“I’m a Princess” Rory says almost every morning when I get her dressed. It might be the dress or skirt I put her in or it might be that this little girl has taken on the mentality many of us do during our childhood – a place of importance. Where does that innate confidence come…
“It was possible to force a mind meld on an unwilling subject, but most Vulcans would be loath to do so, unless under the most dire circumstances. An exception may be the Vulcans of the mirror universe, whose ethical constraints, shaped by the savagery of their environment, were far different.”[i]
I am driving on the interstate heading west. Through the wintery trees and between worn guardrails, my path curves up the on-ramp. Carefully I check blind spots. Merging onto the road now heading south, I accelerate.
“Is ten.” he says “What? No, it is six…wait, what did you say Ryder?” I ask after half listening between packing lunches, making breakfast, hearing a baby cry. “Three plus three plus two plus two is ten, right?” he responds. “Um, yes, actually, that is correct.” I reply slowly as I add what he said…
A pure white pig sat in front of us. Round and still. Rory dipped her red paintbrush into the bright sticky colors of paint and began to stroke over the smooth surface. I whispered in her ear to add a dab here or there. To scoop another color into the thick bristles of the brush…