"Kraken" the case of planetary power

Family Day included inflatables!

 It was Take-Your-Mother-To-Work Day. "No," corrected Savannah, already regretting having told me about event, "It's Family Day." Nevertheless, I was delighted. "It has an itinerary," I squealed, "and a map!" I hadn't been this excited since I had joined the former First Lady in christening the USS Illinois. "How come you never get this enthusiastic when I take you to my work?" Sydney Lynn asked glumly. I thought back reflectively and then brightened. "How can you say that?" I answered, "I love the onion rings from Charcoal Corral!" She bounced back when she learned that there would be face-painting and pony rides. There was a LONG discussion about whether we should get a unicorn or a narwhal emblazoned on our cheeks but once we came to the realization that the narwhal is the magical unicorn of the sea, the matter was settled. "No, the matter is certainly NOT settled," stated Savannah resolutely, "You will NOT be getting your faces painted nor will you be riding a pony. I did not invite you to Family Day so that you could embarrass me." Soundly scolded, Sydney and I sat silent and contrite for approximately thirty seconds before erupting into gales of uncontrollable laughter. Embarrassment is a way of life for the Mosimans. Our family crest features both the blue-footed booby AND the cuckoo. "Savannah's been away from home too long," I fretted to Sydney, "perhaps her immunity has worn off." Sydney nodded in agreement. It was in Savannah's best interest, after all. "The best way to build up resistance," she concurred, "is to expose the patient to the virus."

As we pulled into the parking lot, the first thing we noticed was that every person, four feet tall and under, was sporting a super-hero cape. "Those would go nicely with our narwhals," Sydney suggested. We immediately began the search for the super-hero cape distributor. "Is anyone hungry?" Savannah asked, "Here's a food truck." Complimentary cheeseburgers...and potato chips...and drinks...and ice cream...and cotton candy...were being given out. Sydney and I were in heaven. Contentedly full, we renewed our search for fun. "Would either of you like to see the Fab-Lab?" Savannah asked, opening a door. A blast of refreshing cool air beckoned us out of the scorching heat of the day. "Ooooo!!! It rhymes!!!" I said approvingly and skipped into the building.

High-tech machines whirred on the counters. "Look! Giant Jenga!" Sydney said happily. " There's a life-sized Connect Four," I announced. "Balloons!" we broadcasted together. The docent ("He's not a docent, Mom. He's an engineer who volunteered for the day." "Docent means an expert in the field who volunteers, Savannah," I snapped back. Oh my gosh--she thinks she's SO smart.) called our attention to a unlit light-bulb in a fancy housing. "Mom...he was showing you the fundamentals of nuclear fusion," Savannah said in exasperation. "It was a pretty purple when lit," Sydney offered helpfully. "What I don't understand is..." I stopped as Savannah choked. I glared, "You good? Okay, then. What I don't understand is what he said about heavy molecules...blah...blah...blah...and creating helium. If we can create our own helium, why are we concerned about a shortage? We should be able to blow up all the balloons we want!" I concluded proudly. Savannah laid her head down on the table by the giant Jenga. "They are creating hydrogen plasma," Savannah said into her arms, "and someday, this may result in the creation of limitless energy for the world. The helium is a waste product of that process"  Sydney and I stood, silently considering this profound idea. "But how does that tie into inflating helium balloons?" I asked. "It was a beautiful shade of purple," Sydney said again. Savannah stood up. "Let's go find the face-painting booth," she announced.