THE DAILY ASTRONOMER

                December 22, 2011

                 The House of Sirius


The furious white fire subsumed the gases; propelling them up; drawing
them down; pushing them toward another ascent ending in yet another
decline.  A ceaseless maelstrom churning at space's nether edge and,
at last, the
nondescript Sirius-crafted photon finally emerged, along with the
ceaseless swarm of others just liberated by the roiling stellar inferno
that both spawned it thousands of years earlier and then withheld it;
cycling it through countless absorptions; re-emissions and
re-absorptions until it at last reached the turbulent, less dense
convective zone through which it traveled with fewer obstructions until
escaping its birth sphere altogether.    Before it then stretched the
cool, star-adorned blackness: free of constraint and for the first time
it moved as it was meant to move: without impediment.

EIGHT YEARS LATER

...the photon struck the cell
An LED light snapped on and touched the sensor, dropping a ball that,
having rested in cage, fell onto the platform, thereby turning a wheel
that flipped a delicate switch, releasing a larger ball onto a high
grade slope.  At the slope's nadir, three spheres -blue, green and red;
the larger ball knocked onto a twisting conduit gradually descending
from the ceiling toward the floor via the bay window.   The red sphere
rolled over a button at the bay window's border followed by green
pushing the button a bit lower; and blue pressed it flush with the
window top.  The window's perimeter became a blaze of crimson lights.
This accomplished, the accelerating red came upon a three-way fork.  It
struck a flap that spun it toward the left path before snapping into
place, rendering the path inaccessible to the others.   The green sped
into the middle, releasing a flap that blocked its path so that the blue
had one route available to it: the right path.
Separated by this trifurcation, the spheres found themselves on steeper
inclines accelerating them around loops and rounded bends, careening
each toward a different target: the red struck a bulls-eye attached to a
switch that, when activated by the impact, engaged a circuit
illuminating a intricate series of lights running through the kitchen
and progressing rapidly through the attached dining room.   The green
sphere dropped onto a button and as it collapsed onto the linoleum, the
first floor resounded with music: a symphony of brass and chorus growing
louder as the blue sphere followed a path wrapping around into the
dining room where it broke a delicate glass pane onto a dial.  Three
platforms slowly arose from the table, Crystalline all; glass sculptures
of flying cherubs scintillating like diamonds before the fireplace's
ember glow.   When these reached their full height, the dining room
erupted in applause.    The home owner, reclined in a chair, smiled
appreciatively at the scene unfurling before him:  of mantelpiece candle
flames arising as though by magic; of the two cylindrical mirrors
suspended at the corners: slowly rotating so as to cast light as though
through a spray around the ornate room's periphery.
              His smile grew even broader as the door chimed.     Apart
from being disgruntled at his guest's late arrival, he felt elation and
shouted above the din of pounding music and deafening applause
"ENTER!"
              Within a moment, a young man walked through the kitchen
and into the dining room, his expression one of amazement and not a
little confusion.    It was the confusion, perhaps, that caused his host
to arise, though with an effort, and laugh so boisterously that the
guest's countenance was suddenly shadowed with concern.     If anything,
the older, red-faced man laughed all the louder.  He took the guest by
the arm and shouted,   "My dear Mathias, your timing is miserable!    I
would that you had been here to observe the whole show with the others,"
he said waving broadly toward the dining room, "but tides don't wait,
not even for wayward sons.    Come, walk with me.   Perhaps if we make
haste, we'll catch the light!"

               Mathias remained spellbound, but silent.  Through the
living room they passed, where he saw an eager young boy reach for a
plate of brandied sugar cookies while his mother looked on with
remonstrance.  A corpulent man hovered over a roast while a servant
prepared to pour wine in his goblet.   By the fireplace, two thin,
dapper men raised their glasses; their smiles unfaltering as Mathias and
his father entered the den.

               Christian Baumgarten nudged his son mischievously   "Ah,
just in time for this!  Behold!"

A small light beam, of unknown origin but most likely sparked by a
hidden sensor, connected with the wall.  In the corner, a once darkened
tree emitted a deep, azure blue glow brightening and spreading along the
branches until every part pulsed with a luminescence that, though, soft,
was sufficient so as to illuminate the room.
           "Oh, hello, didn't see you there!"  Christian said, to a
teenage couple nestling on the couch.  "Mathias, my lad, I think an exit
now would be well advised."
           Without looking back, Christian and Mathias hurried into the
parlor to encounter a sing-song in progress.  An elderly fellow pressed
down on the piano keys as a joyous quartet of young men sang along
loudly, almost bombastically, in accompaniment.     Their white hats
crooked, their stares toward the ceiling, those happy few paid father
and son no mind.    The focus was their music.
              Christian Baumgarten paused for a moment and then, as he
rubbed his nose, said, "Upstairs, now!'

              The stairs were in shadow when they started the climb,
but as they ascended, they found themselves immersed in light:  festive
lights of poinsettia red and pine green meandering through ropes
entwined along the banister and on the stairs, themselves.    The lights
were child-like, teasing their feet and rushing ahead of them to the
tenebrous second floor.  There, everything was quiet still, hauntingly
so.    The blinding first floor glare cast sharp pillar-like shadows
through the central stairwell and the noises of singing, laughing and
the symphony echoed above them through the unseen rafters.

             "Perfect," Christian murmured.   For as the two men stood
there, other lights, sharper and focused, emerged and at once the
chandelier exuded a powerful white glow.   In response, wreaths on the
second floor's four bedrooms doors answered with their own multicolored
twinkling.    Candle flames from all four corners flickered on; and the
platform erupted with noise and illumination: A giggling girl pursued
playfully by her father dressed as Father Christmas; a young couple
leaning over the banister, in the act of throwing confetti onto the
figures running up the stairs.    A troop of elves balanced precariously
on the windowsills, satchels over their shoulders, silhouetted against
the silver moonlight.

             "Quick!"  The old man demanded, pulling his still
flabbergasted son into the nearest room.   "Shh....."  he warned his son
as they entered.      "I suspect they are sleeping, or pretending to be,
anyway."
            The entered a child's bedroom to observe two girls; in
separate beds at opposite corners.   Appearing quite cherub-like, they
were lost in dreams and therefore unable to observe the sudden formation
of the fairy circle gathering in the air above them: yellow light from
the chandelier projected onto spinning, spherical ornaments engraved
with the fairy design performed the miracle.    Apart from the solitary
orange candle in the frosted window, these reflected fairies offered the
only light: hardly enough to awaken the girls.

           They found no fairies in the next room, but four older woman
engrossed in a card game: glaring at the one who was smugly smiling;
sitting next to the one smoking, opposite the one wearing the green
visor.      An overhead lamp shone on the cards, ashtray and whiskey.
            Mathias and Christian didn't enter the room, preferring to
observe from a more pious distance,  "Let all Christmas Eve traditions
be observed!" Christian toasted them, as he closed the door. "Whoa!
Mind your legs.  Ha ha ha!"
          Mathias barely managed to avoid the train that roared forth
along a winding floor track.  "The yuletide express!   Damn, that's a
cliché!  Moving along."
          They walked by the young confetti-tossing couple and into the
third room, where a middle aged man lay on the floor next to his grand
daughter, their hands holding crayons onto a book, the floor around them
an untidy mess of cookie fragments and spilled milk.    They were
oblivious to the blue lights that suddenly snapped on around them.
           "Let's not disturb.   I suspect this is one of those quality
moments."
           They closed the door quietly and proceeded to open the last.
   At this, Mathias abruptly stopped his father.   "What is all this?!"
           Christian beamed  "Now you say something."
            "I didn't expect this, Dad."
            "I know you didn't."
            "Why?" Mathias asked, as he watched a gentle cascade of
paper snowflakes issue from the chandelier.
            "Because it is what final Christmases should be: noises and
lights, not tears and shadows."
            Christian's smile faded for his saw how his son's
expression then changed.  He clapped him on the shoulder with that
determined firmness that seems particular to frailty.   "Come, one last
room."

              Once they entered this last room, Christian truly
surprised his son by flicking on a switch to turn on the lights.  "I
didn't have time to connect this room to the rest of the system.  Now,
look, "

             In an armchair sat a man, who bore a curious resemblance
to the middle aged man on the floor with the crayon; and to the Father
Christmas on the platform;  also to one of the young men in the quartet;
and even the eager child downstairs in the dining room reaching for the
premature dessert.
              "Look what he's doing,"  Christian said, pointing.
              The man was tossing stars to a young boy sitting
cross-legged on the floor.     Three stars, supported by thin, invisible
wire, hung in mid-air between the wax child and his similarly
constituted father.    "It was the time I told you that stars were so
small you could catch them."
             "I remember."
             "But, you were always a pain in the arse, even then, and
didn't believe me, so I had to show you."
             "I knew they were fake."
             "Like hell you did."
             Mathias laughed in spite of himself.
             "Much better sound than sighing," Christian told him.
"And a much better response to a life cast in molds, considering all the
time I spent."
             "This must have taken you forever."
             "It's amazing what one can do on borrowed time."
              "Why?"
              "Eight years ago I got my diagnosis. A while later, about
three years after I was supposed to have stopped doing anything, I
decided I wanted that precise moment back.   So I constructed this: a
mosaic of previous Christmas Eves with heavyset fathers; gambling aunts;
fairy-obsessed sisters; and a star-catching son.    Eight years ago
Sirius emitted the light that struck the photo voltaic cell, which
through a series of activations enlivened them all through lights and
recorded sounds.     Tonight, the family gathers once more: awakened by
the night sky, itself."
              Mathias wanted to speak, but couldn't.   His father
looked up at him.  "It was just in time, as well.  One knows when the
inevitable is close.   Such conditions give one a sense of calm
lucidity.    But, I am glad.  Glad that I did what I wanted to do."
He clasped his sons shoulder and for a fleeting moment, the expression
became stern.
"Years from now, may it be many, many years, when the time comes for
you to join em, just look for the two full brandy
tumblers waiting for you in the old drawing room.    Well, one will be
full...maybe..."
              Christian laughed, but by himself.
              "Well done," his son whispered, looking down at the
carpet as he wiped his eyes.
              Christian then embraced him fully.    "Merry Christmas, Mathias."

           And along an abandoned road a mansion rent the air with
music and set the night ablaze with electric flame.     It would be near
dawn when the laughing, dancing and celebrating at the House of Sirius
finally ceased and the two living occupants lapsed into sleep.