This Day

Freedom isn’t free. And today, we are mindful of that fact. Today, we remember the many thousands who have lost their lives defending and protecting our right in America to exist as a free country. We all owe those selfless individuals much more than we could ever pay. And even if we could find some way to repay them, that wouldn’t bring them back.

Our fallen soldiers died because they believed in something bigger, something more than their own life. That is: the idea and concept of a free society; a free people living in a free nation. They believed that their families, their friends, and citizens in general, deserved freedom. Believed it so strong they gave their life for it.

It seems so small and insignificant to merely have a day to memorialize them, just another summertime holiday—especially when many people have no idea what we’re celebrating or, remembering in this case. A lot of Americans know only that they get the day off (or earn overtime pay if they work) for a three-day weekend. They go camping, have a picnic, or hold a cookout in the back yard. In short, they are busy living their lives—and enjoying it.

I can’t really fault them for any of that. Because, ironically, that is one of the basic tenets of freedom. It’s for what so many gave their lives—so others could enjoy days like today. Memorial Day.

Still, it might be nice to at least think about those who made this day possible—and all the other days in this country. Perhaps show a little gratitude, some appreciation. Okay, that’s all. Enjoy whatever you do for the kick-off to summer! ~

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

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Color Correction

On my travels this week, I noticed the mountains were turning brown. Finally! With all the rain we’ve had around here this spring, the place was starting to look like Ireland! That’s fine, I suppose—if you’re in Ireland. Where I live, not so much. Green just doesn’t look right for what is supposed to be an arid climate. Instead of forty shades of green, we have forty shades of brown—usually.

So, it’s nice that things are starting to dry out. Although, there is still plenty of green to be seen. But I figure another couple of weeks and that will be gone. I hope. It’s past time for the weather to get back to normal. At least in my never-to-be-humble opinion.

Of course, there is always someone to disagree with my opinion.

The other day, I overheard a guy in the store complaining about how dry the ground was getting. Apparently, his grass has all died. I was thinking, Yeah, that’s why we water our lawns. But I didn’t say anything. Surprising, I know. But sometimes I figure it’s no use to speak up. Especially, when the guy wasn’t talking to me.

Turns out, I didn’t have to say anything, though. Someone else did. And then, after listening a bit more, I found out the guy had recently moved here, and didn’t know what our summers were like. And evidently, he wasn’t too fond of the prospect of having to water his grass as he kept voicing his objection to the idea.

One of the guys he was talking with said, “You don’t HAVE to water the lawn. You can always let it burn up or put in rocks.”

“Or move back to where you came from,” another voice said. (No the voice wasn’t mine, although it does sound like something I would say.)

“I’d rather it just wasn’t so dry here, the newcomer said.

“If you think it’s dry now, just wait a couple of months,” another person said.

I still didn’t say anything but I was wondering how could the guy not have known what the climate was like? Did he move here without knowing anyone in the area? Possibly. But then, wouldn’t he have seen pictures of the place? Shouldn’t he have maybe read up on things? Perhaps at some point in his moving preparation shouldn’t he have checked out the place to where he was moving? Even if he hadn’t done any of that, he could have just looked around. There are a lot of yards with only rocks. Or he could’ve taken a look at the surrounding landscape, that should’ve been a clue. Oh, wait–

That’s when I remembered. And I guess I should cut him a little slack. After all, the place has looked a lot like Ireland this spring. ~

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

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Just Playing Games

Well, I survived Mother’s Day! That may not sound like a big accomplishment but that’s because you don’t know my wife. She got the bright idea that this year for Mother’s Day, instead of going out to a restaurant, like normal people, our family should meet at the park. That would have been okay but then after eating she thought we could play kickball and other games equally energy draining.

Apparently, she didn’t get the memo that we’re getting older. Not that we’re senior citizens yet but as our Mother’s Day outing proved, we’re too old to play kickball. I guess it wouldn’t have been so bad except I have this competitive nature and HAVE to put forth the effort because at the end of the game, win or lose, I have to know that I gave it all I had. And yesterday, I learned that “all I had” meant to the point of exhaustion—almost. I didn’t faint or anything. But I must admit, fainting just might have been a welcomed relief!

Funny, I don’t remember sports, especially something so benign as kickball, requiring that much energy when I was younger. Or making my legs and feet ache. Or causing such an out-of-breath experience. When I played sports in school, five minutes after the game was over, I was fine and ready to play again.

But times change. Now, a short little game of kickball is enough to make me cancel all the plans I had for the rest of the day. Maybe for the rest of the week!

To be honest though, the day was fun. The games were fun. And I had a good time. I think everyone else did too, because there was a lot of laughing and cheering going on. Of course, most of the other participants were not 50 years old either!

Yet, even as I was admitting to my wife that despite the worn out feeling I’d enjoyed the day, she (and a few others) were suggesting we all do this again. Again? Really? Really, they said.

They didn’t decide just when we’d get together again but might I suggest Mother’s Day? That way, I have a year to rest up. Although, I’m not too sure that’s enough time. ~

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

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Not Exactly A Star Student

A clear night. Bright moon. I’m out on the deck looking up at the stars and remembering when I was a kid. I used to lie on the ground and stare up at the stars, trying to find things in the giant dot to dot in the sky. I was never very good at seeing the real constellations, so I made up my own. I saw all sorts of things; animals, faces, furniture, and cars. Once I even discovered a house complete with windows, a chimney, and trees.

Then I made the mistake of mentioning my findings at school. Most of my friends were uninterested in what I saw and ignored me. But my teacher thought had to set me straight. Apparently, only those constellations that had long been established were viable constellations. The things I saw in the sky were nothing and due to an overactive imagination.

Of course, I argued that at one time even the established constellations had been someone’s imagination. But it was no use; my teacher maintained that those constellations had been discovered by legitimate astronomers, people who had devoted their life to the study of the stars. And those constellations were actual groupings of stars with meaning and a purpose.

As luck would have it, later in the year, we had a short study on constellations. We learned that most of the constellations got their names from the common things people thought they looked like—or characters from mythology. The last part was what I chose to focus on.

“So, they are named after myths?” I asked. “As in something not real?”

“Yes.”

“And you think I have an overactive imagination?”

I don’t think my teacher was impressed with my questions. But she must have realized it would be a losing argument. She quickly finished up and moved on. When we got our papers back from that day, I took mine up to her desk to discuss my grade.

The teacher looked confused. “You got an ‘A,’ what more do you want?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, a gold star?” 

No, she still wasn't amused. ~

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

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