Rancho Christmas
Sweet Poly
and silver icicles hang jagged and sparkling from the porch roof. The
light from the house reflects off the fresh snow, and the bright stars
glitter like diamonds in the cold black winter sky.
Inside all is warmth and color and light. The christmas tree is an old
fashioned balsam fir, so tall the star on top just misses the high
ceiling. It is hung with glass ornaments in gold and red and silver;
small toys made of wood and felt; santas and cowboys, cactuses and
candycanes, angels and teddy bears, sachet hearts and art glass. There
Near the top are two flameskimmer dragonflies in red enamel and gold.
The tips of the high branches are hung with hand-twisted crystal icicles
twinkling with reflected light.
Below the tree are presents for all; the mantle is crowded with
stockings stuffed with treats. The dining room table is set in white and
silver and crystal; there is a seat at the table for all the alt.cp
rancheros. Poly is in the kitchen supervising the daemons who
are putting the finishing touches on the feast. There's ham and roast
beef, sage stuffing, mushrooms in butter, candied sweet potatoes,
creamed spinach with bacon, and mounds of fresh mashed potatoes and
plenty of gravy.
The raven is perched up on a high shelf, looking down on the proceedings
with intense interest - first with his head cocked to one side, and then
the other. "Craaawk!"
Poly looks up at him with a smile. "Don't overthink it" she says. Then
she picks up a platter and heads for the dining room, followed by the
raven and the daemons.
"Time for diiiinneeerrrr!!!"
At the head of the table is Sourcerer, with Poly at the other end. Down
either side are the raven, Zaren, .mpa, Gene and Ed, Lisa, the Little
Girl, and everyone else who can make it and be here tonight...
For this meal with friends and for all Life's gifts, we are grateful.
A toast - with crystal flutes of Veuve Clicquot demi-sec:
Wishing you all a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
--
Sweet Poly
po...@circuit-riders.net
T---A
C---G
A-T Real life is a story told in cyberspace.
C
T-A
C---G
G---C
m...@model-reality.com
<po...@ningal.eanna.net> wrote:
>The big old house is outlined in white christmas lights, and cold blue
>and silver icicles hang jagged and sparkling from the porch roof. The
>light from the house reflects off the fresh snow, and the bright stars
>glitter like diamonds in the cold black winter sky.
He can see the blinking lights of Sourcerer's tower on the Rancho
Deluxe compound from more than three miles away. The pattern seems
odd at first, the red lights and green lights alternating in groups of
eight and repeating the same larger pattern.
01001101 01100101 01110010 01110010 01111001 00100000 01000011
01101000 01110010 01101001 01110011 01110100 01101101 01100001
01110011
01000110 01100101 01101100 01101001 01111010 00100000 01001110
01100001 01110110 01101001 01100100 01100001 01100100
01001000 01100001 01110000 01110000 01111001 00100000 01001000
01101111 01101100 01101001 01100100 01100001 01111001 01110011
01001110 01100101 01110111 01100011 01101111 01101101 01100101
01110010 01110011 00100000 01010000 01101100 01100101 01100001
01110011 01100101 00100000 01110100 01110101 01110010 01101110
00100000 01101111 01101110 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100
00100000 01110000 01100001 01100111 01100101 01110010 01110011
00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01100011 01100101
01101100 01101100 01110000 01101000 01101111 01101110 01100101
01110011 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01100011
01101000 01100101 01100011 01101011 00100000 01100001 01101100
01101100 00100000 01110111 01100101 01100001 01110000 01101111
01101110 01110011 00100000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110100
01101000 01100101 00100000 01100100 01101111 01101111 01110010
01000100 01100101 01100110 01100101 01101110 01110011 01101001
01110110 01100101 00100000 01000100 01100001 01100101 01101101
01101111 01101110 01110011 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110111
00100000 01100010 01100001 01100011 01101011 00100000 01101111
01101110 01101100 01101001 01101110 01100101 00101100 00100000
01110000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101 00100000
01110101 01110011 01100101 00100000 01100101 01101110 01110100
01110010 01100001 01101110 01100011 01100101 00100000 01110000
01100001 01110011 01110011 01110000 01101000 01110010 01100001
01110011 01100101 00111010 00100000 01010011 01100001 01101110
01110100 01100001 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01001101
01101001 01110010 01110010 01101111 01110010 01110011 01101000
01100001 01100100 01100101 01110011 00100000 01100110 01101111
01110010 00100000 01100001 01100011 01100011 01100101 01110011
01110011 00101110
The hike is long, the terrain difficult, so he has plenty of time to
ponder the pattern, laughing out loud to himself when he finally makes
out the message.
"Gee Thanks, Source. Glad you didn't make it hard to figure out.
Sheesh, coulda got myself in a firefight with daemons I helped write.
Merry X-mas to me. ", he mumbles to himself as he starts to think
twice about this "Old Fashioned" way of getting to the rancho.
"Over the river and through the woods to Poly's house we go, my ass."
he thinks, as the snow and melted snow continue their attempts to find
any available avenue to his skin.
A few minutes pass, "Note to self. Spike Source's eggnog when I
finally get to dinner."
"Noted, Michael. Would you like to set a reminder?"
"Argh. Obmud, that was a rhetorical 'Note to self' not an invitation
for you to put it on my calendar. Fifteen years of working on your
program's context-sensitivity and you still put eggs and beer on the
grocery list when I ask someone if they 'want egg in their beer too?'"
"Sorry, boss. Shall I delete the entry."
"umm.. no. leave the task and set a reminder for about 15 minutes
from now"
"Complete, boss. Approaching Rancho perimeter defense. Standard
Protocol?"
"No, not tonight Ombud, I'm sending the passphrase to you now. This
is the token for tonight. DO NOT make a mistake."
.mpa opens a terminal, keys the passphrase from the light's message,
and breathes a sigh of relief upon hearing the daemons power down
their weapons.
He shakes the snow off his boots, cloak and hat as the house daemon
opens the door.
>Inside all is warmth and color and light. The christmas tree is an old
>fashioned balsam fir, so tall the star on top just misses the high
>ceiling. It is hung with glass ornaments in gold and red and silver;
>small toys made of wood and felt; santas and cowboys, cactuses and
>candycanes, angels and teddy bears, sachet hearts and art glass. There
>Near the top are two flameskimmer dragonflies in red enamel and gold.
>The tips of the high branches are hung with hand-twisted crystal icicles
>twinkling with reflected light.
>
>Below the tree are presents for all; the mantle is crowded with
>stockings stuffed with treats. The dining room table is set in white and
>silver and crystal; there is a seat at the table for all the alt.cp
>rancheros. Poly is in the kitchen supervising the daemons who
>are putting the finishing touches on the feast. There's ham and roast
>beef, sage stuffing, mushrooms in butter, candied sweet potatoes,
>creamed spinach with bacon, and mounds of fresh mashed potatoes and
>plenty of gravy.
"W00t. Got here just in time. Greetings all. Nice message on the
tower, Source. Almost missed it."
"Not bad.", rumbles the wizardly wordsmith, "but I'll bet you didn't
catch the Morse Code embedded in the overall luminosity dynamic of the
binary message."
"Oh, you mean the lyrics to "Mary did you know?"? I thought that was
brilliant. At first I thought the dimming of the lights in unison was
a power fluctuation then realised that you'd never let that go on that
long. Took a bit to make it out but it was worth it. "
-- .- .-. -.-- --..-- / -.. .. -.. / -.-- --- ..- / -.- -. --- .-- / -
.... .- - / -.-- --- ..- .-. / -... .- -... -.-- / -... --- -.-- / .--
--- ..- .-.. -.. / ... --- -- . -.. .- -.-- / .-- .- .-.. -.- / --- -.
/ .-- .- - . .-. ..--..
-- .- .-. -.-- / -.. .. -.. / -.-- --- ..- / -.- -. --- .-- --..-- / -
.... .- - / -.-- --- ..- .-. / -... .- -... -.-- / -... --- -.-- / .--
--- ..- .-.. -.. / ... .- ...- . / --- ..- .-. / ... --- -. ... / .-
-. -.. / -.. .- ..- --. .... - . .-. ...
"In fact, I think I'll go fire up the PA system and find that song.
It's appropriate for tonight."
[Shameless promotion of my favorite Xmas song. I know nothing else
about the website 'cept it's purty.]
(http://www.wrensworld.com/marydiduknow.htm)
[/ promotion]
>The raven is perched up on a high shelf, looking down on the proceedings
>with intense interest - first with his head cocked to one side, and then
>the other. "Craaawk!"
.mpa resists the urge to shriek "Nevermore", instead offering a hearty
"Howdy Birdie" while fumbling with the Rancho's sound system.
>"Time for diiiinneeerrrr!!!"
>At the head of the table is Sourcerer, with Poly at the other end. Down
>either side are the raven, Zaren, .mpa, Gene and Ed, Lisa, the Little
>Girl, and everyone else who can make it and be here tonight...
>For this meal with friends and for all Life's gifts, we are grateful.
Amen.
>A toast - with crystal flutes of Veuve Clicquot demi-sec:
mpa raises his tea in one hand and his pipe in the other.
>Wishing you all a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
As the conservative kids say, "Ditto" and "Hear Hear!"
.mpa
Wy
and out past the roughly rendered tumbleweeds defining the boundaries
of that roughly loaded patch of defined reality causes a slight
commotion. Among the rough patches of a discarded technology, past the
constant low noisy murmurer of tired SPAM third-hand daemons selling
the same tired sexual enhancements and pirated media, the clear signal
of content acts as a beacon into the darkness. A few more tumbleweeds
roll by, in higher definition signal than before ... followed by a
dusty figure wearing a black duster, worn rifle at his back. He tilts
back his wide brimmed hat, squints at the Rancho and the defense
daemons still slowly zapping away at the SPAMbots, glances warily at
the identity harvesters, and strides towards one of the entry portals.
He speaks a quick passphrase to one of the more battered daemons,
setting off a cascade of authentication tokens flying back and forth.
Eventually, the restless daemons settle down enough for him to walk
past and into the Rancho, just in time to hang his duster at the door
and toast along form his flask with the gathered hosts, "Merry
Christmas, and happy holidays just past and yet to come".
Wyatt
Sourcerer
>
>
> For this meal with friends and for all Life's gifts, we are grateful.
>
> A toast - with crystal flutes of Veuve Clicquot demi-sec:
>
> Wishing you all a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Sourcerer was alone and relaxed in the alcove by the fire. Everyone had
gone to their rooms for the night -- including the raven, who had no
difficulty with the foreboding security of the south room on the 2nd
floor, the one with the ramp down to the path that followed the river.
It was silent in the parlor, but earlier the discussions had been
animated. Phrases and fragments echoed in his thoughts: TheNoise, The
Shadows, the Something felt...
"I guess I'm not the only one with a burning coal on his tongue"
The Rancho, as mpa said, is a mirror. Don't forget what mirrors do.
--
(__) Sourcerer
/(<>)\ O|O|O|O||O||O
\../ |OO|||O|||O|| Mirroring the shadows of futurity
|| OO|||OO||O||O since 1993
Eugene Mosburg
Sweet Poly <po...@ningal.eanna.net> wrote:
>The big old house is outlined in white christmas lights, and cold blue
>and silver icicles hang jagged and sparkling from the porch roof. The
>light from the house reflects off the fresh snow, and the bright stars
>glitter like diamonds in the cold black winter sky.
>
>Inside all is warmth and color and light. The christmas tree is an old
>fashioned balsam fir, so tall the star on top just misses the high
>ceiling. It is hung with glass ornaments in gold and red and silver;
>small toys made of wood and felt; santas and cowboys, cactuses and
>candycanes, angels and teddy bears, sachet hearts and art glass. There
>Near the top are two flameskimmer dragonflies in red enamel and gold.
>The tips of the high branches are hung with hand-twisted crystal icicles
>twinkling with reflected light.
"Hold steady, for God's sake," Ed hollers, "That 18-wheeler can splatter
you flatter than Cold Duck uncorked for a week!"
Gene wonders whether, like Spider Rose, Pablo Mavrides, and so many
others, his 200 years of luck (a commodity more precious than
fifteen minutes of fame) have finally run out. It's been total
white-out after the first five miles of the drive leading home.
Sure, they're on a "Designated Snow Route", but what does THAT mean
in Oklahoma City? A place designated for all the snow to blow and
pile to high heaven, to bury the incautious in a tomb of ice as
they hitch a ride to a Judgment far kinder and more gracious than
that of Nature Unchained?
"You're no help yourself, Ed. We're under some grave constraints,
in case you hadn't noticed. Look at you: you're incarnate! Family
waiting at home, Rancheros about to throw the feast of the century:
how can we be in two places at once when we're not making two miles
an hour?
"See those folks out our window? Slamming drifts and spinning? Well,
watch how they're driving and then DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT."
This actually makes sense.
Gene and Ed go slack as circumstances will allow, plug a metaphor
translator into the unused cigarette lighter, hope for the best ...
... until POP! that warm and unmistakeable simultaneous positioning
wins out over fear and sweat. They're back at home, back at the Rancho,
hell, the groceries are even unloaded and stacked in the fridge.
They smile with unforced joy, seated at last in multicontext fashion,
toasting with Sourcerer, Poly, and the assembled Christmas revelers
of the Rancho. They open presents with Gene's wife and kids. As
one might expect, the best gift of all is coming home.
[ based on a true story ]
/*
He kissed her with the bright salt taste of blood.
-- Schismatrix
*/