Trav's Thoughts

You know the drill. This is Outlawed, Chapter One, installment 4. If this is your first visit, or you just need a quick refresher, check out the first 3 installments.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three


Outlawed

Chapter One
Raid

continued...

Troy McCord was a cautious man by temperament, in direct contrast to Wade, who was concerned with style as much as with content. Wade took it as a personal affront to his dignity, and to his huge ego, when he miscalculated or was out-maneuvered.

Last night in camp the two men had argued these differences, so vociferously in fact that they had to be separated physically. Animosity had still sizzled under the surface this morning. Neither man had conceded any points and both were still angry at the other's presumptions to the contrary.

Troy was tired of these scenes. He was tired of Wade's careless attitude toward the dangers of their trade spreading to the younger brothers. He was tired of excuses when someone got hurt, and he was tired of escapes at full gallop in the dark of night.

Wade seemed increasingly enamored of his own cleverness. This observation had earned Troy a fist to the jaw, but it did not stop him from further voicing of his opinion. Their luck couldn't possibly continue, especially since Wade seemed intent only on some nebulous McCord "victory" and his trust that his reputation would strike such fear into their enemies that no one would resist having his valuables liberated. Troy had been yelling finally, red-faced. He told Wade that too much was being asked and not enough attention being given.

Troy had never been glad to see anyone injured, and he was not a happy man at this moment. This was the first deadly resistance to a McCord raid in months and it had nearly killed Wade. Maybe now things could start to change.

"Ease up, mighty man," Troy scolded. "Just be still. Rolling around like that'll only make it worse."

The clinical part of Troy's mind clicked in as he dismounted, noting with relief that the wound was high in the shoulder. It was undoubtedly painful, but Wade would live. Too bad, Troy thought in an uncharacteristic moment of maliciousness. Appalled that he could allow a difference of opinion, no matter how heated, to make him wish for his brother's death, Troy bent to his task.

He could take a little credit for the angle of the bullet's entry. He, at least, had anticipated the shotgunner and spurred Vega into Arvanel. Unlike the older man, Troy had respected the 'gunner despite his youth. Troy was well acquainted with the capabilities of his young brothers. He had been unable to stop the violence, but the slight bump from his mare was enough to turn a possible killing shot into a shoulder wound.

Wade refused to be still and the blood continued to flow profusely as he struggled to get to his feet. His ego was controlling his actions once again, observed Troy. When it looked as if Collin might help him rise, Troy decided. Causing another person pain unsettled his healer's soul. But there were times, and there were times. If he didn't get Wade settled down, the possibility of severe debilitation increased. Troy knew the limits of his magic and didn't need anything to make his job more difficult. He unleashed a withering glare on Collin, then reached out and clamped a savage grip just above the bullet hole in Wade's shoulder.

The reaction was immediate and predictable. Wade sucked air between clenched teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, only just biting back on a scream. He slumped back onto Collin's knees with a weak groan and went limp, breathing heavily and trying to ignore the pain. In his eyes when he finally opened them and looked up at Troy was surrender. He understood who was in charge when blood flowed.

Troy flashed him a reassuring healer's wink and set to business.

Healing magic in Vargus is varied and comparatively rare to the other forms of magic that manifest. The last great healer to possess each of the known talents to its fullest degree is only a figure in history. His likeness resides in the university town of Forsythe in the form of a life-sized statue, fitting tribute to the man who founded the magical academies and furthered the study of magic in Vargus.

Complete mastery over a single talent at present was rare, the vast majority of current healers possessing bits and pieces of the art which they struggled daily to understand and implement. The magic generally manifested as a direct contrast to some other type. For example, the manufacture of a bullet involved a proportion of components, mined and purified, then mixed to form a projectile capable of being fired from a suitable weapon. An essence placed into the mix by one so talented provides the necessary combustion, without which the entire combination is useless.

Troy's healing talent was a direct opposition to that of the bullet shaper. Troy dissolved the magical essence of the bullet, rendering it down to its component material to be absorbed and eliminated by the human body.

Troy focused his concentration. The bullet had lodged itself in the muscles of Wade's upper left shoulder, somewhat lower and a trifle more serious than Troy had diagnosed at a glance. He set his saddlebags beside Wade's head and knelt down. He rubbed his hands together rapidly in preparation, ordering Wade to try and relax. Taking a deep breath and exhaling to still his thoughts, Troy slipped his right hand beneath Wade's shirt and laid it directly on the wound, pausing momentarily while his brother adjusted to the gentle pressure. He placed his left hand on top of his right, took another deep breath, released it slowly, and let his eyelids flicker shut.

He felt the magic as it came and, as usual, it awed him. As his lungs emptied, the air was replaced by something that took over his breathing and all the other functions that kept him alive. His awareness of himself faded as his entire being focused on the foreign object to be eliminated. A tingle filled his entire body and coalesced in his hands. A pleasant explosion came behind his eyes. Then it was done.

Troy's only regret about his talent was that he couldn't take the pain away with the bullet, or replace blood already lost. He could ease pain and help prevent infections with the powders he mixed; a skill not inherent to his magic but learned from books. Only rest would completely replace blood lost and heal the injuries with which he dealt.

"I was just gonna settle him down," said Collin.

Troy was suddenly brought back to full awareness. One of the side benefits to his magic was that he could drift in another world after it manifested. Sometimes this restored his energy. Most of the time, it allowed him to forget the circumstances of his life until someone interrupted the sensation.

Troy raised his head and popped open his eyes. He glanced across at Collin and realized he had made a mistake thinking the older man had been trying to help Wade get to his feet.

Collin knelt with Wade still resting against his knees. He rummaged about in Troy's saddlebags, refusing to meet the healer's eyes. Troy recognized the movement for what it was; busy work to cover Collin's confusion at what he had done to incur Troy's wrath. Of all the brothers, these two were most alike in looks, temperament, and personality.

Separated by seven years, the two could pass for twins. Tall and rangy, they favored their mother, possessing her unruly brownish hair and mysterious green eyes. The only physical difference of note between the two was the often haunted look in Collin’s eyes. His wife had died while bringing their only child into the world. He was devastated by the memory, convinced that if he had been with her instead of at court with his father, he might have saved her. All of Troy's protestations had fallen on deaf ears. Collin loved his son, but he desperately missed his wife.

In his grief at the time he had blamed Troy. Later, he realized that no one was to blame; not Troy, and not himself either. It was just something that happened. Troy, 16 at the time, had accepted his brother's accusations and recriminations, wondering if there had been anything more he could have done. Eventually, they reconciled the results of the events, but the wound only enhanced the difficulty the two had between them.

It was yet another in an infinite series of misinterpretations of each other that began as soon as Troy had learned to talk. Often they had come near to blows. It was an inexplicable breach in such a tightly knit family unit brought even closer by years of exile and danger. They relied on the love of brothers to sustain them, but when the love was tested by anger, it was often more hindrance than help.

They were close, yet separated by a wall of incongruity.

Troy joined the busy work. He unbuttoned Wade's shirt so he could see the wound clearly. It was a simple hole Troy could bandage for now and stitch later, when circumstances presented a safer location. Troy rescued his saddlebags from his brother's ineffectual probing and fished out his vial of yellow powder, his little cure-all for cuts, scrapes, and punctures. As he worked on Wade's shoulder, he stole glances at Collin. He didn't know what to say that would make a difference, regardless of his sincerity, which was genuine.

"I'm sorry, Col," he finally offered lamely.

"Forget it," said Collin with a wave of his hand. "What's one more? If you add up all the times we've misunderstood each other, it still wouldn't give us any idea how to keep it from happening."

"Opposites attract, remember. Magnets force each other apart."

Collin shrugged once, then again, shook his head and sat back on his heels, careful not to jiggle Wade while Troy worked. He smiled in his lopsided way. The cloud passed from his eyes and they shone sparkly green. But there was very little humor in their mysterious depths.

"What're brothers for, right?"

"Funny, I always thought they were born to keep me from gettin' shot," came the reply to what Collin had intended as a rhetorical remark.

Wade tensed in Collins arms and seemed ready to begin a scathing tirade, and Troy had a good idea as to the target. Now was not the time. Nor did Wade really have the right, in any case. On this point, at least, he and Collin agreed. Wade was entirely to blame for the day's blunders and the sooner their eldest brother understood this, and their own willingness to shield the others, the better off the whole family would be.

Before Troy could form his thoughts to make this point, Collin did it for him. His pent-up frustration was clearly evident, as well as no little amount of fear.

"Just think a minute before you open your mouth and make things worse than they already are," Collin said, his voice low and intense. "Getting shot's your own damn fault and you know it. You just let us know the next time you decide to take your eyes off a drawn and loaded gun. Lords in hell, Wade, I wish I knew what was the matter with you."

Troy watched Wade's gray eyes, and he could read the gamut of emotions there. Anger first, then resentment, the shock of realization, and finally fear played within the steely depths. Collin eased off. Wade did pay the price for overconfidence and stupidity today. There really was no sense in adding to his discomfort once he realized the mistakes were his own.

"You're right, Col," Wade admitted, wincing as Troy finished tying off the bandage around his shoulder. "That was stupid. Damn near got my own self killed, and I was ready to holler at somebody else for it." He looked first at Collin, then at Troy, and finally settled on a point between them. "You weren't just yelling at me last night to be yelling at me, were you, Troy?"

"No," answered the healer. "I usually have a point when I use up that much energy."

Wade grunted. Troy knew how quickly his oldest brother could put together a string of observations and come up with a plan of action. The man's mind worked in amazing ways, but when it came to the human side of a problem, he had trouble coping.

Wade captured the healer's gaze. "I scared the hell out of myself, Troy. Lords, what's going on out here?"

The revelation and the question came out as a whisper, and Troy felt the uncertainty as palpable and raw. It was quite a contrast to Wade's attitude from the bulk of the summer just past, and entirely unexpected. All the brothers were accustomed to Wade's adaptability under fire and his admission of fear only confirmed Troy's suspicions that events were now proceeding at a pace that not even Wade could control.

"You got all winter to think that one over, mighty man," said Troy gently, helping his brother sit up so he could secure the injured arm against his chest.

"Fine," said Collin, his business-like tone indicating that time was at a premium and their supply nearly exhausted. He also realized the need to head off any melancholy on Wade's part. They still had things to do before they were safely home, and Collin didn't want a general let down among the rest of his family. "Let's pack it up then and get the hell home."

He began to issue orders, more for the benefit of the passengers and driver from the coach than for his family. Reputation was important, much as he detested the act.

He could see that his brothers were ready to move, having ascertained for themselves that Wade was not in any immediate life-threatening danger. That was well. He noted that Wade was straightening up behind him, and sensed that his brother also recognized the necessity for an all's well attitude.

Collin was able, with a look and a gesture, to let Clay and Wes know that no one, specifically Wade, held them responsible for the situation. Wes responded with a nod and a wink, but Clay looked away.

See, here's the thing. I was ridiculously busy all day yesterday. But right in the middle of the day, eight lines started rolling through my head. That was a pleasant surprise, and of course I wrote them down quickly.

I rearranged a couple of things and tweaked a phrase, and suddenly I had two pretty good stanzas. Excellent!

But now it goes off track. No more words came through the day, and I was so busy I couldn't really think about it. I put the paper in my briefcase and brought it home.

I was pretty pleased to be writing something new. And I figured I'd finish it up last night. So I typed the lines into a shiny fresh new Word doc. And I stared at them. And stared at them. And stared at them.

I made dinner. I ate. I fed Mr Tucker. And I came back and stared at the words.

For cripes sake.

It's like a point that vanishes when you look directly at it. The eight lines came from somewhere. There must be more lines in that place. Where the hell is that place?

I don't set out to write a poem. Maybe that's the problem.

So, there are eight lines. Just eight lines on the page. Well, eight lines plus the two I forced that make no sense.

Sheesh.

Morgen over at It's A Blog Eat Blog World came up with this great idea. I may not participate every Monday, but I definitely wanted in on the ground floor. His first topic is perfect - lots of different ways to get crazy over Cruising!!!

Cruising is about cars and music. The songs below have been ranked among the top 50 cruising songs of all time. The cars are my favorite classics.

So here we go. And turn up the radio y'all!!!

From 1964.

A 1953 Corvette, the only car I could be temped into choosing over a TBird.



From 1966.



You see the dilemma between the Vette and the 1956 TBird here.



From 1968.



That is a 1968 Camero.



From 1962.



A 1957 Chevy Bel Air.



From 1966.



This, my friends, is a 1968 Shelby Mustang GT oh my THUMP!



I hope you enjoyed this little Cruising tour. Do yourselves a favor this summer. Get on the internet and find a classic car show near you. Spend a couple of hours walking around and admiring these beautiful cars. You won't regret it. They are works of art.

One more - a 1930 Ford Model A Delux Roadster.





The Top 50 Cruising Songs of All Time

It's A Blog Eat Blog World

This is my place. These are my thoughts. I'm entitled to them. You may agree or disagree as you see fit.

I've seen some disturbing things and I've heard some disturbing words spoken recently. This is how I feel about those things and those words.

I would prefer that my country was a nation in which lived people who truly understood that disagreement is OK. When my opinion differs from yours, that doesn’t make either of us right or wrong; it simply means we believe differently. And disagreement gives no one the right to insult another person.

Disagreement with or protest of our actions in Iraq does not mean that I don’t support our troops, or that I am hurting them in any way. Our troops are not this war. Our troops are the instrument of our foreign policy. I can disagree with that foreign policy, and that does not mean that I think our troops are in any way to blame for it. I can work to change our foreign policy, and that does not mean I want our troops to be deprived of anything that will keep them safe and help them accomplish their mission.

How is it that so many people do not understand that?

I have two cousins who are Marines. One has done three tours in Iraq and the other begins his second this month. I respect them, and I fear for them, and I am proud of them. And I require that my government provide them with the tools they need to come home.

Neither of my cousins believes we should be fighting in Iraq. But they do their duty for the honor of service and because of the kind of men they are. They fight for their buddies.

There must be discussion of issues in this country without letting differing viewpoints be grounds for name calling. It’s clear that some passionately hold the point of view that staying in Iraq, and in fact starting that war, is and was the right thing to do to protect America and Americans. The passion of this opinion must be respected whether you agree with the opinion or not.

It is also clear that others hold just as passionate an opinion that our government’s actions with respect to Iraq are wrong, and are only exacerbating the terror threat to this country. The right to this alternate opinion must also be respected.

Strong belief in an idea gives no one the right to call another person names. In my opinion, it is that rudeness that harms and goes counter to everything upon which this country was founded.

It is the duty of all citizens in a democracy to speak in opposition. We have freedom to speak. We have opinions. Those opinions will not always track with others. But no citizen of this country should ever be intimidated for his opinion, and no one has the right to dissuade a person from speaking. Calling another person names or shouting them down will accomplish nothing but divisiveness. It isn’t the opinions themselves that drive wedges between people; it is our reactions to them.

Embrace your differences of opinion and work to understand. This is the higher goal to which we should all strive. Anything less is simply petty and ignorant.

I thank all those who have in the past and currently are serving in the military. I thank those who are in training to join the ranks of our military services, for they knowingly prepare to go into harm’s way. I thank any young person making the decision to enlist today.

But I know that there is honor in service, and not only in the type of service. So I also thank those who find the courage to challenge our leaders and require them to account for their decisions to put our Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines in harm’s way. I thank those who search their souls and find the strength of character to speak out in opposition. I thank those who endure insult and accusations of un-Patriotism for their disagreement.

I welcome your comments and your differing opinions. I do not moderate comments here because I believe in freedom of expression. Please comment with respect.

Look it look it look it!!!!!

Just a minute. Let me calm down. I am NOT some ridiculous 6 year old with a new toy.

HEY!! Ann!! Quit laughing!! I said QUIT!!! And now Julie too? You both get off the floor right this minute and stop laughing at me.

What??? Now the rest of you?? Oh for cripes sake y'all!!

Just go here: http://www.justducks.co.uk/index.htm

I was out and about exploring blogs, and I found that ducky site over at Desert Songbird's place, http://deserticebox.blogspot.com/

It appears I may have found that Damm duck's secret lair!!!

Uh huh. That got you to stop giggling, didn't it?

Hey gang!

I participated in a Bestest Blog Carnival last week, and it led me to a few new blogs. I've linked three new ones, and I think I'll add a couple more before the weekend is out. If you weren't aware of them before, cruise by and take a look around.

Jam is a proud family man with a wonderful life view shaped in no small part by a couple of beautiful daughters. This is the first post I read over at Least Significant Bits: http://jamspeaks.blogspot.com/2007/01/starting-school.html

Now of course I was going to link up with Jeff over at Jeff's Jetsam. Not only did he give me a shout out on his blog, but he used Words on Wednesday to share the thrilling first section of what looks to be a great story. Check it out here: http://jeffingtown.blogspot.com/2007/01/words-on-wednesday.html

A word of caution - put your drink down as far away from you as possible and swallow any liquids well before you click on the link to take you to Janna's blog. She is truly a unique and wacky individual. And be careful - because although she has not made any yet, she makes no promises about those origami cranes! Go forth and explore the Jannaverse: http://www.jannaverse.blogspot.com/

There's been a lot of music posted the last few days. I do something I like to call Tuesday Tunes, where I select a genre and post some of my favorites. I was going to save this artist for next Tuesday. I was going to do Friday Facts today. But one of his songs played randomly on my Ipod during my drive home last night, and I just had to share today.

I've posted about this young man in other places. He is a talented singer/songwriter and a wonderful musician. He also has a tremendous respect for classic standards, and the ability to interpret them that makes them fresh and accessible. Just listen.

Yes, the title of this post is Five on Friday. But it's my blog and Jamie is one of my favorite artists. So I am exercising my royal authority as King of this Blog Space. I now offer two bonus tracks, so you can understand Jamie's grasp of and respect for the standards.






To find out more about Jamie, please visit:

http://www.jamiecullum.com/

http://www.myspace.com/jamiecullum

I took the last two weeks off from doing the 13. But I'm back now. These are 13 things that irritate me at work. 1. Being given a project, specifications, and a deadline, and then being asked about my progress three or four times a day. I know what was asked, I know how to do the project, and I know when the project is due. Leave me alone and you'll get it on time. 2. Working through lunch. I don't mind it every so often. But I've been doing it every day for six months now. 3. People who use speaker phone in a cubicle environment. There are great headsets available these days - get one! Speaker phones are fine in an office or conference room when you can close the door. But they shouldn't be used when there are others around you trying to work. 4. People who don't respect deadlines. In my business, timing is everything. Shipments have to be on schedule, and the only way to ensure that is if every deadline is hit from conception to finished good. I can't deliver to distribution on time if I don't get product in my warehouse when it's due. 5. Stupid mistakes. My own are intolerable to me. 6. Mixed messages. Let's get on the same page gang - from the top of the organization down to the interns. 7. Wonky systems. Most of the time it's my order processing system. Sometimes it's the accounting software. Every once in awhile the network crashes. Whatever it is, it's something every dang day. Today it was a wonky mouse that had to be replaced. 8. Sales guys. They want what they want when they want it. Problem is, what they want changes every time they ask for it. 9. When the copier/printer starts pulling from the bottom tray, fill the top tray. You can tell the paper is pulling from the bottom tray because it prints out in the opposite direction. When the paper pulls from the bottom tray, the copier/printer jams. To prevent jamming, fill the dang top tray. 10. Don't walk away from a paper jam. Either fix it or tell somebody about it. 11. People who find it necessary to repeat an instruction from an email on which I was copied, copying all the original addressees so they get the impression that you are managing your business and taking control of the situation. You know what? I read the same email you did and I understood what was being asked of me. I don't need your "reminder". 12. Legacy processes. "Because that's the way we've always done it" is no valid reason to perpetuate a process that didn't work then, and doesn't work any better now. 13. Let's face it - sometimes the customer is NOT right. Sometimes the customer is just stupid. I had a customer send a very cranky email wondering snarkily why his shipment had been sitting on hold for two days. Two whole days!! I very professionally replied that I would be pleased to ship his order as soon as he provided a credit card that had not been expired for nearly six months. You may infer from this list that I am unhappy in my work. Not so. I love my job and my company. I get a real kick out of what I do. And I enjoy the people with whom I work and interact every day. But even the best jobs have these little annoyances. Update: I wrote my list a couple of days ago. Now today I find out that I may have an opportunity to transition from logistics to project management. YAY ME!! I'll keep y'all posted. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. (leave your link in comments, I’ll add you here!)

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!


The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

So, last week I took the plunge and posted the beginning of my novel. I'll post a little more today, still from chapter one.

My buddy Bond over at The Couch has been wondering if a blog is a good medium for posting a novel project like this. I wondered the same thing before I posted the first two sections of chapter one here. I'm trying to post them in small bites, and I'll include a link back to the previous posts. I may not post more than chapter one, which is 28 pages long.

My novel is intended as a trilogy and isn't really designed for serial posting, but it was important for me to at least put it out there. I'm glad I did. I hope you enjoy what I do post.

Oh, here are the other posts in case you missed them last week.

http://travsthoughts.blogspot.com/2007/01/words-on-wednesday.html

http://travsthoughts.blogspot.com/2007/01/little-bit-more.html

Outlawed

Chapter One
Raid

continued...

The lead horses on the team of six threatened to bolt at the explosion of Collin's rifle, but the driver deftly reined the frightened animals, and managed to keep the harness from fouling and tripping his team.

The confusion allowed Wade and his brothers to maneuver into a ring around the coach, effectively preventing the driver from lashing his team and running hell-bent for help. Wade nodded with confidence. Tom to the left and Brant to the right jumped to the ground and had the doors open and the coach empty before the driver could consider his next move. With his passengers on the ground, his only option now was surrender.

Wade noted with relief that there were only three passengers, and just one woman. He had nothing against the so-called fairer sex in general, but there were so few like the McCord women. His wife, sister, and sister-in-law suffered the same difficulties of exile as did their men, yet they somehow remained the backbone of the family. They raised the children and spent months at a time waiting for the return of brothers and husbands.

"Drop that shotgun, boy."

Wade heard Collin's ominous warning and it startled him. Never before had he let his mind wander during business.

Wade pulled himself back to proper focus and noticed with genuine astonishment that the King's Line shotgunner had fixed the barrels of a sawed-off shotgun on his chest. Wade McCord knew by instinct that he was well protected by his family. He knew that friendly pistols and rifles ringed this foolish hero and would kill him if he so much as twitched. Wade was annoyed. He refused to even consider so ignoble a death in a remote piece of forest in the heart of sheep country by the hand of a suicidal would-be hero, and a mere boy at that.

"Look here, son," he started conversationally.

"No," Drew Compton interrupted. "You look here." The young scout somehow managed to emphasize his shotgun without moving and drawing fire from the many guns he saw out of the corners of his eyes.

Wade locked his gaze on that of the boy, his gray eyes conveying a hauteur which had cowed many experienced Crown officials throughout Vargus. He didn't seem able to intimidate this 'gunner, and that pleased him and irritated him at the same time. He did notice the tension in the young body, and adjusted his tactics.

"Alright, what do you want to do?" Wade asked, though his cold tone told the 'gunner that he didn't really care.

"I want y'all to back away from this coach and let us go on our way."

Wade smiled. “No,” he said, and the steel in his eyes made it a most horrific expression.

Drew Compton swallowed hard. The sweat was streaming down his face and stinging his eyes. He wanted to blink, but knew as soon as he did he would be dead. He didn't know why he had raised his shotgun, but he knew he couldn't lower it now or he would never reach his ultimate goal. He said nothing.

Wade shifted in his saddle. His experience told him he that he must simply find the right set of words to disarm the young scout.

"Listen, son, you're a reasonable man, and so am I. You won't leave this place alive unless you put down that shotgun. That won't make you a coward, it'll make you a smart man, and give you a head start on becoming on old smart man. I don't want to have to kill you, but we mean to have what we came for. Just drop the shotgun and we'll finish up and be on our way."

Wade didn't wait for a reply. He gestured to Wes to locate the strong box and get it down.

The sound of the shotgun blast shocked Wade. So did the feeling that someone had punched him in the shoulder. Then he felt the fire and was incredulous that the idiot had actually shot him. He slipped sideways out of his saddle and fell to the ground.

*****

"You dumb son-of-a-bitch!" Wes McCord shouted. He squeezed the trigger of his pistol and sent two bullets thudding into the body of the shotgunner.

Stupidity in full measure was displayed before his eyes. He couldn't believe the obscene overconfidence with which his brother had played the situation. He couldn't believe the King's Line 'gunner had chosen to fire when he knew it was certain to be his death. He couldn't believe he, himself, had not acted twenty seconds sooner.

Wes watched as the boy dropped heavily from the coach seat. He was reconciled to the necessity of what he had done. He'd done it a number of times before. But he was repulsed by it just the same. He was a sane man and did not enjoy killing.

He glanced briefly at the body as it rolled face up to the ground and saw how young the dead man really was. About Clay’s age, maybe younger. Wes' chest constricted and he turned away. It could have been Clay, or any of them.

{It was not your fault.} The mental voice of his mare gently invaded his recriminations.

{As much mine as anyone's, Broma. This didn't have to happen.}

{I could have warned you, but the rapport between us is so shallow these days.}

{I know. Wade's rules. He still doesn't understand the magic we share. He thinks I'll let us get lost in the rapport. He can't seem to accept that we've all grown up. We don't behave the way we did when we were children. We know what's at stake, now more than ever.}

Wes and Broma had been magically linked for five years, since the mare's birth. His affinity with Broma was the most common human/equine relationship in Vargus, manifested in the most rare form. He was able to converse with the mare over virtually unlimited distances, and to touch any other familiar equine mind to degrees proportionate to distance. Basically, he could establish a mind link with any horse in the realm. He and Broma sometimes had a tendency to lose themselves in the joy of rapport, to the exclusion of most everything else. It was one of the few things that kept Wes sane.

{He knows that we equines are not foolish beasts.} Broma's mental imprint was stern within Wes' mind. {We know the importance of what we do and we will not stand idly by and let any of you be injured if we can help it.}

{He forgets, Broma. He has responsibility for all of us and sometimes it blinds him. Besides, the rapport has little to do with this situation.}

{How so?}

{Wade knows that any man holding a drawn and loaded weapon is dangerous. He handled this situation badly and paid for it.}

Broma did not answer.

It was true that the mare could have warned Wes much sooner if they had been active in the rapport. She was able to read the subtle nuances of human body motion and scent that could translate into a near precognitive sixth sense in her rider. Deep rapport between the two could make them one, and Wes often found himself seeing and feeling as an equine.

Wes had learned an enormous capacity for control over the link, as had Broma. They had manipulated the link over the years such that Wes could be involved in any number of routine or non-routine tasks and maintain a passive rapport with Broma. A step further into the active allowed him to converse with the mare while suffering no undue restriction of his movement. Many times he had carried on conversations with Broma as he spoke to his brothers, and they had never guessed.

If he could only make Wade understand this power, there was really no limit to what could be achieved. It was an odd dichotomy that Wade would not allow the rapport to be completely active when the family was in the heart of Vargus proper. It was one of the few things that could be absolutely counted on to protect all of them, but Wade had made the link off-limits.

Wes became aware of the screaming behind him and fervently wished it would stop. Finally, Tom slapped the woman quiet, with apologies. Outlaws they may be now, but ten years and more earlier they had been nobly born and bred to be leaders of the realm. Manners they had in full measure, as much an ingrained part of each man as the incredible magical powers that they wielded.

Wes looked to the front of the coach. {Arvanel, how's Wade?}

{Well enough.} Wade's stallion replied, evincing a weariness Wes understood. {He is merely dented, and deservedly so.}

Wes acknowledged the report silently, agreeing but not pursuing any further discussion. He turned his attention to the driver of the coach. He didn't expect trouble after the death of the shotgunner, but he wasn't about to take a chance. His ruminations had taken mere seconds.

"You," he growled, his deep voice made more menacing by his size and the still smoldering pistol he brandished at the cowed coachman. "Why don't you climb on down from there? Keep your hands fisted and where I can see them."

The driver complied, one wild eye on Wes' gun, the other on the body of the 'gunner. As he struggled awkwardly down the side of the coach, his hands fisted so tightly that his knuckles whitened, Wes grew impatient. He urged Broma over and grabbed the driver by the front of his shirt. He flung the frightened man to the ground where Tom collected him and put him with the passengers.

Wes took another careful look around, then gave the all's clear nod. Garret clambered up the back of the coach, located the strong box, and hoisted it down to Alex Cavanaugh. Alex settled it across his saddlebow.

Some of my favorite blogs are killing my eyes!!!

The light type on the dark background, while visually stunning, is visually stunning me!!

Yet I must return to these spaces because of the extraordinary content. So my strategy has been to read through the posts and then move on to another blog or two before returning to post my comments. This helps a little.

OK - my eyes are recovered now. Off I go back to my rounds.

A little southern rock and blues for your Tuesday. Enjoy.

Mimi of Mimi Writes, Queen of Memes, hosts the Bestest Blog Carnival on Monday, January 22. The carnival this time celebrates posts near and dear to Her Majesty's heart - memes!

Yours truly has submitted his favorite. Cruise by Mimi Writes on Monday and check out the fun. Any meme you can imagine will likely be featured.

You can find Mimi in my links, or click here: http://mimiwrites.blogspot.com

Oh - you might bookmark Mimi's page too. She is a wonderful writer and I always look forward to stopping by.

Please forgive me - I committed a blogging feaux pas by not including this credit:

Bestest Blog Carnival Banner created by Janna @One More Raindrop In A Bloggy Ocean. You're welcome to copy & use this banner on your site to promote the Carnival,just please provide a link to Janna for creating the banner. Thanks!

Here's the link: http://www.jannaverse.blogspot.com/

Congratulations to the Bears and the Colts, who will play in Super Bowl XLI (that's 41 for those who may be Roman numeral challenged).

And now begins two weeks of hype, counter-hype, and general B.S. as pundits and pronouncers tell us who will win and why.

It's the Bears outstanding defense against arguably the best quarterback in the game. And the Colts speedy and opportunistic defense against arguably the worst quarterback ever to lead a team to the Super Bowl.

But I must give the man some credit. Rex Grossman is the quarterback of the Super Bowl bound Bears. He did what was asked of him - he didn't make a big mistake that would hurt his team.

And now a word about Peyton Manning: Get off the man's back! He will play in the Super Bowl after leading his team back from 18 points down to not only win the game, but to beat his nemesis and remove the dreaded label "Can't Win The Big Game".

I am now energized to watch the Super Bowl in two weeks.

Denny Doherty, a founding member of The Mama's and The Papa's, died today at the age of 66.

Out of respect for my friend and her loss, I postponed my normal Tuesday Tunes. I present them now as Five on Friday. These are some of my favorite female singers.

Singer, songwriter, and damn fine sexy lady.

Incredible entertainer, unafraid to speak her mind, with a mersmerizing voice.



Smooth as the calm before a storm, clear as a high cloudless sky.



Raw, heart-rending emotion.



Compelling, landmark songwriter.



Thanks for stopping by. Happy Friday y'all!

I posted the beginning of my novel yesterday. Here's a little more from chapter one. I guess I didn't need the delete button after all.

Outlawed

Chapter One
Raid

continued...

Wade McCord was confident. He counted this summer a rousing success, yielding much more than monetary gain. The money and goods he and his brothers had taken wasn't important and it never had been. The ranch they had built over the last ten years within the safety of the Koaler Mountains gave them more than a haven from Crown persecution. It sustained the family, and generated enough produce to feed and clothe the new generation of McCords that sprouted and grew before his eyes.

What motivated Wade McCord and his brothers was revenge. The unjust murder of his father was still an open wound for Wade after a decade. He wasn't the most feared outlaw in the kingdom of Vargus by nature, but by choice born of necessity. It was the only way he could exact some measure of recompense from the Crown that continued to ostracize his family. Crown officials added each new crime to the list of alleged crimes for which David McCord had been executed.

But Wade's children and those of his brothers and sister were blameless. They suffered because of the avarice, jealousy, and greed of the petty monarch who sat the throne of Vargus.

After this summer's raids, there could no longer be any doubt about who reigned supreme on the plains of the kingdom. Crown authorities, regardless of their power to enforce the ban on the McCord family, were laughably inept at preventing McCord attacks on Crown property. Wade and his brothers easily eluded traps and ambushes. A series of well-placed and loyal informers yielded a rich store of information to the McCords. They preyed on stage coaches and wagon trains with virtual impunity. They led any who gave chase on harrowing adventures that often left their pursuers wondering if the notorious McCord family had discovered more than just the normal and expected forms of magic in Vargus.

None of the brothers had suffered serious injury this summer, nor last summer. Of course their lifestyle was dangerous. One or two near misses had occurred, but they had not been cornered or out-numbered or involved in extended gun battles. Minor nicks and scratches were the results of their exploits. All had been handled effortlessly by Troy, whose magic was healing.

Wade checked the progress of the King's Line Stage. He saw the outline of the coach through the trees as it topped the rise. He watched as the shotgunner glanced nervously over his shoulder, probably spooked by the sudden increase in speed of the three riders behind him. Wade snorted derisively.

He shifted in his saddle and absently gestured to his left. Collin, rifle cocked in readiness and pointed toward the sky, squeezed off a round.

*****

Drew Compton was sweating. He was on his first tour of duty and he was ready for action and glory. His earliest recollections were of the stories told by his cousins of their exploits in service to the Crown. He dreamt of himself following in their boots, serving the King.

His father had spent money the family really couldn't afford to send his only son to school. Drew had vowed to pay that back with competent service, a portion of his wages every month. . .and more medals than could fit across his chest. He could still see the faces of his mother and father and his sisters. They were full of pride as he walked up the podium steps to receive his papers from the First Instructor of Tactics himself.

Drew Compton had been 19 and a Tactical School graduate.

Now he was six months into his first hitch as a member of one of the finest military traditions in the kingdom of Vargus. He was a scout in the Corps based in Gallatin.

His grades had been average so officer school was not an option. He did not qualify to choose his favored posting either, closer to the political intrigues and intense action he craved. His plan was to rise through the ranks by deed, maybe receive a service commission as an officer, and someday command the Corps. Being stationed at the far reaches of the kingdom did not fit well into his plan.

Still, he was in the Corps of scouts, not a mere trooper in conscripted military service, and he was certainly pleased with his duties. Shepherd was a retirement community, populated with aged political appointees and a number of minor nobles. Drew was the youngest person in the town, and had been adopted as a de facto grandson by a number of the leaders of the community. He reveled in the stories he heard, and learned a great deal about the intrigues of living at court. He was beginning to understand just what it would take to achieve his goal when he had been ordered on this mission.

Riding shotgun was a necessary chore. It gave him a plausible cover for his more important assignment, which was to keep his eyes open for signs of McCord activity in this northwest region.

Things had been relatively quiet during his six months in Shepherd. He had used the time wisely. He spoke to the people and he read. He wrote reports on what he saw and heard. He was somewhat disturbed by the attitude of many of the residents toward Wade McCord. They did not see the notorious outlaw as anything but a victim. Drew knew him to be a cold-blooded killer, but these older citizens had been at court when David McCord was tried and found guilty of treason. Their version of events differed from what Drew had learned at school.

The execution was nothing more than judicial murder, maintained some of the people of Shepherd. Others considered it a calculated move by the King to secure what was at that time a somewhat unstable crown. Still others considered the cause something as simple and base as jealousy and fear of the power David McCord wielded within the Council of Vargus.

Drew Compton discounted much of what he had heard, yet it made him question some of the things he thought he knew. One of his instructors had said once that history would always be written by the victor. From what he had learned thus far in Shepherd, Drew considered that this statement was probably true.

He wiped the back of his hand across his brow. Sweat stung his eyes. He had been through Clancy Woods only once before, on his way to Shepherd to officially accept his duties. He spent his first month in active service becoming familiar with the area. He considered stories about raids along the road. He read of the tactical advantage a group of determined, well-armed outlaws gained by using Clancy Woods. He was versed in the mistakes made by those who sought to defend the cargoes and people they carried.

From his studies, Drew concluded that there were two ways to proceed. The first was to stop the coach and give up whatever the bandits wanted. The second was to spur the horses and ride through any ambush and not stop until the coach pulled in at Barret's Ford.

Drew had come up with a suggestion that might give stagecoaches a better chance to get through the Woods unscathed. He thought that a simple job of gardening could alleviate much of the cover along the road through the woods. Chop a few trees and burn off some scrub, and produce an effective killing ground that might make the McCords reconsider hijacking any more stage coaches. Drew carried this report in his pack and would deliver it to his field commander as soon as they reached Barret's Ford.

At the moment, he sweated. He wondered if it had gotten hotter. It was strange. He was in the northwest corner of Vargus and it was early fall. The temperature should be a good 20 degrees cooler than what he felt. Sweat continued to flow freely beneath the wide brim of his service cap. It trickled irritatingly down his back and into the waistband of his breeches. He was painfully aware of his isolation.

Drew Compton craned his neck to take another look behind him. His heart began to explode against his ribs as he saw that the riders behind had closed the gap.

This is the beginning of my novel, a portion of the first chapter. Very few have ever read it. I'm extremely nervous about having it posted here - the delete button is very comforting.


OUTLAWED

CHAPTER ONE
Raid

Brant McCord sat motionless in his saddle, the leaves of a large maple tree rustling in gentle protest to a sudden wispy breeze. Man and equine were indistinct, blending thoroughly with their surroundings, waiting patiently for the signal.

Clay McCord swung down from his perch in the tree to settle on his own horse next to his brother. He put his closed left fist to his lips, telling Brant more in that simple gesture than words could ever convey. No matter how softly one spoke, one could not prevent the timber of one's voice from disturbing the serenity of the forest life in any stretch of woods. A human voice at the wrong moment, or even the suggestion of human activity, could touch off a chain of wildlife reactions that in turn might mark the difference between dismal failure and lucrative success.

Silent gestures, long familiar and practiced between the brothers since childhood, had helped them to foil small game. Now they and the rest of their family survived by the skill.

Clay placed his flat palm against his shoulder, completing the signal to confirm that the others had moved into position and the raid would continue as planned. Clay reviewed his list of tasks and mentally checked each one as accomplished. He gathered his reins and adjusted the fit of the pistol he wore in a leather holster strapped to his right hip. He was ready.

Brant waited for final word. His body tensed suddenly, and then he reached across and gripped his younger brother's shoulder. He closed his eyes and cocked his head. Clay turned and waited, recognizing the signs that Brant was receiving a message through his horse from their brother Wes.

The McCord men possessed in assorted measure the magic to be found in the kingdon of Vargus. All nine wielded talents of formidable might. Wes and Brant were able to establish deep rapport with their equine companions, to varying degrees. Brant's talent was limited to providing a conduit for information. He was able to involve up to three others in any link he formed.

Through this link came to Brant and Clay their final instructions. From this point, no variance would be made to the plan. Everyone was in position. No mounted guards were evident, and no patrols had been discovered. There was only one shotgun rider apparent and he was posted on the seat next to the driver.

Standard procedure for the McCords on a stagecoach raid was to find an attack point with dense cover to all sides of the objective. Shrubs and rocks would do, but trees were most favored. McCord horses had always been considered the best in the realm, and that had not changed in the ten years the family had spent in forced exile. The magical attributes of these equines were of the highest quality and unequalled reliability. However, perfection was rare and even these truly remarkable equines had weaknesses. They were most effective when surrounded by sturdy trees, since trees were embedded in nutrient rich soil. This soil housed the mysterious magical properties that equines conducted to humans.

Soft dirt enhanced the magic all around. The horses were better able to read and anticipate the attitude of a nosy squirrel or passing blue jay, as opposed to the haphazard and inconsistent thoughts of a snake slithering amidst a rocky outcrop. Men whose lives depended on such information could make more effective use of their own talents as well.

One seemingly routine raid had dissolved into near disaster when an undetected snake spooked a McCord mount, unexpectedly pitching its rider into the path of the targeted wagon train. Several of the brothers had been wounded in a burst of gunfire during that fiasco. A daring operation had been staged to rescue the unfortunate brother who had been captured.

A general conviction and an unspoken rule evolved from the experience. In the future, attacks would be planned around wooded areas to take utmost advantage of every skill in the McCord arsenal, magical or mundane.

Clancy Woods was an oddity. It was dark, dense, and unnerving, springing seemingly out of nowhere as one rode along an otherwise featureless grassy plain. This worked to the McCord's further advantage, since coach drivers were already jumpy upon entering the forest.

Clay and Brant were stationed to one side of the narrow road that would be to the right of the driver when the coach was stopped. Wes and Tom paralleled the younger men, directly across on the left. From both sides the four were able to anticipate and prevent any nasty surprises that could often ruin a well-planned and carefully thought out coach attack.

The tactic was uncannily effective. The men trusted to their bond of brotherhood, and to the added benefits of experience and the contact between well-bred magical animals.

The predictability of their procedures did much to protect them as well. The McCord brothers raided a coach the same way every time. Because the dynamics of the attacks were always the same, Crown authorities refused to believe that such insolent constancy would continue.

The McCords and the Crown participated in an advanced and deadly form of the boyhood game dare and double-dare. Crown authorities dared the McCords to repeat, and the McCords taunted the Crown with that very predictability. The situation was ludicrous in its potential for disaster. Clay could have laughed.

But not now.

In moments, the coach would be stopped. Clay heard the horses laboring up the slight sloping trail that led into the woods. Three of his brothers would be arranged in the path of the coach, out of its direct line of sight until it crested the bump and rounded a little bend. Three others followed the coach, far enough behind to be taken for innocuous, casual travelers using the same road.

Simple, effective, seldom modified tactics, with everything going exactly as it always did.

Clay stifled a yawn.

"I have a dream that...children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character." Dr. Martin Luther King Jr (28 Aug 1963, Washington DC)

"After contemplation, I conclude that this award which I receive on behalf of that movement is a profound recognition that nonviolence is the answer to the crucial political and moral question of our time - - the need for man to overcome oppression and violence without resorting to violence and oppression." Dr. Martin Luther King Jr (10 Dec 1964, accepting Nobel Peace Prize)

My friend Ann lost her mother today after a long battle with cancer.

Reposent en paix.

A l'avenir, il y a un moment que nous ne pouvons pas voir;
Là-bas, une immensité que nous ne pouvons pas savoir;
En avant est la vie que nous devons vivre.

Entrelacés sont l'au-delà et l'avant,
Comme l'union d'un coucher du soleil avec la vague de l'horizon;
Toute différente, comme la nuit du jour.

Pourtant, sans l'un est l'autre injustifié.
Tout ce qui commence finira bientôt
Et, dans la fin, commence à nouveau.


Thank you to my friend Coco for translating those words. I posted the poem once before for another friend who recently lost her father.

Beyond and Before

Far into the future is a moment we cannot see
Beyond is a vastness we cannot know
Before is the life we must live

Intertwined are the beyond and before
Like a sunset blends with horizon's wave
Different as night from day
Yet without the one is the other pointless

All that begins shall soon end
And in ending begin afresh

I stole the title of this entry from Coco over at A Corner for Coco.

This first picture is from the second floor landing overlooking the parking lot. That's my Liberty in the bottom right corner. The stand of trees used to be a lot thicker, but the wind storms in the fall really thinned everything out.



The next three are a panorama off my third floor balcony. This is my view from left to right.







My place overlooks the pool.

Well, my commute to the office this morning at 0 dark hundred went fine. The ubiquitous "they" came along during the night and did the plow and de-ice thing on the two main streets I needed to get to the freeway. Once on the freeway, it was straight on til morning.

The storm of howling and moaning and gnashing of teeth that we anticipated today did not materialize. That's good cause I was so sleepy. And yet I was strangely energized all day. Hmmmmm.

I did convince my boss that it was in his best interest to let me trek on home during daylight. I made it home with minimum fuss and nonsense, and this time I was able to get up my icy hill and into my safe parking spot.

So I'm a sleepy, snug, warm, yawning guy tonight. I've made my blog rounds, I've answered email, I fed the cat.

I've got a few snow pics - maybe this weekend I'll figure out how to get them out of my phone so I can post them here. I'm sure y'all have seen snow pics before, but these are special. Why? Cause it happened to me and I took pics of it!!!

I wanted to cruise around and visit everyone's blog tonight, but I'm beat. And I have to get up early to try and get to the office in the morning.

So I'll use my Advance Directly To Go card and catch y'all tomorrow.

Nighty night y'all. See ya tomorrow. Oh, those of you reading this on Thursday, that would be see ya later today.

I think.

. . .to bring you the following announcement.

There will be no Thursday 13 in this space today.

Snow is a beautiful thing. At least it is when I can watch it fall gently to the ground. Or it is when someone builds an 8 foot tall snowman in the entrance to my apartment complex. Or it is when I can snuggle with my sweet lady, with all the lights off, and soft jazz playing, and candles lit, and. . .well, you get the idea.

But when the snow is pounding down on my vehicle, creating slush and ice, making me skid and swerve, well then I say snow is evil and not to be tolerated!!! And thus you have life in the pacific northwest this evening. Seattle and the greater Puget Sound got it socked to us tonight. We took one right in our sweet bippy y'all.

You in the east and midwest where snow is as natural as breathing - I see your HARUMPH! But I come from southern California kids. We don't get this unless we decide to drive up to Mammoth Mountain. . .on purpose. . .with snow tires and 4-wheel drive and chains and warm snuggies in the vehicle with us. We do NOT do this as a matter of course.

And folks in this area ain't used to it either. This is the second major winter storm to dump snow on the area. People don't know how to drive in it. They don't have enough emergency crews to deal with it. It's a mess.

So it took me 4 hours to get home. Some of that time was spent sitting at a dead standstill on the side of the road, remembering not to panic and to be patient. It worked. I give myself props for handling it well. I even got out of my vehicle to give fellow motorists a shove up the hill. They kept spinning and sliding and sliding and spinning. Sometimes you just gotta lend a hand.

I had just made it to my apartment complex, feeling very pleased at having survived and not slid off the road. I smiled at the snowman - he really is 8 feet tall and looks just like a postcard. I knew there could be some trouble though. There's about 6-8 inches of snow accumulated all over the complex, with deep mashed potato grooves on the driving areas. What? You never made grooves in your mashed potatoes with your fork? That's what my drive area looks like. And I have to get up a hill to get to my parking spot.

But I'm 100 yards from home y'all. I'm on easy street. I keep my momentum up as I turn left. I'm doing good, the all weather tires have good traction and I'm getting where I need to go. I make my right turn and see some folks playing in the snow ahead of me. I flash my lights and give a couple quick blasts on the horn.

They don't move. They ignore me. They continue about their business. And now I have two choices. Go to jail for reckless endangerment and attempted vehicular manslaughter as I roll over them, or stop.

I stopped. And got stuck.

To their credit, those people did help me maneuver enough to get pointed back downhill so I could park in front of the office. Needless to say, they will NOT be on my Christmas card list next year.

So, I did finally make it home from my adventures in snowstorm travel. The good news is that the storm is due to blow through for good in the next hour or so. The bad news is that temps are expected to drop into the teens tonight, and not get over 30 degrees tomorrow. So - you guessed it - ICE!!!

If I can get to the freeway, I should be OK getting to work. It's one of those you-don't-have-a-choice-you-better-find-a-way-to-get-your-ass-into-the-office-today days.

Cross your fingers and toes for me. And those of you with your HARUMPHs in full-throated voice, just remember this when you're suffering through 100 degrees this summer and we in the pacific northwest are enjoying luxurious days of 75 degrees.

I promise not to gloat. . .much.

This concludes tonight's announcement. Tune in next week, when Thursday 13 returns to this space.

Smooth.



Frenetic.



So worth the time.



Little Savion.

So, I got tagged by Turn & Mary, who were tagged by Dixie (& Mary???) who were tagged by Bond who was tagged by Sanni. Since a double tagging upsets the delicate space-time continuum and could draw down the wrath of all kinds of evil beings you never heard of before, I cannot vouch for the veracity of the following answers. They may be serious, or they may be silly.

You pays your money and you takes your chances with Silly Meme.


1.When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought? Go back to bed. Or shave the goatee. In either case I'd be in trouble with the boss. So I went to work and made that boss happy, and left the goatee which will make the REAL boss happy.

2.How much cash do you have on you? Zippety and Doo Dah.

3.What’s a word that rhymes with DOOR? Sore. Yikes - I hate a cut on my hands. Stings all dang day.

4.Do you label yourself? I used to put Dole stickers on my forehead when I was a kid, but that's probably not what was meant by this question. So I'd say I don't like labels, they restrict a person from making a reasoned judgment. Although, I do qualify as a tech ijit - that's one label I can't quite dodge yet.

5.Bright or Dark Room? I bump into stuff in a dark room. Since I can't afford any barked shins or broken toes, I have to say bright. Things are much more interesting when you can see anyway. Hehe.

6.Why is there always a missing question? Is this like a mysterious chat silence? Do I have to smack JoJo?

7.What does your watch look like? I haven't worn a watch in over 20 years. But I suppose if I did, it would have a face and moving hands and a band to strap to my wrist.

8.What were you doing at midnight last night? Trying to sleep.

9.Where is your nearest 7-11? Less than a mile.

10.What’s a word that you say a lot? Yikes!!

11.Who told you he/she loved you last? My sweet lady.

12.Last furry thing you touched? Well, it would have been that thing in the back of the fridge - GACK. But luckily I just gave my kitty Mr Tucker a hug.

13.How many rolls of film do you need developed? What's a roll of film?? I guess I could say the disposable camera I got for my cousin's wedding.

14.Favorite age you have been so far? I had a blast at 16, but I don't want to be 16 again even with what I know now. I'm in love with a special lady, so there's no other point in time I want to try unless I can try it with her.

15.Your worst enemy? Serious Trav

16.What is your current desktop picture? Well, on the laptop it's Mt Ranier. But on the old desktop it's the infamous picture of the sniper kitty.

17.What was the last thing you said to someone? I love you to my lady

18.The last song you listened to? Banana Pancakes, Jack Johnson

19.What time of day were you born? 15:46

20.What do you do when vending machines steal your money? Vending machines are evil and should be destroyed.

21.Do you consider yourself kind? Yes

22.What’s your life motto? One does one's best

23.Name three things you have on you at all times. My lady is on my mind 24/7/365 and she's all I need at all times.

24.Can you change the oil on a car? What for? That's what I pay Sears to do.

25.When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper and mailed it? A couple weeks ago to my cousin who will be shipping back to Iraq soon.


I tag no one. Just cause I can. . .or can't. . .or. . .oh nevermind.

I thought I'd offer up some giants today. These artists are icons in country music. But they are also legends with cross over appeal. They have influenced countless artists across many musical genres.

Enjoy.

It's all about the timing.

Don't ask me why. It's late. I'm silly. They're ferrets.



Yes, it's still late. And these are more ferrets.



Sorry - ferrets are funny!

I haven't shared a poem in awhile. Posting music and stuff distracted me. I found this one though, and it seems worthy.


THE FEAR AND FOLLY OF LONLINESS

Alone I with myself and doors locked tight
So that none can invade this passionate self
Words only for me to color this page
Warning of great harm captured by stroke of pen
This calamity a gift of the paranoia in my soul

Foolish to don this mask and turn my face
From all the world's prying indiscreet eye
Holding my secrets from those who seek
Revealing fractions only to those unwilling to know
This special drape sewn with costumed intensity

Daunting the grand door to the feebleness of pride
Not to accept passage from this mere being
Limited to the most base future of a single fate
The bottom step of a great stair leading nowhere I can see
Climbing with eyes closed and blinded mind

Folly recognized and scorned by even the youngest child
To know so little of truth not to acknowledge the lie
Naked before all light yet refusing its warmth
Frightened to small vision and cast from the whole
Accepting ever the cruel love of four blank walls


This poem really isn't as depressing or sad as it might appear at first glance. It actually argues against walling yourself off, suggesting that to hoard inspiration to yourself keeps others from sharing your vision. It warns against allowing fear to limit your choices, which can cause your decisions to be flawed. There is a negative slant to the way the words are combined, but ultimately the final lines provide a path to engagement rather than segregation.

I had forgotten about this one. I wrote it in 1994. It still makes sense to me today.