Will It Be What We Hope

E

very year is a little different and looking forward to 2020 most have hope that it will be as good as or better than the prior(s). To read or write – that is the question.

Oh how what we’ve read creeps into our minds as we write / try to write.
But what if both. In the immediate prior time, reading took a back seat. Thus far in the current time, reading is still there – perhaps balance is in the hope.

Well getting on with …:
Remember I wrote, “I was well along on my sequel to Nescient Decoy and had put Jason and Erin into the Ukraine – whoops, I had not planned a political situation for them.” As I’d tried to not have it political, I’d rather not have the continuing story that either. Since my last post I’ve had at least a half-dozen scenarios in my head. Then I’m self-distracted – not unusual for me.
But-firsters are just part of my life (well not public life); I did a paragraph on a flash fiction not due for submission until … While doing that, I looked at some old files for ideas I’d used to continue the story of Jason and Erin and discovered something I’d intended to finish several years ago. That unrelated work got several edits, and new entries, then …

I intended to do something with this forum every Thursday. Well you can see how that has been going.
I heard about James Clear’s book Atomic Habits in the context of a church sermon and took a look at a summary by Sam T. Davies. Now I won’t have to read the book and I’d sure not be happy imposing the considerations for self-improvement on myself.

Have you noticed that I’m wandering again. And I ask myself, Self, do you wonder as you wander? Well that thought wasn’t for sure from remembering only one line fromHamlet.

But about the subject of the song I’ve paraphrased, I have no wonder.

T

wenty-twenty is here and “what will be will be.” Woah! Some phrases just stick in one’s mind … er … my mind.

So how was that for an example of being all over the place? Whoa – I just thought of this Nothing to Do

It Was What It WAS

E

very year is a little different and looking back at 2019 verifies that it wasn’t an exception. So, month-by-month it was presented on…; nah! Granted there were 12 of them, and like the years each was different. (comment about exception or not if there was one would go here) Day by day, the year went on… nah! (365 possible entries – too much work for this forum)


Well getting on with that writing year:

In January, I self-published (Amazon KDP) Echoes of Nam: Absence from war is not the same as peace of the soul. In May, I made minor modifications and re-self-published Nescient Decoy. Then, in July I self-published Before Grandpa was Thirteen: Stories I told my grandchildren.
I was well along on my sequel to Nescient Decoy and had put Jason and Erin into the Ukraine – whoops, I had not planned a political situation for them. One of my projects was to follow Echoes of Nam with the life of its teller Hacker Lee Goor. Well that would get me into his political feelings of the time, and as was said in the story, “Hacker Lee Goor started to include well researched political issues that directly or indirectly impacted his life before, during and after his active duty in the Army. Then he decided to write about himself, Brax, and those ambushed at Dak Bla Bridge.”
The past is over, and Nam is only really remembered by those over 60 and …
While compiling my Before Grandpa was Thirteen stories, I started what will be called Grandpa’s Teen Years, but my grandson loaned me Frederick Kempe’s Berlin 1961: Kennedy, Khrushchev and the Most Dangerous Place on Earth which was a reminder that I’d told the grandkids some of my Cold War era stories, but not the real serious ones. Thus, I started and have nearly completed what I call Rose-Rose-Rose. The premise of the book is on my “Writings” page of this site.
My work Iniquities of the Fathers, a re-write of my once published and out of print An Odyssey of Illusions should satisfy those who thought it needed a sequel. However, it has not passed more than an extension to consider by one publisher, and there has been no response from an agent and three other publishers. I might have to go to the self-publishing route with it also.
Membership in a small writing group which was helpful to me has faded into history and a church writing project seems to have become a low priority.
I have, however, learned a number of things about working with my web site.

T

wenty-nineteen is gone and that is that. It was what it was.

P

ost Script: I also submitted a number of short stories, mostly flash-fiction, to a variety of journals. And, my net income gave me $0.16 per hour of writing time. The condo perched on an outcrop above a white-sand beach is out for this year.

Tween Days

A

nother Christmas has passed and 2020 is not yet upon us. These are the days I call TWEEN. My eighty-three years of Christmas days have ranged from exciting to … and any not exciting are on me. Childhood perceptions were normal – I guess, because that was a long time ago. I have absolutely no memory and no pictures for reminders of Christmases before I was eleven.

The last two Christmases have been much like 33 years ago when our first grandchild was a newborn. Last year we had a great-grandson and this year a great-granddaughter.

I’m quite sure the year I was eleven was a happy Christmas. All I need do is say Trailblazer and my siblings will probably agree. No, I do not mean tickets to a game in Portland. It was a sled – the Trailblazer was closer to the surface of hard-packed snow and faster than all around, and three boys could ride it together.

Having told what may have been the happiest one of my childhood the other side should be said. I was twelve and got no toys, no games – only clothing! I excused myself to the outhouse and cried. Mother saw my red cheeks and explained that toys were for little kids and I was given what I needed. What I needed didn’t seem to be what I needed at the time. I got over it (and myself) later.

T

ween is here now and I’ll change my focus from then to now. I feel blessed by all my Christmas experiences, because all are minuscule compared to what God did for all and any of us. So, the exchange of gifts, giving gifts, receiving gifts, toasting good will is unnecessary in the big picture, but joyful as long as we remember the real gift from God.

We have the Christmas story from the Bible, but nowhere does the Word say it’s the Christmas story.

The word Christ stems from the Middle and Old English word Crist meaning the anointed one, the Lord’s Anointed. It is borrowed from the Latin Christus and from the Greek Christos also meaning the anointed one. The Greek is a translation of Hebrew mashiach meaning anointed of the Lord or Messiah. In the word Christmas, the suffix -mas evolves from the Old English word maesse meaning festival, feast day or mass.

Who does not enjoy feast day?

E

joy the TWEEN DAYS and be ready to wish a happy New Year to one and all.

Another Winter Story

N

othing is new under the sun or in an American winter. November/December storms move east and north from the Mid-south and join the cold from the Mid-west to inundate the North-east and New England.

A

soldier is delayed on the road from Ft, Devens to Boston’s Logan International Airport, but his flight is already delayed by snow. The delay turns into cancelation and the soldier sleeps on a bench until the next available flight to Chicago.

O

’Hare is snowed in while he waits for his flight to Minneapolis. He sleeps on the marble floor near other soldiers delayed on their flights to other places. After arriving late at Minneapolis Saint Paul International Airport, he catches a shuttle that slips and slides its way to the intercity Greyhound station.

A

ll busses schedules are suspended until daylight the next day and the soldier sleeps in a coffee shop booth until he is displaced by paying customers in the morning. The three-hour bus ride to his central Minnesota hometown takes six hours on the pre-freeway snow drifted roads.

T

he 8-hour trip from Boston to his Minnesota hometown for his Christmas leave takes 4 days. Later a three-day train ride to Ft. Lewis, Washington, takes five weather delayed days after a West Coast rainstorm joins the cold from Alaska and blizzards its way into eastern Washington, Idaho, Montana, and North Dakota.

T

hat soldier was me, and the year was 1956.