The Door

What would you do if you woke up to the sudden realization that there was a door in your room? Now, please don't insult my intelligence, as I don't mean the sort of door you find in a wall. A nice, ordinary, well-behaved door. No, this one wasn't ordinary at all. This was the sort of door that you find--or rather, don't find--standing upright in the middle of your floor. Attached to nothing, mind you. What does one do with a door like that? Well, let me tell you what I did. I did what any self-respecting scientist would do: I pulled the covers up near my chin and gave it a good stare. In a word, or perhaps two, I boggled. It was clearly a door. No question. I had seen plenty of doors before, and this was definitely one of them. It was the usual size and shape, made of wood, and had been painted white. However, the cracked and flaking paint indicated that it hadn't been painted in quite some time. In

That sound, of course, had been the momentarily forgotten door, as a quick glance behind me revealed. It was now quite closed, cutting me off from my home. That should have stirred up terror in my heart, or at least a nagging uneasiness. I thought carefully for a moment, as this called for the greatest of caution and the deepest of introspection. After all, what if I was unable to open that door and go back to everything I knew? There was the university, courses to teach, papers to mark, my colleagues with which to rub tweed shoulders. And what about Missy, my cat, who occasionally came home and would sometimes, when in an odd mood, even allow me to pet her once or twice? I might never see any of them again! Truly sobering. What must I do? How best to proceed? I shucked my ducky slippers and ran barefoot down the grassy slopes, whooping like a schoolboy after

Have you ever had to climb a rope ladder up the side of a ship that's bobbing in the sea? Well, as it turns out, they don't like to stay put. In fact, there is a fair bit of swaying to and fro. It isn't comforting. Then, when you have finally reached the top and are trying to figure out how in the world to climb over the gunwale without falling down into the churning water far below, someone grabs you from above and hauls you bodily, perhaps screaming a bit, onto the deck. Well, at least that's what happened to me. I flatly deny the screaming, however. Standing on the deck, I found, wasn't much of an improvement, as I had not sailed anything larger than a toy boat in the tub when I was but a wee lad. This was nothing like I remembered. The deck just insisted on constantly moving. Up and down, and down and up. I also firmly believe that there was some side to side as well, but I was assured that wasn't the case. Thankfully, focusing on the horizon seemed to preve