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Nothing Against Frosty But...

I never liked building snowmen. Maybe because I never liked snow. And then there’s that cold thing, which as you may know, I don’t like at all! So, I don’t like building snowmen. I never really got into sledding or other wintertime activities either. If I’m going to play in the snow, I want it to be warm and sunny, you know, summer.

I did make a few snowmen when I was a kid—enough to learn how to do it anyway. But I much preferred watching other people make them—from inside! Still do. Yeah, I’m not much of a winter outdoorsman, I know.

Of course, after I had kids, making snowmen became part of my job. (That is in the job description for being a parent, I think). But even that was limited. My idea of a snowman was to make one and hope it would last all winter. That never happened; my kids would destroy them—on purpose, I think, just so I would have to build another one!

And now, I have grandchildren. For some reason they like snowmen. Yeah, they’re a little crazy. I think they take after their grandmother, at least in their affinity for snow and winter-related activities.

This past weekend, we had a couple inches of snow. One of my grandkids was at the house and I now have a snowman in my front yard. No, I didn’t build it. Lucky for me, my son was visiting for Christmas and he got the privilege of going outside, rolling snow around in the yard and stacking the balls on top of each other (and freezing). He’s a good uncle. Me, I never liked building snowmen! ~

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, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.  Amazon Profile - www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Too Cold At Home

The trouble with winter is, well, there’s a long list of things, but number one is, it’s cold!

When I was sixteen, and still living with my parents, we lived in a small town in eastern Oregon. Winters get pretty cold in this town and this particular year was no exception. Well, I take that back, this was an exceptionally cold year.

It was the week after Christmas and I had gone to work overnight, cleaning the floors at a local grocery store. The temperature was already well below zero when we started the job but by the time we were done, about four in the morning, the thermometer had dropped to -42 degrees. If you’ve never experienced that, or even if you have, that is cold.

Being young, it wasn’t as traumatic as it would be now, but it was still cold. Too cold. I decided that perhaps I should move. Maybe go someplace new, someplace warmer. I wasn’t really serious because I did like the town. It just happened to be cold at the time.

Well, little did I know that my dad was already thinking of moving. The following winter found us in Wisconsin. Yeah, not exactly a place known for its moderate weather temperatures and tropical climate. It was like going from the frying pan right into the fire—in an antithesis sort of way!

Everyone told me it got cold there but being that the year before I had seen -42, I wasn’t too worried. Then, winter came, specifically, the week after Christmas. I was “privileged” to experience the bone-chilling temps of Wisconsin with the thermometer bottoming out at... -42, again. A lot of good that move did!

Since then, I have moved again. Haven’t seen anything close to -42 in quite a few years. It barely gets below zero here. Except, I’m older now. And at this age, zero feels a lot like -42. It’s cold! And that is the trouble with winter. ~

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, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.  Amazon Profile - www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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War Of Words

So, my computer informed me that “whet” is not a word. Being that I like to argue, I informed my computer that it was wrong, that “whet” is indeed a word—half expecting it to tell me to use the word in a sentence. (Which is how this whole thing started, I think).

Instead, it asked if I would like to add it to my vocabulary. My vocabulary? Well, no, I thought, I would like the computer to add the word to its vocabulary, and perhaps stop trying to “help” me with its inadequate knowledge of the English language!

Of course, there was nowhere to type all of that so, I chose the only reasonable option and clicked, “Yes.”

Then, that got me started—searching for words the computer did not know. And I found quite a few of them, despite the fact that I’ve had this computer for several years and add words frequently. So, I’ve found a new way of wasting time, I suppose. But it’s actually kind of fun giving my computer vocabulary training. Linguistic drills, you might say. It’s like I’m teaching it to talk.

But then I got to wondering, why should I have to add words at all? This is a computer we’re talking about—a large computer at that, and text takes up relatively a small amount of space. So, why is it limited in the language department? Why leave out certain words? And who decided which words would be included—or excluded? Why discriminate? A                      computer should be all-inclusive, right? The point is, why not just add ALL the words from the dictionary? It’s not like that’s unfeasible, or beyond the realm of possibility; this is a computer, there’s plenty of room. But apparently, that’s my job.

But it’s okay. I can handle it. In fact, now that I’ve gotten started, I don’t seem to want to stop. I guess you could say this little incident just served to whet my appetite. ~

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, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.  Amazon Profile - www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Vacation Plans

At my job, I’m required to take one week of my vacation in the winter months. I doubt they could make that requirement stick if anyone were to challenge it because, as my attorney once told me, vacation time is accrued during the previous calendar year and once accrued, the time is rightfully the employee’s time to take—whenever the employee chooses. Barring some sort of emergency, a company can’t legally prevent an employee from taking earned vacation. Some, I’m sure, would argue differently.

I’ll probably never know which argument would prevail in court because while I love things of this nature—arguing and court cases—I don’t mind taking a vacation in the winter.

A winter vacation is one week that I may not have to drive in adverse weather like: freezing rain, ice, or snow—“may not” being the key phrase. That is always my plan but it seldom works out. Only once, actually. I continually pick the wrong week to take off. Since I have to choose my vacation time nearly a year in advance, I really have no way of knowing which week will be bad weather so I just pick one and hope that’s the week. And nearly every single time, all but once, I am wrong. The week before, or the week after, my vacation, will be the bad weather and instead of enjoying the fact that I do not have to drive 700 miles a day in it, there I am, slipping and sliding along down the highways.

This has been the pattern for the eighteen years I’ve been at my job. Yes, seventeen times out of eighteen tries, I’ve been wrong. That’s not a very good track record. Especially since where I live, we don’t have that much bad weather. You’d think the law of averages would kick in at some point and help me out, but no.

This year was no exception. I’m currently on vacation, and high temperatures are supposed to be in the fifties and even sixties, with no freezing temps at night. And no wintery mix of misery is in the forecast. But last week...

Last week was full of ice, freezing rain to be specific. And snow. Someday, I’d love to go back to work after my winter vacation and rub it in to the other drivers that I’d missed the bad weather. But after this long, I’m beginning to think it’s a lost cause. I just can’t seem to hit it right. Well, except that once.

But about that, the one time that I guessed right. That was the year I had plans to go on a trip with my wife to attend a meeting for her job. So, I got to drive with chains for hours through the same ice and snow as everyone else at my job. And down the same road. Maybe I should invest in a Farmer’s Almanac. ~

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, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.  Amazon Profile - www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Internet Dependent

I’m not a very patient man. (Not a big revelation there). I get frustrated when things do not work like they are supposed to. So, you can imagine the irritation and annoyance I’ve been experiencing for the past week and a half due to my Internet having issues.

As many Americans, I have come to depend on the Internet. I pay my bills on the Internet, advertise and sell books on the Internet, get my news, weather, and entertainment on the Internet. In fact, I live on the Internet. When it is down it negatively impacts my life in a BIG way. For instance, last week, when I posted my blog, it should have been a very simple matter. It normally takes about fifteen minutes to get the post online. But last Sunday night I spent three hours on it.

So, during the past week I have been busy, trying to isolate the problem. Every time I think I have it figured out, and think my Internet will now work, it goes out again. So far, it’s been a colossal debacle. I’ve now concluded I must have a weak router, so, against my usual nature, tomorrow I will call my service provider.

Not looking forward to that at all. By the time I get someone on the line who actually speaks English, jump through all the hoops of identifying myself, describe to them the problem, and then tell them what I have tried—only to have them suggest the very things I’ve already eliminated—I figure my day will be half over. And did I mention I’m not very patient?

But I am determined. Which is why you are reading this. Not sure how long I will have spent on it because when I finally get it posted, I’m NOT going back to edit it! I just don’t have the patience for 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, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.  Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Thanksgiving, 1985

Thanksgiving. A time of family, food, and fun—as I recently heard it defined. Yes, I have another Thanksgiving tale.

The year was 1985. I had just moved to Wisconsin in anticipation of getting married. My wife, who wasn’t my wife yet, and her family traveled to spend the holiday in another town. I had to work so I stayed behind to keep the house warm for the cat and dog.

Now before anyone starts feeling sorry for me, I wasn’t alone. For Thanksgiving Day, I was invited to some friends’ house. We had a good southern meal—odd for being in Wisconsin, I know, but these people were from the south—and afterward, we spent the day playing games. I stayed until well after dark and then returned to my future in-laws’ house.

Meanwhile, it had been snowing—all day. It was still snowing when I left for work the next morning—and when I returned. And, it continued snowing well into Saturday. By this time, the long driveway was pretty snowed in. I’d been driving my father-in-law’s four-wheel drive pickup and hadn’t bothered to think about removing any of the piles of white stuff. And neither had I thought to shovel. Probably should have started that the first day, instead of playing games all day long!

Waking up Saturday, I suddenly remembered my wife’s family would be returning that afternoon and they had taken a car, a car that I knew would have difficulty getting into and up the snow filled driveway.

So, I thought I’d help out. I went to the shed and started up the John Deere with a snowplow already attached. I figured the job would only take a few minutes. Well, as anyone who has been around me knows, that Mr. Murphy guy and me have a lot in common—if anything can go wrong, it will. I’d made only one pass down the driveway, when the John Deere stopped. Just stopped. I tried for several hours to get it running but apparently, I wasn’t much of a mechanic.

Looking at the driveway, I knew it would still be hard to get a car through it. The one pass I’d made hadn’t really helped much at all. So, I jumped into the pickup and drove back and forth until I had the snow packed down enough. Then I started working on shoveling the three days’ worth of snow from around the walkway and the house. By that time, I knew I definitely had waited too long to shovel. It was late afternoon when my wife and her family drove in and I still hadn’t finished.

My father-in-law, being a far better mechanic than I, seemed unconcerned with the stalled John Deere. As I recall, he had the tractor running in about two minutes. Then, while he cleaned up the driveway a little, I continued working on the shoveling.

I did apologize for breaking his tractor. He said not to worry about it, that any time a breakdown didn’t cost any money, it was good. Well, that’s true, except it had cost some money—I think I used close to a full tank of gas driving the pickup back and forth! But, as I recently learned, Thanksgiving is, among other things, a time of fun. And I certainly did have fun!

Happy Thanksgiving! ~

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, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.  Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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In The Shop

I wish I could decide when a vehicle will break down. I know, everyone wishes that!

It wasn’t that many weeks ago that I wrote about changing the alternator on my wife’s car. You’d think I’d get a longer reprieve than that but, sadly, no. Last weekend, I had a battery light come on, on my pickup. Not a big deal, I checked the battery and it was old and slightly bulged, so I bought a new one. It took only a few minutes to put in. But, the light did not go off.

So, before spending money on an alternator—again—I drove down to the auto parts store to have the system checked. They hooked it up and after a few seconds told me everything was working as it should. Apparently, my truck was just confused.

Getting the clean bill of health for the pickup, I took off for work. It’s about an hour’s drive to work and I’d made it about halfway when I discovered the system was definitely NOT working. By the time I made it to my job, I didn’t even have enough power to roll up my window.

Lucky for me, the route I drive in my semi takes me right through the town where I live. So, my wife met me at K-Mart, took me to the auto parts store to purchase an alternator, and then home to get some tools. I finished my run and at four in the morning was psyching myself up for another vehicle repair, which I hate, and this time the weather was not nearly so cooperative as when I did my wife’s vehicle. The temperature was 29 degrees with a slight wind blowing. And, I would be working in a gravel parking lot.

But...

The mechanic at my job, who doesn’t allow anyone in his shop (even the other mechanics do a lot of repairs outside so the shop doesn’t get messed up), and who never lets anyone use any of his tools (probably for good reason) offered, yes, offered, to let me pull into the well-lit, nice warm building with a clean concrete floor. Then, he pointed out the brand new floor jack and said I could be the first to use it. He set up a work light and told me if I needed any of his tools to help myself!

As the morning guys arrived, a few of them seemed quite shocked that I was working on my own pickup inside the forbidden shop! They also thought I had taken it upon myself to use the shop and were worried that I was going to get caught. The mechanic had other things to do so he was not there the whole time but he did show up now and then throughout the three hours it took—and helped. Another shock.

Now, here’s the neat part. I have never worked on a vehicle in a shop in my life! Sure, I’ve worked inside my garage, when I had one, but a shop is a far different experience. Tools, the right tools, power tools, were at my disposal, and the smooth concrete floor made dropped nuts and bolts so much easier to find. The lighted climate-controlled setting was a lot more comfortable than working outside. All in all, working in a shop made the job seem like not so much of a chore. In fact, it was almost fun. Wait! That might be pushing it a little. It was still three hours of work—after I’d driven eleven hours in a semi. Really though, it wasn’t that bad. Aside from the two hundred dollars spent on the alternator, this was the best break down I’ve ever had.

That’s why I’ve decided from now on when I break down, I’m going to do it at my job! Yeah, right. If only it was that simple! ~

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, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.  Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Ready, Or Not

So, I think I’ve mowed the lawn for the last time this season. Turned off the sprinklers, blew all the lines out, and covered the barbecue grill. I’m ready for winter. At least it would appear that way.

In reality, I’m NEVER ready for winter. As any longtime reader of this blog knows, I prefer summer. In fact, I’d like to do away with winter completely. For some reason, that has never happened. I realize I could move to Arizona and escape winter—most of the time anyway. But something tells me if I were to relocate, the first winter, the state would have its biggest snowfall in history with record low temperatures.

A couple of weeks ago, I was discussing my dislike of winter with someone who couldn’t understand what I could have against it. Only three things really; the cold, the snow—or ice, and the short days. Summer, on the other hand, has none of those!

I was told it was unrealistic to expect warm sunshine all of the time—that things would die. Like my grass, they said.

Obviously, this person has not lived in this area too long. I asked and found the guy had moved here only a few weeks before so I guess I can cut him a little slack. Still, it should have been fairly evident from all the brown hillsides that the grass does die here—every summer. Unless... Unless it is watered. I pointed this out and was met with a look of disbelief. Then, I was told taking care of an irrigation system just seemed like a lot of work.

Which is how I remembered that I needed to winterize my sprinklers! It is November already! Gotta make sure they don’t freeze up and bust. I need them for my grass next summer—or sooner, if by some miracle we get to skip winter this 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, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.  Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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That's Crazy

Back when I first started driving a truck and had a little difficulty backing into tight areas, I had the “pleasure” of being sent to a downtown Chicago business where the only truck access was through the alley. A very narrow alley. About halfway down was the dock I was supposed to back into. A recessed dock with concrete walls on both sides. The walls started as just small curbs but the further down the dock recessed, the higher the walls became. They were eight and a half feet apart—the exact width of my trailer—but due to all of the trucks that had scraped them over the years, in effect, the space was a little wider. There actually were several such docks, in Chicago and other mid-west cities, but this particular one has a story.

These days, I would love the challenge—backing off of a narrow alley into such a small opening, making sure to position the trailer precisely between the walls, turning it right when it needed to turn, and keeping it straight all the way to the dock—that would be fun. Back then, not so much.

The guy on the dock, who told me where to back in, said not to worry if it took me a while, because they were going to lunch. So, I had an hour—to do the impossible. Or what seemed impossible at the time.

I waited until everyone left to move the truck. I certainly didn’t need an audience! Once I was alone, I began. Doing a set up, I started backing, angling the trailer toward the opening. Then, when it didn’t work, I repeated the process a few times. Every time, I had to stop. I didn’t want to add any fresh scrapes to the walls—or my trailer.

I was glad no one was watching my many failed attempts. Except there was someone watching. And old man who hadn’t left for lunch. He sat there on a bucket, munching on a sandwich—and watching me. I hadn’t noticed him until he got up and, still chewing his sandwich, slowly walked over.

He nodded to me and climbed up on the step of the truck. “Want some advice?”

I said I could use some and he told me, “Just run over the curb. Makes the dock a lot wider at the start and gives you more room to turn the trailer. Then, all you have to do is back up. If you can back straight, you’ll have it made.”

Seemed reasonable, and I knew instantly he was right. I could drop the trailer wheels off the curb where it was eight or nine inches high and easily give myself an extra ten feet. I took his advice and in only a minute or so, I was backed in. The old man waited until I set the brakes and then satisfied I had made it walked off down the alley.

When the loading crew came back from lunch, the dock guy asked if I had any trouble. “No,” I said. One of your workers helped me.”

“One of my workers?”

I nodded and described the guy and what he had told me. “I figured he must have been a truck driver once.”

The guy on the dock laughed. “Charlie? No. He doesn’t even drive. Doesn’t do much of anything. He’s just a crazy man who wanders around down here. I wouldn’t take advice from him about anything.”

Well, that was comforting! A little disconcerting, actually. I wasn’t sure who was crazy, the old man or me for listening to him. But the thing is, his advice worked. Pretty well too. However, I think you can see why after that I was a little more motivated to learn to back up on my own. ~

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, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.  Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Thirty Something

A while back, I did something I haven’t done in ten years or more—went to bed before midnight! That may seem late to a lot of people but for a guy who usually stays up until 5:00 or 6:00, it was quite early. The reason for going to bed at that time? Well... I’ll get to that in a minute.

Honestly, I don’t remember the last time I went to bed so early; it may have been longer than ten years ago. I am pretty confident of the ten years though because I’ve been on the night shift for that long. Weekends and vacations I still maintain the same hours. If I didn’t, Mondays would be very tiring. And when driving a truck, tired is not the thing to be.

But even before I started this shift, I rarely went to bed before midnight. It just isn’t me. I’m a night person. I remember the days of getting up at 4:30 am to go to work, and I still went to bed around 12:30 or 1:00.

Even as a kid, I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning—and then went to school. In fact, this has been my lifestyle for most of my life. Lucky for me, I don’t require much sleep.

My dad once told me that consistently staying up late would eventually catch up to me. He said I’d look old by the time I was thirty. (Okay, he said that more than once). But of course, I didn’t listen. Lately though, I have to admit, he was right, it is definitely starting to catch up with me, though I’m long past age thirty!

Switching gears slightly now. The other night, I gave a ride to one of the drivers at my job whose truck had broken down. I didn’t know him because he just recently started working there but the guy was very talkative and asked a lot of questions. I answered his questions, telling him about various things, including my grandchildren. After a while, he looked at me and said, “How old are you anyway?”

“Forty-eight.”

He shook his head. “I thought you were about thirty.”

I laughed a little at that. It’s been a while since someone mistook me for a thirty-year-old.

“You must have a very healthy life and get plenty of sleep,” the guy said. “That’s hard for a truck driver.”

I laughed again. If you only knew... I’ve never been accused of being healthy or getting plenty of sleep in my entire life!

I’m not sure if the guy really thought I was thirty or if he was just talking. He’d been up a while and it was dark so his perception may have been way off. One thing I do know, I certainly do not look, or feel, thirty—unless, this is how my dad pictured of me at age thirty. I’ll have to ask him.

Oh, I said I’d give the reason for going to bed so early. It’s really quite simple, it was my day off, and I was tired! ~

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, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.  Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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An Alarming Price

Back in the ’70’s, when I was a kid, burglar alarms were not that sophisticated. They were quite easily defeated—although, I would know nothing about that, of course! At least nothing I’ll admit! But burglar alarms back then had another flaw and that was, they went off without much of a reason. This I did seem to learn about.

We lived a block away from a locksmith store and as you can expect, the owner of the business had an alarm. One day, quite by accident, I discovered that bumping into the picture window would set off the alarm. I wasn’t sure though, if it was the noise or the vibration that had set it off. Obviously, I was nowhere to be seen when the cops showed up and after checking things out once the owner had arrived, they all went on their way.

The next day, I decided to see just what had triggered the alarm, the noise, or the vibration. It took only a few minutes to learn it was the vibration from the partially loose, and rattling glass. I should have known this, I guess, since car horns or sirens had never set it off but hey, I was a kid! Anyway, I found that if I tossed small branches at the window, the alarm would sound. Yay!

Being a kid, a troublesome and mischievous kid, I made it a point to set off the alarm once or twice a week—just because. It must have driven the storeowner a little nuts to have to continually respond to these false alarms. I’m sure the police weren’t too happy either. Thankfully, I never got caught. Not sure what would have happened, after all, I hadn’t broken in or anything but they might have had some sort of punishment for being a nuisance—like tell my dad or something!

We moved from that house a few months later so my prank had to come to an end. And although the locksmith hadn’t known who to blame, the sudden halt to the problem coinciding with me being gone most likely wasn’t too hard to put together. I imagine he was probably happy to see me go, as were the police. Which was good, happy people tend to forget things!

I hadn’t thought much about it myself until a few years ago when I was in need of a key. This was an old key that couldn’t be copied due to its deteriorated and twisted condition—and the serial number was missing. Every place I visited in town told me the same thing; the only one around who could help me was the guy at the store I used to live by. People tell me I haven’t changed that much, but I wasn’t too worried about returning, this was thirty years later, after all. He couldn’t possibly know me all these years later, could he? So, I paid him a visit.

When I walked in, the guy didn’t appear to recognize me and I didn’t offer to remind him; just handed him the key and told him what I needed. He didn’t talk much as he went to work and whatever small worries of him suddenly remembering who I was dissipated. In a few short minutes, I had my key. We tried it and it worked.

Then, it came time to pay. And by pay, I mean PAY. A lot. I know the guy did what no other locksmith would even try but at nearly $40.00 for a single key, with no chip or anything, the cost was bordering on the edge of insane. I did paid him, since I already had the key but I left wondering if the guy’s prices were actually that outrageous or if he had recognized me after all and I was paying for something more than a key! ~

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, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.  Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Ride This Train

For several months, my wife has been wanting to take the grandchildren to a train park, specifically, the Pacific Northwest Live Steamers in Molalla, Oregon. She’s been planning the trip with my daughter and this past weekend we finally loaded up everyone for the journey. I’m not sure who was more excited, my wife or the grandchildren.

After a two-hour road trip with only an occasional “Are we there yet?” we arrived at the park—nine of us: my wife and I, our son, a daughter, and all five grandkids! By this time, judging by the looks on their faces, the grandkids were definitely the ones who were more excited—I think.

I suppose I should tell you a little about this train park. It was built in 1954 and features almost a mile of 7½-inch track with miniature, but real, steam engine powered trains. The trains are built to scale (1:22.5) and yes, visitors get to ride them! And, it’s free! Not even a parking fee! My kind of place! (They do accept donations).

And apparently, it was my grandkids’ kind of place too. They rode the trains, over and over, around and around the track, laughing and smiling, happily taking in all the scenery and the authenticity of the setting. 

The setting was just as impressive as the trains. There were crossings, with lights and bells, a switching yard, steel bridges, and a depot—all built to the same scale as the trains. The track wound around the property through the trees, by the river, and across several roads. And, the place has not been overly commercialized! It’s a small park, in a small town, that looks, I suspect, much like it did in 1954.

While the train park may be intended for kids, I had a lot of fun myself as well. For instance, I couldn’t help but think of a few Johnny Cash train songs and serenaded everyone while we waited in line (a treat I’m sure they all could have done without but they indulged me). But as I was saying, I had a good time—probably more so than my grandkids. The trains, the grounds, and actually, the whole place, was really quite interesting. So, it was an enjoyable and entertaining day. And that is sort of ironic because originally, I hadn’t planned to go. I usually stay at home to work when my wife and daughter go on their excursions with the grandkids. And figuring this would be a kids only park, I wasn’t too thrilled with the idea. But they kept asking me to go along. Repeatedly. Insisted, in fact. Almost forced me. I guess you might say I was railroaded. ~

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, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.  Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Late Arrival

Did I ever tell you about the time I got on the wrong bus? No? Well...

I think I must have been in about third grade. I rode the bus to school, and home of course—usually the same one. Except on this day.

For some reason that I can’t remember, my class was running late and let out a few minutes past the normal time. When I got down to where the busses lined up, the area was full of kids. I was on one corner and my bus was parked on the opposite corner, a block away.

I did a pretty good job of cutting through the bustling crowd but with still a few feet to go, I saw my bus, the first one in line, start pulling away from the curb. I didn’t panic. It wasn’t that far to my house, I could walk and sometimes did. But walking would get me home late and I hadn’t told my parents I would be walking. I knew if the bus showed up and I didn’t get off, they would be looking for me. Pretty sure I wouldn’t have gotten into trouble, once they learned why I had missed the bus but there’s always that small chance; that fraction of time that I would be missing that might prove me wrong. At least that was my logic on the matter.

So, since I didn’t feel like going back to the office and having someone call my parents, I just got on the next bus in line. At this point everyone reading this is probably thinking that wasn’t real smart, but seeing the kids who were getting on, I knew where the other bus was going—out of town. And to get out of town, it would go past my house.

Well, things worked out very well, or so I thought. As we neared my house, I went to the front and told the driver I’d gotten on the wrong bus and needed off at the next street. Problem was, he didn’t know me, didn’t know where I lived. And, he said, he couldn’t just drop me off. Great!

That little set-back was easily remedied though—if I hurried. We were almost to my house.

I pulled out my homework assignment—with my name written on across the top—and showed it to the driver. Then, I pointed to the sign by the side of the road. Satisfied, the driver stopped the bus and let me off.

What was on the sign? Well, my dad’s name. The sign was for our church, which is also where we lived. And since my dad was the pastor... you get the picture.

So, I thought my little genius plan to guarantee that I wouldn’t get in trouble had worked. I was home, what could go wrong? Well, it turns out that a bus traveling to the country, passing my house on the way, gets there a LOT quicker than a bus making the rounds in town and finally getting to my stop. Almost an hour quicker. And my parents weren’t home. And the door was locked. And I didn’t have a key. So, I went next door to play.

And then, my parents got home. And my bus arrived. Neither of which I saw.

They found me a while later. Let’s just say I was wrong about not getting into trouble for missing my bus. ~

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, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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A Tale From The Dark Side

In light of the recent lunar eclipse that occurred last night, I have a story from a few years ago. Back around 1979. A total solar eclipse.

I’ve always been a little stubborn. I was in sixth grade at the time and during the days leading up to the eclipse, we were all instructed to NOT watch the eclipse; to NOT even look toward the sun. Our eyes would be permanently damaged, they said. Instead, we were told, we would make little shadow boxes so we could experience the eclipse safely. The idea was we would watch the effect of the eclipse as the shadow moved across our boxes. Everyone in my class was told we had to make a box.

Well first, I didn’t know of anyone who could look directly at the sun, it was too bright. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that. Most of us had tried long before this and discovered we involuntarily looked away. Second, and more to the point of me being stubborn, this eclipse was a rare event. There was no way I was going to miss it by watching a shadow displayed inside a box.

Since I didn’t plan on using a box, I saw no point in making one, so I didn’t. My teacher informed me that if I did not make a box I would get and “F.” But since the “F” was only for that assignment, I decided it was worth it. The day of the eclipse came and as I had so stubbornly informed everyone, I had not made a box.

But apparently, I wasn’t the only one who wanted to watch the real thing. Most all of the students in my class were excited and forgot about their little box. When the eclipse started, we all were watching the sun. Yet, not a single one of us went blind.

I think most people know how to shade their eyes with their hand, it’s another almost involuntary action. It allows you to see what’s going on without being blinded. We all practiced this technique that my teacher had evidently never heard of, and then the strangest thing happened, it got dark! Not completely dark but enough so we didn’t need to shade our eyes—because the sun was gone! Not really that dangerous after all!

I did get my “F.” But I also proved my point—that I didn’t need a box. My eyes were just fine afterwards! Although... Lately, I’m noticing things are getting harder to see. The print on virtually everything is so small these days! Maybe it’s just normal aging or... Maybe I should have made a box! ~

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, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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