Not That Bright?

I think I might be getting old. Some days, my brain doesn’t seem to be what it used to be. And apparently, light fixtures ain’t what they used to be either. Yes, the two are related. I promise.

For the second time in a month, I had to buy a new light fixture. (No, not because I blew it up or anything). First, it was the outside porch light. The wires were so corroded and badly deteriorated that the light would not work. Since one of my self-assigned trades is that of electrician, I fixed it myself. And yes, it is still working!

Then, this past week, the living room light went out. Thinking it was just a blown bulb, I started to change it. But the moment I touched the fixture, the light made a sizzling pop and then came on. So, since I do not relish the idea of loose wires shorting out and burning down my house, I made another trip to Home Depot on Saturday.

I was planning to replace the fixture Sunday afternoon. I had everything ready and started to go turn off the electricity—not too keen on wiring live wires—when I realized my wife was busy sewing. The plug she was using, as well as any others in the room, was on the same circuit as the light. No big deal, I thought, I’d just wait until Sunday night.

Only one little problem with that idea. Not only was the plug my wife was using on the same circuit as the light, ALL the lights and plugs on that end of the house are on the same circuit. That would seem to make it difficult to see while re-wiring a fixture—at night. I did realize this before actually turning the electricity off, and said something to my wife about her husband not being too brilliant. The bad part is, she agreed. After having a good chuckle at my expense, she gave me a rolling-of-the-eyes look, and then her fitting words were, “Lights are on, nobody’s home.”

Yeah. Sometimes she has a dark side. Maybe I’ll have to start relying more on her brain to help me out, since mine evidently isn’t what it used to be. ~

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

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Lights Out

I’ve never been a fan of the “lights out” rule. Church camps and other places I went as a kid always seemed to have this rule, as well as at my dad’s house. It’s not that I was afraid of the dark, but the fact that the real intent of this rule was to force me to go to sleep. Not a fan of sleep either and for the same reason I don’t like the “lights out” rule, I can’t get much done.

When I lived at home, I solved the problem by using a flashlight to read, or as I did once, by wiring about six night-lights to a switch near my bed. If I heard my dad coming up the steps, one flick of the switch and I was in compliance! Of course, that meant trying to convince him that I was asleep when he came to check and that was not always too successful.

When I was a teenager, I attended a church youth camp where, once again, they had a lights out rule. The Camp Counselor, who stayed in the dorm with us, was of the persuasion that “lights out” actually meant lights out, and shared his opinion with us in the form of a lecture. There were no exceptions, he said. He’d turn the switch off and after waiting a few minutes for things to cool down, took the bulb out of the ceiling—the only bulb—and didn’t replace it until the next day. With no other lights in the dorm and without a flashlight, the first night, I had no choice but to lay there in the dark.

By the next night though, I had a plan.

Outside the cabin was a security light. The fixture directed the light away from the dorm but I saw that could easily be changed. So, waiting until everyone was involved with other activities, I “wandered” off and returned to the dorm. It was a simple matter to climb the short pole and bend the fixture, aiming it right at the big window on the side of the building. Then, inside the dorm, I took down the curtain and hid it.

No one seemed to notice anything until the call came for lights out. The Counselor turned off the switch, but the whole place remained lit up. Not as bright as before but enough. Well, all the other campers thought it was great but the Counselor wasn’t so easily impressed. He demanded to know who had done that to the light. Me, being unassuming, and not liking to make my presence known, I said nothing.

Then came the fun part. In order to look for the curtain, or something to cover the window, the Counselor felt he needed more light and turned the switch on. And I promptly turned it back off; reminding him that lights out meant lights out—no exceptions. Several of the other campers echoed my “friendly” reminder, which was nice because it then wasn’t so obvious that I had been the guilty party!

Eventually, the guy found the curtain and covered up the window. But by this time, everyone was riled up and it was a few hours past our lights out curfew when we finally went to sleep. The next day, someone had fixed the security light and, once again, at lights out, we were plunged into darkness.

Figuring I had won—at least a small battle—and made my point, I was content to leave things alone the rest of the week. And for the rest of the week no one said a word about the incident to me. However, when it came time to leave, the Counselor pulled me aside and handed me a flashlight. “This will save you some trouble the next time you need some light.” That was all he said. But it was enough to let me know my little prank hadn’t left him in the dark! ~

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

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Social Studies

No, this post has nothing to do with school, and it’s not about social media either. But instead of continuing the list of subjects that I didn’t write about, maybe I should just tell my story. Okay, here goes.

My wife and I dined at a Chinese restaurant the other day and as is the custom, received our fortune cookies at the end of our meal. Though it’s tradition, fortune cookies are pretty much pointless. While some may actually believe in such things, I’m certainly not one of them. What’s printed on a little piece of paper inside a cookie obviously has no validity nor any ability to predict or control my fortune. It’s just a cookie. I don’t even like eating them. But it is kind of fun to see what they say, sometimes—usually, to see how wrong they are.

After smashing the cookie, I retrieved the little slip of paper and read: “You have great social charm and grace.”

Really? Me? Anyone who knows me is probably laughing while reading this. I may be a lot of things but possessing social charm and grace is most assuredly NOT on the list. Perhaps the cookie was meant for my wife!

I’m NOT a sociable person. It’s not that I mind talking to people. In fact, I love to talk. But a social function, and interacting with everyone? That’s not me. But, I have a wife who seems to enjoy it. And, she knows that while I do love to talk, there are some people I just want to avoid. So, she runs interference for me! She talks, and I escape.

This past weekend, we had a retirement party to attend. As usual, my wife was making her rounds, visiting with everyone. Me, I just ate some food, talked briefly to a couple of people I knew and was ready to leave. I learned a long time ago to drive my own vehicle to these things. That way when I’m ready to go home, I can.

On my way to the door, I saw another person who I knew didn’t really enjoy social gatherings. She was wishing she could leave but “protocol’ dictated that she stay. I told her I felt her pain but not enough to stay and suffer with her. And then I remembered what she’d told me at the previous function we’d attended. She’d said, “You may say you don’t like these events but you’re so good at being social. You have a certain charm and that helps.”

Has this woman has gone into business writing fortune cookies, I wondered? That’s not likely so apparently, my wife and I just have everyone buffaloed—I attend these get-togethers, she talks, and everyone thinks I’m sociable. Hey, works for me. I knew I married her for some reason! Give the lady a cookie! ~

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

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Faster Is Better, Isn't It?

I drive a lot. And see a lot of things. And having a dedicated run, I see mostly the same things every day. Every week, month, and year, I’m looking at the same scene that I’ve seen many times before. But, this past week I saw something I hadn’t seen in years. Since 1974 in fact.

What did I see? A 70 mph speed limit sign in Oregon!

I know, for some of you—a lot of you, actually—this is no big deal. Most states raised their speed limits to 70 mph and higher long ago. But not Oregon. Oregon has been stuck at 65 mph (55 mph for trucks) for what seems like forever.

Back in 1974, when the national speed limit was set at 55 mph due to the supposed gas shortage—we still haven’t run out, by the way, and we’re driving more vehicles a lot more miles—Oregon took down all the 70 mph signs. And disposed of them, I’m sure. They should have kept them because here we are a “short” 42 years later, and the signs, or rather, new signs, are going back up. And the truck speed limit has been raised to 65 mph! That’s the first change for trucks since 1974!

You’d think that being a truck driver, and driving 700 miles a day, this would perhaps save me some time. But it doesn’t. My truck is governed at 62 mph just like it was before. Unlike old governors, which could be bumped, the computerized version actually limits the vehicle speed. The only way to make the truck go any faster is to let it roll down the hills. I do this of course, but it only works when I’m loaded. And for exactly half of my day I’m empty.

There is another reason the new posted speed doesn’t save any time. And that is, typical of a government venture, the new speed limit doesn’t apply in all of the state, only the eastern portion. The dividing line is about the half way point of my run. And of course, most of the hills are in the western part of my drive!

So, this past week, I’ve been getting passed a lot. Cars, pickups, and other trucks go zooming by. I even thought a bicycle was going to overtake me the other day! We were already known as the slow guys. Wonder what they’ll start calling us now? Oh well, I really don’t need to save time I guess. After all, what’s 13 hours out of my day? And what could I possibly do with an extra hour or two? Well, it’s just a thought but maybe have time to go see something I haven’t seen before? ~

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

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