FUDDY-DUDDIES UNITE--IT'S GOOD FOR YOU

                       

                     

 

                        FUDDY-DUDDYS UNITE – IT’S GOOD FOR YOU!       

 

Are you “set in your ways?” Do you have rituals you just have to perform at certain times of the day? 

A novelist wrote of a character that “she sought the consolation of underwear.”  As for me, I find my consolation in pink flannel pajamas with hearts printed all over them..

I cherish the cozy feel of the soft fabric, but getting into them is just one of several steps in a bedtime ritual I choreograph as carefully as I used to for my children.

MY PJs.

My back exercises.

Two minutes of tooth brushing.

Popping into bed (that delicious moment). Pillow under knees, just so.

Radio tuned to my cheerful local station. 

My crossword (with a certain pencil).

My book.

No wonder going to bed leaves me totally exhausted!

                         What are the things that you just have to do in a certain way?

When you are not only quirky but quirky alone, you can act as oddly as you want (at least within the walls of your own house).   I love to talk to myself. 

When I used to goof up around the house (trip over a rug because I’m reading a book, pour the orange juice in the coffee mug) I would chide myself – “You idiot! What a klutz!”  Nowadays, I have knocked that yammering self-critic off my shoulder and  reassure myself: “That’s what I love about you — you are so funny!”   When life deals another random blow I say  “There, there, sweetheart, of course you are upset; let’s sit down and talk it over.”

Sometimes I conduct whole conversations. 

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“If I were you, I’d be embarrassed too”

“But you are me.”

I stick to rules for these things. When a snatch of song comes to my head, I have to sing it out loud, as much  as I can remember.  This works well with short ditties, like

                                Delicious

                                Nutritious

                                Makes you feel ambitious!

                                A giant of a cereal

Is Quaker Oats.

It gets stickier when it’s a ballad with lots of verses, like “The Fox Went Out on a Chilly Night,” leaving me frustrated when I can’t remember it all the way to “and the little ones chewed on the bones, O!”

               

     Poet Marie Howe says that the rituals of ordinary time, like the water glass you’ve just rinsed and held up to the light, are to be cherished.  “Life is so daily,” Virginia Woolf once exclaimed.  I find myself clinging more and more to the particulars of daily life.  My pink pajamas, my bedtime quirks, my need to stand under the flowering crabapple tree to gaze and gaze, are ways of slowing things down as life streams by, faster and faster. Our fuddy duddy habits seem so solid when, after all, we are passengers on the Titantic in dire need of something to cling to as the deck tilts under our feet. 

Fuddy-duddies, unite!  Send me some of your habits.

Although she grew up in New York City, Annis Pratt makes her home in the Midwest, where she taught English at the University of Wisconsin-Madison for many years.  In 1990 she threw her full professorship out the window to move to Michigan, where she is engaged in community activism and novel writing

    Passionate about the environment and an enthusiastic sailor, canoeist and kayaker, she chose a genre where she could create compelling fiction about ecological degradation.

At 75 years old, she feels like she is in the second out of her ninth inning, having published the first volume of her historical fantasy trilogy when she was 73.

Blub: The Marshlanders and Fly Out of the Darkness are the first two volumes of The Marshlanders Trilogy, historical fantasies about the conflict between self-sustaining Marshland communities and Merchant Adventurers trying to drain their lands. These are page-turners about the conflict between people who respect their environment and developers who see it as a source of income.

links www.marshlanders.com , www.marshlanders.blogspot.com, and a humorous blog:

www.litteoldladyblog.blogspot.com

Novels may be purchased at www.amazon.com or www.barnesandnoble.com

                                                             

DOING THE BUCKET LIST

By Ed Crumley

 

Before the movie "The Bucket List" came out, the term wasn't familiar to me. Oh, I knew what it meant to "kick the bucket", but I never recalled anyone making a list before. Simply put, a bucket list is a list of all the things you want to do before you get too old or die. In the movie, Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson deserted hospital beds to romp through a list of things they wanted to do before they . . . you know what.

I've been thinking a lot about my bucket list since using up my three score and ten. But the more I dwell on it, the more I believe I probably started working my list as a young man. We've all known folks who said, "I look forward to retirement so I can do this or that." It's a risky plan because no one knows their own longevity.

Fifty years ago, right out of college, I slaved at a lowly bank job in a small windowless room, phones ringing off the wall, everyone around (including me) smoking, and at a shamefully small salary. I wanted out of there big-time but not just because of the environment. Although I was a bank clerk on the surface, inside me dwelled an artist. I was doubly motivated.

Some would have bowed their heads and meekly succumbed to that high-stress, low-pay cubicle cell without a whimper, hoping that someday, somehow they might be paroled slightly upward to occupy a junior executive desk with a little more pay.

With a high dose of adrenaline, I dove into night college art classes and a correspondence course of commercial art lessons. Meanwhile, my radar sought out any and every commercial art job, no matter how small, I could latch onto.

Providentially, an employment agency sent me to a man who needed a trainee/assistant to help him in his business illustrating house renderings and floor plans for home builders' offices and brochures. When I arrived at his garage studio one late afternoon and saw his work, a fire ignited in my soul.

For me, a forty-four year career in architectural illustration was born. Instead of waiting till retirement for fulfillment, I spent the decades after escaping the bank prison in freedom doing what I loved. My clientele included architects, real estate developers, and major corporations in my city, state, and around the nation.

But what about retirement? In my case I wouldn't be in it if not pushed there by computers doing the illustrations now and the bad economy. Not to worry, though. I'm busier than ever writing fiction, songs, and poetry, oil painting, performing with a gospel band at churches and senior centers, and riding my Harley for fun and charity.

I advised my sons to find their God-given talents, make what they love to do into a career, be the best at it, and they'll be rewarded. They did and don't worry about bucket lists.

About the Author

Radically changing careers after receiving a BBA degree in business administration from Baylor University in 1961, Ed founded Ed Crumley/Architectural Arts in Dallas in 1969 and began a forty-three year career producing architectural illustrations and architectural models for architects, real estate developers, and corporations locally, across Texas and around the nation. Later he wrote, illustrated, and self-published a basic correspondence course on architectural illustration which he marketed through small ads in art publications.

He has also used his writing talents observing modern culture as a freelance movie critic for Preview, a publication of Movie Morality Ministries for which he has detailed the plots and both the redeeming and objectionable material in the latest motion pictures. He has also written human interest pieces for the Christian Pulse.

  Ed’s love of the outdoors has taken him and friends on many backpacking trips into wilderness areas of the Rocky Mountains.  These trips, his long involvement in the arts, his long interest in talk radio as a listener and caller, his study of Scripture, and his concern for people’s inability to find truth in the fog of today’s shallow popular culture, inspired him to began writing fiction as a way of providing readers discernment through entertaining and engrossing stories. 

After attending American Christian Writer’s conferences for several years where he attended many workshops on various phases of writing, Ed completed his first novel, a suspense/thriller, The Host, a novel of life and death on the high desert and has begun a sequel which features the same core characters, adds new ones, and deals with new issues.

 The Host is available from Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble.com, and Trafford Publishing.

Read an excerpt from The Host at:

www.edcrumley.com

Ed Crumley may be contacted at:

edsart@sbcglobal.net

214-232-2318

Brain Damaged- And Loving It

"Did you get the cheese?"

I opened the bag and stared inside. Shook my head and gave her the 'deer in the headlights' look.

"But you wrote a list." That's my wife, always using logic on me.

"I forgot to look at it." Then I pull out my Free Pass. "Brain damage, darlin'." Oh, yeah. I've had two concussions, both with amnesia, from riding dirt bikes. The first time I was with my kids and... well, I don't remember what happened until I stood there asking questions like, " Where are we?" and "What are we doing here?" while my computer rebooted. The kids thought it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen.

The second time... well, I don't remember either but my friends thought it was a hoot. Insensitive friends. Reminds me of a dirt biker's t-shirt: 'It's funny until someone gets hurt. Then it's hilarious.'

Since those events, I have a built in excuse. My wife overhears me having a conversation with my sister about the grandkids going to the zoo. "Why didn't you tell me?" Brain damage.

But it gives her comfort, because if I didn't have brain damage, I would be an idiot, and she married me. She's off the hook!

I recommend Brain Damage for every man. Not women. Men and women are different. Honest! We men blow things up, set ourselves on fire, and cut ourselves, no big deal. A woman splits a fingernail and the world is going to collapse in on itself. For instance, my dad has never pruned shrubs in his yard without shedding blood. He comes inside and it's: "Hey Dad you cut yourself."

He looks at his arm.

"No. The other one. The one dripping blood on the tile."

"Oh, wow," he says, "I better get a band aid."

"No, you better get stitches. And a blood transfusion."

What I recommend to you men is this: If you haven't had head trauma, find a helmet- football, baseball, motorcycle, doesn't matter. Put it on. Now put your head down and run, full tilt, into the opposite wall, smashing your head into it.* Excellent. Now, you've got a reason for your mistakes. You bought yogurt, but not low fat? Brain damage. Didn't gas the car up when that's the reason you took the car to the gas station? Hey, you're not responsible, just damaged goods. If your spouse is sensitive at all, she'll say, "Oh, honey, I forgot about your condition. I'll go get the yogurt and fuel up the car. Here's the remote. You watch television."

She leaves and you could watch television. But you better put on the tool belt and fix that hole in the wall. 

*Do not run with your head into a wall without first consulting your doctor. Results may vary. Should you attempt to run headfirst into a wall, you may experience the following side effects: Dizziness, temporary or permanent amnesia, unconsciousness, headache, neck, spinal and back injuries, bruising to the head, a vegetative condition, anger and frustration from your wife, or laughter from your children. If you experience any of these side effects, cease running with your head into the wall immediately and see your doctor. Running with your head into the wall should not be taken with alcohol or any other drug. 

Kevin B Parsons is an entrepreneur, author, motivational speaker and avid motorcyclist. He’s started and operated nine businesses in six states, and purchased one business.  He’s written a Children’s book, Ken Johnson and Roxi the Rocker, available on Amazon. He’s co authored six anthologies and written numerous articles and stories.

This year he appeared on the cover of American Motorcyclist magazine, along with the feature story he wrote.

Kevin has ridden and raced motorcycles since age thirteen, and is two time Best In The Desert champion. Currently he and his wife Sherri have embarked on a '50 States in 50 Weeks' adventure, riding a motorcycle with a pop- top tent trailer. He blogs every day during his adventure at www.50statesin50weeks.com.  

I'm ready to fade to ROSE--are you?

by BABS MOUNTJOY


I have to admit, I was a little floored when I heard the study this week that proclaimed that older people tend to be more susceptible to scams because their brains look for the best in a situation. The study disputed the earlier thought that seniors had diminished brain capacity or other defects, and says instead that people closer to the end of their lives tend to see things, if you will, with rosier colored glasses.

Researcher Shelley Taylor says:

“We know that older adults are good emotion regulators. They make their lives emotionally more positive...They don’t stress out over small things. They turn away from negative scenes. They are less likely to go to scary negative movies. They kind of keep their emotional life in balance.”

I'd just spent five bucks on the zillion dollar Powerball, pretty sure it was a useless gesture. Twenty years ago, when I bought even one ticket, I was convinced this was my real chance to win. I had the money spent before the balls were even drawn. Every time. I had such hope and desire and confidence. I would buy a house, take vacations, write to my heart's content, give my kids a comfortable cushion as they started their independent lives.

But over the years, I've gradually lost that optimism, rather than bent in the direction of the positive. I bought a ticket on a whim, just to cover my bases, but I had no dreams of being a winner. Not even for a two-buck chance.

Maybe it has something to do with being a family law attorney, when I see so many negative things people do to one another, or see clients fail time and time again or even simply give up on their dreams. After twenty-seven years of the same kind of practice, it's true a bit of burnout settles in.

 

Even at this time of the year, when so many people are positively glowing with holiday spirit, I find it hard to generate even the amount of warmth that could come from my proverbial lump of coal. Part of seems to be the inexorable onset of age--the change of seasons with its barometric yo-yo and the cold weather sets fire to my chronic pain disorders. Hours of walking the malls and the other holiday events are uncomfortable, even unpleasant, despite what I'd really like to do. I won't lie--some days it's hard to be upbeat.

Everyone's situation is different, of course. Some people are surrounded by loving friends and family, and that makes it easier to feel that good things can happen. For some, they follow Charlie Brown's edict--happiness is a warm puppy. Being involved in community organizations and events helps, I know, though it's not an option for me juggling two careers and special needs kids. Just not enough hours in the day.

So I guess I'm looking forward to becoming a "senior" sometime in the next ten years. I can't wait to regain that positive outlook and think well of people again, perhaps even find a little happiness and people who love and support the person who I am. I'm open to finding the best in others, being able to trust them, and expect that happy surprises will come my way. Just happy to hear that it doesn't necessary mean I get to be senile at the same time, thanks to Shelley Taylor.

How about you--do you look on the bright side of life? What helps cheer you up when you can't seem to find a silver lining anywhere?

Barbara “Babs” Mountjoy has written since she was a little girl, unable to restrain the stories that percolated through her fingers onto her keyboard – or, back then, onto the old Royal typewriter. Babs has been a published author for more than thirty-five years, with a number of publications under her belt. Her non-fiction book, 101 LITTLE INSTRUCTIONS FOR SURVIVING YOUR DIVORCE, was published by Impact Publishers in 1999.

 

Her first novel, THE ELF QUEEN, was released under the pen name Lyndi Alexander in 2010. THE ELF QUEEN launched her Clan Elves of the Bitterroot series, under which the second and third titles, THE ELF CHILD and THE ELF MAGE, released in 2011 and 2012. Wild Rose Press released her romantic suspense novels, SECRETS IN THE SAND, in 2011, CONVICTION OF THE HEART, in June 2012 and THAT GIRL’S THE ONE I LOVE in September 2012. Zumaya Publications published her women’s fiction title, SECOND CHANCES, in July 2012. She has six more novels scheduled to be released in 2013.

 

Babs is a contributor to two CUP OF COMFORT anthologies. She blogs about autism, writing and life at awalkabout.wordpress.com, and spent seven years of her career as a news reporter and editor in South Florida. Her romances/womens fiction books are published under the pen name Alana Lorens, and her fantasy/sci-fi under the pen name Lyndi Alexander.

Mama, I can't Take a Bath 'Cause There's a Fish in the Tub

Fishing with my father was anything but boring, but my mother dreaded every fishing season.

“Your father is a veritable Mr. Hyde when he fishes,” she would say, generally including an emphatic gesture like hitting Dad with the newspaper, pretending a fly had landed on his shirt. “It’s safer to cuddle up to a rattler than be stuck in a boat with your father.”

But over time, my mother learned the wisdom of patience in dealing with my father’s idiosyncrasies. “When you’re married to a man for over sixty years, you forgive these sorts of insanities. Your father’s done a lot of crazy things that challenged my patience, but the craziest thing was the day he brought home that trout he caught at Butternut Creek.”

Dad squeezed Mother’s hand. “I suppose she’s right.”

They shared the tale that symbolized their sixty plus years together.   

“Butternut Creek is probably the trickiest place I ever fished in,” Dad said. “Why it’s so narrow you could toss a stone from one side to the other. And the trees like to hold hands across the creek.”

My father first cast got a hit. “By the force of the pull, I knew he was a big feller.”  

Downstream, Eddie, Dad’s fishing buddy, was about to cast when he saw Dad struggling to hold his line. “Looks like a keeper, Cal,” he shouted. “Better use the net!”

“I left it in the truck!” 

   

Dad could see the truck in an open field about a quarter of a mile downstream, but it might just as well have been two miles away. As Dad battled the beast of the stream, Eddie splashed his way toward the truck. Long minutes later, he plunged into chest-high rapids. 

For an agonizing second, Dad thought his amazing catch of the day would become catalogued with the other trillion stories of the one that got away.

“Got him!” Eddie shouted as he emerged triumphantly. They stopped at the water’s edge and shared that kind of emotional moment between men sans tears and embraces. Eddie simply stated, “Got to have a picture of this one, Cal.”

“Well, I don’t own a camera,” Dad moaned.  

            “Cal, we’ve got to have proof. Nobody’s going to believe we actually caught this fellow.” 

            “Well, neither one of us has one. At least we know what we caught.” The men trudged home with no lasting memento to herald their deed. 

As much as Mother despised fishing, she understood what this catch meant to my father. “Put the fish in the tub,” she said. “I’ll find us a camera.” The next day she borrowed one from her employer, and the picture found its way into Dad’s brag book. 

Volumes One and Two now available

Winner of the 2012 Selah Award for best first novel (The Other Side of Darkness/Harbourlight),  LINDA RONDEAU, writes for the reader who enjoys a little bit of everything. Her stories of redemption and God’s mercies include romance, suspense, the ethereal, and a little bit of history into the mix, always served with a slice of humor. Walk with her unforgettable characters as they journey paths not unlike our own. After a long career in human services, mother of three and wife of one very patient man, Linda now resides in Florida where she is active in her church and community.  Readers may visit her web site at www.lindarondeau.com.  Her second book, written under L.W. Rondeau, America II: The Reformation, Trestle Press, the first in a dystopian trilogy, is a futuristic political now available in ebook on Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble.  Print edition is coming soon. She is also contracted with Trestle Press for a prequel to her America II trilogy called Rains of Terror. This will appear in serial form. Volume One will be released soon.  An Christmas Adirondack romance , It Really IS a Wonderful Life, is now available for pre-order, published by Lighthouse of the Carolinas.  

                                                                                          

A QUIET DINNER

By Linda Lange

It had been a long day, and all we wanted was a quiet dinner. 

My husband Scott, an announcer, had gotten up at 5:30 to drive to an out-of-town job.  Once home, he’d spent the afternoon wrangling on the phone with a difficult producer.  I’d put in a thirteen-hour day at an animal shelter, where a beautiful kitten in my care succumbed to a virus.  It was the Day from Hell.  Good food, mutual sympathy, and adult beverages would help us unwind.

But soon after we got our booth at a neighborhood restaurant, another party was seated across the aisle.  Although it was after 8:00, the group included two small boys.  The younger was two or three, and he was the problem.  Obviously overtired, he broke into periodic bouts of wailing.  Our heads pounded.  Finally my husband couldn’t take it anymore.  He loudly blurted, “SHUT … UP!”

Not the ideal dinner companion 

The child’s father glared at us.  When his meal was done, he walked over, leaned into our booth, and informed Scott in so many words that he would have punched him if he hadn’t been of such advanced age.  (My husband is 66, with white hair and beard.)

So who was rude, us or the young dad?  Have standards of politeness changed so much?  If, as a child, I had behaved that way in a restaurant, my parents would have warned me to stop or risk a spanking.  When our son was small, we’d walk him outside, where he wouldn’t bother the other diners while we calmed him down.   But these people didn’t take their kid out or even make much effort to shush him, other than to hand him a toy or two.  Is this the new order?  Are we just supposed to put up with it—or stay home?

In another restaurant a few weeks earlier, we encountered a large and lubricated party at the other end of the room.  They were calling out and laughing loudly.  Scott asked the hostess if she’d approach them and ask them to be a little less raucous.  She declined, perhaps on the grounds that they were spending a lot more money there than we were.  So he got up and—politely—did it himself.  The group apologized.   But the hostess was furious.  She stopped just short of asking us to leave.

Is it impossible to have a quiet dinner in a restaurant these days?  Are we out of step?  After all, we live in a world where loud cell-phone conversations in store aisles are commonplace.  At the shelter, I’ve motioned to people to quiet down because our manager was on the phone in the same room, and received bewildered looks.  Nobody uses their “inside voices” anymore.

On the upside, it’s clear that although Scott and I are over sixty, we’re not losing our hearing.

But I’d really like to know.  By today’s standards, who was inconsiderate—us or the young family?  Have we become curmudgeons?  

What do you think?

Website:  www.incompletepasses.com
Blog:  http://lindalange.authorsxpress.com/
http://twitter.com/linda_lange
http://facebook.com/pages/Incomplete-Passes/277798228904875

Loving Arms

The newest and sixth addition to my collection of grandchildren is 13-month-old Molly. I have the privilege of living with her and her parents, my daughter Darice and her husband Ron. I raised three children of my own, two girls and a boy, and I’ve spent a lot of time with my other five grandchildren (all boys), but sharing a house with one brings a new perspective to my role as a grandparent.

Although they’ve shared numerous characteristics with every other child ever born, each child (and grandchild) of mine also has had his or her own personal likes, dislikes, and childhood rituals. That’s what makes us individuals. For instance, none of my children, nor grandchildren, have ever wanted anything to do with a pacifier. Except Molly. She loves hers. Sure, sometimes she rips it out of her mouth, turns it around in her slimy little fist, gives it a good talking to, and flings it across the room, but who among us hasn’t wanted to do that very same thing to our pacifier (whatever that may be) or our computer or smart phone or phone bill or credit card or car keys? Though not exactly clear to me, I’m sure Molly has her reasons for her love/hate relationship with that little contraption. In the end, though, they always find their way back to one another.

One particularly endearing ritual Molly developed in her infancy is running her little fingers over the bare skin of my arm when she’s getting ready to sleep. Not only does it feel good (I often want to drift off right along with her), but it also gives me a clear-cut signal that she’s ready for sleep. More than that, it lets me know she’s relaxed and comfortable enough with me to bury her little head in my chest and fall asleep in my arms. While I know infants will fall asleep dangling from their ankles if it suits them, this ritual signals more to me (and hopefully, her) than finding a convenient place to drop off to Dreamland.

This is about trust. Hers and mine.

This is about looking into her cornflower-blue eyes and making that deep connection that only grandmas and babies can make. It’s about my trusting that she knows I’ll never let anything happen to her; that she can scream or cry or misbehave or make messes or smack me in the face with a Mega Blok and I won’t be angry. It’s about that unspoken commitment all grandmas make with their grandchildren that says, “I’ll be right here for you no matter what. No problem is too difficult or embarrassing or frightening to share with me. You’ll always have me in your corner when the skies darken and the storms rage. I’ll never let you face your problems alone.” It’s about recalling the experiences and putting to good use the wisdom gleaned from parenthood and using all of it to help nurture the next generation of little ones—our own children’s children—a double blessing if ever there was one.

It’s about trusting one another that nothing but death will ever separate us.

And speaking of death, I hope that when I finally leave this earth (many, many years from now), I’ll have left Molly and Dustin and Hunter and Cannon and Tyler and Adam with the knowledge this grandma isn’t the only one who harbors a deep, unconditional love for them. They also have devoted, adoring, nurturing moms and dads, other doting grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and one another to help them navigate life’s tricky waters.

But more importantly, I hope I’ve left them with the knowledge that their Heavenly Father loves them more than even grandmas can love them. And when I leave this earth to begin my eternal residency in Heaven, I hope they envision me with my head buried in my Father’s chest, resting in His arms, trusting that nothing will cause Him to stop loving me.

Perhaps I’ll even gently scratch His arm as I drift off to sleep.

________________________________________________________________________________ 

Deborah Dee Harper’s current adult Christian manuscript, Misstep, was a finalist in the 2009 Operation First Novel Contest co-sponsored by the Jerry B. Jenkins Christian Writers Guild and Tyndale Publishing House. It will soon be under contract. 

Her children’s adventure book, Laramie on the Lam, originally published as a six-part, kids’ adventure eBook series by Echelon Press (Quake) is available now in print through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other online sites.  

Deborah has made numerous elementary classroom visits to read her work to students, spoken to several groups (both student and adult) about writing, and developed a writing seminar for elementary-aged children. She is represented by Terry Burns of Hartline Literary Agency and writes from Murfreesboro, Tennessee.

She can be reached through her website: www.deborahdeeharper.com or at her email address: deborahdeetales@gmail.com.

Just in time for Christmas!

For KIDS who love rooting for heroes, outwitting villains, loyal dogs, weird mysteries, adventures in exciting locations, seat-of-your pants danger, wild animals, thrilling fun, and laugh-out-loud humor!

For PARENTS, HOMESCHOOLERS, and/or SUNDAY SCHOOL TEACHERS looking for wholesome, Christian-based reading material for kids, complete with six study guides—all combined into one fun-to-read, fact-filled book of wild adventure!

 Laramie Wyoming is in big trouble—as usual—but this is the biggest, baddest trouble he’s ever gotten himself into. Eleven-year-old Laramie is a lot of things: an average student, a little mischievous, always messy, constantly curious, and on most days, a good big brother. When his mother, a travel writer, gets the chance to take her family with her on a trip around the country to write a book, they jump into their motor home and head for the great unknown. The adventure hasn’t stopped since! Even though he’s used to getting in (and out) of scrapes, Laramie never—not in a million years—dreamed he and Maestro, along with his best friend Jake Pickens and his worst enemy Prentiss Williams, would end up being chased from Virginia to Alaska and lots of places in-between by bank robbers.

It’s official: Laramie’s on the lam!

My Back Pages

 by Jim Carey

As I sit here, trying to write this article, my mind wanders to the process that brought me to this point. I have a published novel that I am learning how to market and a second novel in the works. People are now referring to me as an author and a writer. I find it all a bit surreal, especially when people ask me to sign a copy of my book.

My writing career had a less than auspicious beginning start. It began during my junior year in high school when I enrolled in a creative writing class. I took this class partly because it sounded like fun, but mostly because I thought it would be easy. That was my criteria for picking electives back then. Being easy was the best reason I could think of for taking most classes. Unfortunately, I quickly learned that writing is not always fun and it is definitely not easy. Back then I had one rule I followed diligently and that was “why do it today when it can be put off until tomorrow?” As I’m sure you can guess, following that rule often got me into some trouble.

My performance in that creative writing class was rather lack luster until we were given the assignment of writing an original poem. My situation quickly went from indifferent to awful. Being true to my rule, I waited until homeroom on the day it was due to begin writing my masterpiece. As I sat there watching the minutes tick by, panic began to set in. Creative writing was my first period class, so homeroom period was my only chance to get it done. Nothing was coming to me until I looked out the window and found my inspiration. I finished my poem in less than ten minutes and entitled it “Green, Green Grass”.

Feeling quite satisfied with my effort, I turned it in on time and then completely put it out of my mind. Three days later I walked into my writing class and saw that my poem was on the “overhead projector” (you remember those, right?). I sat down, knowing that there was no way this was good to turn out well for me. Once class began, our teacher began going over my poem. It quickly became apparent that there was not one thing right about my poem and lots of things very wrong. Soon the whole class was laughing and I was trying to disappear under my desk in embarrassment. I’m sure it wasn’t hard for everyone to figure out who the guilty party was.

I’ll give you that the teacher could probably have been a bit more diplomatic in her approach to my poem, but in her defense everything she said about it was true. For example, the poem was about thirty words long and twenty of them were the word “green”. What I got out of all that was that I had written the worst poem ever and I swore that I’d never write anything creative again.

I held onto that belief until my early forties when I began to feel an ever growing need to express myself creatively. I tried a few drawing and painting classes, but the results of those attempts were not good for my ego. Having been born tone deaf, I also knew music was not an option. I felt as if I’d hit a brick wall.

Just when I was ready to retire from the creative life for the second time, I began having very vivid dreams. I resisted them for a time, but they kept reoccurring and I began to sense that I was supposed to write these dreams down. One morning I did just that and I haven’t stopped since. My first attempts were rough and almost unreadable, but I kept at it and my writing has improved. This process continues to work for me to this day - so much so that I often feel much more comfortable referring to myself as a storyteller than as a writer. What an interesting time in life this has become and I am very thankful for the experience.

To close, I’d like to quote a line from a Grateful Dead song: My friends,” What a long strange trip its been”.

 ECHOES FROM HOME

Set in the time period of the Civil war, this historically edited novel follows a young man named Joshua Miller who, along with his best friend Monte, decides to show loyalty to the South by joining the Morgan County Scouts, a small cavalry unit based out of Alabama. Certain that the boys of the Confederacy would beat the Yanks and be back home in no time, Joshua leaves behind his mother, his beloved fiancée Missy Sue, and his boyhood dog named Blue to seek  the adventure and glories of war. As this coming of age story unfolds, the readers follow the characters through both the human and the soldier’s perspectives of the main battles of the Western theater of the Civil War. Letters sent between Joshua and Missy Sue at first share excitement and anticipation and then ultimately the disillusionment, heartache and true horrors of this time in American history. As the war dragged on and the imagined glorified life of adventure turned into the harsh realities of war, the boys became conflicted with the very concept of what exactly they were fighting for. What started out as a grand adventure became a series of very powerful lessons in hardship and courage, love and loss.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Echoes from Home is the first novel published by author Jim Carey. A social worker, then a chiropractor by training, writing has been a passion for Jim for the past twenty years. Jim describes himself as a story teller.  His interest in the Civil War started early. After seeing Jimmy Stewart’s movie Shenandoah at the age of six, Jim became fascinated with the Civil War. As the years passed, playing with toy soldiers became part of his past, but his interest with the Civil War continued. For years Jim planned to one day write a book that would be a typical civil war story filled with names and places, battles, dates and divisions, but shortly after the writing began, the character of Joshua Miller started to fully develop and he began to realize that the Civil War was to be the backdrop for the life story of this young man and his friends as they journeyed through these powerful events in American history. Jim’s next project will be a collection of short stories based on the Civil War, tentatively entitled The High Price of Freedom.

Did Yogi do Yoga

By H. Kirk Ranier

As an outsider to the practice of yoga and with a distant, childhood recollection of the animated bear, Yogi, I consider the question: 

Did Yogi do Yoga?  

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yogi_Bear

Besides the obvious similarity in name is the possibility that Yogi did Yoga; after all, this character needed “more than the average bear” to partake of Jellystone Park’s daily fare.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1pqyax6gwzQ

Naturally, this bear would have to perform the unnatural; the quick and allusive fleet of foot (or paw) so able to evade Ranger Smith and ensure that the lunch basket reached its sometimes distant, but desired destiny.   

Unlike his protégé, Huckleberry Hound, Yogi’s presence was less desired, downright un-domestic; hence, the need to be quick and intelligent (“smarter than the average bear), and ideally, with the least amount of stress for man and beast. 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Huckleberry_Hound

Yogi might very well do Yoga; not only to relieve his own stress (from a day’s thievery) but to deal with the conscience of his faithful sidekick, Boo-Boo Bear. This regimen or “program” could have (had) some benefits: 

þ  After such stress-relief, the city-dwellers could have been willing to defy the park’s rule “Don’t feed the bears”, and instead, exercise goodwill and grow further appreciation for the wildlife.

þ  Yogi and Boo-Boo could have networked with the Berenstain Bears aligning and leveraging a full complement of bear-related benefits and opportunities beyond convention (the zoo, circus and similar entertainment).  

þ  National and state parks, adopting similar programs, could have raised the bar of the camping experience—and general lifestyle—to a new height of, well let’s say, to the next level, beyond the “bear necessities”.    

In my next posting (and continuing on this theme):  “Did Yogi like Yogurt?” 

As of March 2011, H. Kirk Rainer has written, published the following:  

·         A Once and Always Father - is a dedication to his kids; the content expresses a husband and father’s perspectives on marriage and family, courtships and courts, custody and criminalization; and what has happened with the taking of the time-honored treasures of marriage from that of a contract to the present “relationship of convenience”; and all along, addressing the plight of a parent through family law—in the context, conditions and consequences of uncontested divorce, victim’s rights, and court conduct. 

·         A FATHER AND FUTURE FELON - is loosely based on twelve letters—written from jail—the book is a dedication to fathers and to those who fit similar roles and responsibility.  Drawing from the works of Saint Augustine, the Bible, historical and other-subject resources; each chapter offers alliteration on fatherhood—in a physical setting of St. John’s County (FL) and other detainees that he generally categorizes as “Fellows/Fathers”.

These publications are available at the St. Johns Public Library; e-versions of the books are available at www.alwaysfather.com.

A third book of similar theme is being developed as of 2011; the proposed title comes from the Book of Job:  His Children are far from Safety.  The cover design, as shown at the right, applies safety-orange along with striping and an image of light—all of which is common to safety barricades and other equipment.  More information can be found on the thematic Website at alwaysfather.com and, in addition, has been presented in Video on the author’s face-book account.  The book will be a fictional fable of sort—loosely based on the Book of Job with influences and references still under development.     

He has embarked on a personal crusade aimed, at the least, to enable his own children to know that he still loves and cares for them.  To this purpose, he has gained much support and understanding from such organizations as:  American Coalition for Fathers and Children (acfc.org); Alabama Family Rights Association (alfra.org); Protect Fathers' Right (protectfathersrights.org); National Father Initiative (fatherhood.org); Institute for American Values (AmericanValues.org); and the Florida International University (FIU), "The State of Fatherhood" research.