Stranger in a Strange Land

Dear Friends, Family and Fellow Vagrants

Some of you must be wondering if I fell off the face of the planet. The answer is yes. Yes, and I have stumbled into a very odd place indeed! So clearly am I am stranger in a strange land here. The air is breathable, the land forms recognizable as such, and the populace no less varied than others encountered in my travels, but there the similarities stop. I am clearly not on the planet of my youth.

The inhabitants, while enjoying each other’s company well enough, maintain their most fundamental relationships with a species that appears to exist in many separate and contained environments. Hundreds of beings live within hand held bits of light and are able to communicate using hieroglyphics on a small illuminated screen. This symbiotic community may be tiny in stature, but clearly is vast in number.

When I arrived here I immediately learned of a rare, but highly sought after beast with detachable antlers. I have spent days receiving communication via the tiny species mentioned above reporting the trials and tribulations of those in pursuit of this beast. The prized creature is dispatched and the adults and older youth then gather together for hours and hours (21 to be exact) using very SHARP KNIVES to disassemble it. It is weighed, marked, and runners deliver the parts, sharing them or storing them for future use. I am lucky to have found myself among such an openhanded community.

These days the diet consists a great deal of apples, honey, something called kugel (which is very edible and worth trying to recreate when I get back home), and the beast (minus its antlers). Occasionally they use their bread to fortify the local rivers - which might explain all the variations on “kugel.”

Young and old here are extraordinary storytellers. The older often recite poetry about the many creatures found here, including the beasts with detachable antlers, a King of Fish that swims in their rivers (perhaps that is what the bread is for), as well as stories of loves lost and won.
Young beings everywhere here call me mom. It appears to be a designation of some sort, perhaps a variation on “Hey, You,” but certainly is not a rank or title. It can be said with distinct derision, most frequently it is just a means to get my attention, but I have noticed that quite often genuine warmth and affection are conveyed with that single word as well. Perhaps it is long the lines of a pet-name.

The youth here are bold, and often travel out of sight of the older community members. Typically, they spend their time in small herds whenever they can. Together they build fires, eat, and beat the snot out of each other with an enviable exuberance. They also share stories. All are heroic in nature and nearly all include intuitive details that make lengthy descriptions unnecessary. They know. Time and breath are in short supply here. Consequently, the youth encourage each other, as well as other community members, to save theirs whenever possible. Still stories get told. Sometimes they speak of love and the mundane details of service to the larger community, but that is quite common stuff among them. More often their stories are about the complicated craft of Star or War, as well as many battles from The War of Hammer!

Lately there has been contemplative chest beating, songs sorrowful and lively, and (I kid you not) the building of colorful make-shift shelters for sleeping in outside as the temperatures begin dropping towards freezing.

Yes, it is an unlikely place I find myself these days. I admit I have grown very fond of the youth (particularly that odd bunch that insist on call me “Mom?”) but I have not forgotten you.

On nights when the others sleep I work quietly, repairing my ship. Perhaps some of the youth would consider it an adventure to help me man her, we will see. I doubt I will return to the planet of my own youth anytime soon, but my wanderlust is far from sated. So watch the night skies for me, soon I may find myself on a planet near you.

Until Then, I remain yours.
Truly,
Jennifer
9/2010