Sunday, March 26, 2017

An Early Autumn?

While everyone else was celebrating the arrival of Spring last week, I went straight to Fall...

I can’t really explain how this happened because, well, I’m not really sure. Here’s what I know: On Tuesday morning, I let one of my dogs out but apparently, I was supposed to stay inside. At least I SHOULD have stayed inside. Hindsight never really helped prevent anything though.

I took two steps (I think) out the door and the next thing I knew, I was hitting the deck—literally. I barely had time to be aware of the sudden jolt of landing (on my back) when my head slammed back onto the deck and everything went black.

I’m not sure how long I was out. Not long I don’t think, but then, it’s kind of hard to tell. When I came to, everything was a little hazy, I wasn’t even aware of the rain until later realizing I was soaked. I do remember reaching up to see if the back of my head was still intact. It was!

But then, I tried to get up and that didn’t really work. I called to my wife through the still open door. She came and helped me to my feet and after a bit of effort got me back inside the house.

Once I was able to stand on my own, my wife and I went through a series of tests to see if I was physically well and of a sound mind. (I know, that last part is questionable even under the best of conditions). Among the tests of mobility, balance, ability to focus, and talk, was a memory test—long term and short term. During the memory tests, I rattled off various strings of numbers such as: my driver’s license number, social security number, bank account number, etc. This turned out to be a useless endeavor though, since my wife had no idea if the numbers were right. So, I recited HER social security number to which she replied, “I think that’s it.”

“Really?” I said. “Whose memory are we testing here?”

We finally decided I was fine—sort of. My memory was okay and after regaining my wits after waking up from the fall, there seemed to be nothing amiss. Thankfully, there were no broken bones—as far as I could tell. But I did seem to have a lot of pain, which only worsened when I moved. For the next several days, the pain continued—every bone and muscle in my body was sore. Everything except my head. Strangely, that didn’t hurt at all. But then, everyone already knew I was hard headed! ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.


______________________________


Current Reads






Monday, March 20, 2017

Roses Are Red, And Orange, White, Yellow, Purple, And...

I like roses. Lots of roses with a lot of colors. And since long ago my wife told me that buying her roses was a waste of money (because they die), I “invested” in rose bushes for the house. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, the front of our house is lined with rose bushes—twenty-two to be exact. These used to make almost a solid hedge of hundreds of different colored roses. Sadly, after eighteen years, some of the bushes are not producing like they once did. This leaves big gaps with no flowers, which doesn’t look good at all.

So, this year, I decided to replace them. Originally, when I put them in, it wasn’t that much work. And at $1.99 per rose bush, not that expensive either. Ah, but things change.

First, I made a trip to the store and promptly came down with a bad case of sticker shock. I know we’re told there has been virtually no inflation for the last couple of decades but the roses tell quite a different story. They were on sale and still $5.99 each. I quickly made the decision to replace only the worst bushes and save the rest for later. I ended up buying only nine.

Then, on Sunday afternoon I started digging out the old bushes. It didn’t take long to realize it would be a little longer job than I had anticipated. The roots were six to eight inches in diameter and being underground, I didn’t really want to use a Sawzall. So, I chipped away at them with a spade shovel.

Five hours later, I was done. The new bushes set and the yard cleaned up. And only two blisters on my hands! Not bad but I had planned on maybe an hour for the whole job. Although, that’s typically what happens when I schedule time for anything—it always takes longer. Usually not five times longer though. And now, I’m a little tired. Not used to all this manual labor stuff!

But, the job is done now and even looks pretty decent. Soon, with the help of Miracle Grow, we’ll have our hedge of colorful roses back. At least that’s the idea. The bad news is, I still have several bushes to replace. The good news is, not until next year! ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________



Current Reads






Monday, March 13, 2017

Bad Timing

I feel like I’ve been gypped. No, it doesn’t involve money, or even property. No one stole anything tangible from me. What I’ve lost is time. And I don’t mean because I’m getting old. Besides, I’m not really that old yet, despite what my kids, and grandkids, may think.

The time I’m speaking of is relatively insignificant—at least in the amount. But it’s the principle of the thing that matters. And this past weekend I was robbed of an hour of my time. A full hour! I know, it happens every year and normally, it wouldn’t be that upsetting to me. (Although, I’m pretty sure I’ve complained about it before). But this year... well, I picked the wrong time for a three-day weekend.

Due to the time change, instead of getting my full 84 hours off, as I would for a typical three-day weekend, I will only be receiving 83. Sad, I know. Woe is me.

I mentioned this to some of the guys at work last Friday, and for some reason, got no sympathy. None. Perhaps it was my lack of communication skills but I couldn’t make them see that my weekend would be coming up short. They just didn’t get it. One of them even had the audacity to suggest I be happy that I didn’t have to show up for work on Monday! Well okay, I AM happy about that.

Still, there’s the matter of the missing hour. An hour of my life that is just gone, and I didn’t even get to live it! Received nothing in exchange for it either, it simply vanished. I think the only way to avoid feeling ripped off, is to schedule another three-day weekend, approximately six months from now. Yep, think I’ll do that as soon as I go back to work—on Tuesday! ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________



Current Reads






Sunday, March 5, 2017

Three-Year-Old Logic

So, I have a cold again, or maybe still, not quite sure. It’s never really left all winter. Just when I start feeling better, here it comes again. This time it’s returned with a vengeance. Coughing, itchy and watery eyes, sneezing, runny nose and then a stopped up nose, sinus pressure, sore throat, the whole bit. I’m sure I don’t need to describe what a cold is like—at least not to most people.

However, my three-year-old grandson seemed to have a little confusion over it. We were in the grocery store last night and he wanted me to push him really fast in the cart. When I said I didn’t have the energy to run because I had a cold, he instantly offered to warm me up. He rubbed his hands over my arms and shoulders and then asked if I was still cold.

I explained that I wasn’t really cold; that what I’d meant was I was sick. That turned out to be a mistake. His next questions were, “Do you need to go to the hospital? Are you dying?”

I told him I would be fine, that it was just a cold. And then tried again (unsuccessfully) to explain what a cold was. He gave me a look that said he thought I was perhaps sicker than I’d realized: talking in circles and not making any sense.

Later at home, as I sat in the chair and watched while he played, he suddenly asked, “Are you okay?” I must have looked as miserable as I felt but I assured him I was fine. He said, “You’re not cold anymore?”

Again, I went through what a cold was and that it didn’t necessarily mean someone was cold when they said they had a cold. “Oh,” he said, as if it all made perfect sense now. Then immediately he asked, “So why is it called a cold then?”

I remember wondering that myself when I was a kid. I shrugged. “Just to make people like you ask questions, I guess.”

“Grandpa,” he said, with a stern look. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is an answer,” I said. “Maybe not a good one but I don’t want to try explaining anything else tonight.”

“Because you have a cold?”

“Yeah,” I said, thinking we were right back where we’d started. I’m not sure the night was all that productive in the learning category! ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________



Current Reads





Monday, February 27, 2017

February Thaw

Saturday. The weekend. The sky was clear and sunny, temperature in the upper forties, and very little wind. A perfect day—for this time of year. And with most of the snow now gone, a perfect day to spend outdoors.

As you might expect, there were plenty of people out and about, enjoying the long awaited break in the wintery weather. It was good to hear the sounds of spring. While I didn’t hear any lawn mowers, people were busy cleaning, doing yard work, building things, working on cars, etc. Some were just hanging out, doing nothing. I think everyone shared the same sentiment; just glad to have something other than snow and cold.

Even the birds seemed happy and cheerful. They were chirping away, flying from tree to tree, occasionally landing on the ground, and then doing a little dance. I think they were surprised, and relieved, that the snow was all gone. They seemed in awe of the fact they could actually see the ground!

The sunshine definitely appeared to brighten the day—in more ways than one.

So, what did I do on this perfect day? Well, after taking about fifteen minutes to change the oil in my wife’s car, I worked inside. Yep, inside. The rest of the day. Sad, I know. But I did get a lot done; things that had to be done. And I was able to see the sunshine through the window! Still, inside is not the place to be on a perfect day. Not to worry though. After an unusually long winter, there are plenty of things waiting to be done outside as well. However, those things will have to wait. How long? Not sure. Until the next perfect day, I guess. ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________


Current Reads




Monday, February 20, 2017

Slick Trick

I thought winter was over. Yes, I know it’s still February, but after a few days of good roads, I was hopeful. Sadly, this past Tuesday night I learned winter was not quite finished yet.

As a truck driver for the last twenty-some years, I’ve come to despise winter. Driving on slick roads every day can get old. Worse yet, it’s making me old, I think. What hair I have left is turning gray, and whether it’s accurate or not, I’m blaming the winter driving.

But back to my story. I was almost done with my run, only about 50 miles to go, when the rain started. The temperature was 27 degrees. I kept up my speed for a few miles but when the sides of the road began sparkling, I decided to back it down a little.

I was catching up to another truck and debating on whether or not to pass. Knowing there was a bridge coming up—a bridge that is notoriously slick, and built on a curve—I slowed down more and stayed behind the guy. We were traveling about 30 mph and all was well.

But the car that had been rapidly gaining on us didn’t slow down. The driver passed us both and pulled back into the right lane. Then about a half mile ahead, just before he crossed the bridge I saw the brake lights come on. And that’s when all the fun began.

As the car did a few 360’s in the middle of the freeway, the other truck and I slowed down as much as we could (without using the brakes). The car came to a stop right on the dotted line but left us enough room to squeeze by—barely. We were now moving about 5 mph and that would prove to be too fast.

I saw the truck in front of me start sliding the moment he hit the bridge. His trailer turned sideways and he drifted to the left side of the bridge. At this point, I still had a little control and I moved al the way to the right, trying to avoid him. But then I crossed onto the bridge and at 5 mph started a slow slide to the left with my trailer fishtailing behind me. And there wasn’t a thing I could do.

Just to give you a feel for the situation, I’m in a 100,000 lb rig, on a bridge, sliding to the edge, with no control. I couldn’t steer or accelerate, and I knew better than to hit the brakes. And at this time of year, I was pretty sure the water below was COLD.

It’s funny how things slow down at times like this. Of course, at 5 mph, I was barely moving anyway but still...  As everything slowed down, I had time to consider my options, which came down to either: jump out or keep going and hope for the best. One thing I knew, I most certainly didn’t want to stop. I’d be a sitting duck when more traffic showed up, which could be at any moment. And since I didn’t really want to jump out, I kept my foot on the throttle. But with no traction, that may have been pointless.

I saw the truck in front of me slam into the side of the bridge and then start sliding the other way. Figuring that was as good a plan as any, I turned my wheel all the way to the right, hoping the tire stuck out past the fender. (No need to go smashing up the truck unnecessarily). I wasn’t sure but it seemed to work and bouncing off the guardrail, I joined the tuck ahead of me in sliding to the right.

We proceeded all the way across the bridge like that, bouncing our way to the other side. Thankfully, no other traffic came by. Once off the bridge, we could get a little traction. By little, I mean we got up to about 10 mph, then slowly climbed to 15 mph. We couldn’t go any faster. And that was fine with me. I was no longer in that much of a hurry. Apparently, neither was the other driver.

Two hours later, I finished my run without any further incidents. Once the truck was parked, I checked for damage and there was none! Not even any marks on the tires!
So, all in all, a good night!

Later, I started thinking how the car that wrecked probably saved me. If I’d hit that bridge at 30 mph, I doubt the flimsy guardrail would have been much of a hindrance. Most likely, the truck would have plowed right through it on its way to the river below.

I was already wishing winter was over, and now, more so. But, this week’s forecast calls for... snow. And more freezing rain. Yay! ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________


Current Reads




Sunday, February 12, 2017

Gross Negligence

I really should be fully awake before attempting things like brushing my teeth. At the very least, I should probably make sure that I’m using toothpaste before sticking the brush in my mouth. But as you can readily ascertain from this opening, I did neither of those things.

I’d just gotten up on Sunday morning and was getting ready for church. As usual, I was in a hurry. I was ready to leave but still needed to brush my teeth so I grabbed the brush and “toothpaste.” Only after I began brushing did I realize that instead of my Sensodyne toothpaste, I’d used a tube of Desitin. For those who may not know, Destin is a zinc oxide cream used primarily to treat rashes, specifically, babies’ diaper rash. It and the toothpaste tube look strangely similar if both are laying on the counter.

Surprisingly, the stuff didn’t taste bad. There wasn’t really a taste to it at all. It was more of a weird texture that seemed to coat the entire inside of my mouth. The problem with that is, Destin is a very thick and stiff cream and resistant to water. So, it took some time to remove it from my teeth and mouth. I finally used a dry wash cloth to wipe away most of the cream and then brushed my teeth (with actual toothpaste this time, and a different brush). Then I brushed them again. And still not satisfied the Destin was completely gone; I used a very large dose of mouthwash. I then drank a can of Dr. Pepper—just for good measure.

Although, I didn’t read the label, I’m pretty sure Destin isn’t too harmful. It IS used on babies after all. Still, it was the idea. Just kind of disgusting. On a positive note however, my teeth seem to be rash free at the moment! ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________


Current Reads



Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Rave Reviews Book Club Spotlight Author - Suzanne Burke

Today, it is an honor to host Rave Reviews Books Club's Spotlight Author, Suzanne Burke! When you've finished reading her post, be sure to check out her book, Acts of Redemption. And for a schedule of her blog stops visit Rave Reviews Book Club. Now, here's Suzanne...





Hi!
Welcome to Day 4 of my RRBC “SPOTLIGHT” Author Blog Tour! I am thrilled to have you join me. My heartfelt 'Thank you' to my generous host!
 I thought I’d share with you some of the locations ‘Acts Beyond Redemption’ visits on its’ journey.
THE GREEN SLOPES OF AFGHANISTAN. Near Dasht-e-Shadian In spring.
Where the ancient custom of training horse and rider for ‘Buzkashi’ tournaments takes place, on the edge of the Hindu Kush.




THE NEW YORK OFFICES OF THE FBI
This is the H.Q of the ‘Countdown Murders’ Task force team.


THE BUSY, BEAUTIFUL, DANGEROUS STREETS OF NEW YORK.CITY.
Where all the team, lived, laughed and cried.


1600 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE WASHINGTON D.C.
The residence of President of The United States, Elizabeth Shea.


A HUNTING LODGE CALLED HEAVENS’ GATE.
The only place that could ever give Sheila Harrington peace.


All of these amazing locations feature strongly in my book.
The sequel will take you on a different tour.
A very different tour.
I do hope you have enjoyed a brief sojourn into some of the locations inhabited by the characters of Acts Beyond Redemption.



Thanks so very much for stopping by, and I do hope you'll join me on the next stop of my Rave Reviews Book Club Spotlight Author Tour.



Suzanne Burke lives, laughs, writes and enjoys her life in the beautiful harbor-side city of Sydney Australia.
She is a mother and grandmother, now in her sixties, and considers every moment of every day as a precious treasure to be valued and explored, and not simply endured.
Her non-fiction works are written under the pen-name of Stacey Danson.
They are both challenging and thought provoking works covering the earliest years of her life, the topic of child abuse and the PTSD that accompanied her into her later years  are not, by virtue of their subject matter an easy or comfortable read, yet so many have read them. She will be forever grateful that her readers have assisted in raising the awareness into this painful and enduring evil.
An awareness that is vital in any efforts to stem this tide of inhuman acts perpetrated on the most innocent of us all … the children.
She escapes into the world of fiction in her thriller and suspense novels, continually exploring other genres such as paranormal and dystopian, and always delighting in the magical escapism offered in the written word.
She is an avid reader and reviewer who enjoys sharing the works she explores.

Follow Suzanne online:
Twitter handle - @pursoot






Sunday, February 5, 2017

Fire Danger-High

Please forgive any typos in this post—my house is full of smoke and my eyes are a little watery as I type. My wife, the pyromaniac in the family is at it again, starting fires under the guise of cooking. I think she may be trying to get rid of all the stuff I hoard the quick and easy way.

I’ve written before about her proclivity of starting fires on the stove and in the oven. And nothing has changed. Her firebug tendency is an on-going and frequent occurrence. In fact, the most recent case (besides tonight) was only two days ago. She put some chicken in the oven and left for work. When the barbecue sauce bubbled over, things started heating up. Thankfully, my son was visiting and he took care of that one.

I should point out that she is an excellent cook. (Of course, this keeps me in a constant need of a diet)! And she has a knack for making ordinary food taste great! She just likes to add a little excitement—to keep us on our toes, I suppose. She’s even been known to start water on fire, not once, but twice!

I’m considering investing in a fire extinguisher, but that might be a waste of money. I mean, with her “skills” a fire extinguisher probably would offer no protection. I can see her setting that on fire as well!

Tonight’s episode, despite the heavy smoke and impending fire danger, ended well—with me scarfing down a savory, melt-in-your-mouth steak. As usual, the satisfying meal helped counter the anxiety of wondering if the house will burn down. So far, everything seems fine. Still, I plan to stay up a little longer—just in case. And hopefully, my wife doesn’t get up in the middle of the night for a midnight snack! ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________



Current Reads




Monday, January 30, 2017

Mouse Vs. Human

“I just saw a mouse run from behind the kitchen to the laundry room.”

That’s the text I received from my wife last week. We’ve known for a few weeks we had a mouse and I put out several traps. But the traps were not effective. I think mice are getting smarter than they used to be. But I should be smarter, right?

I used to be pretty good at catching mice. A lot of times I’ve captured ten or more in a single night. Of course, it helps when the house has so many mice that you can practically catch them by hand. I didn’t keep track of the total number I caught but it didn’t seem to make any difference anyway. It was like trying to clean up a truckload of sand one grain at a time—with a new truck coming in every day.

But we don’t live in that house anymore and we haven’t had much of problem with mice these days. Occasionally, when we’d find evidence of them, I’d put out a trap, or two, and that would be it. But this time... nothing.

So, after getting my wife’s text, I made another trip to the store. I came home with a variety of traps. They are now set and I’m waiting. Waiting to see if I am smarter than a mouse. Wish me luck ’cause so far, the mouse is winning. ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________


Current Reads




Monday, January 23, 2017

Toy Story

I remember as a kid, around age two or three, I used to think I couldn’t sleep through the night without a whole array of toys to keep me company. I’m not sure if it was not wanting to be without my toys all night long or if having them in bed with me made me feel not so alone. Whatever the reason, at that age, I was usually surrounded by stuffed animals, action figures, cars and trucks, and whatever else I could find before the dreaded bedtime arrived.

I thought I’d left that stage behind long ago but for the last several years, one of our dogs has been doing his best to take me back to my childhood. He seems to think I need as many chew toys as he can find, as well as anything else he can drag into bed. Since I work nights, my wife (and the dogs) are sleeping when I get home. And my side of the bed is usually piled high with various and sundry dog toys. I guess he feels sorry for me or something. And yes, I have tried taking them off the bed but that doesn’t work. He just waits until I’m asleep and them brings everything back.

And recently, my grandson is getting in on the act. He spends most Saturday nights at our house and lately has started piling his toys on the headboard. Last night, I counted thirteen different gadgets and gizmos (yes, times and kid’s toys have changed) lined up—on my side of the bed, of course. This is in addition to the dog’s toys.

Between the two of them, I’m well prepared, you know, just in case insomnia strikes. My grandson even told me one night that he put the toys there, so I could play with them if I  woke up before morning. I suspect his generosity may have been just to keep me happy—and make sure I didn’t move the toys.

Thing is, I’d be perfectly happy sleeping without things falling on my head during the night. Or, waking up with a sharp pain in my side after sleeping on a toy tractor. Or, having one of the electronic gizmos start buzzing in the middle of the night.

I guess they, the dog and the grandson, are just trying to keep me young. It’s working too, I think, because here I am thinking back to when I was two or three years old and reliving the past. ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________



Current Reads




Monday, January 16, 2017

Out Past Curfew

When I was a teenager, the town we lived in had a ten o’clock curfew. No one under eighteen could be out past ten. And yes, they did enforce it. And they didn’t offer much leniency. One of my friends received a citation for working on his dad’s car one night—because it was on the street and that meant he wasn’t in his yard. And his dad was there! Even going to or from a job was not a legitimate excuse for breaking curfew.

As you may know, I was never good with restrictions, especially stupid ones, so this type of insanity was bound to create problems. When I asked my dad what I should do if I “had” to be out past ten, (hypothetically, of course) he gave me some wise advice: “Don’t get caught, I guess.”

At the time, I had a job working at a grocery store and sometimes didn’t get off until ten or later, which played right into my recalcitrant nature. Usually, I walked the few blocks to the house and most nights I made it without any problem. But there were a few occasions when I had to elude a police car or two.

One particular night, I wasn’t paying attention and didn’t notice the cop until he pulled alongside the curb. Before he had a chance to get out, I took off. Still a couple of blocks from my house, I ran up the nearest driveway, crossed through a row of bushes, and then cut through the neighbors’ yards until I reached my house.

Figuring I’d lost the cop, I calmly walked around to the front door (the only door my key fit). And surprise, there was the cop parked right in front of my house. Thinking I had been caught, I expected the car door to open at any second but I kept heading for my front door. Only after I’d unlocked the door did I look at the cop car again—and in the streetlight, noticed it was empty. Then, just as I was closing the door, I saw the officer come around the corner of my house. Apparently, he’d circled the block and not seeing me, had gotten out to search on foot.

Not able to resist having a little fun, I turned on the porch light, noisily opened the door, and stuck my head out. “Can I help you?” I asked.

I think he probably knew I was the guy he’d been chasing but there must have been at least a little doubt in his mind. With a perplexed frown, he asked if I’d seen anybody outside my house in the last few minutes.

I shrugged and said, “You.”

Nodding slowly, the cop said okay and after giving me a long stare headed to his car.

Smirking to myself, I closed the door, just as my dad came into the living room wanting to know what was going on. “Cops are looking for someone,” I told him. “They wanted to know if I’d seen anybody outside just now.”

“You were just outside,” my dad said with a look that said he knew I was up to something.

“Yep.”

I saw him look at the clock, so I’m pretty sure he figured out what was going on. But he didn’t ask any more questions so I didn’t offer any other explanation. However, I was fully prepared to tell him I was just following his advice when he’d said, “Don’t get caught.” ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________


Current Reads




Sunday, January 8, 2017

That's Cold

I thought I’d left behind the sub-zero temperatures when I moved from Wisconsin back to Oregon nineteen years ago. And I had, until this year. Not that it doesn’t get cold in Oregon, it does—but not usually where I live. Cold here means the thermometer is hovering around 25-30 degrees. But this year...

This year, things are a bit on the frigid side. The past week I saw a minus sign on the temperature WAY too much. Every day, I think. The coldest was -8, which for a lot of people, that might not be too bad but when I’m working outside, it’s COLD! Yes, I’ve been in much colder temps, even worked outside in them, but now that I’ve acclimated to a warmer climate, my body doesn’t deal well with weather that refuses to go above zero. Or, maybe I’m just older than I used to be.

If you saw last week’s post, you may remember I had a lingering cold, and I still do. It’s hard to get better with all the time I spend outside in this weather. Even when I get home from work, there’s shoveling to do.

But then, there is a bright side to all of my woes. My grandson loves to help grandpa shovel. Sometimes that means dumping a shovel full of snow on my head, or putting the snow back on the sidewalk I’ve just cleaned but the look on his face while he is “helping” makes it all worth it.

A few weeks ago, he was helping clear off the deck and behind me, I hear his sweet three-year-old voice say, “Grandpa, I’m really sorry. But, I love you.”

When I turned around to see what had happened, I was met by a huge snowball to the face. The light fluffy snow easily broke apart and found its way inside my coat and the filtered down my neck. I let out a gasp and after catching my breath, went inside to dry off and warm up. My grandson thought it was a slap-the-leg hilarious moment.

Yesterday, we were again shoveling off the deck and having learned my lesson, I didn’t turn my back to him. Of course, that didn’t deter the child. With no warning this time, he scooped up a shovel of snow and, as I’d taught him, threw it. Except it’s supposed to go over the deck railing. This particular shovel full came right at my head.

As I was trying to clean the snow off my hat and face and yes, down my neck again, I hear the little voice say, “Grandpa, do you remember that I love you?”

Yes, I did, I told him. In fact, I think I’ll remember he loves me for quite a while, probably every time I’m cold. And this year, that will be often. ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.




Monday, January 2, 2017

What's New?

Recently, I heard some guys on the radio discussing how much life had changed in the last twenty years. To make their point, one of the guys asked the listening audience to take a moment to reflect on where they, the audience, were and what they, the audience, were doing twenty years ago. “I think you’ll see your life has changed dramatically.”

So, I did what they suggested.

Twenty years ago today, I was driving a semi across northern Wisconsin, in freezing rain, pulling an empty trailer. It was the first time I’d driven a semi in freezing rain and I was moving pretty slowly. But no other trucks passed me so; I guess I wasn’t overdoing it on the slowness.

To make things worse, I had a horrible cold; eyes watering, sneezing, and coughing. So, not feeling well, I just plodded along. Eventually, I got to where I was going—only to be sent back the other way, over the same road. But at least I then had a load, which did help a little. Still, it wasn’t exactly a fun day. I remember thinking “I wish summer would hurry up and get here.”

And now, twenty years later, what am I doing? Well, at this very moment, I’m typing this blog post, but soon, I shall be heading to work. Work will consist of driving a semi across northern Oregon, in what is expected to be freezing rain, pulling an empty trailer. Then, once I get my load, I’ll head back the way I came. I currently have a horrible cold with all the debilitating symptoms along the ultimately lousy feeling that goes with winter. I keep thinking, “I wish summer would hurry up and get here.”

So, not much has changed. So far, not much “new” is happening for this new year.

I couldn’t very well tell my story to the guys on the radio, so I told you! Happy New Year! ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________


Current Reads