An Amendment

 Once again, we as citizens of the U.S. face the probability of a government shutdown due to the ineffectual nature of our Congress. Time and time again, we face the same situation. I know I, and most everyone I speak to about this type of subject are fed up.

As congressional members, they have certain responsibilities, among them, establishing the rule of law, providing protection to the country, providing for the citizenry (but not every need and whim imaginable), and actually funding the government in a fiscally responsible manner.

In my opinion, they only do two of the four things I just listed. It is time to bring accountability back to our elected officials in a different way than ever before. Too much of their time is devoted to arguing with the other party and hunting for money to get reelected. Instead, their focus should be on effectively working on issues that affect the citizenry and the government itself. 

Therefore, I am proposing the following amendment to the Constitution.

Congress shall pass a balanced bi-annual budget every two years to be effective at the beginning of the congressional fiscal year. If Congress fails to pass said budget on time, any member of Congress who has exceeded three full terms of service in their elected position shall be prohibited from seeking elected congressional office for a period of twelve years.

A balanced bi-annual budget must take effect within six years (three terms of service for a House of Representative member) from the adoption of this amendment.

Any member of Congress who is prohibited from seeking election under this amendment shall forfeit all governmental benefits including retirement/pension and health that are currently earned by those officials exiting Congress.

I believe this amendment (or one of similar nature) would bring not only fiscal responsibility back to those who govern this nation, but also a level of accountability to the people who elect them. It's time for Congress to starts serving the nation and work on real problems instead of investing half their time in fighting with each other and trying to get reelected. 

Sky Rider

 I feel the wind rush across my face in this early morning vastness. It’s hand biting. The sky is as black as it will be for this night, its own face, dark as coal as the stars poke through the heavens to the earth below. The only light that lingers to guide my way will soon vanish beneath the horizon, Sol’s lesser brother succumbing to dawn’s eruption.

I am tired, my night’s work finished. My hands ache as I hold tight the leather reins that guide my steeds. Would these old mittens give way, my flesh would be ripped from the bone and I would not possess the strength to control their swiftness, for their power is like nothing that walks this world.

 With each passing year the weariness creeps further into my bones at night’s end, but it does not dilute my spirit, for there is nothing like the spirit of Christmas. It is whole, and pure, and all that is good with the world. It lifts my soul and enlivens my very being. Would I not ride the heavens each year, I would surely pass into oblivion.

The blackness that was the night is now not so dark. It is a mottled gray that hangs beneath the stars as their light begins to fade. I see the spires of yellow and orange that begin to peak above the rim of the world. Dawn is upon me and I must complete my journey before the magic begins to fade. With one snap of the heavy reigns my steeds become swifter than the lightning that blazes across a summer’s sky...

On Dasher on Dancer on Prancer and Vixen, on Comet on Cupid on Donner and Blitzen....

To the top of the world with great haste do I call, Dash away, dash away, dash away all.

Merry Christmas to one and all, and may peace be within your heart.

My B-I-L

 Yesterday was a sad day for My Beloved as we laid to rest her brother Tom. It was unexpected. I am not sure actually which is worse, the unexpected death of a family member or one you know is coming. Either way, it is hard.

Tom, or Tommy as many knew him was the third of five. I had always called him Tom. "Tommy" just never rang true to me. I know that feeling having lost the same member of my clan, North of 50 nearly ten years ago.

When I joined this family thirty years ago, he was the first to shake my hand and welcome me aboard. He also told me I had better treat his little sister right or I would have to answer to him. I never forgot those words.

He was a man of many talents in including being a chef in the kitchen and an eye through the camera. He loved his cameras.

In this day and age, men are often judged by how much money they make, what kind of job they have, the car they drive and the house they live in. I have come to know through my years that this is the poorest way to judge a man or any person. You judge a man by his heart, his character, his kindness toward others and how he treats and loves his family. I rarely heard a cross word from him regarding others. In this respect, Tom was one of the richest men I knew. He took care of his own sacrificing his own interests for those he loved. I think in that way, he and North of 50 were kindred spirits.

Life is short and moves quickly the older we get. Time really does fly and at some point all we really do have are the memories.

Tom, you are a good man with a heart of gold and you will be missed my many. Say hello to Grandma for us. I know it is a hug you have wished for for some time.

The Spend

 I have noted before, not only in real life but on these rambles as well, the world runs on an economic axis. Nearly everything we do, especially at a macro level has an economic basis or consequence. This not only works in the personal world of everyday life but also in the world of corporate and government finances.

For instance, My Beloved and I recently purchased a new bedroom suite after nearly thirty years. We wanted something new after all this time, but it isn't just always about the want. Whatever we want, we need to be able to afford it. That doesn't mean just leveraging our lives in the hope we will be able to make the payments. If we wanted, we could go out and pay cash for this, but that would also impact savings and financing levels down the line. Living can be expensive whether you are able to afford not only the 'have to have' items like food and shelter, but also the 'want' items, like new bedroom furniture.

So, when you look at the government, what crosses your mind? I know what crosses mine; they spend too much. For instance...

In 1970 the population of the United States was 203.4 million people. That number is from the US Census. The federal budget in that year was 195.3 billion dollars. When you divide that out it comes to spending $96,206 per person in the US.

Contrast that to where we are now. In 2020, the population of the US was 329.5 million people. That is an increase of 161% in the population. The federal expenditures for 2020 was 6.82 trillion dollars. Notice that I didn't use the word budget there. I'm not sure there actually was one. That figure was the total outlay of the federal government. That outlay is an increase of 3492% of what the government spent in 1970. That comes to 2.069 million dollars per person. That is an increase of 2150% of what the government spent per person fifty years ago.

I understand the world is a more expensive place to live than it was fifty years ago. We don't live in a bubble where we can look back on the way it used to be and wonder why it can't be that way again, but I also understand the government shouldn't be in the business of giving everyone anything and everything they ask for. The government is there for the good of the people, not granting the wish list of anyone who asks for something. Programs to keep people from falling through the cracks are one thing, subsidizing life for everyone is something else.

It's time the government begins to prioritize where the money goes, because before long, there won't be any money left that has value. They will just keep printing worthless paper.

They just spend too much.

A time to reflect

 As I arrived home today, I was greeted by the news of the death of Mikhail Gorbachev. It takes me back...

For those who may not understand who this man is, or what he meant to my life, let me explain.

I grew up in a time where one half of the world was at war with the other half. Not always a shooting war, but sometimes. I lived through what is known as the Cold War. The nightly news was filled almost daily with headlines of where the United States and the Soviet Union clashed about something somewhere on the globe. 

I was only few years old during the Cuban missile crisis. I lived with the fear of my brothers being drafted into the service to fight a war in a jungle, far, far away. Nuclear weapons were a nearly a nightly topic on the news. You learned things from newspapers and television news in those days. We faced 'mutual assured destruction' during my lifetime. It was a life of us verses them. Although I was never on the front lines of battle, it touched my life in nearly every facet, so much so I wrote a book titled 'The Bear' about a present day struggle between the U.S. and Russia in today's world. 'The Bear' was a moniker of the Soviet Union in those days.

Then, a funny thing happened. The two leaders of the most powerful nations in the world came together and drove the first nail in the coffin of the Cold War. Then another, and another. They began to talk. They began to possibly understand each other. Whatever it was, although the struggles of the USSR became known at a later date, Mr. Gorbachev began to turn the USSR in a different direction. A famous line from President Reagan is well known; "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall", and it wasn't long afterward, this happened and the world changed.

So, what does this mean to me? I'll tell you.

As I enter the last third of my life, I see little pieces of what I knew slip away. It's the death of a famous person, an athlete, a politician, family members. Each of us in our own way struggle to hang onto pieces of our past and as we age, we begin to lose those pieces and there is not much we can do about it. At least in the present, until we understand the past is a learning tool. We do not live in the past, we live in the present with an eye on the future. The past should be used to guide us forward into the only thing we have, tomorrow. 

What we can bring with us into tomorrow is hope, hope that we have learned from history, from our own mistakes and embrace what is the unknown. A new piece of my past has now faded into the history books but with that, I embrace what once was and I hope to carry those lessons into the future to make it a better place for not only myself, but for others.

Mr. Waffles has left the building

 I may have written about Mr. Waffles before, I think so but I'm too lazy to go back and check honestly. That being said, it was a sad day for your home a couple days ago. Let me explain.

Three years ago when one could still go out in public and attend festivals and such, we happened to go to a popular fair festival in September. It was a beautiful day, the sun was high but not too hot. It was a great day to stroll around. My Beloved, my son and grandson hit the main thoroughfare of the event and did what people do there. We hit the food stands and played the carnival games. 

Now, most of those games are difficult to win, especially when the player is only about nine years old. We tried several before stopping at the game where you toss a ping pong ball into the center of the tent and try to land in a fish bowl. Well, guess what happened...Ragin Cage won a fish. Yep, we left our prize there since it was still early in the day and picked up our trophy on the way out.

It is well known that most of these goldfish don't live very long after you get them home. So, we stuck him in a bowl, we assume it was a him but never verified that gender, and let him swim around. He was given the moniker of Mr. Waffles. The next several months we were surprised he was still living. We took care of him the best we could until finally, I couldn't take it any longer and I went out and purchased small aquarium for him to have a proper home.

It was around Christmas, I think. With another quick trip to the pet store soon had the small tank decorated with green gravel and three plastic plants. It was pretty. But the saga doesn't end there. Mr. Waffles didn't have much to do by himself so being the softy I am, I decided he needed a buddy, so another trip to the pet store to get another goldfish. This one was more colorful that just gold and the two became fast friends. 

I forget the name of the new goldfish, I'm sorry to say but it livened up the tank for a time until he was found on the kitchen floor on morning. Somehow he had hopped out of the tank and fortunately he survived, but he was never quite the same. Since then, Mr. Waffles has been living out his life alone. It has been a few months and I was contemplating getting him another companion, but then, to our surprise, Mr. Waffles too was found flopping on the floor several days ago. My Beloved quickly scooped him up and plopped him back into his tank. We had no idea how long he had been out.

Again, we could tell our prize wasn't the same. He was acting oddly, floating in peculiar positions and we could tell he wasn't going to last. Finally, three days ago, the little carnival fish that we thought wasn't supposed to live more than a couple months left us after three years. It was a sad day but I am glad he came to a peaceful end.

Thank you for your time with us, Mr. Waffles. Till we meet again.

We Never Learn

 I had planned to post about something different this week, however with the events now happening in Europe, my thoughts have changed.

As I am a bit older, I come from a generations whose parents took part it the most horrific conflagration in human history. World War II left virtually no one in the world untouched by its reach. Even as events were discovered after the actual fighting stopped, the depths of human depravity were stunning. 

However when you get down to it all, WWII was about territory, greed and power, a thirst that somehow never seems to be quenched. In the wars since the mid-twentieth century, they have nearly all been skirmishes in comparison, but the underlying reach for power and territory still remains. With smaller, less prosperous countries with limited resources, I can almost understand the want, the need to expand territory for resources and the betterment of the country. 

But, this is 2022. The world is a different place than it was seventy years ago, fifty years ago and even twenty years ago. Have we not learned from our past, a past of war and greed? What is it that drives someone like Vladimir Putin to launch an invasion of a neighboring country? He is a lingering part of the old guard that clawed his way through the cold war and the fall of the Soviet Union, only to retain his power. He is a reflection of what was, what the world needs to leave behind. There is no reason in this century for a power such as Russia to bring Europe to the brink of another war. 

The world is more global than ever before. Whether we like it or not, we are tied to each other for good or bad. What affects one country often affects others in some manner. How have we not put blatant territorial grabs behind us as a species? How do the memories of atrocities of war not prevent futures wars? Apparently those memories are for others to lament and languish in and not for those who thumb their noses at the lesser inhabitants of the world who bear the brunt of such actions.

When will we learn? Will we ever learn?

A Sense of Yesterday Lost

 I recently had the chance to read a post by a long-time author friend Mona Ingram. https://www.monaingram.com/they-say-you-cant-go-back/

Her post was a repeat of one she had written several years ago that I had not had the chance to see. It recounts her time in the Hawaiian Islands from many years ago when she lived in the islands. What struck me was how her post read, how she framed the time, how it recounted a world we seem to have lost. 

As I thought on her words, it made me reflect not only on her islands but several of the places I have visited over the years, mainly on vacations since I have not lived outside of my home zone. Yet it is evident when one thinks about the places people visit or go on vacation to be it a coastal area, national parks or anything that now has become a tourist trap.

What once was has lost its innocence, its charm. It is the local charm that brought people to places like Hawaii for decades. It was unique. It was something never experienced by the vast majority of us and it called to us. The problem is, we all went.

Once pristine vistas are now crowded with corporate entities. The charm of the shore or mountain, the rolling dunes no longer belongs to the small businesses that began setting up their offerings all those years ago. Those entities have long since been replaced by the corporate world. Some try to hide behind a facade of a mom and pop shops but others simply plant their towering logos squarely in the middle of things.

The corporate entities take up the call of trying to deliver what used to be to everyone who wants a taste of what was. But that is the fallacy, the charm of a quaint luau in a small group is now a high-dollar variety show attended by hundreds. The charm has been lost, the memories faded of what we once knew, what we once experienced and longed to have again.

It will never return and our future will never know what we experienced.

What happened to T?

 Hi.

Yes, I am still here, although it has been awhile since I have posted on this site. I am hoping to change that and get back to normal here. I genuinely appreciate those who follow and read along. I apologize for my absence to date.

Now, as a writer I know there are all types of dialects that are around the world, around our country. When one is writing, to have a believable conversation, one that sounds normal to the ear, the writer must learn to write the way people speak. No one speaks 'the King's English', not here, not almost anywhere.

Unless it is something I have just completely ignored or never actually realized, a new phenomenon has caught my ear the past few years. The letter 'T' seems to be disappearing from the spoken word. I have noted it in my personal life as well as on television. It nearly bent my ear listening to someone on a program leave it out of someone's name. Even professional speakers on local news are beginning to drop the 'T'.

How do I mean? Take the name Clayton. Many now pronounce it as Clay-un. This is just one example.

I'm sure you've heard this. It is not new. I knew someone years ago who pronounced the word 'once' as 'onest'. It was nothing that irritated me like this dropping of the 'T'. I suppose it could be cultural, however I have not narrowed it down as I think it is becoming the norm to many no matter race or cultural background.

Perhaps there will come a time where small speech patterns like this do not bother me...but I doubt it.

50 years later

 I am quite the older man now than what I was at the tender age of twelve. At that age I didn't live very near anyone I went to school with. I was caught in a sort of in-between zone between two Catholic schools. Up until that time, the majority of my playtime was taken up by my brother, North of 50.

But then a funny thing happened. Those times lessened and I began to roam the neighborhood with two friends that lived on my street. For the next couple years we were nearly inseparable even though they went to different schools. When we all came home or during the summer months, it was on! We were everywhere, playing basketball at the end of the street (or in my case, trying to do so), playing football, buying fish for our aquariums or what took up most of our time, riding our bikes. 

It was a different time and almost a completely different era. We rode for miles! We explored not only our neighborhood but those that touched ours and touched those and touched those and even further out. What bonded us was the sense of adventure and the fun of just being with each other out in the world. Back then, it was fun to be twelve.

The world since has changed, some for the better, some, not so much. But often one looks back and sees those things that make a difference in the world that carries on to this era. My two friends were named Billy and Gary. Gary is white like me, and Billy is black. What we didn't see was the color of each other's skin. My mother treated them like she treated me and their mothers treated me that same. It didn't matter. 

So what makes me look back on this and smile today? Well, my grandson Cage has a friend over. they are both about that age. The young lad visiting after school is a very tall for his age and towers over Cage, a thin black youth, much like my lifelong friend Billy who towered over me. 

There are good things in this world and good people and they come in all colors and sizes.

Oh, and the young man's name is...William.

For June

 Social media is a weird, wild, and sometimes wondrous thing. Each form it takes whether it is facebook, Twitter or other gathering site has its supporters and its critics, and all can be well deserved in their own right.

I started this rambling blog over a decade ago to just chronicle my thoughts, hopefully sell a couple books along the way and generally track the journey of the latter half of my life on this blue marble. I also have a presence, although be it small on other social media sites. One of which is Twitter. I thought I might be able to raise my presence so I joined several years ago. Quite frankly I didn't know what I was doing on it and did not actively participate for several years.

That began to change about a year ago. I started diving in and following people. You don't build a presence simply by yelling, hey! buy my books! You have to let people see who you are, what your thoughts are and what you believe. I do agree that there are elements of Twitter that I completely avoid. I tend to stay out of religious or other overly divisive threads. 

But there is another element of this site that doesn't get talked about and is often just ignored. It's about meeting people. And over this past year I have met (online) and interacted with an absolutely wonderful group of men and women. They are funny and passionate about each other in almost every way, so much so that a large group this past weekend celebrated the wedding of two of them. For several, it was the first time they had actually met in person and if you believe you can't become great friends over the internet, you would be absolutely wrong. These men and women are family. The pictures coming from that even were proof of that.

So, where is this leading Robert? I'm here to tell you.

Sometimes you find out there are other reasons to use the tools we have. One of these terrific people who have made me laugh over this past year is June. She is a wonderfully lively woman to follow as is her close group of Twitter friends, "LadyTwitter". Unfortunately, June has relapsed and faces a diagnosis of cancer. This group has started a gofundme page to help with her medical expenses that, as we all know can be quite difficult. 

With this in mind I am using what little presence I have online to ask that anyone who is able to contribute even a dollar or two go to  https://www.gofundme.com/f/medical-expenses-for-june 

Keep in mind that every dollar anyone contributes makes a difference. This is a world that needs people to come together to help one another. This is my attempt to offer my help for June.

Beneath the Angel's Wing

 It is with sadness that the long sleep has touched the family. My mother-in-law has flown beneath the protection of angel's wings and her soul rests with those she has loved and lost.

For me it is a time of reflection on a woman as gentle and loving as any I have known. It was said she was someone who gathered people as others gather precious things and mementos to themselves. But that is what she does. That is who she is. Mostly, I do not speak in terms of 'did', or 'was' of people who have died. In memory, death does not dismiss their spirit or who they are. She is still who she is and to those who know, the memory is still alive. As is for my parents and North of 50, they are still a living memory to me and I will not denigrate their lives to 'was' or 'were'.

I awoke to a day as bright and beautiful as any I have seen in some time. It will be difficult for many to see its beauty, and I fully understand what has gripped their emotions. For me however I see what she would have wanted us to see, wanted us to embrace. Love each other in her memories and the joy of her spirit. 

Each day is a day passed and every sunrise a time to embrace what we may not have seen yesterday. I envision my life as seeing the world through someone's eyes who has new things to discover be it in a sunrise, a snow-filled winterscape or a day filled with rain, for even the rain brings new birth and new life to the world around it. 

As I see this day in its infancy, I will look only to discover its joy, see its fascination as it unfolds before me. A new life has touched my soul, and my eyes are open to the world again.

The Steps

 Last evening I had the opportunity to check out a group of youngsters trying out for a little league travel team. One of them was Ragin' Cage. It is his first, and possibly last depending on his mood, attempt at something like this.

We stood outside a block walled building as the tryouts were held inside due to poor field conditions at the diamond they usually use. Young boys were running back and forth, hitting off tees in cages, pitching off mounds and fielding off astroturf floors.

Toward the end several boys were throwing some sort of round weighted bags against the block wall and it brought me back to a time when I was their age and younger. We didn't have much as kids but we had baseballs and a glove or two. I originally started out living in a half double next to a very large church. We were so close you could touch both the church and our house at the same time.

The memory made me smile. We lived in the inner city and there were no open fields nearby, plus North of 50 and I were too young to go there by ourselves. But we had steps. In front of the church where two sets of concrete steps, if I remember, 5 high then a short few yards to another set. What these allowed us to do was to throw a rubber ball against them and catch it with our gloves. We would literally do this for hours. The only hiccup was if you missed the first set of steps the second set really didn't help much and whoever threw the ball had to go get it. Then it was the other's turn until he messed up.

North and I did this daily. We rarely had a true baseball and the rubber ones were cheap and took a lot of abuse. When we finally moved out a little further east to a single house, I actually lamented losing the steps as the only ones we new had were up against the back porch, and bouncing those rubber balls off the metal screen door wasn't something my father put up with for long.

It's amazing how boys and baseball bring back those types of memories, but it was a childhood filled with great memories and baseball moments.

To Fall Asleep

 This is a short I wrote a couple years ago. I may have posted this before but I'm not sure. A few have read it recently and made some great comments about it so I thought I would share it again. It is also included in a book of shorts I have out; Tales in Time.

Hope you enjoy.

To Fall Asleep

 

The wind that had punished me throughout my walk lessens, the snow now falling softly from the black, night sky. How I miss the stars of summer, their warm light both a blessing and a curse to my eyes. Would I have had a different path on life’s walk, I would certainly have wished to count the stars among them. But it was not to be; such was not my road, a farm boy from the Midwest who dreamed of greater things.

My tattered coat surrounds me in warmth, shedding the chill that swirls about the street corners, their asphalt surface hidden beneath soft powder. My boots push through it easily, though it clings to me just below my knee. I feel its presence against my skin, a touch, a kiss to let me know it shall invade my world should I hesitate. I pull my cloak tighter as I trod these sullen, winter streets of a place I now call home, a place I have no attachment to. It is only the place I live, the place that shelters me.

The barren streets are sparsely lit by the occasional lamp that throws its soft luminescence into circles upon the shadowed snow. It is only the hidden rolls, the curbs of this urban environment that take my attentions from my meandering path. Much like the varmint holes of an unplowed field in the days of my youth, they alone conspire to slow my progress, to press me to falter. I shake the powder from my hair, my beard now as white as that of an old man at the end of life’s journey.

My thoughts drift back to this day, this day a year past. It is but a carbon copy of what was; the brisk winds rambling down the city streets as winter’s white laid its blanket again across the cityscape.

My hands caress her warm cheeks as I brush away the snow from her face. I lift her head as gently as I would a newborn, held within the touch of a mother’s grace, and cuddle her softly upon my lap. I pull back her tangled, pepper-black hair, letting her face glisten in night’s stillness. Her eyes search for meaning as she looks past my face into the dark sky. I shelter her from the cold flakes as I hold her head.

“Who’s there?” she whispers.

Her lips tremble as her words slip into the night. Her breath rises in a soft cloud and I feel its warmth upon my cheeks.

“Is that you, Peter?”

“It is, my love.”

“Oh Peter. What has become of me?”

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll always be here. We’ll always be together.”

“It won’t be that way for long. I won’t be here.” Her eyes focus on my face for a moment, perhaps a last fleeting memory before she looks again to the heavens hidden behind the overcast night.

“I’ll be here with you always,” I reply.

“Peter, do you remember that day we went down to the shore? It was such a lovely time.”

“I can still feel the warmth of the sun on my face. You were so beautiful.”

“You make me blush, Peter. I was never that pretty. But, but you always made me feel that way.”

“You were always my first love. You know that.”

“I wasn’t though. There was another before me.”

“There was never anyone before you.” I brush the flakes from her dark eyelashes as I peer into her eyes. “Once you find your forever person, there is no one before, no one after.”

“Peter, do you see the sun? I feel it. It feels so warm.” She rolls her head toward me. I see the strain it takes for her to do so. “I’ve missed the warmth, Peter. I’ve been cold all day.”

“I’m holding you now, love.” I press my cheek down to hers. Her skin is flush with night’s chill. I will hold her life little longer. “Just feel the warmth of my touch, that touch we have shared for a lifetime.”

“Do you hear the water, Peter? Can you see it? See how it rushes to our feet? It makes my toes feel numb.” She blinks, her lashes depositing a white dusting on her cheeks. They linger for a moment before her fading warmth turns them to a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I wish our daughter’s wedding would have been on the beach. I tried, you know.”

“I know, my love.” I wipe the remnants of the tear from her face. “I remember.”

“Such a day it was. God had given us that day, Peter. She should have been married at the beach.”

“You would have gotten wet in the surf.”

“I wouldn’t have minded.” Her eyes find me once again, an inquisitive look on her face. Her lips relax as a smile embraces her. “Remember how beautiful she was?”

“I’m cold, Peter.”

“I know love. You’ll be warm soon.”

The darkness that surrounds us begins to reflect a new reality, harsh and penetrating. The azure lights create a pattern of chaos in our once silent world. Commotion fills the void that encompasses us.

“Peter? What’s going on?”

“Just the lights of the city, my love.”

I turn as I hear the sounds of footsteps rushing through the powder, shoes scraping against the pavement beneath. A dark figure now looms above me as I cradle her in the soft snow.

“Is everything all right?” The police officer kneels down beside me as he tilts his cap away from his face. “Is she okay?”

“Peter? Who’s here?”

“Just a friend, my love.” I brush my fingers against her cheek as she looks again to the night sky, the falling flakes blue against the flashing strobe.

“Is there anything I can do?”

I shake my head, knowing it is only a matter of time.

“Peter? What is that light?”

“What light, my love?”

“It’s beautiful. It’s warm, Peter.” She rolls her eyes to me again, scanning my face. “Are you coming with me, Peter?”

“Not tonight, my love. But I will join you soon.”

“I love you Peter.”

I watch as her face turns to the side and her eyes close for the final time. I am at a loss, a numbing sense of emptiness begins to overtake me as I feel a hand upon my shoulder.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” His voice is strong, but I know his words ring true. “I’ll call and we’ll get her moved inside.”

“Thank you.”

“What’s her name, Peter? I’ll need it for the reports.”

“I don’t know her name, and my name isn’t Peter.”

“But ... “

“I’ve never seen her before tonight.”

I remember that night a year past so vividly. It was a night like any other winter’s night in a cold city. I push through the snow, the soft powder that covers a harsh world nothing more than the blanket in which we wrap ourselves to fend off the night.

Spider Tack

 Major league baseball has had its share of controversies these last few decades. It seems now that the hitter's cheating with performance enhancing additives has now switched to the pitcher's mound. If you've never heard of 'spider tack', welcome to baseball today.

It was years ago (okay, showing my age) that pitchers used slick or oily substances to add to their grip. They hid it on their belts, caps, inside the glove, anywhere they thought it couldn't be found. The difference is what happens to the ball. With a slick side the ball comes off the hand differently and causes the ball to have a different flight pattern of curving, etc. Advantage, pitcher.

In today's game the opposite is the case. The 'stuff' of choice is called Spider Tack. It is a super sticky substance that allows a better grip on the baseball. It used to be few if any were able to throw a pitch 100+ miles per hour. So rare you could count the pitchers on a single hand over decades. Now, nearly every pitcher is in the high 90s or low 100s. Breaking balls that used to travel in the upper 80s to low 90s now come close to 100 mph. Randy Johnson and Nolan Ryan used to be special in their abilities. No longer, at least for the moment.

So what's the issue Robert? 

I'll tell you. 

This week a pitcher in the majors complained about how he wouldn't be able to throw the way he wanted to now. He would have to put the ball back deeper into his hand and that would affect his pitches. My response to him is, well, obviously you really never learned how to pitch. Pitching isn't only about throwing a ball past a hitter as hard as you can. He never learned to control the ball, never learned to paint the corners, never learned to change speeds, never developed an array of pitches. Some of the best pitchers I followed were masters of the art of pitching. In their youth they had strong arms with significant fast balls but knew how to 'pitch'. Among my favorites were Tom Seaver and Greg Maddux.

Sure, this pitcher is an athlete that can do something I could only covet, but my physical abilities do not compare to his. But the state of baseball is at stake currently. Hitting is at an all-time low and all that seems to happen in a game is either the ball goes out of the park or the hitter strikes out. That isn't much of a game to watch. Few steal bases these days and the strategy of baseball has all but vanished.

I'm fine with MLB policing the game to make it even for both pitcher and hitter but it's time to enforce the rules so baseball remains baseball and not a circus act.

Memorial Day

 For those who don't understand what this day means to this country, I hope this helps for it is the remembrance I hold.

I look above at the gray skies that have not yet fully seen the light of day. It is filled with death to our enemy as the shells from the fleet continue its bombardment of the shore. It is hours old yet still they rain down from the skies. I can only pray it has the effect we all hope for as our small craft chugs toward the shoreline.

I look around at the faces that stand beside me. There is no expression. Are we all the same, are we all resolute yet fearful as to what is about to happen to us? These boats that carry us forward seem nothing more than giant tubs that flail against the tides. The seas are heavy and we do whatever we can to stand. The closer we get the more they rise and fall to the power of the ocean. My stomach long ago relieved itself of what little breakfast I had. And I am not the only one. The sea that lurches above us and drenches us with its cold hand adds to the slickness of the deck. We are nearly piled on top of each other.

We have been given the order and I feel the grip of fear rise within me. I am shaking like never before. I have never been so afraid in my life yet for some reason fierce in my determination to fulfill my duty. It is what I must do; it is what we all must do. That is why we are here. There has been no attempt to hide from us what we will face yet it seems so more real now that I ever could have imagined.

The horn sounds and the door drops as our lander slams to a halt into the sands. The sea rushes in as we hear the stinging pelts of bullets pepper the metal around us. We rush forward with the screams of warriors, the rifles of the first rows of my brothers attempting to answer the enemy but they are little more than the sting of a bee against the onslaught.

I push forward behind the backs of my brethren and I am aghast at what has befallen them. Our first wave lays dead or screaming in agony in the sea, now stained red by the blood of hundreds. I charge forward now silent as I struggle to survive. My weapon is nothing more than a crutch to help me get to the next barricade. These few seconds off the boat are a lifetime as time stands still, a new reality that is a soldier’s fate; my fate. As I surge forward I am dropped into the muddy surf as something slams into my legs. I roll to push it away and am wide-eyed as I realize it is what is left of my bunkmate from our quarters. My voice screams into the heavens only to be lost to the sounds of the rockets still streaming overhead. They have done little to soften the blow.

My rage begins to build and I will not let the fate that has come to my brothers come to me. Now free, I turn and lay on my stomach and fire blindly onto the shore as the returning surf blows back across my face stinging my eyes. I feel the salt enter a bloody wound on my arm, a gash torn into my flesh I did not know was there. My anger builds and it is the first time I have returned fire in anger. I push forward and fall again as another from behind falls on top of me. Another casualty that has come from my boat, another call to me to push forward.

At last I am able to rise to my feet and run; run to survive; run to live and face another day. As I dive forward my back comes to rest against a barricade of wood and steel spikes that have been driven into the shifting sands. It is my refuge this moment as I look out to where I have come from. Before me the world is filled with ships and hosts of men rallying to me. I look down and see now a bloody rip in my trousers as the salt and sand continue to pour across my body. But it is not time for me to rest. It is not time to fall. I look around and the sands are strewn with death, the lifeless bodies of those now torn beyond recognition at the barbarity of this day.

I breathe deeply and take measure of myself for this is my fate, for I have chosen it. I surge forward with those that now overtake me. It is a day I hope to remember if I live through it, yet still forget.

 

Now, what seems a lifetime ago for it is in years and also memories, I stand here in remembrance, looking out across the shore where my life nearly ended all those decades ago. This ground is nearly sacred to me and I remember those I stood beside and those I lost on that day. I may never again see this sight as my world slowly comes to an end and I will likely not see this day again in my lifetime, for there are few of us left. My only prayer is there will remain someone to remember me, to remember them and all that we fought for.

This day is a remembrance for the fallen that we may live in peace.

The way it was

 There has been a continual argument for much of the past several years about how many who reside in this country would like to to return to a simpler time. Some use the mantra, make American great again, or MAGA. The fighting that has become of this has torn this country apart.

Here's my take on this and what it means to me, and I think many others.

There are plenty of sins hidden in the past of every country that was ever on the face of the earth. The US is no exception. Some of it is the fault of everyday people and some of the issues are the direct result of the government. Those are the things that we should all look back on with utter disdain. There is no reason to treat someone poorly because of the color of their skin. These things should never be gone back to.

What I would like to return to is simple. Gone are the days when little boys had paper routes. They were up in the morning or waiting in the paper shack after school waiting for the truck to come so they could do their work. You opened the door and gave them a couple bucks for payment. Now, it is an adult hired out.

Those same kids earned money in the neighborhood because they cut grass, or they shoveled snow, or they raked the leaves of the neighbors. That doesn't happen any longer.

We used to ride our bikes miles away from home without adult supervision. My friends and I were out all day and we went home when we knew dinner was nearly on the table. You can't do that now either.

It seems too that the days of kids playing on the court or football in the grassy lot a few blocks over without adult supervision is a thing of the past. We would play ball and my brother and I would end our part of the game when my mother walked out onto the back porch and literally rang a bell. Every kid in the neighborhood knew what that meant for us.

Perhaps it is just the fancy of a man who is aging and remembers what it was like in the days of his youth when the future didn't involve a world outside his neighborhood, or the next neighborhood over. These are the times many of us want to return to; feel the pull that we as adults could leave our children and our grandchildren. With all its flaws and imperfections, that is the world we long for.

One of my best friends was a black boy who to this day I call a friend. Though miles and almost two states apart, I could sit down with him today and have a conversation with him like we saw each other last week. I last saw him over twenty years ago and I remember his smile. It was a smile that captivated a room. He didn't care I was white and I didn't care he was black. 

I'll bet he still has that smile.

Renewal

 Spring has sprung, the grass has riz

Does anybody know where the birdies is.

This is a little ditty My Beloved always says. Yes, the corner has been turned and the seasons change. Spring is not just upon us but it is officially here.

I have been away from this blog for a time and as life has settled down, I hope to be writing more on here, not that I get many readers, but that was never the point of this page.

Life has indeed changed for many of us over the last year. It has for me as well but likely not as many would believe. My work has changed which has been the biggest veer in my life. It is still retail but it is like a coming home. Running a hardware store is probably the job I was meant to do in life in this profession. It is something that lets me help others on a daily basis. Often it is the little things that create a barrier to moving forward. It's the sink that doesn't work, the door that won't close. These may seem trivial but they are stumbling blocks for many.

I took last year away from writing. I did not work on a book for the first time in over twenty years. It was time to step away. It wasn't so much that I didn't have a story to write, it was that it was becoming a chore and not a desire. No matter what one loves, it can become more of a burden at times. That is not why I write. I didn't start out to sell a ton of books, not that there's anything wrong with that, but along the way the aspect of becoming a thriving writer becomes a chore. (I've used that word before here). There is more to the process than writing. It is a business, and if you want to do it full time, you have to treat it as such. Stepping away has let me put many of those burdens behind and pick up the pen with a sense of renewal. (See what I did there?)

This past year has also let me take a closer look at the world around me both from a personal and national perspective. To be honest, I don't like a lot of what I see. The country has become so partisan and judgemental. People are hyper-critical and seem to have no qualms about tearing others down whether it is in person or on social media. This year has let me learn to listen more to other's view and take it into consideration, however that doesn't mean I will always agree. What it does mean is I will let you have your opinion. Just don't force it on me. I have no problem standing up for myself.

I hope this first full Sunday of spring brings you warmth and sunshine, and gives you  time to look forward to a brighter year and put all the pandemic strife behind.

Twilight before Tomorrow

 A little something I penned a couple years ago for the Christmas season. I hope you enjoy it.

Twilight before tomorrow

 

I watch as the sun sets, its rays slipping below the horizon. My abode, silently lingers on the threshold of tomorrow. I feel the heat lapping from the hearth, tickling the stockings hanging by a cut nail in the mortar.

Above, I hear the slumber of young ones, tucked tightly beneath a winter's blanket to fend off the cold. I long for the call of a pillow, soft as new-fallen snow and I slide between linens cool to the touch. I snuggle close and inhale the breath of My Beloved as she nestles deep within her comforter.

Before I am able to surrender to night's lament, an unnatural call beckons from beyond my wall of solitude and my curiosity is bent upon exploration. My eyes behold the solitude of a pristine world caressed by the kiss of a winter's moon. The crescent light reveals a tiny traveler whose cherub face sings to his herd in the silent world.

His flight of fancy screams skyward, rocketing above the fold in which I am now embraced. My eyes, once tired and dreary widen to embrace the magic of his world. I fall back onto my bed as the sounds above me tap their way across my rooftop. I am aghast.

As quick as a dart, I dash from my room toward the halls below. My thoughts outpace me as I scamper down the stair, the rails aglow, polished by the light dancing from the chimney. I stop and stare in amazement as my visitor steps cleanly across the hearth, its bricks laden with fresh-cut wood, his cloak awash in pillows of soot.

His thick hand straightens his cap as he turns, his eye inspecting the table for his work this night. His cheeks are alight with a thousand years of joy as he slings his pack to the floor, its contents now a torrent of treasure awash across the worn, broad planks. The sparkle of wrapping and bows, enlivens my soul.

My chuckle slips to his ear as he turns and winks, his nod an acknowledgement of the secret we shall both keep this night, a night that lifts my heart to the heavens. He is gone in the blink of an eye and I am left with only the crackling flames dancing upon the logs on this winter's night.

 

"Twas the Night Before Christmas"

 

Merry Christmas to one and all.

Yes Virginia...

 Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

This could be one of the most famous lines ever printed in a US newspaper dating back to 1897 and the New York Sun newspaper. It is also suggested this editorial is the most widely read piece in newspaper history.

It might be, but here's my take.

Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

Even in this year of civil unrest and upheaval, when those who do not know each other except on social media challenge each other's versions of right and wrong, I believe there is still an underlying truth that mankind in all its wisdom is but a child looking for its own truth.

Men are frail and insecure. We tease, fight and love with the same individuals we call sister and brother, mother and father from our birth to our deaths. Within that lifetime we strive to find ourselves as we reach out into the world around us and for some, into the cosmos. We are but a speck in a universe we do not understand, living on a blue, reflecting point of light in an immense expanse.

So what is this Santa Claus, this legend of the north blanketed in a world of cold and white? To me it is simple. He is light, and more than anything else he is hope; hope in the goodness of mankind that even through all the trials and faults we have we will always strive to see the goodness in ourselves as a people. The man on the street who gives his shoes to someone without; the woman who gives her heart to a child who knows only sadness; the unemployed father who hands the last five dollars in his wallet to someone standing on a corner; these are what that hope becomes as manifested in the hearts of those who believe, who believe in the spirit of hope and love.

For you see Virginia, each of us in some way is Santa Claus. We may not be able to show it each day of our lives but at some point, each of us will become a Santa Claus to another and give the gift of hope to someone who is on the brink, for Santa Claus lives deep within us all, even you, and you will find him when you need him most.