tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8289710324746454282024-02-07T21:29:53.358-05:00Lunarticks... a circle of writersDavehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-18304619021230118832016-08-23T22:08:00.000-04:002016-09-29T23:08:18.334-04:00Curious<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFhDQBHZdhsqnM6Ra012uiAvuOgqXmJb-IRfC67VqHNRTJRrk7z4yANAraBahgPEZ55vE5BldOUSrf70mEjiIN_tc0X6wQSj2zzI41-KmOk2iGm5ShG18HmVs20Sz7QemNuz5R33wEP6k/s1600/article-2608416-1D34EE2100000578-923_964x919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFhDQBHZdhsqnM6Ra012uiAvuOgqXmJb-IRfC67VqHNRTJRrk7z4yANAraBahgPEZ55vE5BldOUSrf70mEjiIN_tc0X6wQSj2zzI41-KmOk2iGm5ShG18HmVs20Sz7QemNuz5R33wEP6k/s320/article-2608416-1D34EE2100000578-923_964x919.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My
dog Murphy is captivated by my electric razor.
When I turn it on she comes running at the sound. Through the house at top speed, dragging her leash behind her. When she sees me rubbing the razor around my
face, she is astonished and sits down hard on the floor, as if she was just
handed a telegram telling her she’d won a bag of dog treats.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I
don’t think we’ve ever had a dog as interested in the larger world as
Murphy. Yesterday, for twenty minutes she
chased a tiny bird feather around the
back yard while over and over a breeze picked it up and dropped it, Murphy stalked it, barked at it, walked away,
came back, barked again and with a look of annoyance on her face, resolutely
stomped away a second time. She may have
been angry with the breeze for kidnapping
her toy, for playing with her feather. But
after a few moments the breeze tired of the game and Murphy came back to move the tiny wisp of white around with her nose. Finally, she ate it.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“She
reminds me of you,” said Herself.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Do
you mean,” I asked, “her unflagging enthusiasm for the unknown and her genius
for dealing with danger?”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“No. I meant both of you will eat anything.” </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Not true,” I replied.
“I never eat rocks. I’ve seen Murphy eat a rock.”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Only
after she has barked at it for ten minutes to make sure it’s not alive,” said
my wife.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I
never bark at food,” I said, for no logical reason.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“It’s
why I married you,” she said. “Your
excellent table manners.”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I
knew you’d find a reason among the many available,” I said.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Eventually,
yes.”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Later,
with Herself gone off to a movie with girl friends, Murphy and I sat out on the
back lawn and watched the stars begin to unfold their nightly revue. Somewhere along the narrow pond that runs
behind the houses on our street a splash sounded in the still night air. Not much moves in the pond at night and there
have been rumors of alligators in the area.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">In
the half light I saw Murphy’s eyes open with interest, but not concern. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Go
find out what made the noise,” I said to her.
I was almost instantly sorry for the suggestion and wondered how the
heck I’d ever explain to my wife I’d sent Murphy off to do battle with an
alligator. If indeed the dog lost the
fight.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Murphy
stood as if to obey my command. Her head
swung around to point in the direction of the splash.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Belay
that order,” I said. “it may not be safe,
and we don’t want to lose you without ever finding out if you would have some
day become a good dog.”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Even in the quickly advancing darkness, I sensed her disdain for my remark and I was
certain I heard her snort. She lay back
down in the grass beside my chair. Soon
she was chewing on a small rock. I
wondered what a rock tastes like, but my good table manners prevented me from
asking Murphy to share it. Besides, my teeth cost too much to risk
them. And if a rock in a dog's back yard has any taste at all, I can
imagine what it came from.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">More Murphy Stories Here: <a href="http://www.windsweptpress.com/murphy.htm">http://www.windsweptpress.com/murphy.htm </a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
</div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
</div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>copyright 2015, David Griffin</i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="OLE_LINK2"><b>The Windswept
Press</b></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Murrells Inlet</b><b>, </b><b>South Carolina</b></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">www.windsweptpress.com</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEwOpMsbiKnZJH9W2sOZ9em_DqPp8YVnc23IhhnRCQj1EY1UC05AHRiXVc45qQrgO6WUO6qyodc3M4pCQS-wNlhBgmUmrDAO6LVPqaMzLmfLPgGFO9xbUU_fGMOjwofOlppy6m1qzmW3c/s1600/lunar2+promo555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEwOpMsbiKnZJH9W2sOZ9em_DqPp8YVnc23IhhnRCQj1EY1UC05AHRiXVc45qQrgO6WUO6qyodc3M4pCQS-wNlhBgmUmrDAO6LVPqaMzLmfLPgGFO9xbUU_fGMOjwofOlppy6m1qzmW3c/s400/lunar2+promo555.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
</div>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-54280445093402390212016-07-15T11:36:00.003-04:002016-07-21T13:16:55.689-04:00Everyone Is Selling Something<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">by June T. Bassemir</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<u><b><span style="font-size: large;"> "It isn't always easy."</span></b></u></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfP5lnTRUokHexPZMX48gamISSh7qjmCjk5aOCvGyJkSw5QiN23f0Q8WAUgdDLKfo69N15ovD2ZFu-1CoHrCssSdp1MuE7q-_sObzb5dzUJU4aU9dm_Iq3zsc-aieMd2Sry59tASdEGko/s1600/forsale+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfP5lnTRUokHexPZMX48gamISSh7qjmCjk5aOCvGyJkSw5QiN23f0Q8WAUgdDLKfo69N15ovD2ZFu-1CoHrCssSdp1MuE7q-_sObzb5dzUJU4aU9dm_Iq3zsc-aieMd2Sry59tASdEGko/s400/forsale+1.jpg" width="311" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">There was no written test. as I
recall, l when I applied for a job in the upscale and successful Hempstead,
L. I. department store called Arnold
Constable. It was just an interview
with one of the men in the employment office who accepted my youthful good
looks, my sincerity and my recently earned H. S. diploma. It was the largest branch of the parent
company based in Brooklyn, NY
and was responsible for supplying the needs of a starved war weary fleet of
customers. Thus began my selling career
which has carried me through a life time of selling everything under the sun
except perhaps a four mastered schooner.
</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I joined the sales force of Arnold
Constable only a week or so after graduation in June and was assigned to
"Miss Johnson"; a stately lady of probably 50 yrs., leaning more on
the tailored side of femininity than not.
As the manager of the Nylon and Silk stocking department, she was a
pro who had all the right answers when complaints came in to her from irate
customers who carried with them, their recently bought stockings that had
"run" after just one wearing.
She politely listened to their complaints but then as the damaged goods
sat limply on the counter between them, she would back away refusing to handle
such, saying she couldn't touch them because they hadn't been washed. Of course, the customer was urged to go back
home and wash them and if they had the temerity to come back the next day or
soon after and continue their complaint with Miss Johnson, she would argue that
the run was probably due to being mishandled during the washing process. Ahhh yes, she had all the answers! Rarely did I ever see the customer win the
argument of stockings that had failed to satisfy after the first wearing. Miss Johnson was a valuable employee largely
responsible for the Arnold Constable Department store lasting on the corner
of Fulton and Franklin for as long as
they did. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">CONTINUED HERE:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2016/07/continued-everyone-is-selling-something.html"> http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2016/07/continued-everyone-is-selling-something.html</a></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
</div>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-64158088740525949392016-04-30T12:49:00.001-04:002016-04-30T13:03:35.328-04:00Line 59, Panel 18E Calls to Me<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Memories of a life cut short</i></b></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>by Dick Naegele, </b></span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
copyright 2011</span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
Prior to the Vietnam war, my life was peaceful and serene living in Newport,
NY. Newport
is a small rural village, nestled in the foothills of the Adirondack
Mountains of Central NY state. We moved
there when I was going into the junior year in high school. My parents didn't
want us kids growing up in the Utica NY
and suburb's school systems,and they had found a wonderful old house with brook
babbling through the backyard and mature trees shading the entire property.</span>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
I was devastated by the very thought of moving to “hicktown USA”
and leaving all of my friends. There were no shopping centers, no theaters, and
no city buses to travel around on.</span>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
It was a cold fall morning when an open stake rack truck backed into our
driveway. It was no moving van by any stretch of the imagination. The truck's
owner had been recommended by the person my parents purchased the house from,
who was also the local pharmacy owner. It seems that the truck's owner was a
local dairy farmer, and part time school bus driver, whose sideline was local
freight delivery, as well as being the main source of deliveries from the local
feed store.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
I watched as two muscular farm boys loaded our furniture and household goods
onto the truck, and covered it with a hay tarp. They were dressed in jeans and
work boots. I was soon to learn that jeans and work shoes or sensible loafers
were the norm, and that my tight chino slacks and pointed shoes with heel taps
were scorned and ridiculed in small town America.
The “Fonz” look was not acceptable. Walking the halls with a cigarette behind
my ear was not acceptable either. Moving from Whitesboro
Central School
to West Canada
Valley Central School,
could just as well have been a move to the opposite side of the globe.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Continued HERE:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<a href="http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2016/04/continued-line-59.html"><span style="font-size: large;">http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2016/04/continued-line-59.html</span></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman";">Dick Naegele,
"Clipper," now hails from Tennesee, but most days find his heart in the
Mohawk Valley of central New York State, where he plans to one day
return. Living the life of the "Last American Cowboy," Dick was a
trucker and logged over 3 million miles on the nation's highways. He
has owned his own business, been a government manager and also a
professional firefighter. A writer of many talents and experiences,
his writing sees the hearts of people that most of us often miss. More
of "Clipper's" writing is located on his blog, "Along the Banks of
Beaver Creek," at: <a href="http://alongthebanksofbeavercreek.blogspot.com/">http://alongthebanksofbeavercreek.blogspot.com/</a></span></i></span></div>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-43693656110230076522016-03-22T13:13:00.003-04:002016-03-30T06:33:10.706-04:00Easter Coming to Wisconsin<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">by Delores Miller</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUwSsoJ-5iezUgHujxUqwKXF0ZrVGWo7AY-vEyxwLzZiyFyEyXf6jv72FRC3dkxGEDHrVwtXiuPaGCdqRSWsQhCSS2JMbnS8bRQt0x7sVgZVE9uZ1oAL3cupKC5F-x-D7gR5Map5RmAU/s1600/easter+egg+snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUwSsoJ-5iezUgHujxUqwKXF0ZrVGWo7AY-vEyxwLzZiyFyEyXf6jv72FRC3dkxGEDHrVwtXiuPaGCdqRSWsQhCSS2JMbnS8bRQt0x7sVgZVE9uZ1oAL3cupKC5F-x-D7gR5Map5RmAU/s320/easter+egg+snow.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Full moon shining all night, but a big snowstorm is forecast in a few
days. Just what we need for a sloppy Easter egg hunt that the Easter
Bunny will scatter around the Miller yard along with chocolate Easter Bunnies
and real colored cooked eggs. Want to come along to Good Friday and
Easter Sunday church services with us?<br />
<br />
It has been a busy spring for us, we are getting slower so things take
longer. Went dancing twice last week, good polka bands and saw lots of
people to gossip with. Tucker, Matthew's 5 year old son had
grandparents day at his school and we went for tea and crumpets. Was
fun. Here is a poem that was handed out: 'Grandparents bestow upon
their grandchildren, The strength and wisdom that time and experience have
given them. Grandchildren bless their Grandparents with a youthful
vitality and innocence that help them stay young a heart forever.
Together they create a chain of love linking the past with the future.
The chain may lengthen, but it will never part.<br />
<br />
So last week was St. Patrick's Day, March 17. Not Irish in our family but
all the bars serve Corned Beef, cabbage, carrots, red potatoes and marble rye
bread. Russ cannot stand the smell of cooked cabbage, so took me out
twice to eat it. Was very good. Nancy Reagan former first lady and
wife of President Ronald Reagan died at 94 and we watched the funeral on tv
from the Presidential Library at Simi, California.
Had visited it about ten years ago, beautiful view of the Pacific
Ocean. Russ had a luncheon with his Marine Corps
buddies, they all joined together in 1953. Needless to say they have
gotten older. And now this is Leap Year, had an extra day on<br />
February 29. Politics with people running for President in November and
we will hear all that hullabaloo. Went to a church luncheon, their
speciality was pea soup and banana pie. Was very good. Another
church had a pancake supper. Girl Scouts were selling cookies, bought two
boxes. Another church had a polka service and a chili
luncheon.<br />
<br />
Funerals of friends, sad. Cancer, heart trouble and a fiery truck
accident. <br />
<br />
So on that happy note we close and wish you a Happy Easter. Think spring
and planting a garden.<br />
<br />
Russell and Delores Miller in sunny Wisconsin</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Delores Miller</b>
lives with husband Russell in Hortonville, Wisconsin. In the summer
of 2007 they celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary with a party
hosted by their five children and ten grandchildren. It’s been a long
road. Dairy farming until retirement in 1993, they continued to 'work'
the land, making a subdivision of 39 new homes on their former hay
fields.</span></i></span></div>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-89599088811413950342016-03-15T12:33:00.000-04:002016-09-15T11:22:22.525-04:00The Dupont Gunslinger<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial";">By Harold Ratzburg</span></b></span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial";">I'd guess that by now, anybody who knows
me, knows that I have been a "gun nut" (also known as a
"Collector") for all of my life. How that fascination came about is
anybody's guess, but there it is and I just have to live with it.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOLO-_-gd59ax77zSuxy-xdcn0lj6FWbFRSF3FAtRz046_KU-sPqfAp1DrsPiiUgu-khJpGoyWk6QYGHWgXvZJbASpPLoz-alAg6_VDTwFYkbk0Ja2e-Gy6XGXsgIAnYwmzK0VUM7S6fY/s1600/gun+wood+4.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOLO-_-gd59ax77zSuxy-xdcn0lj6FWbFRSF3FAtRz046_KU-sPqfAp1DrsPiiUgu-khJpGoyWk6QYGHWgXvZJbASpPLoz-alAg6_VDTwFYkbk0Ja2e-Gy6XGXsgIAnYwmzK0VUM7S6fY/s400/gun+wood+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial";">My first memories of a gun comes about in
the first and second grades of Maple Valley Grade School in Dupont township..
With imagination of a kid, we kids found that you could fashion a gun of sorts
out of a straight stem out of a lilac bush, (of which there were plenty around
the school at that time) about seven inches long. What you had to do then was
break the stem about three inches from the heavy end into a 90 degree angle and
then peel the bark down at the angle and the bark would make a passable trigger
guard. That left a barrel about four inches long. Then, armed with this
formidable weapon, and if you could holler "Bang, you're dead" first
--and loud enough, you could win the schoolyard shoot outs or nail those pesky
Redskins hiding out behind the lilac bushes.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial";">As time went on, I got bigger and more
trustworthy with a sharp instruments and Dad got me a jack knife down in town
at the hardware store. The next step up in the arms department was guns
whittled out of cedar shingles. A coping saw helped a lot also, for cutting
around the curves of the handle. Shingles were straight grained and easy to
whittle and when finished, they didn't break too easy, With a shingle nail for
a trigger it made a passable sidearm. You hadda carry it stuck in your belt but
a quick draw was still possible.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial";">CONTINUE HERE:</span></span></div>
<br />
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<br />
<a href="http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2016/08/continued-dupont-gunslinger.html"><span style="font-size: large;">http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2016/08/continued-dupont-gunslinger.html</span></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-13606804621423781802016-02-10T08:45:00.000-05:002016-03-30T08:45:55.459-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigfDRM1PhbtJ3mxQpSl_S8I8k6KYN7ssXylDDg_03nDrGD5abzhAmOppX5iMjp-hbLfuS9u-Yro2CvcH3M1P2isxwBfiwrpa16LEehb8YBmreAwWcCF8Mx16UGyaNtuU98nsfn3ccF9lU/s1600/lunar2+stairs+lunar+globe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigfDRM1PhbtJ3mxQpSl_S8I8k6KYN7ssXylDDg_03nDrGD5abzhAmOppX5iMjp-hbLfuS9u-Yro2CvcH3M1P2isxwBfiwrpa16LEehb8YBmreAwWcCF8Mx16UGyaNtuU98nsfn3ccF9lU/s640/lunar2+stairs+lunar+globe.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-16848184320606868202016-02-07T18:27:00.001-05:002016-03-30T06:34:31.076-04:00Mouse in the House<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">by Chester L. Tuthill</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.miettas.com.au/static/images/travelimages/eating.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.miettas.com.au/static/images/travelimages/eating.jpg" height="233" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">It was 1945 and I was still in the Marines in China. It was natural for me to make friends with
some of the local merchants. Eventually
I was invited to go with them to a restaurant, in return for which I was going
to take them to a movie at the auditorium in the school where we were lodged.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">There were about five or six Chinese men there with me. The first thing we did was climb up some
stairs to a small cubicle on the second floor.
We were given a bowl of hot water and a
towel to wash our face and hands.
Everybody used the same water!</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Once seated it now became a struggle to converse. My Chinese at this stage was rather limited,
nevertheless, with the aid of a book of translation provided by the Marine Corps
we were able to converse after a fashion.
I'm not sure what was ordered as I left that matter up to them. During the course of the meal which had now
moved along on a really high note, due to the beverage of choice. It was “bei gar”, an innocent, clear white
substance, about 150 proof. (My alcohol
knowledge and consumption was very
limited.)</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I noticed a cat fooling around at my legs, so I gave it a
kick to remove it. With that, I felt
something shoot up inside my pants leg.
I thought, “My goodness a mouse must have run up my leg”. I jumped up and started to unbutton my fly so
as to take off my pants. I was trying to
explain to the startled group (with the aid of the translation booklet) what I
thought had happened. They said, “No,
No, No. This clean place, not
possible. Must be your
imagination.” By now, quiet had been
restored; the cat had left; I sat down and we finished the meal a half
hour or so later.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">We left the restaurant and climbed into rickshaws for the
ride back to the school. I noticed the
full moon didn't seem to stay in the same place. It was sort of bobbing and weaving as opposed
to the rickshaw which was weaving and bobbing.
The “bei gar” was working. I
thought, “How soothing it is to ride in a rickshaw being pulled along at a
rapid pace by a local entrepreneur.”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Once inside the auditorium we all sat down and were waiting
for the houselights to die so we could watch the movie.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I had my hands in my lap and we were sort of chatting to
pass the time. I noticed I had no feeling
in my groin, and I wondered why. I began
to unbutton my pants again. The business
men I was with must have thought I had a fixation with taking off my pants. I opened the fly and noticed there was blood
on my skinny shorts. I thought, “My God,
I've been shot and I don't even feel it.”.
Continuing with the operation there suddenly appeared a bleeding mouse looking
up at me with soulful eyes. I took it by
the scruff of the neck and said “See, I told you there was a mouse in my pants.
And you didn't believe me!” </span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I held my pants together with one hand, and walked to the
exit door near by and threw the mouse out the door. I re-buttoned my pants and sat down
again. The lights dimmed and we saw a
local showing of Pearl Buck's “The Good
Earth” with Luise Rainer and Paul Muni.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>copyright 2015, Chester L. Tuthill</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>Chet Tuthill served in the Marines and after the end of WW2 was sent to China.
He took advantage of the Bill of Rights for veterans afterward earning
a college degree. Married with four children, he is now
widowed and retired from the Education field. He is the sole homemaker
and caretaker of his son. </i></span> </i></span> </span></div>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-58662214982325739742016-02-01T08:49:00.000-05:002016-03-30T08:50:38.404-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4VbUz-mn-NCdU4XqwQDRqvQsb-dQ_qYFt6QbcE1DlXfybU8_i-Dqknu_25bmCNRrI7zfGleLGEZHl6GthU_QxwBLf-PoVdekJXBcc7vNYLcNSziO0Ei52GYxTNrozELegey_9GuPUDn0/s1600/flag+final+group.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4VbUz-mn-NCdU4XqwQDRqvQsb-dQ_qYFt6QbcE1DlXfybU8_i-Dqknu_25bmCNRrI7zfGleLGEZHl6GthU_QxwBLf-PoVdekJXBcc7vNYLcNSziO0Ei52GYxTNrozELegey_9GuPUDn0/s640/flag+final+group.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-36547594516590176292016-01-04T10:43:00.003-05:002016-03-30T06:34:46.343-04:00Bruce's New Companion<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> A Letter from June Bassemir</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Dear Bruce,</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Your new hobby received this Christmas of an expensive drone
sounds like an exciting one. Richard tells me that a friend of his bought the exact same
model drone as you have and that he can even program it to follow him on his
long walks. If you can do the same, I
suggest you give your drone a name like: “Freddie” since he will become your
companion on extended hot evenings. You
might even have to put his name and address on the base somewhere in case he
becomes inoperable some time. It could
say: “Hi my name is Freddie and I live
with Bruce Tuthill in Baiting Hollow, FL
Please see that I get home.”
After those long walks “Freddie” will have to rest so I hope you have
provided a special parking spot in your garage where he can wait until his next
outing. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGzocmFnqvjATB99YQ_eejaJNGmMhuOJ6hW_gmo83GCnRWIZCS8W4jBiiPn2AudMl6D8yLRCU-Q-i2XI7iM8OHP8EP26d4e5r7-mNeIgSZmgAwjwFEItRFhiFlF-itl0Gu6YJYJSoAoog/s1600/drone+irs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGzocmFnqvjATB99YQ_eejaJNGmMhuOJ6hW_gmo83GCnRWIZCS8W4jBiiPn2AudMl6D8yLRCU-Q-i2XI7iM8OHP8EP26d4e5r7-mNeIgSZmgAwjwFEItRFhiFlF-itl0Gu6YJYJSoAoog/s400/drone+irs.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">There is a problem however that I am not sure you are aware
of right now and that is: I wonder if this new companion will override your
faithful loving wife who will have to sit at home and wait for you and “Freddie”
to come back from your tender walks in the evening. I guess she could always join the two of you
but she might feel that she is barging in?
Perhaps you should rethink this new companionship.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Of course, if
“Freddie” is out sometime and not living up to the honor system of
viewing, the Drone Police might come knocking at your door. And then you might have to engage a high
priced Drone Lawyer to defend poor “Freddie” in the event he is incarcerated on
a minor infraction of being somewhere where he shouldn't be. The listing of Drone lawyers in the
classified (if there is still a classified) will become a definite need and a
new branch of study for young men and women in colleges will be worth looking
into.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">We might also need a social register with the names of male
and female drones because surely there will be other companions with names like
“Sally” or “Olivia” or “Lucy”. Of
course, their flying about could become a problem for you, so I suggest a firm
control with definite flight patterns planned on a weekly basis. One other thing: I realize that space is unlimited but let's
talk about drone traffic. Do you forsee
problems in that area? What happens
if “Freddie” and “Olivia” collide? Will that break up the friendship?</span><span style="font-size: x-large; mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large; mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span> <i><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></i></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: medium;"><b>June Tuthill Bassemir </b>is
the widowed mother of four and grandmother of ten. An artist and
writer, she volunteers as a docent in a 1765 farm house. June loves
old cars and antiques, and has also enjoyed furniture stripping and rug
hooking. "I used to say I was a stripper and hooker.but with so many
trips around the sun, no one raises an eyebrow anymore. They only
laugh." June has given up furniture stripping, but is still an avid rug
hooker.</span></i></span></div>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-51707286535693876692015-12-11T05:25:00.001-05:002016-03-30T06:35:07.438-04:00Merry Christmas From Wisconsin<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449751782586_15172">
</div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449751782586_15172">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">We always enjoy hearing from Russell and Delores Miller in Wisconsin. That goes for any time of year, but especially during the holidays. </span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></i></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449751782586_15172">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> It's time for
Christmas, although we have no snow and the temperatures are always
above freezing which we like, no icy roads or yards or plowing snow.
But it is dark gloomy days, the sun seldom shines. Got the bill for the
farm taxes, over $3000 which made a dent in the checking account.
Threw out my back and going to the chiropractor, which helps. Russ
decorated the small Christmas tree and the gifts are gathering up under.
Thanksgiving was <span class="Object" id="OBJ_PREFIX_DWT413_com_zimbra_date">November 26</span>,
had 17 people for the feast, most stay nights. Also went out for
Indian food. Then one Sunday afternoon went dancing. The band Don
Peachey played 60 years ago at the Caroline Ballroom, before we were
married. He is now an old man, but still has good beats. Deer hunting
season was for 10 days. Russ does not hunt. But it was the 'rut' and
so many deer in the middle of the roads, getting hit and killed.
</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449751782586_15172">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Watching professional football, the Green Bay Packers and the New
England Patriots and the University of Wisconsin Badgers. Bucky Badger
always entertains. Sandhill cranes finally left, they stayed longer
than most years. Where do they go? Veteran's day was <span class="Object" id="OBJ_PREFIX_DWT414_com_zimbra_date">November 11</span>. Programs honoring all military personnel. We went to 4 of the programs. Good food, music.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449751782586_15172">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449751782586_15172">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Here
is a picture if it comes through taken at grandson Tucker's 5th
birthday. In the back row is Barb Olson, the other Grandmother, Sam
Olson, and of course Delores. Front is Lisa, Leon Olson , Russ and Matt
with Ollie and Tucker.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQH1J4x4ta7LTwxB06JylX-JWvi21ieOlnVxpTB4nwyqqBCndziwN3H5VLep2Sw8DPPkY-kDdF7T2jeR5Aa8160RHRCQWVNIuNGNh022TrISqnmEtq1YfHIBbRyPtyZspck7bLjFsr7_Q/s1600/milllers+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQH1J4x4ta7LTwxB06JylX-JWvi21ieOlnVxpTB4nwyqqBCndziwN3H5VLep2Sw8DPPkY-kDdF7T2jeR5Aa8160RHRCQWVNIuNGNh022TrISqnmEtq1YfHIBbRyPtyZspck7bLjFsr7_Q/s640/milllers+15.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449751782586_15172">
</div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449751782586_15172">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449751782586_15172">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">So that is it for the year 2015. And a Merry <span class="Object" id="OBJ_PREFIX_DWT415_com_zimbra_date">Christmas</span> to all.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449751782586_15172">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449751782586_15172">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Russell and Delores Miller</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449751782586_15172">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1449751782586_15172">
<i>copyright Russell and Delores Miller, 2015</i></div>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-28348286699972334982015-10-26T16:02:00.003-04:002016-03-30T06:35:27.378-04:00Making Hay While The Sun Shines; 1929 Klingbeil Style<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By Delores Miller</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">r</span></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEBhuNg0dPaUjYNAUkTcCeLmxjbUHHPcVKpXeZvU1XPgD92i_Os1IPyPedaKb0ZmjTao3Wj-BbDuSvTQo-AFEg2-9DVfYkkn9XLQ_9arFFXSR6IJ9qi1sELeU2j6hReCK5UKEpRTgW8_U/s400/make+hay+delores.jpg" width="400" /></span></div>
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</xml><![endif]--><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />So it is summer on the farm and time to make hay on the Klingbeil Farm in the Town of Little Wolf, Waupaca County, south of Dupont. But first a little history and genealogy:<br /><br />Wilhelmine and Gottfried Klingbeil left Posen Province Germany in 1873, traveling aboard the ship S.S. Leipzig landing in Baltimore. Over two hundred passengers crammed in steerage. Two small children, one died on the boat and is buried at sea, another son Herman died shortly after they arrived. Train ride to Bloomfield, following the river to Fremont and then to Little Wolf. Along with their steamer trucks, they brought their Bibles and Lutheran religion. Eight more children arrived in 18 years. Gustav Jule, Bertha Lembke (my Grandmother), William, Albert, Ella Johnson, Minnie Becker, Robert and Marie Becker. Thirty years later, the family gathered for a group picture at the Quimby Studio in Manawa. The land of opportunity provided financial means for this expensive lithograph. <br /><br />Age and infirmity caught up to these patriarchs who had been married for 62 years. Gottfiried became ill, he had cataracts on his eyes, after a few operations he lost his sight. Lost his hearing, had lip cancer, suffered from eczema. Long white beard that frightened the grandchildren. Wilhemine, who had heart trouble and Gottfried died several days apart in 1929 and the funerals were held together. <br /><br />CONTINUED HERE:<br /><br /><a href="http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2015/10/continued-make-hay-while-sun-shines.html">http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2015/10/continued-make-hay-while-sun-shines.html</a></span></span><br />
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Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-37238497860123864102015-09-26T17:25:00.003-04:002016-03-30T06:35:50.523-04:00Retirement <div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .25in;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">By Wanda Spannuth</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Slugs. I think they are the most
disgusting looking creatures on earth. For a short time I became a human slug.
No, this isn’t science fiction, just the story of a woman who retired.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The best thing about retirement is
not having a schedule. The worst thing about retirement is not having a
schedule. Until May 3, 2014, the first day of my retirement, every day of my life was on some sort
of a timetable. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://media.licdn.com/mpr/mpr/p/3/005/07e/265/29935e5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://media.licdn.com/mpr/mpr/p/3/005/07e/265/29935e5.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As a baby and toddler it was likely
I had a feeding and sleeping routine. The feeding more or less led to pooping
at a regular time, more or less. During the weekdays a trip to the sitter was
at the same time, as was a return home, dinner on the table at 5:00pm every day and so on and so on.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Starting school meant a new
schedule. It wasn’t long before I had to plan time for housework, fixing
dinner, homework and after school activities. Before summer employment was
added to my to do list there was babysitting my sister. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I mistakenly thought college would
bring some relief. Although I was able to create some free time by cutting
classes I learned, the hard way, that it wasn’t in my best interest. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">CONTINUED HERE:</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2015/09/continued-retirement.html"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2015/09/continued-retirement.html</span></span></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Wanda Spannuth</i></b><i> finished
her career in Human Services and was encouraged to pursue her passion for
writing by author Lisa Doan. She
completed her first children’s book, “Meesha’s Secret”, in 2013, followed by
“The Turtle and the Pond Life” in 2014. Her books teach life lessons in hope,
courage, acceptance and tolerance. Wanda
is currently working on a one-act play based on “The Turtle and the Pond Life”,
will continue with additional children’s books and hopes to complete a novel
based on some of her work in Human Services.
Wanda earned a Master’s Degree in Education and Counseling from </i><i>Indiana</i><i> </i><i>University</i><i> and is an avid IU Basketball fan.</i></span></span></div>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-44241673992729169332015-09-18T19:07:00.000-04:002016-03-30T06:36:09.880-04:00Memories Are Made of This ...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><b><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 11.5pt;">An East
Too Far</span></b></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: large;">by Chester Tuthill </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Chester is stationed in Tsingtao, China. It is 1945. He is
in the Marines. Although the Communist's have by now taken over much of
the country, he has been there some time now, people know him and he visits
local places with immunity. He is by himself. He enters a
small Chinese market where they sell trinkets, vegetable and meat. He
buys a small brass incense burner and some small glazed children's kitchen ware
toys for a few cents. The people crowd around, smiling, The little
boys call out "Da Beedza lai". The people bow and smile. They
do not know that Chester knows Chinese and that the boys
are saying "Big Nose Comes'. Chester smiles. The crowd smiles.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> He goes
over to a meat market where a big butcher is about to prepare some meat for
someone to take home. The butcher's block is covered with 'blowflies'.
The butcher shoos them away to clear a space to cut the meat. The files
return. The butcher slams his cleaver down flat on the butcher's
block. Them flies scatter but don't move fast enough and a few are
killed. The butcher uses the cleaver as a spatula to scrape off the dead
flies and puts down the meat to be cut up. The butcher wipes his cleaver
off on his bloody apron. Chester moves on to the vegetable
section.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Chester then leaves the Chinese
marketplace to go visit his new chinese friend who has invited him to supper.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Chester approaches the small
house. A puppy is playing in the front yard. It sidles up to Chester and prances around. Chester tickles the puppy under the
chin. "Hello, Ming," says Chester. "What's for
supper?" Ming replies, "we're going to have stew. You
like puppy stew? You were just playing with supper." Chester looks horrified. You
don't mean that puppy there, do you?" "No," says Ming,
"I was just joshing you. We are having dog stew though. The
puppy's mother. Dog just right age for stew. They get much older
than two years dog gets tough; like shoe leather. Time to eat, come
on in." Chester says, "Gee, sorry Ming
we'll have to postpone supper. I just remembered I have a very important
meeting I should be at. I'll see you later."</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Ming
says "Wait, don't go yet. I have a present for you." Ming
goes in the house and brings out a bag. In the bag are about two dozen
shoes such as the chinese women used to wear to stunt the growth of their
feet. They are embroidered and truncated, but much like the shoes two
year olds wear . Chester says, "They are very
interesting, do you really want to give them to me?" Ming nods
assent. Chester takes the shoes back to the United States where he is discharged and
keeps them for many years, showing them off to anybody who will listen. Chester finally dumps the whole lot in
the trash bin to be rid of old memories.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>Chet Tuthill served in the Marines and after the end of WW2 was sent to China.
He took advantage of the Bill of Rights for veterans afterward earning
a college degree. Married with four children, he is now
widowed and retired from the Education field. He is the sole homemaker
and caretaker of his son. </i></span></div>
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Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-14673258112799928022015-09-12T22:46:00.001-04:002015-09-12T22:46:45.732-04:00Resuming Operations<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbBWXqNuV1-mMna_i7vPIVrKYqNdEQvzEpgXuVDPbQeCfgMa-H7wlqokc93pdNjxrrMipdXsk3q8Eg21SXQkHDhc51gEp2cw7EFXcHT5v-tTEZFeNpyCWDRptP56mnG9BKjLuYxAptkoE/s1600/author+flip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbBWXqNuV1-mMna_i7vPIVrKYqNdEQvzEpgXuVDPbQeCfgMa-H7wlqokc93pdNjxrrMipdXsk3q8Eg21SXQkHDhc51gEp2cw7EFXcHT5v-tTEZFeNpyCWDRptP56mnG9BKjLuYxAptkoE/s1600/author+flip.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm back and on light duty. If you have an article or fiction piece or verse and would like to send it along to me, I'll post it here on Lunarticks. No guarantee as to amount of time it will take me to do it. Some days I have energy, some days I don't.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But it would be great to have a couple of stories to put up, so send them to me at:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">dave@windsweptpress.com</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thanks.</span></span>Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-63650593866985310602015-08-22T12:03:00.004-04:002015-08-23T08:23:40.498-04:00Ebert On Writing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://cdn.theatlantic.com/static/mt/assets/culture_test/ebert%20camera.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://cdn.theatlantic.com/static/mt/assets/culture_test/ebert%20camera.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Roger Ebert on Writing: 15 Reflections From 'Life Itself'</b></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">By Spencer Kornhaber</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">September 22, 2013</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Roger
Ebert was making 90 cents an hour when he started working at the
Champaign News-Gazette in high school, and that was more than enough.
"To be hired as a real writer at a real newspaper was such good fortune
that I could scarcely sleep," Ebert remembers in his new memoir Life
Itself. His love for writing still remains; you can sense it on each
page of Life Itself, as the Pulitzer-winning film critic for the Chicago
Sun-Times tells of growing up in central Illinois, struggling with
alcoholism, traveling the world, hanging out with movie stars, and
battling the cancer that left him without a lower jaw—unable to speak,
eat, or drink ever since 2006.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The book charms and entertains,
but it also teaches. Ebert's TV talk shows with Gene Siskel brought him
to fame, but some of the most striking passages in Life Itself are where
Ebert talks about his first craft: journalism. Below, a few of the
lessons Ebert has learned from a lifetime of written words. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Ebert's reflections begin here:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2011/09/roger-ebert-on-writing-15-reflections-from-life-itself/245408/#slide1" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2011/09/roger-ebert-on-writing-15-reflections-from-life-itself/245408/#slide1</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Editor's Note: I especially liked the sarcasm: "</span></b></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">[In high school] I was a subscriber to the Great Lead Theory, which
teaches that a story must have an opening paragraph so powerful that it
leaves few readers still standing." -- Dave</span></b></span> </span>Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-76680568464483890592015-08-20T15:33:00.001-04:002015-08-20T15:47:02.507-04:00Isle of Devils<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">by Peter Schaub</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Beautiful Bermuda was on nobody’s bucket list in the 1600s. Named for Juan Bermudez, who
discovered them about 1505, the islands were feared by the Spanish and
Portuguese who rode the Gulf
Stream from the Caribbean to Europe. The reefs surrounding the islands are treacherous,
making a purposeful entry to harbor all but impossible in that era. The
screeching cahow birds would have sounded to superstitious sailors like wailing
demons. They called the place the “Isle of Devils”.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sea Venture was the flagship of the relief
fleet sent from England to Jamestowne in 1609. Hit by a hurricane, six
battered vessels made it into Jamestowne with most of the provisions spoiled.
The Sea Venture carried the senior leaders and wrecked on Bermuda. Even as the gunwales were awash, Captain Newport, Admiral Somers and
Governor Gates must have been wondering which fate was better: drowning at sea
or being wrecked on that abhorred shore.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<h3>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">CONTINUE at:</span></span></span></h3>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<h3>
<a href="http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2014/08/continued-isle-of-devils-by-peter-schaub.html"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2014/08/continued-isle-of-devils-by-peter-schaub.html</span></span></span></a></h3>
<h3>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></span></h3>
<h3>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black;">Peter Schaub</span></span></span><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black;">
retired in 2010 after 40 years in management at the electric utility in
Washington, DC. He and his wife moved to Williamsburg, Virginia where
they enjoy the arts and the immersion in history available within a
community that includes the College of William & Mary, Colonial
Williamsburg, and Historic Jamestowne. They also enjoy travel,
especially when it has a connection to history. Peter is a Master
Gardener, and an amateur letterpress printer, continuing a hobby that
began in his teen years. He is currently president of the American
Amateur Press Association. </span></span></b></span></i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span></h3>
<h3>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></span></h3>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-51461478106287244492015-08-20T07:51:00.001-04:002015-08-20T07:56:19.283-04:00Soppin a Possum<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<pre><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>by T. Allen Winn</b></span></span></pre>
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<pre></pre>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhgLSpN5XBex7lRTxDQ2mNS9ezjEkfg5E3bfchWZxNxzahwIEJSrZGBjAsbK1GwV_YzOTiftRBYEnRMe7C4OTvAQJUGonUTmH_2C8Jzuh6K2fSY6NYo9qOb1IVo406IKXg_UT5DXy-Qeo/s1600/possum.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhgLSpN5XBex7lRTxDQ2mNS9ezjEkfg5E3bfchWZxNxzahwIEJSrZGBjAsbK1GwV_YzOTiftRBYEnRMe7C4OTvAQJUGonUTmH_2C8Jzuh6K2fSY6NYo9qOb1IVo406IKXg_UT5DXy-Qeo/s200/possum.jpg" width="200" /></a> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In a grandson’s eyes, growing up
in the fifties and sixties, and in the shadow of a grandfather, a famed and
fabled rabbit and squirrel slayer, setting rabbit boxes had been a tradition
and just the natural thing to do. The rabbit box, a wooden rectangular trap
with a trip wire door, placed strategically could thin out the ever exploding
cotton tail population.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Me, a man in my forties back then
and the famed hunter, my grandfather, no longer walking among the mortals, I carried
on the tradition with a friend of mine. He constructed the boxes. I placed several
of the crudely but affective constructed wooden traps on my three acres,
baiting them with apples and periodically checking them. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sharing the bounty with my friend
and grandmother, alternating between the two, the boxes provided plenty of rabbits
for stewing, fricasseeing, frying and making dumplings. The problem with these
boxes is they can often attract other critters besides rabbits. The aromatic
sliced up apples strategically placed in the rear of the trap are just too
mouth watering to ignore.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">CONTINUED at:</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2015/08/continued-soppin-possum.html">http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2015/08/continued-soppin-possum.html</a></span></span></div>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-43071274198015790422015-08-16T13:15:00.003-04:002015-08-16T13:21:10.256-04:00Battle for the Marshall Islands<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">by Kevin
Schmitt</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I thought
I’d share with you some of the things my dad told me about his Navy
days. It all began in Idaho, believe it or not. That’s where boot
camp was, near Lake Coeur D Alene. (That’s about thirty miles east
of Spokane Washington, in case you’ve never been there.) For Dad,
it was a great experience. The lake is long and narrow, like Loch
Ness, and so clean, they even had a rule against pissing in it.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dad was
seventeen years old and had been brought up with wood chopping and
winter outhouses. So the rigors of a Rocky Mountain boot camp didn’t
ruffle his feathers one little bit. In fact, there was just one thing
that came into his life that was totally new to him, and that was a
young man who was half black, and half Cherokee Indian. His name was
Jamie Jameson, and he hailed from the state of Georgia.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I suppose
you could say that Jamie was a social trail blazer. In order to gain
acceptance, he had to be twice as good as everyone else, but real
modest about it. Dad didn’t take to him right off because Jamie
could run like the wind, whereas Dad was built for weight lifting.
Running is a very important part of boot camp training, so if you’re
a bit slow at it, you just might resent those who are not. Maybe
Jamie sensed that---maybe not. But one chilly night when Dad was
standing guard duty, Jamie showed up with a cup of coffee. Dad didn’t
stop being a racially ignorant person that night, but it was a
beginning.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Continued
here:</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2015/08/continued-battle-for-marshall-islands.html">http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2015/08/continued-battle-for-marshall-islands.html</a></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman;"><b>Kevin Schmitt</b>
lives in Shakopee Minnesota and has been a factory worker for 35 years.
He kayaks in the summer and writes fiction during the cold weather
months.</span></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: x-large;">See Kevin's fiction here:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://beforekevlar.blogspot.com/">http://beforekevlar.blogspot.com</a> </span><i><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-51901348742752468272015-08-16T10:36:00.002-04:002015-08-16T10:36:18.766-04:00Self-Confidence<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">“There is no deeper principle in human nature than the craving
to be appreciated"</span></span></span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"> ~ William James, father of American psychology<br /> <br />
I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times as a
teenager it was suggested I grow up. I never remember it offered as a
casual suggestion. More often the message had a fire lit under it. And I
seem to remember the main <span class="text_exposed_show">advice given to me was usually to be realistic.<br /> <br />
In my adult years I became much more realistic. But I pride myself in
not having overdone it. I’m a dreamer. Always was, always will be.
I'm just blessed to have been able to provide well for my family and
still build castles in the air.<br /> <br /> There’s a price to pay, of
course. It is called acceptance. For example, Bill Gates insists on
doing everything his way. He’s a genius and he became a zillionaire. I
insisted things be done my way much of my life. I drive a ten year
old pickup truck. There’s a message there somewhere.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="text_exposed_show"> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Self-Confidence</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="text_exposed_show"></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="text_exposed_show"> </span></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">by David Griffin</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"> </span></span></span>
Any dead hero will tell you that youthful overconfidence and a craving
for appreciation can be fatal. I find myself overjoyed to have muddled
through my younger years without anyone killing me, although a few
friends and relatives may have given it a thought from time to time.
Unrestrained and unwarranted self-certainty happily leveled off a half
century ago at the end of my teen years. Had it followed a natural arc
of ascending absurdity, I would have been impossible to live with today.
As it is, I’m only annoying.<br /> <br /> All I ever wanted was to
grow up. My earliest memories as a child are filled with instances where
I tried to be a man long before I was able. As I grew older I stumbled
forward on the narrow boards of my ego.<br /> <br /> In the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, as a boy I thought I was the world’s next genius. <br /> <br /> CONTINUED HERE: <a href="http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2015/08/continued-self-confidence.html" rel="nofollow nofollow" target="_blank"><span>http://</span><wbr></wbr><span class="word_break"></span><span>morecontinued.blogspot.com/</span><wbr></wbr><span class="word_break"></span><span>2015/08/</span><wbr></wbr><span class="word_break"></span><span>continued-self-confidence.h</span><wbr></wbr><span class="word_break"></span>tml</a></span></span></span></span>Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-77478038149819100802015-08-14T10:00:00.001-04:002015-08-14T10:32:46.321-04:00The Willawaw<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name">
</h3>
<div class="post-header">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By Hugh Singleton</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTjv_ChH-6XyBjpLNvYz0qdWOUz0bQ1LA5EE14jhBGi-vSkHXLM" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTjv_ChH-6XyBjpLNvYz0qdWOUz0bQ1LA5EE14jhBGi-vSkHXLM" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />In
the valley of the Chattahoochee the consistently muddy river flows at a
rapid pace between the tree-lined banks of plantations established in
the days when the red man occupied most of Georgia, Alabama, and
Florida. Andrew Jackson had yet to bring his army to Horseshoe Bend and
determined white men often had to defend themselves from hungry red
scavengers who regularly raided along the river in Georgia, then escaped
into Alabama with livestock from the Georgia farms, often leaving dead
and wounded farmers in their wake. Owners constantly searched for
different ways to intimidate the fierce warriors. This was said to be
when the Willawaw came into existence, although nothing of a factual
nature was ever found to substantiate the rumors. <br /> Captain
Winston Burnett, owner of the four thousand acre Burnett Plantation, was
credited by his slaves with releasing the Willawaw on the banks of the
Chattahoochee in response to a raid which resulted in the loss of almost
fifty prime beef cattle. Captain Burnett never claimed credit for the
Willawaw, nor did he ever admit having anything to do with the massacre
of a thirty-eight member raiding party found two days later lying dead
and mutilated less than a day’s distance into Alabama. When the Captain
and his party of armed slaves left that scene of horror to search for
his cattle, the slaves spread their wide-eyed tales that a Willawaw was
loose and roaming the banks of the Chattahoochee. <br /> Superstition
was rampant in the lives of slaves as well as among the redskin tribes.
While no two people could describe a Willawaw nor agree on its habits,
blacks and Indians agreed that it was a ghostly phantom, never seen and
it was inescapable; a vaporous monster given to ripping apart the bodies
of anyone or anything that crossed its path. Some seventy-eight red
bodies were found torn apart and scattered along the river banks between
Irwinton, later known as Eufaula, and Fort Gaines, a small stockade
with just eighteen permanent troops. It was rumored that Indian raids in
that stretch of the river ceased entirely until Captain Winston Burnett
was killed in a duel and ownership of Burnett Plantation passed to his
oldest son, Marcus. During the Indian wars that brought Andrew Jackson’s
army south into Georgia, Florida, and finally to Horseshoe Bend
in Alabama, Indian raids increased and slaves who fled their plantation
homes to live with the Indians spread tales that the dreaded Willawaw
had left the Chattahoochee. Indian warriors claimed that fear had driven
the monster away; that the redman’s magic was too great for it. <br />
Through the years that led to civil war and freedom for the slaves the
Willawaw seemed to have disappeared. Then in 1999 a gruesome murder
occurred at Shaw’s Landing. Miss Angie Criddle, a life-long resident of
Clay County was fishing in the river, something she loved to do on
Saturday afternoons. She was brutally attacked and left for dead by a
river tramp, who then proceeded to take the radio, the spare tire,
tools, blankets and a flashlight from the vintage auto that Miss Criddle
had driven for thirty years. As the tramp was loading his spoils into
his bateau, Miss Criddle regained consciousness but remained quiet
despite her throbbing head and watched the thief furtively.<br /> “He
was just starting to push his boat into the water,” she told Sheriff
Watson later, “when something hit him so hard he went head over heels
into the river. Then it looked as if he was yanked back out of the water
and thrown into the thicket around that big pine tree. I couldn’t see
into the thicket, but there was a great deal of thrashing about before
everything got real quiet. That’s when I ran to my car and called 911
from the cell phone I keep under my seat.” <br /> Deputy Palin drove
Miss Criddle to the hospital in Eufaula while the sheriff and two
deputies combed the area where she was attacked. They found no tracks
except those of Miss Criddle and the thief. His dismembered body was
strewn where Miss Criddle had pointed out and blood was splattered
everywhere. The sheriff was never able to identify the dead man nor
trace the old bateau. Miss Criddle appeared on several television news
programs and also described her encounter to various civic groups.
Sheriff Watson never mentioned the red eyes that had watched him from
the thick woods along the Chattahoochee.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: medium;">copyright 2014, Hugh Singleton</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Hugh Singleton</b>
<i>was born 1931 in Cuthbert, a small agricultural town in southwest
central Georgia. The Singletons date back to the pre-civil war days,
with older roots paternal roots go back to England; maternal to
Ireland. Hugh’s higher education consists of business school training
in accounting and administration. He served four years in the U.S.
Navy, 1951-1955. Hugh enjoyed a career with the NCR Corporation and
retired at the end of 1993. Hugh and his wife live in a retirement
community near Leesburg, FL where they enjoy a number of activities. </i></span></span>Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-21131607031376901802015-08-02T17:35:00.000-04:002015-08-12T19:28:48.946-04:00Sassafras Fortune<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaZwKjLjtIbbdJOS-n7Xd61sWtOObagMuSxbpwXcdiz6MsNGpr7KaM467UUn9Xfk1YQssiGze6YGxa0gO887z4gLtwhG-B2te0cZMDj3wu9a56nkqqAfKdTg0DYloKzfR4myq8oHhBsbE/s1600/sassafras+leaves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaZwKjLjtIbbdJOS-n7Xd61sWtOObagMuSxbpwXcdiz6MsNGpr7KaM467UUn9Xfk1YQssiGze6YGxa0gO887z4gLtwhG-B2te0cZMDj3wu9a56nkqqAfKdTg0DYloKzfR4myq8oHhBsbE/s400/sassafras+leaves.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">by Clarence Wolfshohl</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The
first spring we lived in our house, I stumbled upon the sassafras
trail. I was clearing brush from around the house, which we had
built in the midst of our nine-acre wood, saving what wood I could
for the coming winter’s fireplace. A pile of logs and cut brush
ran across the streamlet alongside the house, gathered there by the
previous owners. They had cleared only a small area before they were
transferred and sold us the mostly white oak and hickory woods. As I
chainsawed the logs into fireplace lengths, the air suddenly exploded
with the odor of sassafras. One of the logs was of a sassafras tree.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Two
images immediately appeared in mind. One was a dollar’s sign.
Back when we lived in West Virginia</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><u>,</u></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">
it had cost us a small fortune (at least, for us) to have one of
Patricia’s teeth capped when she broke it on a piece of sassafras
candy. The other was a page I had seen recently in the </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Norton
Anthology of British Literature</i></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">,
a page containing a poem by Michael Drayton, a contemporary of
Shakespeare, entitled “Ode: To the Virginia Voyage.” Not being
an Elizabethan scholar, I had never read the poem before but found it
as I was browsing through the anthology on an idle, rainy Sunday.
The poem was in celebration of an expedition to Virginia that set off
from England in December 1606. Drayton had published the poem before
the three ships left and had anticipated the fortune to be found.
Among the treasures of pearl and gold; fowl, venison and fish;
fruitful soil; and “earth’s only paradise,” were </span>
</div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The
cypress, pine,</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And
useful sassafras.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<a href="http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2015/08/continued-sassafras-fortune.html"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;">Continued CLICK HERE</span></span></span></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;">http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2015/08/continued-sassafras-fortune.html</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Clarence Wolfshohl </b>is
professor emeritus of English at William Woods University. He has
published both creative and scholarly writing in small press and
academic journals. He is a member of AAPA and operates El Grito del
Lobo Press. A native Texan, Wolfshohl now lives with his writing, two
dogs and one cat in a nine-acre woods outside of Fulton, Missouri.</span></span></span></span></i></div>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-40315497385648293282015-08-02T17:30:00.000-04:002015-08-12T09:07:19.463-04:00My Theory ...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 18.0pt;">by June T. Bassemir</span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.blogcdn.com/slideshows/images/slides/280/903/8/S2809038/slug/l/earns-hj-heinz-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.blogcdn.com/slideshows/images/slides/280/903/8/S2809038/slug/l/earns-hj-heinz-2.jpg" height="173" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Here
on Long Island, NY,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>there seems </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">to
be and overabundance of obese people</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">and
I have a theory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's this:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we </span></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">got
rid of the big box stores in town we </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">might
put a dent in our over weight people.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">It's
staggering to see what one can buy</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">at
these stores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Huge jars of mayonnaise, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">cereal
boxes so big they do not fit in the </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">kitchen
cabinet; meats and large dinners it </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">would
takes an army to finish at one sitting. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
think folks see these consumable foods</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">and
feel they are saving money by buying</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">such
large quantities but in the end I </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">believe
they only eat it because it's THERE,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">not
because they are hungry!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus they</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">put
on weight meal after meal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">If
you visit these stores just stand at</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">the
exit door and look at what people </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">have
piled high in their baskets and then</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">look
at the waistline of these shoppers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
believe we in America have fallen for</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">a
false sense of grocery shopping...buying</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">only
because its cheaper in quantity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">don't
need all that food!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cut up your </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">membership
card and buy in smaller quantities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Then
maybe you won't need to go on</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">a
diet.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 14.0pt;">copyright 2015, June T. Bassemir</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 14pt;"><b>June Tuthill Bassemir </b>is
the widowed mother of four and grandmother of 10. An artist and
writer, she volunteers as a docent in a 1765 farm house. June loves
old cars and antiques, and has also enjoyed furniture stripping and rug
hooking. "I used to say I was a stripper and hooker.but with so many
trips around the sun, no one raises an eyebrow anymore. They only
laugh." June has given up furniture stripping, but is still an avid rug
hooker.</span></div>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-828971032474645428.post-402362795591259672015-08-01T10:46:00.000-04:002015-08-11T10:51:27.983-04:00Tiger Story<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 26.0pt;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">by David Griffin</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I met an older woman
named Crystal in the public day room at the homeless shelter where I
volunteered and she told me she had worked with tigers in a circus. She ran off with her boyfriend at age
16. He ditched her a month later,
leaving her with the bill at a one-star motel on the west coast of Florida.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://powers-productions.com/TigerTiger_files/tiger02.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://powers-productions.com/TigerTiger_files/tiger02.gif" height="320" width="258" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rather than fly home
to Mom and Dad, she found work as a lady roustabout with a wintering circus. After the circus management … or what passed
for management … realized she couldn’t pound a three foot tent stake into the
ground with three whacks of a long handled maul, they put her on the crew of
the food truck. There she met the lion tamer.
But the circus could no longer afford lions, so he was now a tiger tamer
and was working on his act over the winter.
He’d show up at the food truck for lunch, lay his whip on the counter
and order a hot dog, “medium rare and free of all condoms and mints.” She
laughed and said it was love at first sight, even though she was unsure if the
tamer or his whip was the larger attraction.
His name was Wesley. His whip’s name was Saint Francis.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's an
unusual name for something so cruel," I said.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"He was a very religious man," she said.</span><br />
</div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://morecontinued.blogspot.com/2015/08/continued-tiger-story.html"><span style="font-size: large;">CONTINUED, CLICK HERE.</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>copyright 2015 by David Griffin</i></span></div>
Davehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07029884483742697015noreply@blogger.com2