Good Morning Ted and Jody:
Well so far so good. I never realized how many thing I drop and bend over to pick up. Since bending over is a no -no, I have learned to use a “reacher-grabber.” Fortunately, we have several strategically placed around the house for when one drops a reacher-grabber one is out of the picking-up business. Then too the things I drop have to be small enough for the gripper part of it to get a hold of; and, they have to be light enough for the reacher-grabber to maintain a grip.
We did go to lunch yesterday. With this minor cut in my back (six inches all the way to the bone, but then I can’t see it as it is in my back and I cannot twist to use even a mirror) I felt every acceleration, every deceleration, every bump or pot hole or change of pavement in the road. Fast turns were the worst. (Either that or Nancy was driving like a teen ager angry at the world—surely not.)
When we got home Gracie, the neighbor’s dog was out and wanted to play. Sticks thrown are what she wants. So, I came in the house and got a reacher-grabber, went out, and used it to pick up sticks to gently loft underhanded about 10 feet. Gracie didn’t mind the short distance. However, she normally takes the stick apart when the gets it. With the short throws, she brought the stick back, looking at me quizzically and I think saying “come on Ed, you can do better than that. Her strategy worked for a while as I could get them from her and throw them again. However, my ineffective throwing was forgotten as soon as a dog treat was transferred from my pocket (I routinely carry them to lunch in case we are shorted on the French-fries) into her mouth.
I saw a bit on the news early. But then between naps and writing, I missed everything that happened in the world after 9:00 am PDT. I did get the notion that the media, whom has been bashed by the pestilence regularly was attempting to get even by using the underhanded and lithesome tactic of telling the truth. Go team.
I am attaching the next episode of the Agent Amanda saga.
I trust this finds you in good health, happy, warm and with a back that is in better shape than mine right now (but it will improve and if I didn’t complain who would?)
Warmest regards, Ed
PS, no I did not miss Valentine’s day completely. I gave her three cards.
010 Alice Meets Jessica Ann, again
Fiction in 1090 words by T. Edward Westen, 2017
Alice Beaverton appeared back in Room 2709 of the Agency for Time Integrity, ATI, at 1895 Wells Street, by Outreach Agent Simmons’ estimate about 25 seconds after she left. She was folding what appeared to be a piece of paper and stuffing it in her purse. He looked at her and asked, “How did it go?”
“It is just like opening a door and turning right and walking for a block to get breakfast in a public feeding station, except, I don’t have to move to get. I didn’t have to think about how to get there at all. I just went.” Her eyes were big with wonderment. She continued, “I can see where this would make one lazy.”
Outreach Agent Simmons asked, “Where did your first pivot take you?”
“I went back about 600 years and experienced the joys of waiting in a que, and, what must be sarcastically called, the warm personalities of early public servants.” Alice replied.
“You would have had to go back many thousand years earlier to experience the warm personalities of early public servants. They were called tax collectors. So, how accurate was your first pivot?” Outreach Agent Simmons asked.
“Spot on. I guess all those who went before collected data on relative safe and private place to appeqr out of nowhere. That helped. I opened a door and walked into the place I wanted to be. I could get used to this form of travel,” Replied Alice.
Outreach Agent Simmons laughed. “You mentioned getting lazy. AIT has a mandatory exercise program as most of us pivot to simply move in space. It is so much faster. But, alas,” he said patting is belly, “it does not help to keep the weight down especially when one has to have period diets for two weeks before popping into the past as you just did.”
“What is a period diet and why two weeks?” asked Alice Beaverton.
“You are what you eat. You also smell like what you eat. So, unless you eat the food from where you are going you will stink to high heaven as far as the temporal locales are concerned. It makes for a more awkward interaction than other wise. Being from a different time doe s not make fitting in easy. Then too there is the manner of dress. Did anyone comment on your dress while you were in the cue?
“That explains a lot. Yes, there were comments and questions. To think I wanted to get rid of this dress just a few days ago. Perhaps I should have offered to trade with someone there my size if I want to go back and make less of a fuss.” said Alice.
Now, that,” said Outreach Agent Simmons pointing to the transport base in the room, is where you return to on default. It is set for a few minutes from now. So, you return on your last pivot a few minutes from now, right here. You may also return to this base on any other pivot. Since I am here now, I will be here when you return on your last pivot or any time you choose. Any questions?”
So, by setting a time, you can use the base for others with temporary implants,” said Alice. “But, no, I don’t have any questions for now; but, I do know where to come if I do. Later, Dude.” Alice disappeared.
Outreach Agent Simmons commented out loud in the empty room, “’Dude’ puts her first pivot into the latter part of the 20th Century. With such a neat new toy, they are all seem to pivot out of here with some cute parting comment.” Then he thought to himself, ‘I have time to get a fresh cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows.” And he pivoted out of the room.
Alice Beaverton appeared back in Room 2709 of the Agency for Time Integrity
at 1895 Wells Street, an hour before her scheduled implant. She walked to the back wall and touched ti opening the shelf of racks of syringes. She picked up a red one and looked closely. There appeared to be no markings indicating batch, serial number or the like. She picked up another and compared the two. ‘If they are marked in any way it is not on the outside of the syringes themselves,’ she thought. She pulled one from the middle of a rack and replace it with one from the back of another rack and repeated this process until she had two red filled syringes and three green filled ones some fill with a red substance, some with green and some with blue. She placed the 7 syringes in her carryall, looked around, closed the shelf and pivoted out of the room.
Alice Beaverton walked up the steps
to her ex-husband’s ground floor entrance to be greeted by a man in casual attire. “Ms. Beaverton, I am Frank Thompson. I am the chaperone for your visitation. The Court though it would be less stressful if I accompanied you with your six-hour outing with your daughter than if your ex-husband tagged along. There are always . . .”
Alice said, “That would be delightful Mr. Thompson; it sounds like a very good idea to me. Please call me Alice. Where is Jessica Ann.”
“First, I have to know what is in the basket you are carrying?” asked Mr. Thompson.
Alice put the basket down on the top step and opened it, “A picnic, Mr. Thompson, a basket lunch from an earlier and simpler time. I thought one of the things we would do today is have a picnic.”
Mr. Thompson looked in the basket, taking things out and putting them back and smiled, “That looks tasty.” He then taped the door to the apartment. The door opened and a middle-aged woman escorted Jessica Ann to meet her mother.
Mr. Thompson said, “Miss Jessica Ann Beaverton, meet your mother.”
Alice kneeled down at the bottom of the three steps leading to the apartment door where her daughter stood, opened her arms and said “Jessica Baby, can you give your momma a hug.”
Jessica Ann smiled broadly, looked at Mr. Thompson who nodded yes. She then looked at the middle-aged woman who nodded yes. With that encouragement, Jessica Ann flew down the steps into her waiting mother’s arms.
“You are even more beautiful than your videos. I have missed not holding you my Baby Jessica Ann,” said Alice with tear filled eyes.
Jessica Ann said, “Don’t cry Mommy. You hug real good; and, you are beautiful too.”