Thursday, December 13, 2007
I was educated as an engineer.
In the invulnerability of youth thought that science would explain everything, that man would understand everything. Let's just say I'm a little older now and know my place in the universe a little better.
Last night, my 8 year old son wept the bitter tears of a child whose pet was dying: His tarantula named Krakatoa—Crackers for short—was flipped over on its back and not moving much. I felt the end was near and tried to comfort my son. My daughter, just 3 years older, overheard us talking, and wept as well. They love creatures of all sizes and shapes and see the wonder in them all. To have one that was dear to them in its death throes was painful.
I woke this morning and went to check on Crackers and there in its cage seemed to be a second spider: Crackers had molted. Joy swept the household for the spider that seemed lost but had then seemingly returned from the dead.
My wife quickly found on YouTube a film of a tarantula molting. In two minutes, she found text that described the behavior before and after the molt and so we took the crickets out of the cage and made sure Crackers was left alone.
And so, the children had their miracle.
And I, the engineer, had mine. Frame what the spider had done as an engineering problem: Build a device that uses an exoskeleton, that when it's time to make the device a little bigger, simply shed the outer skeleton and have the new one automatically constructed and ready to go underneath with only a little time spent drying and hardening to be ready for use. Seeing the requirement written out, I would have said it can't be done.
But wait a minute: It gets done all day, everyday, everywhere. Just go outside and look around.
Miracles everywhere.
In the invulnerability of youth thought that science would explain everything, that man would understand everything. Let's just say I'm a little older now and know my place in the universe a little better.
Last night, my 8 year old son wept the bitter tears of a child whose pet was dying: His tarantula named Krakatoa—Crackers for short—was flipped over on its back and not moving much. I felt the end was near and tried to comfort my son. My daughter, just 3 years older, overheard us talking, and wept as well. They love creatures of all sizes and shapes and see the wonder in them all. To have one that was dear to them in its death throes was painful.
I woke this morning and went to check on Crackers and there in its cage seemed to be a second spider: Crackers had molted. Joy swept the household for the spider that seemed lost but had then seemingly returned from the dead.
My wife quickly found on YouTube a film of a tarantula molting. In two minutes, she found text that described the behavior before and after the molt and so we took the crickets out of the cage and made sure Crackers was left alone.
And so, the children had their miracle.
And I, the engineer, had mine. Frame what the spider had done as an engineering problem: Build a device that uses an exoskeleton, that when it's time to make the device a little bigger, simply shed the outer skeleton and have the new one automatically constructed and ready to go underneath with only a little time spent drying and hardening to be ready for use. Seeing the requirement written out, I would have said it can't be done.
But wait a minute: It gets done all day, everyday, everywhere. Just go outside and look around.
Miracles everywhere.
# posted by goldpython @ 7:53 AM 
