Monday, December 25, 2017

Time-and-Space Asylum Law

I’m an attorney specializing in time-and-space asylum law. I work for a nonprofit legal firm known as Terrestrial Charities. I don’t make nearly as much money as the attorneys who broker contracts with interplanetary businesses, but it’s a sacrifice I chose to make because I knew this is what I wanted to do before I even applied to law school.
This is a social issue that I care about deeply: I’m a second generation descendant of a temporal immigrant. My grandmother fled to the 26th century to escape from her abusive husband in the 21st century and seek a better life for her daughter (my mother). I never met my grandmother. For some reason, my mother was always secretive about what became of Grandma, even though she told her immigration story hundreds of times. All I know is that when my mom became an adult, Grandma disappeared. Was she kidnapped? Was she murdered? Did she retire and move to a home where the entire planet has paradise weather that’s perfect for retirement? Regardless, every temporal immigrant I help makes me feel like I’m helping Grandma and that I’ve giving them a chance, just like the attorney who helped her.
I also wanted to specialize in time-and-space asylum law because I have seen first-hand the prejudice that temporal immigrants faced. This includes the verbal abuse of being called names like “drifters,” a derogatory term for temporal immigrants, similar to the “wetback” term referring to Hispanic immigrants in the U.S. in the 20th and 21st centuries. 
Even those of us who were born in the 26th century are treated as second-class citizens. I take issue with that because temporal immigrants have made valuable contributions to 26th century society. Who built the spaceships that took the explorers to the far reaches of the solar system? Who designed the probes and telescopes that charted the known universe? I mean, just look at the president of the Intergalactic Conference! He’s half 20th century, and his wife is 100% 19th century. I don’t know what it is, but for some reason, the rich and powerful love to pick up their trophy wives from the 19th century. Maybe it’s because the women in those days went to great lengths to make their skin pale, and fair skin was back in vogue in the 26th century?
Sorry for the rant. I get really passionate when it comes to politics, especially when it comes to issues that directly affect me. I just hate hearing complaints from the old-timers (who were born well after the people they resent, I might add) claiming that temporal immigrants are a threat to “temporal purity” and that they drain temporal resources. What does that even mean? Ever since time travel was discovered in the late 21st century, when have the demographics of time been “pure”? When have we not relied on temporal immigrants? And what kind of resources are diminished by letting people travel back and forth between various epochs of time? And what about the retirees that love to take vacations in pre-time travel eras? Do they ever consider they can be just as much of a threat to “temporal purity” as the honest, hardworking temporal immigrants? And how is it, after 500 years of leaps and bounds in scientific advancement and cultural diversity, people are still making the same complaints that Americans used to make about Middle Eastern, Hispanic, Italian, Irish, Jewish, German, and Chinese immigrants in the 19th, 20th, and 21st centuries? Why don’t we learn the lessons of history?
That was another rant. Sorry.
Enough background. Here’s the story with my latest client:
I met her during a routine “Know Your Rights” presentation, which is an outreach program that Terrestrial Charities provides to detained temporal immigrants. After each of these presentations, we interview the detainees to see if there are any that need our legal representation (the Temporal Aliens Act provides a right to legal counsel for immigrants in temporal removal proceedings, but does not allow for court-appointed counsel to those cannot afford it).
At the risk of going into another rant, I just want to point the injustice of the authorities keeping temporal immigrants locked up with intergalactic criminals. It’s outrageous because breaking the law is worlds apart from trying to make a new life for yourself. For example, victims of domestic violence should not be lumped with murderers, drug dealers, or those who commit heinous crimes like spaceship theft or destruction of Intergalactic Conference property.
Sorry, no more rants.
I asked this woman the standard intake questions: place of birth, time period of birth, places and times of residence, etc. I have to ask these questions because the Intergalactic Conference recently passed the Temporal Aliens Act, mandating that any non-citizen of the 26th century had to be removed to their time period of origin but, as a compromise to public outrage, grants asylum to temporal immigrants who had a well-founded fear of persecution in their time period of origin.
She indicates that she was born in Miami, Florida, USA, Planet Earth, on January 25, 1992, and resided there continually until her departure in 2017.
“How did you end up here?”
She told me she was detained at the portal when Portal Patrol guards apprehended her. She was classified as an arriving “alien.” Not alien in the sense of extraterrestrials, but rather people who aren't from the 26th century. Funny thing, it’s 2517, Earth has colonies scattered throughout the solar system and has charted 63% of the known universe, yet it still hasn’t discovered intelligent life that didn’t originate on Earth. I would say more, but I promised no more rants.
“Are you afraid to return to 2017?”
Yes.
“Why?”
“My husband thought I was cheating on him and he said he’d kill me. He owns a major casino but doesn’t pay the bills or let me have any money, not even to buy a pair of shoes for myself, or to buy diapers and milk for our daughter. I tried reporting him to the police, but they never arrested him, never even followed up. I think it’s because he bribed them to do nothing because I saw him pass a brown paper bag to a cop and shake hands. When he found out I had reported his abuse to the police, he beat me until my ribs cracked, and told our daughter to stop crying, that there was no reason for her to cry. I had to drive myself to the hospital and bring my daughter with me because I was afraid of what my husband would do to her, and I was afraid that the paramedics would tell the police what happened, and that the police would tell him that I ran my mouth again. My doctor told me I was lucky to be alive, and that I needed to recuperate in the hospital for a couple of weeks.
“When I recovered, I decided that I couldn’t go home. I took my daughter with me and used my life savings to pay a smuggler to get me to the nearest time portal, as far in time and space from my husband as possible.”
My jaw drops and I’m speechless. I have heard this story, word-for-word, from my mother’s lips hundreds of times. There’s only one person this immigrant could be.
“Grandma?”

Saturday, June 3, 2017

Romulus Mission to Proxima b

[Excerpts from Romulus Mission Log]

Day 1096; Time 0500: This is Major Jeffrey Alan Johnson, signing in. Chip just brought me out of hypersleep so I can begin my year-long shift babysitting the ship while the other crew members sleep. He gave me crap about being a “tired old grandpa” and “asked if I could handle it.” Psh. I’m 37. He’s freaking 32. Sheesh. Kids these days. Who spent 10 years flying experimental aircraft for the Navy? That’s right, me. None of the three other crew members can say that, and I don’t care what fancy degrees they got from what prestigious colleges.


Chip claims he’s the lucky one now that his shift is ending, but I get the better end of the bargain: my shift will end with us plummeting like a missile through Proxima b’s atmosphere before rocking and rolling onto uncharted terrain. Oh, did I mention that this is the first manned space flight to a planet outside the solar system? And I get to be the Neil Armstrong of this voyage! It’s gonna be one hell of an adrenaline rush. Just have to wait 364 more days.


Day 1096; Time 0800: Just worked out, had breakfast, and showered, checked everyone’s vitals, ran diagnostics, and literally twiddled my thumbs for 20 minutes. And it’s still morning on earth. I AM BORED OUT OF MY MIND!!!! I’ll play some video games to pass the time until lunch. Yes, I’m a grown man and I play video games. I really have nothing better to do right now.


Day 1096; Time 1800: Just ate dinner. Gonna cheat and take my sleeping pills right now and go to bed early. Don’t tell mission control, ok? When I wake up, it will be a mere 363 days until atmospheric entry. I can hardly wait.


364 more days left.


Day 1097; Time 0500: Finally. A new day. Are we there yet?


363 more days left.


Day 1150; Time 1201: Asked the ship's computer on a date. She declined. I guess she doesn’t appreciate what a guy like me can provide her. Her loss.

310 days left.


Day 1151; Time 1400: I miss the gold old days of flying experimental aircraft for the Navy. The novelty of playing with new toys and the thrill of risking my life made life worth living and it got me some attention from some lovely human beings, specifically *female* human beings.

I wonder, will any of my exes will be sad if I die?

I still haven’t gotten over that rejection from yesterday.

309 days left.

Day 1200; Time 1335: Note to self: don’t send a human to do a robot’s job. The ship’s robots were scheduled to do some routine maintenance today, but I'm so damn bored I overrode the system and tried to do the maintenance manually. I suited up, went outside​, twisted some wrenches, and... punctured one of the oxygen tanks. Not wanting to end up like Apollo 13, especially with me dangling out in space. I somehow managed to fix problem. 

I was tempted to wake other crew members out of cryosleep, but I didn’t want to do that because once they’re taken out they can’t go back in, and there aren’t enough rations to last them all the way to the Romulus b.

I don’t like how easily the oxygen tank busted. I have a bad feeling about this.


260 days left.


Day 1250; Time 1700: Today's dinner rations were delicious! Holy cow! Why didn't they send us with more of these? A juicy prime rib, buttery corn on the cob, a gooey apple pie, topped off with an ice cold beer? Where has this been all my life? It’s better than any meal I had on earth.


210 days left


Day 1300; Time 0500: Just read the news report. What a yucky reminder of the politics back home. It drives me nuts when people say, “It’s just another space race.” Or “We already beat the Russians to the moon. We don’t need to beat them to Proxima b!” I hate feeling caught in the political crossfire. Why can’t we all just appreciate the marvel of space exploration?

I guess they’re just jealous they don’t get to make a grand appearance on a new planet on behalf of the citizens of earth. I’d be jealous if I were them. Good thing I’m me!


160 days left.


Day 1459; Time 2000 Tomorrow’s the big day! I can hardly sleep! The day I’ve been waiting for is almost here!

And to top it off, I’ll be having conversations with actual human beings again! I have so much to tell Chip and the others.

Hopefully he’ll forgive me for stealing his prime rib/corn on the cob/apple pie/beer ration. I think I earned myself a celebration. I’ll pay him back, I promise!


1 day left.


Day 1460; Time 0500 Chip, Jack, and Mary are all up from hypersleep. Time to start this rodeo!

[End of Crewmember Log Entries]

[System Updates]

Automatic system update: Heat shield punctured. Initiate emergency repair procedures.

Automatic system update: Emergency procedure failure.

Automatic system update: System temperatures critical. Initiate emergency cooling procedures.

Automatic system update: Insufficient system coolant. More system coolant needed.

Automatic system update: System coolant depleted.

Automatic system update: Guidance control malfunction.

Transcript of last transmission received from Aquila I: “Chip, I’m too young to die!”

[End of Romulus Mission Log]

Friday, October 16, 2015

Story of my deployment

During my fourth year in the Army, I got promoted to 2nd lieutenant. My first assignment was a deployment to Afghanistan. 
I thought it was ridiculous that I got that assignment because supposedly we were already gone from there. Kristina was upset about it, too.
Most of the deployment went off without a hitch. In fact, it was boring. Mostly desk work and some manual labor (I didn't see why I couldn't do the same thing at Camp Williams, but I didn't want to frustrate myself by thinking about it too much). Kristina was happy to see me during my leave halfway through.
During the last month, I was ordered to lead a supply convoy through Kabul.  I wasn't scared because there hadn't been reports of casualties there in years. Turns out my convoy had the dubious honor of being the first in that many years.
A rocket propelled grenade hit the first jeep which I was in. The driver was killed. I was hit with shrapnel in my left shoulder and thigh; the two soldiers in the back were unscathed.
I didn't feel my injuries at first. I was too adrenalized and pissed off. I thought to myself, "Really? I'm in this stupid country that I shouldn't even be in; I'm almost done with this deployment, and these thugs couldn't respect a simple SUPPLY CONVOY! I want to go home and see my wife, goddammit." 
Enraged, I hopped out of the busted humvee, yelling like a psycho gone berserk. I took cover behind the front driver's side, whipped out my .45 and shot at anything that moved. I don't know if I hit anybody, because they were far away, and because the Humvee behind us was laying waste to the bastards with the .50 caliber machine gun. 
After a few seconds, I felt a sudden tug on my right shoulder and I hear, "Get in the Humvee, Lieutenant! Now! We're outta here!" I hobbled to the back of the second Humvee, practically thrown in there by the Sergeant. As we flew out of there, my injuries finally started hurting. It was a miserable combination of needles and burns that I felt. I couldn't focus on being glad to be alive. All I could think of was the pain. The medic bandaged the wounds, stopped the bleeding, and gave me some Morphine. I passed out.
Next thing I knew, I was in a hospital. It didn't look familiar. "Morning, Lieutenant. You're in Rammstein hospital." "In Germany?" I asked in a daze. "Yes. And my name is Captain McNamee. I'll take care of you." That's Lucy Bednarz's husband. Later, Lucy (also an Army nurse) came in, commended me for my bravery, and says it's bittersweet to reunite with a friend after all these years in this way.
I got another surprise: the Army paid for my wife Kristina to fly to Germany and visit me. What a joyful reunion. I hadn't seen her beautiful face in too long. It made my heart feel good. "I lost weight, honey!" I laughed that that's the first thing she reports to me. "I went with Suzanne to do Zumba at the gym and I've been sticking to my gluten free diet. I wanted to look good for you when you came home."
"Honey, you didn't have to do that. You were always beautiful. But I'm proud of you for exercising and eating healthy." 
"I know, now I'm hot and I can finally fit in my old clothes." We both chuckled.
"Kristina!" I laughed, embarrassed, "I don't care what size you are." 
"I do." She smiles.
She caressed my arm, "Why did they do this to you? I wish I could talk to those bad guys and punch them in the face." We laughed again. 
"They're probably dead, honey." 
"I know, I just wish I could tell them, 'You know what? My husband is coming home soon and he's just delivering supplies. He's not here to kill anyone. Just leave him alone.'" 
"You're so sweet."
"And why did the Army even make you go in the first place? You're not supposed to be fighting on the front lines." 
"Believe me, honey, I've asked myself that a million times. But I guess since other guys are dying it's not fair to keep the rest of us out of harm's way." 
"I know. Do you have to do this every time?" 
"Probably not, especially with these injuries." 
"Ok. Just please think about getting out, alright? I enjoyed it while it lasted. It's time for you to be a daddy." 
My jaw dropped, "You're pregnant?" 
"Yes. I wanted to surprise you. Did you like the surprise?" 
"Yes!"

*This post is a work of fiction and is dedicated to the brave men and women in the armed forces.

My Family and the Zombie Apocalypse

While I'm hurrying to pack our stuff, Kristina goes to fresh market down the street. When she comes back several hours later, she said, "Hey, I tried to get all our stuff but it was jam packed and they were out of some of the stuff. I wish you were there to help me." I give her a hug and say, "Sorry, honey. Are you okay?" "Yeah, I guess, but some jerk ran into our car and now I'm not sure it can take us to Hill Air Force base." I examine it and realize she's right. It gets us partway there. Fortunately we have our bikes mounted on the car, so we can ride them to the nearest frontrunner station. Even though we're packed like sardines, the crisis isn't too chaotic yet, so the train still works... until it breaks down at Farmington. Most of the people are stuck, but we have our bikes.

It's still a long bike ride. Kristina stops and asks for a break. I hesitate but I agree to because her face is red with exhaustion and I am tired too. We find some shade under a tree, but I keep my hatchet on hand and vigilantly guard our spot while she catches her breath.

When she's had a minute to collect herself, she says "Okay, I think I can do this. I'm tired but I am not going to let that get to me." 

I yell, "Good because there's one right behind you move." She screams as it grabs her hair. I bury my hatchet in its skull. The relief is only momentary because we can hear the snarls of more zombies further down the street. 

Kristina panics and says, "What do I do what do I do what do I do?" 

I calmly instruct her to get on the bike and remind her that they shuffle slower than we walk, so as long as we keep moving on our bikes, we'll be way ahead of them. She still high tails it out of there as fast as she can pedal. I ask her to slow down a few times but she retorts, "No! I almost died last time! Do you want them to eat me?" Now she's more anxious to get to Hill Air Force base than I am.

It's good we brought our bikes because the road blocks have kept out all cars. It makes me wonder how authorized military vehicles get through. 

After going through the obstacle course, the guards stop us before we get to the gate. They point their rifles at us (I don't know what good that does. I guess that's their idea of "better safe than sorry.") and bark at us, "This is for military personnel and their dependents only." 

Thinking quickly I say, "I'm in the Utah National Guard." Not quite true because I'm a civilian employee *for* the National Guard, but my military ID doesn't say that. In any case, I know my brother is inside and he can get me through if my white lie doesn't work. Fortunately it works. The guard looks at my ID, glances at his supervisor for approval, then instructs us to go in.

You would never guess by looking inside this base that the world is descending into chaos. It's like a city on a normal day, business as usual. Grant happens to be doing PT with the people in his JAG unit. He stops, we hug. He splits from his group (they understand) to take us to the apartment that Sara, Mason, and Joshie are in. 

Chatting with Sara: "Bad timing that we got reassigned from Germany to Ogden right before the catastrophe, but it's good that we're here with you guys. I'm glad we got your message that you were coming before the servers went down." Then she jokes, "Looks like you guys end up at every one of our air force bases, come hell or high water... or zombies." A light hearted moment after the stress and panic.

We watch the sad news on TV everyday of the whole state of Utah (along with parts of Idaho, Arizona, Wyoming, Colorado, and Nevada) suffer an apocalyptic scenario. We have it easy inside the base.

I get to exercise in the mornings with Grant. Apparently one of their paralegals left to be with his family in Nevada, so they let me fill that position. When I told them the only legal experience I have is LSAT prep courses (haven't even taken the test), they said "Close enough." So I get some valuable work experience to keep my sanity.

I pass some of the time playing chess with Mason and helping him with his math homework. Although I don't think he really needs it; I'm the one who needs him to teach *me* how to do math.

Kristina spends most of her time hanging out with Sara, and then the wives of the other Air Force personnel.

Fortunately it gets contained after a few weeks. We can leave and we get a ride home on the bus and the train. Part two is rebuilding Utah.

Write about the prison in Draper, point of the mountain.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Refuge from virus outbreak


Friday, October 21, 2016, 9:02 pm Kristina and I have been holed up in the apartment for about a week now. How fitting it is that during the month of spooks that a freaky outbreak of this deadly virus occurs. It's spreading so fast that the WHO told everyone to stay inside so as to curb the spread.

It's like a... well, I don't want to sound like a nerd, but this is a lot like a zombie apocalypse. I even mentioned that to Kristina and she said, “Ew, don't make me think of zombies right now. They're scary.” It's just that exactly two years ago I read World War Z and that really got me interested in the zombie genre. I've read dozens of zombie books since then. But I'm avoiding them right now. Even though the Zombie Survival Guide actually has some decent survival advice, I'm not counting on it to save my life. Besides, we have bigger fish to fry than reading books (especially since that's a waste of daylight).

Now that things have settled down, I can write what happened at the start of this fiasco (and you can refer to my previous journal entries to find what's happened in between):

Kristina and I were driving home from Kim and Ned's to walk the dogs in our neighborhood. We're technically not allowed to do that, but Kristina does it anyway. Turned out to be a good thing. Dogs are great to have in a crisis—born out by World War Z (sorry, I'm still a zombie nerd).

So as soon as we pull in, we hear on KSL, then the rest of the radio stations, to self-quarantine in our homes. The virus--”the flyer,” they're calling it—is spreading at an alarming rate, and the WHO is still confused about what this virus is---they're not even sure it's a virus (“ virus-like strain” is what the news reports say) or how it is transmitted. IT's clear that it's airborne and can be transmitted through physical contact, but that doesn't account for all the cases. All they know is that it appears to stop with sedentary people. That's all they know.

They want to minimize risk to rescue personnel, especially since they can easily quicken the spread if they get infected.

They're using experimental delivery droids to deliver supplies (food, water, light sources, etc.) but it's slow going because it is new, untested, and overwhelmed, not to mention that each person needs different things.

I can see the wisdom of emergency preparedness. The prophets were right—be prepared!

Fortunately I'm a Boy Scout that is always prepared for an emergency. I have several dried emergency rations, bottled water, hand crank radio/flashlight. Some of it's kind of old, so Kristina lets me eat that while she eats the fresh groceries left over from last week's shopping.

A few more details:
  • no electricity. Employees at the power plants can't go to work. We've conserved our cell phones. Just a few phone calls and texts to check in with family and that's it.
  • A news report comes on 102.7 FM, KSL, every hour on the hour. They're pretty repetitive. So really it's only worth tuning in at 9, 12, AND 6. SAME SCHEDULE ON TV, if one can manage to turn on a television set. Radio is easiest to power since mine is handcrank. The car radio works, but we try to conserve that battery, too, and we may need the gas when we can get moving. And even just going out to the car is risky for us to catch the virus.
    News stations are all that's on.
  • We occupy ourselves by organizing our apartment and trying to solve this puzzle like everyone else. We also play Racko, Go Fish, and War.
  • Essential services have backup generators. For example, news media, community leaders, health officials, etc.
  • We're going nuts in here. I'm anxious for when we get the greenlight to leave our houses. More importantly, when in God's name will a cure be devised?
  • At night, this 100 hours “ candle” (wick, liquid fuel in plastic container) to do stuff at night. I've probably used too much candle just now but I feel a duty to record my experiences here on paper. Plus, I'm having trouble sleeping.
  • This reminds me of the Ebola outbreak in 2014. That was mild.

Sunday, June 8, 2014

A Magical Encounter

“Have a safe flight home, Mr. And Mrs. Gardner.”
“Thank you, Mr. Disney.”
“Oh, please, call me Walt.”
“Yeah, haha! We go by a first named basis.” chimed Mickey.
“Oh, sorry, Mr. Di... Walt. Well, you can call us Kevin and Kristina.”
“Sure, sure. We have noticed you and Kristina together and we are so happy for you.”
“Thank you, Walt. But, I'm not sure we'll always be happy. Marriage is difficult.”stated Kevin.
“Well, I'm sure you can always be happy, Kevin!”shouted Mickey.
“Really”Kevin replied curiously. Kristina, sitting next to Kevin, was beaming with delight at Mickey's enthusiasm.
“Absolutely. I have a paper straw here full of pixie dust complimentary for all married couples. Remember, the more pixie dust you use, the more you get. Theless pixie dust you use, the more it disappears. And if you wait too long, it could disappear forever.”
“Well, thank you, Mickey.”said Kevin.
“Yeah, thank you so much, Mickey. I love you!”shouted Kristina as she ran and gave Mickey a humongous bear hug.
“Ha-ha! You are certifiably welcome, my lovely young lady.”
“So,”Kristina asked, through her tears of delight at finally meeting Mickey Mouse in person (a childhood dream), “how often should we use the pixie dust?”
“Every day!!!”shouted a voice at the back of the office.
Kristina and Kevin jumped in their chairs and turned to look behind them. Minnie mouse was standing at the doorway. Kristina screamed for joy like a little girl. She and Minnie ran towards each other, jumping up and down as they hugged each other in a squeeze that almost suffocated them.
With Wall, Mickey, Minnie, Kristina and Kevin laughing at the sheer joy in the room, they all calmed down after a minute. Minne then said,
“That's right, Kristina. Mickey and I use it everyday. That's why we've been married for 80 years and still have big smiles on our faces!!!”
Everyone got a chuckle.
“I have a question,”began Kristina bashfully.

“Yes, Kristina?”responded Mickey.
“Is it ok if we use some right now?”
“That's a terrific idea! I can't believe I didn't think of that. In fact, you can use some right now to fly home.
“Can we? Can we?”said Kristina excitedly as she squeeze Kevin's arm.
“Absolutely.”
“Great!”
“Can we get our bags first?”replied Kevin, with a logistical travel concern.
“Oh, they'll be waiting for you at your apartment,”Walt informed them.
“How?”asked Kevin, forgetting his belief in...
“Magic!”interjected Mickey.
“That's right, Kevin. Magic. Just shake some of that dust on your head and enjoy your flight home through the skies,”instructed Walt.
“Let's do this!”shouted Kristina, with the same enthusiasm she had when she said that same phrase on her wedding day.
With some dust in their hair, Kristina and Kevin thought happy thoughts (that's what they figured they were supposed to do) and jumped out the window.
With a smile reaching from ear to ear on Kevin's face and Kristina giggly and giddy, they soared through the skies, over mountains, above seas, and their “flight”was over. Sooner than they thought it would be.
Kristina and Kevin laughed together, reminiscing over the cities they saw and the things that Wal, Mickey, and Minnie said.
As they stepped into their apartment in Orem, UT, they discovered their luggages next to their bed, lined up neatly. What they didn't expect was what was inside their luggage: their clothes had been washed, ironed, and folded. (“Disney always goes the extra mile,”Kevin observed); they each had a Mickey and Minnie Medallion; and the best gift: they each had a straw of pixie dust!

[While we were waiting for our flight from Atlanta to Salt Lake, Kristina shared this story out loud with our friend Christie. A little girl sitting next to us listened intently. When Kristina finished, the girl went back to playing with her iPod. I'm thrilled that Kristina shared this story and got other people interested. She would be an excellent sales representative. She also gave me confidence in my writing.
Maybe I could become a children's storybook author.]

Monday, June 2, 2014

Kevin and Kristina meet Goofy, Donald, Daisy, and Daffy

"Rise and shine, kids! A-hyuck."

Kristina groggily walks over to the window. Her eyes are barely able to open in the morning sunlight. When her eyes focus on the strange new apparition outside, her eyes pop out of their sockets.

"Kevin, look who's here!" Exclaims Kristina as she rushes to Kevin's side of the bed, pulling him out before he has a chance to open his eyes. "Look!"

"What the...? Is that Goofy?"

"It sure is," yells Goofy. His super sensitive hearing helped him hear everything. He's a dog, after all. "Come on down. We're going fishing at Disneyland."

Kristina giggles, "Come on, Kevin, let's go."

Kevin still hasn't woken up, "But we're still in our PJ's."

"I'll fix that right away!" Goofy claps his hands, and voila. They're magically in fishing gear, with fishing poles, fishing hats, and bait and everything else. Also, they're not in their bedroom anymore. They're at a lake in Disneyland!

"I've never gone fishing before, but this is so much fun." Kristina has been smiling from ear to ear all morning.

Kevin is smiling now, too. But he can't help but wonder, "Are we allowed to fish here?"

"Is Mickey a mouse?" Responds Goofy. "Oh, look, there's Daisy and Donald! And another duck I don't recognize."

"Oh, Goofy, that's Daffy!" Kristina happily reminds Goofy.

"Oh, right. Mr. Disney never drew us together."

Goofy and Kristina stop talking when they realize Kevin is rolling on the ground laughing.

"What's so funny, honey?" Kristina wonders, perplexed.

"Daffy is hitting on Daisy, and Donald is making that hilarious quacking sound he does when he gets mad. And boy is he mad!"

"A-hyuk! You can say that again," says Goofy.

When the three of them finish laughing at this hilarious scene, they relax and spend the rest of the morning fishing. Goofy catches the most. Kristina catches almost as many big fish as Goofy. Kevin only catches a small fish. They release all their fish.

"Goofy, that was so much fun. Can we do that every morning? Kevin and I need a break from Provo."

"You can come fishing whenever you like. Just tell Kevin and he'll transport all of us over here again." Says Goofy.

That's right. Even though Kevin didn't know what was going on, it was the power of his imagination that made this trip possible, combined with Kristina's enthusiastic belief in Disney.