Writing for the Sake of Writing

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The wine buzz tonight is taking my head into a tail spin. I guess three glasses of wine is too much for my feeble brain to handle. I just read a chapter of my book to Peg, and for once she didn’t fall asleep. Either the story was good, or she was awake. Earlier we went to a local place called Ryan’s Pub for a wine, and some fish. Being it is Friday during lent it is a meat less day. Ryan’s is a mile and a half from our house, and we have driven past it for ten years without ever going in to check it out. Well my virginity is gone, we walked through the portals for the Friday night fish fry. Lo and behold I spy my friend Al sitting at the bar when we walk in. This is better than I imagined. I ordered a Cab for my self, and a lemonade for Peg, and two Walleye dinners to go. We kibitzed with Al while we waited. I’m telling Al and Peg that the last time I was in this place was thirty years ago for a going away party for an engineer from work. Don’t ask me who was leaving I don’t remember, but I do remember the place. It hasn’t changed much in thirty years. Then I proceeded to talk about my old friend Pat from work who owned the place with his daily presence. He lives right around the corner a block away. A few minutes later a short thin guy with bowed legs, white beard, cowboy boots, and cowboy hat walks in. I ask the barkeeper Heather if that is Pat. She says “it sure is.”

I walk over to him fortified by four ounces of Cab, and greet him with “Hey you old bowlegged sum-na-bitch how are ya doin?” He looks at me with a long dumb look. “You remember me don’t ya?”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember your name.”

“It is me , Joe from Panduit.”

“Oh yes I remember now.”

First impressions hit hard sometimes, and when I looked into Pat’s face I saw an old man, a very old man, a lot older than I ever remembered him to look. Pat was a vigorous young tool-maker who grew up in suburban Harvey, Illinois and moved to live in Tucson, Arizona for a several years. He loved it there, and never got away from the cowboy look. He returned to Chicago to work at the Panduit plant in Tinley Park for his old school chum Roy Moody. Before Pat moved to Arizona he was a motorcycle racer. He loved speed on two wheels, and loved the adrenaline rush he got from speeding shoulder to shoulder around a clay track at ninety miles per hour. Of course his knees are shot, and he has lots of broken bones to his credit. When the weather was right he rode a motorcycle, when the weather wasn’t right he drove a pick up truck. He and his wife raised two kids on a mini-ranch in Frankfort, IL. He still lives there.

One of the most spectacular wakes I ever went to was for Pat’s first wife Bev. She and he were riding home on his Harley one Sunday night about ten p.m. with the Bike Club when a rider in front of him lost control,and began swinging in broad “esses” across the road in front of him. Pat T-boned him going sixty mph. The two bikes went in different directions. Pat’s wife who sat behind him like a proud Harley Girl went flying over his head and landed on her neck, crunch! She was dead with a broken neck.

Pat was President of his Bike Club and his wife was first lady. She was one of the most beautiful women I had ever laid my eyes on, and now she was dead at age thirty-five. The wake was in Frankfort at Gerardi’s Funeral home. Back then Frankfort didn’t have more than twenty-five hundred people and Gerardi’s was a small place. Because Pat and I worked together my wife Barb and I attended the wake. At the time we lived in Alsip twenty miles north of Frankfort. We approached Frankfort on US Route 30 from the east. I noticed many Harley riders going the opposite way. We knew when we arrived at Gerardi’s because there were motorcycles parked two inches apart wrapped around the entire building. I remember saying that if I kicked the first bike they would all fall over like dominos. The line of people attending the wake wrapped around the building too. We assumed our place in line and patiently waited. A number of big brawny Harley guys carried Pat out into the parking lot on a chair for him to get some air. His wife was dead, and he looked like he rolled over the road for a mile or two before he finally came to rest. Lots of black and blue with red raw abrasions on his arms and swollen head. He didn’t look too healthy, but he was alive. The big guys set him down in the center of the lot. The line of people walked past him to the parlor. He sat there swilling a beer accepting condolences like a man who has lost his partner in a bike accident.

Inside the Parlor, we finally got to pass Bev’s coffin. She wore her best Harley attire. Her black leather Jacket with the club emblem was hanging on the kneeler in front of the casket on display. She looked as beautiful as ever.

Funny what memories a little Cab, and a chance meeting of an old friend will induce.

What is the Trigger?

SixthCrusade

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Christianity began with Jesus about two thousand years ago. Catholicism bases itself on three basics: the Old Testament Bible, the New Testament Bible, and Tradition. The movement went unchanged until Martin Luther decided enough was enough. He had a long list of complaints about the things Catholics believed and Rome condoned. He decided to post his list, and to begin a new religion based on the more traditional rules. Since then, Christianity has fractionated many times over into many sects all proclaiming their religion the one that leads to heaven. There are many versions of the bible and depending on which religion you profess decides which version of the bible you follow. Catholics follow only their approved version( Nihil Obstat), Others follow the Saint James version. All of the fractions base themselves on Jesus’ teachings. The fact remains that Catholicism is the one true religion based on Jesus. All the others are inventions of men who have become dissatisfied with one thing or another with the Catholic Church, like selling indulgences, divorce, the Pope, etc. Before that, Judaism was the religion  professing  one God, and a life after death.(Heaven).

I present these facts because I want to make some sense out of the Muslim contention that Islam is the one true religion and that their God is the only God. They also contend that the Koran is the word of their God, and that the Koran contains the guiding principles of Islam. Because the laws contained in the Koran are from their God they over-ride all other law.

What I have trouble with is the hypocrisy of the many Muslim groups professing that they are not the Muslims who profess terror. They are not the radicalized Muslims. They are peaceful, loving, and caring people. Yet, it is always a Muslim who knowingly straps a bomb to his body and walks into a crowded arena to pull the trigger.

Muslims are fractionated just like Christians, and they call themselves Sunni, Shia, Wah Habi, Radicalized, and maybe some more too, but they all purport to derive their beliefs from the same laws contained in the Koran. At least when Luther broke from Roman Catholicism he listed all the problems he had with the system as it was. These became the basis for the new sect called Lutheranism. Where are these same writings for Muslims? Where are the different versions of the Koran that they use to teach their form of Islam? All I ever hear is that the Koran is the word of God and that is what they go by. How can we know which sect of Islam a radical, or a peace-lover truly believe in if they all follow the same word of God? How do the Imams teach the values of their sect when the words of the Koran are the same no matter what? Do all Imams interpret and teach the Koran exactly thee same?

Peaceful Muslims would like us all to believe they are not radicals, yet radicals seem to migrate from within their peace-loving congregations. Why is that? What is the trigger that sets a peace-lover into a bomb blasting beheader? Which word in the Koran sets this person off? If they know what does it, then why don’t a peace-loving Imams revise the Koran so the trigger words are not in their version? As the King in Anna and the King of Siam once said, “Is a puzzlement.”

Will somebody please clear this up for me?

In Memorium

The first day of spring came and went with a whimper. The weather was cool and somewhat grey. It was a good day for me, I finally wrote another chapter of my book British American Colonies. I washed some clothes, and did a few house chores. I am still reeling from the dry wall dust stirred up when Miguel fixed my disaster in the living room. At eleven pm it was time to check out and go to bed. As I always do, I plugged my phone into the charger. The screen lit up and I noticed a message from my son in Texas. I couldn’t go to bed without reading what he had to say. I read it and cried. I’ll share his message with you here:

Today was the first day of Spring as well as Rooke’s last day with us. We took him to the vet about 5pm and put him down. HIs condition, degenerative myelopathy really kicked in this week. He was on daily watch this week, and (we, sic) made the decision to take him today while everyone was home. We were all there except for Abbey, she opted out. He went peacefully with his family right next to him. He’s in a much better place now. Rooke (a.k.a “Rookis”, “Blue”) was the best dog I’ve ever had. His character, mannerisms, temperament and loyalty were truly amazing.

Rooke

Rooke, May 2005-March 20, 2015

 

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When I first met Rook ten years ago he was the cutest little pup one could imagine with floppy ears, a cocked head and a dynamo of energy. Rook grew quickly and became the meanest looking German Shepard I have ever seen. His black color and wide powerful chest gave him an air of intimidation. People stepped aside when Rook walked his Master. Trust me, no one would ever even think about harming a family member when this jet black patrol dog was on duty, and that was 24/7. The only white color he had on his body was the white of his eyes. As you can tell by the photo the white of his eyes were not visible very often. There is no way in hell I would have tested him by entering my son’s house in the dark.

What no one except us knew about Rook was his gentle side. He was a pussy cat with all of us. He loved to walk, and took his master’s for a three to five-mile walk nearly every day. When he wasn’t pulling them along with his chain link leash, he loved to chase a ball and play fetch. His favorite game with me was to bring a rubber toy, and drop it by my feet. Then he stared at that toy until I quickly kicked it from under his nose. Every time I kicked the ball he picked it off  within inches of my toe. It wasn’t until last June that I beat him a couple of times, and made him turn and run, but still he had the damn thing within six feet. He prided himself in not losing the ball, ever. He never tired of the game, and could play non-stop for a day, but I couldn’t.

Rook is the first dog I ever fell in love with. My family has owned and cared for many dogs of many different breeds, but Rook is my all time favorite.

 

I Want This Boy to Defend America

I watched this video in amazement and I wondered if it is true. There are many times when I see our young kids doing stupid things, but when I see an example like the one set by this boy, it brought me to tears. There is hope for America. All it takes are parents who love their kids, and their country too. I give this lad credit for his patriotism and valor in showing the rest of us how to pay tribute. Thanks kid.

Thank you Jim for sending me this video.

Silver

Silver With Mother Buff

Silver With Mother Buff

While cleaning my desk in preparation to paint the room I cleared out two boxes of books. I put the books into the laundry room in the space Peg uses for folding clothes. What this did was make the pile of books a high visibility project. Not to mention, they were within the domain a highly charged woman who wanted her space back. I vowed not to return anything to my office that wasn’t an absolute necessity. So far, I am holding on to that self-imposed rule. The important junk is back in my office and now I find myself sorting through the left overs.

I came a cross a very old book with a battered cover, yellow pages, and ripped binding. The title is Silver, the Story of a Wild Horse by Thomas C. Hinkle, published in 1934 by William Morrow & Co, New York. There are a couple of hand written inscriptions on the inside cover. The first line says “Excelsior School Dist. 32. 6th grade, Jan, 1936. The second line reads Arlie Richard Davis, November 27, 1951, Xenia, Ill, RR#1. Once I saw the name Davis I knew where this book came from. Arlie Davis is my son-in-law’s father. Arlie is just a few years younger than me. Since I had never heard of Xenia, Illinois I looked it up. Xenia is in the southern third of the state in line with Saint Louis. The current population is 658. I urge you to visit the Xenia website to learn about this quaint little town in Illinois.

Since I knew the owner of this book, I felt a moral obligation to read it. I loved it. It is for kids ages 12 -80. A few years ago I wrote exclusively for kids and have a book on Kindle titled Dooley’s Dilemma which I recommend for your kids. Enough of the commercial. Silver is a story about wild horses. One horse in particular is an Arabian breed who is white. The author Hinkle has an amazing grasp of wild horses. He describes their habits, noises, fighting postures, and aversion to man, and is very descriptive. At first I thought the story would divert to a good guy, bad guy cowboy story. Instead Hinckley surprised me by drafting a story where the central characters are all wild horses. It is obvious that Hinkle had a love for these animals. If I had read this book in sixth grade, I would have loved it even more. This just proves to me that it is never too late to do stuff and to venture down paths never taken before.

If Only It Were True

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I don’t know who wrote this piece but it hits the nail on the head.

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Not to be confused with the Golf Ball Act.
(This bit of levity puts things in perspective)

Only weeks after leaving office on January 20, 2017, former President Barack Obama discovers a leak under his sink, so he calls Troy the Plumber to come out and fix it. Troy drives to President Obama’s new house, which is located in a very exclusive, gated community near Chicago where all the residents have a net income of way more than $250,000 per year.

Troy arrives and takes his tools into the house. He is led to the guest bathroom that contains the leaky pipe under the sink. Troy assesses the problem and tells President Obama that it’s an easy repair that will take less than 10 minutes. President Obama asks Troy how much it will cost. Troy checks his rate chart and says, “$9,500.”

“What?! $9,500?!” Obama asks, stunned, “But you said it’s an easy repair. Michelle will whip me if I pay a plumber that much!”

Troy says, “Yes, but what I do is charge those who make more than $250,000 per year a much higher amount so I can fix the plumbing of poorer people for free. This has always been my philosophy. As a matter of fact, I lobbied the Democrat Congress, who passed this philosophy into law. Now all plumbers must do business this way. It’s known as the ‘Affordable Plumbing Act of 2014′. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it.”

In spite of that, Obama tells Troy there’s no way he’s paying that much for a small plumbing repair, so Troy leaves. Obama spends the next hour flipping through the phone book calling for another plumber, but he finds that all other plumbing businesses in the area have gone out of business. Not wanting to pay Troy’s price, Obama does nothing and the leak goes un-repaired for several more days. A week later the leak is so bad President Obama has had to put a bucket under the sink. Michelle is not happy as she has Oprah and guests arriving the next morning. The bucket fills up quickly and has to be emptied every hour, and there’s a risk the room will flood, so Obama calls Troy and pleads with him to return.

Troy goes back to President Obama’s house, looks at the leaky pipe, checks his new rate chart and says, “Let’s see, this will now cost you $21,000.”

President Obama quickly fires back, “What? A few days ago you told me it would cost $9,500!”

Troy explains, “Well, because of the ‘Affordable Plumbing Act,’ a lot of wealthier people are learning how to maintain and take care of their own plumbing, so there are fewer payers in the plumbing exchanges. As a result, the price I have to charge wealthy people like you keeps rising. Not only that, but for some reason the demand for plumbing work by those who get it for free has skyrocketed! There’s a long waiting list of those who need repairs, but the amount we get doesn’t cover our costs, especially paperwork and record-keeping. This unfortunately has put a lot of my fellow plumbers out of business, they’re not being replaced, and nobody is going into the plumbing business because they know they can’t make any money at it. I’m hurting too, all thanks to greedy rich people like you who won’t pay their ‘fair share’. On the other hand, why didn’t you buy plumbing insurance last December? If you had bought plumbing insurance available under the ‘Affordable Plumbing Act,’ all this would have been covered by your policy.”

“You mean I wouldn’t have to pay anything to have you fix my plumbing problem?” asks Obama.

“Well, not exactly,” replies Troy. “You would have had to buy the insurance before the deadline, which has passed now. And, because you’re rich, you would have had to pay $34,000 in premiums, which would have given you a ‘silver’ plan, and then, since this would have been your first repair, you would have to pay up to the $21,000 deductible, and anything over that would have a $7,500 co-pay, and then there’s the mandatory maintenance program, which is covered up to 17.5%, so there are some costs involved. Nothing is for free.”

“WHAT?!” exclaims Obama. “Why so much for a puny sink leak?!”

With a bland look, Troy replies, “Well, paperwork, mostly, like I said. And the internal cost of the program itself. You don’t think a program of this complexity and scope can run itself, do you? Besides, there are millions of folks with lower incomes than you, even many in the ‘middle class’, who qualify for subsidies that people like you must support. That’s why they call it the ‘Affordable Plumbing Act’! Only people who don’t make much money can afford it. If you want affordable plumbing, you’ll have to give away most of what you have accumulated and cut your and Michelle’s income by about 90%. Then you can qualify to get your ‘Fair Share’ instead of giving it.”

“But who would pass a crazy act like the ‘Affordable Plumbing Act’?!” exclaims the exasperated Obama.

After a sigh, Troy replies, “Congress… because they didn’t read it.”

Immigrant Supports Canadian Values

Grumpa Joe:

A word from the wise spoken by an immigrant about immigration.

Originally posted on ELLIOT LAKE News:

An Immigrant Speaks: Stop Canada’s Immigration-Driven National Suicide

By K.S.

Hello … I am an immigrant and have been following “Immigration Watch” for the last two years. I can confidently say that you are doing an admirable & exemplary job.

I came here two decades ago from India.

However, I feel quite sorry about the current state of our country which to a large extent is the result of an uncontrolled immigration intake.

This is not the country or the society I migrated to. Since my arrival … Canada has changed beyond recognition.

[See: The Betrayal of Canada]

Toronto viewed south from Bloor TORONTO

Canadian values & ethics are eroding fast. The society is disintegrating and is being replaced by alien & sub-civilized cultures – all in the name of multiculturalism & accommodation to new immigrants.

Multiculturalism makes a nation no more than a holding pen. These multi-ethnic people…

View original 680 more words

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