Blog Archives

"Be Strong Enough to be Gentle"

8/27/2026

“His family asks that you honor his remarkable legacy by serving your communities and leading others with compassion, integrity and loyalty and always remember ‘be strong enough to be gentle,’”
People Magazine

In 2012, well over a decade ago, a funny artist I followed on DA posted this collab with Peter Cullen and Hasbro Children's Hospital.
https://www.deviantart.com/ninjaink/art/Voice-of-a-Generation-UPDATE-296726577
It was a single run of a tee-shirt with this design with all profits going to the hospital. I got one of course and wore it on my adventures.
Peter Cullen's family has posted that they want folks to direct their energy into helping other so I I thought I'd also post my personal favorite children's charity.

https://donorcare.net/Donation/MamaBabyHaiti

After the 2010 Earthquake my family doctor hopped on a plain and flew with a group of her friends (Dr.s and Midwives) out to the wreckage in hopes that they could help with mothers and babies. She asked for donations and I slipped her what little cash I could in a battered envelope. Things in Haiti were rough, it was hard to do their job, but out of this first trip came Mama Baby Haiti. They are focused on caring for pregnant mothers and their babies. Their moto is: "No more Mwen Regret Sa".
Anyway I thought this image was fitting as it was at one point personally approved by Peter Cullen himself.

Till all are one.

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Humans are Weird - Judgement

8/24/2026

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Humans are Weird - Judgement

Fourteenth Trill woke to a throbbing pain in his hindmost horns and twitched his nose in discomfort. He stretched a wing out to feel for his nearest wingmate, and then stretched further, and further, with his wings spread awkwardly he finally opened his eyes and looked around blearily in the crisp morning air. The rest of the wing was huddled along the north side of the perch tree, clearly seeking shelter from the earthy scented morning air in the lee of Brock’s massive coat. Fourteenth Trill grumbled to himself as he started to shuffle his paws along the branch. Someone might have poked him in the neck to let him know about the shift.
He paused and took another look at the huddled mass as a thermal of a thought filtered up to him. There were inside what was supposed to be a sealed base with a fully functional life support system. Why was it cold enough to induce a huddle at all? He heaved a sigh and stretched out his wings fully, exposing his winghooks to the nipping cold. He stretched out first one foot-paw and then the other before leaping off his perch and flying down to the always active display for the life support controls. He flipped up the cover from the read out and glared down at the Ranger Corps standard language display.
“And nothing is wrong,” he muttered to himself.
Every single readout and setting was displaying accurate reading and placement. But the vents to the outside air were fully open, letting the temperature drop far below the preferred levels. He probably should wait for Brock to wake up before fixing this. It wasn’t cold enough that they had to worry about hypothermia, but it was still cold, and as Wing Commander Fourteenth Trill he did have the authority. He cranked the control knob all the way over to the ground setting and stepped on the power button. The display briefly blinked off and Fourteenth Trill lightly clicked his winghook against the knob twelve times before pressing the power button and returning the knob to its previous position. Around him the system hummed and the soft clicking of the windows cycling shut promised the return of warmth. He was about to return to the sleeping wing but hesitated.
It was unlikely that any of the humans had noticed the temperature change. With their massive thermal banks, and bundled under their covering blankets they would probably have slept on unaffected even if the base temperature had reached equilibrium with the outside air. Heaving a sigh Wing Commander Fourteenth Click leapt up into the cold air and flew around the corner to where the massive mammals were currently slumbering under their blankets. That is, all except for Chief Engineer Brock Evelyn, whose massive head was raised, and whose face was pouting at something on the floor our of Fourteenth Trill’s line of sight.
Relieved that he wouldn’t have to wake the human and curious as to what had drawn that look from the fully adult mammal, Fourteenth Trill gave a quick sounding click into that corner of the room, and grimaced as he landed on a high window ledge where it would be easy for Brock to see him. That terrifying beast, three times the size of a Winged, full of far too many razor sharp teeth, and seemingly possessed of mind control over the humans in the base if that was possible, was coiled up returning the human’s gaze from the distant, dark corner of the room. One of its paws was placed on the body of some native rodent and its four eyes stared unblinkingly at the human. Fourteenth Trill was certain that had he been able to actually see it, the beast’s eyes would have glinted evilly as it worked it manipulations on the human.
“I keep telling Mittens that I’m diurnal,” Brock said in a whisper. “But the little goober keeps judging me! He thinks that if he is out getting meat for the winter at second moon-rise, I should be too.”
“I am judging you right now,” Fourteenth Trill pointed out, “but you are not looking at me.”
“For not being awake yet?” Brock asked rotating his head to flash his broad, flat teeth in a grin.
“For being awake when you should be sleeping,” Fourteenth Trill corrected him.
“Eh,” the human grunted, but started settling back onto its sleeping surface. “Judge away. You ain’t nearly as cute as Mittens. He’s got those soulful eyes.”
Fourteenth Trill licked in teeth in exasperation.
“You didn’t come in here just to scold me ‘bout my sleep schedule,” Brock offered with a yawn.
“The life-support system opened the windows again,” Fourteenth Trill replied.
“Did’ja log it?” Brock asked, his eyes blinking slowly.
“I will,” Fourteenth Trill confirmed.
“You little guys warm enough?” Brock asked.
“We are using your coat for a temporary shelter, but yes.” Fourteenth Trill said.
“S’fine,” Brock said with another yawn. “Should keep you plenty warm. I’ll start the seasonal system debug tomorrow and see if I can find-hey!” The human suddenly perked up. “Want me to send Mittens over? He’s got plenty of body heat to spare and can drape himself over the perch tree just fine.”
“No!” Fourteenth Trill said, feeling every touch of fur on his body stiffen and fluff out.
“Suit yourself,” Brock said with a yawn before dropping back to sleep.
Fourteenth Trill gave a final click into the dark corner, and was disconcerted to find only the torn body of the local rodent and no sign of Mittens. With a grunt he reminded himself that the creature really posed no danger to a Winged and took off for the sleep perch. He found a spot in the gradually loosening huddle by the medic and landed. He hung there for a few long, cold moments before jabbing the medic with his winghook. The medic grumbled but opened one eye.
“Do you really think that the Chief Engineer values the judgment of Mittens over me? A sapient being. A Wing Commander. His personal friend?” Fourteenth Trill demanded.
The medic blinked at him, gave a massive yawn, and very understandably really, lowered his head and gave him a solid headbutt before snuggling back into sleeping mass of the wing.

Author Betty Adams Books
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Humans are Weird - Lost and Found

8/17/2026

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Humans are Weird - Lost and Found

The warm angle of the front porch really wasn’t supposed to be a lounging site. Human feet trod quickly past the site, their focus on getting into the house, or getting out into the busy little community making the site theoretically dangerous for species who didn’t want to get stepped on. The ground limestone foundation had been pressed with tessellated patterns that were visually pleasing and kept the clumsy bipeds safe from slipping and throwing their falling gate out of pattern, but it tasted of nothing save the dust that collected in the groves. However if you had healthy scutes and sturdy scales, underlayed by reasonably dense bones, and an attractive layer of fat, well what did it matter if a human stepped on you? Just keep your snout safely tucked in the curve of your foreleg and at the cost of a few non-repentant apologies you had the whole morning to bask in the local sunlight.
If the grain scattered very, very well in your direction, one of the local domestic animals came and judged you a fitting headrest and came and basked with you. Sift, stretched out a claw and ‘scritiched’ the creature under its chin. It gave a grunt and the motion dislodged a small cloud of warning pheromones from its collar. Sift made a mental note to ask what its species designation was. It wasn’t a ‘cat’. Those creatures, despite being perfectly ideal for keeping local vermin off of grain stocks were rated as far too dangerous to exist in mixed colonies. Sift thought this was a bit of over caution, but it had been agreed to by the humans. This might be a ‘dog’ but the species had so much variety, supposedly going back long before the humans mastered genetic manipulation that it was hard to tell if a given mammal fell into that category. It had fur to be certain, and it was very dependent on human interaction.
The door of the dwelling swung open, knocking against the hip of the creature and it gave a mild huff of annoyance as it heaved its mass, up and away from the door. Mary stepped out, holding the little one on her hip, Sift felt a surge of now familiar admiration of the usefulness of the baby holding ledge humans had built in. Mary’s other hand held a container of the domestic creature’s food, a mix of grain and animal fat that it particularly enjoyed and it began to cavort around Mary’s feet while Mary scanned the ground with growing perplexity. She began examining the shelving with a wrinkled face and Sift lifted up her head and idly licked her teeth.
“Rooting around for something?” she asked.
Mary started and glanced down at her in surprise.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” she said, shifting the little one who was focused on drinking water out of a soft cup.
“Here I am,” Sift commented, wondering not for the first time exactly how human vision worked. “What are you looking for?”
“The food bowl for Snuffles,” Mary said indicating the animal who had decided to sit down and tremble with eagerness until its food was forthcoming.
Sift rolled over and lifted her snout to sniff with dramatic emphasis. Then she swung her tail to indicate a door set low and subtly into the wall of the structure.
“I smell the grain and rancid fat in here,” she said with a yawn.
Mary’s face creased in a frown and she set the little one down. Instantly it ran, smacking its fat little feet against the porch, to vigorously pet the creature. Snuffles started back with a wince, and then braced itself to accept the affection. Mary used her now free hand to open the door and pull out the container.
“How-” she started to ask, but the little human made a dash at the food bowl, hands eagerly out, and Snuffles sat back with a resigned sigh.
Mary snatched the little one up and scolded the very unrepentant child.
“We don’t steal Snuffles’s food!” she said.
Snuffles got back up and began happily rooting through the food.
“No one would have put the bowl in the utility access point,” Mary observed out loud.
“It has very small human handprints on the side,” Sift pointed out.
Mary squinted down at the bowl and blinked in surprise before turning her attention to her offspring.
“Why would you do that, you chubby little chonker?” she demanded, pinching the jiggling rolls of fat on the little human’s thighs?
The little one giggled and smacked her face. Mary with clear effort turned her laugh into a frown and captured the chubby little arm in a hand.
“We don’t smack Mommy,” she said in what was trying to be a firm tone.
Sift gurgled in amusement.
“But why?” the adult human demanded.
“The little one does see you putting bowls in similar storage places on a regular basis,” Sift pointed out.
Mary blinked down at her in startled thought until the little one used his other hand to reach up and smack her, and she had to repeat the gentle discipline. Human hatchlings, apparently hated being restrained, at least this one did. Once that was done Mary gave a rueful smile down at Sift.
“I guess you are right,” she admitted. “I’ll have to remember that little trick until he gets bored of it.”
Sift blinked up at the human as she went back in the house. The two of them had spent many long hours discussing human learning patterns. Mary was well aware of the fact that all sapient creatures learned by mimicking their elders to one degree or another, that this was the core of the universal concept of ‘play’. Yet it seemed that she had forgotten it. Sift yawned and flipped over, stretching her hind-claws against the texture of the porch. This might be yet another manifestation of ‘baby brain’ that Mary talked so much about. Or it might be something worth noting in her research journal. At the moment Snuffles was done eating, the sun was still at the perfect napping angle, and human architecture consistently made delightful sunning nooks.

Author Betty Adams Books
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Andy Weir is Not a Great Writer - He is a Brilliant MythMaker in the Tradition of George MacDonald

8/16/2026

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Andy Weir is Not a Great Writer - He is a Brilliant MythMaker in the Tradition of George MacDonald
https://youtu.be/YIaIydJdnHk?si=o043qIo9BILmUlE9

Author Betty Adams Books
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Humans are Weird - Vocabulary

8/10/2026

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Humans are Weird - Vocabulary

First Grandmother tilted her head at the carved wooden steps leading up to the human core-hive and ground her mandibles together. She tasted the salt from the air, some from the nearby saline sea, much from the mammals that were almost universally dozing in the warm summer sun. She adjusted her radiation shield and felt it scrape against her antenna in a way that told her the old antenitis would be flaring up soon, as it usually did when she got back from a wandering. She braced her three good legs, and gripped the handrail and stepped up. Her caution almost prevent her bad abdominal joint from sending a shooting pain into her thorax. She took a moment to collect herself once up on the porch, First Sister had warned her that the Mothers of this human hive were remarkably good at spotting hidden pain, before following the sound of a human voice around the wide porch.
“Howdy whoever you are! Come on over, we’re outside.”
As the voice indicated there were several mature humans sitting in that bizarre way they had of folding themselves around their singular couches. If First Grandmother wasn’t being eye-blind, there was one of the Fathers, and two of the Mothers. A few smaller humans sat half on the porch, apparently weaving grasses, and did not consider a visit from another hive’s Grandmother important enough to look up from their tasks. One of the Mothers was holding a very small human, so undeveloped as to be still on the vine, to her bare thorax. They seemed to be attached somehow, but First Grandmother was vaguely aware that humans were somewhat reticent about nudity and tried not to look to interested. The other Mother was playing with a slightly larger human child that she held on her thick upper legs, which did make a very convenient platform First Grandmother had to admit. The father stood and approached First Grandmother, his face splitting open to reveal unnaturally even mandible protrusions.
“First Grandmother!” He said holding out his hand in a greeting that she fortunately knew. “You are back from Tau Alpha! Any luck snagging us some lumberbacks?”
First Grandmother felt her frill stiffen at this rudeness. She didn’t know, couldn’t be expected to know who she was addressing. Was this the First or Second Father of this hive? Technically she didn’t know if he was a Father at all, he might be some random Uncle for all she knew. The humans had many of those or so she heard. However she stilled her reaction, a hard won habit from a lifetime of free-trading.
“Only some embryos,” she said. “They still did not trust my transport.”
The human nodded in understanding, scenting the air with dissapointment.
“This knucklehead is our hive’s Second Father,” the Mother with the attached child spoke up. “I am his Second Mother, and this,” she indicated the other mature human with a disturbing sideways tilt of her head, “is my Fourth Sister come to visit, Third Aunt to my children.”
First Grandmother gave a grateful nod of greeting to each, as Human Second Father laughed and made an apology before sitting back down, clearly not very chagrined by his lack of hospitality. They passed a few more pleasantries when First Grandmother tilted her head at the larger children.
“Those little ones,” she asked, “do they understand complex social issues? Or do they repeat what they hear without understanding?”
From the sudden interested their body language displayed the answer was probably yes to one of the questions at least First Grandmother speculated. The Sister stood with light, amused pheromones drifting from her body.
“I’ll take the kiddos down to play in the stream,” she suggested, as the three mature humans exchanged communication signals with their darting, bifocal eyes – the equivalent of subtle antenna curls if First Grandmother read the situation right. However having a reasonably unbiased Sister would probably improve the curl of the conversation she hoped to have.
“Sisters usually have very good perspectives,” First Grandmother clicked as the Human Father offered her a juice pouch – a fine, subtle gourd mix, First Grandmother noted with pleasure. In her experience humans tended to favor over rich drupe juices.
There was more of the disquieting, eye-movement communication, and the Father sent the scampering children to go ‘count the growth ring on the goats’ horns’, presumably a task that would keep them occupied and out of hearing while being reasonably safe, and the Sister sat back down with the little one on her lap.
“There is a word I learned in human common,” First Grandmother opened, “hypothetical.”
“So, you have a hypothetical question for us?” the Father asked, leaning back in his seat and taking a sip from his drink.
First Grandmother neither confirmed nor denied it.
“Suppose,” she began, “you had just arrived at your home-hive after a long journey, and instead of going straight into the chaos of your First Son’s garden you went for a brief scamper along the boundary of the forest.”
“That sounds pleasant,” agreed the Human Father, bobbing his head.
“Then you heard voices screaming out insults in a common language,” First Grandmother went on, feeling her antenna twitch with amusement.
“Less pleasant,” the Human Second Mother said, her pheromone profile shifting to something more tart with unease.
“And then you heard a rather random string of profanity, and words that were similar to parts of profanity, as if the person shouting them wasn’t quite sure of what the words were.”
“Confusing,” Humans Second Father, said, his pheromone profile starting to shift back to a light amused mix.
“And if it turned out to be some rather small, I do mean undeveloped for their species small, sapient creatures, hiding in a cove of the beach, shouting out these into the roaring of the ocean waves. And when they saw you they promptly stopped and changed color so dramatically that even someone half blind could notice it.”
There was a low gurgling sound that First Grandmother recognized as a ‘chuckle’ that started in the Sister and flowed around the three humans.
“Hypothetically speaking,” the Father began, “in this situation would the small sapient creatures have mentioned why they were shouting swear words at the waves?”
“Hypothetically speaking they might have claimed that they were practicing to increase their vocabulary,” First Grandmother replied. “Then, to continue the hypothetical, they might have begged you to not, ‘snitch’ on them...what does snitch mean?”
“Old slang for reporting behavior,” the Sister observed.
The group on the porch fell into silence and listened to the thumping and shouting coming from where the larger small children were ‘counting the growth rings’.
“Well, I supposed I’d have to report it to their family,” the Father said with what First Grandmother thought she identified with regret in his voice, “but that would kind of feel like snitching.”
“Yes,” First Grandmother said taking a sip of her juice. “Especially if you weren’t particularly sure about which hive the little ones belonged to.”
There was a pause in the conversation as a particularly loud thud and a distress cry came from the director of the goat pen.
“I told you so!” followed in an exasperated voice.
However from the unconcerned way in which the Mother tilted her head she didn’t gauge it to be a sound profile that warranted intervention.
“Welp,” the Father said as he finished his drink. “Thank you for presenting us with this very interesting hypothetical. It sounds like the surrounding hives would need to talk to their little ones about how to express strong feelings and the importance of not offending other hives, but to avoid resentment maybe they should wait a few days and talk about it in a sort of general way.”
“Would the existence of a printed list of these words alter that plan?” First Grandmother asked.
The chuckle sound went around the humans again.
“If the relevant humans could find the list it would certainly make a spontaneous discussion of the topic seem less like someone snitched,” the Father admitted.
“On another hypothetical,” First Grandmother asked even as she stood to go. “Would it be considered wrong if a little one was making and selling these lists for profit? Small trinkets and snacks?”
“Some little scammer is selling bad words?” the Sister demanded with an outright laugh.
“Hypothetically,” First Grandmother replied.
“Hypothetically,” agreed the Sister with a laugh, “that one could probably be found and talked to in person. The scamp. Even if no one talks, if one kiddo is found to be particularly rich in dodads that might be a sign.”
First Grandmother inclined her head in agreement and was about to reply when a rather large goat came tearing around the corner with a small human clinging to its collar, the goat darted under the porch, how it fit First Grandmother wasn’t quite sure, but the move effectively dislodged the small human who gave off a sound that apparently did warrant the attention of the adults. Feeling her presence no longer need First Grandmother trotted off towards her own hive, feeling that she had hoed her small line for inter-hive peace. It wasn’t comfortable being a ‘snitch’, but, all things considered it was better that she had had the experience than her mate. First Grandfather had opinions about innocence being corrupted and while she loved his passionate dedication to the little ones dearly, they did need to eventually kick their way out of his garden.

Author Betty Adams Books
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Patron Backer Physical Rewards Ordered

8/6/2026

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HCXWDTB5
Yay!
I have ordered the print version of the backer rewards from the printer!
They should be in my hands by August 28th. From there I will sign, squiggle, and ship them.

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NEW! Available to Buy on Amazon! HAW Book 4

8/5/2026

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“Humans are Weird: I Did the Math” Short, Absurd Science Fiction Stories
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HCXV8S92
#Book4 #SciFi #ScienceFiction #ShortStory #Aliens

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Preorder on Amazon NOW! Humans are Weird: I Did the Math

8/4/2026

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Finally! After months of delay (I drove 2600 miles it was a whole thing). "Humans are Weird: I Did the Math" is now avaliable for Pre-order on Amazon. The E-Book is ready to order and the Paperback will be up "within 72 hours" as per Amazon policy?
It will be up on Google, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo soon!
Even more absurd humans!

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Humans are Weird - The Liar

8/3/2026

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Humans are Weird - The Liar

This hemisphere had finished its gradual tilt away from the local star and the growing cold had filled every valley and hollow. The gloaming was empty of the sounds of insects save for the slow, lazy clicks of grubs deep in woody trunks, burrowing their way towards escape and growth when spring eventually brought warmth. Dimly, the thumping and grinding sounds of the humans’ chattel, shaggy massive beasts, came from the open fields where they ate the frozen ground cover.
Disrupts the Gradient allowed awareness to stir as the day slowly crept up closer to the freezing line. A few tendrils had suffered frostbite during the night and those were gently, slowly pulled further into the mass of warm compost. However Disrupts the Gradient had a lot of mass in these highland forests. High above the water table, the groves were safe from the worst flooding even in the worst of the spring rains, but there was little space between the mountain bedrock and the soil surface. Disrupts the Gradient stretched motile fibers and began calculating how much detritus would be necessary to create a thick enough ground cover to generate enough heat to stay aware. Deciding that there was plenty in the local grove, but that it would require most of the daylight hours to move all the detritus Disrupts the Gradient set to work.
By the time the horizon rose to diffuse the light of the local star through the atmosphere Disrupts the Gradient had enough dead leaves and bark fragments on the primary mounds at least to test the cold of the coming night. Just as satisfaction suggested slipping back into half-dormancy the steady rumbling of approaching mammals drew attention to the main path through the forest.
“Walk up!” came the clear ringing voice of the human matriarch, followed quickly by the intense barks of the small, fast canids that always accompanied her.
The pattering of small human feet in boots circled around the slower thumping of Grandma Morgan’s feet and stick.
Disrupts the Gradient considered giving attention to the trees to get a good look at the moving mammals, but decided against it. It was far to cold to comfortably extend photosensitive fibers, and there were so few evergreens in this section of the forest that it was effectively blind.
“-the saddest thing!” one of the small humans was saying. “Watching them die like that-”
Grandma Morgan gave a loud snort, that Disrupts the Gradient had learned meant that she considered something absurd.
“Don’t you girls believe that story!” Grandma Morgan said. “Bark up! Lazy coos, you’ll be warmer down in the valley.”
“Weren’t the people rescued from the Theta colony?” a small human asked.
“Sure they were,” Grandma Morgan said, “but your Great Uncle was but thirteen in Earth years when they were. There was no way he was a ranger then. It was a fine story though. Bark up!”
Grandma Morgan struck her stick into the path hard, reminding Disrupts the Gradient why it was unwise to lace the path with tendrils capable of feeling, and the sounds of the canids increased. The great, shaggy mammals began to low in protest and then moved faster and the humans stopped talking. Disrupts the Gradient felt the cold of the night seeping into half exposed tendrils and summoned them back to the main mass, mulling over this interaction.
The humans would have been coming from the highland camp where they were staging to move the great shaggy beasts and Disrupts the Gradient had left audio tendrils there. The plan was to get access to them in the spring, but this conversation suggested ideas that seemed worth pursuit. It took several hours of the night to connect and strengthen enough tendrils to bring full awareness on the highland camp and the horizon was falling below the direct rays of the star again before the memories warmed enough to play.
The humans were rushing about gathering the shaggy beasts with the aid of the canids, and then they paused to rest around a roaring fire. The Great Uncle, youngest brother to Grandma Morgan, had begun telling a story that he claimed was a tale of his time in the survey core rangers when they had been sent to offer relief to a colony that was on the verge of starvation. The small humans had clearly listened in quiet fascination, and even Grandma Morgan had listened without protest, and yet she had, according to her words, observed factual errors in the story.
Disrupts the Gradient mulled over this. Humans were usually quick to correct each other as soon as a factual inaccuracy was spotted. Why had she waited so long? The question drifted down in priority as the day closed again, and then drifted to the surface of awareness as the local star warmed the hemisphere. One night at a time the cold cycle passed and as the danger of spring flooding passed Disrupts the Gradient allowed tendrils to stretch back into the lowland floodplains where the humans built their dwellings on artificial hills.
It was several weeks before Grandma Morgan had time for a long discussion, when the great shaggy beasts were expelling their young from their bodies the matriarch was at her busiest. Finally the last female had expelled a healthy young male of her species and Disrupts the Gradient hummed for Grandma Morgan’s attention as she was sitting on her porch drinking a hot steaming mug of some drink.
“That you creeping thing?” Grandma Morgan asked, glaring down at the soil beneath her feet.
Disrupts the Gradient rustled the bush that gave the best view of her face and held most of the sound-sensitive fibers.
Grandma Morgan flicked her eyes up to it and leaned back in her chair with a humph of expelled breath.
“What are you creeping thing?” she demanded, before taking a sip of her drink.
Disrupts the Gradient did not think this required an answer as it was this human’s standard greeting in these conversations.
“I have a question about lies.”
Grandma Morgan’s eyebrows arched up and she snorted.
“You would,” she said.
Disrupts the Gradient accepted this as permission to go on.
“Can you get access to a memory from the time you moved the coos from the highland meadows to the midland meadows?”
Grandma Morgan hummed and set her chair to rocking back and forth with a push of her feet, the rhythmic creaking reverberated through the boards of the porch the chair perched on and down into the soil. After enough time had passed for the mammal to retrieve the memory set from the wet depths of her tangled brain matter Disrupts the gradient spoke.
“After the coos were gathered, but before you drove them down, you rested and Grate Uncle Darwin told a story.”
Grandma Morgan nodded and her wrinkled face-skin twisted in a smile.
“Told a pack of lies is what he did,” she said.
“Yet you did not challenge him,” Disrupts the Graident observed.
“And what business is that of your creeping thing?” Grandma Morgan demanded. “Always poking up your ears where they’ve no business to be.”
Disrupts the Gradient patiently let her words fade to a mutter before continuing.
“That you corrected your granddaughters’ understanding on the drive down the hill shows that you have opinions on the matter.”
Disrupts the Gradient paused again to let her complain of observation again.
“Why did you not simply prevent your brother from giving them the false information rather than correct it?”
Grandma Morgan gave a grunt and took a sip of her drink. The fragrant steam lifted up from the container and drifted over to Disrupts the Gradient’s chemo-receptors, blending a warm, fruit flavor with the damp, earth scents of spring soil.
“Couple of reasons,” Grandma Morgan finally said. “Yes, Young Ducky’s a liar, every family in the colony has one like him, and he has been from the time he could talk, but there is no harm in him.” She paused and grimaced. “Not so long as any cash money deal is done in clear, common writing,” she corrected herself. “And you probably wouldn’t want to go into business with him, not more than twice.”
In the pause that followed Disrupts the Gradient noted.
“It would seem there is some financial harm in him.”
Grandma Morgan sighed and nodded.
“I suppose what we mean by that is that a liar like Young Ducky, he won’t ever tell a lie to hurt someone. He won’t stir up trouble between married folk. He wouldn’t accuse someone of something they hadn’t done. He’s not vicious, just careless with other folks money.” She paused in thought. “And he doesn’t go hunting money to steal. He wouldn’t bother any foolish old women to trick them out of their money.”
She shook her head vigorously and glared at the bush.
“Besides,” she said in a curt tone, “the lie we are talking about, wasn’t that kind of lie. The thing about Young Ducky is that he loves to make people happy. To see them laugh and have a good time, and he has a memory in him. He remembers most everything a human can. So he tells stories. Good stories, fun stories, stories that children and adults alike remember.”
“And the information about the rescued colony was one such story?” Disrupts the Gradient asked.
Grandma Morgan nodded, the chair rocking faster and she worked over the memories.
“That story,” she said. “It did happen. In was in the screed-spread for years. It was just before Young Ducky’s time. It won’t hurt the girls to hear it like that, as a story that tastes of campfire and crisp air.”
“They why did you take the time to tell them of the lie?” Disrupts the Gradient asked.
“Well,” Grandma Morgan said, the rocking of her chair slowing down with her words. “Lies, and liars, no matter how fun they might be, are like creeping things. You can’t really do anything about them, not the ones that are family, so its best to know they are there.”
She turned her bi-focal eyes away from the communication bush and brought her cup to her lips meaningfully. Taking this as a dismissal Disrupts the Gradient let the conversation end and began processing all the information.

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