I guess you could call it a case of writer’s block. I’m sitting here in front of tens of millions of dollars of state-of-the-art laser equipment. And in my head are some pretty powerful equations. For instance, I can derive the equation for the secant hyperbolic pulse with tangent hyperbolic frequency sweep. How many people can do that?
    And yet, as I sip my morning coffee, I cannot shake the suspicion that today will be like the last. Nothing new will happen. You see, although I have all the right equations, and all the right equipment, I’m lacking a key ingredient: creativity.
    Most people don’t think of creativity as crucial to science. They think of scientists as people who are very smart, very mathematically talented. But sometimes intelligence has nothing to do with it. It’s not enough to understand difficult concepts; one has to think of a new way to attack them.
    The day passes uneventfully. At 2pm the phone rings. Its Ekaterina. “Hi,” she says. “Want to go out for a walk? It’s a beautiful day.”
    “I don’t know,” I lie. “I’m kind of busy.”
    “Okay,” she says in her usual unstoppable way. “See you on the corner in fifteen minutes.”
    As I leave the building, I realise that it is indeed a beautiful day. It is springtime, the snow is melting, and the air is fresh and clean. That's the problem with working in a lab all day: you don't step outside to enjoy it. I see Ekaterina on the corner. She's a woman that you have no trouble spotting, not just because she is about 5'11. She is wearing a silver dress that she made herself. Her hair is dyed a pleasant shade of yellow, and she is wearing light blue sunglasses. Around her neck she is wearing necklace with a metal hook hanging from it.
    "Hi!" she waves. "What do you think of the hook?"
    "Hmm," I say. "I'm going to have to think about it."
    We walk down the street together, looking in the various stores. She explains that she cannot work today, because she ran out of the right materials. An artist has to have the right materials, no doubt. "Hey," she says. "This is the coolest hardware store. Lets check it out."
    It seems like a good choice, much better than a fabric store or an interior decorating store. I stroll through the aisles of the hardware store, wondering if I need a sixteen piece screwdriver. "Matt, come here! Look at this!"
    I walk on over to Aisle 4. "It looks like a mailbox," I comment.
    "Isn't it wonderful," she says exuberantly.
    "Hmm, I'm not sure if I see it."
    "This mailbox will make a great bag! Look, I can put all my books in it! Matt, I've got to get it!"
    Soon, she enlists the baffled hardware clerk. She's figuring out all the details. How do you keep the mailbox closed? What decorations should you put on the side? How can you make a strap for the box? Finally, having bought the necessary wire, stickers, and of course the mailbox, we triumphantly exit the store.
    "C'mon," she says. "Let's put it together."
    "I don't know. I should probably get back to work," I say.
    "C'mon, it will be fun!"
    And so we set to work making the mailbox into a bag. It looks pretty good by the time we are done! It has a nice strap and some rainbow stickers on the side. Her books and artwork fit neatly inside. As she carries it down the street, I can see people curiously looking at the box. I try to ignore the teenager behind us, who is laughing with his friends. "Hey, I got a letter!" he is saying. "Can you mail it for me?" I wonder if Ekaterina hears it. Would she care if she did?
    And now, finally, I am back inside the office. I watch as the other researchers go about their business. Are they doing something better than me? Probably not. On the other hand, who knows. I write down some equations, and shine the laser onto some atomic rubidium. Nothing happens, as far as I can see. It is time to go home.
    That night, I am sitting around sipping coffee with Ekaterina. Ruefully, I admit to myself that this is certainly a slow point in my scientific career. She is reading the Art section of the newspaper, while I am looking through the Science Times. "Look at this dress," she says. "I could do better than that!"
    The Science Times has an interesting article on the two halves of the brain that I read. It discusses how the right side of the brain is responsible for mathematical thoughts, while the left side may be responsible for verbal skills and creativity. The article explains how some people may not have a good link between the two parts of their brain. Interestingly enough, it says that Italian scientific researchers discovered thirty years ago that putting ice water into your ear can enhance the connection between the two halves of the brain. Remarkable!
    I get an ice cube from the refrigerator, tilt my head at 30 degrees, and place the cube on my right ear. Ekaterina regards me curiously. "Are you going crazy," she asks politely.
    "No, no, just trying something I read in the newspaper." After about ten minutes, I have to admit that my ear feels rather cold. Also my neck may be a little sore from bending at a strange angle. I take the ice cube off my ear. I evaluate my mood. Perhaps I do feel a little better. I can feel my left brain kicking into gear! Ekaterina shakes her head as I explain to her this intriguing result.
    The next day, I stare at my experiment with new eyes. I realise that it really should work. According to the equations, and all our predictions, the laser must excite the atomic rubidium. By the way, atomic rubidium is a metal with a silver color. When a laser beam hits it, it should give off some radiated light. Yet, the rubidium does not seem to be responding in any way to the laser.
    I rearrange the experiment in a different way. No result. Later in the day, Ekaterina and I go to the interior decorating store. And so the days pass. But at least I have achieved the belief that the experiment should work, should do something. I knew that it was a matter of time before something happens.
    Two months later, I heat the rubidium, and apply three different laser pulses. Suddenly the rubidium starts glowing, a beautiful yellow color. Not unlike the color of Ekaterina's hair. I looked at it, and had to smile. It was something that I had not expected, perhaps no one had expected it. I sat down to try to explain it theoretically. Six months later, my coworkers and I  have explained it theoretically, and published an important paper on the new emission from rubidium.
    But after the experiment and the paper were finished, I sit down and thought about it. The creativity had not come from me. I had done nothing but play around with something until it worked. The creativity had come from the universe, or whoever created it. It came from the universe, and flowed through me, and into the rubidium. And so, if I walked into that hardware store, I would just see a mailbox, instead of a bag. And so I feel that I've triumphed in some small way, but will success come again? Or was this just my one lucky charm.
    It's 2pm. The phone rings. "Hi," says Ekaterina. "Want to go for a walk?"
    "Hmm," I say. Today, I've gotten absolutely nothing done, notwithstanding my morning ice cube. "I'm kind of busy."
    "Take a break!" she says. "See you on the corner in fifteen minutes!"