Room for one more

This year begins a new path for someone very special to me. My grandson, Ragin Cage begins his first year of school, kindygarden actually. I was sceptical as to how well he would adjust. He has always been a free spirit, a wanderer. He is one to explore the world around him. It is a trait we share. He doesn't sit still for more than a few minutes unless he falls asleep. When he visits us, even the television doesn't slow him down much.

This would be so different for him, a rigid (sort of), highly structured environment. The one thing that I was sure of however, was that he would make friends. He loves to be around other kids, often those a little older than himself due to his half-brother. He loves to be around him. They play and rough and tumble it all the time. When he sees others kids, he makes a bee-line for them. They are always his new best friends.

But to my surprise, he seems to have fit in well and is becoming used to an organized routine. He has a new best friend from school who has already played and been a guest at his house. It is tough to watch from afar. I know he will do well. He's a smart little boy with a big heart.

Now, he will be exposed to so many new things, so many new adventures with learning and classmates. I just hope there is still room for his Paw-paw.

The Waffle House

This morning, I took a side trip to a place I've only been one other time. After a morning errand run, I happened to visit a local Waffle House in a small town outside our capitol city. I sat and ate, had a light conversation with my mother-in-law, and watched.

The early breakfast was a visit to Americana. It was nearly a trip back in time to a fifties or sixties diner. The floor was tiled and slightly slippery, the booths close together, but not too close as the main counter with stools ran down the middle from end to end. The sounds of potatoes frying and spatulas scraping a grill echoed off the wall. America had been awake for a few hours and the visitors were slipping in and out. It was the consummate place to watch America as many of those who make up the middle of the country were in attendance.

There was a Black couple, my guess is a woman with her father. She wore a name badge holder on a lanyard around her neck which makes me think she works a government type of job. She was dressed for work in an office. Her father, possibly retired with the current mode of dress, slightly styled and casual. A police officer slipped in and ordered a meal to go, as did a bus driver from the transit authority. The only thing missing from the uniformed sector was a postal worker.

Two older white couples sat quietly in their booths as the staff of ladies wandered back and forth with coffee pots and plates filled with eggs and potatoes and toast ready to fall off the side. A trucker in a dump truck walked across the lot and in. He was appointed, as one would expect with boots and jeans and a pot-belly that was slung low across his belt. A bald guy with a beard sat across from us, his arms spread across the two stools beside him. A regular it seemed, he traded jokes with the waitress while she tried to school the new girl who was timid, but had an engaging smile. She'll be okay. She just needs a few shifts under her belt.

Along the wall of windows to the front, an older Black man talked with a younger man. I couldn't determine his race simply by the color of his skin. I would guess Latino, but I could be wrong. He wore his black hair pulled back and weaved into a ponytail. I had the feeling they worked together. Again, I could be mistaken. Others came and went with nods and smiles. There was a distinctive din that hovered above the room. It was conversation.

So what does all this mean? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps everything. It was middle America in the morning. An early Autumn day underway, but no one cared that the mix of people was anything more than it was. In that short hour, we lived together, ate together and talked together as one people, because that's who we are.

What's next?

Writing is by its nature, a solo task. Yes, there are many others that contribute to the overall work, such as cover designers, editors, proofreaders and all the others that help to put a book together. When one does not have a publisher, all that falls on the shoulders of the author to put it all together. (It is the wave of the future in the world of writing and publishing).

When you finish one book, somewhere along the line, you need to begin the next one. That can involve a tremendous amount of trepidation on the part of the author. No matter how wonderful he or she thinks they performed with the last project, it is still the last project and a new one must begin quickly. Often, it is about the momentum they are working to achieve. The thought process often is a deep look inside wondering if he/she can match the quality of both the story and the actual prose. Did the last book make me a better writer than I was before I began it? Did I grow as a writer? Will this next work exceed my own expectations for overall writing and give the reader a quality experience?

On my website, robertthomasbooks.com, I have a WIP section. I don't use it as often as I should, but it is there. A 'WIP' is a work in progress. From time to time I put excerpts of what I am currently writing up for readers to get a gauge of what is coming along.

Here is the latest from the next book in the Last Elf Prophecy series. The working title is 'Awakening of Lillestrom'. I hope you enjoy it. And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated.

robertthomasbooks.com book three of The Last Elf Prophecy series.

The view from above

And on the eighth day, God created NASA that we might see his handiwork in all its glory.

With thanks to the website Stumbleupon.

http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/18CWkz/1LdaWN3BL:aJvYMOQ5/vimeo.com/45878034

My eyes are full

I hate my brother-in-law.

I have recently lost about fifteen pounds. I suppose at my age, that's a good thing. Okay, I have been trying, somewhat. I was doing fairly well last winter up until about February. Then, I swelled like a dried sponge in a Jacuzzi. I wasn't out of control, mind you. With my job, I'm on my feet almost all day. I likely walk forty miles a week. And mind you, it's not a stroll down the aisle.

I decided it was time to lessen the waistband. One of my problems over the years is I eat with my eyes. (It really hurts when I get a fork caught in one though). I'm not a big guy, five-eight, but I can eat a large pizza without any issues. That, is the problem. When I've eaten, I eat to fill up. Then, I go on my way. I'm not a snacker when I'm at work, which is a lot, although I do tend to 'graze' when home. It's something my wife snickers about. Fridge to basket of candy to cupboard with snacks to juice... When's dinner?

Did I mention I hate my brother-in-law?

Anyway. I began to taper off. Quit eating with what my eyes saw. Portion control. As the weather warmed and the pool opened, I was able to start swimming again, although that has fallen off due to work. My ten year old weight machine was uncovered, the clothes and everything else hanging from it were removed and it was taken to the basement. There, it's usable. I began working out again. I was consistent a couple years ago until a foot and other nagging joint injuries got in the way. I decided, I will always have those nagging 'slow-me-downs' as I'm not getting any younger. Along the way, I've dropped fifteen pounds.

My brother-in-law sucks!

My Beloved and I went to dinner the other week with friends, to a family-friendly restaurant with plenty of televisions. Then, the food was put before me. That's the issue we all have in fat America. More and more eat out on a regular basis. The entree should be the biggest part of the meal, but all the sides and salads are just as big as the entree. The potatoes are as big as the steak which is as big as the fries which are as big as the appetizer and the desert as well. And we eat it all. That's why we are all overweight. We eat it all.

Now, my brother-in-law has always outweighed me. He is just a bigger, stockier guy. He has often had twenty to thirty pounds on me, yet he always wore a smaller pant size. We were together with our wives the other night at a festival in the heart of the city. He has lost weight as well, and he still has a smaller pant size than I do even though he still his heavier than I. I lose fifteen and my pant size remains the same. It's just not fair. I've had the same clothing size for over twenty years. Sometimes I just stretch it out more.

Did I mention I hate my brother-in-law?