Odd Saturday. Nobody woke me up, and getting out of a warm bed is about as hard for me as getting out of a hot shower. It usually takes a lot of insistence on somebody else’s part, or a lack of hot water. But there are limits. We are civilized, are we not?
Eventually even I couldn’t stand it any more. I sat up, looked at the clock and thought, “Five o’clock and it’s light outside already? Can’t be, it should be dark this early in the morning. I never wake up this early. But it can’t be 5 in the afternoon, can it?” Sure, I was tired. But no way can I justify staying in bed till 5:00…. yes, in the afternoon. Anybody who knows my Mother’s side would nod and say, “Yup, Mother’s side.”
May I digress with a little family history? Thank you. When I was a child my aunt Linda secured her place in family lore my walking out of her bedroom, asking what time it was, and upon being informed it was 1 in the afternoon said, “It’s only 1? If I’d known that I would have stayed in bed.” It’s true. Ask any family member, they’ll smile and nod.
Back to the present. The Supernurse was at work, she was working 11am-11: 30pm. She later told me that Trainboy wanted to wake me up at 9:00 “Because it’s late.” She knew I was up late reading and told him to let me sleep. Normally he would have woken me up after she left so we could visit his cousins. He’s a good boy; he followed his Mother’s orders.
I asked Ms. Pikachu why she didn’t wake me up either. She said she’d woken up at four in the morning and heard me typing, she figured I needed the sleep. It’s all so sweet, what do you do? I can’t blame them for my own sloth, though that would be handy. No doubt about it though, I’m responsible for getting my own butt out of bed, my kids aren’t.
I belatedly got out of bed, dressed, and asked the kids if they were hungry. Why yes they were. I took a poll of what they wanted- shrugged shoulders. Well, they got something from me. I offered Bishop’s Cafeteria. They agreed. We like buffets- there’s no waiting, everybody gets what they want and as much as they want. Into the car and away we go.
When we get to the mall where Bishop’s is it’s 6:00. Most of the cars at the mall are parked in front of the Bishop’s entrance. Not surprisingly it’s very busy- a long wait in line. We still don’t like long waits. So we go over to the mall directory and I’m amazed at how few choices there are.
The mall never adopted the food court idea. Eating establishments were scattered all over, making it a pain to accommodate differing wants. As an alternative, in about twenty minutes you can be down the interstate at a huge mall in another town that almost requires hiking gear and a map to get around. It has a food court where you can watch ice skaters on the indoor rink. Everybody goes there, it’s the popular thing to do.
But back to the local mall. I would estimate 30-40 percent of it is vacant. It’s an economic slaughterhouse where dreams get butchered. It’s sad, because those businesses were owned by people who owned homes, paid property taxes, and supported other businesses. The mall down the road isn’t going to do anything to support this town, it just sucks money out. But I’m preaching. Sorry.
So we had all of about four choices to eat- Orange Julius, Chick Fil-A, a deli, and a Maid-Rite. We would have eaten at Sbarro’s because the kids like pizza, but that’s gone. Ms. Pikachu suggests Maid-Rite. Good call . My folks owned one, lost a lot of money trying to make it work, and at a very young age I learned how to make a good soft-serve ice cream cone. There’s a lot of sentimental baggage involved, and I’m happy to help a guy who’s probably struggling to make it work too.
We walked down to his place and it was depressing how few people there were on the way. You could shoot skeet in the mall and probably not hurt anybody. We stepped right up to the counter, no wait and we like that, Maid-Rites and onion rings for Ms. Pikachu and me, chicken strips and fries for Trainboy, drinks, and we’re set. We sat at the counter in the window and watched a few people walk by.
When Montgomery Ward was open there was a salesman who, over the course of a few years, sold us our TV, a CD player, and VCR. He was a nice guy, we liked him. After Wards closed he opened an ice cream shop in the mall. I wondered if he was still in business, or got run through the grinder. So when we were done we walked farther down. Surprise, surprise, he was still open. We exchanged pleasantries. I bought a smoothie, Ms. Pikachu got some ice cream which she said she’d share with Trainboy. Neither one was really hungry after just eating, but they couldn’t turn down ice cream.
As we headed back to the car Ms. Pikachu asked if we could go to Petco to get some more fish. I’m nothing if not a pushover. Sure, why not. So we went to Petco, and had to wait for some guy who apparently wasn’t going to buy anything, but wanted to monopolize the sales clerk’s time because he had too much of it himself. We stared at fish and waited as patiently as they did. Eventually he ran out of things to discuss and Ms. Pikachu got to tell the clerk which fish she wanted. They discussed it a little, then Ms. Pikachu walked towards me.
When she got to me I asked her what was happening and turned my head to the left. It was a little noisy in there, and I was turning my right hearing aid towards her to hear better. The next thing I notice is my daughter laying face down on the floor at my feet. She’s a joker, but this just wasn’t right.
I got on my knees next to her, and called her name. No reaction. Dear God. All I can think of is a story where a child had an undiagnosed heart defect and just fell over dead one day and there was nothing anybody could do. Panic. Fear. Those are good words for panic and fear. But they don’t come close to what I was feeling.
I grabbed her by the shoulders and started to turn her over. Please be okay. Just be okay. All you have to be is okay. Please.
She slowly regained consciousness and sat up. She was scared, said she had felt light-headed and then she woke up. Now she felt fine.
The clerk came over with her manager and they tried to be helpful, but what could they do? We left the store without any fish. Get the kids in the car and we’re on our way to the hospital where the Supernurse works. No way am I going to blow off a faint like that, this has to be run by the Supernurse.
At the hospital there’s a lot of people waiting in the emergency room. I tell the admission person I need to talk to my wife. She calls the nursing supervisor and directs me to second floor. When we get up there the Supermom is waiting.
She takes Ms. Pikachu’s blood pressure and temperature, and then calls the family doctor. The doc asks how she fainted. It’s actually better to fall over like a tree. If you just slowly collapse in a heap it’s probably a seizure- that is serious. She fell like a tree. The doc is not too concerned; fainting just happens sometimes. The only concern is whether or not Ms. Pikachu was injured from the fall. Her jaw hurts. Another nurse gets her an ice pack. Doc says to keep an eye on her, and she’ll note it in her file.
We leave, walking by the people still waiting. Sometimes life is not fair. Sometimes I don’t care.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Saturday, November 01, 2003
Monday, October 27, 2003
10/26
Was woken up, got dressed, and away we went to church. We were later for Sunday school, but we sent the kids into their rooms anyway. They need it. When we got to the adult class we attend a quick survey throught the door showed a packed room. The Holy Wife wanted to go in. She was all ready to grab a couple chairs and make her way in. But…. I dunno, where are we gonna sit? If we go in there we’ll be interrupting a class that’s in session, and everybody will be watching us, and trying to accommodate us as we try to get situated. I don’t wanna go in there late like this.
The Holy Wife is feeling merciful. She suggests getting a cup of coffee. Well alrighty. We went down the road to a convenience store. I went in filled up a cup with decaf, sugar and creamer, and grabbed a blueberry muffin. The Super Wife likes blueberry muffins.
Back in the car we share the coffee. It’s okay. I rarely get excited about coffee. I like it, crave it when eating something sweet, but even so, usually it’s just good- nothing to make me act caffeinated.
She takes two bites out of the muffin and that’s all she wants. It’s a big muffin. If I’d known she was only going to take two bites I’d have gotten something seriously calorie laden. Oh well, maybe it’s only fair since I skipped Sunday School. There’s no way of knowing, but the muffin isn’t that bad, and it goes well with the coffee.
Back to church for the service. The sermon is regarding forgiveness. I hope God is in a forgiving mood. I was up too late the night before writing the rocket pieces. It showed and I know it. Can’t focus on the sermon, too tired. Focus on staying awake. I will not snore in church again. If I do a witchhunter might declare me apostate and I’d be executed. No wait… that’s Islam. I’m safe, but I still won’t fall asleep.
After the service we stopped at Burger King. There’s nothing like a big traditional family meal on Sunday. After reciting our wants, needs, and desires into the little orange box the voice in the box informs us we owe $9.67. The Superwife gives the heavily accented teller at the window a ten and some change to get an even amount back. He gives her a five back. Well that can’t be right.
She tells him we can’t be due $5 back when we gave him only a little more than the amount due. He grabs a calculator and starts feverishly pushing buttons. Numbers, they’re all numbers, and apparently none of them are convincing. Math can be like that.
Another member of the staff joins him. They analyze, plot strategies, punch more numbers, and eventually hand the wife six cents. Still wrong. They still owe us a quarter, but what is the time worth? We get our food and he says, “God bless America!” Whether that was heartfelt, or a defense mechanism it’s impossible to know. For all anybody could know he is an Islamic terrorist trying to destabilize the economy one drive-thru transaction at a time. But there’s no way to know, and suddenly the world seems a little more sinister.
We drove over to the Pioneer Village kind of place where they were doing a day-time Halloween trick or treat thing without yelling “trick of treat.” We buy admission for two kids. Ms. Pikachu is adamant that she wants no part in it. She is at the awkward age where she’s too embarrassed to wear a costume, but she still wants the candy.
Trainboy is done up like, what else, Trainboy. He wears jeans, flannel shirt, engineers cap, and a railroad pocket watch. It is good to be Trainboy. Trainboy is happy to be Trainboy. For about another four years anyway.
We walk from building to building. At each someone marks their location on the ticket and then another gives the candy, or whatever. Trainboy is happy. Ms. Pikachu is beyond embarrassed. She zips up her coat and pulls it over her head. The hood flops forward- she looks headless. She can’t see a thing and hangs onto her Mother’s arm to be guided around. The Superwife presents Ms. Headless Pikachu’s ticket to get her candy.
Every time she gets a piece of candy she lets out her sinister laugh. She thinks it’s sinister anyway. It really sound more like a constipated Woody Woodpecker, but who am I to complain? Many of the candy-givers speculate that there was a terrible accident and Trainboy was driving.
It seems like every kid costume imaginable is on display- some are amusing, some are cute. Many of the adults are in costume also. One of them is a woman in a civil-war era gown- bare shouldered, lots of bare skin. It’s a cold day, way too cold for a dress like that. But she’s a trooper in drag and looks like she’s enjoying herself.
There’s a boy of about four in a Scooby Doo costume. He looks like he was swallowed by Scooby since he’s looking out the dog’s mouth. He runs over to their family car, and as he’s running the head slides off sideways. It looks like Scooby has whiplash.
After we’ve hit all the stations and Ms. Pikachu has done her last sinister laugh her head magically reappears. She claims her bag of candy from the Superwife, and she’s happy, finally.
We head for home, tired, and wondering when the sugar-induced mania will start.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Was woken up, got dressed, and away we went to church. We were later for Sunday school, but we sent the kids into their rooms anyway. They need it. When we got to the adult class we attend a quick survey throught the door showed a packed room. The Holy Wife wanted to go in. She was all ready to grab a couple chairs and make her way in. But…. I dunno, where are we gonna sit? If we go in there we’ll be interrupting a class that’s in session, and everybody will be watching us, and trying to accommodate us as we try to get situated. I don’t wanna go in there late like this.
The Holy Wife is feeling merciful. She suggests getting a cup of coffee. Well alrighty. We went down the road to a convenience store. I went in filled up a cup with decaf, sugar and creamer, and grabbed a blueberry muffin. The Super Wife likes blueberry muffins.
Back in the car we share the coffee. It’s okay. I rarely get excited about coffee. I like it, crave it when eating something sweet, but even so, usually it’s just good- nothing to make me act caffeinated.
She takes two bites out of the muffin and that’s all she wants. It’s a big muffin. If I’d known she was only going to take two bites I’d have gotten something seriously calorie laden. Oh well, maybe it’s only fair since I skipped Sunday School. There’s no way of knowing, but the muffin isn’t that bad, and it goes well with the coffee.
Back to church for the service. The sermon is regarding forgiveness. I hope God is in a forgiving mood. I was up too late the night before writing the rocket pieces. It showed and I know it. Can’t focus on the sermon, too tired. Focus on staying awake. I will not snore in church again. If I do a witchhunter might declare me apostate and I’d be executed. No wait… that’s Islam. I’m safe, but I still won’t fall asleep.
After the service we stopped at Burger King. There’s nothing like a big traditional family meal on Sunday. After reciting our wants, needs, and desires into the little orange box the voice in the box informs us we owe $9.67. The Superwife gives the heavily accented teller at the window a ten and some change to get an even amount back. He gives her a five back. Well that can’t be right.
She tells him we can’t be due $5 back when we gave him only a little more than the amount due. He grabs a calculator and starts feverishly pushing buttons. Numbers, they’re all numbers, and apparently none of them are convincing. Math can be like that.
Another member of the staff joins him. They analyze, plot strategies, punch more numbers, and eventually hand the wife six cents. Still wrong. They still owe us a quarter, but what is the time worth? We get our food and he says, “God bless America!” Whether that was heartfelt, or a defense mechanism it’s impossible to know. For all anybody could know he is an Islamic terrorist trying to destabilize the economy one drive-thru transaction at a time. But there’s no way to know, and suddenly the world seems a little more sinister.
We drove over to the Pioneer Village kind of place where they were doing a day-time Halloween trick or treat thing without yelling “trick of treat.” We buy admission for two kids. Ms. Pikachu is adamant that she wants no part in it. She is at the awkward age where she’s too embarrassed to wear a costume, but she still wants the candy.
Trainboy is done up like, what else, Trainboy. He wears jeans, flannel shirt, engineers cap, and a railroad pocket watch. It is good to be Trainboy. Trainboy is happy to be Trainboy. For about another four years anyway.
We walk from building to building. At each someone marks their location on the ticket and then another gives the candy, or whatever. Trainboy is happy. Ms. Pikachu is beyond embarrassed. She zips up her coat and pulls it over her head. The hood flops forward- she looks headless. She can’t see a thing and hangs onto her Mother’s arm to be guided around. The Superwife presents Ms. Headless Pikachu’s ticket to get her candy.
Every time she gets a piece of candy she lets out her sinister laugh. She thinks it’s sinister anyway. It really sound more like a constipated Woody Woodpecker, but who am I to complain? Many of the candy-givers speculate that there was a terrible accident and Trainboy was driving.
It seems like every kid costume imaginable is on display- some are amusing, some are cute. Many of the adults are in costume also. One of them is a woman in a civil-war era gown- bare shouldered, lots of bare skin. It’s a cold day, way too cold for a dress like that. But she’s a trooper in drag and looks like she’s enjoying herself.
There’s a boy of about four in a Scooby Doo costume. He looks like he was swallowed by Scooby since he’s looking out the dog’s mouth. He runs over to their family car, and as he’s running the head slides off sideways. It looks like Scooby has whiplash.
After we’ve hit all the stations and Ms. Pikachu has done her last sinister laugh her head magically reappears. She claims her bag of candy from the Superwife, and she’s happy, finally.
We head for home, tired, and wondering when the sugar-induced mania will start.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
10/25
The Superwife wanted me to drop some jeans off at her Mother’s. Alright, another launch window. We need more rockets! So a trip to the hobby shop is in order. Two was fun, but it didn’t last. Three seems reasonable. No chance for fancy shmancy paint jobs, they have to be pre-finished.
One of them is kind of cute; it looks like a No.2 pencil. It’s a long rocket, but being almost all cardboard tube it’s still extremely light. The fins on the end are very small for it’s size, kind of like a TOW rocket.
Another rocket is small and done in blue sparkles. Oh, that should be easy to track against a blue sky. Why didn’t I buy red? Red would have made more sense. Because I like blue. And Trainboy likes blue. Superwife likes blue. Ms. Pikachu likes blue. It just works that way.
We get to America’s Other Launch Pad and set up. Or try to. It’s a “no go.” Everything is in the box except the rod the rockets attach to. You really need the rod to get them going in the right direction. Gary, the Superwife’s Dad comes up with a wire that will work. There you have it, the stuff that made this country great. Conditions for launch are now “go.”
We will shoot the blue one first. Install the engine, and igniter, mount it, wire it up and Trainboy gets to shoot again. Whoosh. It’s only a slightly larger than the little one we lost last time. Not much larger, but enough that we can see it coming back down. The wind is gusting and it really carries.
It carries into a field, and we can’t find it. Another loss.
We load up the pencil rocket. Point it a little more upwind so we shouldn’t have to worry about another loss in the field.. Ms. Pikachu does the honors.
After picking up very little altitude it levels off and heads straight for the chemical plant across the road. Underneath that educated exterior it really was a military rocket. Had I been a muslim I would have yelled Allah Akhbar! and looked forward to meeting my virgins.
The chemical plant is about a half-mile away on the other side of a rise. There’s no way of knowing how far the rocket went. It’s good for a smile to think about it though.
The third one is orange with black markings, appropriate for Halloween season. Heather, the kids’ cousin gets to do the honors. It lifts off, soon turns over a little and heads north. At least we can see it coming down.
Another run around the house and fifteen minutes later the kids come back with the rocket. Our first reused rocket. Another launch and this time it flies straighter, higher. The wind carries it, and carries it. . It carries across the railroad tracks a quarter mile away and into the swamp.
You try to be prepared when you’re doing these things. But scuba gear for a water recovery never occurred to me. My bad. Maybe next time.
That’s five rockets and six launches. Not an enviable success rate for a rocket program. More of a failure rate really. But the kids have been having fun and that’s all I’m trying for. In that respect, it’s been a successful program. Now I need to buy some more rockets because there are engines left. The program goes on like a gummint white elephant.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
The Superwife wanted me to drop some jeans off at her Mother’s. Alright, another launch window. We need more rockets! So a trip to the hobby shop is in order. Two was fun, but it didn’t last. Three seems reasonable. No chance for fancy shmancy paint jobs, they have to be pre-finished.
One of them is kind of cute; it looks like a No.2 pencil. It’s a long rocket, but being almost all cardboard tube it’s still extremely light. The fins on the end are very small for it’s size, kind of like a TOW rocket.
Another rocket is small and done in blue sparkles. Oh, that should be easy to track against a blue sky. Why didn’t I buy red? Red would have made more sense. Because I like blue. And Trainboy likes blue. Superwife likes blue. Ms. Pikachu likes blue. It just works that way.
We get to America’s Other Launch Pad and set up. Or try to. It’s a “no go.” Everything is in the box except the rod the rockets attach to. You really need the rod to get them going in the right direction. Gary, the Superwife’s Dad comes up with a wire that will work. There you have it, the stuff that made this country great. Conditions for launch are now “go.”
We will shoot the blue one first. Install the engine, and igniter, mount it, wire it up and Trainboy gets to shoot again. Whoosh. It’s only a slightly larger than the little one we lost last time. Not much larger, but enough that we can see it coming back down. The wind is gusting and it really carries.
It carries into a field, and we can’t find it. Another loss.
We load up the pencil rocket. Point it a little more upwind so we shouldn’t have to worry about another loss in the field.. Ms. Pikachu does the honors.
After picking up very little altitude it levels off and heads straight for the chemical plant across the road. Underneath that educated exterior it really was a military rocket. Had I been a muslim I would have yelled Allah Akhbar! and looked forward to meeting my virgins.
The chemical plant is about a half-mile away on the other side of a rise. There’s no way of knowing how far the rocket went. It’s good for a smile to think about it though.
The third one is orange with black markings, appropriate for Halloween season. Heather, the kids’ cousin gets to do the honors. It lifts off, soon turns over a little and heads north. At least we can see it coming down.
Another run around the house and fifteen minutes later the kids come back with the rocket. Our first reused rocket. Another launch and this time it flies straighter, higher. The wind carries it, and carries it. . It carries across the railroad tracks a quarter mile away and into the swamp.
You try to be prepared when you’re doing these things. But scuba gear for a water recovery never occurred to me. My bad. Maybe next time.
That’s five rockets and six launches. Not an enviable success rate for a rocket program. More of a failure rate really. But the kids have been having fun and that’s all I’m trying for. In that respect, it’s been a successful program. Now I need to buy some more rockets because there are engines left. The program goes on like a gummint white elephant.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
10/18
We visited the Superwife’s folks. They live in the country. I’d bought some model rockets a long time ago in the expectation this opportunity would arrive. The kit contained two rockets for assembly, launching stand, and an ignition controller. All you needed were some assembly time, engines, and batteries. Fun, fun, fun.
One of the rockets was conventional- after the engine burns out it fires a charge that knocks the nose cone off and deploys a parachute. The parts were pre-painted in black and yellow.
The other rocket was much smaller, instead of deploying a parachute each half has an unsymmetrical set of fins. The halves just spin down to their landings. It was unfinished so I painted it purple with chrome leading edges. A rather cool paint job, imho.
When I bought the kit I looked at the box to see what size engines to get. There was a range of possible ones. Common sense would be to start small and work up. Hah! And again, I say Hah! If you’re going to do it, do it right. I got the most powerful engines possible. This could be fun because stupid has its moments. Stupid can be exhilarating.
When we got to the in-laws I set up the base, wired up a rocket and…. Freaking thing wouldn’t work. When you insert the launch key a light bulb is supposed to light up. No light, no joy. So I took it inside and took the controller apart. It was as simple as it could be, inserting the key just puts a pin between two metal plates, thereby completing the circuit. How could anything be wrong?
But inserting the key does not get a light. The only thing that seems plausible is that the gap is just a little too wide between the plates, even though it looks good. So it gets a squeezing with a pliers and….. it works. The light bulb glows in affirmation.
We take it back outside, point the rocket upwind so the wind will carry it back to us. Wire it up, hold in the key, hold down the launch button and whoooooosh. I look up to watch it go, it’s already gone. There’s just a little smoke trail that’s already being blown away. It was a little rocket with a big engine- the Ferrari of rockets. It was out of sight before I looked up. When the engine was done, it broke into its two pieces. If you couldn’t see one piece you surely couldn’t see two smaller ones. That was a one-shot rocket. But it was fun. The kids liked it. Did it ever go.
Problem. I never installed the parachute in the remaining rocket. The parachute isn’t in the box. No career in NASA for me. One rocket is gone for good; the remaining rocket just isn’t good. What to do, what to do? Easy decision, we launch. Gotta keep the public happy.
Wire it up, aim it up wind and who wants to launch it? Trainboy volunteers. Hold down the key, hold down the launch button and…whoosh. Another winner, it goes and goes. Being a bigger rocket we can see it though. It comes back down tumbling end over end.
With a parachute it might have carried back to us. But we lose sight of it as it descends on the other side of the house. Run around the house and…. it’s gone. We look around, but can’t find it. If they lived in the middle of a golf course it would be so much easier. Too bad, but it was fun. We’ll have to do it again. We have to, we have more engines, and it would be sinful to waste them. Right?
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
We visited the Superwife’s folks. They live in the country. I’d bought some model rockets a long time ago in the expectation this opportunity would arrive. The kit contained two rockets for assembly, launching stand, and an ignition controller. All you needed were some assembly time, engines, and batteries. Fun, fun, fun.
One of the rockets was conventional- after the engine burns out it fires a charge that knocks the nose cone off and deploys a parachute. The parts were pre-painted in black and yellow.
The other rocket was much smaller, instead of deploying a parachute each half has an unsymmetrical set of fins. The halves just spin down to their landings. It was unfinished so I painted it purple with chrome leading edges. A rather cool paint job, imho.
When I bought the kit I looked at the box to see what size engines to get. There was a range of possible ones. Common sense would be to start small and work up. Hah! And again, I say Hah! If you’re going to do it, do it right. I got the most powerful engines possible. This could be fun because stupid has its moments. Stupid can be exhilarating.
When we got to the in-laws I set up the base, wired up a rocket and…. Freaking thing wouldn’t work. When you insert the launch key a light bulb is supposed to light up. No light, no joy. So I took it inside and took the controller apart. It was as simple as it could be, inserting the key just puts a pin between two metal plates, thereby completing the circuit. How could anything be wrong?
But inserting the key does not get a light. The only thing that seems plausible is that the gap is just a little too wide between the plates, even though it looks good. So it gets a squeezing with a pliers and….. it works. The light bulb glows in affirmation.
We take it back outside, point the rocket upwind so the wind will carry it back to us. Wire it up, hold in the key, hold down the launch button and whoooooosh. I look up to watch it go, it’s already gone. There’s just a little smoke trail that’s already being blown away. It was a little rocket with a big engine- the Ferrari of rockets. It was out of sight before I looked up. When the engine was done, it broke into its two pieces. If you couldn’t see one piece you surely couldn’t see two smaller ones. That was a one-shot rocket. But it was fun. The kids liked it. Did it ever go.
Problem. I never installed the parachute in the remaining rocket. The parachute isn’t in the box. No career in NASA for me. One rocket is gone for good; the remaining rocket just isn’t good. What to do, what to do? Easy decision, we launch. Gotta keep the public happy.
Wire it up, aim it up wind and who wants to launch it? Trainboy volunteers. Hold down the key, hold down the launch button and…whoosh. Another winner, it goes and goes. Being a bigger rocket we can see it though. It comes back down tumbling end over end.
With a parachute it might have carried back to us. But we lose sight of it as it descends on the other side of the house. Run around the house and…. it’s gone. We look around, but can’t find it. If they lived in the middle of a golf course it would be so much easier. Too bad, but it was fun. We’ll have to do it again. We have to, we have more engines, and it would be sinful to waste them. Right?
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-