’t poked me once, so I haven’t tackled the next step yet.
We’re starting to become buddies. I am honoring two authors and a miracle needle at the same time.
A friend of mine recently told me how she hates to run, but does it anyway.
This friend is a kindred spirit. She’s slow. Me, too. She hates treadmills. Me, too. Running is boring. Yep.
But she’s been running circuits in her backyard, and I thought I ought to offer her the 5K experience for a change of pace. Pun intended.
Climbing Mount Everest
If you haven't run a 5K, you might think it’s like climbing Mount Everest.
You’d be right.
When I started, I found an app called Couch to 5K, which promised to have me ready for my first 5K in eight weeks. It worked, and I ran a 5K two months later.
The People You Meet
So I plan to tell my friend about the app and also about the interesting people you can meet. For example, at one 5K, the first runner across the finish line then ran the race backwards, then ran it again forward.
Which meant I got lapped twice.
Yeah. Interesting.
In the off-season, the high school cross-country team might even join us. There's nothing more exciting than watching a 16-year-old sprint the 5K as fast as I can run a mile.
If We Run Anyway
I use the term run lightly. It’s more like “getting double-lapped” running.
If I convince my friend to join the 5K experience, we’d get fresh air, strong lungs, muscular legs.
For the Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.”
Crystals of frost dangle before you. Cold reminders of loss and grief.
Once you feared this winter season of your life: when you would walk alone.
The cold of solitude grips your heart, and the emptiness echoes.
Hear God’s Song in the Silence
But hear God’s song! Clear, sweet harp notes pierce the icy silence. They carry peace and comfort, each note pulsing with love. God’s love.
Let these notes wash over you, softening the ache and renewing your weary heart.
What True Healing Looks Like
Healing will come, but not in a moment. Healing doesn’t mean the scars will be erased or every hollow place filled. But it will come if you lean into God’s presence.
God knows your pain, and the stabbing in your heart. The echoing emptiness.
Soak in His Warmth
Soak in His warmth and light. Allow the sound of God’s healing song to sink deep into your heart and bring you peace.
You are not alone.
A Prayer for the Grieving Heart
Heavenly Father, please pour out healing, protection, and wisdom for those who are struggling with the deep pain of grief. You understand our pain, but You also provide new life and new courage. Thank you for Your promises and Your presence. Amen.
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