Monday, June 25, 2018

Fire Away!


I seem to have misplaced my wife. Tragic, I know. See, I got home from work late Friday night and she was gone. Saw nothing of her Saturday either. Woke up Sunday—still no wife.

Okay, I admit, she wasn’t actually missing. If that were the case, I probably wouldn’t be just calmly writing about it. Well, maybe I would, I do like to write...

Anyway, she was on a planned trip to visit our son for a few days. So, I was here alone for the weekend. But that’s okay, I do know how to function without her—for short periods. Still, I’m thinking I should have gone with her on this trip. Not because I missed her, which I did, but the reason is a bit more... well, I would say selfish but missing her is kind of selfish too so—why don’t I just tell my story.

As most red-blooded Americans, I like guns. Big guns, little guns. Old guns, new guns. I like looking at them, buying them, and shooting them. And I like... well, you get the idea.  My wife, on the other hand, is not really big on guns. She doesn’t have anything against guns; she’s just not into them quite the way I am.

So, if I told you that one of us had experienced shooting a machine gun, you’d probably say it was I and not my wife. But, you’d be wrong. And that’s why I should have joined her on her trip.

See, my son takes after me; he likes guns. Which is why he took his mother to a shooting range that rents out various types of firearms including, machine guns. Pay a “small” fee and you can enjoy a few seconds of spraying bullets with the best of them.

Sunday evening, when my wife returned home, I got to hear all about it. Not that I wasn’t interested, of course. It just seemed odd that she would be telling me about shooting anything. Apparently, firing a machine gun makes quite an impression. I guess. Not that I would know since I haven’t shot one—yet.

On a perhaps unrelated note: I think it may be time to pay my son a visit again! Soon! Maybe the next time I misplace my wife. ~


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.

Monday, June 18, 2018

As The Eagle Flies


Caution: this is a serious post for once.

When I was a kid, I lived at the base of a hill called Eagle’s Caves. As you can likely figure out, at the top of the hill are caves—where eagles lived. By the time I came along there weren’t too many eagles around but I’m told there used to be a lot of them. Then, sometime in the eighties or so, the few remaining eagles disappeared—from the caves anyway; too many people around, I guess.

My present home is at the bottom of that same hill, only about a block and a half from where I lived back then, in a subdivision known as Eagle Cave Estates. I know, the name makes it sound like I live in a posh neighborhood or something. I don’t. It’s just a fancy name for a subdivision that was built on what used to be a pasture that I used to cut through on the way to the store.

Living here, I’ve often looked up to the caves, searching for an eagle. But in nineteen years, I’ve never seen one. Until yesterday. My daughters had come by for Father’s Day and we were standing outside watching their kids play when my son-in-law noticed an eagle overhead. It was flying very low, which made it easy to identify. As we watched, another bird of some sort came swooping toward the eagle. This bird was smaller, maybe a little more than half the size of the eagle—and apparently, not real bright.

The smaller bird seemed intent on attacking. The eagle, of course, wasn’t real worried about a confrontation. As the swooping bird grew close, the eagle flipped over, its talons stretched out to ward off the attack—or maybe mount a counter-attack. Either way, the not-so-bright bird, seeing those claws, instantly thought better of his ill-advised plan and veered sharply up and away. Soon the bird, whatever it was, was gone.

I guess maybe it wasn’t as dumb as I originally thought! I’m still not sure why the unidentified bird thought attacking an eagle would be a good idea—or that it would even work. But it was fascinating to watch so, smart or dumb, I’m glad we got to see its weak attempt at hunting.

After the short confrontation, the eagle continued on his way, flying high into the sky and it wasn’t long before I lost sight of it. Later however, I saw it again—flying up toward the caves. Then circling in the sky. For a brief moment it was like I was a kid again.

This might have been a one-time occurrence. It’s likely the eagle was merely visiting our neighborhood, maybe checking out where his ancestors used to live. Like a person going back to the “Old Country” just to see where Grandma grew up. Or maybe—the eagles are back! ~


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.

Monday, June 11, 2018

June 13, 1987

So, this week marks thirty-one years that my wife and I have been married. While that may seem like a long time, it has flown by for me. Time flies when you’re having fun, as the saying goes. My wife may have a differing opinion.

Sometimes I miss the early days; the days when we had less but that meant fewer things about which to worry. Back when life was full of expectancy, of dreams, and, since we didn’t make a lot of money at the time; hope for the future. Now, we’re living in what was then, the future, and things are definitely better. Again, my wife may have a differing opinion.

I think we’ve done a decent job in this grand experiment called marriage; we raised three responsible and autonomous children to adulthood. We’ve managed to build a life together that others refer to as “living the good life.” And, we don’t fight or argue—much. But... my wife may have a differing opinion.

Recently, I heard about a guy who was asking how people could stand to stay married for so long; how they could handle being with the same person constantly; to live with their spouse day after day. My answer is how could you not? There is a certain tranquility and security in knowing that person is there; knowing you can depend on them. Marriage is not a chore: it’s not a drudgery; not boring, monotonous, or tiresome. At least not to me. And hopefully, not for my wife. But then, she may have a differing opinion.

I am very grateful to my wife for allowing me to be married to her—at all, really, but in light of our upcoming anniversary; especially, for thirty-one years. Thirty-one years of ups and downs; good, bad, and in-between, although mostly good. Of course, my wife may have a differing opinion.

Anyway, happy anniversary to my wife. Thanks for putting up with me for this long. I’m looking forward to another thirty-one years! (And I hope you don’t have a differing opinion on that). ~


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. 

Sunday, June 3, 2018

A Know-It-All?

“Grandpa, do you know everything?”

The question came from an innocent-faced four-year-old in response to a rather mundane explanation of how a lawnmower works. Nothing earth shattering, I know, but still intriguing enough to impress a young boy who’d never heard it before.

I was tempted to tell him that yes, I did indeed know everything. I resisted the urge. Besides, kids have a way of growing up and sooner or later, I knew he’d discover the truth. So, somewhat reluctantly, I admitted I did not know everything.

“But you’re 51,” he said as if that is the magical age where all knowledge is attained. Then just to clarify, he added, “You should have learned everything by now.”

“I guess I should have,” I said. “I’ve had plenty of time. But, sometimes I think the older I get, the less I know.”

My grandson gave me a pitying look. “Yeah, my mom told me about that.”

“Told you about what?”

“Old people forget things.”

True. So, maybe I DID know everything at one time—and then forgot it.

I suggested this to my grandson. Deep in thought, he slowly said, “Probably.” Then pausing for a bit, he added, “Not.”

Apparently, he has lost all confidence in me! I should have just told him that I knew everything and we could have avoided this whole thing. ~


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. 

Monday, May 28, 2018

Tired Old Routine


Am I the only one who gets annoyed with the TPMS on vehicles these days? If you are unfamiliar with the term, TPMS stands for Tire Pressure Monitoring System. It’s the little light on the dash that lets you know if you have a low or flat tire.

In theory, I suppose such a system is a good idea. Although, I’m not sure what was wrong with the old system we had—that being, look at your tires! It’s pretty obvious if you have a low tire—particularly if it’s flat! Or, even if you are driving, a sudden loss of air in one tire (or more) is fairly easy to figure out.

But the powers that be have decided we all need a monitoring system. That wouldn’t be so bad if the thing actually worked properly. But sadly, they do not always do that. For example, my pickup routinely tells me I have a low tire. I used to actually check the pressure, trying to find which one was low—and there weren’t any. So, I learned to ignore the light. Eventually, it goes off. But then a few days later, it’ll come back on. And again, I ignore it.

So, this past week when the light came on, I didn’t really see any cause for concern—not until one morning when I noticed the left rear tire seemed to be awfully low on air. I aired up the tire and went to work. But the next day, it was nearly flat again.

So, I took it to the tire shop. I happened to mention all this to a guy later in the day and he said, “That’s why we have the TPMS, you shouldn’t ignore it when the light comes on.”

Right. I wonder if he’s ever heard of the boy who cried wolf? That’s what the TPMS is like to me. It’s cried wolf so much that I don’t pay any attention when there is a real problem.

I told the guy, “TPMS is pretty much worthless.”

Of course, he didn’t agree.

“Think about it,” I said. “I guarantee that in the days before TPMS, not a single instance can be found of someone not knowing they had a flat—not for very long anyway. And every single flat or blowout still got fixed... eventually.” ~


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.

Sunday, May 20, 2018

Traffic Revision Ahead


Traffic cones are like an obstacle course for truck drivers. Or a competency test. At times, it’s a challenge, to miss them. But it’s kind of fun too. Non-truck drivers generally place the cones on the road and sometimes they leave enough room for a truck to negotiate a turn and sometimes they do not. Usually, it’s the latter.

As a truck driver, when I encounter traffic cones, I like to see if I can get my truck through without knocking any over. Just because I like a challenge. However, once I determine that there simply isn’t enough room, the game changes to something like bowling—it’s time to see how many cones I can take out!

But, if the cones are on the freeway, that’s a different story. Hitting anything, even a small rubberized plastic traffic cone is not advisable. At freeway speeds, those little cones become very destructive. So, I try NOT to hit the cones on the freeway. That doesn’t always work.

Last week, I was driving through the construction. The freeway was down to one lane, with cones set up to keep vehicles out of the work area. But someone had felt it necessary to run over quite a number of cones, scattering them all over the road. By the time they showed up in my headlights, it wasn’t really feasible to stop. I tried to dodge them the best I could but there were too many. A single lane, and no shoulder didn’t help matters any. I ended up hitting at least two of them.

I’d barely made it out of the construction when my warning light and buzzer were going off. I was losing air. After pulling over, I saw that one of the cones had taken out an airline to my brakes. The brake had tried to lock up but all it succeeded in doing was heating up the brake and wheel. By the time I’d gotten stopped, the wheel was glowing red-hot.

I called our mechanic and he came out to fix the truck. In a little over an hour I was on my way. Not bad. In fact, not near as bad as the guy who I assume was the one to originally hit the cones. His car was still there on the side of the road the next day—missing a bumper and a flat tire. Glad I was driving a truck! ~


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.

Monday, May 14, 2018

Am I Missing Something?

Enjoyed a week long vacation last week. Yay! No exotic destination though. In fact, for most of the week, I just stayed home. Did some work on my fence and deck, along with a few other things.

But as a truck driver, I can’t fathom going more than a few days without some extended periods of driving. On Thursday, my wife and I traveled roughly 300 miles—just to have lunch! Then on Friday, I left my wife home while I made a quick weekend trip to my son’s house in Idaho. And since there are always things to do, I helped him with some of his home-related projects.

My stay lasted through Sunday, which meant I was away from my wife for Mothers’ Day. For the past 30 years or so, I’ve taken her, and usually the kids, out to eat on Mothers’ Day. But this year, I wasn’t home. When I made plans to be gone, I hadn’t realized it would be Mothers’ Day weekend. Thankfullly, one of my daughters was able to step in and take her mother for a nice lunch.

But that didn’t mean I had to go hungry. Nope. On Sunday, my son and I, just the two of us, went out to eat—for Mothers’ Day. Hey, it was still Mothers’ Day! Just because neither one of us are mothers doesn’t mean we can’t have a decent meal!

For some reason though, the manager, who was randomly handing out roses, skipped our table! And we didn’t even get the discount they were offering to nearly everyone else! We still had a good Mothers’ Day though! ~


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. 

Monday, May 7, 2018

A Balancing Act


So, a couple of my grandchildren learned to ride a bike this past week. They both seemed pretty excited about it—as we all were. It’s hard work teaching, or attempting to teach, such things. Hard on the back to be more specific. Not that I’m complaining because my part was pretty small. Others did a lot more training than I.

Before either of them had mastered the task, we were working on their skills one day and as we took a short break, I decided to take one of the bikes for a little spin. The grandkids looked at me in utter disbelief. “Grandpa knows how to ride a bike?”

“Well, yeah,” I said. “Why is that so strange?”

One of them—the youngest one, a four-year-old—answered without hesitation. “Because you’re old.” Nothing like coming right out and saying it! I could tell the other grandchild agreed but he was too nice to actually say it.

I stopped riding and told them, “Well I wasn’t always old, you know. And I learned to ride a bike when I was a kid.”

“But that was a long time ago!” The oldest one was still content to let the younger one do the talking, but both of them wore the look that said they couldn’t believe I could really ride a bike.

“It definitely was a long time ago,” I agreed.

Neither one said anything for a minute or so, then the youngest says, “And you still know how?”

“Of course I do. Did you think I’d forget?”

He nodded.

I said, “Well, that’s the thing about riding a bicycle, it’s like, well, riding a bicycle.” Figuring he’d never heard the saying, of something being compared to riding a bike, I thought I’d maybe have to explain my statement.

But before I could, the ever-philosophical four-year-old, with just a hint of disgust said, “Grandpa, riding a bicycle isn’t LIKE riding a bicycle, it IS riding a bicycle.”

“You’re right,” I told him. I again started to explain I was just using the saying to be silly and tell him what it meant.

He interrupted. “It means when I learn how to ride a bike, I won’t forget.”

Um, yeah. That. Sometimes I wonder if my grandkids really need me for anything. Well, maybe to help them learn to ride a bike, 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.

Monday, April 30, 2018

The Party You Are Trying To Reach...


Back in the day—always thought that was a saying old people used—before the advent of cell phones, it was much harder to keep tabs on someone’s whereabouts. That was important because you had to know where the person was before you called them. The alternative, of course, was to call around looking for them.

Which is what I was doing one day as I tried to find my dad. I’d called every place I could think that he could be with no luck. No one had seen him. I waited a bit and started the call list over again. Still no luck.

The reason I was looking for him is because I needed a ride. I had to be to a school function, my bike had a flat tire (I was out of patches) and I didn’t feel like walking all the way. But after no luck in finding him, I finally decided that if I were going to get there, I’d have to walk.

So, I grabbed my stuff and headed out the door. Then, seeing the shed door open, thought I’d better close it before I left. I walked over, starting to close the door—assuming I’d left it open—and there was my dad. He was working on something, I don’t really remember what.

I told him I’d been looking for him and said I’d called everywhere.

“Not everywhere,” he said. “You didn’t call here.”

“No,” I admitted. “But I was using our phone and you weren’t there.”

Apparently though, he’d been home all along. He’d been outside, when I was getting ready. And then, as I went out to find the flat on my bike, he’d come back in—through a different door obviously. Then, we’d missed each other again, as I came inside to make my phone calls.

A cell phone sure would have made things a lot easier for me that day. Or, maybe not. Not long ago, I was trying to get hold of my wife. I dialed her number, only to hear her phone ringing in the next room. No, she wasn’t home; she’d just forgotten her phone—which happens rather frequently. It was sort of déjà vu feeling as I started calling around... ~


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.

Sunday, April 22, 2018

Can't You See?


Am I the only one who finds the new LED light bars annoying? The ultra-bright lights, which are great for the driver but not so great for everybody else, are showing up in increasing numbers these days. Why is that a problem? Because these lights are BRIGHT! Blindly so. But I doubt those who have them mounted on their vehicles care what I think.

I wouldn’t mind so much if they used the lights for off-road adventures or at least if they’re going to run them on the road, turn them off when meeting traffic. I’m all for being able to see better but it would be nice if the drivers going the other way could see as well. It seems no one wants to do that.

The other night, I met a pickup with 2 such light bars, one in the grille and one mounted to the top of the cab. AND, the driver was making full use of his LED foglights as well. You’d think with all of that light there would have been no need for the regular headlights but those were on too.

So, it was a little surprising with the road lit up the way it was that the driver of the pickup didn’t see all of the signs that said the lane was ending or the orange and white striped construction barrels. Well, I suppose the driver did see them—eventually. But not before smashing a into a few.

I watched the scene unfold with a slightly amused grin. Traveling in the opposite direction, I didn’t have long to look but I did notice—with satisfaction—the bright illumination on the other side of the freeway suddenly went dark. My grin then turned to a chuckle—score one for the construction barrels! I’m not usually a fan of construction barrels (or construction, for that matter), but in this case, you could say I was rather de-lighted! ~


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.

Sunday, April 15, 2018

I've Been Everywhere (Almost)


Took another one of those quizzes on Facebook—yeah, I know they use them to get people’s data but I don’t care. I don’t put things on Facebook that I wish to keep private so it’s not really a problem.

This particular quiz claimed to be able to determine in what state I’d been born and/or raised based on my answers. Not that they could “guess” but that they would “know,” it said. I was instantly interested because usually these things have a little difficulty assigning me to any specific location. This is due to the fact that I’ve lived in several states and spent a lot of time visiting other states. In fact, I’ve visited most of the United States—except for one small region. I’ve picked up habits and acquired speech peculiarities along the way. And although I tend to exhibit the western influence more than any other, I’m a conflation of many places.

So, I took the quiz; answered all the inane questions that seemingly had nothing to do with where I’d been born or raised. But that’s the idea, I think. Out of the 35 questions, there were only a couple I couldn’t answer accurately—a lot less than normal—so, I just picked the answer that most closely approximated my real answer.

After finishing, I waited while the app did its thing. When I got the results, they were again very sure of themselves, stating unequivocally that I was undoubtedly from New England.

Well, I thought, that’s really remarkable how they came up with that. Out of all the places I’ve lived and been; all the traits I’ve picked up, somehow they managed to zero in on New England—the one region of the country I’ve never even visited. I think they may need fine-tune their quiz, just a bit. ~


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.

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Monday, April 9, 2018

Treading Lightly

The first time I changed a tire—for myself, anyway—I was 16. I’d just bought my first car, a 1973 Chevy Impala, and thought I was competing at Daytona—pretty much any time I drove anywhere. As you can imagine, the tires didn’t fare so well.

 I’d had the car about a month when one day, as I went out to go to work, I saw the flat tire. I hurriedly jacked up the car, removed the tire, and put on the spare. Tightening the lug nuts, I let the car down, threw the jack in the trunk, and then raced to the grocery store where I worked.

It just so happened that a police officer was also on his way to the same store—or at least that’s where he suddenly decided to go. I didn’t really get pulled over, as I was already parked and getting out when the cop pulled up. He didn’t even have his lights on.

“In a hurry?” he asked.

Nodding, I said that I was almost late for work.

“Maybe you should try leaving earlier next time so you don’t have to drive so fast.”

“Would’ve left earlier this time but I was changing a tire,” I said.

He didn’t say anything for a bit—just stared at me. Then, he sort of smiled. “You were changing a tire, weren’t you?” he said it as if he were surprised at the realization.

“Well, yeah. That’s why I said I was changing a tire.” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice but I’ve never really been too good at that. Really, I was wondering what had clued him in that I was telling the truth.

He must’ve seen the puzzled look on my face because he pointed to me and said, “You have the evidence all over you.”

That’s when I looked down and saw that my clothes were filthy. And then I noticed my hands were black as could be from handling the tire.

“You might want to clean up before you start touching people’s food,” the cop said, and then drove away.

I guess he must’ve felt sorry for me or something. Maybe he was just shocked that I’d told the truth. I’m sure he’d heard all sorts of excuses before. Either way, I was no longer upset about having a flat, and pretty happy it had saved me from getting a ticket.

Thing is though, I would’ve been speeding anyway, whether I’d spent time changing a tire or not, and whether I was late or not. That’s just the way I drove. Of course, I hadn’t mentioned any of this to the officer; I think that would fall under the heading of talking myself INTO a ticket. Besides, I didn’t have time to say all of that—I was late for work! ~


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.

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Sunday, April 1, 2018

Breaker, Breaker

I took a quiz on Facebook the other day. The Ultimate Trucker Lingo Quiz, I think is what it was called. As you may know, truck drivers rarely refer to things by the same name that everyone else uses. Must be the long hours behind the wheel that makes them come up with alternative names for things, I guess.

Anyway, I wanted to see how I’d do, having been a driver for twenty-two years. Turns out, I qualified as an expert. “I would hope so,” I said to myself. Two decades should be time enough to learn an entire language, not just a little industry jargon.

Thing is, I’m not sure I needed my experience as a truck driver to pass the test. I think most people could pass the test without much problem. Common sense should be all that is needed. Plus, the test was multiple choice, so...

I guess that it helps that I’m old. I’ve had a lot of exposure to these sayings and expressions nearly all of my life; particularly back in the 70’s when CB’s were at their height of popularity. Being a truck driver may have helped establish some of the lingo firmly into my lexicon but it wasn’t like trucker talk was something new to me.

But all that aside, virtually nobody, (truckers anyway) talks like that anymore. Sure, there are a few who keep it up, mostly the older drivers. And of course, some expressions have managed to hang on, such as, 10-4, meat wagon (ambulance), smokey bear, or something like, alligator in the hammer lane (blown tire tread in the left lane). But the “art” of trucker lingo is pretty much a by-gone thing. Many drivers these days do not even use the CB; don’t even turn it on, unless there’s an emergency.

Even then, the good ol’ days, when there was always someone to come back with helpful information, are over. These days, if you get anything other than silence in response, it’s likely to be some smart remark that’s not at all helpful. The camaraderie of the “White Knights of the Road,” is long gone. In some ways that may be good but I sort of miss it. And, I’ll admit that every so often, I slip back into my trucker lingo—even when I’m not driving. ’Cause, like I said, I’m old. With that in mind:

Looks like I got this blog post in my back pocket. I’m gonna back on out now and head for the barn—if I can dodge all them 4-Wheelers. Keep the dirty side down and I’ll catch you on the flip. We gone, 10-10. ~


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.

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Sunday, March 25, 2018

Why Work For A Living?

So this past week, my next-door neighbor had his grass taken out and replaced with river rock. (I use the term “grass” loosely as it really was a garden of weeds). The new landscaping looks nice—not that I feel compelled to copy it, I like having a lawn. Still, the neighbor’s yard looks pretty good.

I said as much to the landscaper as he was finishing up. After thanking me, the man said my neighbor had told him he’d gotten tired of watering and mowing and thought the rock would be easier to maintain.

This was news to me. What watering and mowing? I’ve lived beside the guy for years and never known him to do either. He usually waits until it gets hot, cuts down the knee-high weeds with a weed eater and that’s that. Nothing grows again until the next year. Not that I care, it’s his house, he can do what he wants. I just found it odd that the reasoning behind putting in rock was to save work that he doesn’t do.

So, that got me thinking. If I could figure out a way to get paid to save myself work that I don’t do, I could retire early. Like tomorrow. It wouldn’t even be that difficult. And I could increase my net worth every time I came up with something else that I didn’t do—and then find a way to not do it better. I’d also simultaneously be increasing the amount of free time I had. It’s a win-win!

So, if anyone needs me, I’ll be out of touch for a while, pondering the various possibilities. They are seemingly endless. I’m not sure why I haven’t thought of any of this before but I guess I was too busy—working. ~


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.

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Monday, March 19, 2018

Not Enough Time


This post will be a bit more serious than what I normally write. No, it’s not about politics or anything controversial, but the humorous aspect that is usually infused into my blog posts is taking a temporary vacation this week. Guess I’m just feeling a little nostalgic.

Recently, I ran across a publication with an article I’d written. This was from 18 years ago and I found that nothing much has changed in nearly two decades. What I wrote then still describes my daily routine. I’ve included some excerpts from that article below.


I’m in a hurry—again. I’m always in a hurry. From the time I get up in the morning until I go to bed at night, it seems as though there is never quite enough time to accomplish everything I’ve set out to do that day. Thus, I have become a procrastinator. Certain things deemed unimportant at the moment are relegated to that vast expanse of time known as tomorrow, a realm where the constraints of hours and minutes have not yet gotten a grasp. But of course, tomorrow is only a figment of the imagination, just a place in my mind that never actually becomes a reality. For with each new day, I must once again decide what to do and what to leave undone, until my life has developed into a pattern. A pattern which leads to giving up this to get that, trading one thing for another, sacrificing here in order to gain there and so on, all for the sake of time.

Time is the great equalizer. Each of us has been given the same amount of time. Whether young or old, rich or poor, we all have twenty-four hours in a day to achieve our goals. It’s what we do with our time that counts. What do we put off until later? What do we leave for tomorrow? And more importantly, what do we make time for?

People often use as an excuse, “I don’t have time,” which is not entirely true. We always have time for that which we have decided is of the most importance to us. If there isn’t enough time, it’s because we choose to use our time to do something else. We make time for the things really important or needful. The busiest man in the world will always have time to rush his child to the hospital in an emergency. It’s all a matter of perspective.


 After reading what I’d written, I started thinking about how I’d measured up. Had I accomplished anything in the 18 years since this article was published? Looking back, I can say that I’m somewhat satisfied with how I’ve spent my time; I’ve managed to write and publish 16 books, I’ve written over 500 songs—and recorded most of them, I’ve also recorded about three thousand other songs, painted numerous pictures, built furniture, etc. And, with a lot of help from my wife, I’ve raised three children who are autonomous adults, productive members of society, and able to function in a responsible manner. So, on the one hand, I think I’ve used my time wisely. On the other hand, there is still a lot I want to do, a lot I haven’t gotten done because, well, I didn’t make time for it all. Maybe in another 18 years, I’ll revisit the subject. Hopefully, I’ll be a little closer to attaining my goals. ~

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.

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Sunday, March 11, 2018

If I Had A Boat


I’ve never owned a boat. Never wanted to, really. Not that a boat isn’t fun, or that I’m afraid of the water. I just always figured a boat was a hassle I didn’t need. Sort of like a car; three’s the cost of maintaining it, putting gas and oil in it, and a lot of other associated costs—except I need a car, well, pickup in my case, I guess, but the idea is the important thing.

But aside from all of that, I don’t really have time to spend trolling around—or speeding around—in a boat. Things to do, you know: like go to work. So, no time for a boat.

The reason I bring this up is because, this past week, on my way to work, a woman at the gas station made it a point to ask me if I had a boat. I should point out that this lady was not working at the station, not really sure what she was doing there, I guess. Just a crazy lady hanging around to bug customers, I think. When I told her I did not have a boat, she looked stunned. “Why not”

“Don’t want one, and don’t need one.”

“But if you had a boat you could take me out in it,” she informed me.

Now, I’m not exactly prone to being the social type in the first place. Even it f I had a boat, I wouldn’t be taking a lot of people out in it, especially not crazy people. “Could, I suppose. But wouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Better things to do than take people boating,” I said, and then got in my pickup and closed the door. (Oh, yeah, I’m not exactly prone to being real conversational with strange people at the gas station either. Some call me rude; I prefer to characterize it as blunt).

The lady got the hint and moved on to talk to the guy on the other side of the island, presumably to ask him about a boat. As I left the station, I thought to myself, I think I just found another excellent reason to never own a boat: all the crazy people inviting themselves out on it.

So, just in case anyone is wondering, no, I do not own a boat. ~


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.

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Sunday, March 4, 2018

That's Just Sick

Thought I’d made it through this winter without getting sick. The horrible flu everyone has been talking about somehow evaded me. People all around were sick, sometimes for weeks, but I just kept going apparently unaffected by it all. Until last week.

I noticed on Monday that I was extremely tired. Odd because I’d gotten more sleep than usual the two previous nights. Tuesday, things turned a little worse and I knew I was getting sick. I started gulping large amounts of water, juice, and Gatorade. These helped somewhat but by Wednesday night, I knew I’d lost the battle.

I stayed home from work Thursday, something I rarely do. In fact I’ve only called in sick once before, twice if you count when I was in the hospital. But that one wasn’t really up to me, so I don’t count it.

Friday came and feeling a little better, I went to work—only to stop in the middle of my run to go home. Saturday wasn’t any better. Actually, it was probably worse. Sunday continued the same way. I’ll spare everyone the details, as I’m sure everyone knows what being sick is like. The problem for me is I’d never been that sick for that many days in my life. Usually, the bad part, the debilitating part, lasts only a day or two. The rest of the time is no picnic but bearable. Not this time, unfortunately.

By Sunday night, I was thankfully feeling much better. Good thing, I have a blog to write. Haven’t done a thing all week so I’m sure writing and posting this will wear me out. So, I’m going to wrap it up. Sorry I had nothing interesting to report but as you can see, the only thing on my mind all week has been this sick idea of writing about my unhealthy health. ~


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.

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Monday, February 26, 2018

Never Ever

Never say never. That saying always bugged me. Yet, people feel compelled to quote it —a lot. I know what they are trying to say, that you shouldn’t make claims which might not be accurate in the future because no one really knows what the future holds—that is true. Others use the saying to assert there are no absolutes in this world. That is absolutely not true. But either way, the saying itself is contradictory, so it can’t be used as a truism of any sort. Besides, there are definitely some things that I can unequivocally state that have never, and will never, happen.

I’ve never had a maiden name. Never will. I’ve never been pregnant and never will be. I will never be a kid again. I’ll never know what an elephant is thinking. And I’ll never forget how many grains of sand are in the world because I’ll never know.

Admittedly, the preceding list is probably not things to which the saying refers. None of them are even a possibility. Still, there are other things that technically could happen but I’m certain will not: I’ll never visit China, or the moon. I’ll never live in a space capsule. I’ll never be elected President—because I’ll never run. I’ll never jump out of a perfectly good airplane, never bungee jump just for the fun of it, and I’ll never win the gold medal in anything at the Olympics.

The point is there are plenty of instances where saying never is entirely appropriate and acceptable. So, ‘never say never’ is a saying I never use. Usually anyway. I realize I’ve used it twice in this post.

I was running all of this by my four-year-old grandson earlier today, and he thoughtfully offered another enlightening observation; “And you’ll never be a millionaire.” I told him he was right. Probably. But then, you never know. ~


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.

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Saturday, February 24, 2018

TALES ABOUT TAILS Blog Tour with W.J. Scott

As part of the 4 Wills Publishing "Tales About Tails" blog tour, this blog is hosting Author W.J. Scott.





Finding Silver Linings in Silver Wishes
One of the attributes required by an author is perseverance. My children’s chapter novel, Tails, Book One, Silver Wishes Series, endured many pit stops over several years, before finally becoming a book I was proud to share with the world.
I’ve realized there is often a silver lining to be found in setbacks. Golden information awaited me at the end of the rainbow. Yes, I had to trudge through trenches of disappointment and rejection (strongly suspicious that the mud sticking to my boots was tainted with a mixture of unicorn and troll poop). In retrospect, valuable lessons were learnt that enriched my story or helped me grow as a writer.


v    Verify that anyone professionally assessing your manuscript has experience with your specific genre, and they possess credentials that back up their claims (Literary Awards, Work Experience, Testimonials from trusted sources). A non-fiction author assessor is a mismatch for Children’s Fantasy; they may understand where the commas go, but lack the skill set to understand the genre and readers’ expectations.



v    Believe in yourself and your story.
v    If others let you down, brush yourself off and find another way.
v    No one cares as deeply as you do about your story so you need to make it happen.



v    Find a skilled editor in your genre (structural as well as copy editing).
v    Assemble a team of beta and proof-readers. You are too close to your work to pick up the errors.
v    Polish your manuscript until the light shining off the pages blinds you – before pushing the ‘publish’ button.


v    Celebrate the birth of your book!



Please share your ‘silver linings’ in the comments.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Wendy Scott has a New Zealand Certificate in Science (Chemistry), which allows her to dabble with fuming potions and strange substances, satisfying her inner witch.
Wendy writes fantasy and children’s novels.
One of the creeds she lives by is to always – Live a life less ordinary!
Gold Medal Winner: The Wishing Shelf Book Awards UK 2015.
Silver Medal Winner: International Readers’ Favorite Book Awards 2016.
Finalist: The Wishing Shelf Book Awards UK 2016.
Gold Quality Marks: BooksGoSocial 2017.
Treat Award Blue: Rave Reviews Book Club KCT International Awards 2017.

Please visit http://www.authorchildrens.com/ to learn more, read Wendy’s blog, sign up for her newsletter, or to leave her a message. She loves hearing from readers.

Pen Names
Fantasy ~ Wendy Scott
Children’s ~ WJ Scott
Romance ~ Wendy Jayne

This tour sponsored by 4WillsPublishing Author Services!








Sunday, February 18, 2018

Canis Latrans (Coyote)

Growing up in rural Oregon, I was quite accustomed to seeing various wildlife, including coyotes. These days, seeing a coyote or two in my daily travels is still pretty normal and I usually don’t pay that much attention. Except for the other day.

I was working. Driving the truck downtown Portland. At first, when I saw the coyote, walking leisurely down the sidewalk, I thought it must be a dog. It had to be a dog, I told myself. Why would a coyote be running around the city? Especially, downtown.

But the closer I got, the more I was convinced; it definitely looked like a coyote. Still, I wasn’t positive. It was dark and headlights do not always show things clearly. But then, stopping for a red light, I got a better look. Wise to the city ways the animal paused under the streetlight, waiting for traffic to clear. Being just a few feet away, I was certain this was indeed a coyote.

Then the light changed and we both took off. As I lost sight of the coyote in my mirror, I again started thinking that it had to have been a dog.

But now, I was curious. Doing a search, I was surprised to learn that coyote sightings in the Portland area are common with upwards of 2000 sightings per year. However, these sightings are usually on the outskirts of town or in the suburbs, not downtown. Still, with a thriving coyote population, seeing one in the busy part of the city was not out of the question. When I was a kid, coyotes never even made it close to Portland. Apparently, times have changed. There is now an estimated 500 or more living in or around Portland.

Okay, so I guess I wasn’t imagining things after all. Good to know. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised though. The part of town where I saw the coyote was near where I pick up my load—of garbage. I think a transfer station is sort of like a buffet for coyotes.

I still find it odd, however. I’ve always considered coyotes to be more of a rural creature, not really an urban one. But since we’re providing them with fine dining establishments these days, I guess they’ve discovered it’s easier to find a good meal in the city than in the country. ~


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.

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