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.

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.

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. 

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.