If I Had A Boat

I’ve never owned a boat. Never wanted to, really. Not that a boat isn’t fun, or that I’m afraid of the water. I just always figured a boat was a hassle I didn’t need. Sort of like a car; three’s the cost of maintaining it, putting gas and oil in it, and a lot of other associated costs—except I need a car, well, pickup in my case, I guess, but the idea is the important thing.

But aside from all of that, I don’t really have time to spend trolling around—or speeding around—in a boat. Things to do, you know: like go to work. So, no time for a boat.

The reason I bring this up is because, this past week, on my way to work, a woman at the gas station made it a point to ask me if I had a boat. I should point out that this lady was not working at the station, not really sure what she was doing there, I guess. Just a crazy lady hanging around to bug customers, I think. When I told her I did not have a boat, she looked stunned. “Why not”

“Don’t want one, and don’t need one.”

“But if you had a boat you could take me out in it,” she informed me.

Now, I’m not exactly prone to being the social type in the first place. Even it f I had a boat, I wouldn’t be taking a lot of people out in it, especially not crazy people. “Could, I suppose. But wouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Better things to do than take people boating,” I said, and then got in my pickup and closed the door. (Oh, yeah, I’m not exactly prone to being real conversational with strange people at the gas station either. Some call me rude; I prefer to characterize it as blunt).

The lady got the hint and moved on to talk to the guy on the other side of the island, presumably to ask him about a boat. As I left the station, I thought to myself, I think I just found another excellent reason to never own a boat: all the crazy people inviting themselves out on it.

So, just in case anyone is wondering, no, I do not own a boat. ~

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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That's Just Sick

Thought I’d made it through this winter without getting sick. The horrible flu everyone has been talking about somehow evaded me. People all around were sick, sometimes for weeks, but I just kept going apparently unaffected by it all. Until last week.

I noticed on Monday that I was extremely tired. Odd because I’d gotten more sleep than usual the two previous nights. Tuesday, things turned a little worse and I knew I was getting sick. I started gulping large amounts of water, juice, and Gatorade. These helped somewhat but by Wednesday night, I knew I’d lost the battle.

I stayed home from work Thursday, something I rarely do. In fact I’ve only called in sick once before, twice if you count when I was in the hospital. But that one wasn’t really up to me, so I don’t count it.

Friday came and feeling a little better, I went to work—only to stop in the middle of my run to go home. Saturday wasn’t any better. Actually, it was probably worse. Sunday continued the same way. I’ll spare everyone the details, as I’m sure everyone knows what being sick is like. The problem for me is I’d never been that sick for that many days in my life. Usually, the bad part, the debilitating part, lasts only a day or two. The rest of the time is no picnic but bearable. Not this time, unfortunately.

By Sunday night, I was thankfully feeling much better. Good thing, I have a blog to write. Haven’t done a thing all week so I’m sure writing and posting this will wear me out. So, I’m going to wrap it up. Sorry I had nothing interesting to report but as you can see, the only thing on my mind all week has been this sick idea of writing about my unhealthy health. ~

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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Never Ever

Never say never. That saying always bugged me. Yet, people feel compelled to quote it —a lot. I know what they are trying to say, that you shouldn’t make claims which might not be accurate in the future because no one really knows what the future holds—that is true. Others use the saying to assert there are no absolutes in this world. That is absolutely not true. But either way, the saying itself is contradictory, so it can’t be used as a truism of any sort. Besides, there are definitely some things that I can unequivocally state that have never, and will never, happen.

I’ve never had a maiden name. Never will. I’ve never been pregnant and never will be. I will never be a kid again. I’ll never know what an elephant is thinking. And I’ll never forget how many grains of sand are in the world because I’ll never know.

Admittedly, the preceding list is probably not things to which the saying refers. None of them are even a possibility. Still, there are other things that technically could happen but I’m certain will not: I’ll never visit China, or the moon. I’ll never live in a space capsule. I’ll never be elected President—because I’ll never run. I’ll never jump out of a perfectly good airplane, never bungee jump just for the fun of it, and I’ll never win the gold medal in anything at the Olympics.

The point is there are plenty of instances where saying never is entirely appropriate and acceptable. So, ‘never say never’ is a saying I never use. Usually anyway. I realize I’ve used it twice in this post.

I was running all of this by my four-year-old grandson earlier today, and he thoughtfully offered another enlightening observation; “And you’ll never be a millionaire.” I told him he was right. Probably. But then, you never know. ~

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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TALES ABOUT TAILS Blog Tour with W.J. Scott

As part of the 4 Wills Publishing "Tales About Tails" blog tour, this blog is hosting Author W.J. Scott.

Finding Silver Linings in Silver Wishes

One of the attributes required by an author is perseverance. My children’s chapter novel, Tails, Book One, Silver Wishes Series, endured many pit stops over several years, before finally becoming a book I was proud to share with the world.

I’ve realized there is often a silver lining to be found in setbacks. Golden information awaited me at the end of the rainbow. Yes, I had to trudge through trenches of disappointment and rejection (strongly suspicious that the mud sticking to my boots was tainted with a mixture of unicorn and troll poop). In retrospect, valuable lessons were learnt that enriched my story or helped me grow as a writer.

v    Verify that anyone professionally assessing your manuscript has experience with your specific genre, and they possess credentials that back up their claims (Literary Awards, Work Experience, Testimonials from trusted sources). A non-fiction author assessor is a mismatch for Children’s Fantasy; they may understand where the commas go, but lack the skill set to understand the genre and readers’ expectations.

v    Believe in yourself and your story.

v    If others let you down, brush yourself off and find another way.

v    No one cares as deeply as you do about your story so you need to make it happen.

v    Find a skilled editor in your genre (structural as well as copy editing).

v    Assemble a team of beta and proof-readers. You are too close to your work to pick up the errors.

v    Polish your manuscript until the light shining off the pages blinds you – before pushing the ‘publish’ button.

v    Celebrate the birth of your book!

https://www.amazon.com/Tails-Silver-Wishes-Book-1-ebook/dp/B078FX66QD/

http://www.tails-wjscott.com/

http://www.authorchildrens.com/

https://twitter.com/WendyJayneScott/

https://www.facebook.com/ChildrenAuthorWJScott/

http://www.hieroglyph.ws/

Please share your ‘silver linings’ in the comments.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Wendy Scott has a New Zealand Certificate in Science (Chemistry), which allows her to dabble with fuming potions and strange substances, satisfying her inner witch.

Wendy writes fantasy and children’s novels.

One of the creeds she lives by is to always – Live a life less ordinary!

Gold Medal Winner: The Wishing Shelf Book Awards UK 2015.

Silver Medal Winner: International Readers’ Favorite Book Awards 2016.

Finalist: The Wishing Shelf Book Awards UK 2016.

Gold Quality Marks: BooksGoSocial 2017.

Treat Award Blue: Rave Reviews Book Club KCT International Awards 2017.

Please visit http://www.authorchildrens.com/ to learn more, read Wendy’s blog, sign up for her newsletter, or to leave her a message. She loves hearing from readers.

Pen Names

Fantasy ~ Wendy Scott

Children’s ~ WJ Scott

Romance ~ Wendy Jayne

This tour sponsored by 4WillsPublishing Author Services!

Canis Latrans (Coyote)

Growing up in rural Oregon, I was quite accustomed to seeing various wildlife, including coyotes. These days, seeing a coyote or two in my daily travels is still pretty normal and I usually don’t pay that much attention. Except for the other day.

I was working. Driving the truck downtown Portland. At first, when I saw the coyote, walking leisurely down the sidewalk, I thought it must be a dog. It had to be a dog, I told myself. Why would a coyote be running around the city? Especially, downtown.

But the closer I got, the more I was convinced; it definitely looked like a coyote. Still, I wasn’t positive. It was dark and headlights do not always show things clearly. But then, stopping for a red light, I got a better look. Wise to the city ways the animal paused under the streetlight, waiting for traffic to clear. Being just a few feet away, I was certain this was indeed a coyote.

Then the light changed and we both took off. As I lost sight of the coyote in my mirror, I again started thinking that it had to have been a dog.

But now, I was curious. Doing a search, I was surprised to learn that coyote sightings in the Portland area are common with upwards of 2000 sightings per year. However, these sightings are usually on the outskirts of town or in the suburbs, not downtown. Still, with a thriving coyote population, seeing one in the busy part of the city was not out of the question. When I was a kid, coyotes never even made it close to Portland. Apparently, times have changed. There is now an estimated 500 or more living in or around Portland.

Okay, so I guess I wasn’t imagining things after all. Good to know. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised though. The part of town where I saw the coyote was near where I pick up my load—of garbage. I think a transfer station is sort of like a buffet for coyotes.

I still find it odd, however. I’ve always considered coyotes to be more of a rural creature, not really an urban one. But since we’re providing them with fine dining establishments these days, I guess they’ve discovered it’s easier to find a good meal in the city than in the country. ~

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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Mileage May Vary, Or Not

Time for a new pair of boots. Seems I’ve walked holes in the soles—again. Boots typically last me about a year. Been that way for most of my life. And it doesn’t seem to matter what brand I buy, I get about a year out of them. It’s been a little longer than that this time but only by a month or so.

To a lot of folks, a year may not seem that long for footwear to wear out, but most people do not wear one pair continuously. I do. I own just a single pair of boots at a time. I wear them every day no matter where I’m going or what I’m doing, from the time I get up until the time I go to bed.

I’ve often wondered just what sort of “mileage” I get with my boots and now, thanks to the Heart app on my phone I can see exactly how far I walk each day, week, month, or year. And since I always wear the same boots, I know that every step, every mile recorded was taken in those boots.

What I’ve found is that I walk an average of about 3,600 steps per day. That’s around 1.5 miles, which translates to 547.5 miles per year. While that seems like a lot of walking, (to me) I know it’s nowhere close to the recommended 10,000 steps, or 5 miles, per day.

But really, that amount of walking is just not feasible for me. No, not because I don’t have time, or that I’m a truck driver and we don’t like walking, or the fact that I’m old. No, the reason I can’t walk more than I do is simple. My boots just couldn’t take it. They’d never make to the year mark because apparently, I’m only getting about 550 miles to the pair. ~

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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Grand Wisdom

So, my wife, seamstress extraordinaire and specialty quilt maker, is currently making me a quilt. Yep, no cobbler’s son syndrome here, I’m getting my own quilt. She’s made dozens of quilts for many people but this one will be mine! No, this isn’t the first time I’ve benefited from her sewing skills, it’s not even the first quilt she’s made me, but this particular quilt is very apropos. It’s a western/patriotic themed design with hats, guns, boots, and flags. In other words, it’s me—in quilt form.

This past weekend, she was working on the quilt; multiple sewing machines on the table, material scattered about the house, and pieces of partially finished quilt here and there. When one of my grandchildren came in, he glanced around and, apparently quite used to his grandma’s projects, asked me, “Who is this one for?”

“Me,” I said, thinking he should have already known, since she’s been working on it for a while.

The grandson gave me a strange look. “You don’t need a quilt.”

“Why not? What do you suggest I use to stay warm?”

He shrugged. “You have a coat.”

True, I thought. (Strangely, it wasn’t that long ago that he was concerned that I didn’t have a coat. Guess times have changed.) I almost said to him that while I do have a coat, I don’t usually wear it in the house. Except, I do, ’cause my wife is from Wisconsin and likes to keep the house COLD. For years, my children and I gave her a hard time for running the air conditioner in the winter. Incidentally, just in case anyone is wondering, it is very efficient to do that; the house cools down quickly!

The kids have since moved on to a warmer climate—their own houses—while I’m still here, freezing. But, as my grandson pointed out, I do have a coat. And soon, I’ll have a brand new quilt too! ~

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.

Right Lane, Wrong Road

I’ve written about this before and while I hesitate to recycle old material, it is evidently that time of year again—meet a car on my side of the freeway season! Not that there is an actual season, at least I hope not. Besides, a season would suggest a regular spate of fruit, ripe for the harvest. In other words, me meeting a lot of vehicles going the wrong way. And I’d rather limit those incidents. But, I don’t think it’s up to me. In any case, perhaps “season” was not the best choice of words.

As you’ve most likely guessed, last week, I was once again privileged to run across (and not into) a car coming toward me on the freeway. This happens occasionally, or frequently, since it hasn’t been that long since the last time.

I was only a couple of miles from my exit, finishing up my night and going home, when the unmistakable shine of headlights on my side of the median told me my uneventful night might turn out to be a little interesting. With a combined speed of around 140 mph, a guy doesn’t have a lot of time to react when this happens. I was able to determine the vehicle was in the left lane—which they usually are since the disoriented driver THINKS they’re in the right lane. (Like how I refrained from saying the driver was an idiot?)

I flashed my lights repeatedly; hoping whoever was behind the wheel would see the error of their way. No such luck though; the driver kept right on cruising and simply flashed their lights back, presumably to show me they weren’t driving with their high beams on, which was thoughtful of them. Still, I’d prefer they just drove on their own side of the road. Call me crazy but I’d feel much safer having a headlight dual with some sort of barrier separating us.

I tried to get a look at the driver as the car zoomed past but couldn’t see much. By this time, other drivers were aware of what was going on and the CB was blaring away. Someone said they’d called 911; others were strategizing on how to stop the car before there was a major crash. Figuring there was nothing I could do, I took my exit and headed home, glad to be done dealing with the insanity.

Then, two days later—or two nights, since I drive at night—the insanity returned. On the road ahead of me was another fast-approaching set of lights. The lights of a semi this time. A car is bad enough but a semi? Really?

Thankfully, again there was no crash. But now I’m a little leery every time I head off down the road. A pattern seems to be developing here. On second thought, perhaps “season” was a good choice of words after all. ~

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.

The Painful Truth

A few years ago, I learned that dogs do not feel pain—at least according to the person with whom I was speaking. Pain, this person insisted, does not affect a dog, they feel nothing. This was an “educated” person. A person who should know. A person who has a lot of experience with dogs. Still, I think I’ll have to disagree.

While dogs may not show it in the same way humans do, and while they may not complain much, I’m quite certain dogs feel pain. I realize sometimes it can be difficult to know if a dog is in pain and if so, how much, and I know they are quite resilient creatures, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that canines are not insentient to pain.

Recently, I’ve been reminded of the conversation with the above-mentioned person. My wife and I have an aging collie that is beginning to have trouble getting around. Going up and down steps is becoming more difficult for her, as is simply standing up. The problem is we’re not really sure if she’s in pain or not. She doesn’t really give any indication of pain, no yelping or anything, so perhaps it’s just her joints are a little stiff. Unfortunately, we can’t simply ask her. Well, we can—and do—but she doesn’t really answer. If the problem continues to get worse, we may have to consider medication, I suppose. We certainly don’t want the dog to suffer; i.e., experience pain.

Incidentally, pain is defined as a physical hurting sensation caused by an injury (or illness) to the body; it is not unique to the human race, as anyone who has ever owned a dog knows. Common sense should be enough to settle any debate. Even a complete imbecile should be able to figure out that dogs do indeed feel pain. So, obviously, the person who told me dogs are immune to pain took a crash course in junk science. Which is odd being that the person was a veterinarian.

On a related note, we no longer use that particular vet. ~

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.

On Second Thought

Well, the year has gotten off to a great start—most of the snow is gone and temperatures are warmer. A few more weeks and winter will be gone!

But as I was told by my grandson, Christmas will be back. This was after he sadly lamented that only a little Christmas remained, pointing to the scattered remnants of snow piles. I guess that is winter’s one redeeming aspect—Christmas, because it makes all the kids happy. Not sure if that makes up for all the cold, snow, icy roads and the like but it does help.

He also informed me that I do not need to wait for Christmas to give him gifts. I could do that any time of the year, he said. He just turned four so he thinks everyone else in the world exists to do his bidding!

We were taking a walk across a bridge and looking down, I saw an acorn. I picked it up and handed it to him. “Here’s a gift,” I said.

“What is it?”

When I told him it was an acorn, he shook his head. “That’s not an acorn, it doesn’t have the top.” (The cap had fallen off).

“It’s still an acorn,” I said.

“Will it still make an oak tree?” he wanted to know. So much for explaining the acorn turning into a tree to him! Apparently, he already knows this.

“Maybe.” I was hesitant to give him a definite answer. He’d plant it and something would kill it off and then he’d blame me for not having his tree.

He was shaking his head again. “I don’t think it will. It’s broken.”

“That doesn’t matter,” I said. “It’s what on the inside that counts.”

He didn’t answer for a little bit. Finally, he says, “Grandpa, you can just wait until Christmas and then buy me a gift.” Guess he wasn’t impressed.

Think I’ll wrap an acorn for him for next Christmas. One with the top still attached, of course. ~

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.

Happy New Year!

So, in the larger scheme of things, a new year is rather miniscule. Yet, for some reason, we feel compelled to celebrate it as if it’s a huge event. It’s as if we actually believe things, or life in general, will change somehow; that everything will improve.

But really, the changing of the calendar year has no power to do anything—except make people write the date incorrectly for a month or so. Other than that, it’s no different from any other day.

So, why do we feel this yearly urge to celebrate what is ultimately a non-event? I think it’s nothing more than an excuse; a break from the norm. After all, everyone likes to engage in festivities from time to time and apparently, there are simply not enough other occasions throughout the year, and so we made up another one.

And that’s okay, I suppose. I have nothing against celebrations. I just find it odd we celebrate something that holds little significance. But, as it nears midnight, the noise of the fireworks outside demonstrates that most people do find the day significant. I just wonder how long it will take them to realize that 2018 is no different than 2017. A few months I’m guessing. And then they’ll all be looking forward to 2019—and another New Year’s celebration! ~

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.

Monday Morning Blues

Merry Christmas!

Yep, it’s that time of year again. Already. Maybe it’s the cold, or the snow, or just winter in general, but Christmas sure comes around a lot more often these days. It seems like just weeks ago we were celebrating Christmas but apparently, it’s been a year. Funny, when I was a kid, it seemed like there was at least a decade between them.

Actually, as I write this, it’s Christmas Eve. Everyone, including the dogs, is asleep at my house—except me of course. Not that I’m staying up to wait or anything, I’m just a night owl and can’t go to bed until well after midnight. And I’m definitely not a morning person.

I’m sure my wife will be up bright and early though, getting things ready for when the children, and the grandchildren, arrive. She’s one of those (strange) morning people. But not the annoying type; she doesn’t think that just because she’s up everyone else in the world has to also be up. Unless there’s a good reason, she usually lets me sleep.

Unfortunately, I believe Christmas falls under the category of “good reasons.” So, I guess I better wrap this up and get it posted and then TRY to get some sleep because apparently, on Christmas, I have to be a morning person.

Oh well, Merry Christmas anyway! ~

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.

Wasted Endeavor

Well, we finally got our Christmas shopping done. And with a week to spare! Okay, I’ll admit, this is mostly my wife’s thing but I did help. A little.

Now comes the wrapping part. This is almost worse than shopping for me. It’s not that I can’t wrap packages; I used to wrap 15-20 packages every day when I worked at the dental lab. I learned to do it well and fast. That might be why I don’t really like wrapping now, too much like work. Or maybe it’s the thin paper as that prevents me from going as fast as I’d like. Whatever the reason, I usually avoid wrapping gifts. (Although I do end up doing a few here and there).

Thankfully, my wife comes to my rescue every year. This year was no different. She informed me tonight that the gift-wrapping is all done. That was nice to hear, especially since I haven’t wrapped any of them. But they did look nice, all piled up in the corner.

My wife will also be doing most of the cooking for Christmas. And since she is a great cook, I of course, will let her. I’ll be there for moral support though.

I know: I don’t like shopping, avoid wrapping, get out of cooking, so what exactly do I contribute to this Christmas celebration? Well, my job comes later. After Christmas. As you may know, I haul garbage for a living so it only makes sense that I would be in charge of getting rid of the huge pile of boxes and wrapping paper that a typical Christmas morning produces. All that pretty paper, that’s no longer so pretty, and all the food that no longer appears appetizing; it’s up to me to clear it out of the house and take it away. So, while my job may not be the most esteemed or prestigious—or even difficult—it is, by far, the trashiest! That’s gotta count for something, right? ~

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.

The Way I Heard It

When I was a kid one of my favorite pastimes was lying on the floor, right next to the stereo speaker, listening to music. My mom would put on a stack of records, five or six albums, and my brother and I would stay there listening until the last song played—and then mom would turn the records over and we’d listen some more. Yes, we spent a lot of time just listening to music.

I loved the music, the singing; I loved it all. But one particular song used to bother me every time I heard it. In the song, it said “...and defeat is one word I don’t use.” What I heard though, instead of “defeat” was “the feet.” I remember always thinking that’s not one word, it’s two. And, I wondered why in the world did they say they wouldn’t use the word, or words. To make it worse, earlier in the same song, there was a line that said something about “my feet.” So, I wondered, why was “my feet” okay but not “the feet?” It was all so confusing. Keep in mind that I was only two or three years old at the time.

I must’ve gone a year or more agonizing over all this. Finally, I decided to ask my mom. After she explained it, it all made sense, except...

I still took issue with the fact that in saying they didn’t use the word, they used the word. In later years, I realized that from a songwriting standpoint, it was a great line—and still it bugged me. Still does.

Some of you may know that I like to record songs these days (in my “spare” time). A while back, I recorded the aforementioned song. Strangely, or ironically, I had a little difficultly with the recording equipment not cooperating during that session. But I’m patient, or stubborn, and I persevered (for several hours) until I got the song done. Why? Well, because “the feet” is one word I don’t use. ~

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.

Not Going To Work

Vacation! My yearly winter vacation is underway. And, what does a truck driver do on vacation? Well, as typically is the case for this truck driver, I’ll be driving. But not far—just a quick trip to take my wife to the airport. Yep, I’m getting rid of her for a week.

Due to my job, and a few other factors, separate vacations happen quite frequently for us—but usually not on the same week. We didn’t really plan it that way this time either; it’s just the way it worked out. So, while she is jetting around the country, I’ll be here just taking care of the dogs. And working on, well, stuff. After all, what is the point of a vacation if a guy can’t get a few things done?

I know, I look at things a little differently than most. But having a job that requires me to be gone most of the week, I look forward to having some free time at home—to work on things that I want to do. And I have a busy schedule lined up: recording, writing, and fixing a few things around the house.

You’d think that staying busy would keep me from thinking about my wife being gone but as I know from experience, that doesn’t really work. I’m not sure what the difference is, some weeks, I don’t see her from Monday to Friday anyway, but there definitely is a difference. When I was younger, and managing a restaurant, I’d tend to fire people when she was gone. I no longer do things of that nature (because I do not manage anything these days) but the older I get, the more I miss her when she goes away. I suppose that’s a good thing.

In the future, we may have to reconsider this separate vacations thing. But for now, that’s the way it is. Maybe next year we can try pretending to be normal. Yeah, that probably won’t work. ~

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.

Not Likely To Happen

I’m really not much of a shopper. I don’t like shopping, even when there are certain things I need to buy. The whole experience bothers me; looking for a parking spot, the crowds of people, wandering through the store (and not finding what I want), the frustration of being limited in my choices, and I really don’t like not being able to compare prices—without running all over town to different stores.

And that is why I am extremely glad for online shopping. It eliminates all the hassle. 

Unfortunately, online shopping is not always an option, since my purchases can’t be delivered instantly. So, at times I’m forced to shop at a store. Like last Friday. Black Friday.

Finishing up a home project, I needed some last minute things and without thinking about what day it was, I headed to Home Depot. And found no place to park. So, truck driver that I am, I went to the docks and parked—out of the way of trucks, of course.

Inside, things got worse. People were crowding everywhere; all looking for that great buy of the century. A nightmare in other words. It took a while to navigate the treacherous aisles but I finally made it back to the trim boards, found what I needed and went to wait in the checkout line.

After a good half hour, I’d paid for couple of items and was gone, promising myself next time I would NOT make the mistake of shopping on Black Friday.

But then, I seem to recall doing much the same thing last year. And the year before that. Probably just about every year, because I’m always busy doing something. Maybe a better option would be for them (whoever they are) to discontinue Black Friday. Then guys like me, who can’t seem to remember it’s Black Friday, and always end up needing something, right then, could get in and out of the store in a timely fashion. Just a thought. ~

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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Going For Broke

Well, I paid my property taxes last week. So, I guess we can continue living in the house for another year. That’s nice. I’d hate to move. Too much stuff. Too much work. Pretty sure my wife wouldn’t be happy at the prospect either, especially since I just installed her new floor.

Besides, moving seems like such a hassle. It’s been a while since I’ve done it but I remember the routine. The endless packing, loading, unloading, carrying boxes and other items up steps, down steps, through narrow doorways and halls is work. And smashing fingers and elbows while lifting heavy objects isn’t exactly fun either. And the cleaning—of both houses—is a never-ending job. Then there’s the canceling of utilities, (and setting them up at the new place), address changes, (which involves notifying half the population of the planet) and a whole lot of other stuff, I’ve gladly forgotten!

And invariably, something—usually a prized possession—gets broken. Or, some important items, say birth certificates, get lost. Yes, I speak from experience on that last one. We once lost the birth certificates for the entire family. No worries though, the losing of a birth certificate doesn’t automatically end one’s status as a living entity. All five of us are, in fact, still very much alive! It did cost me almost $200 for replacement “official” birth certificates, though.

But aside from all that, and even without such a fiasco as losing birth certificates, moving costs money. Lots of money. So even if I wanted to, I really can’t afford to move—I just paid my taxes! ~

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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Singing The Blues

I’m feeling a little like Johnny Cash lately. The skies have been overcast and “I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when.” Thankfully, only the clouds are to blame and I’m not stuck in Folsom Prison—or any other prison for that matter. But then, neither was Johnny Cash so, I’m not sure that matters.

Back to my point; it’s that weary dreary time of year again—for those of us who are summer people, anyway. The sky is nothing but a foggy haze. Continually, it seems. Depressing is what it is, especially knowing that winter hasn’t even really started yet. That means I get to look forward to cloudy skies for at least a few months. And I gave up looking for the silver lining behind every cloud years ago.

Actually, I did see the sunshine on my way to work the other day—for about five minutes. The brief reprieve did brighten up my day! Then it was back to reality.

But at least it isn’t snowing yet. Last year at this time, I was already immersed in wintery driving conditions. And the long, drawn out winter that ensued was discouraging to put it mildly. I’m hoping this winter is not a repeat performance but I’m told by the “experts” that it likely will be. Sigh. Just the thought brings dismay, discontent, and dread—along with several other “D” words, all equally distressing.

But, I suppose there’s not much I can do about it. What will be, will be. Or, to quote another Johnny Cash song, “I don’t like it but I guess things happen that way.” ~

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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A Simple Oil Change

In some previous posts, I’ve mentioned that I like to do things myself—rather than pay someone to do them. Part of the reason is that I’m a cheapskate—or thrifty, as I prefer to call it. But it’s more than that. Having someone else do the work usually makes more work for me—when I have to fix it.

This past weekend, my wife’s car needed an oil change. So, after purchasing the oil and filter, I went outside in the cold to change the oil. The job should have taken no more than fifteen minutes. Should’ve, but didn’t.

The first problem I ran into was I couldn’t get the drain plug out. The socket wouldn’t stay on the bolt. At first I thought I just didn’t have things lined up but on closer inspection, I saw the corners of the bolt had been rounded off. Odd, I thought, because I’m the only one who changes the oil. Who had been messing with my vehicle? And who in their right mind would crawl under a vehicle, ruin the bolt, and then just put it back? It wasn’t like the vehicle had been low on oil either. But obviously, someone had done something; I knew it wasn’t like that the last time I changed the oil.

And then I remembered. The last time the car needed an oil change, my wife had been gone on an impromptu trip to Wisconsin. One of those oil change places had done the job. Which was okay, since I wasn’t there—until this weekend.

So, I set to work, selecting a slightly smaller socket, driving it onto the bolt, and then smacking it with a hammer. But the bolt didn’t budge. I did manage to break a socket and bend a few other tools though!

And then it all made sense. I can’t be certain, but what I imagine happened is whoever changed the oil last time used an air wrench and over tightened the bolt, stripping the head in the process.

Eventually, with the help of another socket and a bigger hammer, I got the plug out. And then moved onto the filter, which I discovered was the wrong one. (I did double check to make sure I hadn’t been putting the wrong one on all this time). The filter fit so it did the job but taking it off was another matter. My oil filter wrench was too large. But with a little friendly persuasion, I got it off. I finished changing the oil in the dark—thanks to the annoying time change—but at least I got it done. The job had taken an hour and forty minutes, a lot longer than the fifteen minutes it should have been.

And that’s why I do things myself. It saves time and hassle later. ~

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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