Dodo Eggs

Gesper and Solomon stepped through the opening made by Solomon’s hammer stroke.  Their torchlight became completely lost by the darkness surrounding them.  For a few minutes, the three just stood inside the shrine waiting for something to happen.

“Gesper, do you smell that?”  Grim was stretched as tall as he could stand his opal eyes and muzzle sampling the air around them.  “I think it’s palentite.  At least part of the walls is made of palentite.”

Solomon’s eyes brunt with power offering light almost as strong as the torch he carried.  His body beneath the mineral scales glowed like hot iron.

The Atakaskin ran his hand along a thick stone pillar then blew flame along its edge.  Without warning, a line along the column erupted with light, its fire racing up the pillar and into the palentite embedded into the ceiling a hundred feet up.  The entire cavern became brighter than the noon sun within two minutes.

Grim and Gesper had to shield their eyes.  Solomon looked on them with scorn.  The hodges were innovative and brave but they were too weak.  Their role with the Atakaskin race was little better than servants.  Solomon laid his hammer across his shoulders and waited.

The rough rock of the outer caves had been carved smooth with friezes and fine sculptures scaling the walls.  Smaller statures and busts sat undisturbed on pedestals hewed from the stone columns.  Buttresses spanned the distances between the pillars and the walls crisscrossing the vaulted ceiling like cobwebs.  It was impossible for common eyes to take in the scene with each detail pulling in your attention.

“Uh, yes, amazing.”  Gesper finally managed a look around.  “Have you noticed the incredible work done on the walls but the floor is just smooth stone and the space is just open.  No seating, furniture, memorials, nothing!”

Solomon turned his glowing stare toward the hodge.  “The monument is the shrine itself.  The Rift Shrine is the greatest testament to Atakaskin power.  Look about you can trace the ancient history of my people etched into the walls.”

Without warning, Grim sprinted on all fours past Gesper close to Solomon.  “That rock moved!  It moved!” 

All three turned and watched as the dust and stones that had been scattered by Solomon’s hammer blow began collecting.  The stone wall separating the shine from the cave began reassembling as if time were running in reverse.  Rock hopped then flew into place exactly were it had rested. 

Solomon moved as quickly as his thick legs would move but the wall was finished in seconds.  The hodges called out in fear and rolled into their protective crouches.

The Atakaskin warrior brought his hammer into the reformed wall with the added strength of a running start.  It’s iron head breaking through with even greater intensity than before.

He shook the twice-smashed rock from his shoulders.  “There, you have nothing to worry about.  Should the magic of the shrine heal itself I will open a fresh wound.”

Grim unwound, then Gesper.  Both shook with fear.

At Solomon’s gesture, the three began marching through the shrine.  The Rift Shrine was lit from all sides by the burning bands of palentite.  Several wings spanned to either side but all ended at long neglected shrines to Atakaskin greats.  At the far end, was an archway held open by the steady grips of carved warriors only slightly larger than Solomon.

“This seems strange.”  Gesper began.  “The scale of the work and the almost scaffolding like buttresses above our heads would preclude an Atakaskin from doing any of this work.  Look closely.  Each scale on every figure is accurate to the finest detail.  Solomon’s three thick fingers would not be well suited to this kind of work.”

“My people are skilled and agile enough for any task.”  Solomon’s voice sounded annoyed.  “Do not presume to know too much.”

Near the archway, hanging like a loose thread was a narrow stone pillar with the bottom portion knocked away and unseen.  All three stopped to take in the marvel.  It was only as wide as Solomon’s palm.  There was nothing connecting the stone to the floor and yet it hung from the high ceiling.

“This is wondrous!”  Gesper jumped at it to get a better look.  “How does this just hang?!  It must weight tons and yet it just hangs there completely unsupported!  And look the symbol for the Rift Well is etched into the bottom!”
 
Grim ran up beside the other hodge his quills quivering with excitement.  “Also look at the carvings on it.  They look like us!  Amongst all this indescribable sculpture, the most noteworthy work has hodges on it.”

Gesper continued.  “And I think those notches are for climbing to the buttresses above.”

“The symbol is right here!  The scrolls tell us to look for the symbol.”  Gesper set his shoulders.  “Go ahead Grim.  Hop off my shoulders, see if you can reach it, and start climbing.”

“Enough!”  Solomon’s shout echoed with such strength it felt as if the shrine shook.  “You are fools!  The Tonic nor the Well would be unguarded!  What you are playing with must be a trap and we will not just walk into it.

This quest is mine and the treasure is for my people.  It would not be accessible only to hodges!”

“We’re sorry Solomon.”  Grim began.  “We saw something wondrous and like animals we raced to the bait.  Good fortune be with us, it’s a good thing you’re here to protect us.”

They continued to the archway, which was actually the beginning of a tunnel.  It was unlit and without the statuary of the shrine.  The top edge was level with Solomon’s head.  Grim and Gesper had no difficulty walking through however, Solomon felt compelled to dip his massive shoulders.

Darkness reclaimed them until Solomon breathed flame on the palentite Grim found near the archway.  The chamber was volumous but nothing as large as the shrine’s entrance.  The walls resembled those of the Utapan’s caves only without any rough outcroppings.  At the far end, was another tunnel.  A short stack of rocks holding a silver flask sat in front of the opening.

“Look!”  Gesper picked up a broken blue scale.  It was chipped around the edges and covered in dust.  “I suppose we’ve arrived.  But were is the trap?”

Grim stepped forward a bit.  “It’s here.  I can smell it.  It’s something I’ve smelled before but never this strong.  Hmmm, I cannot be sure what it is.”

Solomon’s expression didn’t change.  The light coming from his eyes and the yellow glow coming from under his scales only intensified a bit. 

“You may wait here.  If you see me fall, you may flee.  I have no doubt I will be attacked before I reach the second archway.”

“And where would we flee to?  The wall protecting the sanctuary has no doubt healed by now and we cannot…” Gesper stopped, realizing that Solomon was ignoring him.

I have an alter ego, a secret identity.

Sitting on the top of my classroom’s bookshelf is a large box that slips just over my shoulders.  I’ve cut two holes in the front about the size of candy bars to see and two holes in the sides just wide enough for my arms.  The facial features are drawn using nothing but a permanent marker and straight lines. 

When I wear it, I keep my elbows bent at ninety-degree angles and I stop bending my knees.  I named my robotic schtick “School-tar,” which was quickly changed to “School-tard.“ 

School-tard is available for parties, birthdays, or bar mitzvahs for $10.99 an hour plus all the cake I can eat. 

Where am I going with this?

Included in everyone’s job description are certain tasks that fall into one of two categories…completely useless or absolutely brainless.  Everyone can make a list.  For many tasks, it may be hard to designate just one.

I never thought I’d put parent-teacher conferences into these categories. 

Like many professionals in the educational field, I firmly believe that one of the greatest factors in a student’s success is parental involvement.  What I learned this year was that it isn’t possible for teachers to manufacture this involvement.

Parents either have a premium placed on education or they don’t.  One day sitting across from a table of teachers, nodding at suggestions, and making promises does not compensate for the other three hundred sixty-four days when nothing is said or done.     

Remember School-tard?   

I’ve decided to staple a pair of old slacks to the bottom of School-tard.  I’ll set a tape deck on the top of his box with thee available tapes: LAZY STUDENT, POOR STUDENT, and GOOD STUDENT.  This allows parents the option of hearing any of my speeches in any order they choose.  Talk about convenience!

Here’s a sampling of what I usually hear and how the tape would respond.

PARENT SAYS: “I didn’t know he was failing.”

SCHOOL-TARD RESPONDS:  (button is depressed, clicking sound)  “Try asking to see returned grades, progress reports, and report cards.  We’ve been doing this for years.  If you really want it from the source, just call the school and the teachers will return your message. 

Stop tape now for next statement.”  (click)
 
PARENT SAYS:  “I don’t know what to do with him.  We’ve taken everything away and he still isn’t acting right.”

SCHOOL-TARD RESPONDS:  (click)  “We are educational professionals and are unable to rear your child for you.  We suggest parental counseling and the appropriate head-lock or spanking. (static) I mean, time-out and loss of privileges. 

Stop tape now for additional statement from parents.”  (click)

PARENT SAYS:  “He tells me he doesn’t do anything at school and that he never has homework.”
 
SCHOOL-TARD RESPONDS:  (click) “Warning, the following answer contains sarcasm.  To maintain professional atmosphere, please stop tape and direct this statement to another teacher. 

Stop tape now.”  (pause) 

“That’s right madam or sir.  We do nothing with your child.  Each and everyday they come in, sit down, and we have a collective staring contest.  Congrats to you for accepting such a stupid idea from your twelve year old deviant. 

Stop tape now.” (click)

Someone once told me that a car could, “run on vapors.”  Meaning the gas tank is completely empty and yet gas fumes could keep the vehicle running at least for a little while.  I didn’t believe it then and I still don’t.

Human beings are little different but instead of fumes they burn hope.  They can press on when there is no substance behind thier goals.  They haven’t opened their Italian textbook for six years and yet they still plan on learning the language.  The ButtBlaster is still buried under a mountain of dirty clothes but putting it in the rummage sale is unacceptable.  A boy is three inches shorter than the girl he is after but he still plans on asking her out.

I like to say, “They’re running on fumes.”

Quinn had moved into my college dorm as a freshman.  He was excited about classes, friends, and especially a junior in the girl’s dorm named Linda.  All of us knew she wouldn’t look at Quinn twice but that didn’t keep him from trying to win her attention.

He was friendly but goofy.  Saying a bit too much in an effort to be a part of the conversation.  Laughing a decibel too loud when everyone else was only courtesy laughing.  Poor Quinn had yet to discover that he just wasn’t cool.

After work or classes, Quinn would disappear in the direction of the girl’s dorm always in hopes of seeing Linda.  She was always friendly although no one understood why.  The pained smile on her face told Quinn he was welcome but everyone else knew she wished he wasn’t there.

Her small kindness was enough to keep Quinn unknowingly “running on fumes.”

But Quinn had a dirty secret.  The guys in the dorm knew about it and to us it was more of a mystery.  Quinn would walk into the bathroom completely dressed, throw off his clothes right inside the curtain, and shower.  Then he would waltz out with all of his clothes in arm except for his underwear.

This was not an isolated occurrence!  Each and every time his white briefs were left near the shower drain or on the floor.  And there was no question they were dirty.  Bold streaks marked the inside. 

For most of us, this was confusing but for some it graduated into an annoyance. 

One day while Quinn was visiting the girl’s dorm, a student named Chris had to step over another pair of desecrated briefs and he lost his temper.  He took the broom from the kitchen and skewered the offending undergarments on the handle.  Chris marched over to the girls dorm with the underwear raised like a flag.

“Quinn!  Quit leaving your underwear in the bathroom!  I’m tired of stepping over this stuff!”

I was in the girl’s lounge with Quinn, Linda, and a few others.  Even with all the acne, Quinn’s face went white. 

“Th-that’s not mine!”

“Oh yes it is!  And everyone in the guy’s dorm knows it so pick it up!”  Chris dropped the underwear on the floor and left.   

Quinn continued to deny ownership but his protests were hollow and we all knew better. 

This event and the fact that Linda found a boyfriend emptied Quinn’s tank even of fumes.  But there’s no reason to feel sorry for Quinn.  When it came to attention from girls, Quinn showed that he wasn’t picky at all.  He chased other girls and eventually married.  I think he even procreated.

If I remember correctly, he recieved six hampers as wedding gifts.

From the Desk of Dr. Norm DePlume
Medical Doctor, Specializing in Billing
Guest Speaker at the 2002 Amish Internet Extravaganza
Guest Judge at the 2002 Ms. Amish Bikini Pageant

Colleagues,

Our study of college males Binko and Zits experienced a near fatal misstep this week.  One of our female technicians fell through the false ceiling during a necessary readjustment of one of our cameras.   

Binko had developed a strange new behavior and our cameras were ill adjusted to record it.  This unusual routine appears to be a severe seizure but is instead just an odd role-play called “air guitar.”  My grad assistant could not help but note that in his closet there is a real guitar half buried by dirty laundry.

We sent a tape of this behavior to world renowned Dr. John Smith who informed us that, “The subject’s violent head movements were creating brain trauma similar to a rapid series of falls from a unicycle moving at 35 mph.” 

Our second subject, Zits was logging his fourteenth straight hour on his computer.  The game that had captured his attention involved simulated human beings.  These simulations depended on Zit’s input for every direction.  Computer records show Zit’s character had forgotten where the bathroom was and was routinely defecating in the corner of its computer-generated bedroom.

The problem arose when our technician lost her balance just as she was tightening the fastening on the camera’s bracket.  She grabbed the camera and fell through the foam ceiling panels.  She tumbled downward in a tangled mess of wires.  It is fortunate that a haphazard stack of pizza boxes broke her fall.

I was at Control Center at the time.  I radioed in to the technician’s earpiece giving her instructions to activate the emergency action plan “Sorority Rush.” 

“Ah, hi guys.”  She coughed a bit as her lungs readjusted to the noxious atmosphere.  She was equipped with an emergency respirator but chose not to use it.  “You clever guys caught me.  I’m from the sorority K-Y and, well since you hunks are so reclusive we figured we’d voyeur your room.”

Zits said nothing.  Instead he hurriedly instructed his simulated human to clean its bedroom while Zits deleted all the digital waste in the corner.

Binko dropped his air guitar.  His eyes grew wide and hopeful.  “W-would you like to go out?”

The assistant began slowly backing toward the door.  “Yes, well I would but the other girls would pull all my hair out.”

“I’ll still date you!  Girls in caps are hot.  I’ll shave my hair for you!”  Binko was attempting to back the technician into a corner.  “I’m in a band!”

I gave her the signal for the all clear. “If you can catch me, I’ll go out with you.”

She easily outpaced Binko and Zits.  The two males pursued the technician into the street wearing only briefs.  Both were physically unable to perform only fifty feet from the entrance of their dorm building.  This gave us time to install a dummy camera into wall and repair the ceiling and real surveillance equipment. 

For the next few weeks the focus of our research will be on the males attempts to impress unknown female observers.  Binko tattooed “I LOVE K-Y” on his posterior and Zits changed video games to a more macho first person shooter. 

The females on our staff indicated no greater levels of attraction.

 I’ll keep you abreast,

 Norm dePlume 

I’m sitting in the back of a church service with ten minutes left before high noon.  I had a crumpled bulletin in my hand covered in tally marks.  The child-like script above the marks read, “Men with bald spots.”  I started a new column, “Men with bad comb-overs” and Mrs. Teply took the pen away from me.  

“Look you, the service has nine minutes left.”  She whispered.  “Can’t you put on a better show for at least that long?”

I leaned into her ear.  “Baloney!  No self-respecting preacher finishes exactly on time.  Especially when he’s preaching on good Biblical teaching and how it relates to college football.  So I’ve really got another fifteen or twenty easy.”

She cleared her throat and looked ahead. 

With just a touch of theatrics, I did the same but I didn’t refocus on the sermon.  Sitting just ahead of us and to the right was Samuel and Patty Berlins.  Both had good posture but were sitting so close together the Oxford blue of Sam’s shirt bled straight into the baby blue strips on Patty’s blouse.  Sam’s arm was around her shoulders.

In a church service, this tight proximity to your spouse was the max affection package.  Any thing hotter and an usher may bump the back of your head with the corner of a new hymnal.   

After church, Sam approached me.  “Hey Matt, how ya doing?”

I unleashed one of the static one-liners I use when I really don’t have anything important to say.  “Well, let’s see, I haven’t walked into any walls yet today so I’m doing pretty good.  And you?”

He gave me a courtesy chuckle and we both pretended we had someplace to go.

As I watched Sam wander off to his next handshake, I was plagued by the question I really wanted to ask him.  “How do you walk through life holding the hand of someone so ugly?”  But I’ll never conjurer a smooth way to ask it.

Perhaps the more mature men among us have no difficulty accepting their wives for the person they are…but I don’t believe that for a second.  

I liken it to the car a man drives.  It’s blatant that men want and spend too much for nice cars.  Red-blooded males love to have their pals throwing compliments and strangers stopping to look as they drive up.  It’s a status symbol, a ranking.

Melissa and I were wandering about a hotel celebrating our anniversary.  We strolled past a bar on our way to the restaurant and I realized I had forgotten my wallet.  Melissa understandably didn’t want to go back so she stood outside the bar and waited.

When I returned she quickly took my arm.  “You wouldn’t believe what just happened to me.  I had two separate men come by and try to pick me up.”

“That’s wonderful news!”  I laughed then squeezed her shoulders.  “Why would I want to scoot around town with a woman no one else would want?”

So when a beat up car drives by the park and the crude teen-age boys praise Melissa’s features using all the latest vernacular, I give them a thumbs-up and a big smile. 

Treetops like spires surrounded Rudolph’s small cottage.  Built from stone and rough-hewn timber it was a lonely but sturdy home.  It was planted in its location as strongly as the trees around it.

Rudolph was a hermit of sorts and a landowner, which in Eastern Europe made him a wealthy man.  No roads, trade routs, or rivers wound through his hills.  His lands were far removed just as he wanted them. 

Except for his poor health, Rudolph lived exactly as he chose.  He didn’t farm or bother with the little lords or dukes located on every border.  Rudolph lived modestly on timber sales from his hilly, heavily forested lands.
 
Visitors were turned away except for Erwin.  The young man was a woodworker’s son from the nearby village of Hildagriff.  The boy was nine years old and was allowed to journey over the hills to visit Rudolph. 

They would walk the woods or spend the entire day playing chess. 

Erwin was learning much of the woodworker’s trade from his father.  He had carved both of Rudolph’s chess sets and other small items around the collage. 

The young man would listen as Rudolph described distant places the trade routs led, boats on the great seas, and the magic beings that inhabit the woods.

“Their names are Rudavich and Slobadon.  They are gardeners but not the simple type we know.  They grow plants that are not found anywhere else in the world.  But they despise each other and are very distrustful of anyone else.”

“Why do allow them on your land?” 

Rudolph laughed.  “Rudavich and Slobadon were both here long before I was.  They don’t bother me and I never disturb them.  Oddly enough, they do a better job protecting my lands then I do.  The wolves that wander these woods are theirs.”

Erwin moved his bishop.  “Then why do they fight?”

“They don’t fight exactly.  In fact, they are both caretakers of the same hidden garden.”  Rudolph studied the board as he spoke.  “The garden is an inheritance they received from their father almost two hundred years ago. 

Problems arose when Rudavich and Slobadon began arguing about which plants belonged to whom.  They work the same garden but have been at each other’s throats all this time.

You see, the garden grows plants and small trees from seeds saved from Creation’s first garden.  Almost all the plants contain some spark of magic.  Now you are the only other person to know about the garden’s existence.”

“Now I know you’re lying.  You talk like they are hundreds of years old!”

Rudolph sat up as if offended.  “They are!  Did I not say the garden grows magic?  They eat from it and stay healthy.  If only they would share with me.  Then I wouldn’t be looking at death as closely as I do now.”

Erwin made another move, one that would win the game.  Rudolph wasn’t trying.  “The land is yours.  Why don’t you demand this magic fruit as rent?”

“Never, boy.  I fear their wrath as I fear my coming death.”

Erwin was interested in hearing more about the location of the garden but Rudolph swore he’d never been there.  “The wolves would turn me aside whenever I came too close.”

The boy left shortly after their game.  Rudolph’s poor health meant he needed a great deal of rest to have enough strength for his chores each day.

Several days later, Erwin returned to the cottage.  The door was still bolted shut and a foul odor eased from the windows.  Erwin called and received no response.  Finally, the boy smashed through a set of shutters.  He found Rudolph dead in his bed.

Erwin ran back to Hildagriff bringing back his father and several other men.  He cried as he ran.  He was sorry that death had finally claimed the old man and that Rudolph had to wait days before anyone discovered him.    

When Erwin and the village men arrived, Erwin’s father immediately sent the boy into the woods.  “We will call you to return once the grave is finished.  You will be allowed to say goodbye.”

The woods seemed especially quiet as Erwin walked through them.  He kept to paths he and Rudolph had walked together.  The tears slowed but they did not cease.

“So, Rudolph the mighty has finally died.”  A voice like gravel startled Erwin.  He jumped as he found the speaker.  It was a man who appeared mature but not old.  He was tall in a long, gray robe.  His beard was cut short.

“You know, your friend was once a mighty warrior.  It’s how he won these lands many years ago.”

“Sir, who are you?”

“My name is Rudavich and I too grieve over the loss of our mutual friend.”  He paused as he reached into his robe and pulled out a dark green stone the size of a walnut.  “Shall we retrieve his spirit?”

Erwin wiped the last tears away.  “Sir, he is dead almost four days.  My father and others dig a grave for him now.  No cure will help.”

Rudavich smiled.  “You are correct.  His former body is worth little now but if you place this seed in the corpse’s hand, a tree will grow that will house his spirit.  After twenty years, the tree will have grown enough to cut down.  The heartwood inside will contain Rudolph’s essence.  At that time, he may find a way to communicate with you.”

Erwin took the glossy green-black seed from Rudavich’s outstretched hand.  It had an oily feel.  “Sir, I must confess that I do not believe you.  I do this only because Rudolph believed in your magic.”

“Very well.”  Rudavich leaned forward.  “One other thing boy, the soulbind tree you are about to plant will begin bearing fruit after its third year.  After the first frost, you must come here and pick up all the seeds and burn them.  The ground Rudolph’s house is built on is saturated with blood of the wretches he slew.  Do not let another soulbind draw upon the souls of evil men.”

Years passed and a tree did grow behind Rudolph’s old home.  It grew rapidly widening over and inch each year.  The bark glistened with an oily sap that seemed to constantly drip from the narrow leaves.  Seeds like the one he put in Rudolph’s hands did drop three seasons later.  Erwin picked them up and burned them just as he had been instructed.

Rudolph’s land changed over the years as well.  Lords from nearby claimed Rudolph’s lands and parceled it up.  However, besides the vicious wolves, a poisonous nettle began growing in patches around the edges of the land.  It’s spines cut through leather and made horses and men alike terribly sick.  The land was forsaken as cursed.

The poisonous plants and wolves did not disturb Erwin.  As a grwon man, he came and went as he pleased.  He had taken his father’s position as Hildagriff’s carpenter and woodsmith.  Using a small saw cart, he would leave the woods with short logs from fallen trees as he needed.

He thought of Rudavich and his brother.  Sometimes he would wander the hills looking for the brothers or at least the one man he did see.  It seemed hard to believe that they even existed.  Yet, Erwin had never seen a tree like the soulbind and poisonous thistles.  They were there.

Twenty years erased much of Erwin’s hope regarding the soulbind tree.  He continued to pick the seeds each fall but he wasn’t sure why.  He had almost forgotten about Rudavich’s promise.  He decided to make this year’s trip to the dark tree his last. 

Erwin entered the forest and spied the tall gardener sitting on a rock near the soulbind.  While Erwin had grown into manhood, Rudavich looked exactly the same.

 “I see you have your saw with you young Erwin.  That’s good.  I need to do this quickly for it is dangerous for me to be gone from my garden too long.”

Erwin replied, “Rudavich?  Is that you?”

Rudavich dismissed him.  “Bring your blade.  Hurry.  I will take the other end and help you.  Then I will release heartwood.  Let’s begin.  I haven’t much time.”

Erwin hurried to comply.  “Why are you doing this?”

Rudavich took his side of the saw and worked it with surprising strength.  “I seek allies in my struggle against my brother.  But our garden is shielded against common men entering it much like the poison nettles that now protect the land.”

“Please excuse me, but I don’t understand.”

“I will have a servant.  Rudolph has the extended life he wanted and you will met your old friend again.  There is nothing else you need to understand.”

With Rudavich’s strength the men cut through the soulbind in surprising time.  The tree swayed for a moment then fell to the ground with the snap of tree branches.  The ancient gardener then reached into his robe again and threw a yellow dust over the tree’s length.

“Step back Erwin.  These are yut spores.  They will have everything but the heartwood decomposed by tomorrow.” 

Wherever the yellow looking spores landed bulbous mushroom head grew covering the bark in mere seconds.

Rudavich cleaned his hands across his robe.  “When you come back tomorrow, I won’t be here.  Take the heartwood back to your shop and carve it into a statue with a man’s shape.  Rudolph should be able to communicate with you then.”

With those words, Rudavich turned to the woods and disappeared.  Erwin watched the ferocious mushrooms for another couple of minutes.  Some of the mushroom caps were beginning to sink into the soulbind’s trunk.  It reminded Erwin of a hungry animal.

When Erwin returned the next day, the mushrooms were a pile of dried husks.  A breeze picked up the yellow flakes and began carrying them away.  What was left was an odd shaped length of wood.  It was four feet long and nearly seven inches thick in places.  The ends were rounded and the exterior was still covered in an oily sap.

Erwin picked it up.  Its warmth surprised him.  The wood’s entire length seemed to vibrate under his touch. 

“Could it be true?”  Erwin thought.  “Is it possible that a Rudolph’s spirit inhabits this wood?”

Erwin put his other work aside and spent the next two days carving on the soulbind’s heartwood.  He notched in arms and legs.  The figure would be three feet tall and six inches across the shoulder. 

He was shocked the first time he saw the carving move.  His chisel had just knocked out the wood connecting the arm with the rest of the body.  The wood sounded like it was splitting but it didn’t shatter.  It only bent and the arm moved.

Erwin worked through the night sure now that a spirit was contained in the wood.  With its ability to move on its own, there was no need to split the wood for joints.  Erwin carved a brimmed hat, shirt, trousers, and a sharp sat on the end of his worktable.  It looked more like an elf than Randolph.

The wooden figure looked around using its joints.  Its eyes didn’t have pupils but it did seem to turn toward Erwin.  From inside the wooden figure’s chest, came the wrenching sound of splitting wood.  It was taking in air!

Then the woodman produced a voice that sounded like a notes from a woodwind instrument.  “Erwin, my boy.  Look how you’ve grown!  It’s me, Randolph.”

Erwin sat down his chisel.  “Randolph, is that really you?  I didn’t know if I made the right decision when you died.”

Rudolph brought his arm up.  It was a stiff motion.  “Yes, you did fine.  You see I am reborn into a different existence.  It is one of near immortality.  I knew Rudavich would approach you.”

Erwin’s old friend then hopped off the table and unto the floor.  Rudolph wavered a bit still unstable on his new legs.

“I’m returning to Rudavich now.  As a creature of magic, I can now enter his garden!”  Randolph’s wooden head creaked upward.  “Fear not my friend, you may still return to the land at any time.  I will find you.  When I’m not assisting Rudavich, we can take our walks or even a game of chess.”

Erwin did return to the forest to see his friend.  Randolph would ride on Erwin’s shoulder as they walked the same old paths.  But Randolph’s mood changed as time went progressed.  He became less and less available and often a week or more went by before Erwin saw the wooden man.

“Slobadon and Rudavich continue to fight and things have become very bitter.”  Rudolph began one day in his woodwind voice.  “I assist Rudavich which has allowed him to cultivate a larger portion of the garden.  This angers Slobadon and I fear he is planning some recompense.”

Another year passed and Rudolph stopped coming to his meetings with Erwin completely.  The carpenter searched the woods for his old friend but could not find him or the garden. 

Soon after, Erwin received an unexpected visitor at his home.  It was past midnight and Erwin had been asleep for hours when a pounding at his door woke him.  He lit a candle before opening the door. 

The man looked like Rudavich but was broader with a slightly longer beard.  He pushed past Erwin walking straight to the worktable.

He picked up Erwin’s chisel.  “We have never met but I’m sure you know me.  I am Slobadon and you are Erwin the carpenter who worked Rudavich’s soulbind slave.”

There was no question in his statement so Erwin didn’t respond.

Slobadon opened his robe and dropped a leather bag on the table.  “Behind your home is a small cart filled with soulbind heartwood.  I need it carved into puppets less than two weeks from now.  This bag is filled with Roman gold.  It is enough to for a man of your designs to do whatever you want.”

Erwin stared at the bag.  “But I thought soulbind needed a grave and years to grow.”

“Do you think you were the only one picking up soulbind seeds?  I knew of my brother’s plot immediately after he approached Rudolph.  I planted my trees over the site of an ancient battle and hid them with a special vine.”

“What about Rudolph?  If I craft your servants, will he come to harm?”

Slobadon’s look took a dark cast.  “The woodman will not be harmed.  If you fail to do as I have asked, you will.”

“Then I agree.”  Erwin took up his hammer.  “I will begin now and you will have your first servant before another day passes.”

The woodsmith worked tirelessly for the week and a half.  He added a different hat and slightly different features to every soulbind statue.  And just as Rudolph had done they seemed to spring to life as he neared completion.  When they were finished, most simply jumped off the table and disappeared without even a word.  Others took a moment to thank him in some ancient tongue.

With his increased power, Slobadon forced Rudavich from the garden.  Without produce from the garden Rudavich grew weak and his advanced years began to catch his body. 

But the banished gardener was not done.  He still had Rudolph and his pouch of magic seeds.

Rudavich kept a cutting called leech vine.  It was a purple leafed plant that fed ferociously off of magic and covered ground faster than advancing fire.  It would consume the garden in minutes destroying every magic plant.  The vine would also consume Slobadon’s soulbind servants and would likely take Slobadon as well.  After ingesting the garden’s produce for so many years, both brothers were traced with magic.

Rudavich had a plan for saving the garden.  In addition to his own seed pouch, Slobadon’s seeds would be enough to replant the garden after the leech vine died. 

“Rudolph,” He took the woodman near the garden.  “Slobadon will take a bath today and he always removes his pouch.  Go into the garden, steal the pouch, and then run to the tall razor grass on my side of the garden.  Half buried in the grass you will find an iron lockbox.  Crawl inside with the pouch and wait.  The iron will protect you from the advancing leech vine.”

Rudolph agreed.  He walked through the garden past a small army of beings similar to him.  They recognized him as one of them and didn’t raise any protest. 

Rudolph pitied them.  Within two hours, the earth would reclaim their precious second lives.

Taking Slobadon’s satchel was simple.  The gardener relaxed in the sun resting beside a spring feed stone basin.  He ran cups of cool clear water over his limbs then wiped off the water with a glossy yellow leaf.  Slobadon closed his eyes and cradling his head between stones.  

Rudolph snatched the seeds then made his way to the razor grass on the other side of the garden.  He knew Rudavich wouldn’t wait beyond what was deemed necessary for the task.  If the box wasn’t reached in time, all his efforts would become for naught.

The iron safe box was right were Randolph was told to find it.  It was covered in dirt and rust but the sides were still thick.  He crawled inside just as a cry came out.  Slobadon had discovered his seeds were missing.

Rudavich sat on with his back against a common oak.  He was near the edge of his garden looking at it one last time.  He could see the soulbind puppets moving small mounds of dirt and watering the creation era plants he had raised.  Between his thumb and forefinger, he spun the dried leech vine.  Finally, he heard this bother’s cry of distress.

He stood and walked to the garden’s very edge.  One end of the vine was placed in the ground with the leaf pointing into the garden.  Rudavich watered it and stepped away.

The purple vine did nothing for a minute.  It had been dormant for over a thousand years.  Then color and fullness rushed through the stem and leaf.  The growth end of the vine lengthened sinking into the edge of the garden.  Then two sprigs sprang up, then four, ten, and anther seventeen.  Everywhere the vine took root the ground and plants went gray and died.

The deadly purple creeper began taking the garden much faster than even Rudavich had expected.  Magic was taken and pulled into the decaying earth.  Rudavich saw the first soulbind servant become tangled in the leech vine.  A low whistle of fear came from its wooden throat and then it was dust.

Rudavich couldn’t watch the last reservoir of creation’s magic being so savagely taken so he turned away.  He heard his brother cry out again but he did not turn to look. 

“A new garden will rise up in its place.” He told himself.  “Another place of magic that I do not need to share with my foolish brother.”

When the leech vine reached the garden’s edge it died.  Normal grasses and ferns could not sustain it.  With the magic gone, it withered and went dormant.

Before entering, Rudavich burnt the land.  He would not risk reactivating the vine and suffering the same fate as his brother.  The iron box Randolph was hiding in would heat but not harm his servant.

Later, the iron box was located and freed from the charred ground.  Rudavich opened the box.  Inside was the dried wooden shell of Randolph.  His wooden form stiff and lifeless with one arm holding open the satchel.

It was the last thing Rudavich saw before realizing that he had fallen into a trap.  The satchel taken from Slobadon was filled with skull nettle powder the most absolute of poisons.  Slobadon’s seeds must have been kept safe somewhere else and this bag was a decoy.

Rudavich dropped the iron box.  The breeze had stirred the dust and he knew it was already too late.  He could taste the skull nettle on his tongue and sense it in his nose.

“Slobadon!” He screamed.  “Slobadon!  Help me!”

Rudavich’s eyes went red and he fell to the ground.

************

Erwin never learned what happened deep inside Hildagriff’s woods.  He watched but never again saw the soulbind men he carved.  Rudolph, Slobadon, or Rudavich were not heard from again.  Not long afterward, the wolves dispersed and the poison plants that cursed the land died back. 

Erwin used the money Slobadon had given him to buy all of Randolph’s land.  He built a small estate home on the site of the hermit’s cottage.

He knew death would eventually come for him as well.  But unlike most he was prepared.  Erwin wore a gold pendant that was set with a greenish-black seed the size of a walnut.  He had saved one of the soulbind seeds and one day he would tower over his land. 

In cases of extreme weather and early school closings, my middle school students are allowed to use cell phones to call home.  These devices are supposed to be verboten but appear like weeds once kids are allowed to pull them out.

“Mr. Teply can I use your phone?”

“Well, I don’t have a cell phone so, no.”

Like much of my instruction, this flies over their heads.  They interrogate me about where my cell phone is located.  They ask if I left it at home.  Perhaps I left it in my car.  Did it break?  Did I lose it?

“No.  Look, I don’t have one.”  Then I add, “And why in the world do you need one?  You live a block away.

And aren’t you on fee waiver?”

I am given anther blank look.  “It’s for emergencies Mr. Teply.  And even my dog has a Bluetooth.”  A pause.  “So, can I use your cell”

 Perhaps she is hearing impared.  I tried accesorizing my words with sign language, “I-don’t-have-a-phone.  Leave-me-be.”

This would never have happened when I was in seventh grade. 

Here’s a quick list of developments that took me completely by surprise.  Consider it a list of things I’ll be telling my grandchildren when they ask me what has changed since I was a young man.

Everyone has a cell phone-The ability to communicate from anywhere has a place with many different professions.  Everyone else is just paying an extra bill every month, not paying attention while driving, and interrupting meetings.

When I need to telecommunicate, I still use smoke signals.

Water sold in bottles-  There is a water fountain only six steps away from the bottled water machine.  Seventh graders (who shouldn’t have any money anyway) are constantly lined up in front of this machine. 

It comes out of the fountain for free!  If I put a sign over the fountain that read, “Free!  Only for a limited time!”  Would kids try to hoard it?

Men wearing pink-  They say men are more prone to be colorblind but I never thought it would come to this.  Hey, if guys are ok with wearing pink, how about pink underwear?  Oh, do we have a problem?

Selling drugs on TV-  This mystifies me more than anything else.  If you have a medical issue that hinders your quality of life, the old method was to go to your doctor.  He would diagnose your problem then proscribe something if needed. 

Is the consumer supposed to lobby their doctor for certain drugs?  Once you get hooked on a drug as a part of your routine, you’ll be experiencing empty wallet disease for years to come. 
 
Good golly!  I know life was more difficult in the “old days.”  But how on earth did our pioneering forbears make it through life without six prescriptions and a pharmacy right across the street from their sod house? 

Cursing as Entertainment- Twenty years ago it wasn’t ok for youth to be entertained by sitcoms and dramas that routinely cursed and used off color humor.  Music artists two decades ago would never have considered the self-destructive, selfish, and purely animalistic lyrics kids listen to now.

But it’s alright now?  Is our current crop of children better able to sort right and wrong than previous generations.  Survey says…

It’s up to parents to monitor their children.  And yet, it’s a drastic shame that good parenting hasn’t become more prevalent to match the decline in our culture’s influence.  Yes, the line is a fuzzy one but it looks like someone has been pushing it.

It was Friday afternoon and I had just finished my tour of duty with the maintenance department.  I was looking forward to a weekend without obligations of any sort. 

I waltzed into the dorm lobby and through a small crowd of students discussing God and His infinite attributes.  I listened for a bit until I realized the conversation was taking on an infinite nature as well.

“Look, you moron, the Sea of Galilee wasn’t frozen when Jesus walked on it.”

On and on they went.  I rolled my eyes as six people tried to jam in their opinions at the same time.

“Jesus may have drank wine but he wouldn’t have paid 150 dollars for it!”

Here was a group of guys with no dates on a Friday night sitting around trying to convince each other and sway attitudes.  Like the ocean’s endless waves they overlapped each other and like the tides their views could not be altered.  To the amazement of physicists everywhere, they had developed the next best thing to perpetual motion… perpetual conversation.

“Predestinational Trans-Herminutics is …” The rest of that sentence wasn’t going to make sense so I left the lobby and closed my door.

Twice during my long night of computer games I heard them arguing from my dorm room.  I even considered joining the fray. 

“After all,” I thought.  “Once they hear what I have to say the debate will be over.”

Instead, I completed another level and went to bed.

When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I heard over my fish tank were the short sounds of bitter conversation.  I threw on some clothes and started marching to the lobby.  It was time to end this.

I erupted from the doorway shouting, “I have an STD!  That’s right and you do too!  STDs for everyone!”

Six sets of bleary eyes widened and six tongues stilled for the first time in almost fourteen hours.

“Has anyone here changed their minds about anything?!  Has one person during the last umpteen hours said to themselves, ‘You know what?  I was way off!  You were right and I was wrong.’  Anyone?”

It was another moment of thirst-quenching silence.

“STD stands for Stubborn Theology Doctrine.  I know I’m right, you’re crazy enough to think that you’re right.  This condition is closely related to Stubborn Political Doctrine.

How many of you are Democrats?”

 A couple raised their hands.

“Care to hear why you should be Republicans?”

They shook their heads.

“Well then, if you will excuse me, I’m going to skip my shower and head straight to my computer game.  You losers should quit wasting you time.”

Here’s a little bonus information.  It’s the first equation all college kids should learn…

Surplus Time * Profound Deviance + Invulnerability

                                                                                    
                            Borrowed Money² 

EQUALS 65 Hangovers and 3 Maxed Out Credit Cards