Bruce A. Borders

Monday, July 30, 2012

Moving Out

I remember the day I moved out of my parent’s house. Eighteen years old and ready to face the world. I loaded everything I owned in a green 1973 Impala and drove 2000 miles away. It felt good to be on my own and, for better or worse, I was the master of my own destiny.

I won’t try to convince anyone that I was actually grown up, or mature - too many people are still around who knew me then. I did have a job and paid all my bills, but I was still a kid. The good news is, I learned an awful lot of stuff that can only be acquired through experience. And the bad news is, I learned a lot of stuff that can only be acquired through experience.

In less than a month, my son will be leaving for school. Moving out, and living on his own. Aside from making me feel old, I have rather mixed emotions about the whole thing. On one hand, I’m glad for him. He has a great opportunity, and is a responsible person, I’m sure he can manage. On the other hand, he will be moving a long ways away. That wouldn’t be so bad except that I know he’ll have to learn some of the same stuff I learned - and through experience. That’s what has me feeling somewhat apprehensive.

I should be used to this by now. My two older children moved out a few years ago, so I should be all practiced up and able to handle this one with no problem. Yeah, right. My daughters didn’t move that far away, and I’m still around if they need me. (Which they rarely do, but its okay to pretend, right?) The difference this time is I’m afraid my son may be a little too much like his father.

That could be a good sign though. After all, I made it - and for the most part unscathed. Yet, I’m sure that won’t help when a few weeks from now my son loads up all his belongings and set off down the road. But, on the bright side - at least I’ll know how my parents felt the day I left home.

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 http://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

Monday, July 23, 2012

My First Job

Remember the small, neighborhood grocery store? The kind where, when you walked in, it was like visiting a friend’s house? Where everyone knew your name and treated you like family? These days, the giant supermarkets have replaced many of the neighborhood grocery stores. They may have more of a selection but something seems to be missing.

As a kid, I lived next door to one of those friendly hometown grocery stores. I’m sure there are probably 5000 laws, or so, against this now, (in 1970, we didn’t have all the dumb laws to make everything illegal) but at age three that store provided me with my first job. Yes, I started working a little young, although it wasn’t exactly a strenuous job, not a child labor camp kind of deal. Twice a week, on freight day, I went to work.

After the truck driver, Tiny, - yes, I still remember his name - delivered the freight, and all the product had been put away, it was my job to take all of the boxes to the shed out back. A pretty easy job for the most part, except that some of the boxes were bigger than I was. Okay, most of the boxes were bigger than I was. But, I managed. I flipped them upside down, over my head and carried them, one at a time. I was later told it was a little comical to see – a cardboard box with two feet sticking out of the bottom, walking itself out of the store and around the building to the shed. The job took no more than a half an hour and for this I was paid 25 cents - 50 cents per week!

When the owners sold the store I thought that’d be the end of my job but then, I was hired by the new owner. (I suspect the previous owners might have had something to do with that). But, as is usually the case with new bosses, the job changed a little. More duties were added. Instead of just piling the boxes in the shed, I had to break them down and stack them in the corner by the door. And, once all the boxes were out of the store, I had to sweep the floor. However, with the added work came a raise! Double my previous wage; 50 cents per day and, my first benefit package – a candy bar and soda pop when the job was finished!

The store is gone now, and the house is gone; replaced by a huge shopping center, with a giant supermarket. They call it progress. Probably no one remembers the little boy who used to carry boxes with only his feet showing. The good news is that in the last forty plus years, I’ve progressed too. And while driving truck isn’t that much more difficult than carrying boxes, I do manage to earn a bit more than a dollar a week!

Monday, July 16, 2012

Losing Things On The Road

In my daily travels along the Interstate, I see a lot of junk strewn alongside the road. I’m not talking garbage or trash people have thrown out, but things that until they fell out of a vehicle moving at 70 mph, were perfectly fine. Now supposedly, its bad luck to lose something out of a vehicle while driving. Well, duh! You don’t have your stuff anymore – that’s not exactly a stroke of good fortune!

It’s amazing though, just how much people lose. I’ve seen everything from clothes and purses to dressers and beds; from suitcases and lamps to toolboxes and ladders. Once, I even saw a busted up piano. Something tells me it probably no longer played.

I often wonder what these people were thinking when they set off down the road without tying or strapping down their possessions securely. Maybe they just didn’t care. Or, in the case of heavy objects like a refrigerator or piano, they didn’t want to have to unload it. Me, I like my stuff and I’d like to keep it, so I tie it down. Besides, replacing things is rather expensive.

Perhaps the most interesting thing I’ve seen on the side of the road was a mirror. A big mirror. The kind that hangs at the end of some grand hallway in a fancy estate. What was especially fascinating about the mirror is that it wasn’t broken. The edges of the wooden frame were a little banged up but other than that, there it was, defying all logic, leaning up against the guardrail, the glass gleaming brightly in the afternoon sun. A shinning example that even the most predictable outcomes can sometimes be very unpredictable. How does a mirror fall from a moving vehicle, land on the hard pavement, roll to a stop up against a solid surface, and not shatter into a million pieces?

Just luck, I suppose.

Monday, July 9, 2012

Kids Do Dumb Stuff

Kids do dumb stuff sometimes. Not an earth-shattering statement, I realize. Doing dumb things is part of growing up. And the great part is that everyone alive is either a kid or once was a kid – so everybody can relate – whether they want to admit it or not. Some don’t, but I will.

I can’t remember if I was six or seven at the time, but the rest I recall quite well. A friend and I were walking from my house to his – just across the street. As we crossed the road, we noticed a car approaching in the distance. For some reason, we both suddenly stopped walking and faced the oncoming car with arms stretched out like we were daring the driver to hit us.

At the same instant, we both realized that the white car coming toward us was a state patrol vehicle. “Cop!” we yelled, and made a mad dash for the bushes surrounding his house. Then, staying out of sight, we retreated behind the shed. Our efforts to escape were futile, however. A few seconds later, the officer pulled into the driveway and went to ring the bell. My friend’s Mom listened as the cop explained why he was there and then she came looking for us.

For the next several minutes, we were treated to a lecture about how dangerous our behavior was. I remember thinking, Does he really think we’re dumb enough to stand there and wait until the car runs us over? Apparently, he did, because when I asked him, he repeated how dangerous it was and said that we could’ve been killed. Eventually, the cop left. My friend’s Mom didn’t really say a whole lot – just shook her head. I guess she figured we’d learned our lesson.

But, remember what I said about kids doing dumb stuff?

It continued to bother me that the cop actually thought I’d simply stand there in the street with a car coming and not move – long before it had a chance to hit me. I’m not sure who I was trying to prove it to, certainly not the cop, who I never saw again, but several months later, I decided to try it again. Not wanting to get my friend in trouble, this time, I was alone. I chose a darker colored car, but other than that, everything was much the same. Same street, same place. And at about the same distance, I realized the approaching car was a county cop! Twice in a row! What were the odds?

No, I didn’t get in trouble again. Why? Let’s just say that one kid can effectively disappear a whole lot easier than two.

Monday, July 2, 2012

Pet Peeves

I have a lot of pet peeves – a lot of things bug me. I know, a pet peeve is supposed to be the one that irks you more than any other, but I have a hard time deciding on just one. So instead, I keep a running list. It has grown quite large over the years. The list includes; slow drivers when I can’t pass, people getting my order wrong at a restaurant, anything resembling rock music, waiting in long lines when I’m in a hurry – and of course, I’m always in a hurry. Also on the list: shaving with a dull razor, high prices of practically anything, winter – in its entirety, and running out of ink – even though I have three printers in my office. As you can see, the list covers a broad spectrum of subjects. It’s quite long and there seems to be no common thread other than these things really bug me. I once thought of making one of those tear-away calendars – one with each day of the year. Each sheet would proclaim a different pet peeve for the day. I soon discovered that wouldn’t quite cut it, 365 days just isn’t enough! Perhaps a five-year calendar would work better?

At any rate, now that summer is here, and being that I’m a truck driver, you can probably guess what currently tops my list – road construction, miles and miles of road construction. In itself, the construction wouldn’t be so bad – if the road actually needed repairing. The problem is, most of the construction going on is to replace a perfectly good highway. I think they’re just fabricating jobs and wasting money. I’ve driven the same stretch of road for more than fifteen years, this summer marks the fifth time they’ve resurfaced the same portions of that road. Then, to make things worse, the construction brings about another of my pet peeves – slow drivers. I don’t mind that they slow down a little, but when the posted construction zone speed limit is 50 mph, and I routinely follow people through it at 30 mph, or even slower, I get a bit antsy.

To my credit, to date, I have not used the 95,000-pound semi to push anyone out of my way! I’ll admit it sounds tempting and could easily be done - but no, I just take a breath and add the driver to my list. And then add another half an hour or so to my day, arriving home much later than I should have – you guessed it, another pet peeve. Then, that cuts into my time at home – just one more of my pet peeves.

You see my problem? How one thing leads to another? Pretty soon, a cascading of pet peeves is released. As they pile up, my list keeps growing. It’s getting hard to keep track of them all.

I suppose I could just quit my job – and eliminate over half the items on the list in one shot. But, not having any income and eventually, no vehicle and no house (or much of anything else), my list would again balloon, and probably be larger than it is now. I guess the only thing I can do is complain about it.

Perhaps I should revisit the idea of a calendar. Is there such a thing as a ten-year calendar? That might do it. Writing everything down and then tearing off the paper might even prove therapeutic. My wife says far too many things bug me. Maybe so. She’s usually right about that kind of stuff. Hmm. Where is my list?

Friday, June 29, 2012

New Social Media Site - Zurker

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Monday, June 25, 2012

But We Need The Rain

Taken and adapted from the book, Holy Terror, by Bruce A. Borders.

I live in the desert on purpose. The reason is simple – I don’t like rain. Never liked it, never will. In fact, I’d prefer that it never rain at all. Our water supply could be provided by the summer run-off of mountain snow. But apparently, I don’t get to decide such matters, as one look out the window will attest. Yes, it’s raining, and has been quite a lot this year. At the rate it’s going, this normally arid climate will soon be reclassified from desert to rainforest.

I’m convinced that the rain is slowly driving me crazy. The cold temperature. The soggy ground. The damp air. I try to stay busy doing everything I can that needs done – inside. But a guy can only take so much. I’ve considered moving to the Sahara, where it hasn’t rained for around a hundred years – but given my luck, it would rain the first week after I’d arrived. Rain seems to follow me wherever I go.

I’ve also contemplated offering my services for sale – a modern-day rain man. I wouldn’t even need a forked stick, all I’d have to do would be to show up. Then again, it probably wouldn’t work. If I actually wanted it to rain, there’d be a drought – sort of inversely raining on my parade.

Yes, rain is definitely one of my many pet peeves – my apologies to anyone who actually likes the stuff. And it appears that, there are quite a few people who do like it, even where I live. (I often wonder what they’re doing living in the desert if that’s the case). When I complain about the wet weather, I constantly hear them telling me, “But we need the rain.”

Actually, we don’t.

Rain, and the supposed dependency on rain, is highly over-rated. The existence of deserts and the nomads who have long thrived in those dry climates are proof – life can be sustained without rain. True, farmers like the rain – yet, they’re never satisfied. No matter how much precipitation falls, invariably, someone will utter the phrase, “But we need the rain.” I seem to hear it two or three times a week.

I have a pretty good idea the last thing Noah heard from outside the ark was a gargled gasp of, “But we need the rain.” Then, they all drowned.

Apparently, people haven’t changed much.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Home

I'm a person who likes to stay at home. I've never particularly enjoyed visiting places and have no desire to travel to foreign countries. I like it at home. Yet, here I am, writing my blog in Hawaii. (Yes, I know that Hawaii is the 50th state and part of the USA - technically. However, in reality, it is the closest to a foreign country, as I want to get).

The reasons are many; I'll list just a few of them. First, the people here don't speak English much, but Hawaiian, or Japanese, or Chinese, or some other language I can't understand. Second, trying to find the way to anywhere touches on the edge of insanity. There are very few things marked, streets and addresses follow no sort of logic. At times, you can see where you want to go, but getting there is next to impossible, especially with the constant parade of traffic and the swarms of pedestrians. Third, asking the locals for information or directions produces a blank stare, followed by a few sentences of useless information totally unrelated to what you needed to know. Or, they might say nothing - just point down the street - which may, or may not be the right direction.

The Hawaiian Islands are supposedly modernized but they aren't quite as advanced, as I'm accustomed to. For instance, the idea of debit cards hasn't quite made it here. Most businesses do not process them as debit, but credit cards. They have trouble with such concepts as time - no one is in a hurry at all, and walking on the right side of the walk – they seem to prefer using the left side. And, while they do have Wi-Fi and the Internet, the connection speed leaves much to be desired - and you have to pay for it. But then, not much is free here. Prices are not only exorbitantly high, they are insanely outrageous. At $10 a gallon for milk, $7.50 for a small box of cereal, or over $8 for ice cream, one quickly realizes it's cheaper to simply starve! Unfortunately, an entire week of starvation is not an option.

To most people, Hawaii is considered a tropical paradise, and in many ways, it is. Temperatures are around 85 degrees, it seldom rains, there are plenty of beaches and resorts with an abundance of water sport activities, the food is generally pretty good - as long as your wife doesn't decide to sample some of the questionable local eating establishments and the unsavory cuisine, that is (we tried the Kalua pulled pork - a word of advice - don't), and the scenery, with the aqua-blue ocean, the pristine beaches, the mountains with the waterfalls and scenic overlooks, is all beautiful. Yet, I have all of this where I live - and a lot cheaper! We could've saved ourselves a few thousand dollars and just stayed home!

Okay, I'll admit it's not as bad as I make it sound. My wife and I both had a great time in Hawaii for our 25th anniversary. We visited many interesting places including, Pearl Harbor, Waikiki Beach, The Dole Plantation, The North Shore, and Diamond Head Crater. The weather was nearly perfect the entire week and we were treated very nice. In short, we enjoyed our vacation. But after surviving an extremely long week on this island, we are ready to go home. And since I'm a person who likes to stay home, I think I'll stay there awhile!

Monday, June 11, 2012

Island Getaway

This week marks the twenty-fifth anniversary for me and my wife. We celebrated the event by taking a trip - a weeklong trip. Sounded like a great idea when we planned it but, well, let me start at the beginning.

We got up Saturday morning at 6:30, (that's way too early), had breakfast and then rode with our daughter to the airport. We checked in, made it through security, and boarded the plane, all without incident. So far, so good, right? Then, things went south.

A Boeing 767 transported us 1000's of miles to the middle of the Pacific Ocean where we are now stuck on an island. Stranded. Marooned. Isolated from the rest of the world. I have now gone literally hours without Internet service!

So far, we've managed to find shelter and enough food. No tidal waves have come swooping over the island either. We were lucky and managed to locate all of our luggage - and it was intact! Even better news is that the natives haven't tried to kill us so evidently, they're not cannibals. In fact, they've treated us very nice - almost like guests on their island. They seem to think life is great here, but then, they live here. To me, it seems a bit more like a real life episode of Gilligan's Island! I'm just not sure which character I'm playing - hopefully not Gilligan. I'd like to think the professor best represents me, and I do have some evidence to support that - after all, I did find a way to connect to the Internet! Maybe I need to work on a way to get us off the island and back home. I'll let you know if I make any progress.

Actually, we are having a great time in Hawaii. The weather is nice, sunny and 85 degrees. The place is not overrun with people, which is good for someone who doesn’t like big crowds, and I don't have to go to work! The food is delicious and our room on the 20th floor provides a great view.

Still, being thousands of miles from home on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, is a little distressing for home-loving country boy. But I believe I have arranged for us to be "rescued" and taken back to the mainland next week. Maybe in twenty-five years, for our 50th Anniversary, we'll try Alaska.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Doing My Research

It’s no secret that writers have to do research – lots of research. No one could possibly have all the facts and figures just rolling around in their head waiting for the right moment to be written down – at least it’s not that way for me.

That’s why the Internet is so great and makes writing less complicated and faster than it used to be. Once, research entailed spending hours at the library, sifting through volumes of material. It was definitely a lot of work. Now, the same amount of research can be accomplished in a matter of minutes – online. However, there is a small caveat to this – just because it happens to be on the Internet, doesn’t make it true. But, that just means there are a few rules to follow, things like, use only reputable sites, verify any information with multiple sources, and don’t run with a story until you the information is accurate. (I can think of several well-known reporters who would have done well to take this advice).

So, now the time saved is lost due to double and triple checking everything. Ironic isn’t it, that we never seem to be able to actually get more time. Still the research process is much easier, and far more comfortable. I’d much rather spend my research time relaxing in my easy-chair in my own house than to endure the hassle of sitting in the uncomfortable chairs at the library.

But then, there are all the warnings about spending too much time on the Internet to consider. Somebody’s always telling us what detrimental health effects it can have, no exercise, eye strain, a sore back, carpal-tunnel syndrome, poor blood circulation, etc. They make it sound bad.

So, what’s the point of all this? The point of this blog? Nothing really – except, well, it’s nice to be a writer. I have an excuse. If I happen to spend an excessive amount of time on the Internet – just remember, I’m doing “research.”

Monday, May 28, 2012

Out Of Gas

The pump price of gasoline these days has had me thinking back to when I was a kid – during the so-called gas crunch of the seventies. Of course, there was no actual gas shortage then, as evidenced by the fact that over thirty years later, we’re using more of the stuff than ever. Back then, I remember thinking that if we really were running low on the supply of crude oil, why were they still manufacturing and selling cars that ran on gas?

Even though there was no legitimate shortage, by limiting distribution, a shortage was created – stations only received a certain allotment of gas and when it was gone, customers were out of luck. This led to the infamous long gas lines in the seventies. If you are too young to remember, this went on for months. It was during this time that my family took a trip from Oregon to Missouri, as we did nearly every year. The difference was that usually, there was no gas shortage problem. Most of our journey that year was uneventful, except for one minor incident.

At the time, gas stations throughout the western United States were not nearly as plentiful as they are now. Gas stops had to be planned well in advance because it might be hundreds of miles to the next station. Not filling up where you should could lead to being stranded in the middle of nowhere.

On the way to Missouri, we’d driven well into the evening and the tank was running low. Knowing that once we’d left the area we were in, there’d be no more gas for quite a distance, my dad was earnestly looking for a place to fill up. But, all the stations were closed. So, with no other choice, he parked at a station and we waited, our family of four all in the car, hoping that the next morning we could be on our way.

I’m sure it was a little nerve racking and upsetting to my parents. Losing time and the uncertainty of not knowing if we’d be able to get gas the next day was no doubt a bit disconcerting. But I didn’t mind at all. It was kind of fun! A surprise makeshift camping trip! (I was a kid remember and didn’t think much beyond the present.) Besides, they were still selling cars so, what was there to worry about?

We did get gas the next morning and continued on our way with no other problems. And a few days later, we made the return trip home just fine. But the whole thing did provide me with a nice story to think back on when gas prices start skyrocketing and I hear someone on the radio blame it on the short supply of crude oil.

I know now, the continual talk of gas shortage is done for a strategic purpose. And on purpose, by those who are in charge of determining our gas price – whoever they might be. It’s the same old thing time after time. They use anything they can to raise prices at the pump, particularly during the summer months and the holidays. It’s always due to a supposed shortage – this refinery is having problems, that one is closed for repairs, or some tanker collided with something in the ocean and has sprung a leak – any excuse will do. It’s a little different scenario that the seventies, but still the same premise. I still don’t believe there is any gas shortage. And for good reason. On my way to work today, I drove past three huge car lots. I noticed that all of them were still selling cars.

Monday, May 21, 2012

The Zoo

Last weekend, my wife and our daughter took the grandkids to the zoo. They were kind and asked if I’d like to join them. (I think they may have just wanted a driver). At first, I said no, but then after thinking about it, I decided to go. I hadn’t been to the zoo in years and then there was the part about being with the grandkids so, I went. I probably should have stayed with my original choice.

The zoo was pretty much as I remembered, fewer animals than they used to have but they still had the usual assortment – bears, lions, tigers, elephants, and my all-time favorite, the monkeys. Some would perhaps suggest that’s due to a primal kindred spirit. However, contrary to this popular opinion, I am not, and have never been, a monkey. I just like to watch them. When I was a kid, I could stand for hours, laughing at their antics.

Seeing the animals at the zoo and spending the day with the family was nice but, and here’s the reason I maybe should have stayed home, visiting all the animals requires some walking. A lot of walking. An inordinate amount of walking.

I can handle short walks. From the house to the pickup isn’t bad, a casual stroll through the yard is not too strenuous, even trudging to the mailbox is okay. But the ten-mile trek they sent us on at the zoo is for the birds – ‘cause they can fly! Me, I can’t fly. So, I had to walk. It was a winding trail, back and forth, up and down, and all around. Yet, in looking over the map they had given us at the gate, most of the walking would have been completely unnecessary. The exhibits were all arranged fairly close together, but instead of connecting them with a simple path from one to the next, we had to follow a roundabout trail all over the countryside. I suppose the idea is to create a sense of realism, to make it seem as if we were really in the jungles of Africa or on Safari in the Outback of Australia. That might have worked except for the paved path, steel cages, and the thick glass we had to look through to see the animals. Sort of gives it away.

I think it’d be better to forgo the fake setting in favor of a centrally structured design - get a big open space and build all the exhibits around it. Or, better yet, why can’t I just go sit down on a bench and have the people at the zoo bring the animals by for me to see? Let the animals do some walking for a change!

Okay, I’ll admit I may have overreacted a bit or maybe exaggerated the situation slightly, but there was an awful lot of walking involved. Too much walking for me – I’m a truck driver not a pedestrian. I don’t have that much energy. Next time, while everyone else wanders all over creation, I’ll just go watch the monkeys.

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

Monday, May 14, 2012

What Goes Up

It’s an age-old adage, “What goes up, must come down.” Sometimes it’s hard to apply this to real-life situations, especially for someone who’s new to a certain job.

A few years ago, when I was an over-the-road driver, another driver and I were dispatched to a mountainous area with steep passes, up and then down. The other driver was fresh out of driving school – in his first year of driving truck. Now, runaway trucks are nothing to laugh at and can be quite dangerous, but the trick is for the driver to control the truck and not the other way around. The general rule of thumb for descending steep grades is to use the same gear and go the same speed as when climbing the grade, braking only occasionally. Overuse of the brakes will cause them to heat up and not work. Trust me, you don’t want to be going down a mountain pass in an 80,000 truck with no brakes.

We were halfway down a 5-mile grade when I noticed the other driver had grown strangely silent. I checked my mirror and he was still there, but seemed to be gaining on me rather quickly. I asked if he was all right, and in a stressed voice, he said he wasn’t; that he couldn’t slow down. Instantly, I knew what had happened. Although I’m sure they told him in truck-driving school not to ride the brakes, that’s what he had done. I asked if he’d ever driven in mountains before and he told me he hadn’t. He seemed near panic as he added that he’d never even seen mountains before. He’d gotten scared at the top when he saw what we had to go down. Wanting to make sure he went slow enough, he’d used the brakes way too much.

At that moment, I wasn’t too thrilled that he was behind me. I had nowhere to pull off and I certainly wasn’t going to speed up just to get out of his way. Lucky for me, the guy still had enough wherewithal to steer the truck around me. Lucky for him, no oncoming traffic was approaching. Also lucky for him, the rest of the hill was straight and he rode it out. There still was nowhere to stop and we climbed the next grade. At the top, there finally was a pull-off. His brakes should have cooled enough by then but I wanted to make sure before we started down again.

I made a thorough check of the brakes and they were fine – the driver, not so much. He had no desire to get back in the truck. I did manage to convince him to continue on, by telling him I’d let him know on the CB what gear to use, how fast to go, and when to brake. Since both trucks were just alike and we were hauling the same weight, all he had to do was follow what I did. We started down and I talked him through to the bottom. We continued this way, up and down, me giving instructions, for the next 100 miles or so.

Finally, as the steep grades flattened out, we came to a town. Parking at a tiny truck stop, I could smell the brakes on the other truck. Apparently, he’d still been a little overzealous with them, which he readily admitted, saying at the bottom of every grade he’d started losing his brakes again.

The guy was still shaken and sweating profusely. Walking straight to a payphone, he called the company, and quit. The dispatcher did eventually convince him to drive the truck back to the terminal.

I talked to the same dispatcher a few hours later and he wanted to know what had happened with the other driver. “He needs to relax and not use the brakes so much,” I said a little sardonically.

The dispatcher replied that some people have a hard time getting used to driving a semi-truck in mountains but they usually do get the hang of it. “They just need a little time.”

“Okay,” I said, but I wasn’t convinced. Easy for him to say, he hadn’t been the one in front of a runaway truck. “I’d rather they learn before following me down a mountain,” I said.

Oh, did I mention this was my first year of driving truck too? Okay, to be fair, I should point out that I grew up in mountains – and I was quite familiar with the practical application of the saying, “What goes up, must come down.”

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, 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 http://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

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Power Nap

When I was about 10 or 11, I had an affinity for practical jokes. While we usually tend to focus on the “joke” aspect, we shouldn’t discount the practical side of practical jokes. They can actually prove quite useful, I have discovered.

I’m sure everyone has heard of power naps, a short period of sleep that quickly rejuvenates the body – truckers have practiced the concept for years to avoid falling asleep at the wheel. The results are remarkable. Unfortunately, they are only temporary. But, as I learned, the effects can be greatly extended. At the time of this story, I’d never heard of power naps, but apparently my dad had.

My dad, a preacher, and Pastor of a rather small church, also worked a full time job. Typically, his job turned into more than a mere forty hours a week. Combined with the Pastoral duties it meant his workweek was usually pretty long. As you can expect, he operated on little sleep. And from time to time, he needed to catch up in his rest.

One particular day I remember, he was scheduled to speak at a church over 100 miles away – a little more than a 2-hour drive. He got off work shortly before 5 p.m., rushed home and got ready to leave. Deciding to take me along, to help him stay awake, we left the house with only a few minutes to spare. We’d been on the road for just under an hour when my dad started having trouble keeping his eyes open. No, sadly, he didn’t let me drive, although I did offer! Instead, he pulled over to take a short nap. “Wake me up in 15 minutes,” he said.

I said, “Okay.” I already had a plan that I thought should keep him from falling asleep the rest of the trip. Waiting until I was sure he was sleeping, I ran the clock on the dash ahead about an hour. I looked across the car at his watch strapped on his arm, wondering how I’d ever re-set it without disturbing him. Then, I remembered he’d been having trouble with it not keeping time – losing time, in fact. Perfect for my needs so, I left it alone. I did set my own watch to match the clock in the car. This was long before the days of cell phones or the numerous other gadgets we now have to instantly keep us informed of the correct time – we didn’t even have a radio station for him to listen to.

Letting him sleep for the 15 minutes, I suddenly shouted, “Dad! Wake up! We’re late!”

Well, he woke up. Looking at the clock, we were back on the road without wasting a second. It took about five minutes for him to check his watch. I said nothing while he fretted over the time discrepancy between his watch and the clock, wondering which one was right. Then, I did try to help. Showing him my watch, I said, “Mine has the same time as the clock.”

Figuring his watch was dead, he devoted his full attention to the fact we would be late. I waited until we were almost to the church before setting his mind at ease.

Funny thing, later that night, he drove all the way back home without once thinking of stopping for a nap.

These days, I drive past the place we stopped, six times a day. By my last time, I’m usually tired. But just thinking of that incident from 35 years ago always wakes me right up. See? I told you I’d found a way to extend the effects of a power nap!

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, 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

Monday, April 30, 2012

Mowing The Lawn

I used to like mowing the lawn. Good thing, too, ‘cause I started when I was four. Yep, four. And yes, I mowed by myself. Back then, we didn’t have those kill switches that stop the mower when the handle is released either. And I’m pretty sure the mowers were heavier then too – at least they seemed to weigh more.

My legs were too short for me to reach the top of the handle, I couldn’t even reach the middle cross bar, and so I used the sides of the handle. It was all I could do to make a lap around the yard. But, I did it. Then, it was my brother’s turn for a lap. That’s the way we mowed the lawn, taking turns so the job wasn’t overwhelming for a short little kid of four. Yeah, it was hard – but it was fun, and besides, I was helping – doing something worthwhile.

These days, anyone who has a four-year-old mowing the lawn would probably be in trouble for something I’m sure. In this modern over-protective culture, I guess we no longer want kids to learn how to work – or do much of anything. And of course, we certainly can’t overwork them, that would be just horrible – yeah, right.

As for me, I’m glad my dad taught me to mow and then let me do it - on my own – even at age four. Why? Well, a lot of reasons. As I’ve previously mentioned, I learned how to be productive, to work and get things done, how to stick with a job until it’s done, etc. It all came in handy about three years later when I started mowing lawns for other people – and getting paid!

Up until a few years ago, I’d mowed lawns every year since my dad first had me pushing the mower, in what was most likely a very inefficient pattern, around the house. And while I no longer thought it was exactly fun, I didn’t mind. Then one day, my son took over the mowing. Now, I haven’t mowed a lawn in quite a number of years, and I can’t really say I miss it. Not that it’s hard work necessarily, but it takes time, and my time is a limited commodity. There is always plenty of other things I could be doing.

But, as they say, all good things must end. Next week, my son turns eighteen and will soon be moving away. That means, “guess who” gets to mow the lawn? Hmm. And to think I used to like mowing!

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Torture Chamber

Don't worry, this is not political. Just a story based on firsthand experience.

In recent years, there's been a lot of talk concerning whether or not America engages in the torture of prisoners of war – or of anyone for that matter. The short answer is no. As a country, America does not officially practice the sadistic rituals of torture, per se. Usually.

The question then becomes, what qualifies as torture?

Torture chambers do exist in America, many of them. They can be found in virtually every city across the country. Prisoners of war are not the victims, but ordinary American citizens. I have seen several of these houses of pain, and though the look varies slightly from one to the next, each shares a number of features in common. These torture chambers do not engage in ripping out fingernails, they do not practice cutting off fingers, and they do not waterboard their subjects. But what they do is perhaps more sinister, evil and vile, more painful.

Generally, these places are small rooms, painted white. In the middle is a foreboding chair, the kind you'd see in an Alfred Hitchcock movie. The rooms are equipped with running water and electricity – old stand-bys and vital in any torturing endeavor – as well as several modern gadgets designed for the sole purpose of imposing pain. A vast array of knives and other primitive tools capable of inflicting sheer torment are arranged within easy reach of the administrator of the establishment.

The administrator, a smock-clad fiend, wielding various instruments of pain, is the dispenser of the torture. Usually a male, he is the sole arbiter of his victim's fate. Yet, he is not alone. One, and sometimes two or more of his cohorts, under the watchful eye of the master, work in concert to deliver as much physical trauma as possible.

In nearly all cases, these torture chambers make it a point to refrain from killing their subjects, choosing instead to cruelly prolong the agony, leaving their victims to suffer the effects for days, weeks, and occasionally, even extending to months.

As I said before, I've experienced these torture chambers firsthand. I know the horrors that take place in them. In fact, I was recently a reluctant victim. Thankfully, I survived - my trip to the dentist.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Digging To China

Everyone knows that China is roughly on the opposite side of the Earth as America, a little to the north, I know. Did you know you can't actually dig a hole to get there? I do. I tried. Admittedly, it was a feeble attempt – and short lived. After only an hour or so, I gave up – not something I'm comfortable with doing, then (at six), or now. Frustrating though it may be, I keep trying whatever it is I'm attempting to do. In my view, to give up is guaranteed failure. My attempt of digging to China was different though.

For some reason, my brother and I were mad at each other and had been told to leave the other one alone. To keep from arguing, we apparently thought it'd be a grand idea to dig holes in the ground. I don't know what his intent was, but mine was definitely to dig to China. Not that I wanted to visit the place – I just wanted to get away from my brother.

At some point, as brothers are prone to do, we got over our disagreement - or forgot what we were arguing about – and noticed we'd both dug a substantially sized hole. We had two holes a few feet deep, and about ten feet apart. My brother suggested we stop digging down and start tunneling to connect the holes. That sounded good to me but it would mean I'd have to abandon my plan of digging to China – and I'd already made a lot of progress! Hey, a three-foot deep hole is quite an accomplishment at that age!

Then my brother pointed out that it was several thousand miles to China, through a very hot center of the Earth, I'd never be able to accomplish it. Reluctantly, I gave up on the notion.

It took the rest of the day, but we did manage to connect the holes with a tunnel big enough to crawl through. It lasted only a few days, before, being boys, we destroyed it.

A few months ago, I heard a report that some company had come up with a plan of drilling a hole through to the Earth's core in order to utilize the inner magnetic field, thereby connecting all the continents. Theoretically, it would be a modern-day transatlantic cable with the entire world hardwired together. A constant connection, uninterrupted by solar flares or any of the other numerous and common causes of outages. The idea was to allow American companies a more reliable means of communication with their overseas factories – mainly in China.

Sadly, the report said, officials with the company had ultimately decided to scrap the idea, stating the plan was entirely unfeasible. Imagine that! They should have asked me before wasting all their time and money. I could have told 'em, you can't dig your way to China.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, 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

Monday, April 9, 2012

Tall Tales

I guess I’ve always been a cynic. Skeptical. A realist. I just never bought into tall tales. Horses don’t talk, pigs don’t fly, and vampires don’t exist.

In first grade, for a class project, we all got to help bake a gingerbread man. All the students were assigned specific duties. My job was to stir the batter.

Of course, the teacher had set the stage the day before by showing us the film of the gingerbread man, so we all knew the story of how it came to life and ran away. But me, I didn’t buy it.

After placing our gingerbread man in the oven, we returned to class. An hour or so later, we went back to the kitchen to eat our freshly baked gingerbread man – or so we were told. When we got there, it was missing. The teacher had us all search the kitchen with no sign of it. Then, she suggested that it must have come to life and run away – just like in the film.

Yeah, right, I thought. How gullible does she think we are? I didn’t say anything – yet. But after traipsing from the kitchen, through the cafeteria and gym, searching the Administrative offices and teacher’s lounge, I started voicing my opinion. She didn’t pay any attention at first, so I may, or may not, have gotten a little louder. My intolerance for the wild goose chase was more than skepticism of the tall tale - I like gingerbread, I’d helped make this gingerbread man, and I wanted to eat it.

As the class moved outside, to search the playground, the teacher pulled me aside. She said she knew gingerbread men do not really come to life, but that I needed to play along for the sake of the other children. I think I must have rolled my eyes or something at this point, because she added that it was just a fun game and entertaining film – like Pinocchio.

The mention of Pinocchio was rather ironic, I thought, since the point of that story was to teach kids the perils of lying. Apparently at the time, I was still young enough to not be too mouthy, because I didn’t say what I was thinking.

After continuing our pointless search through the basement, the janitor’s area, and several classrooms, we finally wound up in the library. I knew we’d find our gingerbread man there because I could smell it. Besides, there were no more places to search. Naturally, we had to wait a little longer, looking through all the shelves of books, the card catalog, tables and the librarian’s desk, before the teacher “found” our little man on top of a bookshelf. Then, with all the students following, she carried it back to the classroom, where finally, we got to eat our gingerbread man.

A few days later, I forgot to turn in my spelling assignment before going home. The next morning the teacher asked me about it. With a straight face, I told her, “I did turn it in.”

Shaking her head, the teacher said, “It’s not here.”

Looking her in the eye, I continued the game. “I think I know what happened. My paper came alive last night and ran away. Maybe we should look for it. We could have the whole class help search.”

You know, turns out I’m not the only one who doesn’t believe in tall tales.

Monday, April 2, 2012

Missing History

Never trust the history books. Sometimes they get it wrong. Or, they simply leave out important events altogether.

Take for instance, the year, 1967. Many significant things happened that year, not the least of which was me being born. Yes, contrary to the popular speculation of some (my wife), I was indeed born and not hatched.

Sorry, I get sidetracked easily. Back to my point.

Among the notable events of 1967 are: the Apollo Missions, the first heart transplant, the first Superbowl, and as I already mentioned, my birth. I may be biased but I view the latter as the single most important event of the year. (It’s okay, I’ll understand if you don’t see it quite that way).

On the darker side, other events of the year include: the Six Day War, Colorado becoming the first state to legalize abortion, and the forming of the Department of Transportation. 1967 was also a year marked by nationwide race riots.

All this I knew. In preparation for this post, and to see what other stellar events occurred that year, I turned to the history books, which these days are on the Internet. Visiting a well-known online encyclopedia website, I learned that 1967 was the year of the first live, nationwide satellite TV production, the first ATM (then called an automatic cash machine), Sesame Street made its debut, the pocket calculator was invented, and the first Boeing 737 took flight.

I found these somewhat trivial facts to be interesting and impressive. Yet, strangely missing was anything that occurred on April 3rd of that year. I refined my search. The results?

“No significant events for this date.”

Really?

I checked several other websites. All of them agreed – nothing worth mentioning occurred on April 3, 1967. Hmm. Are they all in cahoots with my wife, or what? I was sure that’s the date I was born. Just to make certain, I dug out my birth certificate, and there it was in black and white. I was born on April 3, 1967. For some odd reason, that earth-shattering event has been overlooked; omitted from the historical record! I’m shocked! Appalled! How could this have happened?

Shrug. Sigh. It just goes to show, you can’t trust the history books.

Monday, March 26, 2012

Backing Up

Unlike some truck drivers, I actually like backing up. The smaller the space and the more difficult the situation, the better. I just like the challenge. However, that wasn’t always the case. When I first started driving a truck, the first place I was sent served to create a lot of frustration and left me wondering why I ever decided to become a truck driver.

I’d arrived at my delivery destination just after sunup on a bright summer day. The dock I was supposed to back into was an inside recessed dock with no lights. Lights may seem unnecessary since it was daylight but, for those of you who may not know, the bright sun outside makes for a very dark hole inside. The end of the trailer disappears once it goes through the door. In effect, I was backing into a building blindly. To make matters worse, there was no room to get the truck and trailer lined up straight with the dock before backing up. And with the many smaller buildings, machinery, and piles of supplies all strategically placed in the way, I had to negotiate a virtual maze – with little room to spare. Somehow, they expected me to get the trailer backed into the dock and have it end up straight. But, as the guard pointed out, I was a “professional” driver.

I’m sure the dockworkers, and everyone else who gathered to watch, were not at all impressed by my lack of proficiency at my job, but they didn’t say anything. They all waited patiently until I’d finally gotten the trailer into position so they could unload it. Both their silence and patience were remarkable considering it took over an hour before I was done.

Of course, with practice, backing up became much easier and before long I looked forward to what the next challenge would be. After 10 hours or so of highway driving, backing into tight places was a welcomed change of pace.

With the driving job I have now, I don’t do much backing, usually only once a day. The nice thing is I don’t have to put the trailer into a particular spot, I can choose from any number of open slots. Some drivers might instinctively pick the easiest ones but I like to look for the most difficult. It provides something to test me and keeps me in practice.

Over the years, I have kept a mental list of some of my favorite backs. Generally, to make the list there needs to be not enough room and multiple turns involved. A real life labyrinth – in reverse. Yes, I do like backing up.

More than a year after that first backing fiasco, I was again sent to the same warehouse where I’d made my first delivery. For a long time, I’d wanted to return and was glad to finally have the chance to see if it was really all that difficult or not. To see if the months of practice of backing through small alleys and into docks made for much smaller trucks had paid off.

Conditions were nearly the same when I arrived – a bright, sunny, summer morning, the same obstacle course to maneuver through and a dark building to back into. The same guard was on duty and I recognized many of the same dockworkers. I hoped none of them remembered me. That dream was short lived as one of them instantly smiled and asked if I’d had any practice since I’d been there. I laughed and said, “I guess we’ll see.”

While they all waited, I got the truck into position and backed into the building, relying on feel when the back of the trailer disappeared. This time, in less than three minutes, I was ready to be unloaded. Apparently, at some point during the year, my truck had drastically shrunk. No one applauded or anything, but judging from their faces, I’d say they all were happy I’d learned to like backing up.