ME & JESSE/ME & DANNY (Intro & chapter 1)

 

ME AND JESSE

PORTALS TO ADVENTURE

 

 

by

 

Larry L. Sydow

 

 

 

ME AND JESSE—PORTALS TO ADVENTURE

 

Copyright © 2022 Larry L. Sydow

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

 

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this book are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

 

Illustrations were created by Pat Hittle and used with the artist’s permission.

 

 

 

 

 

 

DEDICATION

 

This book is dedicated to Daniel Sydow, Jesse Lee, and all kids everywhere with imagination and a driving desire to explore, investigate, and discover the mysteries of their world.

 

 

 

ME AND JESSE—PORTALS TO ADVENTURE

 Foreward by Larry (Dad)

 I grew up on a farm in northeast Nebraska, uncontaminated by television. Yet, there were times in my life when the simplest of triggers spawned adventures.  Radio dramas set the stage for some battles that made later television shows feel disappointing. On the radio, the Lone Ranger was never beaten down.  Roy Roger’s hat was never knocked off.  Fibber McGee’s closet always called for caution but never had to be refilled.  Gracie Allen made George Burns look smart, and Lucy never failed to drive Ricky Ricardo into his Cuban tirade.  The “Shadow” was scarier because my parents didn’t allow us to listen, except from the darkness of our upstairs bedrooms—where we knew he lurked in the closet of the spare room.

Movies were few and far between.  Our greatest mysteries, wars, fights-to-the-death, Indian raids, flights from head-hunters, and wild game hunts all took place on our 40-acre jungle, our corn-crib castle, our 10-mile-high mountain of corncobs, our chicken-coop roof-top fort, or our raging shark and barracuda infested creek.  The adventures never ended and never became boring.

 

What follows is a compilation of stories based on a combination of my experiences and bits and pieces of accounts told by my son, Danny (Dan today), and his best friend, Jesse.  Collecting their stories has become a challenge.  I can compare this collection with making a cake from scratch.  The recipe started with two mugs of their memories when they were ten-year-olds, a few cups of my childhood exploits, a tablespoon of yeasty truth, and a whopping tumbler full of fantasy.  Bake that cake for thirty or forty years in the oven of imagination, and the following narratives emerge.

When the boys were ten, we lived in the small town of Soldier, Iowa, a “megalopolis” of about 250 people.  I was the pastor of the only church in town—Soldier Lutheran Church.  Jesse Lee lived across the street from us.  The ten-year-old neighbors were so much alike, it would have been easy to think of them as twins, not especially in looks, but in personalities.  Both were exceptionally smart—some said, “too shrewd for their own good.” They were best friends—most of the time.  Jesse was a few weeks older than Danny, but they were like two peas in a pod.  If one got in trouble, it was an excellent bet they were both in it together. Sports-wise, the big difference was that Danny cheered for the Michigan Wolverines, while Jesse cheered for the Green Bay Packers.  Go, figure!

Despite their tendency to get into trouble occasionally, they were good kids.  A phrase heard often was “Me and Jesse” or “Me and Danny.”  I will not pretend I remember how ten-year-olds talk, except the phrases I repeatedly overheard: “Me and Jesse” or “Me and Danny.”

 

Dan and Jesse gave me permission to use their names.  The names of other youths and townspeople are fictitious.  The tales that follow begin with a true story.  Each chapter has some facts and some outrageous fiction.  See if you can guess where fact turns to fantasy.

 

 

 

1–Dad’s Story—The Cave

 

      MY family thought I was the least likely family member to buy the farm or even a portion of it.  The “home place,” as it was known, was seven miles from Stanton, a small rural village of 1300—plus or minus a few.  I admit I hated farming in my teen years and could hardly wait to leave to go to the city.  After college, I married Sue, the love of my life, a sociology major from Ohio.  With her encouragement, I continued from college to seminary and earned my Master of Divinity degree.  Dan was born two years after his brother.  It was “the good life.”

Before Dan was born, my parents moved to town.  None of my three brothers or two sisters were interested in farming the land.  Thankfully, someone was interested in buying the house, and they moved it to the other side of the village.  The rest of the buildings quickly deteriorated.  Dan’s grandmother and grandfather rented out the farm.  A neighbor finally leased the farmable land, but the other buildings, with no one watching after them, were vandalized and fell apart from weather, age, and neglect.   

When my parents announced they were willing to sell forty acres of the farm where the buildings had been, I was the first and only one to make an offer, which they happily accepted.  Keeping the land in the family was important, after all. 

By then, the outbuildings, except for a sad-looking hog barn, the chicken coop's foundation, and the storm cave entrance, had mostly collapsed from lack of attention and several strong thunderstorms.  (We always referred to the storm cellar as “the cave.”)  The old creek still meandered through the bottomland and continued to trickle along from constantly flowing springs.  Some trees I had climbed and played in as a kid had died, leaving tree-skeletons standing like sentinels. However, many living trees still stood, outlining the places where the former buildings had been.  It may have been a foolish purchase to some, but to me, it was a part of my story. 

I vaguely remembered moving there when I was four.  The old house seemed enormous, with lots of rooms, all heated in the cold Nebraska winters by a single oil burner in the kitchen.  The upstairs only received heat when my parents propped open the door to the stairs.  There were registers on the upstairs floor that connected with the downstairs ceiling.  They only allowed a little heat to rise and the sound of the radio to filter up to children who were supposed to be sleeping.  Through the registers, we caught portions of “Fibber McGee and Molly,” “Amos and Andy,” or “The Lone Ranger rides again!”

My parents bought the farmhouse with 150 acres of decent farmland when they were married. It was a couple of miles from the homeplace where my grandparents had lived.  Mom and Dad planted fruit trees by the dozens before they moved there, creating a forest of trees around the house's south, west, and north sides. Many of the fantastic varieties of mulberries–from the small red and purple ones to the very large, very sweet, thumb-sized berries—were still producing when my kids were little. 

Retreats to the now-deserted farm were my “unwind time.”  Coming out for a few days always jogged my memories of my “growing up periods.”  I recognized the skeleton of a dead tree south of where the house had been as the last remnant of the apple tree I climbed to fetch golden delicious apples in late summer.  Cherry and wild plum trees, raspberry and gooseberry bushes provided more sweet treats at other times.  We picked the tart chokecherries along the fence line by the bushels for making jelly while carefully avoiding stinging nettles and poison ivy.  My idyllic memories made it seem like we had fresh fruit from the middle of the hot, muggy summers until harvest in September, before the first frost, each ripening in its own season.

What captured my imagination was the forest of elm, oak, and maple trees south of the house.  My parents hadn’t planted them.  Nature did.  They filled the gully with a canopy of green shade, which, as a child, seemed so big and deep it practically went down to the center of the earth. 

This gulley was the location of many wars with renegade Indians, bank robbers, cut-throat murderers, and child-stealing gypsies, all of which required fights of bloody combat, leaving me mortally wounded more times than I could count.  One afternoon alone, I died horrible deaths at least five times. But, on the other hand, I studied to fight with sabers and swords and learned to shoot rifles, shotguns, bazookas, and missile launchers.  I also had a handy “Buck Rogers Ray Gun” I bought by saving my allowance.  It came in handy for fighting some vicious killers and an occasional alien visiting from Mars.

These woods were host to many venomous serpents, ferocious lions, tigers, panthers, and wolves. Each creature lurked behind bushes and fallen trees, waiting to attack.  They required constant vigilance and split-second responses.  The raging river (almost always dry as a bone unless it was raining) hosted child-eating barracuda, alligators, boa constrictors, and feisty swordfish.

I could follow that canyon of adventure down through the barbed-wire barricade. It passed through a barren, rattlesnake-infested desert.  If you survived the desert, you still had to pass through “no-man's-land.” It was a (cow patty) minefield littered with explosives.  That led to a mysterious meandering river and additional wild jungles and tribes of headhunters.

It was here where I remember being attacked by herds of buffalo, being charged by several bull elephants, and threatened with deadly violence by an enormous giant beast whose fangs were as large and sharp as the teeth of a hay sweep.

There were other mysteries about this place that drew me back, even as an adult. They were mysteries I never reconciled as a kid.   I still believe they were not entirely imaginary.  They were things I hadn’t dreamed up for fun. 

My father built the cave (storm cave) that was scary for me as a child.  It was one of those great mysteries of my childhood.  Even as a grownup, the cave was deeper than any human-made cave I ever explored.  It still gave me a certain strange feeling of….  I can’t put my finger on that feeling.  Is it dread, or fear, or what?

The mystery to me, as a child, was what was lurking in the deep, dark depths of that cave.  I knew—I didn’t know how—but I knew there were things in that darkness that no five or six-year-old kid ever wanted to encounter–alone! 

Despite assurances to the contrary, my imagination convinced me.  Eyes watched me when I went down there to get potatoes or jars of canned food for my mom.  I could never remember why I checked it out.  To this day, it gives me chills remembering. 

On one of my trips to the cave, when I was six, the afternoon sun spilled down into the cave and lit it all the way to the back wall.  I carried a broom with me, planning to use it as a weapon if anything attacked.  Fortunately, nothing did, so I used the broom to sweep the dusty dirt floor, backing my way to the steps and out.  That afternoon, I played nearby and watched the cave door to make certain no one else entered. Unfortunately, I had to go into the house for supper, but that was OK.  There were no other people who could go down those steps and walk on the soft dusty floor during that time.

I was not about to enter the abyss alone, even with a flashlight.  Whatever was down there never attacked when there was more than one person.  Not that anything had ever grabbed anyone I knew of and dragged them into some secret passage, but I was not taking any chances.

After supper, I quietly negotiated with my sister.  It was expensive!  In the end, I had to bribe her with a piece of left-over Christmas candy, one of my GI Joe soldiers with a broken gun, and my secret Flash Gordon code ring, just to get her to go with me.  Cautiously, as the sun was setting, I led the way down what seemed like a mile of steep, concrete steps, flashlight in hand, like a club I could use as a last resort. 

What I found sent cold chills down my spine and tremors of fear through my entire body, almost paralyzing me.  As I suspected, odd footprints on the dusty floor moved away from the cave’s far wall, turned around, and went back. The large, unusual prints disappeared at the base of the wall as if whoever… whatever… had walked right through the solid brick wall!  One footprint was only the heel of a shoe.

Part of me wanted to push on the bricks to see if there was a secret door, but the six-year-old part of me lost his nerve.  As fast as I could move, I pulled my sister up the steps and out the door to safety, slamming and turning the latch on the door behind us. 

I hadn’t told my parents or sister about my experiment.  I left my sister thinking I was just playing another stupid imaginary game.  Vowing to never be in that cave by myself ever, it took me a long time to stop shaking.  I even avoided playing close to the cave for several days.

Another mystery from that night that still puzzles me to this day had to do with time.  My sister and I had been in the cave, what seemed to me at the time to be only a few seconds.  When we came out, the sun had fully set!  It was pitch black, and Dad was yelling for my sister and me at the back steps.  “Did you two get lost?  It’s been an hour since you went outside with the flashlight.  What took so long?”

Neither my sister nor I ever knew the answers to those questions.  It was several weeks later when I confided in my dad, who just shook his head and smiled in disbelief, saying, “Let’s check it out.”  He took me down into the cave.  It had been long enough that the strange footprints were mixed with lots of others.  We both pushed on the back wall, discovering that every brick was solidly mortared in place. 

“See,” my father said, “there is nothing there. So, those footprints must have just been your imagination.”

As I surveyed the remnants of the farm that had played such an important role in helping me grow up, many other mysterious places drew me back.  The deep, mysterious hole near the barn and the “off-limits” part of the creek were barely visible in the moonlight.  Each drew me like a magnet to investigate, but at the same time, they repelled me.  But, as an adult, like invisible fingers, they beckoned me.  I admit I had a wild imagination that created many of my adventures. 

However, the disappearing “junk” thrown into the old silage pit made me wonder if there was a hidden chamber underneath.  It was one of only a few places on the farm where my parents forbade me to play.  The silage pit was close to the cattle barn, almost midway between the cave and the creek.  It seemed to me, as a kid, to swallow up anything tossed or dropped into it.  As one of those “off-limits” places, it was doubly enticing.  When I was five, I remember bravely crawling on my belly, peering into the pit.  When I was supposed to be taking a nap with the younger kids, a force that I can’t describe to this day drew me to the pit.

That day, a movement deep within the pit startled me.  I withdrew to avoid being seen by… it.  It could have been a rat or a raccoon, but the only glimpse I had of it made it appear almost, but not quite, human?  Part of me needed to scream and run to the house.  But the curious part of me wanted to find out what it was.  Nothing would cause me to dare to crawl down into the pit lest something might swallow me.  I waited and watched.

I never got the chance.  “Larry!” I heard my mother call.  It was that tone of voice I learned never to ignore.  The consequences would prove painful.  I’d have to come back another time, even though, or especially since it was one of the three “forbidden” zones.

Another “forbidden zone” was a portion of the creek that was said to have quicksand.  My parents warned me to avoid it, no matter what!  Dad said, “Hidden beasts wait beneath the surface to drag you down.  Mom almost died when the bull chased her into that trap.  The only thing that saved her was the fallen tree she used to drag herself free.” 

The third “forbidden zone” was a gully on the hill’s far side from the house.  Of course, since my parents had forbidden me to go there, it attracted me like a magnet when my younger siblings were napping.  Like the silage pit, some mysteries drew me to investigate.  This invisible “something” often had me crawl on my stomach to the top edge, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever or whoever was hiding there.

Then there was the old barn where my dad milked our cows.  It was not a “forbidden zone,” but when I played by myself with the calves kept there, I heard strange footsteps walking in the loft overhead.  I never stayed around to find out who or what it was.  I raced to the safety of the house instead.  In my mind, all the “forbidden zones” and the barn were somehow connected.

As an adult, I can’t explain away the voices of invisible people I heard walking by the cabin in the middle of the night.  A friend had joined me for a camp-out at the cabin.  About midnight, we were both awakened by voices. It sounded like teenagers out for a stroll—in the middle of nowhere.  When we got up to investigate, there was nothing there.  The crickets, bullfrogs, and coyotes were silent.  We watched in the bright moonlight as the voices faded into silence.  As if by some invisible signal, the crickets, bullfrogs, and coyotes began to sing again.

These are mysteries that drew me back and made Danny and Jesse want to investigate.

PARALLEL MISSIONS

Books now available from larry.sydow@gmail.com or Amazon:

Parallel Missions - the Journey Begins

Parallel Challenges

Parallel in Jeopardy

Parallel Promises

Me and Jesse-Me and Danny

Prequel to PARALLEL MISSIONS - The Journey Begins

Parallel Missions

Larry L. Sydow

Part One – The Plan Takes Shape

     “I perceive an escalating problem, my Lord,” the Helpmate said.  “It appears to be like the first infection with which we were forced to intervene.”

      The Helpmate and the Creator hovered over multiple holographic images of multiple parallel universes.  Their attention was drawn to a “hot spot” in an insignificant galaxy, often overlooked.  Together, they had labored six ages of time, as they reckoned time, like loving parents nurturing their young.

      “It has been causing us anguish,” Creator replied.  “All creatures in all worlds are our creatures.  Sadly, the infection has caused some to turn away and become something other than what we created them to be.”

     Helpmate added, “It appears the first infection has only gotten worse.  Our interventions, as painful and costly as they were, provided only temporary relief.”

      “We have seen some progress, but our patience is running thin.”

      “What shall we do?” Helpmate mourned, “There are no infection-free worlds.  All have fallen short of our intentions.  Our infusion of interplanetary genetics brought some improvement, but only temporarily.”

      Creator added, “That was so promising.  I still think giving them independence of will was a foolish move.”

      “You know,” Helpmate insisted, “I totally disagree, and You said so Yourself!  What would we do with worlds and universes full of automatons that are basically mindless?”

      “I know,” Creator agreed.  “The Anunnaki tried that for selfish purposes and we had to do a cleansing wash that still has me weeping when I remember.  There has to be a better way.”

      “There was!” Offspring agreed.  “But even I was rejected by those with power to make the necessary changes! And we weep in unison in remembrance of our suffering, but we also celebrate the new beginning.”

      “I still think there has to be a better way,” Helpmate insisted, “… another way.”

      “There is!” Creator declared.  “We will find it!”

      Offspring agreed, “We will!  I know we will.”

      “Where do we start?” asked Helpmate.

      As One, they embraced and merged their thoughts for what may have seemed to an observer, had there been one, to have lasted an eternity.  When they refrained from embracing, they  smiled, a new light appeared to engulf them, and a glorious choir of the most amazing symphonic voices greeted a new day.  They knew what they would do.

      “There is that planet they call Earth,” Creator said, pointing to it. “We’ve always had a special thing for Earth and all of its parallels.  Let’s begin there … again.”

      “I agree,” Offspring sang in harmony with the symphonic voices, “but to do that, we need to find the best parallel for incubating our plans for renewal.”

      They observed dozens of Earth parallels before settling on one with the most potential for bringing about the needed changes, without resorting to total destruction and annihilation.  What drew them to this parallel, was a small child with a heart and a spirit full of potential. 

      “He reminds me of our Offspring at that age,” Helpmate said.  “He is full of hope and promise ... and just enough mischief to keep him from being dull.”

      “Mischief?” Offspring asked with a quirky little smile? “Are you saying I was mischievious when I was that age?”

      “Do cherry trees, water jars, and water walks remind you of anything?”

      “Oh, yes, I suppose I had a little fun with those things.”

      Creator said, “Do we want to subject this child to the horrors Offspring endured for that world?”

      “Why not encourage a spreading of the responsibility,” Offspring suggested, “and thus, the sharing of the suffering, so he doesn’t have to endure it alone.  We will never leave him without our support and the help of others.”

      Helpmate pointed out, “It will be an ongoing challenge for us.”

      Creator agreed, “He follows well in the big footprints of his own father, who has been guiding him well.  As long as he continues to rely on our guidance to increase his wisdom, I believe he will do fine.”

      “This world is centuries ahead of the Earth parallel,” Helpmate noted.  “Our Universal Law of Non-interference may inhibit the work that needs to be done.”

      Creator said, “Agreed, but part of the infection has already caused a breaking of the Law in some places.  If the child uses the wisdom we believe he possesses, those he sends will be able to work within that Law without violating it.”

      “There are many in many worlds who listen to us,” Offspring insisted.  “But the child’s father seems to be the most open at this time.  We can begin with by planting the seeds with him and the boy’s mother.”

      Helpmate chimed, “Agreed!  We have a good new beginning.  So, the journey begins again.”

      Creator and Offspring sang in unison in deep resonant voices, “The journey begins again!”

Part Two – The Seeds are Sown

      Creator gave full attention to the Parallel where Qualto is the common native language.  Some, therefore, referred to this Parallel by the language name, “Qualto”.  It was technologically and scientifically several centuries ahead of Earth, but its inhabitants were most in tune with those of Earth, of all parallels and all planets.  Dadelos Gompton, the father of the child on whom their attention was focused, was the most open of all beings to Creator’s voice.

      The Dadelos awoke early with an idea that just would not dissipate.  The scientists of Parallel had reported to the Advisory Council on which he sat, that they had discovered a method of traveling to the Earth Parallel and back.  They had studied earth history and learned that certain events on Earth over the centuries had adversely impacted the history of Parallel’s past, which in turn caused problems in the present and presumably would cause more in its future.  The mantra of some of these scientists was becoming louder and more insistent:  “As on Earth, so in Qualto. As in Qualto, so throughout creation.”

      Events in the Qualto Parallel were reaching catastrophic levels which, if the course of events was not changed, could bring about the total annihilation of this and several other parallels.  There were two schools of thought.  Both groups were adamant, and some individuals were even violently insistent that their way was the only way. 

      One group, the AHI (the Adherents to Historical Integrity), was demanding strict adherence to the Law of Non-interference.  “Let the natural flow of history do what it will.  If that means we die, we die!  To interfere would be to mess with Creator’s plan.  The natural order of things will take care of itself, and we must absolutely prevent any disruption in that order.  Though they would never admit it, the AHI was willing to break that Law in order to prevent any other interference.

      The other group, the HCC (the Historical Corrections Committee) was insisting that interference in Earth’s history could save many of the worlds in linked parallels, by preventing the death and destruction that started it all.  There would be some upheaval of the histories of some parallels, including Qualto, but those changes would be in the best interests of the future of all living things, of every associated parallel.  Those interferences, if Creator permitted them or encouraged them, would be blessed by Creator.  At least, they argued, they would be attempting to do something positive instead of accepting the fall of all.

      The Dadelos was caught in the crossfire of both groups.  As he woke up, a plan began to formulate in his mind.  Both groups had powerful and wealthy leaders preaching their causes.  The anti-interference group had the more vocal and violent members who, the Dadelos had verified evidence, ironically enough, were already interfering with those native groups on Earth attempting to prevent violence and warfare.  He considered the AHI to be the most dangerous and radical of the two groups, even more so since they knew the possibility for historical intervention was now possible.

      Therefore, whatever he decided to do would have to be done in utmost secrecy, with only a few highly trusted scientists involved.  The list of the HCC inner circle would be called in, one at a time, to help formulate a plan.  He would also call in the leading scientists of the AHI, the opposition leaders, for informal discussions to discover what he could of their plans, alternating them between the two groups, to keep the AHI from discovering his own plans.

      Since he was the spiritual advisor to Supreme Leader of the GLA (the Governmental Legislative Authority for the whole planet), he was able to have funding channeled to the “Historical Corrections Committee,” of which he was the chair.  The AHI was a great supporter of that fund, but thought of it as being responsible for renovations of historical sites throughout the planet, and nothing more.  While they were opposed to messing with history, they had little interest in restoring historical sites, and showed no interest in participating on that committee.  Thus the Dadelos and his hand-picked committee had free reign over a sizeable fund.  Superficial improvements to historical sites satisfied the yearly review of the work of the committee.

      Months turned to years as people and resources were gathered, and a secret location was obtained.  For complete secrecy and anonymity, the location for the main laboratory was actually in another undisclosed parallel one of the younger scientists discovered and recommended in an interview.  It was easily accessible from this Parallel, but only from a specific location in the Dadelos’ compound.  How the young man had accomplished that feat, Dadelos Gompton had no idea.  The mathematics and quantum physics of the process was beyond his comprehension. 

      The recruitment of trusted leaders for the effort, and determining exactly what they would do, and how they would carry it out, involved a great deal of study and discussion.  The Dadelos set the inner circle to work answering those questions.

      As trusted scientists in many and various world-wide locations, they had access to planetary data bases.  Their numerous searches narrowed the field of potential candidates for the assignment.

      Young married couples were interviewed over the following year for support positions in various Earth countries, to determine their interest in visiting and even living in a backward world such as Earth.  On the surface, the AHI and the HCC cooperated with the understanding that these people were being sent for historical research only.  They were only sent for brief periods because of the time differences which would make them miss too much of what was happening in their own families and villages.

      After spending time in Earth Parallel, the AHI believed these volunteers were no longer viable candidates for visits to Earth and dismissed them.  However, the HCC secretly interviewed them to discover if they had any interest or desire for becoming permanent support personnel for the missions being planned for the future.

      Using techniques for “reading” the truth of the prospects, the HCC was able to narrow the field and send them back to live as permanent citizens of Earth.  Paperwork and identity concerns were a problem at first, but a subcommittee of HCC solved the problem by training a small contingency of support staff for that specific purpose.  They then sent them to Earth to plant the necessary backgrounds in official records in each country. 

      Another group of scientists produced permanent language chips which could be surgically implanted near the hypothalamus of each support member which made it possible for them to read, write, and speak the appropriate Earth language.  Other useful skills given to support team members made the new residents in every community welcome additions.  In every case, they were able to tie in to the history of a family that had moved away (and died) years before, whom at least two or three old-timers in the town or village remembered.

      The final plans were submitted in secret to the Dadelos, who had already agreed to sign the documents and initiate the program.  One problem remained to be answered:  “Who will lead the Mission Team?”  It was agreed that one couple from Qualto would need to be established as residents of Earth, but an established Earth person or couple would need to be recruited, trained, and equipped.  It was agreed by the HCC that the Earth couple could legally interfere with Earth events on Earth under the guidance and supervision of a Parallel Team leader without violating the “Non Interference Law.”

      After days of computer searches, Dryxxl and Vdelechy Grobbbfriched were chosen. They were a young married couple of childbearing age who could establish themselves and raise a family like typical Earth inhabitants, before beginning the mission project.  It was agreed, their Earth names would be Tomas and Judith Talbert.

      Tomas and Judith Talbert established themselves in Baltimore, Maryland.  Tomas joined the state police force, developing a reputation as a tough and reliable officer, and a thorough investigator.  He was recruited by the FBI and in subsequent years by the CIA and then the NSA, before “retiring” at a young afrom law enforcement to move his family to California.  There, he became a building contractor, but occasionally carried out investigative and covert work for the FBI, the CIA, and the NSA. 

His wife Judith had been trained as a medical doctor in the Qualto Parallel.  Attending Johns Hopkins to obtain a degree, a license, and a reputation as a topnotch surgeon, seemed to be a natural fit.   

      While in Baltimore, they had two children, Stephanie and Constantine. Because of Tomas’ connections with governmental agency it was agreed that the family should to California, where their children grew up and both established themselves in their respective occupations.

      Once Constantine, the last of their children to marry had left home, the master plan of the Parallel Missions was set in motion.  Tomas and Judith both returned to Parallel for upgrades to their training and equipment.  Judith returned via a portal to set things in order for their move from California for the “good life” and the slower pace of Nebraska. 

      Tomas was given additional training and was sent back in a prototype ship to scout out the area in Nebraska where they would establish themselves and recruit a team to carry out the proposed missions. 

      Tomas had been trained to fly the ship and use a wormhole to enter the Earth parallel at the proper time.  However, the science was new enough that not all of the kinks were worked out before the first traverse.  As a result, Tomas’ ship’s entrance through that wormhole alerted an alien ship.  With very little warning, an attack commenced. 

      Tomas attempted to ellude his attacker by entering a huge storm cloud.  He thought he was making progress as the lightning strikes were deflected by the ship’s defenses.  Then an enormous jolt created a gaping hole in the side of the ship.  He could feel the ship shudder and begin to slowly fall.  The hatch flew open with a bang and he had to choose between going down with the ship or taking a chance he might survive a fall from the ship.

      He disengaged himself from the restraints of the pilot’s seat, grabbed his backpack, and fought his way to the gaping hatch opening.  He could see the ground below slowly coming to meet the ship through flashes of lightning.  At the last minute, he jumped, landing in a muddy depression filled with rainwater, and rolling to a stop.  It took his breath away, but when he looked back he saw a gigantic bolt of white-hot light strike the ship and literally vaporize it.

      His Undersuit had saved his life, but water in the depression in which he landed and the impact of the landing had shorted out most of the power the Suit provided.  He watched as the alien ship began searching for him.  In a flash of lightning, he saw that the contents of his backpack had scattered across the field in which he had landed.  In a flash of another kind, he saw his favorite cap struck and vaporized by the pursuing ship.  It dawned on him that they were zeroing in on his cloths, and the strikes were getting closer to him.  He began to run and strip as he ran, looking back to see some of the cloths he tossed away vaporize. 

      By the time he had stripped down to his Undersuit, the strikes had returned to his landing site.  He ran toward a road he could only see when lightning flashed.  It took him some time to climb over a barbed wire fence, through a muddy ditch, and up onto the road.  By the time he reached the gravel road, he was near exhaustion, but he thought he was safe.

            When he thought the worst was over, bright lights came over the hill in the pouring rain.  He ran until he stumbled over the edge of the road….  Wet darkness engulfed him.
***************************

To order Parallel Missions-The Journey Begins, check with Amazon or email me direct at:  larry.sydow@gmail.com

PARALLEL MISSIONS - 1

This post is the first chapter of my first attempt at writing a science fiction book.  If you are interested in reading more, let me know and I'll add more chapters.  (larry.sydow@gmail.com)

            PARALLEL MISSIONS
    Larry L. Sydow - 2014
    Chapter One
    MISSION ONE
    “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.  Time to wake up.  Approximately 5,000 miles from target location.  We’ll be entering the earth’s gravitational field in a few minutes.”
    The voice of the computer interrupted Derek’s brief nap in the weightlessness of space.  The ship’s artificial gravity could have kept him grounded, but he found that he enjoyed the feeling of weightlessness for naps. 
    This was to be his first official solo mission in his own Parallel.  While somewhat anxious, his anxiety gave way to automatic responses for which he had been trained.  Like breathing, there were actions he would take, commands he would give without having to think them through. 
    In a short time gravity would start to claim his body again. Grasping the support that kept him from banging around while floating in the cabin, he replied, “Thanks, Bart.  I could have used a little more sleep.  Begin cloaking and prepare for landing.  How much time until touch-down?”
    “Ten minutes.  Time to suit up and prepare power-packs.  The color will be blue, the language will be Portugese, your name for this mission will be Mateus, and the level of danger will be 8.4.”
    “Thanks for the info!” Mateus replied as he stripped off all of his street clothes and placed them in a storage compartment.  As gravity began to pull him to the floor of the ship, he opened another storage compartment, withdrew a blue container, opened it and began to don his uniform.  “The people at Parallel Command said it was urgent, but they were too busy getting me into the ship before the clock struck midnight and my chariot turned into a pumpkin!  Can you fill me in on some of the details as I’m suiting up?”
    “I believe you were joking about your chariot turning into a pumpkin.  If the chariot is this ship, that would be quite an impossible feat,” Bart replied.  “As for the briefing, Captain Horace Tomlinson was taken prisoner by a Brazilian terrorist group three weeks ago.  They threatened to start cutting off parts of his body every day until their demands are met, keeping him alive until the last part to be severed is his head.  In exactly three hour and fourteen minutes, the mutilations will begin.  As you know, as goes this world, so will go Parallel.  His child, still to be conceived, will be critical to the future development of a serum which will prevent a hyper virus infestation and world-wide pandemic, which in turn will prevent the birth of another child who will be instrumental in....”
    “I get the point,” Mateus interrupted.
    “I was merely answering your question.”
    “I understand. I didn’t mean to insult you. I just don’t think I have time to hear the whole story.  Please check my suit systems.”
    “All systems are functioning at maximum capacity. You are good to go.”
    Mateus  snapped the last of the clips connecting his face mask to the rest of the system.  The suit he put on included skin-tight body underwear.  From the looks of it, it was a nice Spandex-like suit which contoured itself to every part of the body, almost like a second skin made of fine cloth.  The only thing this suit didn’t cover was his head. The under suit was powered by paper-thin battery-like strips along the inside of each leg and along either side of the backbone. Each power strip contained enough power to light an entire city block for two to three weeks without recharging.
    Both the outer and inner gloves were detachable.  The controls for both the inner and outer suits were in the fingertips of the gloves of the inner suit.  The thumbs of each hand activated the “triggers” found in the four digits on each hand.  The pinky of the right hand, when touched by the thumb of that hand, caused the suit to seal itself from the buttocks, up the back to the neck.  Applying the thumb of the left hand to the pinky of that hand, caused the sealing connectors of the under suit to deactivate so that the wearer was released in reverse order making it possible to remove the suit.
    The other finger controls that were active were the index finger, which activated the deadly “reflecting” action of the under suit.  When touched, it surrounded the wearer with a two foot bubble of protection and would cause whatever missile or object fired at the wearer to literally “return to sender” at twice the speed at which it was fired.  The result would be lethal.  With the gloves, hood and goggles of the outer suit on, the radius of protection increased to four feet.  Everything and everyone within that bubble was safe from outside projectiles. 
    The right middle finger was responsible for “deflecting” objects from the body.  It was used if the wearer did not want to injure the person firing the weapon.  It was a safety switch against killing the very person they were sent to save, should that person gain access to a weapon, think the operator was the enemy, and fire on them.  The right ring finger controlled the heat, raising it if it was too cold.  The left ring finger, controlled the cooling, if things got too hot. 
    The index finger of the left hand activated a powerful light on the mask for illuminating a dark room; or with a second or third press of the thumb, would increase the intensity of the light and could temporarily blind the opponent.  The left middle finger activated a microphone and speaker on the mask so that the operator could be clearly heard.  It also activated the sound and video recording. The video cameras, microphones and speakers were located on the front of the mask and at the base of the neck where the mask attached to the outer suit.  This provided a view of what was happening in front of and behind the person wearing it. 
    The underwear, the coveralls, the mask, and the gloves each carried its own power supply on various parts of the body. Each item could function independently, but was interfaced with the other parts, and could serve as backup in an emergency. The power packs on the outer suit were more than one hundred times as powerful as that contained in the underwear, since they powered internal life-support and filtration systems and increased the power and radius of the “Deflector/Reflector” unit.
    The outer suit, made of even stronger and more powerful materials than the inner suit, looked very much like an ordinary pair of coveralls, except that it completely covered everything, except eyes, nose, mouth and hands. The eyes, nose, and mouth were covered by a mirrored glass-like mask made of an impenetrable substance.  The mask was to be worn for all missions and was not removed until only team members were present.
    Every part of the complete suit was the same color, and was color-coded for various missions, countries, and nations, so that the rescued, their captors, and any other observers would believe the person wearing them came from their own country or the country with which they associated. 
    Every coverall, no matter the color, had a circular emblem about two inches in diameter.  Within a circle of laurel leaves were the words in Latin:  “Vim enim parit vis – Pacem videlicet pacis“ (Violence begets Violence – Peace begets Peace”).  Those words circled the earth as seen from space. 
    “Sixty seconds to touch down,” the computer announced.
    Cloaked from radar and all outside watchers, the ship gently and noiselessly touched down.
    “Give me a visual, please.”
    The screen on the exit panel lit up with a view of the building in which Captain Horace Tomlinson was kept prisoner.  It was a typical Brazilian box-shaped, two story house, painted an aging and peeling white. One guard, in his mid-twenties, wearing street clothes and a ball cap turned backward, sat in the dark shadows, on a stoop, outside the front door.  His automatic weapon rested on his lap.  The cigarette glowed in the dark as he inhaled, and the smoke he exhaled escaped the shadows into the faint moon light. There were no other lights to be seen, inside or outside of the house.  The house itself was isolated by empty lots overgrown with weeds, brush, and trash.  Neighboring houses were quiet and only dimly lighted. Their occupants were most likely deep into their two A.M. dreams, not even thinking of getting up to start their day.
    Mateus did another systems check on his suit.  Then touching his thumb to the index of his right hand to activate the “Reflector” system, the middle finger of his left hand to activate the audio, video, and recording functions on his mask, he began the mission to save Captain Tomlinson. 
    “The ship’s recorders are functioning and all systems are armed.” Bart reported. 
    “Drop the cloak, open the hatch, and maintain security,” Mateus commanded.  “Allow only Captain Tomlinson and me to enter.”
    The ship had landed unnoticed on the front lawn of the house, less than twenty feet from the door.  When the ship uncloaked, the cigarette fell from between the guard’s lips, he stood up quickly in shock, almost dropping his gun.  Mateus stepped onto the exit ramp and walked purposely toward the house, illuminated by light from the ship.  The guard quickly raised his weapon, prepared to fire.
    Speaking in fluent Portugese, Mateus warned, “I am unarmed and mean you no harm. However, do not fire your weapon at me or my ship. To do so will endanger your life.  I have come to collect your prisoner and take him to safety.”
    Before the words were all out of his mouth, he heard the guard’s automatic weapon fire several rapid shots.  There was a brief moment of silence, the moan of the guard, the clatter of the weapon as he dropped it, and the thud of his body thrown back and slammed into the stoop on which he had been sitting.  After hitting the wall, his body slid to the walkway.  The sight of the guard was not pretty.  Every bullet he fired came back to rip through him without mercy.  “I think I need to work on my presentation a little.  He obviously didn’t like it.”
    The door was locked from the outside with three dead bolt locks and a steel bar padlocked to its bracket.  As Mateus moved the guard’s lifeless body from the path between the door and his ship, the keys dangled from the dead man’s belt.  Reaching down, Mateus extracted the key ring, unlocked the padlock, removed the bar, found the key for each of the deadbolts, and opened the door.  The sensors in his mask informed him of the smell of a decaying human body, human excrement, human body odor, and infection which wafted out of the dark opening.  “So thankful for the pure air this mask provides,” he mused to himself.  “Those aromas would probably make me lose my stomach.  Touching his thumb to the index finger of his left hand Mateus turned on his mask-light and scanned the interior.  In the far corner lay a bloated decaying corpse, still bound hand and foot as if it were going to get up and try to escape. The room was devoid of any furnishings.  There were three windows with steel bars, visible through tattered curtains.
    The only other occupant lay on a thin filthy mat and was partially covered with a filthy, ragged looking blanket. On hearing the door open and seeing the light, the prisoner jerked at the chain attached to the wall and half turned to see what was happening. Weakly blinking his deep-set darkened eyes, he spoke as though he wanted to scream, but had no strength to do so.   “Is this it? Are you going to start cutting me up?  Cut off my damn leg first, will you?  I can’t stand the pain!”
    Mateus was impressed that he had strength to speak at all.  It was obvious at first glance that he had been beaten multiple times.  The blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders did not cover the gaping infected wound in his left thigh. The sight of it was enough to turn most peoples’ stomachs.  Mateus took a deep breath, swallowed, and reminded himself of the mission he had to accomplish.  Losing his stomach contents wouldn’t help anyone.  The wound was badly infected.  His captors had not bothered to wash or dress it, probably not wanting to waste time on it since the U.S. government didn’t negotiate with kidnappers.  They would keep him alive, let the “Butcher of Sao Paulo” have his fun, and send the body parts one at a time just to make their point.  Why bother fixing what the “Butcher” would just cut off anyway?! 
    “What’s going on down there?!” The Portugese voice came from a narrow stairway leading up to the second floor.
    Switching to “Deflector” with his thumb and the middle finger of his right hand, and kneeling beside the Captain, Mateus spoke again in Portugese, announcing, “I am unarmed and mean you no harm. However, do not fire your weapon at me. To do so may be hazardous to your life.”
    A man in a nightshirt appeared on the stairs with an old rifle.  When his eyes saw Mateus his finger pulled the trigger and a bullet ricocheted off the shield Mateus had established. The bullet struck the wall an inch from the guard’s head.
    “I am protected by a shield. Your bullets will not harm me or the Captain, but they could do great harm to you.”
    Another bullet ricocheted, this time clipping the guard’s left shoulder.
    “Please! Stop! You are only harming yourself! The guard outside the door did not listen to me.  He is lying outside - dead by his own bullets.  Put your weapon down!  Now!” 
    The weapon slid to the floor as the guard grasped his bleeding shoulder and turned to beat a rapid retreat.      
    Before he could take the first step, Mateus spoke, “Tell your superiors that kidnaping will not be tolerated.  Have them check the bullets in your friend to discover that what I told you is true.  I have no weapons. The bullets that wound and kill are from your own weapons.  Should your group continue its kidnaping, torture and killing spree, I will find your leaders and exact payment from them.  Am I understood?”
    Cringing, holding his wounded shoulder, and nodding his head, he raced up the stairs two at a time.  A door slammed and a scraping sound gave proof that the guard was blocking the door and would not be causing any further trouble. 
    “Who are you?” the Captain moaned.
    “My name is Mateus,” he answered in English, with a heavy Portugese accent. “Do not be afraid Captain. I have come to take you to safety.  As long as you are with me, no one can harm you in any way.”
    Searching the key ring he had taken from the guard to open the door, he found a key that fit the locks on the Captain’s swollen, red, chafed wrists and ankles.  He released them, one by one. Carefully removing the tattered dirty blanket, Mateus threw it in the corner by the rotting corpse.      “Do you know who the corpse was?” he asked the Captain.
    “I have no idea. They told me that would be me if I gave them any trouble.”
    Mateus steeled himself for a closer look at the body.  There appeared to be dog-tags imbedded in the decaying flesh of the victim’s neck. Mateus removed them, went over to the blanket he had just discard, and wiped as much of the gore from them as he could.  Reluctantly he returned to see what else there might be. In a vest pocket, he withdrew a picture of a family, supposedly the family that would be mourning the man’s death.  Checking further, he noted that the man’s fingers had been removed, along with his ears and his right foot.  With the camera in his mask sending images to the ship’s computer, he recorded as many of the details as he could in a short time.  He knew he needed to move quickly before neighbors, kidnappers, or police came to investigate the shots that had been fired. 
    Returning to the Captain, who seemed to have passed out, Mateus gently reached under the captain’s legs, carefully avoiding his left thigh, to pick him up and carry him to the waiting ship.  The Captain’s emaciated body made the task easier.  His wounds and starvation diet over the past several weeks had taken their toll on his muscle mass and body weight. 
    As Mateus exited the door, he heard an engine roar to life in the distance and tires screaming on the asphalt street.  It was time to make as much haste as possible before the “big guns” arrived.  Walking carefully over the pool of blood left by the guard, Mateus pressed the thumb and index finger of his right hand to switch from “Deflector” to “Reflector”.  These people would shoot before he could give them any kind of warning.  The pickup truck, loaded with six heavily armed men, screeched to a stop as Mateus and his burden reached the ramp leading to the ship’s entry door.  Before Mateus could turn to speak, multiple gun shots struck both his and the ship’s shields.  Mateus stepped into the ship and laid the unconscious Captain on the rubber-like mat in a man-sized “tub” with six inch tall sides surrounding the mat.
    When he stepped outside again, the sight that greeted him was sad and gruesome.  The four men who fired at him lay in pools of their own blood.  “Please do not fire your weapons!” he pleaded with the remaining two.  “I have no weapons.  Those who lay dead, died by their own bullets.  Your bullets will not kill me, but they will kill you.  Violence begets violence!  Peace begets peace!” 
    Just then, the second floor guard emerged from the door of the house, took aim and fired.  When his own bullet tore into him, it pushed him into the door frame.  A look of shocked surprise crossed his face as he dropped his weapon, fell to his knees, and landed face down on the walkway.
    The men from the pickup were as surprised as Mateus at the interruption. The one giving orders shouted, “We will see!” And see he did, as he fired, and his own bullets ripped through his chest.  The remaining gunman seemed to be paralyzed with shock and fear for a few seconds, before he slowly laid down his gun and fell to his knees.  Holding up his hands, he begged, “Please!  For the sake of my family.... Please!”
    “Look at me!” Mateus ordered.  When the man failed to look up, Mateus shouted again, “Look at me!” 
    The terrified man slowly lifted his head to look at the one he was sure would kill him.  Mateus quietly explained, almost sympathetically, “As you see, I am unarmed.  I could not hurt you if I wanted to.  Those who are dead died because they would not listen.  Their own bullets killed them.  Your life was spared because you did not fire your weapon.  Had you done so, you too would be face down in a pool of your own blood.  I want you to pass on a message to your superiors.  Will you do that?”
    The response was instant.  Nodding his head vigorously he replied, “Yes!  Before God, I promise!”
    Mateus spoke in simple terms so the message would be clear, “Describe to your bosses what you have seen and heard this night.  Tell them everything.  My name is Mateus.  I am one of many who are commissioned to put a stop to kidnaping and violence.  Violence begets violence and peace begets peace!  Those who continue on this violent path are given this one warning.  Their leaders will answer to me, and the cost will be very high.”
    Mateus then drew a copy of his message from his pocket, walked over to the still shaking man, and handed it to him.  It read:
        “Kidnaping, torture, and terrorism against any of the Creator’s sons or daughters, even infidels, are opposed to the Creator’s will and commands.  They will not be tolerated.  We came in peace, unarmed, to rescue one of the Creator’s own.  The bullets that wound and kill are your own.  Violence begets violence.  Peace begets peace!”
He then told the man, “If you do not change occupations, you will not live long.  If you walk the way of peace, you will find your reward.”
    Mateus returned to his ship.  Before closing the entry door, he turned for one last look at the message-bearer.  The man seemed to have fainted dead away, grasping the message as if it were a life-line.
    “Close the hatch.  Do a systems check. Cloak the ship, ascend to 50,000 feet, and hold position.”
    “All systems are go!” Bart announced.  “As for Captain Tomlinson, my sensors indicate serious and life-threatening conditions need to be dealt with ASAP.  Shall I contact Parallel Command to inform them of our situation?”
    “Yes, thank you,” Mateus replied as he deactivated the controls and removed his gloves.  He would keep the rest of his uniform on and would not remove it until the Captain was no longer with them.  He would also continue to be Mateus for that period of time.  
    To both captives and captors, Mateus had been a Portugese speaking stranger dressed head to toe in blue, who also spoke broken English, had use of advanced technology, and was no one to mess with.  This was the persona designed by Parallel scientists who had recruited him.  The microscopic chip they had inserted near his hypothalmus made it possible for him to learn and retain almost three dozen languages, allowing him to read, write, and speak each language as if he had grown up with the it. 
    The moan from the Captain brought Mateus back to the business at hand.  His face mask had informed him that the odors from the Captain’s body and the infection in his leg wound were pretty strong.  The filtration system of his mask was helping immensely.  The first order of business was to clean the Captain up.  Any movement of his left leg sent the semi-conscious soldier into spasms of pain.  There was only one thing he could do to get him out of his filthy clothes without undue suffering.  Mateus knelt and lightly touched the fingertips of both hands.  He concentrated on his fingertips as he had been taught, centering the energy he wanted to pass on.  When satisfied that the balance was right, Mateus placed his right hand on the Captain’s forehead, and using his left hand to cradle his head, Mateus closed his eyes and concentrated again, this time on the thought of painless sleep.  Within second, his patient relaxed and fell peacefully, painlessly, and blissfully into a deep, restful sleep.
    With care not to cause further injury, Mateus began removing what was left of the Captain’s tattered uniform.  The clothes, except for his boots, were all placed in a mesh-like bag.  The bag was then dropped into a chute, where its contents would be thoroughly washed and sterilized.  
Mateus placed the dog tags from the dead man into another bag with the piece of blanket in which he had wrapped them after wiping off most of the gore. This bag would ride with the Captain and his clothes into Parallel.    
    The Captain looked to be between twenty and thirty.  He was covered with welts, bruises, numerous superficial knife wounds, and had badly bruised and swollen testicles the size of large oranges.  He also had an ugly looking, badly infected wound to his left thigh.  Mateus could only imagine the cause of many of the wounds. 
    Mateus then filled the “tub” with warm water from the ship’s storage tanks. The process of bathing the sleeping Captain took three changes of water.  Each change involved the addition of different solutions which cleansed and rejuvenated damaged tissue.  The water from each change was recycled and distilled to avoid waste. 
    Mateus drained the last of the water from the tub using a vacuum tube.  Once that was done, he deflated the walls of the “tub” and dried his patient.  He then placed four circular sensors on the Captain’s back, four more on his chest, and two each on his wrists. He then wrapped him in fresh, warm towels. 
    “Vital signs are dangerously weak,” Bart reported. 
    “Thank you, Bart,”  Mateus had cleaned the wounded thigh, but it still oozed a smelly puss.  He had enough medical training to know he needed help with that wound.  In addition, the Captains testicles, most likely swollen from repeated kicks to his groin would need professional care or the Captain would never father the child his wife was to have.  “His wounds are far more extensive than I can handle by myself.”
    By the time the thigh was dressed with minimal dressings, the contents of the mesh bags were ready to be transported with the Captain.  Mateus placed them between the Captain’s legs and covered them and his patient with large towels for the trip.
    “Blood pressure and heart rate are reaching critical levels,” Bart reported.  “I recommend immediate action to save his life.”
    “Bart,” he commanded, “take us to the nearest Port of Entry as quickly as possible.”
    Mateus felt the acceleration and change in direction as the last word left his mouth.  In a matter of thirty seconds, Bart announced, “Approaching the Port of Entry.  Docking will be complete in sixty seconds.”
    A minute later, Mateus felt the connection and prepared to transfer the Captain to the Parallel Port where he would receive the treatments he needed.  He had been there himself once and knew the Captain would be well cared for.  Parallel was medically and scientifically several hundred years advanced over his own world.  The Captain would be gone a couple of hours, Mateus’s time, but most likely a year or more in the world to which he was to be transferred.  Chronologically he would age by that time period, but physically he would be healed and rejuvenated so that when he returned, he would look and feel better than he had on his eighteenth birthday.
    “Pressure equalization complete,” Bart reported.  “The hatch will open in fifteen seconds.” 
    Fifteen seconds later, the hatch opened.  Mateus gently slid the mat on which the Captain slept through the dark opening where he seemed to be absorbed into the Portal opening.  As Mateus stepped back, the hatch closed with a quiet click.  Now he would wait for the Captain’s return.       

Herblore about Roses

ROSE — Rosa rugosa

Queen of Flowers, "Mean-Old-Lady-She-Sticks-You", Meadow Rose, Sweet Briar

There are about 300 species and over 1600 varieties of rose.

The rose is known world-wide.

The rose comes from the Greek "rodon" meaning red.

Legends and Superstitions:

– The Greeks claim that the rose sprang from the blood of Adonis, the handsome young man who was killed by a wild boar.
+Aphrodite, who had fallen in love with Adonis, in her sorrow, changed his blood into a rose*.
+(*Some story tellers say it was the anemone or windflower.)
– The Roman believed that the red rose came from the blood of Venus when her foot got stuck on a thorn as she was helping Adonis.
+Venus loved Adonis better than the warrior Mars, even though Adonis was younger than Mars.
+Mars loved Venus intensely, but perceived that venus loved Adonis better than him.
+He killed Adonis, thinking it would cause Venus to return to him and forget Adonis.
+However, when Venus heard of his plans she quickly ran to rescue Adonis.
+In her rush to save him she fell in a bed of white roses which pricked and wounded her tender feet.
+She bled profusely and the roses all became red with her blood permanently in remembrance of the beautiful Venus and her love for Adonis.
– Venus threw her tender body into the rose thicket willingly to spoil its beauty out of spite for what Mars had done to her fair Adonis.

– Roses became red when Cupid was teasing the goddess at a banquet.
+The undisciplined Cupid knocked over the pot of heavenly Nectar with his wings, causing it to fall to earth and gave its color to the red rose.
+Thus the red rose is called "Cupid’s flower".
– The rose did not develop thorns until after Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden.

– To pre-Christian people the rose suggested divinity.

– Fairies are attracted to gardens where roses are planted.

– Stolen roses grow best.

– Roses were found in Egyptian tombs.
+They were offered to the soul of their dead pharaohs.
– Cleopatra seduced Marc Anthony by covering the floor of her palace knee deep in roses.

– About 1000 BC the ancient Greeks made cakes out of rose hips which were called the "Food of the Gods".

– The Greeks and Romans used roses in garlands.

– The Romans were especially appreciative of the rose, using it to decorate their banquets, float in their wine, and wear in crowns.
+Brides and grooms were crowned with roses in the same way that the images of Cupid, Venus, and Bacchus were adorned.
– Roses were strewn on the floor and even scattered in the paths of victors or beneath their chariots.
+Roman victors wore roses to feasts believing that they would prevent drunkeness.
+The rose was a sign of pleasure and the companion of mirth and wine.
+Roses were also used at funerals.
– Sappho, the Greek poetess (ca. 600BC) called the rose the "Queen of Flowers".

– The Rose of Sharon mentioned in the Bible was probably a crocus or narcissus.

– The Rose of Jericho in the Bible was not related to the rose either.
+A rose of Jericho sprang up marking every place that Joseph and the Babe rested as they fled from Herod.
– The Arabic name for rose is "gulab" meaning "Queen of the Garden" or "Queen of Paradise".

– The Turks said that the red rose was stained by the blood of Muhammad.

– Saladin, the Muslim conqueror had the Omar mosque washed in rosewater to purify it in 1187 when he entered Jerusalem.

– An Islamic tradition teaches that the first thing God made in creation was the soul of prophecy.
+The soul was so bright and burning that it began to perspire, and from the first drop, God created the essence of the rose.
– In the Middle Ages, Roger Bacon created the first conserve of roses as a drink.

– The Church reconsecrated the rose to the Virgin Mary in one of many attempts to do away with anything that was associated with sorcery or pagan practices.
+St. Dominic recognized the rose when he instituted the rosary, symbolized as roses.
– A lord’s man had gathered a considerable amount of goods for his lord.
+He had to pass through a woods with his treasure.
+Thieves were waiting for him in the woods.
+After entering the woods he remembered that he had not said the rosary that day.
+As he knelt to pray the Virgin came and placed a garland on his head.
+At each "ave" she placed a rose in the garland that was so bright that they lit up the whole woods.
+While he himself was not aware it was happening the thieves were, and allowed him to pass unharmed.
– Hanging a rose over the table was once a sign that all conversations would be held in sacred confidence.
+The plaster ornament in the center of a ceiling in some older homes is a remnant of that tradition and is known as "the rose".
– Herbalists in the 16^th century recommended that "Dry roses pu to the nose to smell, do comfort the brain and the heart."

– Rosewater was called "the gift of angels" and considered one of the safest healing agents available.

– Rose oil was discovered sometime in the 16^th century by two persian lovers.
+The Emperor Dijihanguyr, of the Moguls, had a canal dug around his gardens and filled with rose water.
+As he and the princess Nour-Dijihan were rowing in the fragrant canal on their wedding day, they noticed how the heat of the sun had separated the water from the essential oil of the rose.
+It was skimmed off and found to be an exquisite perfume which was called "Otto of Roses" or "Attar of roses".
– In the 17^th century the use of rose water was as common as present day use of vanilla.

– Rose hips and rose petals were used for rose pudding, rose syrup, and rose conserves.

– English maidens used to pluck a rose on Midsummer’s Eve to determine the faithfulness of their lovers.
+If the rose hadn’t faded by the beginning of the next month they could be certain their lover was true to them.
– A love potion can be made which will insure the love of the opposite sex.
+A certain number of red and white rose petals and forget-me-nots were to be boiled in 385 drops of water for one sixteenth of an hour.
+Three drops of the resulting elixir were to be place in something for the person to drink.
– William Penn brought 18 rose bushes with him to the new colonies when he returned from England in 1699.

– George Washington (1^st president) and Thomas Jefferson (3^rd president) both liked roses and grew them on their estates.

– John Adams (2^nd president) planted the first roses at the White House.

– The Aztecs boiled rose water to drink as a purgative.

– Rose hips were used to produce a vitamin C substitute for children in England during Word War II because of a shortage of oranges.

– A handful of rose hips contains 60 times more vitamin C than an orange.

Medicinal uses:

Arteriosclerosis – Emphysema – Lungs – Bites – Fever – Round worms – Bruises

Fever blisters – Sore eyes – Circulation – Heart – Sore throat – Colds

Infections – Stings – Contagious diseases – Influenza – Stomach – Diarrhea

Kidneys – Stress – Eczema – Liver – Yellow jaundice