OldEarth Melchior Encounter Excerpt

Our Natures That Deceive

King Radburn waved Lord Gerard’s comment away. “I accept your offer, good Father. I know that once you hear all the facts, you will see fit to punish the guilty and free the innocent. I have no other interest in my mind.” The king smiled benignly.

The widow snorted this time.

Harold smiled and settled his stance into a comfortable position. This ought to prove interesting, if nothing else.

It took the better part of the morning for everyone to have his say, recalling events as they knew them. Father Neumann listened carefully and interrupted several times to ask detailed questions.

Though he had not been near the actual scene, Harold could soon imagine the series of events in vivid detail.

Servants slipped in twice, offering food and drink. No one ate, though many accepted drinks.

In the dwindling afternoon heat, Wilfred was finally allowed a chance to give his account of what happened. His summary sounded like the desperate pleas of an already condemned man. “Everyone was screaming and shouting. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran!”

Harold furrowed his brow, perplexed. Though it seemed clear to him that Wilfred did not kill Lady Nadine, it was equally obvious that no one else in the room had either. Too many witnesses testified that everyone in the room had been somewhere else when the deed was done. Still, something about Lord Gerard’s testimony did not add up, and Father Neumann’s frequent glances at his brother priest hinted at his doubts.

In red-faced passion, Lord Gerard stood up, pointing his finger at the boy and shouting, “You little liar! You arranged to meet my daughter outside the hall, and when Lady Nadine found you, she tried to stop you, and you—like the coward you are—stabbed her!”

Grasping the edge of the table for support, Wilfred’s face drained of all color. “I didn’t! I swear it! I was going to meet your daughter, that’s true, but we never saw each other. I heard someone calling, and I became frightened, so I hid. I saw Lady Nadine come forward, a-a-and-I saw her fall into your arms.”

Everyone stared at Lord Gerard, who had grown pale in turn. “How dare you accuse me? I’m not the one on trial!”

Nolan climbed to his feet. “You, as well as anyone, had a good reason to kill the lady.” He leaned over the table and looked meaningfully at Lord Gerard. “Melchior told me about Wilfred.”

Widow Brunswick wavered to her feet, strands of hair flailing like naughty children from the crooked bun on her head, and pointed a shaky finger accusingly. “Yes, he certainly did have good reason to wish his wife dead and this boy to take the blame! His wife hid the fact that she had switched her living son for a dead one, and Wilfred was really her own. How long have you known the truth, Lord Gerard?”

Lord Gerard fell heavily back onto his chair. “By the gods, I didn’t know. Not until the king told me yesterday.”

All eyes swiveled toward the king.

Widow Brunswick let out a cackling, half-mad laugh. “He has his own secrets to keep, so he thought to cover them with other men’s tales. He killed his own son yesterday, though he professes he knew nothing of the matter.”

Father Neumann gasped.

The widow wagged her head. “We are not among angels, Father.”

~~~

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page

https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey

https://amzn.to/3nyfkEJ

OldEarth Melchior features many of the best aspects of both historical and science fiction.~Reedsy/Discovery

the overarching plot with the aliens ties everything together to make a cohesive, epic novel… ~IndieReader

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/lake-district-landscape-sky-clouds-1009459/

OldEarth Georgios Encounter Excerpt

What Just Happened?

—Gaelic Lands—

Seanan struggled to his feet. He had been having a good time, but the scent of morning was in the air, and birds stirred in their nests. It was time to finish this celebration so that he could attend to the duties of the day. Unsteady, he had to step closer to Gutun to grasp the cup. He drank a good measure and then tried to decide who should have it next.

Gutun bumped Seanan’s arm, knocking the cup aside. He snatched it, poured in another full measure, and with a wide grin handed it back to Seanan, nudging him toward Rueben.

Irritated, Seanan drew back. He hated it when Gutun touched him. Such long, dirty fingers made him feel as if death were trying to grab him. Instinctively, he did the opposite of what Gutun wanted. Alexios certainly looked like he needed a drink.

With furrowed brow and confused eyes, Alexios shook his head in refusal.

Quick to save Alexios any discomfort, Marcus accepted on his behalf. He took the cup and drank deeply. Gutun’s cheeks flushed, and he seethed with spittle forming on his lips. He clawed at the cup.

“This was your idea. Remember?” He looked around and met Rueben’s stern expression. Clearly, he rebelled at the thought of drinking to a foreign god. Only Georgios and Ian were left.

Gutun’s fingers darted as he spluttered, “Give it to me! It’s not your place to offer to the gods!”

Weariness mixed with rage boiled Seanan’s blood. “Oh? Why don’t you enjoy good fortune yourself! Here, take a drink!” He smashed the cup into Gutun’s face.

Gutun jerked backward.

Georgios stood and reached for the cup. “Stop. I’ll drink. Then we can end—”

Ian called out. “Wait! Something is wrong with the Roman.”

Marcus clutched the air as spasms rippled over his body.

Ian jerked forward, knocking Seanan aside.

The mead splashed on Gutun’s face. “Aye!” He leapt to his feet, frantically wiping his lips.

All eyes snapped to Marcus as he fell limp, his eyes wide and terror-stricken. The frantic struggle, sudden and horrible, ended abruptly.

Alexios screamed, “No!” as he grabbed Marcus’ tunic and shook him as if to wake the man from slumber.

Georgios knelt at his father’s side, pried his fingers free, and closed Marcus’ eyes.

As one body, all eyes turned to Gutun.

Gutun jumped to his feet and pointed accusingly from Marcus to Alexios and finally to Rueben. His high-pitched scream sent early birds screeching from their nests into the dawn. “The gods have judged! They are guilty of heinous crimes. Kill them, now!”

A raucous din of voices rose as clansmen argued in favor or against the clan priest.

Seanan thrust his arms into the air, demanding silence. His voice matched his mood, furious and quite sober. He glared at Gutun. “I was going to offer that cup to my son! Georgios, who fought against our enemy, was about to drink from that cup! Of course, you wanted me to give it to Rueben first!” Rage blinded Seanan. “You wanted me to poison your rival? You devil!” Seanan swung at Gutun, but his encounters with the resplendent jug of ale ruined his aim.

Gutun ducked.

The fearful crowd sobered quickly, offering no response.

Tainair grabbed Gutun’s shoulder. “You’ve escaped the punishment due to a traitor once too often. We can’t trust you to live any longer.”

Ronan stepped up and gripped Gutun’s other shoulder. Together, the two men forced Gutun onto his knees. Seanan slipped his knife from his belt.

Stunned, Gutun stared wild-eyed, his gaze darting around the crowd. “The gods will demand your blood if you harm a hair—”

Georgios clutched Ronan’s arm. “Wait! I was an outsider and yet you welcomed me. My father was your enemy, and yet you allowed him to live. You have done no wrong in offering forgiveness. Let me take Gutun into exile. Then you will be free of him without blood on your hands.”

Seanan glared at Georgios as he spoke, his words flying in a spluttering spray. “I don’t mind killing him, Georgios! It will be my pleasure!” He stared hard at Gutun. “I will rid the world of his treachery!”

His arms flapping helplessly, Georgios shook his head. “But—”

Rueben gripped Gutun’s shoulder, as if claiming him. “He meant to kill me, so he’s mine.”

Seanan tried to regain control of the situation. “He must die!”

Rueben stared Seanan in the eye. “In the end, he may prefer death.” In silent understanding, Georgios and Rueben asked for rope, bound Gutun hand and foot, and led him away.

Seanan faced his eldest son. “What just happened?”

With red-rimmed eyes and a face drained of all color, Ian offered a weak smile. “Many think that the gods will seek vengeance if we kill their priest. This way, if he lives or dies, it’ll be the providence of the gods.”

Seanan pursed his lips in a petulant pout. “It won’t break my heart if he falls overboard during the journey. He’d survive. He’s the sort that always does.”

~~~

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page

https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey

https://amzn.to/3v7w8oI

“Nice adventure book interlaced with sacred moments.”

“…romance, trial, and faith.”

“A wonderful story of adventure and courage…” 

“Inspiring tale for young and old.”

In the first century AD, Georgios, must battle a world of dark secrets, deceptive promises, and hope renewed to discover the true meaning of fatherhood. A mysterious alien condemns the human race, but the watching universe looks to humanity for renewed strength.

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/fantasy-landscape-castle-mountains-4192535/

OldEarth Neb Encounter Excerpt

—Neb’s Village—As Evil as You Wish

Leah sat on the bank of a clear, flowing stream and watched the reflected clouds billow past in the small side pools.

The rushing flow bubbled and twinkled in the failing sunlight.

Her nausea rose and fell. Only the silent, still pools calmed her. She had relived her father’s death uncountable times and heard her brother’s defiant words repeated in her mind. Should she have chosen death?

She laid her hand on her belly, caressing her skin in slow, meditative circles.

As Meshullemeth scurried in the background, Leah shook her head. Always in a hurry but never doing anything.

Neb appeared, limping toward her, and a blush crept up her cheeks. He looks like a boy, an earnest child, with his heart pulsing through his eyes. A shiver ran over her arms.

Neb stood a moment, watching her. Pain etched a furrow across his brows.

With her hand resting comfortably on her belly, Leah met his gaze. “Are you all right?”

Neb jerked his head and attempted a smile. “I’m quite well. I came to check on you.”

Leah accepted this kindness. “I’m better. The baby is moving. He’ll be very strong.”

As he gentled himself onto the creek bank beside her, Neb’s smile grew genuine. “He’ll be the strongest baby under the sun.” He winced as he adjusted his leg.

Leah glanced aside until he was comfortably settled.

Neb turned his face to the setting sun, staring at the long shadows, and shivered.

Leah felt the child inside her body and knew that when this baby found his way into the world, Neb would lose himself. She smiled sweetly, though it tasted bitter.

“My mother has not been bothering you?”

Leah faced him. “Your mother?”

A flock of birds settled in a nearby tree, arranging themselves for a night of rest.

“No, why would she? I told her that all the decisions are yours, not mine.”

Neb nodded, his gaze downcast. “I do not mean that she would be unkind. I mean, rather, she wants the baby for herself.”

Her skin crawling, Leah wrapped her arms around her middle. “What do you mean? This child is ours, flesh of our flesh.”

Neb grunted. “She failed to mold me into the serving vessel she imagined, so now she wants to try with my son.” Neb gripped Leah’s arm, staring into her eyes. “She uses dark powers, and she’d stop at nothing to gain a new tool.”

Nausea rose from Leah’s middle. She tried to stand but crumpled on her attempt.

Using each other for leverage, Neb and Leah leaned on each other and rose to their feet. Neb clasped her arms, supportive and yet supported. “I didn’t want to upset you but rather warn you. My mother is not what she seems.”

Tears sprang to Leah’s eyes. “Is anyone?”

As if he had not heard, Neb wrapped his arm around her shoulder, hugging her close, and led her home.

The quiet bustle of families settling in for their evening meal, bees returning to their hives, birds warbling their goodnight songs, and a soft pink glow on the horizon mellowed Leah’s mood and reminded her of the still pools.

Neb’s voice, gentle but insistent, broke the peace. “Do you believe in me?”

Heavy, suffocating weariness enveloped Leah. “You are neither as good as you claim nor as evil as you wish.” Letting go of his grasp, Leah hobbled ahead, one hand rubbing her aching back while the other caressed the jerking kicks of her baby.

~~~

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page

https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey

https://amzn.to/3iGqGlQ

“A classic good vs evil scenario. Well written. Fast-paced and adventure-filled. Readers both young and old will enjoy.” ~My Book Addiction 

“…looks at humanity’s ancient past. The vivid descriptions of different clans bring early humanity alive. While part of a series, Neb works well as a standalone.” ~Rachel

Raised in a world of wild beasts, craven spirits, and noble souls, Neb dominates everyone around him. His mother feeds his lies, his father falls before him, and his brothers flee. Only in love does he meet a force he cannot resist. His wife bears two sons who take opposite paths. Neb’s curse follows both. Heaven and hell await their answer. Through the eyes of three alien worlds, so does the watching universe.

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/waterfalls-stream-trees-moss-falls-1908788/

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter Excerpt

Desert—God Help Me

Tobia watched Ishtar lead the sheep to their watering hole. Exhaustion sapped his strength and sorrow confused his thoughts. A faint light of hope tried to spark, but he could not keep it alight. He glanced down. The pain in his chest should show through…somehow. “Ishtar?”

With his gaze fastened on the sheep, Ishtar coaxed them to the waterhole. “Yes?”

“What happened to Vitus?”

Once the sheep began to lap at the water, Ishtar halted, propped his arm on his staff, and looked at Tobia. “When he lost his mind or when he lost his way in the desert?”

“Both.”

A grimace spread over Ishtar’s face. “I’m the last person you should ask.”

Tobia’s eyes glimmered. “But he’s dead now—gone forever. I should’ve kept a closer eye on him.”

With a quick shake of his head, Ishtar motioned toward a rocky outcropping. He waited for Tobia to shift into the shade and leaned against the cool wall. “When I first came here, I was a shell of a man, not unlike Vitus. I had neither eyes to see nor ears to hear. I was dead inside. But Matalah’s kindness rekindled a spark of life within me.”

“Was I not kind enough to Vitus?”

Waving as if to dismiss the thought, Ishtar glanced away. “Matalah gave me the freedom to decide—but I had to make the choice myself. In time, I decided to live and pay back his kindness. Only then could hope flourish.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Apparently, the Creator still has use for me.”

Tobia plopped down on the ground and sat cross-legged. “But it was God who struck down Vitus.”

“Are you sure?”

“Vitus called—demanded—that God speak with him and then lightning struck…”

Ishtar shook his head. “But He did not kill him, did He? Vitus followed in your footsteps for many a day after that.”

“But no one saved him when he wandered into the night. I didn’t even know he was gone until—”

Ishtar’s expression softened. “Tobia, you’re asking what happened between God and Vitus.” He peered over the horizon. “I can’t say and neither can you. All I know is—Matalah could not have saved me unless I wanted him to, and you could not save Vitus for the same reason.”

Pain tightened Tobia’s throat, and tears stung his eyes. “Ishtar?”

Ishtar met his gaze. “Yes?”

Longing tore through Tobia. “I want to go home.”

As a frolicking lamb nuzzled Ishtar’s hand, he patted it. “I’ll show you the way.”

~~~

Ishtar entered Matalah’s tent and bowed low.

Taking Ishtar’s hands, Matalah peered into his eyes, his face haggard and lined, looking older than his years. “Though my sons turned to evil, still, I pray on their behalf. May your fortune be better than mine.”

Ishtar blinked back tears. “I love you as I could never have loved my own father.”

Matalah nodded. “God knows…for I surely needed your love, my son.”

~~~

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page

https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey

https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

“Enjoyed the second book of the trilogy even more than the first and can’t wait for the next adventures…” Ellen

“The story was wonderful and well written.” ~Culver

“…characters walk in the sort of uncertainty that characterizes real-life” ~Pam

 “a complex tale of sorcery, slave raids, and heroic rescues – dramatic events that bring the pre-biblical world to life.” ~David 

Forced to leave his clan and his children behind, Ishtar staggers into a vast wilderness and encounters a desert nomad who loves him as a son. When foreign raiders approach, Ishtar must discover if he can move beyond madness, protect his people, and reclaim his family. Eager to know the source of Ishtar’s strength, a watching Universe must learn if humanity can save them from a spreading darkness.

Photo https://pixabay.com/images/search/desert%2C%20oasis%20/

OldEarth Aram Encounter—Excerpt

—Grasslands—Lake Clan— Believe Me

Aram and his men followed dusty footprints, scanning broken stems of grass and twigs crushed under hurried feet. The trail was so obvious—neither Namah nor Irad had taken much care. At one point, they found a crushed spot where one of them had fallen and the other had dragged the companion a short way. Aram’s eyes squinted. Surely, Namah could not drag Irad. But why would Irad drag Namah? If she were sick or exhausted, he could carry her. Sweat trickled down the inside of his tunic.

Who was Irad? The question came sudden and unbidden. Or rather, he clarified his thought, who had Irad become? Evil possesses the man, directing his actions. This was not the man he knew. Or had Irad always been different than he had imagined? Aram’s mind floundered on questions he could not answer.

When he came upon the footprints at the edge of the cliff, he peered around. No one—no body—was there. Then he glanced down.

A solitary figure crouched by the shore. Something floated in the water.

Scampering down a craggy pass, Aram let his men follow in due course and jumped from ledge to ledge. Finally, he slid to the shore. As he ran, sand flew in a backward spray. His gaze locked on his wife, and he came to an abrupt halt.

Namah crouched, huddled over, rocking and moaning.
Irad, his clothes billowing in the water, floated face down. Clenching his jaw against tearing pain in his middle, Aram lifted his head and strode to his wife. Crouching at her side, he laid a hand on her shoulder.

Namah continued to rock, shaking and groaning.

Lifting her chin, Aram peered into haunted eyes. Her face, streaked with mud and blood, held shock and grief so deeply etched that words failed. Aram wrapped his arms around her, and held her, rocking and groaning with her.

With a scream, Namah pulled away. She hesitated, her words dropped to a mere whisper. “It wasn’t my fault.” Swallowing, she cried. She gripped her leg in agony but still stared at the body. “He’s crazy—evil! You didn’t know him, Aram. But I did!”

Aram rubbed away the tears coursing down her face. He surveyed her body. Her leg lay twisted at an odd angle. Bile rose in his throat.

Gripping her thigh, Namah sobbed. “He tried to kill me, but I killed him. He killed Lamech—Shem—Anikar. Now he knows what it feels like.” Shivering through a feverous tremor, she clawed at her leg. “I’ll die too.”

Rising, Aram whistled to his men who scrambled to the shore. With quick instructions, they tore off their outer tunics and formed a soft cradle to carry Namah between them.

Holding her steady, Aram helped to carry her past the body of his one-time friend. He kept his eyes averted. They negotiated Namah up a gentle incline and started the journey home.

Namah whimpered, clutching at Aram’s arm. “You’d have killed him yourself. He’s an animal—a dangerous animal.” Her head sank back, and, covering her face, she sobbed.

Without willing it, Aram looked back. The floating body rocked with the ebb of the morning tide.

~~~

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey

https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

“…more complex and thought-provoking than your usual alien/human encounter.” ~D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

The history is fascinating, the characters are uniquely intriguing, the plot is very rich, and the events are fascinating.” ~OnlineBookClub.org

“Tense encounters, crisp action, failures of leadership, and dramatic surprises power the story’s main thrust…” ~BookLife Reviews

“Frailey writes in a crisp, lean, and richly detailed style, building a fascinating, absorbing world.” ~Blue Ink Review

Escape into a world of monstrous cats and epic journeys in the Tolkien style. Frailey succeeds in creating a new world, but also succeeds in spinning human emotions that keeps the reader grounded in timeless themes. ~Swegart

Aram must lead his clan to safety, protect an innocent man, forgive his wayward wife, and challenge a curse that haunts his soul. As Aram encounters both good and evil, an alien world watches and waits for their part to play in humanity’s future hope or despair.

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/waters-nature-mountain-lake-3102729/

Our Own Way

From ScienceNews.org

“Earth’s climatic future is uncertain, but the world needs to prepare for change…climate scientists also use these simulations to envision a range of different possible futures, particularly in response to climate-altering greenhouse gas emissions. These Choose Your Own Adventure–type scenarios aim to predict what’s to come…”

I am quite convinced of three points here—that the Earth’s climate is changing, that humans are stewards of the Earth, and that we are terrible at predicting anything.

The fact that the climate is changing seems rather obvious in light of the fact that once upon a time we were in an ice age and now we’re not. That we, as human beings with hot ideas and a penchant for making our lives simpler, easier, and more comfortable without realizing the cost, have altered the planet isn’t on the far side of believable. But I shake in my boots when we embrace “this is what the future looks like” scenarios. Not because they couldn’t possibly happen, but because, in a strange way, through our imagining them, we make them the very least likely thing to happen.

That’s where fiction comes in. The power of fiction is not that it simply tells an entertaining story, but good fiction tells the truth through an imaginary lie. Shadows outlining reality. Not how it actually is or is going to be, but shadowing the spirits of heroes and monsters stalking us through the highways and byways of human history.

I’m not suggesting that scientists can’t wring their hands with the best of us, worrying about our great-great-grandkids’ futures, but rather that we should take a cautionary peek inside ourselves as much as stare at threatening simulations.

As a teacher, I well remember the grand conferences where we’d gather in scholarly-bulk and the latest-greatest and most advanced reading programs would be laid before our wondering eyes. After a hearty lunch, we’d head back to our rooms and try to apply our newfound knowledge so that we could enflesh that glorious hope and teach our twenty-some kids to read. The next day, I’d have a kid whose mother threw a shoe at him on the way out the door, another child with an upset stomach, and one dad bellowing about the sports program. I’d scratch my head and pray I could manage to keep the class from breaking into hives, much less teach them to read.

In my Kindle Vella series, Homestead, I envision a rural homemaker trying to manage in a world where technology has crashed, and her husband doesn’t make it home. The key for her, teachers everywhere, and those humans who actually care about the Earth is that in order to achieve a noble end, we have to do a lot of little things right. And they have to be done at home. Up close and personal. Self-discipline married to selflessness.

Kids aren’t so keen to read when mom and dad are having emotional meltdowns. Improvements in the US, China, India, or any other country, aren’t going to happen simply because computer simulations show future generations wearing gas masks embedded in their skin.

The value of a good story, the ones that really stop human beings in their tracks, are the ones where we see ourselves reflected in the cause as well as the effect. It’s not because people are terrible, evil beings that we suffer climate change or any other danger. It’s because we like to travel far and fast, use air conditioners and refrigerators, eat lots of meat, and have our own way more than we care about long-term effects on others. Yes, we can make laws demanding lower emissions and whatnot, but as long as there are black-market buyers, there will be black-market sellers, and so it goes.

Whether we believe in a hot-house Earth, crashing technology, out of control bots, scammers extraordinaire, or whatever nightmare we can simulate, like Rosie, we must accept in our day-to-day lives, we are the homemakers or the home breakers—be it on the ground floor or in the middle of a solar system.

~~~

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page

https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey

Kindle Vella Homestead

https://amzn.to/3B79Qqz

Science News https://www.sciencenews.org/article/climate-change-projections-2500

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/children-future-america-usa-2883627/

Serious Repercussions

For a read-aloud of this post, check out https://anchor.fm/ann-frailey/episodes/Serious-Repercussions-e1b6vg0

“When it comes to fidelity, birds fit the bill: Over 90 percent of all bird species are monogamous and — mostly — stay faithful, perhaps none more famously than the majestic albatross…But when ocean waters are warmer than average, more of the birds split up, a new study finds… A bird may incorrectly attribute its stress to its partner, rather than the harsher environment, and separate even if hatching was successful, the researchers speculate…this might have much more serious repercussions…”

So now we know. Thank God, someone figured it out. Stress in relationships causes break-ups. Environmental stress might eventually lead to the depopulation of a species. Who saw that train wreck rattling over the cliff?

Tonight, according to the church calendar, Advent begins. What a year it has been. Lots of hills and valleys ranging from family members’ deaths to home improvements projects. On the world front, we plunge ahead despite pandemics, national and international tensions, and mental health breakdowns. The weather, in seeming mirror rhythm to human mood swings, zigs zags like lightning looking for an earthly target.

Though several significant people in my life have separated themselves from what they consider the mythology of religion and the rhythms of our liturgical seasons, I hang tight. Why? Because I believe that Christ was born on December 25th or that he rose again following the first Sunday after a full moon? Not particularly. I believe in God and His manifestations revealed through the Teachings and Traditions of His Church, not mere dates. I love the glory of our seasons for the same reason that birds find it more prosperous to stay faithful—life is best nurtured in its proper setting. I belong to God.

Reason allows us to comprehend the nature of birds, yet we humans tend to jump the tracks when we find ourselves part of the system of things, of the same fabric that makes everything around us flourish or smash into smithereens. The Image of the One who made us.

One of the reasons why I enjoy writing is because I can engage the larger world as a part of the story—animals, plants, stars in the sky, even the universe itself. Nature’s break-up reflects an exterior break-up. An interior one as well. I have enjoyed watching birds all my life, but I’ve never seen one stop and consider the meaning of its existence. Or demise. That is not its place in the scheme of things. That is ours. Our responsibility.

In my book, One Day at a Time—And Other Stories, the characters do, in some crisis, stop and consider. Life. Meaning. The best compliment I ever received was from an editor who said that after she finished my book, she couldn’t stop thinking about the characters. They even followed her into the garden. High praise indeed. I’d like to take all the credit, but that wouldn’t be fair. I may have come up with the ideas, but each character has his or her part to play, coming alive in ways I never imagined in the readers’ minds. And they manage to do that not because I have a truth to tell, a point to make, a lesson to teach, but rather because I try—in my squinted, one-eyed way—to see and then show what I see. The reader does the rest.

Unlike birds, we humans can avoid reaching the wrong conclusions about family, friends, workmates, lovers, perfect strangers, and even God. If we choose. We all need relief from stress. But our personal, cultural, and faith breakups may, as the researchers suggest, lead to “more serious repercussions.”

Perhaps, instead of breaking up, we should read a good book.

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page

https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey

https://amzn.to/2YFtQ5r

https://www.sciencenews.org/article/albatross-bird-divorce-ocean-warm-breeding-climate

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/universe-bird-space-stars-fantasy-2791114/

Cures for the Human Condition

For a read-aloud of this post, check out https://anchor.fm/ann-frailey/episodes/Cures-for-the-Human-Condition-e1ariog

“Samuel Stupp didn’t expect many surprises inside his lab after a 40-year career as a scientist. But something magical happened recently: His research team at Northwestern University developed an injection that seemed to prevent mice with spinal cord injuries from becoming paralyzed… Furthermore, it signaled the body to produce blood vessels, which are necessary for cells to repair themselves.”

https://news.yahoo.com/injection-dancing-molecules-could-prevent-130000651.html

I am constantly astonished at how much great good human beings are capable of doing—if we put our minds to it. What we put our minds to being the keywords.

My eldest daughter received a degree in Chemistry last May and started interviewing for jobs right away. She soon started working for a laboratory in St. Louis that studies human sleep cycles, deciphering human genetics from fruit flies, of all things. As someone who occasionally suffers from disturbed sleep, I’m keen to find sleep aides that don’t involve drugs. I learned long ago the price people pay for “relaxing” aids in various forms and have chosen to do without. Strangely enough, I have discovered that when I am awake tossing and turning, there is usually a good reason. Something in my life I need to process. A problem I must face. A decision to make. The very discomfort I endure speaks to me—teaches me. And it’s best I don’t fall asleep before I deal with it.

Pain, suffering, and crippling realities speak to the human condition. And we need to find aids, remedies, and cures. It is a wonderful testament to the human race that a man like Samuel Stupp can do the research and develop a therapy to assist people in such trying circumstances. How many sleepless nights did he endure in the process?

In our world of pandemics, rising cancer rates, horrifying health conditions, I have to wonder when we are curing and when we are escaping from the remedy we really need. In the case of spinal cord injuries, the situation is pretty obvious, and Stupp’s brilliance lights the path to hope and healing.

But how many tragic conditions today result from putting our minds and our bodies in damaging places?

I recently learned from an experienced nurse that certain people have a predisposition toward weak livers and that those people are at a higher risk for liver breakdown. For them even a bit of alcohol and drugs are the fast track to destruction. In my own life, I know that television shows, movies, and music can play a large part in my mental and emotional outlook on a given day. The darker the storyline, the more chaotic the music, the grittier my world view. Treats and sweets in the form of drinks and desserts are fun and a wonderful way to gather people for a festive party, but cavities and diabetes last longer.

Last year at this time, I reduced my online presence in order to detox from negativity swirling through its forums. Though I have reestablished contacts, I have realized, more than ever, the need to constantly evaluate where I am putting my mind, my body, and my soul. If I can’t sleep at night, I need to figure out why and deal with it—not override it.

Writing short stories has been a healthy avenue for me to traverse the mountain ranges of our human condition. I may not discover a remedy, but I reach an understanding that helps me direct my footsteps once again on the path toward wholeness. In my story, It Might Have Been, a man slides from his present life into a version of hell he did not really want but had chosen. How many times do we slip and slide into a life we don’t want, we rail against, but in truth, we chose for ourselves?

I wish there were cures for paralyzed spirits, the tragedy of getting stuck in hate mode, pointing fingers like gripers and complainers, becoming people who are certain-sure of our own rightness and everyone else’s wrongness. Maybe someday, a researcher will apply brilliant insight from mice to men, leading destructive behavior toward constructive lives. But until then, we must decide where we put ourselves rather than longing for a cure that may never come.

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey.

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page

https://www.amazon.com/author/akfrailey

It Might Have BeenAnd Other Stories

https://amzn.to/2XXdDDz

Photo https://pixabay.com/illustrations/research-virus-corona-coronavirus-5297028/

Inside and Outside Time

For a read-aloud of this post, check out https://anchor.fm/ann-frailey/episodes/Inside-and-Outside-Time-e1a7kcd

“Time is not absolute, and time has no direction.” I get this discombobulating bit of news from the New Scientist, who base their conclusions on no less than Einstein’s general theory of relativity. In another step forward—or backward—scientists from Australia suggest that they have proven, at least theoretically, that time travel is possible. Okay, so here we go!

A time traveler from 2714 posted in August warning that aliens were due to arrive “tomorrow.” His timing was off apparently as none of his predictions panned out. So far. Another time traveler from 3036 (Live Your Lie—spelled creatively) warns that we’re going to have a power outage lasting five years on account of “terrors” and pretty much nothing on earth will be the same. Well, without washing machines, I’d expect so. And a time traveler from 2582 suggests that humanity will experience three days of darkness at some point in our future.  

So where does all this leave me, someone who has trouble managing a one-hour switcheroo involving Daylight Savings Time?

I know for certain that when I am tired and I have a bunch of stuff to do, time drags unmercifully, but when I’ve settled down with a good book in a comfortable chair, hours zip by faster than the speed of light. So, my internal measurement of time is certainly unreliable and perhaps was never meant to be trusted as an absolute value.

I’m just pondering here—but might it be that our human experience of time is not so important in the measurement of a determined number of hours, days, and years, but rather the experience that occurs within that loosy-goosy framework?

My father passed away recently at the age of 92 on November 5th, 2021. My brother passed away at the age of 58 on January 15th, 2021. And my husband passed away at the age of 53 on December 15th, 2013. My husband was the father of eight kids, the youngest barely five years old when he died. My brother was a much-loved pastor of a large parish when he passed away. And my dad had lost the grandeur of his academic abilities long before he passed. All lived for a time, experienced a great deal, and died without anyone clicking a stopwatch to say, “time’s up.” Their “Earthly timeout” appeared random and untimely.

We humans like to control things. Our lives especially. Makes a great deal of sense to me. Out-of-control lives conjure images of chaos and the inherited hell of undisciplined excess—the lie that we can manage ourselves no matter what. But time itself has never really been within our grasp. Only, as Tolkien says through the character of Gandalf, “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

In my book My Road Goes Ever On, A Timeless Journey, I reflect on my life in the context of “my personal time”—minutes, hours, days, years given to me to use as I decide. When waiting in a traffic snarl or dealing with a long-talker, I may complain that my time has been “stolen,” but really, I own my time as I do my life.

Over the years, I have become ever more impressed by the boundlessness of time. My ancestors undoubtedly fretted over much the same stuff that keeps me awake at night, though they may have used different terminology to color their meaning.

Why am I here?

Do I matter?

How long will I have here?

Questions are a form of caring. And my careful or careless life and the use of my time say everything about who I am and what my life on Earth means—yesterday, today, and into tomorrow’s forever.

I believe in eternity—an outside-of-time reality. I don’t understand it nor can I encompass it here on our spinning Earth. But it makes a great deal of sense if Einstein and our modern-day scientists are right. Time is all around us—yet beyond us. We exist within its confines but are not confined by it.

Will aliens arrive tomorrow? Will darkness surround us for three days? Will technology cease to light our homes for five years? God knows. Which is to say, I don’t know. In much the same way that God is within, and yet, beyond me, so I accept my limitations in a boundless existence.

Time will tell…

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/A.-K.-Frailey/e/B006WQTQCE  

Photo https://pixabay.com/illustrations/clock-time-management-time-3222267/

https://www.newscientist.com/article/2166665-why-now-doesnt-exist-and-other-strange-facts-about-time/ .

general theory of relativity 

https://www.ladbible.com/news/technology-scientists-claim-theyve-proven-time-travel-is-mathematically-possible-20200930

https://www.ladbible.com/news/news-aliens-to-arrive-on-earth-tomorrow-to-start-war-says-time-traveller-20210810

https://www.ladbible.com/news/viral-time-traveller-from-3036-makes-chilling-warning-about-future-20210628

https://www.ladbible.com/news/weird-time-traveler-claims-world-is-about-to-enter-three-days-of-darkness-20210502

Fact and Fiction Live In the Twilight Zone

For a read-aloud of this post, check out https://anchor.fm/ann-frailey/episodes/Fact-and-Fiction-Live-In-the-Twilight-Zone-e19s0sa

As a child, I wanted to know who the “good guys” were as opposed to the “bad guys.” Angels and devils jostled for position while I searched for my place in the world. The irony is that the bedrock of my identity, despite far more mechanized systems and the honest recognition of hidden realities, is clearer to me now than ever.

Growing up, robots were a part of the fiction genre. Though from the 1960s into the 1990s some form of “robots” did exist, they certainly weren’t a measurable influence in my daily life. I never thought of them or considered them “real.” Today, I can hardly live without them. Since bots typically imitate or replace human behavior and more than half of all web traffic is generated by bots, I depend upon them in innumerable ways on any given day. From bot managers that protect my website to chatbots, social bots, shopbots, web crawlers, and others, I wouldn’t even be able to get the answers I “need” from the Google Universe if they didn’t exist.

Does my world now sit on a bot fulcrum? Good bots assist my search needs, but bad bots hijack human credibility and try to steal my credit card info. Bots are a fact of life, a fiction story that has come true.

Once upon a time, “facts” seemed measurable and trustworthy. Robots were controllable. We knew where they began and we ended. Or where we began and they ended. Or… But now there are days when I answer the phone, ask a question online, or interact on social media, and I wonder—Who am I talking to? What am I talking to?

Is it any wonder that human beings stumble over who—and what—we are in response to this brave new world of ours?

I’ve never considered myself a mere human being existing in a natural world. Perhaps it is my Catholic upbringing which, though not particularly well-informed, nevertheless kept my head tilted in the up position—staring at the stars for a glimpse of the beyond, the life I could not see and didn’t expect to truly comprehend. I have always believed that I am part of a supernatural reality. My existence here on Earth feels more like a temporary exile than a home-sweet-home.

 When television shows offered science fiction stories like the Twilight Zone, I was okay with that. As far as I was concerned, life here has always been a twilight zone. We see but a veiled reality, flashes of truth, splintered fragments of each other’s wholeness.

Before you cart me off to the nearest Shady Side for the Mentally Unmoored, allow me to say that I am at peace with bots as well. I find it ironically amusing that we have created mechanical assistants who like angels and devils assist or haunt every step we take.

Truth, for me, is not found on Google. Certainty does not revolve around my limited human identity. I started writing about my human journey in a series of posts as my husband faced the end of his earthly existence, dying from Leukemia in his early 50s, and while I raised my young kids as a single mom. My Road Goes Ever On, Spiritual Being, Human Journey is not simply a plaintive catalog listing, “Boy, life sure is confusing as heck!” examples, but rather the tentative steps of a person attempting to find her identity, her purpose of existence, her value as a human being—and something more—in a world ever more dependent on unfeeling, non-human, mechanized systems.        

During the years I wrote those posts, I experienced a great deal of pain and joy, disaster and triumph, but the person that made me, me, remained much the same. Now, I see that as a good thing.

I have gotten to know myself on deeper levels and learned to trust my intuition and judgment. I am a better informed, perhaps a more completely formed, version of myself. And happily, I accept our bot-run reality as just another facet of our current twilight zone existence. If anything, it shows, ever more honestly, that there is more to life than facts, and fiction tells the truth in a world that we cannot fully see.

A. K. Frailey is the author of 15 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.

Make the most of life’s journey. 

For books by A. K. Frailey check out her Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/A.-K.-Frailey/e/B006WQTQCE

Photo https://pixabay.com/photos/landscape-fantasy-fantasy-landscape-3128819/