My Favorite Books of 2011

These are a few of the books I've read this year that I enjoyed, in no particular order of preference:

1. Heading Home by John Robinson. In a church service, God revealed that Jesus was returning in the coming week. Two Vietnam vets spend the time finding the ones they fought with to tell them the good news of Jesus. Well written, with believable characters. I'm still thinking about the message I gleamed from this book. Mr Robinson writes a Joe Box detective series that are some of my favorite books.

2. A Stand-Up Guy by Michael Snyder. Mr Snyder is also one of my favorite authors because of his, how do I say this, different type of humor. The main character in this is a stand up comic wantabe that has to work through many issues. Maybe Mr. Snyder's style appeals to me because I have a "different" style of humor. Dunno, but I enjoy his books.

3. Give The Lady A Ride by Linda Yezak. This is Linda's first book, and you really couldn't tell it. Enjoyable cast of characters that you fall in love with. See the review I wrote a few months ago.

4. The Baer Truth by Linda McMaken. Another Linda and another first book and another cowboy story. This is the first in a series about the Baer Brothers, so I'm sure next year when I write about my favorite books, a Baer book will be among them. I also already review this a few months ago, so go read it to find out more about it.

Those are four that stand out, there are several more that I read that didn't set my world on fire and several that lost me after the first few chapters. Here's to 2012, may the new crop of books be great ones, and may there be many first time author friends publishing this year.

He was heard as he soared away, "Happy reading to all, and to all a good book!"

Why I Don't Write Poetry 1011-6

Another year is ending,
So much that is left pending,
So much water under the bridge,
Too many times falling off the ridge.

The loss of many my heart held dear,
Our eyes clouded with tears.
New life with a cry arrives
Welcomed into our lives.

A year of shouting praise,
Blessed in so many ways.
A year of wiping tears,
Celebrating a life we share.

So much that transpired.
So much that inspired.
A new year to look forward to,
Wishing blessings for you.

A Stable?

It was a stable. A dirty stable filled with animals and all the things associated with them. Cow patties, donkey dung, sheep sh--well, you get the idea. What a place for the Savior of the world to be born.

But that was the plan, a plan that was put in motion all the way back when Adam and Eve ate the apple. A lot of water had passed under that bridge between Adam and the stable. Prophetic promises answered, the King of Kings, the Bright and Morning Star, the Messiah was born. Born in a dirty and stinky mess, to save us from our mess.

Merry Christmas, may the One we celebrate this season bless you this coming year.

Peter Pan

With two broken legs and one arm in a cast, George had a hard time doing what most people take for granted. For instance, flipping channels with the remote made him really thirsty, so he drink two large glasses of tea. A little while later he realized that wasn’t such a good idea as now he had to recycle that tea.

He called his wife and she started pushing him down the hall. About halfway to the bathroom he yell, “I ain’t gonna make it, there she blows.”

His wife grabbed the bedpan and threw it at him yelling, “Peter Pan. Peter Pan. Peter Pan.”

And that’s why they are redecorating the hallway. Now you know the rest of the story.

Dishes

She stands at the sink, doing the dishes again. The window over the sink gives her the perfect view of him walking up the sidewalk. She heart skips a beat just thinking of being in his arms again. She sloshes suds over the plate and stares out the window, her mind thousands of miles away. She imagines him sitting in the sand, water bottle in hand, and laughing with those gathered around him. He was their class clown, and she knew he would be making all those around him laugh, he would be lifting their spirits for a few minutes anyway.

She puts the dish down, her eyes blurring with the tears that never seem to dry up. She turns and walks into the living room and over to the fireplace. On the mantle is his picture, how handsome he is in his uniform. As she places the picture back, she picks up the black case beside it and opens it. Inside placed on the gray lining is his purple heart and gold star. She then runs her hand over the tri-folded flag and realized he would never walk up that sidewalk again.

Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-5

My contribution to the prompt given by teacher extraordinare Ann Linquist: "The Gatekeeper":


“I am the Gatekeeper,” his voice boomed,
“Do not precede or you will be doomed.”
I look at him with a weary smile,
“Do not fear, I carry no guile.
I am on a essential quest,
And I must continue my journey west.”

He repeated his greeting phrase
“I am the Gatekeeper, I do not faze.
At your own peril may you approach,
It is my territory that you encroach.
So, leave, go as you came,
This is not some adolescent game.”

“My quest, it carries me on,
I refuse to retreat for I am not your pawn.
Move to the side and let me advance,
I must go, it can’t be left to chance.
For the Gatekeeper you may be,
But I must go to Grimly Reap.”

Recycled - My Obit

Feeling green this week so I'm recycling this from 2009

When times comes for me to be worm food, this is what my obit should say:

It comes as not much of a shock
Here lies the remains of Walk
Born a pipeliner's son
He never owned a golden gun
Instead he turned to the pen
And wrote of mice and men
Words was his prey
Until he fell into the bay
He sank like a rock
Our good friend Walk.

Alumni Reunion

All you alumni from Beginner's Writers Workshop with our favorite teacher Ann, please go to her site (in the favorite blog column at the right) and drop her a message. She'd like to know what y'all have been up to.

Why you're at it, jump in one of the discussions and leave a bit of your writing behind.

See ya there.

Book Review - Baer Truth

Another cyber friend, Linda McMaken, has published a book, "The Three Baers, Book One: Baer Truth". Like my last review of Linda Yezak's Book "Give The Lady A Ride" this is a modern day Cowboy romance. And like Linda Y, Linda Mc's (confused yet) characters are well defined and lovable, in fact I'm in love with Tessa, when you read it you'll figure out why. There are several laugh out loud parts, which come at unexpected times, a very enjoyable read. It is the first of a trilogy about three brothers, which has it's twist in itself, the oldest, Joe, is the hero in this one. This is Linda's first book, but she has written articles for several magazines, she the Senior News Editor for Reader's Entertainment News, Senior Media Marketing Manager, and scriptwriter for COS Productions, and she also has a blog which you can click on over on the right in my blog list.

Linda, good job, I'm waiting patiently for book Two.

A Long Dark Highway - Finally

He awoke to the smell of stale cigarette smoke and pickled herring. He immediately lost all bile that was in his stomach, causing his head to fill with pain. "That's it," he thought, "I finally made it to hell." He tried opening his eyes, but all that was there was darkness. He searched for any small trace of light that might indicate a door or window, but all he saw was darkness. "I'm blind." he said out loud, the sound of his voice made him jump. He felt around and came to the conclusion that his room was about six feet wide and 10 feet long. What he thought was the door was in the middle of one of the six foot walls, but no hinges, or no door knob. He felt the crease in his forehead, it was still moist, slowly oozing blood and sweat. He put his back again the wall opposite the door and sat down. "It's another fine mess you've gotten me into Stanley."

The sudden screech of an eagle over loud speakers caused him to jump to his feet. He immediately fell to his knees as he became light headed because of his head wound. Lights flashed on and off, her laughter boomed, echoing off the wall, then the worst came as she started playing Lady Gaga. He put his hands over his ears but the noise was just too loud. Then her voice came boomed, "Give it to me. Give it to me," over and over and over.

"No! You'll never get it. Never," he yelled at the top of his lungs. The noise stopped immediately and the door cracked open. She stood there with his Glock in her hand, up to the temple of his best friend.

"Give it to me. This piece of trash is all that cares for you. Are you going to give that up for it?"

He stood there looking into the two pairs of eyes. One full of hope, one full of hatred. "Ok, you win. I put it next to your collection of Bibles, I knew you'd never find it there."

"It had better be there, or I'll hunt you down and next time I won't just graze you." She threw him his gun, "It's not loaded anyway." She laughed all the way out the room, and headed straight to her study. After moving a dusty pile of Bibles, she saw it, "That clever SOB, I'd never would have looked for it two feet from my desk." She slowly picked it up and ran her hand over it. The hairs on her arms stood on end as her excitement climaxed. "Finally, my very own copy of Pee Wee Herman's Big Adventure."

A Long Dark Highway - Smoke If You Have Them

The tire smoke looked all convoluted through the broken windshield, but the smell left no doubt that the tires did their job and shut the Mustang down. "Glad it's a rental." he thought as he pushed the door open. He stood on the bridge, and scratched his head. The sign said "Bridge Out" but it's not, it spans the creek perfectly. That feeling came back to him, his "Spidey Sense", and the hair stood up on his neck again. He reached for the Glock but then remembered he put it in the seat next to him.

He turned and started to run for the car, he just about made it before the shot rang out and the bullet put a crease in his forehead. As the dawn turned to dusk, and dusk to dark he hears her laughter ringing in his ears. His last thought was that now she would never get what she wanted most in the world.

A Long Dark Highway - Road Signs

"You'll never get it, even if you rip my beating heart out of my chest, you'll never get it. Only I know where it is, and only I can retrieve it, so take the bacon and shove it."

"You are so cute, trying to act all tough and such. You'll give it to me, you know I'll find you wherever you try to hide. I found you here, I'll find you there." She looked out the window at the sun peeking over the horizon, "Looks, like another beautiful sunrise."

I slowly moved my left hand around to my Glock, yeah, it's not my gun hand but at this distance I don't think I could miss.

"Leave the gun alone, Romeo, you'll never get a shot off." The hair on my neck bristled, I could feel my blood pressure rise, I slid out of the booth, threw a twenty on the counter and without a word, walk out, sounds of her laughter echoing between my ears.

Gravel flew as I hit the pavement. I headed back the way I came, headed back to the only home I have ever knew. Once there, she would be on my turf, on my terms, it was going to end my way.

I never saw the "BRIDGE OUT" sign until I hit it.

A Long Dark Highway - Breakfast Is Served

She pulled herself into the booth just as Ambrose brought her meal. "Two eggs, hash browns, biscuits and gray and a double order of bacon. Is there anything else?" Ambrose said as he glanced down at her cleavage.

"How about some privacy?", she spouted back at him. Ambrose turned and walked behind the counter shaking his head.

"So, in what way are you going to ruin my life this time?" I said as I looked into her eyes. "You don't show up unless you're bored and want to screw with me."

"O ye of little faith. I only want one thing." she said as she crunched some bacon.

The hair stood up on my neck and I started to wonder if I should pull the Glock. I knew what she wanted, she's wanted it for years, and I also knew that if I gave it to her she would leave me alone and I could once again settle down. I just wish it was that simple, because there was no way I could, or would, give it to her.

A Long Dark Highway, continued

The cold metal barrel of my Glock was hard against the small of my back, where it was stuck in my waistband. She knew I had it, I always did, and she knew I'd use it, I usually did. I tried to open the driver's car door, it was locked. I slowly put the key in and turned the lock, my hand slowly opened the door, I wouldn't put it pass her to blow us both up for spite. As I stepped in, her perfume enveloped me, I missed that fragrance, and the feelings that came with it.

"So, come here often?" I ask in my best tough guy voice.

"I would really like some bacon and eggs." she said without eye contact.

Bacon, I thought, damn, I forgot bacon with my eggs. "If you want a meal, you better hurry before the rush starts."

She looked at me, a shy smile across her lips, "I forgot your stupid, dumb-as-a-rock humor. Let's go, we can talk inside."

Ambrose looked funny at me as we walked to a booth in the back. "Same as I had, Ambrose, except add some bacon."

She said, "I need to freshen up." Ambrose pointed to the other end of the diner. As she walked away from us, Ambrose smiled and said, "Wow, she is gorgeous, you sure work fast."

"An old fiend." I said.

"You mean an old friend?"

"No, fiend, she took the 'our' out of friend a long time ago."

A Long Dark Highway

This late at night the highway seems void and endless. This night is starless and the asphalt stretches out before me sucking up the glow of my headlights. My eyes ache as they strain to see ahead of me, my mouth is dry and my stomach growling. Lightening flashes in my mirror as I notice a faint glow of lights ahead of me.

I pull into an all night diner, you have seen them, sitting there like they were back in the 60's, needing a fresh coat of paint and someone to wash the windows. This one was one of those that looked like an old passenger train car that derailed and came to rest next to a couple of huge boulders. As I turn off the engine and lights, I look inside and see only the cook behind the counter, dressed like Mel from the TV show "Alice", cigarettes rolled up in his t-shirt and a goofy hat on his head. Something looked familiar about him, I couldn't place it, but it put me at ease about going in.

I looked around as I walked through the front door, the booths are lined up along the front of the place, with the red stools standing attention around the counter. A round glass case is sitting there with a couple of pies left in it. I sit next to the pies at the counter, the red stool is pretty comfortable, the vinyl squeaked as shifted my weight. The place was surprisingly clean compared to the outside, the chrome sparkled, the air clean, the coffee hot.

I found out that Mel's name was really Ambrose, and that he quit his job on Wall Street, bought this diner, and the rest, he said, was history. He said he loved what he was doing, meeting people and filling their stomachs. He filled mine very well with two eggs, hash browns, biscuits and gravy, a piece of lemon pie, and more coffee. I had miles to go before I slept so I had to bid Mel, I mean Ambrose, goodbye.

The early morning air was crisp and awakened the senses. I stood outside the door and breathed in a couple of deep breathes, and turned to waved at Ambrose. As I turned I noticed the reflection in the front window. I could clearly see that someone was in my car, and I could clearly see that I knew who it was. How could she find me here, and at this time of morning?

Dreams and Memories

It was a fond memory, or a dream, either way I know that I'm fond of it. It was a simpler time before life grabbed hold and threw me down a path to where I am, to what I've become.

I loved that time of my life, and I loved often. Hearts were broken, mine and theirs, and hearts were set afire with passion. Or should I say lust. We would walk the railroad tracks to "our private spot" and spent the day encased in each others arms, and the quilt. The birds sang to our beat, the wind played its melody as it swept across us, nature turned off the sounds of the world so we could listen to each other's heart beat.

That is until the train came by, shattering our world, pulling us back to reality. I can still see the eyes of two older ladies who sat in the third passenger car, two rows from the back, as they realized what they were seeing. Was it disappointment in this younger generation that glared back at me? Was it disgust? Was it envy? Was it a fond memory, or a dream, that they remembered from years past?

We laughed, hoping our grandparents weren't their friends, and started back down the railroad tracks to my car. She looked up at me and said something like this, "I don't think I will ever have another day as good as this one." I don't know about her, but life did get sweeter with a few sour spots along the way. What I could tell her now is that love, true love, is much sweeter than lust. That lust, no matter how good it is, lasts for only the moment, love lasts forever and a day.

It may be a fond memory, or a dream, but it is unique to me, for me. One of millions that has piled on day after day, made just for me. And when these memories come flooding back, I smile and once again relive that moment in time.

Review: Give The Lady A Ride

I'm beginning to realize something, I enjoy the work of new authors over the over-published pros. With the old pros you get the same ole same ole. With a new author you have no expectations and usually I enjoy the book more than the pros. I've posted on a couple of other authors who fell into this category that I've had the privilege to converse with, to drop names K.M.Weiland, Michael Snyder and John Robinson, and their books were excellent. Now you can add another name to that list, one that some of you may already know, Linda W. Yezak.

I posted a few months back that her book was being published and posted a trailer for it. Well, it has been out for a couple of months and I finally got around to reading it, and I was pleasantly surprised. I really liked it. There have been too few books that when I finished that last page I wished there was a few chapters more. There have been even fewer books that when I finished that last page I already missed the characters in it. This book did that for me.

I guess I identified with the main character, Talon, because he is a chick magnet. He is also a cowboy, a real ranch hand, cow puncher. Being an Okie and having real cowboy blood flowing through my veins, I quickly and easily identified with him.

I'm not going to give away the plot or the characters, but you can probably guess the plot as it's a romance but you won't guess the twists that Linda crafted so well. The characters, especially the cowboys, are believable and the descriptions of the various locations, from rodeo arena to bunk house, was well written.

Linda, congrats on a good book, and following your dream. I'm patiently waiting on the sequel or whatever else you may put into words. I hope you continue to enjoy your marketing and all aspects of your writer's journey.

Hot In Okieland

It's so hot here the egg won't fry on the sidewalk because it's already hard boiled before you can crack it open. It's not the heat that is so brutal, but the 30 and 40 mph wind that seems to never die out. I now know what a blast furnace feels like.

It's so hot here that the other day the farmer that runs cows next to my place lost his herd. He had planted popcorn, it got so hot it all popped, the cows saw all that white popcorn on the ground, thought it was snow and froze to death. I tell ya, its brutal here.

The weather report might as well be a recording: Hot and sunny. It's been too hot to do anything for two months and the weatherman says it might really warm up next week. Doesn't it ever rain in this barren desert? We've had 2.88 inches of rain this year. The grass is as dead as in winter, at least I don't have to mow.

A buddy missed his cat sneaking into his car the other morning. When he went out to lunch the cat had swollen up to the size of a shopping bag and exploded all over his Lexus' leather interior. He told the kids it ran away. Now when you walk by his car it smells like Kibbles and S@%#.

Tried to run some errands after work. Wore shorts and sat on the black leather seating in the ol' car. I thought my butt was on fire. I lost two layers of flesh.

If someone else wise cracks, "Hot enough for you today?", I may be calling you for bail money.

A little update:

The Southwestern part of Oklahoma has been put into the "exceptional drought" category. That's about as bad as it gets on a climatological scale. 33% of the State is effected in this category. As you move east it is less severe. According to the stats, this is the driest year since 1921. Dust bowl was in the 30's after years of drought and over farming of the land.

Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-4

They tell me its all in the eyes,
Truth or maybe lies,
In the eyes are no guise.

Differ I will, differ I must,
With much disgust, distrust.
For my belief is honorable and just.

The eyes are noble and able.
They cause trust, can disable,
One look and know if you are stable.

So look me in the eye if you will,
What do you see, a thrill or a chill?
Maybe the skill to kill?

What you see today may differ tomorrow,
They could be filled with joy or sorrow.
What will the soul borrow?

For in eyes beauty can be seen.
Sparkling, bright, and clean.
Whether in a dinner gown or blue jean.

The eyes are what we gaze upon.
Judging whether a swan or a Khan.
What do you trust on?

Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-3

A fly
On a window screen
Working to get out,
After working to get in.
Spending it's short life
Within a fraction
Of it's goal

A man
In a cubical
Working to get out
Forced to get in
Spending his short life
Insignificant
A shadow

The difference
May not be clear
Similar destiny
A fly lives
With wings on earth
A man get wings at death
And flys

Feeling Profound Today

From an e-mail and unknown author:


READ THIS VERY SLOWLY .... IT'S PRETTY PROFOUND.

Too many people put off something that brings them joy just because they haven't thought about it, don't have it on their schedule, didn't know it was coming or are too rigid to depart from their routine. I got to thinking one day about all those people on the Titanic who passed up dessert at dinner that fateful night in an effort to cut back. From then on, I've tried to be a little more flexible.

How many women out there will eat at home because their husband didn't suggest going out to dinner until after something had been thawed? Does the word 'refrigeration' mean nothing to you?

How often have your kids dropped in to talk and sat in silence while you watched 'Jeopardy' on television? I cannot count the times I called my sister and said , 'How about going to lunch in a half hour?' She would gas up and stammer, 'I can't. I have clothes on the line. My hair is dirty. I wish I had known yesterday, I had a late breakfast, It looks like rain' And my personal favorite: 'It's Monday.' She died a few years ago. We never did have lunch together.

Because Americans cram so much into their lives, we tend to schedule our headaches. We live on a sparse diet of promises we make to ourselves when all the conditions are perfect! We'll go back and visit the grandparents when we get Steve toilet-trained. We'll entertain when we replace the living-room carpet. We'll go on a second honeymoon when we get two more kids out of college. Life has a way of accelerating as we get older, the days get shorter, and the list of promises to ourselves gets longer. One morning, we awaken, and all we have to show for our lives is a litany of 'I'm going to,' 'I plan on,' and 'Someday, when things are settled down a bit.'

When anyone calls my 'seize the moment' friend, she is open to adventure and available for trips. She keeps an open mind on new ideas. Her enthusiasm for life is contagious. You talk with her for five minutes, and you're ready to trade your bad feet for a pair of Rollerblades and skip an elevator for a bungee cord.

My lips have not touched ice cream in 10 years. I love ice cream. It's just that I might as well apply it directly to my stomach with a spatula and eliminate the digestive process. The other day, I stopped the car and bought a triple-decker. If my car had hit an iceberg on the way home, I would have died happy.

Now...go on and have a nice day. Do something you WANT to...not something on your SHOULD DO list. If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting?

Have you ever watched kids playing on a merry go round or listened to the rain lapping on the ground? Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight or gazed at the sun into the fading night? Do you run through each day on the fly? When you ask 'How are you?' Do you hear the reply?When the day is done, do you lie in your bed with the next hundred chores running through your head? Ever told your child, 'We'll do it tomorrow.' And in your haste, not see his sorrow? Ever lost touch? Let a good friendship die? Just call to say 'Hi'? When you worry and hurry through your day, it is like an unopened gift....Thrown away.... Life is not a race. Take it slower. Hear the music before the song is over. Show your friends how much you care.

Life may not be the party we hoped for... but while we are here we might as well dance!

I Heart You

Since I haven't posted since the last time I posted, I thought I'd better post something. Here is a resurrected story, a retread, so if you've read it before, I hope you enjoy it again.

Six grade was a hard year for her. Helen was the class out-cast, being overweight and from the wrong side of the tracks made her the brunt of many jokes. Now the worst day of the year for her was coming, Valentine's Day. She knew they would decorate some shoe box to sit on their desks so that everyone would put their store bought Valentine's cards in them. She knew that she wouldn't be given any cards, just like last year and the year before, and so she didn't ask her mom to buy her any cards to give. Tears soaked her pillow that night as the dread of another day and more disappointment loomed before her.

He was the rich kid of the class. Born into money that his ancestors made on the backs of slaves and convicts. Somehow Patrick was different from his family. He loved life, not because of what he had, but because he enjoyed the creation around him. He would sit for hours on Saturdays watching the birds feed and water in his back yard. He would take photographs of the changing seasons and then paint magnificent works that even impressed his father. "Not bad for a kid, but don't think that you could make a living at that. You need to start preparing yourself for the real world, to follow in my footsteps…." yada yada yada. He believed in passion, even at his young age, and knew in his heart that he would follow that passion. His favorite time of year was approaching, Valentine's Day. The day that he would get a card from his parents that told him that they loved him. He would wear the card out looking it over and over throughout the year.

Patrick worked on his Valentine box with the artistic ability that he painted by. Everyone was amazed at how beautiful it turned out. "Typical," Helen thought, "the rich kid gets all the good paper and glue and stuff to make his box beautiful. All I had was some worn out fabic and a few buttons to dress mine up with." Patrick placed his box on the front of his desk and stared at it the rest of the day, content in what he had created. During the lunch break he walked around the classroom and admired what others had done to theirs. The last one he looked at was Helen's. He noticed the worn fabic and the chipped and broken buttons that covered the box. He also noticed that the corners were neat and folded like how his Christmas presents was wrapped.

"Helen did a good job with what she had." the teacher said startling Patrick.

"Yes she did." Patrick replied. The words "what she had" echoed in his mind. "What she had." Until that moment he hadn't realized how blessed he was compared to the rest of the world. He decided he would try to brighten Helen's world somehow.

That night Patrick laid out the construction paper, crayons, glue and glitter. He found his favorite pair of scissors and sat down to make a card. Not any Valentine card, but one that Helen would remember her whole life. The next day was Valentines Day and he wanted to make it special for Helen. This year there would be no store bought card for Helen.

Time came for the Valentine's day party. Recess was over and the kids came back into the room to find cupcakes on their desks and balloons tied to their chairs. The home room mothers had transformed this classroom into a fantasy land during the short recess time. The kids all ran to their desks, except Helen, and she slowly walked to her back row corner desk. She liked the way her desk was decorated and that uplifted her mood. She slid into her chair and waited on permission to eat her cupcake. She decided that she'd take half of it home to her mother, as she rarely received any such treat.

"OK, class. It's time to enjoy your goodies. Go ahead and open your Valentine boxes and you can eat your cupcakes too." The noise level increased as the kids talked and laughed together. Patrick turned to see if Helen had read her card yet, but she just sat there slowly munching on the cupcake. He then noticed that she wrapped half of it in her napkin and put it in her lunch pail. He stood and walked back to her desk, "Helen, would you like to take my cupcake home. I'm not supposed to eat sweets much and I'd like you to have it."

Helen looked at him with disbelief. Someone was actually talking to her and not making fun of her. "I'd like that," she said.

"Good, here ya go. By the way, I made a card for you last night."

Helen about tore the box in half trying to get to his card. To her surprise her box was full of cards, all hand made. Some were well done, some were just thrown together, but they were all given to her. Her eyes filled with tears and as she looked up, the whole class was looking at her. Ronnie, the brat of the class, walked up to her, "Helen, I'm sorry that I've been such a jerk. You're pretty cool to have taken all the ribbing that I dished out." One by one the class passed by Helen and gave her a hug, or some kind of encouragement. She looked at her teacher, whom also had tears streaming down her face.

"Class, I'm so proud of you. That is what this holiday is all about, love. Patrick realized the hard time Helen was having and mentioned it to you. You didn't have to do anything, but you did. Now Helen knows that you like her and I can tell by the tears in her eyes that you have touched her heart. So class, Happy Valentines day, and thank you for teaching me the true meaning of loving one another."

Helen ran home after school and excitedly told her mother about what had happened. She showed her the cupcake and each card and repeated word for word what each one had said to her. Her mom smiled as her eyes teared up at the change she saw in her daughter. Helen spent the rest of the evening looking over her treasures. Her mother spent the rest of the evening thanking God for what had happened.

Helen and Patrick became close friends and grew up together, but that is another story for later.

Give The Lady A Ride

A good friend, Linda Yezak, has her novel debut coming up in a matter of days. I've read a few chapters and now can't wait for the whole shooting match, or should I say rodeo. Here is a video trailer for her book, "Give The Lady A Ride". Click the link to the right on 777 Peppermint Place and give Linda a high five, she's also giving away some nifty prizes.

Hope you don't mind Linda, I copied your cover and stuck it in here also. If there is some copywrite problem, I can remove it.

Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-2

I sit with my head in my hands
Life slipping by,
Not knowing where it will land.

The wind is blowing the dust
To regions yet unseen,
Upon my heart, a dagger is thrust.

The wounds are deep
Though the bleeding shallow,
Bandages wet and seep.

Upon each the time has come
Slowly, one by one.
The slow cadence of a bass drum.

The pain is eased, the light turns bright
Such is the seasons of life.
Such is why I fight.

By Request

A certain friend , I won't mention any names(OK shaddy), was snooping in my profile on Facebook and noticed that I painted. She said to show her some if I would, and since I don't think she'll be coming to Okieland any time soon, here are a few.

This first painting was my first painting. I copied the idea out of a book the teacher had, in writing words, I plagiarized it. As you'll see, I like painting scenery.


The second one with the window view is my mother's favorite. It is also a plagiarized painting.


The third with the horses is all my idea. The landscape is from North Central Kansas with the rolling hills and rock fence posts. The horses is from a picture I took of my father's horses.


The wind mill is from a picture I took somewhere. I liked it because it the foreground is in shadows.


The last one could only come from my mind. It is painted on a slate shingle that was from a 1800's Texas ranch house.


All the paintings are oil on canvas except for the slate. I've also painted a couple of saws, but they aren't "in style" now.

Weight Update

As of today, total loss of 36.6 lbs. 40 more to go.

Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-1

I am under pressure. The first post of a new year should be something profound and meaningful. I ain't one of those types of people. The most profound thing I can remember is when Noah said, "It looks like rain." Several of my favorite blogs first post this year have some kind of meaning, like "What I learned last year", "What I'm striving for in this new year", "I'm going to do this this year," and on and on and on.

So what can I post that is meaningful? I've got nana. So maybe it's time for a "Why I Don't Write Poetry" post. Yeah, lets see where that will lead:

Why I Don't Write Poetry 1011-1

A new beginning in this new year,
New laughter, new tears, new treasures, new fears.
New paths to wander,
New thoughts to ponder.
Words to write that was left unwritten,
Muse's prompts that was once hidden.

I choose to go the way that I walk,
To ink the metamorphic rock.
To look at the world through my eyes,
Then edit, polish and revise.
Though I may often fall short,
My desire cannot be thwart.

This year I send you blessings,
Of every kind, wrapped in different dressings.
Dream your greatest dreams,
May your eyes shine and gleam.
Fight that which is your greatest strife,
But most of all, thank you for touching my life.