tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54551516613418177592023-11-16T07:12:18.087-08:00Sand PointsComments from a Libertarian/Conservative in East TexasGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.comBlogger360125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-62517839806082842452016-12-26T12:51:00.004-08:002016-12-26T12:51:47.875-08:00The End is NearThe end of the year is fast approaching, and it can't end soon enough for me. Politics and what it has done to the average American, and to the country itself, is enough to make me cry. Social media seems to invite nastiness in every form, and this year it's been done in spades. Leaders I used to respect have proven to be devout liars, and people I considered friends crossed the lines of decency with their insults and ignorant repetition of slimy rumors in their effort to promote their party and candidates.<br />
<br />
I wonder if this country will ever again become the bastion of goodness it once was? I think it will take more than draining the swamp and a new crop of self-serving thieves in government.Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-67291238158183400152016-09-07T03:48:00.003-07:002016-09-07T03:48:33.582-07:00Will We Ever Learn?
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Conventional thought suggests that the elders of the tribe
should be treasured for their knowledge and wisdom. With my 75</span><sup><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
birthday arriving this week, I believe I’ve reached the age to be considered
and elder, but I can’t offer any wisdom that isn’t patently obvious for all of
us to see if we read a paper or turn on the TV.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was three months old when my country plunged into the
first war of my lifetime, and it was a doozy. Millions of people died, and more
millions were physically maimed and mentally scarred, but the result was that
tyranny was held at bay, if not defeated.
For that reason it was generally regarded to be a good war.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few years later, we…the US of A with the help of the UN…decided
that the world needed a police force and we entered a war in Korea. We stuck
our collective noses into something that was none of our business, and into an
issue that we couldn’t resolve. Once again many millions died or suffered, and
more than a half-century later the Korean problem still isn’t resolved.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You’d think we’d learn, but we still weren’t smart and we
did it again. Well meaning, naïve people, goaded by international profiteers,
decided we could resolve the disagreement in Indochina, even after the French
failed miserably. Millions more died, trillions of dollars were spent, and the
moral fabric of our country began to unravel…and we still didn’t learn anything.
After we left that fetid morass, we went right back to interfering in regional
conflicts. As Forrest Gump said…”Stupid is a stupid does”…and we does it in
spades!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The result is that now we are engaged in another global war,
and to borrow another phrase, we are stuck on stupid. We will never, ever,
defeat a worldwide following of religious zealots. Because of the power we’ve
allowed a bunch of misguided do-gooders who think it’s more important to feel
good about our intentions, we never consider the laws of unintended
consequences before we jump into the middle of family feuds and divine purification.
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In an effort to accommodate disparate opinions, we take symbolic
military actions that kill, maim, and empty the treasury, and then let lawyers,
not generals, decide which violent acts are okay and which are not. Anyone with
a lick of common sense can tell you that we have no chance of changing people’s
minds about religious theories about what it takes to guarantee an afterlife. Instead
of concentrating on our own problems, we throw dollars, unsolicited advice, and
unrealistic demands at those who don’t like us, don’t respect us, who are
different than us, and don’t want us nosing into their business. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are only weeks away from another national election that
will set in motion the next step in unraveling our country. I’ve met very few
who can honestly and enthusiastically declare that they support either major
party, or either presidential candidate. Instead they are against the people
and politics of the opposition. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have yet to hear any politician or any pundit say that
their party is pledged to follow the Constitution of the United States. Instead
they want to run things their way…and that is where our problems begin and end.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-1900720855761541212016-08-27T11:16:00.000-07:002016-08-27T11:16:09.421-07:00Storm RepairsIt took a month, but the roofing contractor finally repaired the leaky roof. He found the leak right away, so not many shingles had to be ripped off. It only took a couple of hours for one man to do the job. <br />
<br />
Now if it doesn't leak in the next rain, I'll probably do the ceiling repair myself. If I have to wait for a sheetrock contractor, it will take forever.<br />
<br />
The fence is still temporarily patched together and brisk wind from the northwest would blow it over again. This time of the year, southerly winds prevail, but in another few weeks they will shift to the north. The contractor said two weeks ago that he was ordering material and would be here in about two weeks, but no word since then.Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-66825900884107306892016-08-04T13:04:00.000-07:002016-08-04T13:04:14.534-07:00Contagion? Question of the day: Is stupid contagious?<br />
<br />
If so, I think it's time to quarantine the entire government. I can't recall a time when so many idiotic lies, claims and comments were uttered by government officials of both major parties, elected, appointed or hired! I can't honestly think of one single congressman who displays the common sense expected of a trained walrus. <br />
<br />
I think Baghdad Bob was Patient Zero, as I recognize the symptoms in our government as well as those in Europe. It's too bad the fifth estate can't see it, but they are just as guilty as the politicians when it comes to displaying terminal-stupid.Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-67075296126391877912016-07-18T05:20:00.001-07:002016-07-18T05:22:04.320-07:00A Texas BreezeThe strongest wind I've experienced during my twenty years in Texas destroyed our vinyl fence and a garage door. Afterward I spent most of a day trying to fix the fence good enough to keep the dogs in, but it's only propped up and a moderate wind would take it down again. Unfortunately the fence company said they can't get to it for at least three weeks. <br />
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<br />Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-4262295768330470142016-07-04T08:04:00.003-07:002016-07-04T08:04:59.542-07:00The 4th of July...What does it mean?Ask the average millennial, and they don't have a clue what Independence Day means, much less how it was achieved, or even the country from which we gained our independence.<br />
<br />
Until recently, many of the blogs written by those who cherish the liberties won by the founders were at least somewhat optimistic in thinking that the next election would put the country on track to renewing a government that would follow the constitution. Now, even the most patriotic among them is expecting more of the same, except under the administration of a new president. Since neither candidate is convincing, or visionary, or respectful of those who created this formerly great country, I am among those who have about given up with frustration. My posts from years past have chronicled the country's demise, and now I'm certain it will take something drastic and horrifying to draw our citizens together again. Another election won't do it.<br />
<br />
Shame on us for ignoring Benjamin Franklin's answer to a woman who asked what type of government was created. "A republic, Madam, if you can keep it."<br />
<br />
It appears more clearly every day that we failed Dr. Franklin.Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-33496206747674449322016-05-30T09:00:00.003-07:002016-05-30T09:00:44.154-07:00Memorial Day
It's not exactly a Memorial Day story, but it's about the greatest generation and they were the ones who first made me aware of the cost of war. I met and wrote about this man a few years ago, but the simple uniqueness of his story has haunted my thoughts ever since. I posted it here before, but it seemed worth repeating.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 9.0pt;">I met a hero the other day. Normally, you
might expect to meet a hero at a public event with the media present and
politicians vying for camera time, but I met him in the service waiting room at
an East Texas car dealership. </span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 9.0pt;">He stepped down out of his pickup just
like any normal person, talked to the service writer and left it to have the
oil changed. </span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 9.0pt;">He was a senior citizen, as we like to
call them now, and as he walked across the driveway you could see that age had
taken its toll. He was stooped and his skin was weathered by the Texas sun. He
flashed a friendly smile as he headed my way, choosing an outdoor seat over a
stuffy waiting room with a blaring television. He was an unimposing guy…jeans,
boots and a straw cowboy hat. The hat wasn’t big, or fancy, or expensive like
Hollywood cowboys wear. It was a working man’s hat…the kind you wear to shield
you against the weather, but it was his go-to-town hat, too. He looked average
in every way…medium height, slender build, glasses, and…well, just average looking
as Texans go. He wasn’t a body builder, but he appeared fit for his age. He sat
down on the bench beside me and we exchanged greetings. </span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 9.0pt;">The warm, morning sun had just cleared
the hills behind us, and we both commented on the beautiful morning. He carried
a Max Brand novel in his hand, but after we exchanged greetings, he placed it
on the bench beside him and we struck up a conversation. He had already acquired
my interest and I wasn’t going to let him read if I could indulge him in
conversation.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 9.0pt;">We first talked about retirement, and the
good old days, and cotton farming, and raising cows. He said he’d loved the
idea of raising cattle since he was a kid in high school many decades earlier,
but had to forego his plans to put some time in the Army. </span></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 9.0pt;">It was then that I learned I was sitting
beside a hero…a WWII combat vet. I asked him which unit he had been in…though I
should have guessed. The former US Army Corporal was a native Texan and a
member of the 36th Infantry Division…the Texas division…when they were sent
first to Africa, and then to land on the Italian coast at Salerno in 1943.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 9.0pt;">After some general conversation about the
military, he got this look in his eye. He was far away in another time, and in
his soft East Texas drawl, he took me along…and I didn’t object. </span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 9.0pt;">He said he had wanted to tell his
children and grandchildren all about war, but despite the urgings of his
family, he was embarrassed to do so. I told him to respect his family’s
request. They weren’t trying to humor an old man, they were truly interested.
He said he had recorded part of his story on audio tapes, but hadn’t gone into
the detail about many of the things that still filled his mind. One of his
grandchildren had copied the tapes on a CD, but what he had recorded didn’t
include everything he wanted to say...there was still so much to tell. All the
little things.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 9.0pt;">He wanted them to understand what it was
really like to be scared every day, but to hide the fear with jokes and
bravado, like young men in combat always do. He wanted to explain what it felt
like to be exhausted, and hungry, and cold, and wet for weeks on end. What it
was like to look across an open field at the enemy whose job it was to defeat
you by taking your life, and knowing you would soon meet him eye to eye. He
wanted people to understand what went on in your mind when you saw friends die
in an instant, and what it was like to cheat injury or death by a turn of
fate’s card. He wanted to tell them that the way you dealt with it was to get
rip-roaring drunk when you could, or to find a private place to cry until you
couldn’t cry anymore. He told me several stories about individual battles, and
what had happened to him and members of his unit. </span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 9.0pt;">The stories were not boastful tales of
triumph, but rather one man’s quiet account of his tiny role in a brutal war
fought between powerful countries. He never bragged that he had done anything
more than what was expected of him as a member of a mortar squad. I don’t know
if he was awarded any individual citations. He didn’t say, and I didn't ask,
but he did say he was one of only two men in his original company not killed or
wounded. He marveled at his good fortune, but mourned the loss of so many
friends. He didn’t complain or speak ill of the government that sent him to
war. It was something that had to be done and he was obliged to do his part.
His pride was apparent, but his deeds were not demanding of praise or comment.
And there was no anger in his voice, only the need to explain how it really
was. I was eager to listen, and he was willing to talk about it.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 9.0pt;">You might wonder why, without medals and
fanfare, I’ve referred to the Corporal from Texas as a hero, but that’s easy to
explain. He belongs to a generation that’s rapidly disappearing; a generation
we’ve selfishly taken for granted…and they’ve not complained. Not enough of us understand
their personal sacrifice, nor do we appreciative how they built the world we
live in today. The young soldiers that went to war did what was asked and
expected of them, and they did it to the best of their ability. Like so many
veterans I’ve talked to, he didn’t come home with expectations of being treated
special. He did his job, and then he came home to rejoin society and start a
family. He could finally get back home to raise cattle and to live the life he
loved. When you are a real hero, that’s what you do. No demands. No whining.
You quietly get on with life. I’m certain he’d be embarrassed at being called a
hero, but in my eyes, he and his generation are all heroes. Their sacrifice
allowed me all the comforts I now enjoy, and their labors have given the modern
world a standard of living that couldn’t have even been envisioned when they
were young.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 9.0pt;">All too soon the mechanic returned with
his truck, and our conversation had to end. I could have listened to him for
hours, but like anything good, a small amount makes you appreciate it even
more. He apologized for bending my ear, but in my mind, he was passing on a personal
record of history and I thank him for both the lesson and the pleasure of his
company. We shook hands and I watched him walk away. It was time to do what
modest heroes do. It was time to go home and check on the cows.</span></i></div>
Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-52453266324383027282016-05-08T09:29:00.002-07:002016-05-08T09:29:38.370-07:00Elections Have Consequences
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The presidential primary election is pretty much a moot point in the
remaining states. Those who already voted had a choice of stick-it-in-your-eye political payback
candidate, or a return to constitutional politics candidate. They chose
to pay back the establishment. Maybe because they decided that none of the presidential candidates
had it in their heart or in their power to fix the entrenched perversion of
the two major political parties. Perhaps they preferred hyperbolic bomb
throwing to boring rhetoric, or maybe there was a lot of voter ignorance, or
maybe they decided to go with celebrity over substance. Maybe it was because
their ears were deaf to the logic, or their eyes blind to reality, or their
minds closed to history, or maybe it was all of the above.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What I did learn is that I can no longer claim the label of
conservative or Republican. The party has sunk far below the level of conduct I’m
willing to be associated with, and the majority of those voters claiming
conservatism have apparently traded the precise words of the constitution for their interpretation
of the gospel.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So where does that put those of us who swore allegiance to
the constitution…not a Caesar, or a religion, or a populist movement? We are on the outside
looking in as the factions jockey and bicker in the name of their favorite object of worship. We have nowhere to go and nothing to do but wait to see where the
chaos goes and where it ends.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last month once again set a record for gun sales in America. I wonder
why?</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-72294458719023078002016-04-22T11:12:00.001-07:002016-04-22T11:16:26.559-07:00Choosing Sides...2017 Style<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">In one of my last political diatribes, I predicted that the
world is in the process of choosing sides. Those willing to fight for liberty
are arming to the teeth and preparing for the not too distant future by buying and
storing the three B’s…bullion, bandages and bullets.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Both political parties are irreversibly split in philosophies
and only await November’s election before the birth of two new parties on the more extreme
ends of the political spectrum. The desire and the plans are already in place, and only the fading hope of retaining our republic delays the inevitable. The give-me-free-stuff socialists will flee the
Democrats, and the responsible-adult wing of the Republicans will reinstate the
Constitution of the United States as the basis for their party platform. The remaining go
along to get along moderates, the “republicrats”, will
become the dodo birds of tomorrow, doomed to quickly fade into irrelevancy.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Once the two spin-off parties attain power, I foresee a
serious move from the right to achieve a friendly, non-violent geographical/political
divorce from the non-producing leftists on each coast. If the left is dumb
enough to ignore that desire in order to retain their political ability to suck the success from the free enterprise system, there will be blood
in the streets...and they are not the ones holding the three B's.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">You can say you read it here first.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-22961858369039080752016-04-13T08:07:00.001-07:002016-04-13T08:07:36.706-07:00North Texas StormsMonday evening we experienced the worst thunderstorm I've seen in the twenty years I've been in Texas. The edge of the storm hit here, but winds were near 80mph with golf ball sized hail that was driven sideways from the wind. They punched several holes in the vinyl fence panels, and sounded like they were going to come through the roof windows. <br />
<br />
Those in the middle of the cell got softball size hailstones that actually penetrated house roofs and literally destroyed cars sitting outside. Where they hit the ground, the craters left after the ice melted looked like the surface of the moon!<br />
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I'm sure the fly-by-night roof repair companies will soon be prowling the neighborhood. The last time we had damaging hail, they began calling even before the storm had stopped. This time the storm area is so large they will have thousands of homes to contact.<br />
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One thing I noticed after the storm was how much better built the old cars were. When the wind and rain abated, I checked my old '56 Plymouth parts car to see if the windshield survived, as I had planned to put it in the car I'm restoring. The glass was fine, and not single dent in the heavy sheet metal! Newer cars would not have survived the beating without major damage.Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-2997715800958083402016-04-07T05:11:00.001-07:002016-04-07T05:11:25.102-07:00The Move and More
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The biggest change is that we’ve moved from our quiet,
wooded, rural acre in East Texas, back to the windy, treeless, small town bedroom
suburbs of the DFW Metroplex. No need to explain why, but suffice to say it was
by mutual agreement, and there is no turning back at our age. I’m sure I’ll
occasionally comment on the frustrating challenges we experienced trying to
coordinate and monitor construction of a new house from 150 miles away. That
project will be remembered for the rest of our lives, but not with fondness.
The best thing about the move so far is the lack of scorpions and black widow
spiders around here. They are native to this part of the state, but I’ve not seen any
and I hope it stays that way. There are several candidates for the worst thing…like
wind, noise, clay soil, higher prices and traffic, but mostly I miss my coffee
drinking buddies at Pop’s Café. Small town East Texas had some great people that
I’ll never forget.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t know if any readers of this blog are visitors to my other
blog/journal that documents the trials and tribulations of rebuilding a
sixty-year-old, extremely rusty Plymouth. I’ll assume not, but if I assume
incorrectly, please bear with me if I repeat a few things from the other site.
However, instead of a play-by-play record of progress, I’ll just hit the high
spots if and when they occur.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I've been asked about my novel-writing efforts. The last I posted was about a year after <i>In Dreams</i>
was published in 2011. Success was about as expected for a typical work of
fiction by a new author, meaning sales tanked after a short period of modest sales.
Most buyers chose the downloadable versions i.e. Kindle. Writing that one
novel seemed to sap all my creative energy, so except for a few feeble attempts to
ignite new interest, I’ve done little in the writing department. The story I had in work fizzled when the plot became too weak to continue, and while I hated abandon
the 25 thousand words I had on paper, it was no used beating a dead horse.
Recently, I found myself creating a plot in my mind and while that’s the way the
first book started, it remains to be seen if thoughts will ever translate to
words on paper.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Family-wise, my wife’s granddaughter stayed with us for the
better part of a year, but finally got her own apartment near Dallas. I’m too
set in my ways to have houseguests more than a few days, so it’s good that she
got a job that (barely) pays her rent. The Maltese puppy she acquired shortly
before moving out is still living with us, as her apartment doesn’t allow pets.
Thankfully, she and the pup weren’t together long enough to really bond, so we
now have a new furry child to terrorize our two older dogs. Gracie has a very
sweet, energetic personality and provokes many more laughs than scoldings.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">National politics continues to drive me nuts, and this year being a
presidential election cycle makes it especially frustrating. We still have a
country, but for how long? An amicable divorce between unbending regional political philosophies
looks better with each passing day.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-61581873003262694022016-04-03T04:32:00.003-07:002016-04-03T04:34:39.227-07:00Like a Phoenix?While I haven't posted anything new here in years, I'm surprised by the number of visitors this blog still manages to attract. Most are probably random hits from searches for other sites, but those who do stop in often read many of the old posts.<br />
<br />
Since I occasionally get the urge to vent about our crazy world, or to share something that interests me, I've decided to do so here since the blog site is still available. <br />
<br />
I have no clue as to the frequency of new posts, but it will not be often enough to attract new readers. It will only serve as a place where I can ramble on to my heart's content, while providing some new fodder for the few regulars who still drop in.<br />
<br />
The next post will attempt to fill some gaps since Porky Pig helped say goodbye four years ago this month.Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-31366295224554712172012-04-08T05:16:00.004-07:002012-04-08T06:16:32.872-07:00It's TimeDozens of times I've sat at my keyboard wanting to write something profound, witty, or interesting, but the words weren't there. <br />
<br />
I wanted to write more about that communist sonofabitch in the White House and those self-centered, spineless, moral cowards in Congress, but feared being placed on someone's watch list. How sad that we can no longer exercise a freedom that was so expected, cherished and respected only a few years ago.<br />
<br />
I wanted to comment on the abject stupidity of people who believe government is the answer to all their needs and wants...but I didn't, for fear of offending friends and relatives who visit. Now who is the moral coward?<br />
<br />
I wanted to share the intense pleasure of rising before dawn, sitting on the patio with a cup of coffee in hand, listening to the last notes of the whipoorwill turn into the first song of a cardinal greeting the sun of another hot Texas day, but that's sort of silly, and most of you wouldn't understand. <br />
<br />
I tiptoed around political subjects, chastised fools only when their antics became impossible to ignore, told you about the weather, took some pictures of flowers, and linked to other bloggers and websites, but I seldom conveyed the depth of my feelings and opinions. <br />
<br />
As the years go by, nostalgia takes over and facing the modern world becomes too much of a pain in the ass when you don't have the strength or the desire to do battle every day. My little world is made up of old cars, old movies, old music, old perceptions, old ideals, and old memories. Things that mean nothing to those who didn't live them. While my world is a mental pleasure to me, those of us who live in a nostalgic world are an equally big pain to those who don't. <br />
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As I retire from active blogging, I hope my friends and relatives will forgive me if I sometimes forget to do the things I used to do. I don't mean to forget names, faces and birthdays, and I don't intend to tell the same story over and over. It's just Mother Nature doing her thing. I forgot what other things I'll probably forget.<br />
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With the appropriate apologies taken care of, I want to thank all of you who took time visit this site over the years and simply add......<br />
<br />
<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/gBzJGckMYO4" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-28057084637307897302012-03-18T06:05:00.003-07:002012-03-18T06:12:05.337-07:00New London, TX, March 18th, 1937<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkJmBlr7uJodY2tufHZpR_t3T60L-WBAr5-NGJjBIpfc76uL10sJnObjKJXiOEGQKj1GE_vNVHbHWa5YRgbY8nYjjcEGxRHPRNWoderutjFknF-s9p4ciZqqRfWx7Eabt-gx4qCZKvnZc/s1600/imagesCA2ITB5S.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="183" width="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkJmBlr7uJodY2tufHZpR_t3T60L-WBAr5-NGJjBIpfc76uL10sJnObjKJXiOEGQKj1GE_vNVHbHWa5YRgbY8nYjjcEGxRHPRNWoderutjFknF-s9p4ciZqqRfWx7Eabt-gx4qCZKvnZc/s400/imagesCA2ITB5S.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Today is the 75th anniversary of a horrible tragedy in a small town only a few miles from where I live. This account is from the museum website.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGDgbIYU1Yyqb3xIkfeekHYKUyR6SZV-bVEZDSI83ZWi_heSmKoyV2ANm7OqoStfkBReMNHljilKbLAMBWemlLSOwmRyIf0mT8-nk9-f-Uexm0iuA_inQ_NYkmrp3ARSyePNcU02rvPOJ/s1600/NewLondonHighSchoolBeforeExplosionTOPtb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="244" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGDgbIYU1Yyqb3xIkfeekHYKUyR6SZV-bVEZDSI83ZWi_heSmKoyV2ANm7OqoStfkBReMNHljilKbLAMBWemlLSOwmRyIf0mT8-nk9-f-Uexm0iuA_inQ_NYkmrp3ARSyePNcU02rvPOJ/s400/NewLondonHighSchoolBeforeExplosionTOPtb.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>In 1937 New London, Texas, in northwest Rusk County, had one of the richest rural school districts in the United States. Community residents in the East Texas oilfields were proud of the beautiful, modern, steel-framed, E-shaped school building. <br />
<br />
On March 18 students prepared for the next day's Inter-scholastic meet in Henderson. At the gymnasium, the PTA met. At 3:17 P.M. Lemmie R. Butler, instructor of manual training, turned on a sanding machine in an area which, unknown to him, was filled with a mixture of gas and air. The switch ignited the mixture and carried the flame into a nearly closed space beneath the building, 253 feet long and fifty-six feet wide. Immediately the building seemed to lift in the air and then smashed to the ground. Walls collapsed. The roof fell in and buried its victims in a mass of brick, steel, and concrete debris. The explosion was heard four miles away, and it hurled a two-ton concrete slab 200 feet away, where it crushed a 1936 Chevrolet.<br />
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Fifteen minutes later, the news of the explosion had been relayed over telephone and Western Union lines. Frantic parents at the PTA meeting rushed to the school building. Community residents and roughnecks from the East Texas oilfield came with heavy-duty equipment. Within an hour Governor James Allred had sent the Texas Rangers and highway patrol to aid the victims. Doctors and medical supplies came from Baylor Hospital and Scottish Rite Hospital for Crippled Children in Dallas and from Nacogdoches, Wichita Falls, and the United States Army Air Corps at Barksdale Field in Shreveport, Louisiana. They were assisted by deputy sheriffs from Overton, Henderson, and Kilgore, by the Boy Scouts, the American Legion, the American Red Cross, the Salvation Army, and volunteers from the Humble Oil Company, Gulf Pipe Line, Sinclair, and the International-Great Northern Railroad.<br />
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Workers began digging through the rubble looking for victims. Floodlights were set up, and the rescue operation continued through the night as rain fell.<br />
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Within seventeen hours all victims and debris had been taken from the site. Mother Francis Hospital in Tyler canceled its elaborate dedication ceremonies to take care of the injured. The Texas Funeral Directors sent twenty-five embalmers.<br />
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Of the 500 students and forty teachers in the building, approximately 298 died. Some rescuers, students, and teachers needed psychiatric attention, and only about 130 students escaped serious injury. Those who died received individual caskets, individual graves, and religious services. </i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVuM6nQRkTBzMbZBF-4Jn7qweQmMa5L-c0iHuXA3LuaA47-dxEJteYKTN3vbNgMRF6LcHUd_FIeWKgGBrUUlRKpNCf7_drth3M1HIA5VcORnwOnJSmkBvotpP0-vy4oPaCXUEf1JfmLXc6/s1600/newlondon_jpg_728x520_q85.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="280" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVuM6nQRkTBzMbZBF-4Jn7qweQmMa5L-c0iHuXA3LuaA47-dxEJteYKTN3vbNgMRF6LcHUd_FIeWKgGBrUUlRKpNCf7_drth3M1HIA5VcORnwOnJSmkBvotpP0-vy4oPaCXUEf1JfmLXc6/s400/newlondon_jpg_728x520_q85.jpg" /></a></div>Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-39893937574256910172012-03-13T12:34:00.001-07:002012-03-13T12:36:14.844-07:00The Last Six Seconds<a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/eagle globe and anchor/smartas69/GlobeandAnchorBlackRed.jpg?o=14" target="_blank"><img src="http://i713.photobucket.com/albums/ww138/smartas69/GlobeandAnchorBlackRed.jpg" border="0"></a><br />
<br />
With a respectful Air Force hand salute to all Marines....those currently on active duty, as well as those who are out of uniform and waiting for their next mission. This was borrowed from another website, but I don't think they'll mind if I share it with you.<br />
<br />
<i>LAST SIX SECONDS <br />
On Nov 13, 2010 Lt General John Kelly, USMC gave a speech to the Semper Fi Society of St. Louis , MO. This was 4 days after his son, Lt. Robert Kelly, USMC was killed by an IED while on his 3rd Combat tour.<br />
During his speech, General Kelly spoke about the dedication and valor of the young men and women who step forward each and every day to protect us.<br />
During the speech, he never mentioned the loss of his own son. He closed the speech with the moving account of the last 6 seconds in the lives of 2 young Marines who died with rifles blazing to protect their brother Marines. This is that speech:<br />
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“I will leave you with a story about the kind of people they are. About the quality of the steel in their backs. About the kind of dedication they bring to our country while they serve in uniform and forever after as veterans.<br />
Two years ago when I was the Commander of all U.S. and Iraqi forces, in fact, the 22nd of April 2008, two Marine infantry battalions, 1/9 “The Walking Dead,” and 2/8 were switching out in Ramadi. One battalion in the closing days of their deployment going home very soon, the other just starting its seven-month combat tour. Two Marines, Corporal Jonathan Yale and Lance Corporal Jordan Haerter, 22 and 20 years old respectively, one from each battalion, were assuming the watch together at the entrance gate of an outpost that contained a makeshift barracks housing 50 Marines. The same broken down ramshackle building was also home to 100 Iraqi police, also my men and our allies in the fight against the terrorists in Ramadi, a city until recently the most dangerous city on earth and owned by Al Qaeda.<br />
Yale was a dirt poor mixed-race kid from Virginia with a wife and daughter, and a mother and sister who lived with him and he supported as well. He did this on a yearly salary of less than $23,000. Haerter, on the other hand, was a middle class white kid from Long Island . They were from two completely different worlds. Had they not joined the Marines they would never have met each other, or understood that multiple America ‘s exist simultaneously depending on one’s race, education level, economic status, and where you might have been born.<br />
But they were Marines, combat Marines, forged in the same crucible of Marine training, and because of this bond they were brothers as close, or closer, than if they were born of the same woman.<br />
The mission orders they received from the sergeant squad leader I am sure went something like: “Okay you two clowns, stand this post and let no unauthorized personnel or vehicles pass.” “You clear?” I am also sure Yale and Haerter then rolled their eyes and said in unison something like: “Yes Sergeant,” with just enough attitude that made the point without saying the words, “No kidding sweetheart, we know what we’re doing.”<br />
They then relieved two other Marines on watch and took up their post at the entry control point of Joint Security Station Nasser, in the Sophia section of Ramadi, Al Anbar, Iraq .<br />
A few minutes later a large blue truck turned down the alley way-perhaps 60-70 yards in length-and sped its way through the serpentine of concrete jersey walls. The truck stopped just short of where the two were posted and detonated, killing them both catastrophically.<br />
Twenty-four brick masonry houses were damaged or destroyed. A mosque 100 yards away collapsed. The truck’s engine came to rest two hundred yards away knocking most of a house down before it stopped. Our explosive experts reckoned the blast was made of 2,000 pounds of explosives. Two died, and because these two young infantrymen didn’t have it in their DNA to run from danger, they saved 150 of their Iraqi and American brothers-in-arms.<br />
When I read the situation report about the incident a few hours after it happened I called the regimental commander for details as something about this struck me as different. Marines dying or being seriously wounded is commonplace in combat. We expect Marines regardless of rank or MOS to stand their ground and do their duty, and even die in the process, if that is what the mission takes. But this just seemed different. The regimental commander had just returned from the site and he agreed, but reported that there were no American witnesses to the event-just Iraqi police. I figured if there was any chance of finding out what actually happened and then to decorate the two Marines to acknowledge their bravery, I’d have to do it as a combat award that requires two eye-witnesses and we figured the bureaucrats back in Washington would never buy Iraqi statements. If it had any chance at all, it had to come under the signature of a general officer.<br />
I traveled to Ramadi the next day and spoke individually to a half-dozen Iraqi police all of whom told the same story. The blue truck turned down into the alley and immediately sped up as it made its way through the serpentine. They all said, “We knew immediately what was going on as soon as the two Marines began firing.” The Iraqi police then related that some of them also fired, and then to a man, ran for safety just prior to the explosion. All survived. Many were injured, some seriously.<br />
One of the Iraqis elaborated and with tears welling up said, “They’d run like any normal man would to save his life.” “What he didn’t know until then,” he said, “and what he learned that very instant, was that Marines are not normal.” Choking past the emotion he said, “Sir, in the name of God no sane man would have stood there and done what they did.” “No sane man.”<br />
“They saved us all.”<br />
What we didn’t know at the time, and only learned a couple of days later after I wrote a summary and submitted both Yale and Haerter for posthumous Navy Crosses, was that one of our security cameras, damaged initially in the blast, recorded some of the suicide attack. It happened exactly as the Iraqis had described it. It took exactly six seconds from when the truck entered the alley until it detonated.<br />
You can watch the last six seconds of their young lives. Putting myself in their heads I supposed it took about a second for the two Marines to separately come to the same conclusion about what was going on once the truck came into their view at the far end of the alley. Exactly no time to talk it over, or call the sergeant to ask what they should do. Only enough time to take half an instant and think about what the sergeant told them to do only a few minutes before: “.let no unauthorized personnel or vehicles pass.” The two Marines had about five seconds left to live.<br />
It took maybe another two seconds for them to present their weapons, take aim, and open up. By this time the truck was half-way through the barriers and gaining speed the whole time. Here, the recording shows a number of Iraqi police, some of whom had fired their AKs, now scattering like the normal and rational men they were-some running right past the Marines.<br />
They had three seconds left to live.<br />
For about two seconds more, the recording shows the Marines’ weapons firing non-stop.the truck’s windshield exploding into shards of glass as their rounds take it apart and tore in to the body of the SOB who is trying to get past them to kill their brothers-American and Iraqi-bedded down in the barracks totally unaware of the fact that their lives at that moment depended entirely on two Marines standing their ground. If they had been aware, they would have known they were safe, because two Marines stood between them and a crazed suicide bomber. The recording shows the truck careening to a stop immediately in front of the two Marines. In all of the instantaneous violence Yale and Haerter never hesitated. By all reports and by the recording, they never stepped back. They never even started to step aside. They never even shifted their weight. With their feet spread shoulder width apart, they leaned into the danger, firing as fast as they could work their weapons. They had only one second left to live.<br />
The truck explodes. The camera goes blank. Two young men go to their God. Six seconds. Not enough time to think about their families, their country, their flag, or about their lives or their deaths, but more than enough time for two very brave young men to do their duty, into eternity. That is the kind of people who are on watch all over the world tonight-for you.<br />
We Marines believe that God gave America the greatest gift he could bestow to man while he lived on this earth-freedom. We also believe he gave us another gift nearly as precious-our soldiers, sailors, airmen, Coast Guardsmen, and Marines-to safeguard that gift and guarantee no force on this earth can every steal it away. It has been my distinct honor to have been with you here today. Rest assured our America, this experiment in democracy started over two centuries ago, will forever remain the “land of the free and home of the brave” so long as we never run out of tough young Americans who are willing to look beyond their own self-interest and comfortable lives, and go into the darkest and most dangerous places on earth to hunt down, and kill, those who would do us harm.<br />
God Bless America , and..SEMPER FIDELIS!”<br />
</i>Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-49255469275639497952012-02-29T12:37:00.000-08:002012-02-29T12:37:39.615-08:00Gun Confiscators Read & HeedAnyone think that the relationship between citizen and government is business as usual? <br />
<a href="http://sipseystreetirregulars.blogspot.com/2012/02/trying-save-lives-and-souls-one.html">Sipsy Street Irregulars</a>Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-42731857017950586502012-02-24T19:59:00.001-08:002012-02-24T20:08:53.100-08:00Gopher Tails for PapaReading Jesse Veeder's blog about being a child in rural North Dakota, reminded me of a book I read while attending our one room country school.<br />
The teacher encouraged us to read the story because it was written by Erling Rolfsrud, who was born and raised not far from where we lived...and very near where Jesse now lives.<br />
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Not surprising, even this simple children's book, written by a farm kid in a backward little state, managed to make it on you tube. <br />
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<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/1bSP3mzvi-g" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-8365354000378768942012-02-22T15:03:00.000-08:002012-02-22T15:03:56.199-08:00Feeling BetterGetting the rant off my mind worked. With the thermometer at 79 degrees and a warm south wind blowing, I decided to do some yard work. Spread fire ant bait, Cleaned some flower beds, dug up, raked and weeded my little garden, and planted sugar peas and bibb lettuce. <br />
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Also cleaned some parts from my '56 Plymouth restoration project. FWIW, a mixture of lemon juice and vinegar does a fantastic job of rust removal. I tried the molasses and water formula, but it's slow and not very effective...and it smells terrible!<br />
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I feel much better now...but the news will be on in a few minutes, so my cynicism might soon be back.Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-66450097114194513482012-02-22T11:36:00.000-08:002012-02-22T11:36:12.258-08:00Periodic RantLike a dog shaking to straighten its fur, the earth seems to be juggling its occupants to get things back in place. Either that, or it's playing a cruel joke on us. Everyone seems to hate everyone else, and what once seemed to be a slow but steady crawl toward an advanced level of civility, has turned into a high speed slide back to the cave.<br />
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Women, who once led the way to civil appearance and conduct, are now leading the species back toward that cave. Bodies covered with ugly artwork, hardware hanging from a multitude of painful punctures, and a mouth like a sewer are no longer an oddity, they are the norm.<br />
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Men have always been slobs below a veneer of civility demanded by women, but now that women don't care, the slob factor has taken over. Unshaved, unwashed, foul mouthed, ill-mannered, lazy, ignorant, and sporting even more ink and hardware than women, many of today's men are walking, talking, arguments for abortion. <br />
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With nearly half our population living on some form of government largess and totally ignorant of simple economics, how can we ever get back on the road to becoming a civilized society.<br />
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Religions have become less tolerant, as have the non-religious. Politicians no longer legislate for the good of the country, but rather for the good of their cronies. <br />
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I see nothing but increasing violence down the road as the new "tribes" continue to choose sides and make demands. American greatness is dead and once the body is cool and the flesh begins to stink, the vultures can begin their feast.<br />
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Rant off.Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-16736483993350200682012-02-17T05:16:00.000-08:002012-02-17T05:17:16.887-08:00TL in ExileMore distant drums. <br />
<a href="http://tlinexile.blogspot.com/">TL in Exile</a>Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-57947091896028286852012-02-11T14:48:00.000-08:002012-02-11T14:48:54.115-08:00Part 3, Reviews and SalesI read somewhere that the average book sells only a few hundred copies, and based on sales to date I’ll probably be in the average category. No bestseller list for me! The book is now available in several European countries, but I have no idea if any copies have been purchased outside the US. It takes several months for sales figures to be reported from some sources.<br />
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Promoting is the most difficult thing for me to do. Some serious writers send out dozens of complimentary copies to professional reviewers and lobby for a good review, but I can’t bring myself to do that…even if it made economic sense. In my opinion, that almost amounts to bribery. I had one solicitation offering a free review, which I accepted, but after seeing what she wrote I suspected she had only glanced through a few chapters and hadn’t actually read much of the story, so I won’t link to that review. Like everyone with even a hint of an ego, I find praise easier to accept than criticism, but I would rather have an honest review that said the story was garbage, than to see it praised without the person having read it. <br />
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Amazon has several active, semi-professional reviewers, but getting on their list is difficult. I plan to contact some of them, since the more reviews that show up on Amazon, either from professionals or readers, the higher the sales potential. (Self-serving, shameless hint!)<br />
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I did a search a few weeks ago, and found a nice, independent review in a Romance Writers of America newsletter in California. Even though the plot doesn’t conform to the accepted rules for the Romance genre, it apparently caught the interest of at least one person with that reading preference. <br />
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I also found it included in Christmas gift-list suggestions on two Internet shopping websites, and on a Chrysler club website in Germany, but how it got there is a mystery.<br />
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Some folks have asked when I will finish another book, but I’m ashamed to admit that I have no idea when that will be. The one I have in work is perhaps twenty-five percent complete, but I can’t find the fire to finish it. Maybe the fire will return, but as a habitual jack-of-all-trades, master of none, there are too many other projects that for the moment I find more interesting than writing.<br />
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I hope your questions about my novel have all been answered.Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-47144264610769880142012-02-10T17:45:00.000-08:002012-02-10T17:45:59.172-08:00In Dreams, Part 2Over the next three years, I worked on the story off and on, but mostly off. I was certain I could never write well enough to have something published, so I simply wrote for practice and for my own entertainment. As the story neared completion, I asked several people to “beta read” the manuscript and critique it. The reviews were frustratingly mixed. Women said there was too much car stuff, while men said the plot was lacking in action and was too mushy, so I quickly learned that there was no way to please everyone. It was suggested that I change the story to make it more palatable to either men or women and to forget trying to appeal to both. Since the main story was about relationships, which might appeal more to the ladies, I decided to remove some guy stuff and concentrate more on the characters with hopes of making it a better read for women. <br />
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The manuscript languished for another two years while I fiddled with the plot, but with much prodding I eventually decided to attempt marketing the manuscript. After being rejected by one agent, it dawned on me that trying to land an agent was a waste of time. Their understandable goal is to make money, so their focus is in signing talented authors who write for a large audience and who are young enough to have a long writing career. A book written by an old guy, targeted to readers from his generation, doesn’t merit serious attention from successful agents.<br />
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I also knew that most large publishing houses will only consider the works of agented writers, so it would be extremely difficult for a new author to place a manuscript before their editors. That left two ways to get the book published. I could self-publish, which meant I would have to assume all the editing, printing, marketing, and promotion costs. That route would only serve to satisfy my ego, and those who know me won’t be surprised by the fact that I’m too frugal to spend money in that way. <br />
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The only other option to see my book in print was to shop the story to small publishers, some of whom will accept un-agented manuscripts. The first publisher expressed no interest, but the second one I contacted, <i>Wings e-press</i>, dumfounded me by offering a contract only a few days after asking to see the full manuscript. Their offer was fair, and unlike some unscrupulous publishers they asked no financial investment from me. I would receive no money upfront, but they were willing to invest in my novel to the extent of absorbing all editing, publication and marketing costs for both the e-book and paperback versions. Needless to say, I quickly signed, and they have been wonderful to deal with.<br />
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Then the real work began, and it was hectic for a couple of weeks.<br />
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While the first editor was busy correcting my grammar, punctuation and typos, I worked with one of their contract artists to design a cover. I was shown samples from several contract artists and selected Robert Stroud to create the cover. I was allowed quite a bit of input in the design, but the final layout was the artist’s responsibility. It took about a week from the day we first talked on the phone until we agreed on the final rendering.<br />
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I was amazed by all the work that goes into publishing a book. Three editors reviewed the manuscript before it went off to the printer, and I was horrified to see all the stupid mistakes they caught. When you try to correct your own work, it’s all too easy to overlook the same mistakes every time you read it. I find myself “comma-ly challenged” in a major way, so there were a lot of corrections in that area. <br />
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The first editor just laughed at my embarrassment and explained that it’s normal, and that’s why editors are needed. Even after all that work, I’ve spotted a couple of errors in the published version, but then I also found a major typo in a recently released New York Times bestseller.<br />
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I was pleased that there were only three paragraphs she requested I change. I did rewrite two of them, as I agreed the editor’s suggested version was better, but I argued and won a debate on the third. However, as I now reread the story after months have gone by, I ask myself why I wrote so many clunky paragraphs! The editors were being too kind to let me get by with some of the weak writing.<br />
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After the majority of errors were corrected with the first edit, we had to format for publication. The publisher has a preferred format for their books, and it was different than the way I originally had set up in my computer. Thank goodness Microsoft Word is so versatile!<br />
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After completing the edits, deciding what scenes to use for teasers, and writing a synopsis, bio, and other info for promoting, it took about three weeks before it was available in e-published form and a few more weeks until the print copy was released.<br />
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Final thoughts tomorrow.Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-18688474075282319102012-02-09T14:33:00.000-08:002012-02-09T14:36:30.195-08:00In Dreams...The Real Story Exposed! Part 1I never expected my little novel to generate so much speculation about the identity of characters, and even more curiosity about the plot. So, to pacify inquiring minds, I’ll reveal the story behind the story and relate what led up to its publication.<br />
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Despite terminal antipathy when it came to high school English, combined with an inherent streak of learning laziness, I somehow acquired a latent interest in writing and over the years have had a few articles published in automotive enthusiast magazines, newsletters and local newspapers. They were nothing that required much thought or effort, and I had never seriously considered tackling a project as big as a novel.<br />
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The first thoughts about writing <i>In Dreams</i> entered my mind several years ago as I was passing through Denver on a trip from Texas to visit my parents in Montana. As I inched across the city in rush hour traffic, I passed exits with familiar street names that brought back memories of my time in that city. Denver was a great Air Force assignment and I came to love the area in the short time I was stationed there.<br />
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Yes, I had dated a girl while attending missile school at Lowry AFB, and I guess our relationship had become as serious as a relationship between seventeen year old kids can be. Naturally, I wondered if she might still live in the area and I contemplated what it would be like to meet a former girlfriend again after decades had passed. I also contemplated what life might have been like had I made different choices when I was young. <br />
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Contemplation was as far as it went, but the seed was planted and since long drives are little more than hours and hours of boredom, I passed time by writing a story in my mind. Before the trip was over I had the basic plot formulated and when I arrived home I drafted an outline for future reference, but it would be many months before I took the next step.<br />
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Although the idea of writing a novel was now a semi-serious consideration, I really didn’t know how to begin, so I browsed the appropriate Internet forums and tried to soak up enough knowledge to take the first step. Experienced writers advised me to first write about what I know, and to borrow the personalities of real people to develop believable characters. That seemed logical and easy, and by recreating bits of my own early life and military experiences, I had a background for the main character. The girl I had dated would be the inspiration for the female character, and while there would naturally be some similarities, almost everything about her would have to be changed for obvious reasons. <br />
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Yes, the main character resembles me to those who knew me when I was young…and that was intentional because the character was easier to realistically create. I learned that most writers include themselves in their stories in one form or another. <br />
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Conceding that much to the speculators, I don’t believe the protagonist(s) in the modern segments of In Dreams contain(s) much of who I am today. However, I don’t know how others see me, so maybe I did inject more of “me” into the role than I realized. It wasn’t intentional, but others will have to decide that.<br />
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The main female character is far less similar to the real person from the past, and I have no idea what she might be like today. While researching background for the story, I learned that she is still alive and living in the Denver area, but I have not talked to her. When I finished the first draft of the manuscript I did send her a copy, only to let her review it to make sure there were no coincidental similarities to her real life that could be recognizable and embarrassing if revealed. She never responded, so I assumed there were no issues with the plot, and there was obviously no interest in making contact. I also sent her a copy of book, with the same response.<br />
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Except for “Dean”, whose character was affectionately based on my old Air Force buddy to whom the book was dedicated, the other characters were entirely fictional with names derived from friends and relatives, and even pets. All of them are composites, but they too were inspired by people I know. None were intended to be anything like the individuals might be today, especially since they were constructed from a collection of dimming memories, imagination, conjecture and embellishment. <br />
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The most enjoyable part of the writing experience was researching the past and present, and discovering little nuggets of information on the Internet. Along with relearning the physical layout of Denver in 1959, I found weather records of the local conditions during Christmas week of that year, as well as the phase of the moon and the number one song on the top 40. For some reason, trying to be factually correct for little things seemed important, though I doubt anyone would have been too critical had I only guessed at those relatively unimportant facts.<br />
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Radio station KIMN…my favorite at the time...was one of the two top AM stations serving the Front Range for many years, and if I expected to evoke nostalgic thoughts from local readers when it came to their long-ago favorite radio, I had to be accurate. The highlight was when I located the KIMN disc jockey that was working at the station during that time. I had earlier found an audio clip of an actual radio show from KIMN that was recorded only a few weeks from the date I wanted, though it was from a different DJ’s program. I tweaked the wording slightly to make it fit a Christmas broadcast, and then emailed it to “Dapper Dan” at his retirement home in Hawaii, and asked him if the final result closely represented DJ chatter that might have taken place at the time. He responded with a very nice letter, and verified that it was accurate to the best of his recollection. <br />
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Fast forward a couple of years. <br />
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It was a long weekend and Judy was away visiting family. The weather was dreary and there was nothing of interest on television, so I decided to see if I could put the conceptual plot into actual text. I was surprised to discover that the words came easily and at the end of three very long days I had consumed several pots of coffee, had a pounding headache, my eyes were on fire, and I was totally exhausted. The good news was that I had 30,000 words on paper. While that was less than half the number the final version contained, it formed a skeleton on which to build.<br />
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More tomorrow.Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-51776575594332400172012-02-03T14:04:00.000-08:002012-02-03T14:04:46.877-08:00Another February 3rd...and More MemoriesI guess it was because of my age at the time, but this event will stick with me forever. Maybe this was the day the United States began to lose some of its greatness.<br />
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<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/3nrWJ7sFm8I" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5455151661341817759.post-32306087301625403322012-01-30T05:02:00.000-08:002012-01-30T05:02:24.167-08:00You Think Your Herd Dog Has Talent?Check out this badass bunny!<br />
<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/qeuL5IGimCQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Garyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971697299230319268noreply@blogger.com1