Entertainment – Page 6 – Mom's Guide to the Galaxy

“Il Ritorno Dei Legionari”

Monday marked a year since Dad passed away, so he is understandably on my mind as of late. In sorting through Dad’s things this summer, I found a couple issues of Modern Languages Magazine that he helped produce in college. The piece he wrote for the debut issue about Much Ado About Nothing was fairly typical for him, dissecting literature and finding something typically overlooked. This, however, is the only piece of fiction I’ve found in his writing.

“Il Ritorno Dei Legionari“

And so he had come to Naples. Rome was delightful, too delightful; its glories too numerous to be viewed in the meagre fortnight at his disposal. But there were other places, not to be neglected; it would be a crime to miss Capri. So he was in Naples. But wherever he went, it was an entirely new world to him: he had never before been abroad; and only just in time did he taste the luxury of the Mediterranean. It was June, 1939. We all know what we should find there now – the rubble-scattered towns and the cemeteries filled with rows of new crosses, which seem to be the only legacies left to us from the bankruptcy of war.

War? All was peaceful then – yet war was abroad. The whitewashed walls, that shine so brilliantly in the unclouded Italian sun – these were belaboured with slogans, from a simple “Via il Duce” to an excerpt from one of his speeches. A news-boy passed him, waving a neatly-folded copy of the Corriere di Napoli, fresh from the Press. He bought one. He had never learned Italian, apart from a few conversational phrases, but it was simple enough to read – at any rate, the headlines.

“Il ritorno dei Legionari… Tremila Legionari Reduci dalla Spagna.“
Impossible to quote all of it – they had no notion of compressing or spacing a headline, but must needs extend it. He counted the words of the “headline,” and there were forty-five. He gathered that a large contingent of the Volunteers and the Fleet had arrived from Spain. “Il Re Imperatore” and Mussolini had been in Naples to review the troops. This he had missed: a pity, he thought, but the Fleet might be worth seeing.

The carabinieri at the barrier looked impressive, forbidding; but at the age of twenty, one is not impressed, still less forbidden. And so he approached them, producing a gloriously inscribed card – an exotic masterpiece – which he had obtained from the Italian Tourist Agency in London. Its purpose was to gain admittance to art galleries and places of amusement at half-price; no more then that. But it served its purpose with the military. Moreover, he was British – an English visitor. They would admin him where they might suspect a German.

Go where he would, everything was impressive. The submarines yonder – there must have been thirty of them, side by side: he must have a photo of those, if it were permitted. Then there were the destroyers and the flagship R.I. “Gorizia” – that was certainly worth a snap. But an official had been eyeing him for the last moment or two, and the camera slung over his shoulder was, he suspected, the reason. And there were two more carabinieri at the foot of the gangway.

He paused. The official approached, was very voluble, but quite incomprehensible. A certain amount of gesticulation on both sides, however, confirmed his suspicion that he would not be allowed to take a photo. But he was English, the official would see… and he disappeared about the battleship. In a few moments he was back with another whose appearance was smarter, and whose arms were possessed of some gold braid. His English was meagre, his message brief: it was forbidden to take a photograph; would the Englishman oblige by following him aboard ship.

The atmosphere was far from reassuring. He was in a small and bare cabin – alone: there the officer had required him to wait. The door was open, and the sun cast a sharp light into the centre, leaving the rest of the cabin quite dark. Just outside was one of the carabinieri who had followed them when they came on board, and now stood silent, never glancing towards him, but always on the alert. Overhead, an aeroplane passed, quite low. He moved towards the door to look at it, changed his mind, and returned to the centre.

The guard stood to attention – another officer entered, obviously of superior rank. His dress was perfect, his gold braid more extensive: surely he must be the captain. At any rate, he was someone of importance. His English was flawless: it was a great honour to receive an English visitor so soon after their return, victorious, from the Spanish affair. He understood the Englishman had desired to take a photo – he regretted that it was out of the question. But… he had not already taken any? No? That was very well; for there would have been difficulties. If the Englishman would wait until his return… there would be no further delays….

Once more alone. He glanced once or twice at his watch, but the seconds crept by reluctantly. The guard did not move, except to flick a fly off his nose. Was it permitted to smoke, he wondered. But that reminded him – at least he could take a photo of Vesuvius, with the heavy smoke rolling from its summit; that is to say, once he was out of this spot.

But a sudden shadow fell across the door and he looked up. The officer stood once again in the entrance, his arm slightly extended, his had gripping – an exquisite picture postcard of the battleship!

Spending time outside in the fall

Every so often, I want to spend time outside without gardening. Especially given all the mulch and bricks we’ve been hauling around. The temperature just started dropping a couple weeks ago, so the fabulous fall colors aren’t quite here yet, but pumpkins are ripe and Six Flags Great America is set up for Fright Fest, their annual Halloween celebration.

Let’s start with pumpkins… there are many pumpkin farms to choose from in the Chicagoland area, most with a corn maze of varying degrees of difficulty. Last year, we visited Abbey Farms‘ Pumpkin Daze event, which has everything from a petting zoo to a zipline to weekend movies in the dark, along with an elaborate corn maze. And, of course, pumpkins – you can select picked ones, or cut your own, with wagons strewn about to haul them. This year’s pumpkin excursion (which didn’t actually involve bringing pumpkins home… that’ll probably be in a week or two) was to Windy Acres Farm. The corn maze is smaller than at Abbey Farms (you only find your way through it, not search for specific objects within), the pumpkins are pre-picked… but there are turkeys walking around the farm, barnyard animals, assorted seasonal displays and things for kids to climb in or on, and educational information scattered throughout. Smaller children can ride the train on weekends; unfortunately, I’m too tall for it.

I’m not too tall for the rides I like at Six Flags. I do have to balance my love of rollercoasters with Cassandra’s, well, disinclination to ride any of the really big ones. That limits me to the big ones with somewhat short lines or single rider lines. Alas, The Joker was closed the day we went, but the single rider line for Goliath was only about 20 minutes… compared to the 120 minutes for the normal line. We did ride Demon together, and likely will again in the future. But my next visit to Six Flags must include Maxx Force, a new coaster that I haven’t tried… yet. As we waited in line for the Demon, we could see Maxx Force running, but we ran out of time for the day.

Started here... at the entryway fountain, decorated with skeletons and tinted red; ended here... at The Condor, a ride that raises you high and spins you around; and saving this for next time, Maxx Force, a new rollercoaster.

But I mentioned Halloween, so let’s not forget the elaborate efforts that Six Flags puts into their decorations. The fountain by the entrance is tinted red, so dark that it looks black until you walk right up to it, and has skeletons scattered throughout, coming towards you. There are headstones lining the sides, which are worth reading as you walk past. And they have several haunted attractions and shows… none of which I’ve seen, because honestly, I’m there for the rollercoasters. There are seasonal displays throughout the park, including coffins that you can lie in for photographs, and boxes interspersed in the walkways where creepy things lurk at night to spook park visitors.

As of last year, they’ve added a Holiday in the Park event through December, so I’m looking forward to seeing how they decorate for the winter holidays.

Thoughts on Uncharted (Arcane America #1)

I recently reviewed Council of Fire, the second book in the Arcane America setting. This is not that review.

I occasionally receive sequels when I haven’t read the earlier books. I once reviewed the last book of a series, though I had never heard of the series until I received the book. This is the first time I’ve received a sequel and immediately gone out to find the previous book.

The basic premise to the Arcane America series is that the New World has been sundered from the old with the 1759 passing of Halley’s Comet. A mountain range has suddenly appear mid-Atlantic, preventing the passage of ships to the Old World. More perplexing, at least to the Europeans, is the rise of magic forces.

Chronologically, the Council of Fire, written by Eric Flint and Walter H. Hunt, precedes Uncharted. Council of Fire begins with the comet’s strike and moves throughout the explored parts of the northern hemisphere of the New World. Uncharted, by Kevin J. Anderson and Sarah A. Hoyt, begins in 1803, following the adventures of Lewis and Clark as they seek a path to the Pacific Ocean in hopes of reestablishing contact with the Old World.

This is not the story of Meriwether Lewis, William Clark, and Sacagawea that you learned in school. They are facing a greater adversary than the natural elements and native tribes, as the land itself seems to turn against them including a surprisingly European dragon that is slaughtering natives and immigrants alike. Fortunately, as they soon learn, they have magic on their side as well.

Good news! There are only two books in this series (so far)… now’s a great time to start reading them.

Brookfield ZooRunRun 2019

It’s five-thirty on a Sunday morning. I woke before my alarm, pre-heated the oven, and showered before feeding the cats. In fact, the oven beeps to tell me it hit three-fifty as I walk back into the kitchen surrounded by the offended felines. I grab the tray of sausage biscuits – prepped the night before – from the fridge, shove them in the oven, and move towards the cat food.

It’s six-twenty when we hit the road, ten minutes earlier than planned. We drive towards a brilliant sunrise, but don’t take a photo because we know a phone camera from a moving vehicle won’t do it justice.

The packet pick-up runs until seven-thirty; we arrive just after seven. We park in our preferred area, the Lions section, and pick up our t-shirts and race bibs. There are people warming up in the parking lot as we drive in, but many others haven’t arrived yet. We change into our race shirts and drop our original shirts in the car before walking into the zoo itself.

I do my morning hip stretches on the floor of the Discovery Center, then we visit the promotional tables. If we had just picked up the Off the Eaten Path samples, I would have shoved them in my DuPage Medical Group ladybug bag. But Nicor Gas has energy saving kits for current customers, and I do actually want to replace my showerhead… so we walk back out to the car because the bag has gotten heavy. We skip the spin a wheel opportunities at the Cane’s and White Sox booths; I’m not a fan of either and the lines were long.

If you’ve entered Brookfield Zoo through the North Gate, you know it’s an extensive walk just to get from the gate to the parking lot. It was seven-thirty-five by this point, still most of an hour until the race started, and the theoretically closed packet pick-up has a huge line. We visit the bathroom and move towards the line-up, stopping at one booth we missed before. At this point, constant motion is key, so we’re fidgeting and semi-dancing to the music blaring over the speakers. Eventually, we move into the corral for the 12 minutes per mile and up group, the next to last group to start, just before the people with strollers.

Ten minutes after the official start time, our corral launches through the arch, bib sensors recording our individual starts. We start at a jog to get out of the crowd, then slow to a fast walk around the curve. We hold that fast walk in the light rain until the final stretch, as we come around the corner by the snow leopards and start to run the final leg. We’re both jogging until she sees me pull ahead; she sprints forward and I get stuck behind a stroller, grinning as she beats me to the finish line by at least ten seconds. We both accept the proffered water, banana, and Kind bar, and eventually decide that the line is too long for exact times; my watch says we walked the course in about fifty minutes.

It’s early enough that the zoo is largely deserted, so we head to Wild Encounters to meet the goats, wallabies, and parakeets. After all, part of the point of participating in the ZooRunRun is that we like the zoo.

Indoor trees filled with parakeets in a variety of colors.

Stepping back(ish) in history

Last weekend was our annual excursion to the Bristol Renaissance Faire, just across the border in Wisconsin. As with past visits, we always try to catch something classic and something new. This year, we started the day with a delightful performance titled “How Not To Die”. As we did not in fact die during it, I consider it to be a successful show. Tucked away at the small Military Encampment stage, this was an educational show – with audience participation – about medical knowledge in 1574. Blood and amputations were included.

We then went in search of food, and I realize that I haven’t discussed the food options at Faire before. There is a plethora of period inappropriate (fortunately) food available in an ever-expanding selection. The most traditional options at Bristol are the turkey legs (massive!) and the garlic mushrooms (delicious!), along with a tasty cup of sassafras. We had none of those on this trip. Well, except for the sassafras. There is literally something for everyone – between us, we ate iced creme crepes, shrimp and vegetable tempura, calzone, and some beef jerky. There are specialty coffee stands and an assortment of refreshing cold items – gelato, ice cream in various forms, along with cold beverages of alcoholic and non-alcoholic varieties.

After we ate, we headed to Dirk & Guido’s second show of the day; it’s always a delightful experience. After a bit of shopping, we split into two groups for repeat experiences: Cirque du Sewer and Adam Crack’s Fire Whip show. Cirque du Sewer now features three cats that participate at will (really, at their will… they were not entirely cooperative this time), along with the rats and human stars of the show. Adam Crack taught an audience member to use a whip and let her swing it at his head.

Last weekend was cosplay weekend at Faire, which is why we saw Boba Fett (in a kilt), Ghostbusters, and even a weeping angel. There’s a different theme every weekend, which can be found on the Faire’s Facebook page.

Crime for the Connoisseur

In sorting through Dad’s stuff, we discovered a couple items he had written for a college magazine he helped produce at King’s College in Newcastle, titled The Modern Languages Magazine. This article, titled Crime for the Connoisseur, was published in Vol. 1. No. 1 in Dec. 1946, along with other authors’ works in English, Spanish, French, and German. If I reflexively switch to American spelling, please forgive me; I will try to retain the original, but sometimes my fingers are faster than my brain.

It seems almost incredible that for the last fifty years a vast horde of novelists has been scrubbing away at the detective story, racking its brains in trying to think up new themes, and especially new methods of killing the victim. The trouble is, that hardly any of them since Conan Doyle have realised that a murder is not at all necessary; that it is, in fact, distinctly out of date. After all, the whole of our modern society depends on people doing what is polite, and convenient to others. And it is not at all convenient to cause a major disruption of other people’s lives by entangling them in a murder. Not is it polite to drag the police away from their normal business to investigate murders, and then to allow some unauthorized stranger to dismiss them as blunderers, and solve the case himself.

It is really high time that the murder-manglers woke up to this: murder is quite outdated. What is more, as a theme it is beginning to look sorely bedraggled.

Then there is the problem of the detective. From the professional to the inconspicuous ordinary citizen, from the police to the armchair variety, all have been tried. Somebody has even written a story in which the detective is the murderer; but that required another detective to catch him. But not one of these plot-mincers ever thought of a detective story in which the crime was never discovered, was never even mentioned, and which there was no detective at all. Yes, it exists – in Shakespeare’s “Much Ado about Nothing”.

You are thunderstruck! But I see, you have been brought up in the modern tradition; for the normal reader of detective stories never finds out the criminal by any means other than guesswork. And he does not try – he knows quite well that he is expected not to solve the problem; for the solution will be there, sure enough, in the last chapter. Shakespeare credits you with more intelligence: for in his story it is the public – yes, you and I – who are the detectives. Beware! – he exerts all his genius to lead you astray with a crime that never existed; and he leaves only one clue. Mind you, that one clue is not one of these paltry modern details – stopped clocks, or remains of Turkish cigarettes in the ash-tray – it really gapes at you.

The general plot is that Claudio, a demobbed army officer, is engaged to be married next day to Hero, the local city governor’s daughter. But along comes Don John – a really low type – and takes Claudio at midnight to watch Hero billing and cooing with some other man at her bedroom window. So next morning in church, Claudio breaks off the engagement, and tells Hero why: she shows a decided tendency to swoon (Note this – ‘Tis important!) Meanwhile the stooge hired by Don John to do the midnight wooing act got drunk on his wages, and in telling one of his pals that at the window was not Hero, but her maid, whom he was calling “Hero”, he was overheard by the local Peelers, who arrested him forthwith. And so Don John made himself scarce, and Claudio proceeded to wed Hero. Another troubled romance ended happily.

But you and I, being the intelligent readers whom Shakespeare’s ghost has so long awaited, will immediately ask: if Hero’s maid was love-making at Hero’s bedroom window, where, pray, was Hero all the while? Doing her knitting – at midnight, when she was expected to be in bed? Chatting with one of the maids? – none of the maids came forward next day to admit any conversation with her. Well, then, I regret to say that we must presume she was loitering with a man. You noticed that, when accused in the church next morning, she fainted. This was first taken as proof of her guilt in the affair at the window, later as proof of her innocence. Both were wrong: she fainted because she realised that whoever was at her window – her maid, as it turned out – knew quite well that she was not in bed at that time. A deadly fear chilled her to the marrow: whoever it was might choose to reveal this fact, then the truth would emerge, that she had been dilly-dallying with….

Yes, inspector, I think I know my man: do you?

But I should hate to interfere with your enjoyment of the play by telling you before you read it: that would be most impolite, and not at all convenient.

Carving jade in Antigua, Guatemala

In Antigua, Guatemala, there are several jade shops; the oldest are Jade Maya and Casa del Jade. Both offer a selection of jewelry and carvings, as well as history of Mesoamerican jade use. Both guarantee the authenticity of their jade, which refers to jadeite and nephrite; the Chinese word for jade also includes soapstone, which is a softer stone, without a crystalline structure. Jade Maya has several copies of a massive book listing the last century or so of birthdays and the Mayan Nahual, or astrological sign, for each. Nearby flip cards display the symbol associated with each sign, with pertinent information including the animal. (Mine’s an armadillo.) Casa del Jade has a smaller display; both have assorted items engraved with the Nahual symbols. Both stores sell coffee and provide samples.

2-hour workshop every day! What can I create? necklace, bracelet, magnet, keychain. $49/Q392 *ask about our special prices In January, Casa de Jade opened a small section in their shop offering jade carving lessons. The basic two-hour lesson gives participants the opportunity to select a piece of jade from a variety of colors (lavender, black, and light blue are only available in jadeite; the jade found in China is nephrite). A couple pencil scratches later, your stone is ready to shape in a scary-looking saw that uses diamond dust to cut the jade. Our instructor placed her fingers on the running blade – without a problem, as it’s specially designed for rock. When you have the basic shape cut, another machine is used to refine the shape by smoothing the edges and adding curves as desired. (The saw only does straight lines.)

Of the two hour lesson, getting to the refined shape might be twenty to thirty minutes. The next hour or more – black jade being the most difficult – will be spent polishing the stone using a progression of different sandpaper. Every step from the saw through polishing involves water, so we all wore stylish Casa del Jade aprons, and had towels handy for drying our stones (and ourselves).

The first round of polishing was the longest, trying to remove any visible scratches, particularly where cutting may have roughed up the stone a bit. The next three were progressively shorter, and eventually followed by shining the stone with a blend of diamond dust and water against leather. The black jade piece was waxed to make the engraving (coming right afterwards) stand out.

The space holds four participants; three of us wanted engravings on our pieces and spent an extended amount of time drawing our designs on the stones with pens, then erasing bits with a wet wipe until it was perfected. We each opted to have the expert – our instructor – do the actual engraving with an engraving tool. We were the last lesson of the day, so nobody objected when it ran a bit past the two hour mark.

Transition from raw jade pieces (one black, one light blue) to finished stones, the black one with engraving of Black Panther's necklace. The standard choices for the two-hour lesson are a pendant, keychain, bracelet, or magnet. The instructor worked with each participant to determine which stones needed holes and drilled those before the final round of polishing, then threated the pieces with a synthetic plastic at the end. The one magnet in the group was affixed with a mix from two tubes after engraving, with a warning that one of the tubes smelled like fish.

We agreed that it was well worth the experience; the time it took to carve the jade was well spent, and were both happy with the pieces we made. The instructor is fluent in English, so don’t worry if your Spanish isn’t up to understanding instructions.

Brick Safari at Brookfield Zoo

Summer has arrived in Chicagoland, and with it comes a special exhibit at Brookfield Zoo’s – the Brick Safari! Truth be told, there are always special exhibits at Brookfield, more so in the summer when they make good use of their outdoor space. But the Brick Safari features life-size animals made out of Lego, which puts it near and dear to my geeky heart.

Three life-size Lego animals: a giraffe, a pair of parrots on a perch, and a dolphin balancing above the Lego water The seriously geeky Lego fan will not be disappointed with these figures. Not only are they life-size, but information is provided about the statues stating how many bricks were used to build each one, and how much it weighs. Animal lovers will be delighted by the information provided on each of the animals, including where to find them if any reside at Brookfield Zoo.

Some of the figures ask you to guess the weight or number of bricks; some simply tell you, along with the number of hours they took to build. The penguin parents ask you to look for their chicks who are placed further along in the exhibit. For example, the Emperor penguin took 6,900 bricks and 49 hours to build, and weighs 143 pounds; the Rockhopper penguin weighs in at a mere 55 pounds with 3,200 bricks, but took 101 hours to build.

To add to the local fun, The Morton Arboretum also has a Lego exhibit this summer… time to explore!

Thoughts on Underworld

I recently re-watched the 2003 movie Underworld, which features werewolves and vampires in a centuries-old dispute. I recall seeing it before, probably around when it was released, but re-watched it and then the next two movies (which were new to me). I thought Underworld: Rise of the Lycans was the best of the three; I haven’t watched Blood Wars yet. That said, I found that Underworld required… commentary. To be fair, I rated Evolution about the same, but I was already past the commentary stage by then. (There are spoilers.)

The opening fight of Underworld has the main character running in a trench coat, which always seems terribly impractical. I suppose it’s better than running with a trench coat and having a sword hidden in there. Beyond the whole running in a trench coat thing, it bugs me that all they did to define the vampires was attire them as goths… they didn’t look that pale and didn’t seem particularly interested in dining… blood was reserved for combat.

Their combat tactics sucked. Both sides shot like stormtroopers. (And died like redshirts, which, frankly, serves them right for shooting custom-designed bullets like stormtroopers.) The vampires failed to work as cohesive units, paused at really stupid points to stare one direction so somebody could attack them from another, and generally didn’t behave like they’d been fighting these battles as a team for centuries. And who stands around waiting for their opponent to finish transforming into a better fighter? Well, maybe a Paladin… but we’re talking about vampire combatants here, patiently waiting on a shapeshifting werewolf.

The plot twists were pretty obvious in that Craven was, well, craven, and Viktor wasn’t anything resembling a good guy. So really, it was a poorly scripted adventure where the gamemaster had to fudge a few rolls and hand out obvious plot points to make sure the players won. Throw in a few instances of the gamemaster being super descriptive about physical changes, like Viktor waking up, probably because they needed to drag out the game that day because they had prepared the stats for a combat session.

Both vampires and werewolves are supposed to have improved hearing and speed, yet are capable of sneaking up on each other and letting a mere human get away at several points. Either nobody put points into Awareness, or all the players repeatedly botched their rolls.

In other words, it was basically an entertaining movie that would certainly be worthy of an MST3K take on it, or a movie night with friends and drinks.

Papa’s Gift (part 5)

Presidential assassination attempt foiled

BREAKING NEWS: A Gifted assassin is foiled after conjuring a weapon from his tablet. Additional details forthcoming.

When Papa heard that the President was coming to Springfield, he decided we should go see him speak. It was an election year, but the President was at the end of his second term, so his speeches were mostly about how to get through this worldwide event. He still plugged his party, of course, but his main focus was reassuring people that the country would not fall apart.

Well, except for Texas, but they hadn’t actually seceded. Some guy who could cause earthquakes travelled the border between Texas and its neighboring states and split Texas off from the rest of the country. The tabloids, which were a real source of news now, said he had almost finished when a hungry dragon swooped down and stopped him.

Anyways, Papa called up a friend who was organizing local security and got us on the list for a pair of tickets. He sent in our information for the background checks and told me that we’d have great seats. Since it was during summer vacation, we decided to arrive a day early and visit Lincoln’s New Salem, the Lincoln Museum, and Lincoln’s Home. We were pretty wiped out by the time we got to the hotel that night, so we came straight back after dinner and went to sleep.

After breakfast, we walked over to the Convention Center and lined up with the people who had tickets after passing through the first security screening. There were a lot of other people crowding around trying to catch a glimpse of the President when he arrived, but they didn’t need to go through security again.

We were almost to the second checkpoint when I heard a scuffle behind us. As I turned, I saw several security guys hauling away a couple of people from between the two checkpoints. I heard a lady behind me say “All clear,” which is when I realized there was a security person standing right near us. She looked at Papa and smiled. “Good to see you again, Henry.” Papa smiled and waved slightly, then she turned away to watch the President’s car arriving. People started to crowd in to get a better spot, pushing those of us in the line.

As the President stepped out of his car, a guy pushed between Papa and me. He said “Excuse me” in a polite tone as he moved through, but I also heard “You’re blocking my shot,” and that was in an angry voice. I looked up, puzzled because I couldn’t see a camera, but then I realized he was carrying an iPad. ‘Of course,’ I thought, ‘he must be using the iPad’s camera.’ But as I watched, he reached his hand into the tablet.

“Papa!” I yelled, and he turned to look as the guy pulled a pistol out of the iPad’s screen. Papa reacted immediately, moving toward the assassin and shouting “Security! Gun!” I spun to look for Papa’s friend, who I saw pushing through people to get to us, and as I turned back I heard a gunshot. Papa fell to the ground just before his friend and another security guard tackled the guy with the gun.

I rushed over to Papa and saw a lot of blood on the ground around him. Another security guard called for a medic, but Papa looked at me and said, “I’m sorry, Evie, I’d stay if I could.” He grasped my hand as I started to cry, and I shook my head at him, but couldn’t find anything to say. Papa’s friend came and sat on the ground by me as the medic worked to stop the bleeding, but Papa’s eyes glazed over and he stopped looking at me.

Everything around me seemed to slow down at that moment. I saw the medic sit back with a defeated look on his face, and I heard his friend sob beside me, just once.

And then Papa stood up.

Except he didn’t, really. His body stayed on the ground, but a transparent version of Papa stood back up. He knelt down in front of me, reaching out to touch my hair, but his hand passed right through me. “Evie, I’m not ready to leave you.” His friend gasped and I knew I wasn’t the only one seeing him.

Aunt Mary came and picked us up. Papa can’t drive anymore; he has to focus really hard to touch anything. But he can walk through walls, and he can be completely invisible when he wants, so we figure it balances out. He attended his own funeral, when we put his body into the ground by Momma’s, and he stood at my side when the President thanked us for stopping the assassin. Papa tells anybody who will listen that I’m his Gift, and that he’s the luckiest father ever, dead or alive.