Bruce A. Borders

Sunday, July 30, 2017

Mr. Clean

Spent over eight hours cleaning house on Saturday—and it wasn’t that messy! Well, that may be a little misleading. It was kind of messy. Maybe a little more than that.

The thing is, it shouldn’t have been messy at all. My wife is away visiting her family—has been for nearly three weeks. So, it’s just the dogs and me. And aside from the weekends, I’m hardly home. So, the house shouldn’t have been messy.

I guess I could blame it all on the dogs—I’d like to blame it on the dogs. But that would be unfair to the little creatures because the truth is, while they may have contributed in some small way, the majority of the mess came from me.

It’s a rude awakening to find out—at age 50— that I’m a very untidy person. Honestly, 8 loads of laundry, two loads of dishes through the dishwasher, the floors were starting to look I lived in a barn with all the dirt they’d collected, and the clutter through the rest of the house was reaching record levels. All this from a guy who spends a measly three hours a day at home—not counting my sleep time. It’s almost astonishing how I could make such a mess!

But, it’s all clean now. Good thing too, as my wife will be coming home soon. And she had the house nice and clean before she left! I’m hoping she gets home while the place is still presentable as I’m not sure how long I can maintain my uncharacteristic decorum. I’d hate for her to discover her husband’s woeful housekeeping skills, things could get messy! Although, after thirty years of marriage, I’m thinking she already knows. ~

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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Monday, July 24, 2017

Don't Call Me, I'll Call You

Am I the only one who finds the practice of doctor’s, dentist’s, and veterinarian’s offices calling incessantly to remind clients of their upcoming appointments annoying? And now other businesses are apparently following suit. I miss the old days when, if you had appointment, you were expected to show up. No one had to call and jog your memory.

And of course, they always call in the morning hours, usually at eight o’clock or so. That might be fine for some folks but for a guy who gets home and makes it to bed around six, these phone calls are more than annoying. I don’t need to be awakened just so they can tell me I’m going to need to get up early for my appointment.

Every time I get one of these calls, I feel like saying, “Yes, I know I have an appointment—I made it, remember?” But, contrary to popular opinion, I’m a nice guy and I haven’t done that—yet.

This may seem rather petty to some folks, and maybe some like getting these calls. If you’re prone to forgetting your appointments, I can see how you might appreciate a friendly reminder. Although, I may get old and forgetful someday, so far, I do not have that problem. Barring some unforeseen event, if I have an appointment, I’ll be there. And, in the event of some unforeseen event, the phone call reminder won’t make a difference. So, as you may have gathered, for me the annoyance is not a petty thing. And now they’ve begun texting as well. And expecting me to respond. When I do not, they keep sending more texts.

I’ve tried asking them not to call (or text), explaining that I am usually sleeping when they phone but it didn’t work. Then, instead of asking, I just said, Do Not Call. That didn’t work either because apparently, these days, the customer doesn’t get to determine what they would prefer.

So, I’ve come up with a new plan. A couple of days before my appointment, I’ll do the calling—just to confirm they have me scheduled and to remind them I’ll be in at my appointed time, you know, just in case they might have forgotten.

I’m sure my call will be met with something along the lines of a slightly confused “Uh, yeah, we have you down” as they wonder why on earth I’m calling. (The same way I felt when they first started calling me). I’m thinking it won’t take too many of these calls before they decide to honor my request to not call me. But, as I often am in these matters, I could be wrong. ~

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Sunday, July 16, 2017

On The Road Again

Let me apologize in advance, as this post will be fairly short. Not that I don’t love to ramble while I write but that takes time and time is something I don’t have a lot of at the moment. I’m getting ready to leave on an unexpected road trip. A family emergency—of sorts. Not a life-threatening emergency but an emergency nonetheless.

I should get a few thousand miles of travel in over the next few days. But that’s okay. That’s what I do—drive. Lucky for me, I won’t be driving a commercial vehicle so there will be none of those pesky regulations to get in the way. That should make things go a little more smoothly.

I guess you could say this trip is the repayment of an old debt. Kind of. Thirty-two years ago, a certain individual brought an entourage to rescue me—at a moment’s notice and without complaint. Now, it’s my turn to return the favor.

Sorry to be so cryptic but I can’t really discuss the details yet. Just thought it was a bit ironic how history repeats itself—usually with a twist, or two. ~

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Monday, July 10, 2017

Insecticide Needed

You know what bugs me? Bugs. Among other things, of course. I’d hate to imply that I find nothing else in the world annoying. I find a lot of things annoying these days but I don’t have time to list them all. So, for now, I’ll just concentrate on bugs. The creepy crawly insects, or all insects for that matter, are extremely irritating.

I’ve lived where there a lot of bugs, where there are very few bugs, and some places in between. Where I currently live, we don’t usually have a bug problem. But some years are worse than others. This year, we seem to have been overrun with crickets—large crickets that cover the highway at times. They like to eat anything and everything, which means gardens and lawns are not faring so well. Thankfully, they are letting up and should soon be gone. But...

The crickets seem to have been replaced with gnats. There are thousands of swarming little creatures that descend in a cloud and make life miserable. Driving through these “clouds” leaves your windshield plastered with a thick gooey substance that is very hard to remove. I took my pickup through the car wash the other day and while most of the dirt was gone afterward, the gnats remained. It usually takes me about an hour to clean the windshield—and that only lasts until I go to work again. So, I tend to let it go for a while—I’m waiting to get pulled over for having an obstructed view.

I know, those of you who live in humid areas with a mélange of bugs are not feeling too sympathetic. And you’re probably thinking I should just learn to deal with it. Well, you’re right. And I am—by venting about it in this post.

Okay, blog rant is over. Time to do something else. Maybe I’ll go clean my windshield—it’s starting to bug me. ~

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Sunday, July 2, 2017

Take The Long Way Home

Had a chance this past week to see some parts of Oregon that I’d never seen before. I suppose that was nice but it wasn’t really a planned outing so it was a little aggravating too.

I’d gone to my son’s house to help him with a project and was returning home. I’d made it only about forty miles when all traffic was routed off the freeway. The sign said “Road Closed” with no explanation as to why. Heading back to the nearest truck stop, I went inside and learned the road was shut down due to fire. There was no estimated time of re-opening.

I waited for a half an hour to see if they would update the travel information and when they did not, I decided to use an alternate route. Sometimes a wildfire can keep a road closed for days and I wanted to get home. When I started my pickup, the people parked beside me—with Kansas plates on their car—perked up, asking if the road was open. I said no and told them I was going around. Immediately, they wanted to know how far it was to take the other road and if they could follow me.

I said I had no problem with them following me and when I told them it would add about 125 miles to get to the next town, a town that was only 65 miles down the freeway, they seemed excited. But when I clarified it would take about three hours due to switchbacks up and down the mountains, they didn’t seem so thrilled.

“Could be longer too, if you get behind someone going slow, there ain’t a lot a room to pass up there. It the vehicle in front is going ten miles an hour, everybody will go ten miles an hour.” I didn’t want them blaming me when their trip turned into four hours or more.

They eventually decided against taking the detour. “We’ll just wait for the main road to open. This is our first time in the mountains,” the guy explained. “I’m not comfortable driving on a mountain road with switchbacks. Especially one I’ve never been on before.”

I said okay and took off.

Thing is, I’d never been on the road either. Not all of it anyway—I had been on the switchbacks before. But then, even if I hadn’t it shouldn’t make a difference, one set of mountain switchbacks is about like any other. Of course, I grew up around mountains so it all seems normal to me. For the folks from Kansas, I guess I can see why they’d be leery.

After I got up there, I was glad they hadn’t followed. There were no guardrails in most places, it was getting dark about the time I reached the summit, and parts of the road were needing repair—the sides were crumbling. Not a good place for someone new to mountains and if they’d been behind me, I might have felt obligated to go slower so they could keep up. Then that would have made me a bit cranky. This little detour was already costing me a few hours.

Thinking all this, I was happily cruising along, when ahead, I see a semi. It took only a couple of minutes, if that, to catch him. And then, I followed the taillights of the truck—at ten miles an hour! Yep, ten miles and hour, just like I’d suggested earlier. And that was our top speed! For the next six miles! If I’d known my words were going to be prophetic, I’d have padded my estimate, by 45 miles an hour or so! That would have gotten me home a lot sooner.

As for the people from Kansas: Although I didn’t see them again, the freeway was opened shortly after I left on my alternate route, so I’m sure they beat me to the next town by several hours! Oh, well, I eventually made it home—and got to see some parts of Oregon that I’d never seen before! ~

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Sunday, June 25, 2017

Power Failure

A few months ago, in the cold of winter, I replaced a battery on my wife’s vehicle. Now, as repairs go, a battery is probably one of the easiest to perform and quickest so I really wasn’t too disgruntled over the project. It took about a half an hour at the most—and that included the trip to the store. Still, it was winter. And did I mention it was cold?

Despite the ease of the job, I used the occasion to give my wife a bad time, reminding her it was cold outside, batteries cost money, and she probably should take better care of her vehicle because modern vehicles won’t run without a battery! I also may have mentioned something about my pickup NOT needing a new battery. Oh yeah, and that I had better things to do than work on a vehicle even if it was a simple fix.

She knew I wasn’t really serious about all my complaints (at least I think she knew). I was just having fun and trying to amuse the grandchildren. Still, it may have been the wrong thing to do. This past week, I was once again working on a battery. This time in my pickup. Oddly, my wife didn’t seem too concerned with my woes! But, thankfully, neither did she go through all the list that I’d relayed to her regarding batteries and cars—or pickups in this case.

I guess I should have known this was coming, after all, batteries don’t last forever. But hey, at least my battery the common decency to do its meltdown during the summer, when it’s warm outside! ~

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Monday, June 19, 2017

Flying High

These days, it seems like flying has become a risky venture. There is no shortage of headlines chronicling some atrocious behavior of the airlines. Every few days there is something new. Flights cancelled, passengers charged ridiculous sums for regular services, others being forcibly removed, and/or arrested, etc.

So, it is with much delight that I can report an uneventful two flights on my most recent vacation. Not one problem; there were no unexpected charges, no rude flight attendants, no disputes of any kind. They didn’t even try to kick us off the aircraft. Nothing bad at all. Of course, we weren’t flying United so...

All this is rather surprising considering my track record with most businesses. If there is only one customer they can mess things up for, it will be me. It is a rare occasion to go to a restaurant, any restaurant, and have them get my order right. Seriously, I could order just a drink and they will bring me the wrong one. Most any business is the same; they take one look at me and a backroom conspiracy begins to see how they can mess with me. At least that’s what I envision.

With all the news reports of people being dragged off planes and the like, and my usual reception by stores and restaurants, you can understand why I would be a little leery about flying anywhere—and my relief when I actually made it back home without being stranded somewhere. Not that being temporarily stranded in a warm climate paradise would be all that bad. I might even make the headlines!

For now, the only headline is that I’ll be heading back to work today—the much anticipated vacation has come to an end. ~

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Sunday, June 11, 2017

Celebrate Good Times

At the risk of sounding ungrateful for my job, I really like vacations. Really. I don’t even have to go anywhere. Staying home is fine. I just like vacations from my job. And they are few and far between. Too few. And too far between. So, I eagerly count down the weeks and days until my next one.

And the next one is here. Yay! To make it even better, my wife is also on vacation this week. We thought we’d time off at the same time since it’s our anniversary. As of Tuesday, we will have been married thirty years.

Thirty years. Three decades. 1560 weeks. Or, 10,958 days. Any way you look at it, it is a long time. Not that I’m complaining. I like being married to her.

Thirty years. If we’d purchased a house on our wedding day, it would be paid off now. But we were a little busy—with the wedding and all—so we waited a while before buying a house. Then, we sold that one and bought another. All that means is we still have a ways to go before it is paid off. But that’s good, I suppose. More payments requires more going to work. And that means more vacations. See? Good, in a weird sort of way.

But back to my point, thirty years. A lot has changed in that amount of time. For instance, the language. Words, and a lot of them, have morphed into new meanings, thanks mostly to computers. And yes, I do have a few examples.

Thirty years ago, if we were searching for something, it meant we were physically digging through drawers, cabinets, or boxes and actually looking for said item. And speaking of searching, google was still just a part of a larger word; googolplex—the number represented by a 1 followed by 10¹⁰⁰ zeroes—the largest (named) number.

And there’s more. A browser was someone who wandered aimlessly through a store, looking but probably not buying. Memory still referred to a function of the human brain that allowed us to recall facts or events (and sometimes to the strange properties of some metals to return to their previous shape). An icon was an object or picture that represented something esteemed as virtuous. These days an icon is a tiny picture on a screen that you click on to open a program or app, many of which, though I would not describe as bad necessarily, are not all that virtuous.

A desktop was, well, the top of a desk. A flat screen was a cloth screen used for projecting slides or home videos, which were 8mm film. And clouds were still those large puffy things in the sky that blocked the sunshine and sometimes produced rain—not a term that referred to storage. And there’s another word, storage. Thirty years ago, if someone asked you how much storage you had, they probably wanted to leave something in your garage. They were certainly not talking about devices like CD’s, SD cards, or thumbdrives, and definitely not talking about a cloud.

I could go on. I made a list of over one hundred terms that have changed meanings in the last three decades; mouse, tablet, cell, surf, text, web, you get the picture I think.

Thirty years ago, we didn’t have cell phones or iPads and the like. And although computers did exist in 1987, almost no one had one. Which wasn’t really a problem. There wasn’t much to do with a computer in those days since Al Gore hadn’t invented the Internet yet. Besides, most people, like my wife and I, would have never been able to afford a computer. Not with a minimum wage of 3.35/hour, which in case anyone is wondering, produced a net income of about $120 per week. Not much, but then we didn’t need a lot of money back then. A gallon of gas was about .60, a candy bar was .25, and you could get a large pizza from Dominos for 4 bucks. I can’t imagine trying to pay for a $600 iPhone! Wouldn’t have been much time, or money, left for vacation.

Oh, there’s also a new word that’s been coined in recent years—blog. And now that I’ve posted to this one it’s time to head for the airport to fly away. Hey, I never said I ALWAYS stay home for vacation! ~

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Monday, June 5, 2017

Power Struggle

Several years ago, my son and I visited a Radio Shack in search of an adapter that would turn a regular outlet into a USB port. This was back before iPhones and tablets had come along. At the time, apparently, no one had envisioned a need for such a thing. Except me, I guess.

I had some equipment that was USB powered but didn’t necessarily need to be connected to the computer. I was trying to move some of these things away from my computer corner to make more room. I thought if I could plug them into a wall outlet, it would get them out of the way.

When we couldn’t find what I was looking for, I asked the “expert” sales clerk if they carried anything like that, explaining what I wanted to do. You’d have thought I’d asked if we could get tickets for the next rocket to Mars. And as if the look the guy gave us didn’t convey how stupid he thought we were, his condescending tone made it clear. “That’s not even possible. Those are two completely different systems.”

“Different maybe but not impossible to connect,” I argued.

“No. USB can’t operate on house power.”

Now I was the one giving out disparaging looks. “The people who invented the USB plug didn’t invent an entirely new form of energy. They’re both still electricity.”

My son even chimed in, pointing out that transformers or transducers allow electricity to be converted to whatever form is needed. But it was no use.

“You just don’t understand electricity,” the guy said. “You can’t plug one into the other.”

Right I thought. I said, “I plug my computer into the wall and then plug the USB cord into my computer. Am I missing something?”

The guy didn’t have an answer so instead; he gave me another look that said my stupidity was an annoyance and wasting his time. I informed him we would look elsewhere and we prepared to leave.

“You’re never find what you want because it doesn’t exist,” the guy said.

Well, he was right, sort of. We visited every store in town that carried electronics and no one had what we were looking for, such a thing did not exist—yet. So, I gave up on the idea.

A few years later, my son and I were quite amused by the little cubed adapter that came with an iPhone. It plugged into the wall and had a USB port. Amazing! What will they think of next?

Then, about a month ago, I replaced an outlet in our kitchen. In addition to the regular plug-ins, the new outlet features two USB ports. This eliminates the need for anything other than a USB cord to charge phones, tablets, or any number of other gadgets that are piling up around the house these days and utilize what has become the current standard method of charging.

After installing the outlet, I wondered what the so-called expert from Radio Shack would think of these new developments. Would he still insist it wouldn’t work? Does he still think that USB is some new energy form? Or, I wondered, has he figured out by now that electricity is quite easily connected to electricity? Guess I’ll never know. I’ll probably never see the man again because they have now closed our Radio Shack—along with a few thousand others. Hmm, I think I might see why! ~

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Monday, May 29, 2017

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! ~

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Monday, May 22, 2017

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. ~

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Monday, May 15, 2017

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. ~

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Monday, May 8, 2017

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. ~

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