Another day at work.

Part of my employment has me in nature on a constant basis. Yesterday had me upsetting bats in an old barn, coming across more rattlesnakes than I ever had before, dealing with driving on dirt mountain roads that few use, and crossing rivers. The bats are a large species, with the wingspan of a jay. I stand still and the bats flit around me for several moments, then return to the rafters, clicking as they fly. There have been no reports of rabies in years from local bats, so I'm not concerned at all. It's actually fun.
I am in a constant state of wonder. On the side of a mountain, the south face baked by the sun, with low brush, golden grasses and rock formations seemingly from an alien world. With the spring rains, wildflowers in every hue adorn the terrain, fighting to show their beauty and welcome honey bees for the necessary pollination. The north side displays emerald grasses under oaks and pines. The rocks are covered in lichens and Spanish moss dangles from oak trees giving the impression of a movie set.
The air is filled with more scents than can be counted. Flowers, brush, trees, aromatic hues of earth and streams. Also in the air are the songs of birds, most of which can't be seen. Screams of hawks, calls of jays, chikadees, finches and one of my fav's, the California Thresher bird. This melodious fellow belts out ariels matching any opera, then conversational sing-song chittering.
The ground exposed on trails give tell of tracks from all sorts of denizens. Mammals like mice, squirrels, deer, bobcats and cougars. Drags of lizards and snakes. Dainty tracks of birds. A virtual news broadcast of who's going where, doing what and how fast.
I'm surrounded by life and energy. Days like this I often regret the need to return to paved roads and civilization. But I am human, spoiled by supermarket food, the joyful showers and the warmth of my bed. Although I do enjoy the occasional camp out.
I digress. My job has me checking on 100 year-old buildings in the back country for structural soundness. Some days, it's just grand coming to work.

Blog from the Nemisis One

Hey Guys,
How long has it been since I've trod Earth soil? I recently heard about this blog thing from a Chiasta I met in the Six Talons Tavern on the Charnop Wormhole station. I'm giving it a go to see how things are. I had Nem, my ship's biointel, hook up with the necessary comsats to bounce the signals from here to the Gron Fronsi Quadrant.
At first I thought the Chiasta, a pleasant feline in her own right, who someday wants to be a Trouble Shooter, was just making conversation so I'd sponsor her to the Universal Council so she'd get work on my ship or someone else's.
As Glender has been out of the biz for a while and is now teaching at the UC Instersteller Situation Manager Academy, the Chiasta, Totahlini, might be gunning for a place on Yaracaz's ship. Knowing that I'm friends with both. Although I know the Chiasta are quite upfront about communications, unlike the Lingsway who can't give you a yes or no answer to the question: does one plus one equal two?
Anyway, Totahlini gave the information on a crystal about this blogging thing and I thought I'd give it a go.
Tursia, my mate (as we've not gone through the ritual from her home planet yet, we're still not technically husband and wife), thinks this is a fine idea. Something to get my mind off not having any work for almost three weeks. Although the break has been rather nice, especially with assignments back to back for nearly two years after the Gron Fronsi negotiations. I'm still rather amused that it got me so much work. Especially since the destruction I caused on the Lingsway Prime planet, kidnapping most of their upper echelon in government and knocking out one of the Gron Fronsi Princess's front teeth. But hey, with that one, she did back-hand me clear across her cell putting me unconscious for almost two days. I figure we're even. Plus, I did free her. I got off easy, as most of you know, she did manage to kill eight or nine of her captors and eat them.
With this as my first blog, I thought you might want to know about the upgrades to the Nemesis One. The main one is the worm-hole beams. With the added energy, I can open them from almost ten light-minutes away which is great to avoid the ever-irritating bureaucracy in the Bernusii System. I know it pisses them off to no end, but we Trouble Shooters have the authority, and they know it.
The second is an additional polymer layer to the outside of the ship. The new layer is about eighty carbon molecules thick, but that's enough to ease the transition from the vacuum of space to the intense pressure inside worm-holes. Also, with the assignment I had two months ago on the T'Slenokory Gem planet, the sulfuric atmosphere not only ruined the new finish I had on the ship, it somehow got into the filter systems (Nem thinks I didn't wash my exposure suit well enough--*he* says) and made the entire ship stink like rotten eggs. Targg and Beveran didn't mind, but hey, she's an amphibian and he's a reptile, so what can you say?
But I digress, the new polymer layer looks good and is functional. With this layer, I can also ramp up the shield capacity without lowering the power reserves. The layer isn't on the viewports or the upper view dome, but they're compressed carbon (diamond) anyway and probably the strongest parts of the ship.
Finally, after all of the crew's complaints, I added a new food system. It keeps the small rodents alive for Beveran (which I have to keep quiet about so I don't violate the Loctopian Bio Treaty which has been adapted in yet *another* system) and even has four new Earth meals. Although I had to adapt Cuttle-worm (no cattle out here) to make a decent corned-beef hash. This makes breakfast all the more enjoyable. Tursia, however, thinks it looks like vomit and refuses to have breakfast with me when I have CBH. But do I give her grief about eating those lizard intestinal flukes? I think not. I tried one, and found them way too salty and frankly, the flavor is very much like brussel sprouts. Ewwww.
Other news: after terrorizing poor Beveran for years, Targg has found a mate of her own species. My only request was that if she did have eggs, to either transfer them to her homeworld or put them in stasis. Or just use birth-control. I know it's unfair, but this is my ship and I just don't want a bunch of larval biped amphibians gooing up the ship while we're on a mission. I'd just feel bad if I stepped on one. At that stage, they don't have bones and it'd not only be messy, but emotional. You know amphibians.
I'll be ending this post. We just got an info pod. Could be a new assignment.
Until later,
Shakran

What do I write?

He who perceived himself as a creative genius snickered at the self-description and decided to write something clever. To follow in the footsteps of his dead mentors, he searched out a bottle of liquor, plucked some cola from the refrigerator, mixed the two together with two ice cubes and a splash of lime and padded over to his computer.
With each step over the cold vinyl floor, the ponderment of what to write flowed through his mind.
Although the greats, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Arthur Clark and the twisted Harlan Ellison did the majority of their work on black manual typewriters, the creative genius favored a laptop computer. This, after a disastrous relationship with his own typewriter which, again following the greats, wound up being pummeled to scrap with a sledge hammer after a particularly severe bout of malfunction. Upon realizing what he had done, he went electronic. There are, after all, some things that have become better over the years.
He settled into the gray discount computer chair with the worn armrests and perpetually creaky demeanor, and stared at the monitor flashing a screen saver of moving pictures he'd taken with a digital camera. An unposed shot of his niece smiling during a family celebration, a picture of Mt. Rainier during a blazing sunrise with hues of reds and flaming coppers melding with the blue of sky and tranquil Puget Sound. Other pictures rotated through uncaring if they were observed or not.
The genius wiggled the mouse, summoning the wall paper image of a yellow Ferrari 328 parked before a rectangular pond, a signal to his subconscious that this was a reward should he actually come up with something delivering a favorable amount of return. That or helicopter pilot lessons.
A sigh guided his work-weary physique to settle in the chair, leaving him feel as creaky as the springs and supports under the upholstery.
Following a generous swig from the drink, he waved his fingers over the keyboard, miming a conductor readying the orchestra for symphony.
Grinning at his movements, he moved the mouse to open the writing program, allowing his every fantasy and wish to be transferred to bytes and binary code. The program flashed on the screen and a fresh white page lay before him.
The electronic paper waiting patiently for words of...what? He pursed his lips, took another hit from the tumbler, admiring the spiced rum, pondered what to write.
"Okay, genius, come up with something creative to dazzle and entertain," he commanded.
A short chortle was the answer. His subconscious, as stubborn as ever, responded like a ten year-old with a secret, crossing its ethereal arms, smugly smiling and looking away.
"As if you could command me to do something," the subconscious said.
"Listen," the genius said in a most parental tone. "As you are me, and I am in control of myself, I do in fact order you to be clever and assist me."
"Ha!" the subconscious retorted raising its chin and rolling its eyes. "Make me."
The genius looked out the window at oak trees and sage brush covered hills trying to figure out a way to trick his subconscious. The major difficulty was the subconscious was aware of everything and not easily tricked.
He tapped the keyboard just light enough not to cause any letters to appear on the screen. The blank white screen mocked him as much as his subconscious. He tapped more. Tap tap tap tap tap. Rhythmically with one hand, then the other. The left didn't move as fast as the right. Ambidextrous, he wasn't.
He sighed again and took another swallow of the amber fluid, noting the glass was half-full. Or at this point, half-empty. And the cubes had melted. And there were fingerprints on it.
This wouldn't do for him. His subconscious laughed. Not behind his back, but pointed directly at him and said, "nothing to write? Yeah, well, something will come about if you're good to me." The subconscious tapped its toe, brought one hind to its chin and gazed skyward. With a flipping motion of its hand and looking to the upper right, it mused, "how about writing about falling into a crystal?"
"What?"
But before He who fancied himself as a genius could come up with an argument, he imagined shrinking, shrinking. The room growing larger as he first halved in size, then lost more and more mass. He jumped on his desk, ran next to the keyboard and stood on a rose quartz crystal to look at the monitor now towering above like a drive-in movie screen. He now stood as tall as a thimble.
Noting the gargantuan size of even common things, chair, desk, the warren of dust bunnies next to the file cabinet, he nodded. "Hmmm," he said raising one eyebrow. "You know, you might have something there. It'd be fun to become microscopic, then smaller still."
He dwindled to the size of a dust particle and saw monstrous mites slowly dining on flakes of skin, their fierce mandibles moving back and forth. The shrinking continued. He realized he now stood as tall as a blood cell, even dust looking alien and foreboding. The room much to large to be in focus. By now he stopped looking up and gazed at the surroundings. Simply amazing. A vast pink plane of crystal, long lines of geometric structure stretched out before him like an icy planet.
His diminutive stature kept reducing. Everything now appeared to be humming with energy. The crystal itself kept changing. The lines became as huge as freeway overpasses. Larger still and he slipped into a crack.
Falling and falling.
"It's so strange, " he said putting his arms out for balance. "I'm not sure I like this."
"Stop being such a pansy," his subconscious said. "You can't get hurt. You're too light to land hard. What's the matter with you?"
"Oh," he said sheepishly. "I knew that." He let the fall continue. The crevasse opened wider and wider. Soon, the patterns in the walls became more geometric. Like quilting in stone. Flashes darted everywhere. Light seemed to come from all directions. The sensation of falling passed. As if he were too small to be affected by gravity. But the crystal walls continued upward. Slower now. The patterns intrigued him very much and he studied them closer. He reached out and touched what were tiny balls intermixed with other balls. They tickled. The laughter felt good and made him lighter still. He stroked, swimming in the air, or between the air, towards the balls. They grew larger and were everywhere. Rotating and vibrating spheres of energy everywhere. They bumped him, each time giving him tingles of excitement. He realized what they were. "Of course," he chimed. "Molecules!" And he laughed.
Odd shapes took form inside the spheres. He snorted a giggle and went directly inside one of the orbs. Whirls of smaller balls flew around the nucleus like frantic planets. Some of the planets switched orbits from one set to another.
"Look!" he exclaimed like a little child to his subconscious. A sense of joy filled him. He felt so light. The orbiting balls grew in size. Whooshing sounds created a movie sense of surrealness. They flew all around him. Now, inside the center he saw tiny spheres, sending out energy frequencies like radios, each with its own glorious song.
"Whoa," he said putting an arm around his subconscious. "Is this something or what?"
They flew between the protons and neutrons, further and further until so many other particles became visible. Glowing in rainbow dazzling colors. They flew together, silent in absolute awe of the splendor of it all. Billions and trillions of bits of energy and trails flew everywhere. The energy and trails and particles passed through the voyagers as if there were not even there.
"I think those are photons," he said. "Basic forms of light that seem to be particles and waves at the same time. Look! See how they phase in and out? Like they're going to other dimensions and back. If they can, could we?"
"I think so," His subconscious said. "But that'll have to wait. Right now I think you should get going and write something."
"Good idea," he said to his subconscious, as it walked away with a cocky spring in its step. He waved. "Thanks."
"Yeah," his subconscious said without turning around. "I know. See you later."

Seal or Selkie Friend, a heart captured

Pacific Grove, California.

The morning sun glimmered above the eastern horizon in a storybook blue sky. Eager to try out a new buoyancy compensator (BCD) to complement my scuba equipment, I entered the chilly tranquil water, put my fins on and kicked out into Monterey Bay. Beams of light created a ballet of rainbows that danced on the rippled sandy sea floor 30 feet below. Kelp fronds swayed back and forth in a gentle rhythm of the sea. The visibility was splendid for the area. I could see sixty feet or more. Details from the surface were plainly visible; the rocks contrasting colorfully with the white quartz sand. After kicking out about 150 yards, I lifted my BCD inflator, pressed one of the buttons and air escaped from the device.

I left the surface world of air and noise to enjoy the serenity in the aquiline waters. Clearing my ears regularly, I pressed another button, filling the rubber bladder with air until I hovered halfway between the bottom and the surface. The balance meant the BCD worked perfectly. A small school of opal-eye fish meandered through the slender brown kelp leave picking at tiny crustaceans and other delicacies.

In the distance a shadow caught my attention. Watching the shadow revealed its identity as a harbor seal. She was about five feet long, her coat silver and highlighted with brown spots. The large brown eyes were expressive and demure. Like most harbor seals, she kept a distance, darting back and forth to watch me then dart out of sight.

Continuing to check my dive gear, my attention became diverted by a flash to my right. The little seal had come within several feet, then with powerful rear flippers, dashed off when she saw that I noticed her. I kept a watch from the corner of my eye, noting that her approach became more daring. Every time she noted that I spied her, she'd streak away, watching me with backward glances. Several times I quickly turned, and she'd speed off, a glint in her gaze, popping tiny bubbles from her mouth, apparently laughing at the game we began.

Effortlessly, she made for the surface, exhaling and taking in a breath all the while keeping diligent watch on me.

Becoming more intrepid, her advance took her within a few feet of me, usually from the side or behind. I'd spin quickly, sending her zipping away, each time not as distant as the last. Twice she came around behind my head, as if trying to hide, but fled as we made eye contact. One time I made a full 360 degree turn mindful of her every move. With strokes of her flippers, she vanished behind a rock outcropping then peeked from behind a long, wide frond of brown lamineria algae. I laughed at the antics of my new friend.

She emerged from her hiding place, approached closer, nibbled on my fins then rushed away as I made playful 'shoo' motions with my gloved hands. The little seal moved directly in front of me about a dozen feet away, changing her body language to face me. Her movements became slow and direct. She moved in a wide arc, then drew nearer with purpose. For a moment, she halted as if contemplating what to do next. With slow motions of her hind flippers, she came closer and closer, her soulful doe brown eyes fixed on mine.

I remained quite still, exhaling gradually and releasing a long stream of bubbles, wishing not to frighten her. She drifted near, reached over and chewed gently on my fin, watching me, then nosed the strap of my knife on my calf, moving up my body. Curious, she paused to gaze at each article of my dive gear. My blue goodie bag, my weightbelt, the front of my BCD. She halted, eye to eye with me.

Her little silver front flippers gently gripped my sides. I gradually extended my arms and touched, then stroked her soft fur. Getting intimately closer, she pushed at my face, I felt her whiskers on my exposed cheeks, and she nudged me on the nose. She graced me with a seal kiss!

For a long and dear moment, we held each other, eyes focused on each other. In the ancient rhythm of the sea we waltzed for a dream-like timeless dance. I could not recall such a magical moment with a wild animal ever before or since. She released me, taking a piece of my heart with her, and did a slow-motion back flip to halt and again gaze into my eyes.

Was this really a seal? Or a Selkie of Irish folklore; a woman in enchanted form?

She approached again, then nipped my arm, the spell broken, her teeth penetrating my neoprene suit, but only touching the skin--seal play. I swatted at her, letting her know that biting was not proper behavior--I didn't even know her name! She spun away from me, and stayed near my side for the rest of the dive. My air supply diminishing, I made for shore with my enchanting escort close by. She glided next to me, rubbing against my arm or leg.

Rising to the surface, I spotted friends on shore who arrived after I began my dive. They pointed at the seal, who broke the surface next to me.

I kicked in, reaching the shallows and the realm of gravity. I stood, pulling off my fins and walking to shore. The amazing realm of the sea remained behind. My gear, weighing nothing underwater, gained its full 70 pounds of tank, weights and gear. The white course sand crunched under my feet as I trudged to dry land.

The little seal followed until the water was knee-deep then stopped, looking at me with the most alluring expression. A combination of unabashed affection and pain at observing her new friend leave. I understand the enchantment of the Selkie. How it pulls with startling intensity.

My friends listened as I shared the tale of our waltz under the sea.

The little seal splashed just off shore, watching as if wanting me to return.

Road Kill

I work in the Los Padres National Forest as what is called a 'Zone Area Engineer'. Frequently I'm out in territories where few people go on dirt roads on mountain sides and in oak forests.
Out on a road called Cameusa, I was checking back country areas for a grading contract.
In the far reaches far from anyone an unusual set of markings caught my eye. Ahead on the dusty lane were marks that stretched for about thirty yards. I stopped the truck and got out.
Then the drama really unfolded in front of me.
The odd markings to what appeared to be beginning. There were two sets of tracks: deer and mountain lion. The leading sets of tracks were far apart. Both animals were running. One for its life. The other in predatory hunger. The lion prints stopped leaving four tracks very close to each other and the sprays of dust behind. This was were the leap began.
The soft ground showed deep gouges where hooves and paws clawed the earth. Spatters of dust indicated where the struggle ensued. In a lethal embrace, the flattened marks where two bodies lay together. Both the signs showed the lion and the deer were of adult size.
Large clots of blood, still tinged with red, pooled in minor depressions on the road. Evidence that the lion held the deer for some time. Waiting for the inevitable reward of death. I nudged one of the clots with my boot. The dark mass was still pliable. I crouched down for better observation.
It looked like Hawaiian lava; dark and crusty on the outside, red and viscous inside.
As the outside temperature hovered about 95 degrees, touching the masses wouldn't have given me any accurate time frame. But the interior liquid said this happened perhaps an hour ago or even earlier.
I stood and looked at the trail. Two long marks, one obviously the body, and a smaller one with two tracks meant the legs were trailing alongside. There were no marks from the lion. My guess was the prey had been too large to carry. or easily walk and drag. The cougar moved ahead of its victim, performing a tug of war with the corpse.
The warm forest air transferred the sounds of crickets and birds. The world spun, life went on and virtually ignored my presence. Only a minor life form on the living planet.
I looked around knowing I wasn't alone. The closest human probably walked or drove about 15 or twenty miles away. Although I couldn't see anything save the occasional scrub jay, butterfly or finch, the tracks on the ground and periodic sounds of movement in the brush informed me I was surrounded by life.
Following the markings proved to be easy. I walked along the signs, for some reason not wanting to disturb the evidence. The ground crunched under my work boots and gave the impression that an elephant danced through a potato chip factory. The more I attempted to walk silently, the more I felt the canyons echoed my presence. Could I have announced myself any more? The drag signs took a turn off the road and bent, dried harvest gold grasses pointed the way. Small sage brushes had broken branches. I followed the tracks and stopped before a grove of blue oak trees. The sounds of the area ceased. A few crickets and cicadas chirped, but the birds and brush sounds halted.
I smiled and half chuckled. Did I really want to go into a thicket of trees, find a mountain lion and disturb it feeding on a kill? I wanted to, but common sense told me disturbing an alpha predator covered in blood may trigger a quick response in protecting its breakfast.
Making deliberate movements, I retraced my path. Slow, slow, slow. Just in case someone watched. Fast actions would trigger a chase instinct.
The drama of life and death had been laid out in the road like a chapter in a huge book of nature. The words came in marks, most less than an inch high. The sentences and paragraphs read like the best crime novel. Only the last chapter, played out in the grove of trees, remain unknown. Even in my perpetual curiosity knew not to turn that page.
Back in the truck I started the engine, the air conditioning blew chilly across my face. The entire experience charged me with the endorphins that make one state, "wow," over and over again.
I'll remember this road kill for some time.

Winter at home

The snow falling in this area is rare and brings many exciting experiences. The street light in front of the yard casts a faint white-orange glow across the yard, the many trees and bushes giving cause to believe fantasy creatures reside close by. The crystalline reflections in the subdued light appear as if the Snow Queen herself flew overhead and cast thousands upon thousands of diamonds around the yard. The nearly imperceptible reflections dance and taunt the imagination. Any movement of the head, darting of the optics or steps forward bring new visions to dazzle and bring quiet joy to the soul.

All the details of the world are hidden beneath the cloak of soft fluffy white.
A walk through the neighborhood reveals other wonders: hedges with colored and white lights covered by snow. These provide a surreal fairy-like adornment to the yards. The lights, under two or four inches of snow, radiate soft glows from beneath. As if the shelters of elves or gnomes have at last been revealed.

The wire-frame Santa's and reindeer sparkle under their shroud of downy white, looking very much like the snow sculptures they're supposed to represent.

The evening sky glows with the city lights. A fusing of illumination with no central origin. The world is alive with quiet energy. In the distance, the rumble of snow-plows echos. It's easy to picture a municipal worker, huddled in his truck, heater on full force, enjoying the overtime but wishing to be home with family. With the many hours on the road, do they realize how much the citizens of their cities appreciate the work?
The plow rolls past our house, a huge metallic beast intent on its task, oblivious to the denizens residing under the white-topped roofs. Rudely shoving snow off the roadways, leaving a spattering of coarse sand in its wake.

The morning brings a happy light through all windows. Even those with closed curtains. I awake thinking of friends and family in warmer climes.
After making a cup of heated warmth, I gaze out every window, imprinting the visuals into my memory. In three weeks I move to California. It's doubtful that I'll wake to a winter like this down there in the years to come.
Suspended from the eve of my home, in front of the living room window are two bird feeders. One cylindrical and the other a flat bronze plate held by three equally spaced thin chains. The cylinder gets the sparrows, juncos and finches. The plate receives the attention of the jays, who in their search for the favored seeds, cast to the ground-searching fowl treats a plenty.
During most of the year, the bird feeders are sporadically kept filled. Usually the local avians forage and from their girth, are well adept. In this unusual weather, with the ground slumbering under a foot of frozen white, I help them out a bit and keep the feeders stocked.
In trade, I receive a cacophony of songs and chitters which makes for an even exchange.

With the fireplace insert crackling and radiating perfect warmth, the house is quiet and secure. Hot chocolate greets those who wake later with the promise of winter vacation adventures. Tucker, the Border Collie in residence, deems this weather perfect for his thick coat and frolicking nature. When released into the back yard for his morning constitutional, the search through our huge rhododendums, butterfly bushes, ferns and many trees brings a delight in new scents, virgin trails and the ability to leap and run like his wolfen ancestors through the wilds.
He returns smiling. Yes, Tucker smiles. His tail held high like a knight's standard and his fur covered in ice and snow. Seldom is seen a happier dog.
We're going out into this land of subdued sounds and chill, to enjoy the rare experience of a white Christmas.
The day evolves forth.
I look forward to the adventures.

Lift Off

Depending on who, the star-date is 2008 CE, 5768 in the Hebrew calendar, 4706 for the Asian citizens and approximately, if I calculated correctly, 1429 on the Islamic calendar. I tried Mayan, but that's a bit complicated.

My name is Richard Nielsen, Rick to most. Welcome to you.

It's December 13, my twin uncle and aunt's birthday.

As usual in the North West, its cloudy and chilly, but I have the warm pleasure of enjoying a view of the yard with juncos, towhees, finches, sparrows, jays sparring for lunch on the two birdseed feeders just outside the window.

In starting this blog, I get to be a reverse voyeur and expose various thought and observations for whomever seeks and finds this site. Kind of like Robert Neville in Richard Matheson's "I Am Legend" recording observations and studies for whomever finds the recordings. However, unlike the character I'm not battling vampires, or zombies in the 2007 movie version.

But am I? While I question the probability of vampires inhabiting the local municipality, zombies appear to be on the increase in the guise of the ignorant, those incapable of independent thought, willing followers of angry, ranting TV & radio talk show hosts and the masses who decide that following without question is the best way of life, among others.

It's those zombies who I am most concerned about. They wander through our cities and rural areas, moaning and walking pedantically along sidewalks, streets and sitting next to their co-workers, taking up space and threatening to contaminate anyone nearby.

HOWEVER, those who have the curiosity, question life and people around them, are willing to acknowledge the infinite expanse and mystery of the cosmos, and want to be alive, bring light and possibility to the world around them. This also includes most little children.

They battle the zombies by their mere existence. Yay for them.

Thus, the yin and yang that can be applied to virtually everything is kept in balance with the zombies and the awake living.

Like many other blogs, my observations will continue forth. I look forward to this amusement in life.

Plus, it gives me a chance to share my humor and many many stories and life experiences which some already dread in their impending approach.