Bruce A. Borders: 2013

Monday, December 30, 2013

Last Year's New Year's Predictions

If anyone remembers, about a year ago, this blog was about my predictions for the coming year of 2013. For this week, I thought I’d go back and visit that again - to see how well I did.

Just to refresh everyone’s memory, or in case you didn’t see it, the text of last year’s blog appears below in italics.

12-31-12 Blog

It’s that time of year again, when everybody makes their predictions for the coming year. Everything from sane and rational expectations to outlandish foretellings and dire warnings of things that will never come true. For instance, I read the other day that 2013 will be the year aliens land on the Earth and we will discover life on Mars. Yeah, right!

The good news is, I won’t look too peculiar making a few predictions of my own. Keep in mind that I do not have a crystal ball and wouldn’t know what to do with one if I did. Okay, here goes.

I predict 2013 will have 365 days (Approximately - the time discrepancy which necessitates the occurrence of leap year not withstanding).

I also predict the weather across the country will be generally cooler at the beginning of the year, followed by a warming trend throughout the summer months - even downright hot in some areas. Then, with fall, temperatures will moderate, eventually turning colder toward the end of the year. And then I predict some moron will blame the variation in weather on global climate change.

I further predict 2013 will see politicians spending more money they don’t have, blaming each other and then trying to figure out ways to have the rest of us pay for their stupidity and insatiable desire to spend.

And I predict that when 2013 is over, 2014 will be ushered in - like clockwork.

Hey, this predicting thing seems pretty easy! I could go on, but I’m fairly sure nobody wants me to. so, I’ll end this blog with one final prediction; next year, about this time, there’ll be a whole lot more of the crazies coming out with their predictions - not at all dissuaded by the fact that none of their previous “enlightened” prophetic statements came about. Except me - I think I have a pretty good shot at all of mine coming true!

So, how did I do? Pretty well, I think. As of tomorrow (12-31-13), the year 2013 will have racked up a total of 365 days. Just as I predicted. So far, so good!

The weather followed my predictions right down to the letter - even to the point of some moron, a lot of them actually, blaming the temperature fluctuations on global climate change. Not bad huh? I didn’t even rely on the Farmer’s Almanac for those predictions! Just a few years of weather data floating around in my head!

And my predictions about the politicians were right on the money! All year long we were treated to the blame game - with ultimately both sides contributing to our, now very out of control, $17 Billion debt.

One of my predictions, the calendar turning to 2014, hasn’t happened - yet. However, things appear to be on track for it to occur within the next day or two. Unless something drastic happens, the year will end just as I said!

The last of my predictions also came true. Many slightly crazed individuals have already made their wild predictions for the new year - with no mention at all that their ridiculous prophecies from last year never happened. Just to clarify, aliens did not land on Earth and life was not discovered on Mars. (If I’m not mistaken - and I’m not - I alluded to this being the case as well, with my “Yeah, right!” comment in my blog. Chalk up another one in the win column.)

I think it’s safe to say that I have ended up with one hundred percent accuracy! So, I’ll quit while I’m ahead. (And, before anyone gets too bored or decides I have truly lost it)!

Happy New Year!

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books. Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, 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

Monday, December 23, 2013

My Snow Removal Business

‘Tis the season. No not Christmas, necessarily - winter. And snow. It’s no secret I don’t like the stuff. (As a truck driver, it greatly inhibits my efforts to make a living in a timely fashion, potentially turning my day from what is normally thirteen hours into sixteen, eighteen, or twenty. You can see how difficult it would be to work a full week with those kind of hours. The DOT sort of frowns on driving that long). I didn’t even like snow as a kid. But, at one time, I did think I could maybe make a profit off it.

The winter I was twelve, I got the grand idea to make some money by shoveling snow. I was going to be rich! I figured all the neighbors would jump at the chance to have the snow removed from their sidewalks and driveway.

The first snowfall of the season, I took my dad’s shovel and walked around the neighborhood, knocking on doors. A lot of doors. And got no favorable response whatsoever. It seems no one wanted to pay me a measly five dollars to shovel two inches of snow for them. Who knew?

The next time it snowed, I tried again. This time there was a little more of the white stuff (maybe four inches) and I hoped my luck would improve. It did! I actually got a lady up the street to let me shovel off her driveway. And yes, she did pay me! But that was the only one.

So, I gave up. If no one wanted my help, then I wasn’t going to ask them any more.

Then came the big snow. In three days, during which it never stopped snowing, we got several feet! Enough that cars were buried, roofs were caving in, and driveways were completely gone.

That’s when I learned that my neighbors were more than willing to change their minds. Several of them solicited my services. But, that’s also the day my neighbors learned that I wasn’t as dumb as they thought - I declined the offers - even from the guy who said he’d pay me double. Ten dollars! I wasn’t even tempted.

That could have something to do with the fact that I was busy. Shoveling snow. All day. Apparently, my dad thought shoveling snow was a great idea for me - and my brother. And it didn’t seem to matter that I no longer wanted to do it. He just said something about, ‘tis the season. He did help us and by the end of the day, we had most of it removed. But, by the end of the day, I had decided I never wanted to shovel snow again! In fact, I never wanted to see snow again!

Yet, just last weekend, there I was, shoveling my driveway. And thinking, “Yep, ‘tis the season.”

Merry Christmas!

Monday, December 16, 2013

Murder - Part II

Last week’s blog about how I almost bought a house where there had been a triple homicide, got me to thinking. A dangerous activity, I know.

I realized that I have lived within a block or so of a lot of homicides. Several, in fact. And no, I didn’t commit them! More than half were suicides and the others were all solved, as far as I know.

As I started counting them up, I was a bit surprised. There have been nine. This seems like a rather inordinate amount for my short forty-six years. Even more so, when you consider that the first one didn’t happen until I was fifteen. So, that’s an average of about one every three and a half years.

It would seem that perhaps I have lived in a bad neighborhood! But, I’ve lived in numerous neighborhoods, in multiple states, during this time. Maybe it’s just that my neighbors don’t like me. Although, I can’t imagine that would drive them to suicide or murder. I may not be the perfect neighbor but I’m fairly sure I’m not that bad.

Then I hit on another theory. I’m a writer. I like to write crime stories. Could it be that my neighbors were all trying to help out by providing me with plots and scenarios to write about? Book fodder; is that what it was?

But then, I must admit, it seems highly unlikely all these people would go to such great lengths just to help a writer. However, it is certainly odd that I started writing around age fifteen - right when the first one occurred!

So, now I suppose I need to get busy immortalizing these individuals in book form. I’ll write the books, sell a few, other people can read and maybe enjoy them; everyone’s happy! As the old saying goes, if you look hard enough, you can find the good in anything!

Told you it could be dangerous when I start thinking!

Okay, just to clear things up. I don’t actually think the murders and suicides had anything to do with me. Nothing whatsoever. Most of the people didn’t even know me. They didn’t do it because of me, or for me. My presence had no bearing on anyone else’s fate. Of that, I’m sure.

Pretty sure.

But just in case, it may be wise not to move in beside me!

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

Monday, December 9, 2013

House Of Murder

I’m not superstitious in the least. Things that might bother a lot of people don’t affect me. My wife is much the same. Which is why, we didn’t think twice about trying to purchase a house where multiple murders had taken place.

In short, here’s what happened there. (At least, as I heard it). The house was the home of an elderly couple. Late one night, three young males from out of state broke into the place. The three were on the run due to several criminal incidents in a nearby town and needed a place to hide. The home of the elderly couple apparently looked like a good choice. Evidently, they didn’t want anyone informing law enforcement of their whereabouts because they killed each of the occupants in the house, the couple, and a younger relative.

This happened several years before my wife and I arrived in the small town - a small town where everybody knew the story so there was no hiding it. Somehow, anyone who looked at the property was made aware of its history. As you can imagine, the bank was having great difficulty selling the house with such a stigma attached. For years, the house had remained empty. But we had no qualms over it. Obviously, we weren’t the ones killed so it didn’t really matter to us. What mattered to us was the price. And the price was more than right - less than half of its fair market value!

Unfortunately, we didn’t end up purchasing the property, but not because of the murders. The house would have needed some major remodeling, a couple of additions. This would have left us with almost no yard at all - and brought the cost up. So, we opted for another home a couple of blocks down the street.

Good thing too, I suppose. Recently, when one of our daughters found out about all of this, she was appalled, horrified at the thought that we would have even considered such a thing. The idea that she could’ve been living there; that she could have grown up there, was revolting to her.

I think, had she been raised in that house, and then found out the history, she might have seriously considered killing her parents!

Monday, December 2, 2013

Still Thankful

I know Thanksgiving is past but as I write this it is still the holiday weekend so, I guess I’m still feeling thankful. Thankful for a lot of things that never really get mentioned because they are overlooked or just taken for granted. I would name them all but unfortunately, I can’t. I know because I once tried to name everything I was thankful for and discovered the seemingly simple task was impossible.

So, I’ll just highlight a few things that are on my mind due to the holiday.

I’m thankful for the food, a wife who can, and will, cook. Thankful for the family who showed up to help us eat the food too. My parents, my brother and his family, an aunt, all of my kids and the four grandchildren, as well as several friends were here. Yeah, we had a full house!

I’m thankful for a job that allows me the opportunity to work and make a living - so we can afford to have a holiday! I’m thankful for getting the day off from work too, so I could spend the time with the previous mentioned list of people.

I’m thankful for a warm house, ‘cause it’s cold outside. And speaking of cold, I’m thankful the weather didn’t interrupt our plans.

I’m thankful for simple little things such as a camera - to take pictures that make memories easier to recall.

And I’m thankful to live in a country where we can have a Thanksgiving holiday - and actually have things to be thankful for.

These may seem like insignificant things but to me they’re definitely not. I don’t want to be one of those people who do not appreciate what they have until it’s gone. And someday, all the things I mentioned may very well be gone. There are no guarantees in life. So, I just wanted to say I’m thankful for them - at Thanksgiving and all year long.

Monday, November 25, 2013

Making A Turkey

Third grade. Thanksgiving week. For a school project, the teacher had all the kids in class make paper turkeys. We used colored paper, and traced around patterns that she had provided, cut out the designs, and then assembled our “work of art.” Unknown to us, the project was to be graded.

At first, it would seem that everyone’s turkey would look the same. I mean, we all used the same pattern, and the same colored paper. But the end result was drastically different from student to student. Most of the finished projects did resemble a turkey - except for one kid. He thought it would be “better” if things were put together backwards. Instead of the feet at the bottom and feathers arranged around the top, his had them swapped. He told the teacher his was a dead turkey.

No, the kid wasn’t me, but his design did give me an idea. Before the teacher could check mine, I did some quick modifications. Using the scissors, I cut off all the feathers, the feet, and the head. All that remained was an almost round piece of brown paper. This is what I presented - a cooked turkey!

Needless to say, the teacher was not impressed by either of our jokes. And at lunch time, we got the privilege of making our turkeys again. And, we were told, we couldn’t go to recess before we’d finished.

The other kid went through the whole process again, tracing the patterns, cutting out all new parts from the colored paper and gluing them together. But me, I’ve always been in a hurry. Making a whole new turkey threatened to take up all of my time for lunch recess. So, I had a quick solution, I just glued the pieces I’d cut off back on - and didn’t even try to hide it, I glued them right on the front. Of course, my turkey was a little out of proportion and smaller than it had been. But the teacher hadn’t said it had to be perfect!

She never said a word about the way I’d fixed it, just told me to go ahead and go outside.

I should’ve known something was up.

Normally, any projects we made were taken home, but not the turkeys. The teacher kept them. A few weeks later, I found out why.

Open house. All the parents of the students and lots of other people showed up to walk through the classrooms and check out what the kids had been doing. And in my room? Yep, the turkeys we’d made were displayed - with our names in big bold letters. You could easily see where I’d cut everything off and glued it again. Obviously, the lady was trying to embarrass me! Okay, maybe she was trying to teach me a lesson, I don’t know.

But, I did know that I wasn’t going to let her win.

While she was busy talking to my parents, I took my turkey down, flipped it around, and taped it back on the wall. With the ugly cuts and splices now hidden, it didn’t look too bad. It was still smaller and looking the opposite direction than everybody else’s, but it did look like a turkey.

The next day the teacher handed out our turkeys for us to take home. Mine was not handed out. When I asked where it was, she said she was keeping it for a while and would return it later. Turns out, she’d discovered that two turkeys could be made from the same amount of paper if they were made just slightly smaller and she wanted to use my turkey for a pattern!

My grade? An “A!”

Monday, November 18, 2013

No More Clutter

My wife’s idea of cleaning up the clutter and mine are two vastly different things. For my wife, cleaning means to throw away everything in sight. For me, it’s more like rearrange things and hide stuff. The hiding aspect comes in pretty handy - if I want to keep anything! We’ve sort of learned to put up with each other’s different approach and make it work.

This past week, she went on another “cleaning” spree. I’ll admit, the kitchen does look different - clean, I guess. But I keep wondering what I’ll be looking for next week or next month. I’m sure I’ll be digging through everything, trying to find a certain something, and talking to myself, saying, “I know I had that, but where did I put it?”

Of course, I could ask my wife - but by then, she won’t remember. Out of sight, out of mind, you know. When my kids still lived at home we all knew if something was missing to check the trash.

In her defense, sometimes the items she chooses to toss are well past their expiration date and I just choose to ignore that fact. But sometimes there is nothing wrong at all - she simply doesn’t want them any longer. I suppose it comes down to this; I’m sentimental and she is not. So, I keep almost everything, she keep nearly nothing. After nearly thirty years, I am kind of used to it.

I’ve also learned to combat her discarding of perfectly good things that I want to keep. It’s easy, I just go through the trash. Which is what I did this past week, as soon as I noticed the kitchen. Found some things too. Things I refuse to throw away. And hid them. The end result? I still have my stuff and the kitchen is still clean! Like I said, we’ve learned to make it work!

Monday, November 11, 2013

You've Got Mail

So, the Post Office is going broke. No surprise since it is run by the government. The buffoons in Washington, DC, couldn’t run a lemonade stand and turn a profit - even if the lemons were donated! It seems the idea of generating a profit - or just breaking even, for that matter - is a foreign concept to our government.

On the surface, it appears they are bursting with great ideas; ideas that should produce, or at least contribute to a healthy profit margin. But whatever they try, troubles seem to plague the once efficient Postal Service. (Well, if you go back to the Benjamin Franklin days).

They routinely and frequently raise the cost of postage. Before the ink dries on Congress’ stamp of approval, they’re petitioning for yet another rate hike. They print commemorative and collector edition stamps in hopes that people will buy, but never use them. And many folks do, including me when they issued the Johnny Cash stamp last June. And still, they’re going broke.

They offer a vast number of special services, most of them useless, to maximize revenue, things like: insurance, certified mail, registered mail, priority mail, and next day delivery just to name a few. For these services, for which there is little or no additional cost, they charge a premium price. Yet, they’re still going broke.

They’ve purchased new fuel-efficient vehicles, streamlined and automated sorting and delivery. They’ve shortened routes by discontinuing home delivery in many areas and consolidated mailboxes in a lot of others. In recent years, they have ventured into the packaging business as well, selling boxes, bubble wrap, and tape among other things - at a fairly hefty markup too. Despite all this, they’re going broke.

In order to give the Postal Service an advantage, there’s long been a ban on UPS, FedEx, or any other private company delivering letters, flyers, or other mailings. By law, these companies may only deliver packages. And even with this unfair advantage, the Post Office is going broke.

And lately, we’ve been hearing a lot about eliminating Saturday delivery. Cutting back to a five-day delivery format would save millions they claim. The idea isn’t new, I remember hearing it as a kid - in the seventies. For now, Congress has nixed the idea. And, the Post Office is still going broke.

For the last twenty years or so, the money woes have been blamed on technology, starting with the fax machine, and now email, texting, and FTP (File Transfer Protocol). Yet, the amount of mail, by volume, has steadily increased. The reason? Junk mail. Companies, through advertisers or direct mailings are willing to pay big bucks to get their offers to potential consumers. In fact, junk mail has been directly credited with keeping the Postal Service from going completely under. (That’s typical - the government run entity can only stay in business by delivering millions of pieces of mail that nobody wants or needs. Most of this “mail” is instantly discarded, having never been opened. Yet, this junk mail just may be useful.

You see, I might have a solution for the whole problem. My plan will immediately increase the revenue stream for the floundering Postal Service - dramatically. At the same time, it will decrease the amount of junk mail we throw away.

It’s simple really. All we need to do is open a few pieces of the junk mail, find one of those pre-addressed postage-paid envelopes and stuff as much other junk mail as possible inside. (You may want to remove your name from it first). Then, drop the bulging envelope into one of those big blue boxes. All those companies who love to flood our mailbox with junk mail will be paying the Postal Service to have it shipped back. Then, the companies can throw it all away - it’s a win all the way around!

Of course, as soon as these businesses realize what’s happening, they’ll either raise prices or cut the amount of junk mail they’re sending out, maybe both. And then the Post Office will be right back in the same boat - and sinking.

But, we could still give it a try. It might work. I say we go for broke!

Monday, November 4, 2013

Time Warp

Last Saturday night (Sunday morning for anyone who wants to get technical) was my favorite night of the year - the time change in the fall. Not that I like the shorter days that follow but right at first, the time change is great. Most people see the night as an opportunity to get more sleep. Not me. Sleep is highly over-rated.

See, I’m a busy guy, working my regular job, taking care of things at home, and writing. The writing is more than a full time job in itself. So, I really look forward to having an extra hour - at home. It’s delightful to be sitting at the computer, watching the time, waiting for the clock go from 1:59 to 1:00. A gift of time is one of the best there is. And I don’t want to spend it sleeping - that is too unproductive. I have things to do!

I often wonder though, just how much extra work I actually get done. With all the anticipation, paying more attention to the clock than to working, probably not much. And then afterwards, continually looking at the time for the next hour, things don’t really improve. All these distractions make it difficult to concentrate. Could it be that instead of gaining an hour, I actually lose two? Maybe.

Still, it seems like I have extra time. And in fact, a 25-hour day is indeed longer than any other. (Unless you’re traveling across multiple time zones in a westerly direction, really fast). I’m just not sure I get any more accomplished in that 25-hour day than in a normal one. But, it makes me happy to think I’m going to. And it’s still my favorite night of the year.

Of course, six months from now, I’ll be depressed. When the time changes back. That’s my least favorite night of the year. Somehow, it’s not quite as much fun seeing the clock skip an hour. A 23-hour day means less time to work. I have to stay up an extra hour just to break even. But then, sleep is highly over-rated.

Monday, October 28, 2013

Legal Practice

I’ve mentioned before that I spent a fair amount of time in the Principal’s Office throughout my school years. Nothing major - usually - just the typical mischievous boy who thrived on getting myself into sticky situations. Most of the time, I didn’t actually end up in any real trouble, thanks to my willingness to argue my way out of it. Or, reason my way out, as I called it. I’m not sure now if I ever actually won or if my opponent just gave up, but either way, it worked.

It was this eagerness and ability to successfully make my case that led more than one of my teachers to suggest I look for a career as an attorney. I did consider it but never made any effort to follow through since doing so would have required college and law school - I wasn’t that fond of school.

Later in life however, I did get the chance to go to court and argue my case. No, not because I was on trial, this was a civil matter. As the old saying goes, “A man who represents himself has a fool for a client.” I’d like to think I’m not a fool so, I didn’t act as my own attorney, not exactly anyway.

The lawyer I’d hired, after a few days of discussing my case, and hearing all my arguments, decided that I should prepare the case myself. She would argue in court, but until then it was up to me. She showed me how to prepare court documents and a few other legal things and then said I was on my own. She did want to be kept informed of what I was doing and we met weekly for a few months as I worked to build my case.

I was elated! Playing lawyer was more fun than I could have imagined! What’s even better, my attorney paid me for the time I spent working for her! We had agreed on her price beforehand and this was reduced by a few thousand dollars by the time it was over.

Although this was a civil matter, I did stand to lose quite a bit of money, and my job if I lost, so the pressure was on. I stayed up late at night, finding anything I could to bolster my case. I created graphs from information obtained from unknowing sources (people like to provide information even when they don’t know they are), searched old court cases, prepared documents, and laid out a plan of action. I even wrote the questions for my attorney to ask in court.

On the date of our hearing, we showed up in court with a stack of papers nearly a foot tall - all my hard work over the last few months. The opposing side had almost nothing.

For the most part, my attorney followed what I’d prepared. It was kind of awesome listening to my own words, my own arguments being made for me by someone else. Someone who was a professional. And then, a few hours later, the good news - we won!

Afterwards, talking with the attorney, I mentioned how much I appreciated her letting me work on the case since I’d never had any legal education or experience.

She laughed and said, “That may be true, but you do know how to present an argument and back it up. So, somewhere you must have had some sort of experience.”

Uh, yeah. Maybe the Principal’s Office?

Monday, October 21, 2013

That Depends

Let me say upfront that I’m glad I wasn’t my teacher in school. (Impossible, I know. Still, I’m glad). School for me was rather monotonous so, I always tried to make it more interesting. For some reason, my humor and extra effort weren’t always appreciated.

There are many instances that I could use to illustrate my point; the following is one of my favorites.

Grade school. A Science test. The state of matter. One section of the test listed ten or twelve substances, things like; gasoline, plastic, granite, helium, milk, etc. In the blank beside each one, I was supposed to write either liquid, solid, or gas. That seemed far too mundane to me, so instead I printed in very neat letters, “Depends on the temperature.” Imagine my “surprise” when the test was returned with every one of them marked wrong!

If this had been a few years later, I would have gotten away with it. My high school teacher had a sense of humor - or appreciated mine. Unfortunately, my fourth grade teacher did not. As far as he was concerned, my answers were incorrect.

Of course, I argued. After all, the test hadn’t specified what temperature I was supposed to use. If cold enough everything can be a solid - even if you have to go all the way to absolute zero (the theoretical temperature at which no heat is present in any particle, approximately –460°F in case anyone is wondering). And obviously, thanks to Newton’s Third Law of Thermodynamics, the equal and opposite must be true; if hot enough, everything can be a gas.

After several more minutes of discussion, which involved the whole class, the teacher gave up. Although he would not concede that I was right, he agreed to not mark my answers wrong. Same thing to me. However, he did go on and on about how in the future I should recognize when something is implied and form my answers accordingly.

Yeah, sure. I never did seem to learn that. To this day, when someone asks how long it takes to drive from one town to another - a question I get a lot, being a truck driver - I say, “Depends on how fast you drive.”

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books. Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, 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

Monday, October 14, 2013

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.

Monday, October 7, 2013

Under The Knife

I used to like playing with knives. Actually, I should rephrase that; I like playing with knives - throwing them, sticking them in things, but my favorite activity is flipping and catching them. Any kind of knife will do, but the bigger the better. It’s more spectacular. I know, it’s dangerous - I’ve been told that since I was a little kid. I’ve even been accused of not being all that sharp!

I used to practice for hours, learning the differences that distance and weight of the knife would make when trying various stunts. And, since I’ve always handled the knives by the blade, learning how to keep my fingers intact - especially while catching them! Despite the concern of nearly everyone who watches, it’s really not that dangerous. It’s even a little exhilarating standing under a spinning knife! Only one time have I ended up bleeding. And I do still have all my fingers.

This is not the story of how I cut myself but one day at school - back before the insanity of zero tolerance that would have gotten me arrested - I was playing around with a butcher knife. I was showing off, seeing how many flips I could get and still catch it. One of my classmates said he’d give me twenty dollars if I could get fourteen flips. So, of course I had to try. I started with one flip, then two, and then three and so on. The step by step approach was for two reasons; first, it helped me to get into a rhythm, but also it allowed anyone observing to count with me because when the knife makes more than about seven or eight flips in the air, it’s easy to lose track.

When I got to twelve, the kid, seeing I was getting close to taking his twenty dollars, started to backtrack. I didn’t pay any attention as I was intent on getting to fourteen just to show him I could do it. It wasn’t really about the money and I would have been content to let him off. But, my teacher had been there the whole time, listening and watching, and he wasn’t so lenient.

When I caught the blade on the final flip, the teacher told the kid to pay me. Of course, this was met with much protest. But, the teacher said he’d made a deal and had to stick to it. He did give the guy a chance to get out of it though. If he could duplicate the stunt, he didn’t have to pay. I guess the kid didn’t like his chances with that because I got my money.

Oh, one last thing, in case anyone is wondering how I received my one and only cut. It wasn’t from trying some crazy number of knife flips or anything. In fact, I wasn’t doing a thing with the knife - except picking it up off the ground - right after telling my son how to always watch what you’re doing when handling knives!

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

Monday, September 30, 2013

Not So Bright

Night time driving. In the semi-truck. Cruising along, minding my own business. Everything was going great. Until... Until I see the red and blue lights come on behind me.

I knew why the cop was pulling me over - the truck I was driving had only one headlight working. Now by law, I’m supposed to carry a spare headlight but I didn’t have one. The company I drove for at the time had no use for that particular law so they didn’t provide spare headlights. They reason, they said, was that the drivers would steal them. We all knew they were just being cheap, but it always sounds better to blame it on the drivers. What it really said was they didn’t trust their drivers with a twenty dollar light, yet they gave them a quarter million dollar truck to drive. Yeah, that makes sense.

In the interest of full disclosure, even had I been carrying an extra headlight, I wouldn’t have changed it. Not that night anyway, since it was raining cows and horses (that’s a lot like raining cats and dogs but heavier). I didn’t feel like getting soaked.

After enduring a short lecture about how dangerous driving with one headlight can be - apparently, the other light just waits for that very moment to go out as well - I was ordered to change it before the truck moved again. The cop scribbled some notes in his handy dandy notebook and left.

I knew he’d be waiting down the road somewhere. I also knew I didn’t have another headlight. That wasn’t a problem for long. Bracing myself for the drenching rain, I got out and removed both headlights, putting them back in on the opposite side. Then climbing back into the truck, I headed on my merry way - still with just one headlight.

Sure enough, I’d only gone about fifty miles when once more I was being invited to pull to the side of the road. The same cop came to the door and seeing it was me said, “Didn’t I tell you to change that headlight before you took off again?”

“Yeah. And I did change it.” I didn’t mention exactly what the change consisted of in this instance.

The officer could see that I was soaked but still he gave me a dubious look like he didn’t believe me. Checking his notebook, the trooper slowly nodded his head. “It was the other side that was out.” Then, again assuming his arrogant and condescending tone he said, “That’s why it’s important to change those right away. You just never know when the other side will go out and you’d be driving blind.”

“I see that,” I said, resisting the urge to comment on how brilliant he was.

“Don’t suppose you have another extra light with you now, do you?”

I shook my head. “Nope. But I’ll be to the terminal in about twenty-five miles.”

“Well, all right,” he said. “Make sure they replace it when you get there. And be careful, driving with a single headlight is dangerous.”

No kidding! It had already gotten me pulled over twice!

Monday, September 23, 2013

My Wife Does Have A Point

Being married to a very talented and skilled seamstress, I get to enjoy tailor-made clothes that would normally cost a small fortune. She is usually busy making something and in between all the fancy dresses for weddings and such, all the intricately designed quilts, and all the other elaborate projects; from time to time, I’ll get a nice western-style shirt. Just one of the perks and it suits me quite well. She does have a knack for sewing.

As a seamstress, it is also completely fitting that my wife would have a proclivity for pins. Stick pins. Sharp, little objects that come in handy for a lot of different things - so she claims. Not only does she use them in her sewing, but for some reason she has an almost evil affinity for poking things with them, including me! From early on, I learned to stay clear of her when she is sewing! That can prove to be a difficult chore when it’s time to try something on. But, I know her and can usually tell when she’s about to stick it to me!

But not always. Particularly, when she manages to carry out her scheme while she’s nowhere around. And a maniacal scheme it was.

She’d just finished a shirt that I had requested, a black on black embroidered shirt, and I couldn’t wait to show it off. I proudly put it on and as usual, in a hurry, we left for church. The shirt fit perfectly but something wasn’t right I soon discovered. New material is sometimes stiff and can scratch I knew, but this one seemed to be scratching a little more than normal. In fact, it almost felt like something was stabbing me in the stomach. I kept trying to change the position of the shirt - only to have the irritating pricking sensation change too.

Finally, after a couple of hours or so, I said something to her and she checked to see what the problem was. And found it - a pin! It had been poking me the whole time. (My stomach looked like I was a diabetic or something with little tiny red dots all over it). Laughing - a little too much - my wife removed the offending pin. Ah!

No, I really don’t think she did it on purpose. However, she got entirely too much amusement out of the whole deal. All at my expense! And of course, I had to confiscate the pin for the ride home - you just can’t trust the woman with a pin in her hand!

On second thought, I’m not sure I’m getting such a good deal on the clothing after all. It might be better to just pay the small fortune for my tailor-made shirts.

To be fair, it was just a one-time thing. But, that might be because these days, I know to check my clothes thoroughly before putting them on. With a magnet!

Monday, September 16, 2013

Heated Debate

I like summer. Hot weather, bright sunshine, no clouds; that’s perfect for me. Did I mention I like it hot? My wife, on the other hand, is not a fan of summer. She’d rather it be snowy and cold, with emphasis on the cold. It’s an on-going disagreement around our house. I like it hot, she likes it cold.

So, when the air conditioning went out this past week, it didn’t bother me nearly as much as it did her - for a while anyway. But after a few days, with the house slowly heating up from the near triple-digit temperatures outside, I started to reconsider my position.

To avoid making it hotter in the house we left the lights off and tried not to use any electrical appliances. That of course meant not using the stove - but then, we really had no need for a stove. As hot as it was, all we had to do was take the food out of the refrigerator, lay it on the counter, and wait. In about a half an hour, we had a nice hot meal!

And, that’s not all. The sheets on the bed felt like they came straight from the dryer and a simple chore like opening the door left us wondering if our fingers would blister. The house was so hot that the decorative candles on our wall are now just blobs of melted wax. A shower consisted of turning on the cold water and hoping it would cool down before reaching our body!

Okay, I admit it, I’ve been known to exaggerate slightly on occasion. So, you may want to disregard some of the examples above. Actually, you should probably discount all of them. But, the house has been a little hot.

The weather has cooled down considerably in the last couple of days, so things are looking better. In a week or so we should have the air conditioning fixed - just in time for winter. That seems like an ironic statement at first, but if you knew my wife you’d know that we actually use the air conditioner in the winter - and we don’t live in the south! It’s true! More than once, I’ve driven home through snow only to come inside to a “nice” air conditioned house! But hey, at least I already had my coat on.

See why I like summer?

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books. 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 print 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 #MiscarriageOfJustice #BruceABorders

Thursday, September 12, 2013

There'll Never Be Another Johnny Cash Video - The Borders Brothers

Ten years ago today, I was on my way home from work when I heard on the radio that Johnny Cash had died. The Man In Black has been one of my heroes since I was three years old and I remember feeling a little numb on the ride home. Odd, since I didn't even know the man - although, I feel privileged to have met him.
A few days later, I wrote a song called There'll Never Be Another Johnny Cash - my tribute to the the man, his music, and the impact he had on me even as a three-year-old kid. As you may be able to tell from the song, Johnny Cash was a major influence in the way I write and sing. And, even though it's been ten years, to quote one of his songs, "I still miss someone." #cashtag

Monday, September 9, 2013

Back To School

Normally, you wouldn’t think the first day of going back to school would involve the police. But, of course, I’m not exactly normal. This wasn’t due to a fight, or drugs, or anything mischievous. I did nothing against school rules at all. In fact, I didn’t even have a chance to actually make it to school.

Usually, I rode my bike, but due to my bicycle having a severe addiction to flat tires, this day, I was walking. We lived about three miles from the school - if I took the city roads. So instead, I chose the freeway, which cut it down to under two miles. Just my luck, a state cop happened by. He wasn’t all that excited about seeing a teenager strolling down the shoulder of the highway, and felt it necessary to tell me so. My choice was a poor decision, he said. Apparently, I was in great danger of being ran over.

Well, I wasn’t all that excited about seeing him either. And, I “politely” informed him that the only one who had even come close to hitting me was the guy driving the car with flashing lights. Needless to say, I didn’t score any points with him. He seemed to think I should find a different route. And, he said if he saw me walking to school on the freeway again, I’d be in trouble.

He left and I continued on to school - on the freeway, of course.

At the end of the school day, I set out for home. Being stubborn, as I was, (still am) I again headed down the freeway. And again, the same cop pulled up behind me, lights flashing. I guess he’d been waiting for me.

“Didn’t I tell you I didn’t want to see you walking on the freeway again?”

“Actually, what you said was if you saw me walking to school, I’d be in trouble,” I told him. “I’m walking home now.”

Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. Maybe he was thinking how stupid I was, I don’t know, but I saw a brief flicker of a smile come across his face. “Just get home and don’t walk on the freeway anymore,” he said, getting back into his car.

Surprisingly, I listened. Well, at least until my bike suffered another bout with it’s addiction.

Monday, September 2, 2013

Celebrating Labor Day

Labor Day. A national holiday set aside to salute the working men and women. A day to be thankful for your job. We celebrate the day by not working! (Sounds a little oxymoronic, to me)! Millions of people have the day off work, and I think I saw all of them on the freeway last Friday. Not sure where they were going, only that they seemed in quite a hurry to get there.

I'm pretty sure the idea of a holiday is supposed to be a chance to slow down, to regroup, and a time to relax. At least that's what I've been told. Rest and relaxation. But judging by the angst and frustration of many of the drivers I encountered, that is just a fanciful notion. Apparently, Americans are far too busy, and far too rushed, to take the time to slow down. I can understand. I usually feel the same way. There are a lot of things to do and not nearly enough time to do them.

This particular holiday seems to have a certain added sense of urgency. Being the last holiday of the summer, it will then be back to work, or school, or whatever else it is that occupies everyone's time. One last hurrah! One last trip to the lake, or the mountains, or to the beach. One last mini-vacation.

These things are all fun no doubt, but the typical holiday is a far cry from rest and relaxation. Most people would probably feel less tired and less stressed if they didn't have the day off. Oh, but that's not the American way. It's not our tradition. We take holidays off.

It's nice that many employers have accepted and embraced the practice. But unfortunately, some companies do not participate. As in, the place where I'm employed. Which is why, while most of you are enjoying the day, free from your work-related responsibilities; while you're busy camping, fishing, boating, or whatever your activity of choice, I'll be keeping up my normal routine; celebrating the day - by working!

Happy Labor Day!

Friday, August 30, 2013

Smash words Author Interview with Bruce A. Borders

Have you read the Smashwords Author Interview with Bruce A. Borders yet? You can find it here;
https://www.smashwords.com/interview/BruceABorders

Monday, August 26, 2013

The Right Key

When I was a kid, my dad once told me that a set of car keys would fit more than one car. That may not have been such a good piece of information for him to impart. I was instantly intrigued. Being me, I had to see if it was true. Not that I really doubted him, my dad is usually right. This was back before keys were encoded with computer chips and, in fact, a single key could fit several cars. Though they usually sent them to different parts of the country, I planned to find two of them.

I tried hard too. I used to take my dad’s keys and try them in all the cars around the neighborhood. When that didn’t work, I started collecting keys. Old keys that people didn’t need any longer, spare keys, and keys that I found, made up quite an assortment. And anytime we had people over, or we went some place, I would sneak off and see if my keys would fit any of the vehicles. Sadly, it never worked.

Eventually, I figured out that while it may be possible to find two cars keyed alike, the odds were overwhelmingly against it happening. I didn’t really give up because I can remember even as an older teenager, trying a few here and there. It still didn’t work.

A few years later, my wife and I, along with some of her family, were spending the day at Valley Fair Amusement Park. Along about mid-afternoon, it started raining - raining so much that they shut down the park. Amid a torrential downpour that would have made Noah proud, we decided to make a run for it.

The rain was so hard we could hardly see where we were going but that didn’t matter. The Park coded their parking lot into zones, which were clearly marked on the light poles. Remembering exactly which pole we had parked beside, we made a beeline for our car. I guess we were trying to avoid getting wet - a rather pointless endeavor considering the way it was raining - and rushing up to the car, I quickly unlocked the doors as we all scrambled inside.

In our hurry, and in trying to find some way to get dry, at first we didn’t notice all the subtle little things that were not right. Not until I had the car running did my wife start pointing out the differences. It took a few more seconds for us to figure out our mistake - it wasn’t our car!

Well, we made our exit from vehicle even faster than we had gotten in! Two parking spots down we located our car, and crawled inside. We were driving away, shaking our heads and laughing at our mistake, before it hit me that I’d finally done it. I’d found two cars keyed alike! And I hadn’t even been trying. It wasn’t exactly the way I’d envisioned it happening, and I’m sure the others with me weren’t impressed, but I was happy.

The poor people whose car we’d soaked probably weren’t nearly as happy as me. Although, by the time they made it to their vehicle they were no doubt just as drenched as we had been so, maybe they didn’t notice. If they did, I suppose I should thank them for their contribution in helping me prove, once again, that my dad was right.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Temporary Bachelor

Home alone. My wife is off gallivanting around the country on vacation. (Actually, she is visiting her family). But, I stayed behind. And since my kids have all moved away, it’s just me - and the dogs.

Living alone isn’t really a problem. I can manage to take care of myself, and the dogs. In fact, I seem to function quite well on my own. But I do tend to become a little irritable without my wife around. The dogs are not impressed.

When my wife and I first got married and she would leave for a week or two, I dealt with my frustration by firing people at my job. (Only if they deserved it, of course)! I don’t have a lot of patience to begin with - add to that the annoyance of my wife being away and it doesn’t bode well for employees who do not listen or who won’t do their job. As the manager of a fast food restaurant, with several employees, I usually had an abundance of opportunities to exercise my self-designed “therapy.”

These days, I’m not the boss - probably a good thing - so; I have to deal with my frustration in a different manner. The method of choice is to stay busy working. Again, the dogs are not impressed. In the week I’ve been home alone, I’ve worked on a broken light fixture in the kitchen, replaced two leaking faucets, repaired the fence, fixed the shed door, did some maintenance on my pickup, and cleaned up the house (a little). And, I still have more to do.

This new approach to dealing with the absence of my wife seems to be rather productive! Much more so than firing my crew - and then having to run the store by myself! I’m hoping when my wife returns she’ll be happy with everything I’ve accomplished. The thing that worries me is that she’ll be so pleased she’ll decide to leave more often. That wouldn’t be good - for me, or the dogs.

Monday, August 12, 2013

That Can Wait

I’m a procrastinator - sometimes. Not that I sit around idly doing nothing, but I put off certain things. Usually, this is because I have other things I’m doing that take far more time than I had planned. Then, unexpected things come up that need to be taken care of and so, I keep pushing back things I should have already had done. Which is how I ended up sitting outside on my deck at one o’clock in the morning, just hours before my deadline, trying to decide what to write for this week’s blog.

Sitting there, staring up at the stars, I noticed the mountainside behind my house. It’s a pretty steep hill that rises over a 1000 feet. In the cliffs at the top are a few sizeable caves. This is a perfect attraction for a young adventurous boy and when I was a kid, I made countless trips up the mountainside to explore. I would run up and down the rough, steep terrain multiple times a day. Not that I needed a reason, but I’d look for any excuse to go up there - sometimes just to see how fast I could make it to the top and back down to my house. It’s a wonder I didn’t break a leg - or two! But nothing bad ever happened and I have many fond memories of those days.

Although I now live just down the street from where I did then, it’s been years since I’ve been up to those caves. I keep thinking I need to make another trip - but, not on foot! I’m way to old for that. I doubt I’d have the energy to make it halfway up before collapsing. Lucky for me though, I don’t need to walk. There is a road that comes in from the back side. Not a very good road, but a road - I could drive up there! And I plan to - just haven’t done it. Not yet. I’m busy with other things. Or, maybe it’s because I’m a procrastinator.

Monday, August 5, 2013

'Til Death Do Us Part

Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to kill my wife? Seriously, I did. Okay, not on purpose. Really!

We were taking our car to the shop to have the transmission worked on. It seemed to be having trouble not engaging - particularly reverse. When we arrived at the shop, the mechanic wanted it parked in a certain spot and to do that we had to turn the car around. Should be no problem, right? I mean, we’d made it that far.

Unfortunately, the road was not wide enough to make a U-turn, so we had to back up - or, at least that was the idea. With the front end of the car nosed down on the side of the road, toward a fairly sizeable ditch, reverse went out completely. We both tried to push the vehicle back up to the road but couldn’t get it to budge. So, I got the bright idea that the transmission was just slipping a bit. I figured if I could get something to give it a little nudge, just to get it going, it might work enough to back up the two or three feet I needed.

That something, I decided, should be my wife. I would drive.

Not only did it not work but every time I took my foot off the brake, the car would roll a little farther down the ditch. Of course, I kept trying, edging the car farther and farther each time. And, edging my wife closer to the fence at the bottom of the ditch.

I didn’t realize there was a problem until it was too late; she was pinned with her leg caught between the car’s bumper and the fence. When I did finally realize what was happening, I put the car into neutral and got out, intending to help her push. This only added more pressure, insuring my wife was firmly trapped. She said later that the only thing she wondered at the time was how much more she could stand.

I’m not sure how, we’d both tried pushing together earlier to no avail, but somehow, I was able to push the car back up onto the road - by myself! Adrenalin I guess, after seeing the anguished look on her face.

In the years since, my wife has never let forget the incident, bringing it up from time to time - good-naturedly, of course. She wasn’t really upset with me over it. Or, so I thought.

The other day, she posted something on Facebook that now has me wondering. The post said how she was thankful to have a husband who works hard, who would do anything for her, makes her laugh, who is her best friend, etc. That was all great until I got to the part about her husband being the one she wanted to grow old with - IF SHE DIDN’T KILL HIM FIRST!

Hmm. Has she been holding a grudge all this time! Does she intend to pay me back someday? I’m not really sure. But if one day, out of the blue, she asks me to push her car - while she drives - I think I will decline.

Monday, July 29, 2013

All Locked Up - Or Not

I’ve always had a knack for getting into places I shouldn’t. Places I didn’t belong. Places that were locked up. When I was younger, I figured there was only one purpose for locks - to see if I could get them open. Usually, I could. Locks are meant to be opened after all! Of course, I was no Harry Houdini, but I did possess a little proficiency at it.

Also when I was younger, I seemed to have an inherent desire to explore. And since all the world had already been discovered, my exploration was confined to buildings and the inside of anything fenced off. This, mixed with the ability to defeat locks, was not a good combination for a young teenage boy.

While some of the places I’ve been able to get into would be quite impressive, I think I’ll resist the urge to name any of them - for security reasons - mine! Not that I ever stole anything - for me the thrill was getting in. But, I know better than to admit to anything, even all these years later. Someone, somewhere, would decide I was guilty of something and there would be a big mess. So, let’s just say that I know several major stadiums have an elaborate system of tunnels and secret passages, most commercial buildings have multiple hidden rooms, and at least two of the towns I have lived in are built over an entire network of tunnels. All great conditions for an explorer!

Out of all of my “expeditions,” I was only caught once. I think I was twelve at the time. A security guard ushered me down through a complex series of tunnels and hallways to his office, which to a kid more closely resembled a jail. Asking me a few questions that I refused to answer, he made the mistake of telling me to sit tight while he went to call his boss. He left me locked in the interrogation room, as I referred to it, but didn’t bother to actually keep an eye on me.

Remember I said I had a knack for defeating locks and getting into places? Yeah, funny thing is, my talent worked just as well to get me out of places too!