Originality isn’t Everything

Today I’m a lucky, lucky girl. I got to tour Kartchner Caverns, a marvelous experience carefully tailored to protect the living cave from the likes of us messy humans. We weren’t allowed to take anything in so we couldn’t drop anything by accident. No cameras, since flash photography can be destructive and people can’t be trusted. No gum lest someone decide to spit it somewhere unseen. No touching anything but the metal handrails. Our guide carried little flags, and if we accidentally brushed a rock in passing, she marked it for later cleaning. At one point our guide directed her flashlight upon the tracks the discoverers of the cave left in a mud-flat on one of their first explorations back in 1974. Every scientist who has had to cross since has walked in those tracks. Because of care like this, despite the cave having been open to the public for twenty years, over 80% of the cave floor has never been touched by a human.

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Changes

I am a creature of habit, and I tend to not do so well with changes, even positive ones.  But I am also a firm believer in making your own destiny, so sometimes those two ideas collide. Like right now.  I’m embarking on a huge life change.  It’s scary, it’s crazy, it’s the unknown.  But the basis of this is wanting to change my life, wanting to better myself.  Not being a victim of circumstance.  Unfortunately, that’s what my life has turned into — things keep happening and I react as best I can…but I’ve been feeling emotionally drained by it all.  And I have to put the blame where it belongs — on myself for making the choices I’ve made. None of these choices were bad choices per se.  I’d been in some difficult situations and at the time, the choice I made was the best one.  But now that I’m older and wiser, I’m starting to realize that things don’t have to stay the same.  I can change my life, change my destiny.

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Ray Bradbury: We Are All His Illegitimate Children

As you have probably heard, we lost speculative fiction giant Ray Bradbury last week. You can read tons of very nice, touching thoughts on what he did for science fiction around the internet. Of all the giants, he was the one who I felt I knew the best. Not because I read more of his stuff than anyone else. Not because a story of his touched me deeper than anyone else’s (though All Summer in a Day tends to make me cry). You see, I am Ray Bradbury’s bastard child. And so are you.  

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That Could Have Been Me

Last weekend, a man walked into a crowded food court here in Toronto and pulled out a gun. He had a target, who was killed. Six others were hurt, many others traumatized. Here’s the part that makes it really scary for me. I go to that mall, Eaton Centre, at least once a month. I’ve eaten in that very food court many times. It’s not going to look the same to me anymore. I don’t know about you, but when I hear about violence in my city, I rationalize.  That was a gang killing, or a bad area of town, or an argument at 3 AM outside a club. I know better than that. It wouldn’t happen to me. Except…it could.

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