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I knew that the more work I did before the haul-out, the more billable time would be saved during the haul-out. And yet, it seemed that events conspired against me. School, work, and social responsibilities abound and I find myself not making the progress desired. On the day before the haul-out I still hadn't removed the floor panel where the electric motors would be installed under, the engine was still in place, the outboard engine wasn't mounted to the back ladder. So many projects, so little time. Maybe I should google 'time management'.

Every great craftsman imagines that somehow their gained expertise will somehow allow him to avoid the pitfalls, delays, added expenses, drunk workmen, accidents, injuries, broken tools, and surprise projects that shall befall the lesser mortals. After all, proper planning and expertise should make Murphy's law your little bitch right? Well, I'm no expert craftsman, and boat maintenance in general is still pretty fresh to me. Still, I had visions that our grand electric conversion project for our sailboat 'Tempo' would go smoothly, come in under budget, and that the boat would be back in the water in 3 or 4 days. Somewhere, all the master boatsmen of ages past are laughing their asses off at me.

Since moving away from California, I still strive to carry on mom's tradition of cooking up a storm for the holidays. Not every year goes as planned though. Moving to Hawaii made making a big food feast a bit more challenging if not outright impossible on some years. Eric and I were building our home, but by the first Christmas in 2002, we didn't even have the foundation completed. We had no kitchen, and only knew a few people on the island.

Well, Thanksgiving is passed, and there's only 11 days till Christmas. It brings back fond memories of holidays past, the excitement of waiting for gifts, the decorating of trees, the overindulgence that the holidays bring. But not all is as it was in Who-ville. Times they be a changing, and the holidays were drug along for the ride.

Christmas used to be my favorite time of year. Being the youngest child of six, this was the time when I'd be spoiled rotten at not one, but two Christmases. No, I didn't have a divorce family, but a Grandma that lived in Burbank. Christmas Eve we'd spend at Grandma O's house in Burbank, and Christmas we'd spend at home in Newhall, But this little writing adventure is not about reliving those merry moments, but a lament of their passing.

Jimmy departed his bungalow on the corner of Stewart & McGraw for what he feared would be the last time. Although such evening departures kindled memories of all nighters on the strip, he shook his head with a sigh and latched the door. It was getting too dangerous to visit his favorite haunts. He knew that if he wasn't more careful he might find the unfriendly end of a compass lodged in his back.

A soft knock startled Sir Henry from his light, fitful sleep. "Ah, I was only resting my eyelids," he said to the open and empty room. Henry surveyed the room, taking in the rich wooden tones, red throw carpets, and the other trappings of his success. Another knock and he realized that he must have a guest. "Ah, come in." he beckoned.

The door opened and a pale, skinny figure snuck quickly inside, barely leaving the door open a scant second.

"My god, Jimmy! You look like crap." Sir Henry said in alarm.

Rain lashed against the windowpanes of Sir Henry's study. Drawing the shades, Henry's large build jostled the jars of amber liquor near the window. Eying the sherry bottle, he heaved a might sigh. Chelsea must have been nipping from his good sherry again. Of course, he'd have to let her go, despite her shore tenure working for him. He hated the confrontation what would ensue. He'd have to accuse her, then she'd deny it. He'd point out the conclusive evidence and his deduction. She'd strain to point out the minutest flaws in his analysis.

It was a balmy afternoon in the Mathlab. The air conditioner gave a plaintive wail signaling its surrender to the humidity. Justin was leering at women again, but took a moment to stare at the heavens and ask, "Why me?" With that utterance, he swung around to open the louvered windows, hoping for a fresh breeze. Hell, he'd be happy with a gust of automobile exhaust, anything really to push this stagnant humidity out of the room. Justin could tell it was going to be one of those days when a student walked in with another question on the rotation of solids.

In a world where the mathematical Illuminati prey upon the lesser mortals, two rival gangs converge upon the same area with divergent goals, explosive personalities, and bad math puns. When the holy grail of mathematics is found, and quickly goes missing, therein lies the probability that an exponential increase in power can be derived for those quick to act and ruthless in their deduction.