From the author of Over My Dead Body - a new ebook - The Journey. A 15-year-old runaway embarks on what he thinks is the road to freedom. He learns that The Journey to adulthood is more than merely miles traveled.
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABordersThursday, December 29, 2011
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
It's A Family Thing
A lot can happen in 25 years. Take me for instance; 25 years ago, I was a single guy living in an 8 x 25 trailer. One person to consult or consider on any decision, one mouth to feed, one back to clothe, one gas tank to fill – you get the idea.
Then, I got married and that’s when things began to change. Suddenly, there twice as many to take into account, twice as many to feed and clothe. Double of everything, including bills. True, there were also two incomes, but that is a false sense of assurance. There’s a line from an old song that says, “It costs three times as much for two to live as cheap as one.” I can certainly relate. Yet, it was a good trade off. Two are better than one, at least when it comes to family.
Aside from the financial aspect, the changes brought by an additional person are evident in many other ways as well. (Apparently, an 8 x 25 trailer isn’t nearly big enough for two people). Two cars were now needed. And, it took twice as long to take care of the everyday household tasks and run errands. The number of people multiplied by two equals twice the responsibilities, but twice the fun too.
Then our family started growing more. We had kids. (No, not baby goats; children for those of you who are particular about that sort of thing). First one child, then another, and then another. With the addition of each child came more changes and responsibilities; more places to go, more activities in which to be involved, a bigger house, and more things in the house. Our amassed collection of belongings seemed to grow almost exponentially. My wife would tell you it’s mostly my stuff – junk as she calls it – because I keep everything. That’s partly true, I don’t usually get rid of anything, I might need it! But a substantial portion of the things in our house is not mine.
As the kids grew older, the nature of the items underwent a transformation from toys to more useful things like bicycles and then cars – definitely a lot of cars. At times, the fleet of vehicles parked outside my house seemed to suggest I’d gotten into the used car business.
A few years ago, we gained a son-in-law and last year our first grandbaby! While these didn’t add to the size of our household, the impact is seen in other ways. The dinner table is considerably more crowded when everyone shows up for a meal, and if we go out to eat, we require something more than a table for two. No doubt we’ll soon have to start making reservations in order to guarantee seating for everyone.
This past week, we welcomed the latest addition to the family, our second grandchild! If history is any indication, the future likely holds more of the same, to which I’m gladly looking forward. I have this curious desire to see how big the family can become. Will we need to rent a convention center or some such building just to have a family meal together? Alright, maybe not, but who knows? A lot can happen in 25 years.
Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, his latest ebook, is available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com or http://overmydeadbody.jimdo.com.
Then, I got married and that’s when things began to change. Suddenly, there twice as many to take into account, twice as many to feed and clothe. Double of everything, including bills. True, there were also two incomes, but that is a false sense of assurance. There’s a line from an old song that says, “It costs three times as much for two to live as cheap as one.” I can certainly relate. Yet, it was a good trade off. Two are better than one, at least when it comes to family.
Aside from the financial aspect, the changes brought by an additional person are evident in many other ways as well. (Apparently, an 8 x 25 trailer isn’t nearly big enough for two people). Two cars were now needed. And, it took twice as long to take care of the everyday household tasks and run errands. The number of people multiplied by two equals twice the responsibilities, but twice the fun too.
Then our family started growing more. We had kids. (No, not baby goats; children for those of you who are particular about that sort of thing). First one child, then another, and then another. With the addition of each child came more changes and responsibilities; more places to go, more activities in which to be involved, a bigger house, and more things in the house. Our amassed collection of belongings seemed to grow almost exponentially. My wife would tell you it’s mostly my stuff – junk as she calls it – because I keep everything. That’s partly true, I don’t usually get rid of anything, I might need it! But a substantial portion of the things in our house is not mine.
As the kids grew older, the nature of the items underwent a transformation from toys to more useful things like bicycles and then cars – definitely a lot of cars. At times, the fleet of vehicles parked outside my house seemed to suggest I’d gotten into the used car business.
A few years ago, we gained a son-in-law and last year our first grandbaby! While these didn’t add to the size of our household, the impact is seen in other ways. The dinner table is considerably more crowded when everyone shows up for a meal, and if we go out to eat, we require something more than a table for two. No doubt we’ll soon have to start making reservations in order to guarantee seating for everyone.
This past week, we welcomed the latest addition to the family, our second grandchild! If history is any indication, the future likely holds more of the same, to which I’m gladly looking forward. I have this curious desire to see how big the family can become. Will we need to rent a convention center or some such building just to have a family meal together? Alright, maybe not, but who knows? A lot can happen in 25 years.
Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, his latest ebook, is available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com or http://overmydeadbody.jimdo.com.
Monday, December 19, 2011
And I Lived ToTell About It
I think it must be a prerequisite of being a child to periodically scare one's parents half to death, along with as many other people as possible. I know my kids were no exception - and neither was I.
For example, when I was six years old, one of my favorite activities was riding a minibike my dad had bought for my brother and me. A red Honda 50 with automatic gears - no clutch for my small hands to struggle to operate. This particular minibike however, had an annoying propensity to kick out of gear of its own volition - usually at the most inconvenient time. Normally, this amounted to little more than aggravation; all it took was a slight bit of pressure from the left foot and the gears were engaged again. I'd ridden the minibike many times, knew the drill and always seem to control the bike - but remember, I was only six years old.
One bright sunny day, my parents and some of their friends were outside watching as my brother and I took turns riding around our "track." The track consisted of a few trails through the trees and hills. One of those hills was rather steep and long - about 25 feet high and close to twice that long. For me, the hill was much more fun to climb than to come down, and I usually didn't. That day, for some reason, I wound up at the top and decided to ride down. Just as I straightened out the handlebars, the minibike did its thing, kicking out of gear, sending me free wheeling down the hill. With nothing to hold it back, my speed quickly increased. At that moment, I had several options; I could brake, put it back in gear, or since it was quite a ways to the street, I could've turned in either direction. I did none of those. Instead, I froze, my hands stuck firmly on the grips, staring and riding straight ahead. Later, I was told that everyone had been shouting instructions, but I heard nothing.
I can only imagine the helpless feeling my parents must have had as they watched me racing toward the busy street - and unable to stop me. As for me, I remember a strange feeling of being along for an unwanted ride to my doom and being powerless to do anything about it. I also remember a blue car going by in front of me as I neared the street. What I didn't see was the old man in the red pickup coming from the other direction. As the minibike hurtled across the road, the driver of the pickup had little time to react. Before he knew what was happening, I was directly in front of him. My parents, along with everyone else, thought I was about to become a greasy spot on the road. But, somehow I made it. The truck missed me by only inches. I shot on across the street, jumped a ditch on the other side, and slammed into a fence, which put an end to my wild ride, rather abruptly.
The driver of the pickup was so shaken; he pulled over to the side of the road and just sat there for a while. Everyone else was plenty excited too - except me. I was greatly relieved that it was over! And I had no desire to get back on the minibike. Lucky for me, although my dad was obviously unsettled and apprehensive, he insisted I go for another ride - right away. Reluctantly, I did and sort of regained my confidence. Eventually, I was back to riding as if nothing had happened. Almost. To this day, I have never ridden anything down that hill. Scaring my parents was one thing, scaring myself was quite another. I don't think it's supposed to work that way.
Monday, December 12, 2011
No Help Wanted
Everything is easier with help - or so I've been told. Dividing the workload leads to increased productivity, right? Not necessarily. Sometimes it's faster, and easier, to forego the help. Or maybe it all depends on who is helping.
Back when I lived in Wyoming, my dad and I used to make regular fall trips to the mountains to cut wood for the winter. On one such excursion, we took along another guy who had volunteered to help.
Due to the high fire danger level, chainsaws were banned, so we opted for the old standby of yesteryear, the crosscut saw. For those of you too young to remember, or not familiar with this type of saw, I'll explain how it works. A crosscut saw is typically 7-8 feet long with a handle on both ends. Using it is a two-man endeavor. One guy pulls, keeping pressure against the tree, while the guy on the other end holds just enough pressure to keep the blade in place, allowing his arms to extend with the motion - but not pushing. Then it reverses. The second guy pulls while the first one relaxes. Back and forth, this continues as the sharp teeth on the 8-inch wide blade do their job. While not as efficient as a chainsaw it does work remarkably well - but only if both men have at least a small amount of coordination.
Arriving at our favorite tree-cutting site early in the morning, my dad and I cut down eight or nine dead evergreen trees. After clearing the branches from the trunks, we sectioned them into 8-foot logs. Then, we loaded the logs into the pickup and my dad left for town to unload them, leaving me and the other guy to cut another load while he was gone. At least that was the idea.
The two and a half hours he was gone should've been ample time to have another load ready - with time to spare. Should've, would've, could've - wasn't.
That's the day I learned some people just aren't cut out to use a two-man saw. The guy tried, really tried, but it just wasn't in him. I'd pull, and he'd pull, or push hard, bending the saw, which doesn't work either. After several frustrating attempts to explain the concept, I realized that having help that day might not have actually been much help. When my dad returned, we had just one small tree cut - and I'd had to finish that one off with a bow saw. (A one-man saw that requires no help).
The guy felt bad so we allowed him to redeem himself by clearing the branches off the trees as we cut them down. We soon had another load ready to haul and took it back to town. We made several more woodcutting trips, that year and others, but I don't remember ever taking anyone along to help again.
The saw we used has long since been retired but recently, we found a new use for it. This past weekend, while visiting my parents, I painted a picture on the blade, an oil painting of a mountain scene with evergreens, similar to the place where we once used it to cut our firewood. The rustic antique is now hanging on the wall in my parent's home, a picturesque reminder of days gone by. Yeah, I reminisced a little while I painted. The project did take a fair amount of time - and yes, some work - but no, I didn't have any help.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Driving To Canada
It’s been said if you drive a semi for a year, you’ll have a lifetime of stories to tell. If that’s true then I’d better get started telling my stories because I’ve been driving a truck now for 16 years.
One of the first things a driver learns is that the show must go on. Hot freight can’t wait. When you’re hauling upwards of a million dollars in merchandise, people start to get a little antsy if the truck doesn’t show up when expected.
One miserably cold winter day, I picked up a load in Des Moines, IA and headed north to Winnipeg. Canada! Not really the place I wanted to go in the dead of winter. Stopping to sleep awhile in Fargo, North Dakota, I got up to leave at six o’clock the next morning. The temperature was -42 degrees and the wind was howling. Just in case you are wondering, yes, that is cold! The State Police were advising no unnecessary travel. Great! But then, they always say that - it’s not really an indication of the road conditions. And it doesn’t matter. Unless the roads are closed, the trucks will be rolling.
There were five of us that left a few minutes past 6:00 - all headed to Winnipeg. I was fourth in line. It wasn't snowing but the wind made it seem as if we were in a blizzard. Visibility was down to just a few feet. We drove at speeds of 15 – 25 mph, keeping the truck in front of us in sight and maintaining contact with the CB. The driver of the lead truck was a local guy who knew the road well, having driven it every day for 20 years, but even he was having trouble keeping his bearings. Every overpass was drifted nearly shut and we drove in the center of the road, hoping each time we plowed through a drift that no hidden cars were stuck there. It wouldn’t have been just one truck that wrecked; it would have been all five.
All day long we drove like that; single file, no one getting in a hurry, content to follow the guy up front who sort of knew where we were from time to time. Strangely, we never encountered another vehicle all the way to the Canadian border. We thought that was a little odd, but then figured maybe everyone else was smarter that we were. Normally, the entire trip from Fargo to Winnipeg would’ve taken only four hours, but dusk was settling when we arrived at the customs gate.
The Canadian customs agents were preparing to leave when we pulled up – and they were perplexed by our sudden appearance. How had we managed to get there? Apparently, all roads in North Dakota had been closed since 6:30 that morning. How nice! It would’ve been even nicer had someone told us. At least it explained why we’d seen no traffic all day. In the fastest customs processing I’d ever experienced, the agents told us to keep moving. Winnipeg was still another 100 kilometers (about 62 miles), and they didn’t want us to be stranded outside the city.
Conditions hadn’t improved and it was past 8 p.m. when I delivered my load. I then made fast tracks to an already crowded truck stop. By now, all the roads out of Winnipeg were closed and the truck stop, with room for about 60 trucks, was jammed with more than 300 rigs. For the next two days, the truck stop was home, while the wind continued to blow. Depending on which thermometer you looked at, the temperature was somewhere between -50 and -60 degrees Fahrenheit. (It seems that even thermometers have difficulty in extreme cold). The locals insisted it wasn’t all that cold. I decided they’d lived in the frigid climate so long their brains had ceased to function. My own was in serious danger of freezing up, but somehow it still managed to fire on all synapses – just slower than normal.
Finally, two days later, the wind stopped and the sun came out, warming the ambient temperature to a balmy -30 degrees! For a brief moment, I thought I was on a tropical vacation. As soon as the roads were open, 300 trucks rumbled out of the truck stop – mine included. Heading east, on Canada’s only freeway, I picked up a load in Dryden, ON and finally turned south, crossing back into America! Late that night, I made it home safe and sound.
So, what was I hauling to Winnipeg that was so vitally crucial to the survival of society that I had to lose two days of my life stuck in Canada? Magazines. Tabloids to be specific. Yep, people need their gossip.
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