Sound Of Summer

Anyone remember the ice cream truck? I do, at least when I lived in town, for some reason they didn’t come by my house when we lived five miles out. I was too cheap to buy anything from them usually; I got a lot more for my money at a store. But occasionally, I’d splurge.

In later years, once I had kids, I learned that being cheap was not an option. When the ice cream truck came by, it was a requirement that we buy something EVERY TIME! These days, my grandkids make sure to keep that rule firmly in place. Needless to say, the ice cream truck makes the drive down my street quite often—all summer long.

This past weekend however, there were no grandkids visiting, no one was home except me. I was using the occasion to work on our floor and after several hours of bending over, working on my hands and knees, my bones were complaining that they weren’t as young as they used to be. They seemed to think I should consider a different weekend activity. I ignored them for the most part but every so often, (usually when I stood back up) I thought about how much easier this kind of work was when I was younger. I used to work non-stop all weekend with no ill effects. “I need a time machine,” I told myself.

And that’s when I heard the music. The familiar merry-go-round type music announcing the soon arrival of the ice cream truck! My first thought was that the ice cream man was going to be disappointed since no kids were at my house. But then another thought occurred to me. Maybe the jingly music was the sound of my time machine coming!

In need of a break anyway, I dropped what I was doing and went outside to wait. In just a few a minutes, I was scarfing down my ice cream. The first ice cream I’d bought for myself—from an ice cream truck—in years.

Sadly, I discovered there were no anti-aging effects associated with said ice cream. But it did bring back a few memories of a time long past. So, for a brief moment, I was a kid again.

Oh, and by the way, at $3.00 for one ice cream, I can still get a lot more for my money at a grocery store. ~

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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In A Fix

So, my wife has decided we need to replace the carpet in our house. And, as you can imagine, “we” means me. Which is fine. She does help when I need something, but I’m quite content to do the work.

What I’m having trouble with is the “replacing” aspect—especially since she wants to replace our carpet with simulated hardwood vinyl flooring. I don’t mind the simulated or vinyl part necessarily; I would just prefer to have carpet. I like carpet. It’s warm and cozy, and a little quieter to walk on. And to me, carpet looks better.

Actually, if it were up to me, I’d probably just leave the carpet we have. Less work that way. And why replace perfectly good carpet? However, since my wife also lives in the house, I shall defer to her and not only replace the carpet but replace it with vinyl.

And that’s how I came to spend my Saturday night ripping out carpet and prepping the floor. And in doing so, realized my wife may have been on to something with this replacing the carpet idea. Not that I had much of an argument against it; after 18 years it was starting to wear a bit. Or a lot. The kids, grandkids, and dogs, not to mention me with my muddy boots tracking dirt in, have all taken their toll. Even I had to admit it was well beyond time for a new floor—and that vinyl plank flooring might not be so bad.

However, convincing my three-year-old grandson is another matter. Apparently, he’s a little like his grandfather and not a big advocate of change. When he came into the house on Sunday, he was almost distraught at the thought of “his” carpet going away. “Put it back,” he told me. We explained the carpet was old, dirty, and needed replacing. He finally agreed that we could replace the carpet but he wanted new carpet NOT something else. “You can get a new floor without CHANGING it,” he says.

After a little more discussion, we thought the matter was settled. But a few hours later, after finishing our Sunday dinner at a restaurant, he wasn’t too thrilled with the idea of going back to our house. “Is the carpet going to be back?” he wanted to know.

I said no and told him it was outside in my pickup, ready to get hauled away. He seemed mollified at that—since there was still time to make his case, I assume. The kid will probably grow up to be a lawyer because he is great at presenting a well-reasoned argument for just about anything.

So, I think I’ve found my wife’s role in this undertaking—she gets to negotiate with the grandkid. Perhaps she can work out a deal—or a plea bargain. As for me, I’ll be busy working on the floor. ~

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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That's Cold

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christmas Break

This is just a short note to say that I will not be writing a blog post this week. After the busy Christmas weekend, I think I’m too tired to think, let alone write anything. And even if I did, I’m not sure it would make any sense.

But it was a good holiday. My wife and I were blessed to have all of our children and grandkids at our house to celebrate. And we were joined by my aunt, who helped keep us all entertained!

As usual, we had tons of food and yes, I ate way too much. But hey, it’s Christmas. And that’s part of the deal—eat anything you want and as much as you want all day long. Of course, then you have to put up with that sick bloated feeling but I think that’s part of the deal too.

I guess I’m not really sure if it was the grandkids that tired me out or all the food I ate. Or maybe it was the games we played (my wife’s idea): Funny Bones, Pictionary, and Taboo. Okay, these games aren’t exactly exhausting to play but you have to remember, I’m getting old. In fact, this is the oldest I’ve ever been at Christmas! I suppose I ought to thank my wife for trying to keep me young, but I fear her efforts are not working.

Seriously though, we did have a good time, and whatever the reason, I am a little tired as I write this. So, I hope everyone understands why I won’t be posting anything this week—or the rest of the year for that matter. Yes, I’m taking a little break. But don’t worry, I will return next year with new installments of this blog. Until then...  Hmm. Wait a minute!

I think something has gone awry. Somehow, this turned into a blog post. Guess I wasn’t thinking straight, but then, I did say that 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, 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.

Back Home

Wisconsin in August! Probably not the best time to venture into America’s Dairyland.

For those of you who did not see last week’s post, the family and I, all eleven of us, took a road trip from Oregon to Wisconsin. For some in our party, it was the first visit to the state, and their first experience with humidity and bugs! Oh, and thunderstorms!

Also, for some, it was their first experience with long distance driving. At first, the grandkids seemed excited at the prospect and eager to hit the road. But I think the novelty wore off after the first 100 miles or so. After that, the “joy” of driving transitioned into the typical “Are-we-there-yet view.

For the adults, the adventure took a turn for the worse after about ten hours, in the form of car trouble. Outside Evanston, Wyoming, one of our vehicles broke down. It would run but the transmission would not engage. Sitting on the side of the freeway is not a real exciting way to spend a vacation. After a couple of hours and a few visits from the Wyoming law enforcement (who were very friendly and helpful) we had the car towed to the dealership where we learned it would need a new transmission, which incidentally, was not cheap. Eventually, we rented a car and continued our trip, leaving the problem vehicle to be fixed. We were a day late when we got to Wisconsin but better late than never, I suppose.

But wait, there’s more. The day before we needed to leave, the key for the rental car decided not to work. It was one of those new key fobs and not an actual key. The message panel on the car just said “Damaged key” when we tried to use it. And although those type of keys have a “real” key inside them for such an emergency, that wouldn’t work either. No matter what we tried, the car wouldn’t start. We couldn’t even roll up the windows. Not a good situation in a place that likes to rain buckets of water! So, after another tow to the dealership and waiting a day for them to fix it, with fingers crossed, we headed home.

There a few more minor issues with the rental, but finally, we made it back to Evanston, Wyoming. There, we picked up the repaired vehicle, returned the rental car, and hit the road again for the rest of our journey. After a day and a half on the road, we arrived home dead tired—and slightly disgruntled.

But the trip wasn’t all doom and gloom. While in Wisconsin, we visited my wife’s family, celebrating her parents’ 50 years of marriage and, I think, we all had a good time. We saw a lot of family and friends that we hadn’t seen for a long time and had a nice visit. Also, on the way to Wisconsin we stopped at Mt Rushmore, and saw a few other sites too. The stops helped break up the trip for the travel novices, know as my grandchildren!

In all, we visited nine different states. I’m pretty sure the extended freeway journey made for a fun-filled experience for, not only the grandkids, but everyone else as well. But I don’t think any of them are ready to go anywhere in a vehicle just yet. Except me. I’m headed back to work. I’ll be driving all night again. But not to Wisconsin! ~

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.

Almost A Vacation

Vacation! Yep, again. A year ago, on my summer vacation, I spent the week painting the house, and fixing things that had been neglected far too long. This year, I’m taking an actual vacation. Well, sort of. We’re traveling to that exotic land of enchantment, known as Wisconsin. (That last part may have been typed with just a hint of sarcasm).

It promises to be a fun-filled, or at least, interesting, trip. The whole family, my wife and I, our three adult children, our son-in-law, and the five grandchildren will be cruising down the freeway from Oregon to Wisconsin. Normally, it’s around a thirty-hour drive, but with that many people, and that many kids, it might take a wee bit longer this time. Hopefully, by the time anyone reads this, we will be there. Hopefully.

For everyone, other than me, this will be a LONG trip. By the end of our vacation, we will have driven more than 3,500 miles. I’m thinking the grandkids, and perhaps a few others, will have had enough of being car bound, listening to the hum of steelbelts on the asphalt, by the time we get back home. 3,500 miles is a lot of miles. I know. That’s what I drive every week. And now you know why I said I was “sort of” taking a vacation. ~

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.

Going For A Ride

Wouldn’t it be nice to be a kid again? Just forget about the daily grind, the concerns and responsibilities that go along with being an adult. To laugh, to play, and relax. To just have fun.        

Had the opportunity to join my two-year-old grandson at a carnival this past weekend. My family, me included, love the rides. Even after I got older and the bumpy, jarring effects punish my body, I still like them. I just don’t get to go on them as much anymore. But, back to the grandkid.

His mother and I took him to ride the rides. He was so excited; he could hardly stand to wait in line. And when we got on the first ride, the Berry-Go-Round, he sat waiting for it to start with a serene look of happy anticipation. “This is going to be SO fun!” he said. And it was. As were the rest of the rides. We went on several. And no, he didn’t want to leave. Truth be told, neither did I, but with the high cost of amusement these days, we couldn’t afford to stay all day and night. See, there I am being an adult again; worried about paying for our adventure!

On our way back to the car, we saw, or actually, the grandkid saw, they were giving pony rides. Of course, he wanted to ride and yes, we let him—with grandpa walking alongside in case he forgot to hold on or suddenly decided something on the ground was more interesting. He was fine but you never know, the kid is only two after all.

It has been a few years since I’ve been to a carnival—my kids are no longer small and thus, I lost my excuse to go—and I’d forgotten how much fun it is. I’m not sure who had a better time, the grandkid, or me. (His Mom may just have been in the running too). But more than being fun, it was relaxing—and exhilerating at the same time. Rejuvenating. And, rather refreshing to forget about everything else and just have a good time. In a way, I guess I was a kid again—for an hour or two anyway! ~

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 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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My Happy Birthday

By the time anyone reads this it’ll be over but as I’m writing, it’s my birthday. My 49th birthday to be exact. Not that the number is too important. It’s not like a big milestone or anything.

I should preface this with clarifying that I had a good day and I really didn’t mind the events as much as this post might make it sound...  It started with being awakened by my two-year-old grandson. When he learned it was my birthday, he was ready for a party and extremely disappointed when we told him I wasn’t having one. “I will give you a party,” he said. I explained that after people get older they really don’t get gifts and have a party; that we do that for kids. The look he gave me said he thought that was not a very good plan but he went with it.

Later, one of my daughters, and an “adopted” daughter, announced their plans to take me to lunch. But first, my wife wanted to make a quick trip to the store. Everyone—except me—went with her; I stayed home to wait. That was taking quite a chance, women and shopping, you know!

But true to their word, they returned just a few minutes later. It was then I learned how my day was going to go.

In the back of the vehicle was a big box. Apparently, my wife had found a deal—a motorized kid’s car. The price tag said it was regularly $149.99 but it had been on sale. And at just $37.00, my wife couldn’t pass it up. She was happy she’d been able to make the purchase.

But me, I saw immediately what was printed on the box: “Contains 71 parts. Requires assembly.” The reason it was so cheap because the rest of the husbands had gone with their wives to the store and said, “Don’t buy that.” But I wasn’t there to issue the words of caution.

So, after a nice meal, we returned home and I set to work. The task went about as expected for a Made in China product; deciphering directions, figuring out what they meant by phrases like “the fastener,” and then figuring out how to really put it together when what they had didn’t work.

The process took about two and a half hours! But I did get it done and yes, it runs! Unfortunately, my grandson had to leave before it was finished. He’ll be back Monday evening and I’m sure he’ll be running the battery dead—about four hours according to the specifications. The bad part is, I’ll be at work. The good news is, my wife will be home and it will fall to her to chase the kid driving the car, until the battery gives out—in an estimated four hours! But maybe then she’ll reconsider next time she sees something to buy that requires assembly!

Oh, before my grandson left he felt compelled to inform me that even though I’d said I wouldn’t be getting presents, I DID get one—the car! I said the car was his. He so sweetly replied, “But YOU get to put it together!” Yeah. Happy Birthday to me! ~

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 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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No Longer Alone

For years, when my parents lived in the same town as we do, our family would go to their house on Sunday afternoons for lunch. Quite often my mom would make tacos, authentic American tacos, because, well... we like tacos—and they are quick and easy to prepare. I soon developed a habit of saying, “Thanks for the tacos,” as we left their house to go home, even if we’d had something else to eat.

Yes, my kids thought I was crazy but I think they thought that for a lot of reasons, not just because I was thankful for non-existent tacos!

Somehow, over the years, this became a favorite saying of mine. Anytime we’d visit my parents’ house and eat anything, I’d say, “Thanks for the tacos.” Eventually, I began repeating the phrase for things that weren’t even food related, and sometimes for nothing at all. At times, it didn’t even make sense and still, I’d say it. And yes, my kids still seemed to think I’d lost it somewhere long ago!

But my mother never even questioned it. She’d just respond with, “You’re welcome.”

This past weekend, since my father is currently out of the country, my mother came for a visit. Yesterday after church, we had her, along with all our children and their kids at our house for lunch. My wife and I made... tacos.

Oddly enough, I wasn’t even thinking about my saying. That is, until the end of the meal when my mom said, “Thanks for the tacos!” We all laughed a bit at that. But one of my grandsons didn’t see any humor in it. Obviously to him, it was quite normal to say “Thanks for the tacos” when we had, in fact, had tacos. I tried to explain it to him but he just shook his head and gave me, and everyone else, a strange look. That he included everyone else in his eye-rolling moment is what made me smile; my kids are now viewed as slightly deranged by the next generation. Welcome to my world! And, “Thanks for the tacos.” ~

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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According To A Two-Year-Old

Today I noticed my grass is starting to grow and my rose bushes are budding! Spring! Finally! I guess I shouldn’t complain, we’ve had only a couple of snows and the temperatures haven’t been too cold this year but still, I’m ready for spring. For a lot of reasons, one of them being the need for a coat.

I really hate wearing a coat but since I also do not like being cold, I suffer through and wear one—the same one I’ve worn for about twelve years. Why? Well, I’d have to go shopping and spend money to get another one. Neither of which is appealing to me. So, I just wear the worn-out one and figure it’ll get me through another winter. And so far, it has!

Last weekend, out of the blue, one of my grandkids told me that I needed a new coat. When I asked why, he said, “’Cause that one’s old.”

“Well, that may be true,” I said. “But so am I, so...”

He nodded. “I know,” was his simple answer.

Well, that was a little funny, until I realized I’ve now reached that age where my actions and peculiarities can be dismissed and forgiven simply based on my age. But hey, wait a minute! I’m not that old... yet. I said as much to my grandson.

He gave me a long solemn stare and then with a thoughtful look said, “Yeah... you are.”

I suppose to a two-year-old, forty-eight does seem old.

But he wasn’t finished. “That’s why you need a coat, to stay warm.”

I guess in his own way, he’s looking out for me. Doesn’t want me to get cold or sick as I’m sure in his mind only OLD  people do. That’s nice of him. I think.

But according to the weather forecast, and my grass and roses, the current warmer weather will continue. So, for now, that’s solved the problem—I just won’t wear a coat. Unless it turns cold again. Then, I’ll have to bundle up. ’Cause, you know, I’m old. Just ask my grandson! ~

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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A New Year

2016. A new year. So far, it doesn’t seem any different from the old year to me. This is the fourth day and I don’t see anything that’s changed—other than the calendar. Sure, there are little subtle differences from day to day, but those always occur. Monday is a little different than Sunday, Tuesday changes a little more, and so on. We start new days, new weeks, and new months without much hullabaloo. But for some reason, everybody gets all excited about a new year.

I could understand if the year marks a big event for someone, graduation, getting married, or retiring; something they’ve been looking forward to and waiting on. Maybe the anticipated birth of a child or grandchild would be something to celebrate. But I know not everyone has a monumental moment planned. In fact, I’m pretty sure most people don’t. Still, for some reason everybody gets all excited about a new year.

Also, I’ve noticed during past years that the newness of a new year tends to wear off very quickly. By the middle of January, people are back to the grind, the festive mood of only a few days before all but gone. They go back to their “mundane” life of day to day living; getting up, going to work—or whatever else they do—going home, and going to bed, getting up... I’m sure you get the picture. This continues right through December when, for some reason everybody gets all excited about a new year.

I have my suspicions that it isn’t really the new year that matters as much as the fact that it’s a holiday and people like having time off work and celebrating. I could be wrong, but I doubt it. So, while I didn’t mention anything last week about the new year, I wanted to make sure I didn’t let it slip by unnoticed—because I know how everybody gets all excited about a new year.

HAPPY NEW YEAR! ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, 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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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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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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Cantonese Adventure

So apparently, guys are not supposed to take young kids to a restaurant by themselves. At least that’s what I hear. I’m not sure if they aren’t allowed to or if people just think they shouldn’t. Either way, I guess I went and broke the rule.

I found this out last Saturday. My wife and daughter went shopping and I kept the one-year-old grandkid. I thought it would be a good time to enjoy a nice dinner at my favorite Chinese restaurant. Yes, the grandkid likes Chinese food. And he knows how to eat by himself, with utensils, so it wasn’t a big deal. Or so, I thought.

We got a lot of strange looks from staff and other customers the minute we walked in. The hostess, who wanted to seat us at a large table, kept asking if the rest of our party would be coming soon. When I finally got through to her that were alone, she gave me a strange look but seated us at a table for two. Even the waitress appeared concerned, asking if I needed her to help me feed the kid. I guess that was a nice offer but, uh, no. I’m quite capable of managing on my own.

But, apparently people just don’t expect guys to take young kids to a restaurant. I think what they expect is guys to be incompetent, or intimidated, or something. Well, maybe some guys are. I am not. That doesn’t make me special. Taking care of a one-year-old is not exactly hard. And doing it successfully shouldn’t give anyone bragging rights. It should be just normal. When my own kids were little, I took them anywhere and everywhere I went. Seems only natural. Especially since the alternative would be to leave them home alone. Pretty sure that would cause more problems than whatever catastrophe everyone is waiting for.

Eventually, everybody at the restaurant got used to the idea that we were there alone. But the waitress, still obviously worried about me, came by and in her heavy Chinese accent asked, “Are you okay?” I nodded and she went on her way. But in a couple of minutes she came back by. It was then that the grandkid, who is into mimicking everything he hears people say, looked at her and, in the same foreign accent, said, “Are you okay?”

She laughed, as did everyone within earshot. “He say that like me,” the waitress said, smiling proudly.

We finished our meal, packaged up the leftovers, and went to pay the bill—all the while the grandkid is listening intently to the workers talk, trying to copy them. And doing a pretty good job if the audience response was any indication! His audience being the entire restaurant!

All in all, we had a good time, ate some good food, and... nothing terrible happened. But apparently, according to the wisdom of the general public, guys are still not supposed to take young kids to a restaurant. And they may be right. After we got home, I had only an hour or two to get rid of the Chinese accent the grandkid had acquired—before his mother came 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, 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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The Babysitters

This past weekend, my wife and I were privileged to have one of our grandchildren spend the night! No, it’s not the first time that has happened; there have been numerous other sleepovers at the grandparents’ by this grandchild and the others. But it is the first time we let this one sleep by himself in a separate room. He’s one year old so he’s not really a baby and can sleep just fine on his own. Of course, we checked on him from time to time, especially my wife who is a very light sleeper when children are around, but we weren’t that concerned that anything was wrong.

However, our dogs were apparently not quite so keen with the idea of letting him sleep alone. In fact, they were pretty nervous about the whole thing. They kept coming to my office at the end of the hall to get me. And, thinking they needed to go outside, I’d get up from sitting at the computer and head for the door. But every time, they’d stop at the bedroom where the grandkid was sleeping. The door was ajar and the dogs would peek into the dark and then look back at me and whine. This only happened a few times before I started ignoring them. Well, not ignoring them exactly. What I did was told them to go back to bed, the baby was fine.

They’d wander off but only stay gone a few minutes. Then, they’d be back, silently urging me to get up and check on the kid. When I didn’t, they’d go to the door and stare into the room, sniffing—and still whining. I started getting up just to watch them.

It was almost comical, as they progressively became more and more worried. They’d quietly edge further into the room, listening and sniffing until they were satisfied everything was okay and then slowly back out of the room, and trot back up the hall. This scene would repeat every few minutes. Eventually, they couldn’t take the “pressure” any longer and just laid down in the hall keeping any eye on the poor, defenseless little human that their inconsiderate owners would not bother to watch—at least not as often as they would have liked.

While this provided entertainment for me, I really didn’t get a lot of work done that night. But that’s okay, I’m working now. And my wife is sleeping soundly. For about three hours now. No, I haven’t even checked on her. She’s got the dogs. I’m sure they’ll keep a close eye on her.

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 also serves as the Vice-President of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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SPOTLIGHT Author

Bethany Turner

Monkey Business

What do truck drivers do on a long weekend? Take a road trip, of course. At least that’s what I seem to do. Quite often, actually.

This past weekend, a three-day weekend, my wife and I went to visit our son in Idaho. We took along one of our daughters and her one-year-old son. I’d forgotten how much fun it can be to travel with a baby. And I don’t mean that facetiously. It brought back a lot of memories from when my kids were little.

This wasn’t an activity filled vacation but we did make a visit to the zoo—for the grandkid. Now, as far as I’m concerned, the only reason to go to the zoo in the first place is the monkeys. If the monkey’s shenanigans are in full swing, I could spend the entire time just watching them. In fact, I’d be perfectly happy to let everyone else make the rounds to see the rest of the animals and come back to let me know when they’re done.

On this particular visit, I was lucky. There was one monkey who seemed to take an interest in me and we had quite the conversation going—sort of, the monkey didn’t do a whole lot of talking. But he did respond when I talked. When I told him he should move from the back of the cage to the front, he actually did. And then, he stayed there for a while staring back at us, making faces. Really! I’d ask him questions and he’s respond with some facial contortion. When I asked if he was lonely in the cage all by himself, he hung his head and covered his face with his hands.

As a kid, I always wanted a monkey of my own—my own little home-entertainment system. As you can imagine, my parents were not thrilled with the idea. And no, I never got one.

I did know a guy once who owned several monkeys and he swore they make the best pets. According to him, they enjoy clowning around, are fond of playing tricks, and respond well to human interaction. Just what I need! He also said they learn things pretty fast. So that got me to thinking; maybe now that I’m an adult, I should get a monkey—for the grandkids, of course. I could teach him tricks, maybe teach him sign language so he could talk, or on a more intellectual level, how to play chess. And if I could train him to drive my truck, that would be awesome!

I can hear my wife having a heart attack as she reads this. Do you suppose if I taught the monkey to do housework, she’d be okay with it? Probably not.

Okay, truth be told, I don’t actually think having a pet monkey would be all that great. I’m sure their antics would quickly become annoying and I know they are not exactly the cleanest creatures in the world. Besides, I no longer need a monkey, I have grandkids!

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, Diesel Books, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice President of Rave Reviews Book Club http://ravereviewsbynonniejules.wordpress.com

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Deceived: Soul Keeper

by L.A. Starkey

How To Get Anything You Want

by Mike Nach

Living With Grown-Ups

by Nadege Nicoll

SPOTLIGHT Author

Harmony Kent

The Glade

Baby Magic

You’d think the thrill of holding and seeing a newborn baby would wear off. I mean, my wife and I have three children and have already been blessed with three grandchildren. Another baby should be old hat. But, this past week when we welcomed our fourth grandchild into the world it was just as exciting as all the others.

There’s something about a newborn; the cry, the coos, the look of wide-open wonder in their eyes, the wispy soft skin, the squirmy little body, and the way they naturally cuddle and snuggle close, is all so fascinating and endearing. There is an instant bond when a parent or grandparent holds a newborn baby. It’s a feeling that is almost indescribable. I call it Baby Magic.

But wait, there’s more to this phenomenon.

Looking at my grandchildren, I see my myself, my wife, our parents, our children, and usually a lot of other family members. I’m sure the same is true for everyone. Babies possess the unique ability to resemble multiple people all at once, while still maintaining their own individuality and looks. That’s Baby Magic.

Babies, especially newborns, command the attention of nearly everyone in their presence and can quickly turn a roomful of otherwise sane adults into strange acting creatures who cannot seem to utter a single coherent word. Again, Baby Magic.

Babies can melt hearts, put smiles on faces, and instantly turn a bad day around - all without saying a word. Baby Magic.

Babies allow us, in some small way, to relive our childhood; with simple ease they take us back to yesteryear and effortlessly bring things to mind that were once forgotten. Good things. Memories. Baby Magic.

Of course, me being somewhat philosophical, the birth of a baby - especially a grandbaby - brings the realization that with each one, I am getting older. It’s quite a sobering thought; their life is just beginning, mine is moving ever closer to being over. Not that I plan on dying any time soon, but it is a cold reality of life - the older generation is eventually replaced by the younger ones. Yet, with the birth of each of my grandchildren, I see a part of me that will live on long after I am gone. In a way, I have become immortal. Another benefit of - yep,  Baby Magic.

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books. Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, and Miscarriage Of Justice, and other titles, are available as ebooks on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. His books are also available in paperback at most online retailers or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. The popular Wynn Garrett Series Books are now available on Barnes And Noble® at http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/?series_id=867526 See Bruce’s Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders?ref=BruceABorders  #BruceABorders

Not Quite Expired

I tend to keep things well past their expiration date. I’m not talking food, but objects, inanimate objects. Long after most people would consider the item useless and toss it in the trash, I hold on to it. For instance, my boots have major holes in them, as do my work gloves, jeans, and even some of my shirts. My hat is dilapidated and badly deformed. But, all these things still work so I keep them. To some people, I’m a frugal cheapskate. I prefer to think of it as getting my money’s worth. Prices are high, things are expensive, and I can’t justify spending more money until the item in question is completely worn out. This extends to bigger items as well. My last pickup, I had for over 17 years. And tires? I run those until there is no tread. And by no tread, I mean the tires would qualify for racing slicks.

Besides all this, I’m a bit sentimental; I don’t like to part with anything that I’ve decided has any amount of sentimental value, especially when that something has to do with my children. So, it came as a shock, even to me, when I actually threw away a wooden sink/stove - with cabinets play set that my girls had. It had been through a lot, was falling apart, the boards warped and busted. I’d pieced it back together several times but finally, I decided it was too far gone to save.

I disassembled the broken toy and carried it out to the burning barrel. But then, looking out the window, something wouldn’t let me go through with destroying it. Retrieving the pieces and laying them in the garage, I made a quick trip to the lumberyard. After spending a few dollars, I returned home, armed with my new boards. A couple of days later, I’d rebuilt the sink/stove.

My wife thought I’d really lost it. “Just throw it away,” she said. But she didn’t see the look in both of my daughter’s eyes when I presented the refurbished play set!

That was over fifteen years ago and sadly, the play set again fell into disrepair – a casualty of many hours of play. But, this time, in keeping with my personal tradition of keeping things long past their expiration date, I didn’t throw it away. Instead, I stored all the boards in the shed out back. And it just may be time to make another trip to the lumberyard. My grandkids might like to play with it!

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter, has over 500 songs and more than a dozen books. Over My Dead Body, The Journey, and Miscarriage Of Justice, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit www.bruceaborders.com. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders