Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Writing Prompt: The Wandering Forests of Llovendt

Writing Prompt #587
The Wandering Forests of Llovendt were a legend even before The Dust came. People told stories of them in taverns where they shared cool beverages together: “Sure, you always had a place to camp, but the problem with having a creature with trees growing out of its back was finding a big enough river to water them thoroughly!”
That was why my father sent us off.
Yes, the Wandering Forests of Llovendt are more than just a legend, and no matter what anyone says, they were not the cause of The Dust. My clan could see it coming, though. We had all traveled to the western mountains for a gathering, a reunion, and the Eldest Lloven informed us all that calamity was coming to the land. She said it would last for a life age, and that if we did not prepare ourselves, our lives and our forests would be lost forever.
My family had traveled together with several other groups as long as I could remember. It was said that those who saw us from afar told tales of earthquakes, forests rolling and cresting as though they were waves in the ocean.
When my father first announced his plan, I objected. My younger brother glared at me for my boldness, but as firstborn my father did not mind my speaking out. “Why not go to the ocean?” I had protested. “Surely there would be enough water for all the Llovendtea there.”
My father shook his head. “The Lloven are not seafarers,” he argued. “We must all go our separate ways and find water for ourselves where we may. Perhaps at the end of this coming disaster, we may meet again, and travel together once more.”
I frowned and bid my family goodbye. My brother tried to hide his tears as he and Tor’ven started northward, but I saw them streaming down his face. He could never hide his tears from me, whether they were caused by a sharp word from another Lloven or by a fall he had taken while climbing Tor’ven’s massive foreleg. “Don’t cry,” I would tell him when he was small. “Tor’ven will always take care of you.”
It was not as though I was not sad myself as I watched my family and friends walk away from me that day. My father’s wisdom would most likely save a good deal of us, if not all, no matter how I disagreed with him. It was a fact that without water to sustain our Llovendtea, they would die, and all of us with them.
I traveled south. My father and mother went east, determined to stay together until they were forced to separate. I had other plans, but I wanted my father to think that I was “doing what was best for myself and Do’lvah,” as he had instructed me, so I shouted to one of my friends that the Great South River would be my first destination.
I walked, keeping in the shade Do’lvah had always been able to provide for me. We walked two days and rested one, sleeping through the heat of the day, that seemed hotter than it ever had before. Do’lvah did not seem bothered. As we descended the mountains, we left scenes of greenery behind us. Do’lvah’s “slumbering brothers,” as my mother called them, seemed to be losing much of their plant growth. Could the ruin be starting already? I wondered.
Brown were the plains and the farmland that should have greeted us. The only green for miles were the trees, towering on Do’lvah’s back. And even they were looking forlorn. The third day after the mountains were behind us, I ascended in my usual way to the sanctuary Do’lvah kept for me, watched as ever by his huge black eye. “Don’t worry,” I assured him as he settled down. “We’ll be seeing the river in another day or two.”
But we did not.
I slept twice more before the Great South River greeted our eyes, and it was no longer great, nor was it a river. Do’lvah made a sound of unease as he bent to drink, and I patted his rough cheek in sympathy. We rested by the stream until he was ready to go on, and by then the stream was not much more than a trickle.
That evening we endured the first dust squall. Do’lvah again made sounds of anxiety, but I believe they were more on my account than his. I pulled my robe down over my face and could not see where we were going. Do’lvah seemed undisturbed for himself, and grew more comfortable as I drew closer to his side. This was dangerous as he does not often know where he will place his foot when he lifts it, but we know each other’s ways so well that even with my head covered, I could dodge his heavy limbs while still continuing our journey.
I had never traveled to the western extremes before, but when dust squall ended I did not recognize the country. Despite my attempts to keep the river on my left, we had wandered away from it. Or perhaps it could not stand against the destructive powers of the squall. That evening I stood near Do’lvah’s head and stared down at where the riverbed should have been.
The Great South River was no more. The Dust had conquered it.
A week after the squall, I awakened to see movement on the western horizon. The sea already? I thought. It was not yet the sea, but a member of my clan coming toward us. Do’lvah got to his feet, moving more quickly in anticipation of fellowship with another Llovendtea.
Unfortunately, it was Velah, one of my least favorite cousins. Do’lvah had always gotten on very well with Bar’relig, however, and the two Llovendtea cordially butted heads and settled down next to one another, Do’lvah’s still green back contrasting Bar’relig’s strangely reddish brown one.
“We got lost,” Velah admitted immediately. “The river that’s always been on the western side of the mountains has been spirited away by all this dust.” She coughed. “I did not walk for two days last week. Bar’relig walked instead, and I stayed safe above. That storm was awful.”
“You rode while he walked?!” I gasped.
“What was I supposed to do?” Velah growled in response, “choke to death? Bar’relig’s fine, you can see that yourself. He’ll be even better once we get to the Great South River.”
“How could you?” was all I could say. She knew as well as I that abusing Bar’relig like that would bring about his death. The longer he carried passengers while going without water, the worse off he would be. Only children were allowed to ride, and Velah could not claim that as her excuse, as she was several years older than I.
“The river will restore him,” she said confidently, patting his reddish side.
I stood, a feeling of contempt washing over me. “The river can do no such thing, Velah Lloven,” I informed her. “The river is gone. The squall defeated it. You and Bar’relig will have to hope for another source to save you.”
“Gone!” she leaped up. “But we’ll die! What can we do?”
“You can go further south, but I do not know what good that will do you. Bar’relig does not have much of a chance if your idea of riding out a storm is to endanger the only thing that will help you stay alive. Perhaps you should think about him before you think of yourself.”
I would have left immediately, but I knew that Do’lvah was enjoying Bar’relig’s presence and did not know when he would next get to enjoy the privilege of spending time with his kin, so I retreated to his back and left Velah to think in silence. I could swear that sometime during the night I heard her weeping and apologizing to Bar’relig, but I cannot be sure. We parted ways the next morning.
“Thank you for your words, Teleenah,” she said, glaring at the ground. “And for your warning about the river. We will try our luck elsewhere. Goodbye, Do’lvah.” Do’lvah snorted a farewell, and my cousin turned south, leading her Llovendtea from the ground where she belonged.
I was uneasy for several days after parting. I wondered if any of us would survive this blight, or if the Lloven and their Walking Forests would be lost forever. Surely there are few of us as foolish as Velah, I consoled myself. “I would never endanger you like that,” I shouted up to Do’lvah. He grunted in reply, and I knew he understood.
As we got closer to our destination, I started to see ordinary people. They stared at me and at Do’lvah, pointing and gaping at his size and my ease in walking so near him. One day I spotted a woman with a basketful of fish. I wanted to ask her how far we had left to go, but I had never studied the common tongue with any interest, as many others of my clan had. “FISH?!” I managed to say, pointing at her basket. She nodded with a look of horror up at Do’lvah. “WATER?” I continued, pointing west. She nodded again, more emphatically, and moved quickly away down the road, as though Do’lvah was a dangerous beast that would devour her if I gave the order. I looked smilingly up at him, he clicked his tongue, and we continued our journey.
I wasn’t worried for myself or Do’lvah. He had gone without water for much longer than three weeks before, and that was without having a strong drink at the river a week after drinking deeply from a spring in the mountains. I was as cheerful as ever, and tried not to let foreboding creep into my heart. It would do neither of us any good to give in to despair.
As I climbed up to rest the fourth night after “asking directions,” I could see no more brown in the distance. The horizon looked distinctly blue. I informed Do’lvah of this, and his snort seemed to convey that he would believe it when he saw it.
Two days later, he did.
The sea stretched out before us as far as we could see. For a moment, I was afraid that Do’lvah would rush ahead, leaving me behind in his haste to get to the water. He did move a little quicker, and I kept ahold of the lead even though it seemed more that he was leading me than the other way around. It still took half a day to reach the water, but neither of us minded. We did not stop to sleep when we should have, and this caused our mistake to be even more disheartening.
Around noon on the day I would normally have been resting, Do’lvah and I plunged into the water together. His raucous splashing raised the alarm of some nearby sea birds, and they squawked indignantly as he bent down for a drink. I lowered my own head at the same time, savoring being cool and dust-free for the first time in weeks when I heard Do’lvah squeak.
Normally, Llovendtea only snort, or grunt, or click their tongues to communicate. Squeaking was reserved for moments of extreme happiness or surprise. For a moment I assumed that Do’lvah was happy to be ankle deep in as much water as he could drink. The next, the water hit my own tongue, and I spat it out in disgust.
Do’lvah was gazing at me reproachfully. I looked up at him, baffled. “What is wrong with this water?” I asked him. “Has The Dust spoiled it, too? Salt is all well to season meat, but water…” Do’lvah snorted. “I didn’t know,” I assured him. The splashing was deafening as he made his way to the beach and lay down. “I’m sorry,” I told him, watching the water stream off his legs. “I’m as disappointed as you are.”
I climbed onto his back and said goodnight, and was almost asleep when he shifted position, nearly throwing me out of my hammock and off of his back, which he had not done since we were both very young. I opened my mouth to protest when I realized the point he was making: the fright he had given me was just as bad as my leading him to water that he couldn’t drink. I remained silent.
Though I had disagreed with my father before parting, I had never thought to ask him why he insisted that we separate instead of traveling together toward the sea. At the time, I had only held firm to the belief that surely we would all be better off together, and that no body of water could better sustain us through a long drought as the sea would.
Now I understood. Worse still, Do’lvah did, too.
In the morning, I looked him over. Do’lvah did not look as bad as Bar’relig had when we met. Though he was mainly brown, there were still hopeful areas of green dotting his form. And despite the fact that the water tasted disgusting, it was still water. I knew that if things got bad enough, we could both still sustain ourselves if we got desperate enough. I just hoped that we would find a river first.
And so, with the sea on our left, we turned northward.
Some days, we waded through the water, Do'lvah's lead stretched between us as I splashed through the shallow water and he preferred the deeper waters. Occasionally he dipped his head in for a sip, but I knew it was never enough to quench his huge thirst.
I had never realized that the sea was so big. I have traveled all of my life, and land does not seem that vast to me, compared to that blue expanse that stretched forever. There were days I wondered if it would ever end. I had never wondered when a journey would end before; I had always known where my destination was. During that long trek by the sea, my only destination was the end of the sea, and my only plans for reaching it were to turn around and follow the never ending salt water back the way we had come.
One evening before Do’lvah and I settled down to sleep, I turned my gaze inland, giving my eyes a break from watching the waves crashing on the beach. But the land rolled and crashed as well. I wiped the dust from my face and looked again. I let out a cry of surprise and pulled on Do’lvah’s lead. He echoed my cry with a squeak of his own and this time, he did leave me behind. I ran as fast as I could toward the Llovendtea I had seen, and so did he. As Do’lvah reached them, I heard the happy squeaks of the other Llovendtea, and the shouts of her keeper, who had let go of his own lead and was running to me.
“Teleenah!” he shouted, and I recognized his voice and rushed forward into his arms.
“Sillendz!” My brother and I embraced as though we had not seen each other for years. Nearby, Do’lvah was greeting Tor’ven in a similar Llovendtean way. They rubbed their noses together, clicking their tongues happily.
“How did you get here?” my brother asked as we walked back toward our charges. “I thought you were headed south!”
“We did, for a while,” I said. I told him about the loss of the Great South River, about Velah and Bar’relig, and about the discovery we made that first day at the sea.
Sillendz laughed. “Tor’ven tried that too, but when we first saw the sea, she’d just had a drink. She was surprised, but not as disappointed as she would have been.”
“Do’lvah was pretty angry with me,” I said, smiling at the memory.
“He won’t be soon,” my brother told me. “There’s a river not far from here, and a settlement. Tor’ven and I have been staying there. We help their hunters capture meat to eat, and they share what they have with us.”
“But hasn’t The Dust reached them yet?”
“Yes, but it does not seem as bad as in other places. Before we came here, all we saw were dry, dying plants and windswept rocks. But the river is much wider and more sustaining here. They still have a few trees. I’ve told them all about our family, about Llovendt, and about how we all separated because of The Dust. They’re very generous; I’m sure they’ll let you stay.”
“But two Llovendtea, won’t we drain their resources?”
He smiled. “Come and meet them. We can decide what to do after Do’lvah has a drink.”
Tor’ven looked just as healthy as she had the day we all went our separate ways, perhaps healthier. I hoped that in time Do’lvah would regain the health he had lost, as well. He still didn’t look as bad as Bar’relig had, but he looked rather haggard as he walked along happily next to Tor’ven.
Over the next few days, Do’lvah spent as much time as he could with Tor’ven next to the river, while Sillendz and I shared more tales of our adventures while we were apart. I got to know some of the people from the nearby settlement, and enjoyed their company. I enjoyed it more when Sillendz was there to translate, since my conversations about water and fish were not terribly interesting.
“The Wandering Forests of Llovendt have never stayed in one place for very long,” I lectured my brother one afternoon about six weeks after Do’lvah and I arrived.
“And why did we leave Llovendt?” my brother asked, an echo of our father’s tone in his voice.
“Because we could no longer stay,” I answered, feeling as though I was a child again, reciting the history of our people over and over again so that I would never forget it.
“But… we can stay here,” my brother pointed out.
“This is… not Llovendt,” I said, frowning slightly.
“Maybe we could make it Llovendt. There is plenty of water and room for them. We could make a new Llovendt. Perhaps there will be enough time for some brand new Llovendtii.”
I gazed sharply at Do’lvah and Tor’ven. They were distantly related enough that they could produce offspring together. That sort of thing was only possible when the Llovendtea stayed in one spot long enough to raise their young, which did not happen often. Thankfully, they were long lived, and often, they were passed down to younger members of the tribe when the elders grew to old to care for them. Do’lvah had been in the care of my grandmother until I came of age.
“New Llovendtii?” I heard myself saying. It was a glimmer of hope in this paradise that The Dust had not managed to penetrate. “Perhaps it might be time to stop wandering.”

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

The Doorknob in the Hall Closet

For most of the year, it hangs on the doorknob on the inside of the hall closet. It keeps me from closing the door after I’ve put clean sheets away or stored snow boots in their proper place for the winter. It swings into view when my children romp across the house and press their faces into the mirror attached to the door. Half the fun of making a silly squishy face is knocking the closet door open accidentally-on-purpose.
I always know where it is.
I never want it until I need it.
I never realize I forgot it until I spot someone who remembered to stop at their own hall closet before they left the house.
So I walk in the rain, and think about the doorknob on the inside of the hall closet.

Monday, April 28, 2014

Lazy Lilacs

Spring was kind of dithering around, deciding whether it wanted to show up or not, until this weekend, when we had some awesome thunderstorms. Now everything is green, everyone’s lawn needs to be mowed, and everyone’s lilacs are blooming.
Lilacs are the best thing about spring. The different hues of purple wave in the breeze in almost every yard as I drive past. And then I get home and glare at the nearest lilac bush, which is in our neighbor’s yard. It has not bloomed yet. “Come on!” I admonished it recently. “Get going! Everybody else has lilacs! Lazy bush.”
I’m excited about spring, and I’m excited about lilacs. And I’ll be even more excited when the lazy lilacs next door decide to start blooming, too!

Friday, April 25, 2014

May the Fourth Bag Be With You

Well ladies and gentlemen, I have successfully finished three entire bags made of recycled grocery bags. Nothing remains for me to do but to retire into the prosperity of never having to buy a reusable grocery bag for 99 cents at the store.
And, of course, to make another one.
I wasn’t quite sure how I wanted to go when I started, nor did I have a snappy name to call it. I saw that I had a large amount of Target bags, so I decided to use them up and then plan where to go from there. 

It’s amazing how fast a project like this will go when you’re not paying much attention while working on it. I made this entire bag while playing Dragon Age 2, a fantasy RPG. The great thing about games like these is the wonderful story. Some gamers complain about long cut scenes between the action, but that’s what Dragon Age is about. So in between the swordy bits when the characters were talking, I’d crochet.
I used a P sized hook, and in less than a week, I’d used up all my white and red Target bags, plus three green and gold Cabela’s bags, just to round it off to an even 40.

Tune in next week for the exciting continuation of Bag the Bag Part 4: May the Fourth Bag Be With You (as in, with you at the grocery store)!

4th Count: 40

Thursday, April 24, 2014

Thursday in History: A Library for Congress

Prior to 1800, United States Congressmen were bringing books from home and asking to be reimbursed for them. “We need them to do the important work of running the country!” they whined at the President.
“Fine,” John Adams huffed. He was busy trying to move out of a tiny city that the government was growing out of and into a newer, bigger place. “You can have a library when we get to our new city.”
“But we want it nooooow!” the congressmen complained.
“You have to wait and that’s the end of it!” the President shouted.
“Awww,” the congressmen moaned in unison, with pouty looks at the head of state.
Softened by their little faces, Madison sighed and said, “Look, I’ll give you five thousand dollars to start a library when we get there.”
The congressmen all looked up hopefully, and a loud chorus of cheering disrupted the President’s office until he yelled at them to be quiet and get back to work or they could forget the whole thing.
On this day in history in 1800, President John Adams signed the documentation that formalized the government’s move from the city of Philadelphia to Washington DC. Included in this was the foundation for the Library of Congress. And though the 3 maps and 740 books purchased by an excited Congress didn’t last long (due to the fire at the Capitol during the War of 1812), the Library survived with donations from individuals like Thomas Jefferson (who even sent over some cookbooks).
Bronze Entrance Doors by artist Lee Lawrie
on the east side of the John Adams Building
photo by Carol Highsmith, via wikipedia
Today, the Library of Congress is so large that it takes four buildings to contain it. It has more than 32 million books and is home to the largest rare book collection in North America. You can’t just go pick up a book and take it home with you, though. Books aren’t allowed to leave the building. Although if you need a book and aren’t in the DC area, you can get almost anything on inter-library loan, provided you don’t leave your local library with it.
And yes, the rule even applies to the cookbooks.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Writing Prompt: Relationship Advice

One paragraph? Yeah right!
Writing Prompt #196
My relationship advice is to examine yourself very thoroughly before you enter a relationship to determine if you actually want to be in one.
If you’re the kind of person who breaks up with a significant other right before Spring Break because you know you’d cheat if you didn’t, you should not be in a serious relationship. If you’re the kind of person who breaks up two weeks before Christmas because you and your significant other can’t agree on your plans or are having endless arguments about presents, you should not be in a serious relationship.
Think carefully before you pull that April Fool’s Day stunt. No matter how hilarious it is, if your significant other is not going to find it funny, don’t do it. If you decide to go ahead and pull that prank, you’re a jerk, and jerks should not be in a serious relationship.
The summer months are long, and long distance relationships are hard. If you just want that significant other during the school year, maybe you should just date casually instead of entering into that serious relationship.
Don’t put too much pressure on yourself and your significant other around Valentine’s Day. If you’re going to be together for a long time, eventually that “special holiday” will end up being just like any other day. A card, flowers, or an extra “I love you” will do. If you cannot do without an insanely huge demonstration of love (yours or your significant other’s), you may want to examine why that is, and until then, refrain from entering into that serious relationship.
Mondays suck. If you can’t get through a bad day without taking it out on your significant other (and making them your ex significant other), then you should not be in a serious relationship.
My final relationship advice is to keep your relationship status far, far, far away from facebook. If there is some reason that you need the validation of keeping your entire social media circle appraised of every minute detail of your relationship, you may want to examine that need, and until then, refrain from entering into a serious relationship. Your significant other deserves the same kind of discretion regarding intimate relationship details that you would expect them to extend to you.
My relationship advice is to examine yourself very thoroughly before you enter a relationship to determine if you actually want to be in one. A serious relationship takes lots of hard work and commitment. If you just want a significant other so that you can change your relationship status on facebook, then you’re probably not ready for a serious relationship.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Things That Make Me Giggle: Purposely Incorrect

My great grandfather was very smart. He used to tell people that he was going to be president someday. But I don't know if our country could have handled a commander in chief with such an interesting sense of humor.
He used to misspell things. On purpose. He knew perfectly well how to spell them, but he occasionally wrote them incorrectly... because it was funny.
It may be confusing to some, but it sounds hilarious to me.
My brother has a similar humorous tendency. A recent picture he snapped of my adorable nephew banging on the piano featured the caption: "He's friggin' Picasso!"
My brother knows a famous cubist painter has nothing to do with his son's musical talents. That's why it's funny.
I enjoy strange portmanteaus and silly internet slang. Stuff like that makes me giggle; I know how things should actually be spelled, how words should actually sound, but I can't help but laugh when I spell or say them incorrectly.
The amusement comes from knowing that I know I'm wrong.
I realize that not everybody's going to think it's funny, but that's okay. At least it makes me laugh to sometimes say things purposely incorrect.

Monday, April 21, 2014

After a Long Day...

The best thing after a long day of work is having a serious heart to heart with your four year old during the car ride home.
The best thing after a long day of work is coming home to find your awesome husband making a delicious meal for you.
The best thing after a long day of work is heading to bed early to curl up with several good books.
The best thing about today was all of those things happened to me.

Friday, April 18, 2014

Trilogy Bag Count: THE END

Well, my friends, it is time for THE END of Bag the Bag Part Three: the Sequel to the Sequel. I tried as hard as I could to use the exact same kind of bag this time, but I ran out. I also attempted to make the handles a little less of a pain, but that didn’t quite work either.
I did use 140 of the same kind of bag, a white Hy Vee bag with some black writing and a big red Husker N, and finished the last handle with a different kind of white Hy Vee bag (it had black writing and featured a red recycle symbol instead).
The handles were easier than I’d ever attempted before, but when I finished the body it really felt like they weren’t going to be strong enough, so I had to add another layer to them. It wasn’t as bad as stitching the handle on, but still slow and not terribly fun.
Someday, I will be able to make a bag out of recycled bags that is really fun to make and has strong handles.

Trilogy Final Bag Count: 147

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Thursday in History: Better Late Than Never

A little smattering of tiny islands lie off the western coast of England. And until this day in history in 1986, they were at war, and had been for three hundred thirty five years.
It all started when the Netherlands, who were allies of England, wanted to help out with their civil war. In 1651. Since it was a civil war, they could have helped out either side and claimed that they were helping out their ally, but nobody wants to be on the losing side of a war.
The Isles of Scilly, safe from Dutch warships in 2009
photo by Mike Knell
via wikipedia
The Parliamentarians, under Cromwell, had shoved the Royalists out to the edges of Great Britain. The Royalists did what they had to do to survive, which included raiding any Dutch ships that happened to be nearby. A Dutch Admiral arrived to put a stop to it. He arranged his ships menacingly, puffed out his chest, and when these intimidating actions did not produce the apology he wanted, he declared war on the Isles of Scilly.
Several months later, the English civil war was resolved, and the Dutch navy went home without firing a single shot... but they never really made peace with the little archipelago. The “war” dragged on for centuries, forgotten by everyone except local myth.
Though the Admiral hadn’t necessarily had the authority to declare war on the islands on behalf of his country, in 1985 an island historian decided it was time for an end of aggression. A Dutch Ambassador came to sign a formal peace treaty, joking that the islanders must have lived in constant fear, “to know that we could have attacked at any moment.”
I suppose peace is better made late than never.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Writing Prompt: The List

Writing Prompt #220
If anyone should be able to actually list one hundred people that lived a thousand years ago, I should. I may stray into mythishness after a while, but I’m confident I’ll be able to at least get the list halfway done. I’m guessing that a good half of the names I can conjure up will be Roman (and if I’m short on names, I’ll have to venture back to Troy). I promise not to cheat and use the internet to look things up. I will only use my college degree. (Ha, I’m using my college degree!)

Richard the Bastard, Duke of Normandy
Ethelred the Unready, King of England
Knut, Viking Ruler of England
Emma, Queen of England (Wife of Ethelred… and Knut)
Godwin, adviser to the King(s) of England
Attila the Hun
Julia (daughter of Augustus Caesar)
Augustus Caesar (Octavian)
Pontias Pilate
Mark Antony
Julius Caesar
Scipio Africanus
Paul of Tarsus
Jesus of Nazareth
Joseph of Nazareth
John the Baptist
Simon Peter
James (son of Zebedee)
Simon the Zealot
James (not the son of Zebedee)
Judas Iscariot
Siddhartha Gautama (the Buddha)
Alexander the Great
Phillip of Macedon
Ramesses II
Ramesses I

Wow, I really thought I’d have to break out the super-ancient stuff that you read about in Greek plays (I really like writing the word “Agamemnon” even if he wasn’t the nicest dude). I didn’t even get to Genesis, let alone The Iliad or The Odyssey, which I guess is good, because a good deal of the characters in Homer’s poems were gods, which is not so much under the heading of “historical figures” and more under the heading of “fictional characters.”
My list (which I tried to arrange from youngest to oldest, but failed near the end) mostly consists of Kings and Queens, and those involved in the drama of Kings and Queens. I’ve got religious leaders, philosophers, and historians; warriors, judges, and prophets. I suppose that’s what it takes to be remembered. I guess if I want to make the list, I’d better get to work.