Put Your Clutchy Fingers Away.

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This will be a short blog. Keep your grabby little fingers away from the Constitutional rights we all share.

El Paso and Dayton are awful. Going back just a way, we’ve had similar casualties from exploding pressure cookers and automobiles driven up on sidewalks.

The issue is not guns. I checked my status this morning – all accounted for, none even trying to get out of storage. Not a one called on me as I checked to do a rampage. Whew. Just saved by the bell.

The question always asked is, “Who needs a gun like that?”

The answer is, Washington, Jefferson, Franklin, Hancock, Revere – and the list goes on. Ask the Korean shop-owners of Los Angeles. Ask the citizens of Venezuela – the ones left after armored vehicles ran over their fellow protesters. 

Guns are not the issue. Magazine size is not the issue. Evil is the issue. Bad people do bad things. Good people do good things.

If you must make it political, picture the politician you hate the most with complete control of government. You now have no means to resist that person – your weapons are gone. If you speak out, you are arrested and put away for years. Now, do you really want to cede that power to anyone?

No. Neither did the founders. And they were right. The Second Amendment is in the number 2 slot for a reason. 

Enforce the laws in place. Provide mental health treatment for those who need it. But a gun never killed anyone. People, on the other hand, have killed many. Ask Abel and Cain. I don’t think any M-4 carbines were involved there – just evil.

 

Not To Worry.

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Last week I wrote about the misery that was close on my heels. I spent a pretty good amount of time praying, and thanking God for the good things He’d given me. I realized that you need the rain for the crops to grow, and while we don’t like the muddy slough we’ve wandered in while trying to find our ways, that slough is where the floodwaters find the nutrients for the fields we sow.

Is that too poetic? 

Perhaps. But it is indeed what I did for the last week. And eat. Man, I blew out several people’s diets with the amount of great food I consumed. They don’t call it comfort food for nothing.

This week, as I’m writing this on Friday morning, things started to turn around. For one thing, the anniversary of Ed’s death was a pivot point. Once that was in the rear-view mirror things got better. I spent some quality time thinking about the dogs I’ve been blessed to know in my life. Not one of them would have approved of me being down in the dumps, and each of them – including the non-physically-demonstrative Stormy – would have clung to my side and tried to cheer me up if they’d been around.

Now when my phone turns on, or my Facebook page comes up, that picture of Stormy on the opening screen is the source of a smile. Yes, I miss her greatly, and still look for her to be coming around the corner when I sit down in the living room. But it’s not that mournful ache that it was a week ago. Now it’s a wistful smile and a memory of her good heart. I still get the tug at my soul, and the lump in my throat, but I know we’ll meet up all too soon in Heaven.

The last week also brought restoration physically, and the torn/bruised/whatever muscle in my calf has healed. I walked about 3 miles total on Thursday, and had no pain and pulling. Great Scott! I may have learned not to push the envelope when I’m hurt… Then again, maybe not. I’ll resume my long walks Monday and start weight-loading the pack the following week.

The giant hole in the ground next to my house now hosts a basement, and is being filled in while I’m at work today. Mind you, they had to cut another few feet off my property, and there literally isn’t room to push a lawn mower between my air conditioner and the edge of the hole. But it’s not 9 feet deep anymore, and I’m not worried about the house crumbling into the excavation. I also know that in about 2 weeks, give or take a week, the contractor will be putting my landscaping and fence back in place. 

And that leads me right back around to dogs. Once the layer-one barrier is back in place, we can have the rescue people out to inspect the joint and certify us for a new family member. My heart is in serious need of a furry friend. I’m more than optimistic that we’ll find a dog who needs us as much as we need them. 

Also, I’m really writing again after a month-plus of starts and stops. Good stuff, literally taking turns working on the three books that I’ve got in progress. For those of you who were pretty sure I’d never finish the sequel to Assault on Saint Agnes, you should plan on a sequel in the next 6 months. My goal is Christmas, but I’m not going to promise that on my soul. As I’ve discovered in the last month, things can happen that stop you dead in your tracks.

In addition, I’m almost ready to pick up the script and record the next audio book. We’ve not had as many early morning thunderstorms as last year, and I’m going to see if I can start out doing a couple of chapters a week during August. I love doing audio books, and Michael DiMercurio at Crossroad Press has been most patient in giving me time to turn them out.

Finally, I’ve been working on an invention for the last year. It’s gone from a rough idea to a final version, and the final version has now included ruling out alternative designs that would do the same thing but be much harder to manufacture. Included in this progress is the fact that I’ve gone from a single product to an entire product line. Yup, something kicked loose in the creative department after reading a book on inventing. I thought I knew how to think, but the author really opened my eyes to another approach that has benefited me greatly. I’m more than happy to recommend Stephen Key’s book – One Simple Idea, Revised and Expanded Edition: Turn Your Dreams into a Licensing Goldmine While Letting Others Do the Work. 

Thank you all for your notes of concern and encouragement this past week. It has meant a lot to me to know that the readership of this blog is out there cheering me on.

I Have A Really Good Excuse For My Absence.

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It dawned on me today that this might be the longest stretch between blog postings in the history of this mess. I’m not going to go back and check that statement,  but it does seem that it’s been a very long time since I posted. 

I have a very good excuse: life. Since you dropped by to read this, you get the bonus answer that non-readers may not guess: I’ve been struggling emotionally since Stormy had to be put down. 

For those who have never had a pet, you will think this is stupid/lame/pathetic. I can see your point. For those who have cherished pets, you will totally get what I’m about to discuss. 

So, if you want to hear about it, great. Read on. If not, drop by next week and pick up there. I won’t be offended. I won’t know.

Over the last 6.5 years we’ve had to put down 3 of the best dogs a human could share a house with on this planet. That’s a lot of dogs in a short time. Maisie was the first, and she passed in the fall 7 years ago. She had every genetic defect a dog could have, and ended up horribly crippled with arthritis. Her passing was not unexpected, but she knew what was coming and fought the final medication with everything she had. I felt like a war-criminal in the aftermath, but intellectually I knew it was the right thing to do . 

Stormy came to live with us a month later, and she joined Edzell in our household. He was the king of the Shelties, and had a great life. The two of them helped me get over the guilt I had over Maisie’s death. 

The next summer, just 6 years ago, Ed died. He lost the ability to walk, and he was tired. He was totally fine with the whole deal, and he went very peacefully. I knew it was okay, and he was kind and generous in his acceptance. But he’d been with us for over 1/2 of our married life, and he left a big hole when he died. 

Stormy filled that hole. She did it reluctantly, and it took years for her to be totally comfortable with me. I worked almost as hard as she did to make the relationship work. In the end, all that time and love grew a friendship deeper than I’d anticipated. I knew when she came to us as an 8 year old rescue we didn’t have a lot of time. But I was blindsided by her death. 

So there I am with a very supportive family and friends. And a ton of projects on my plate. Asked to be on the board of a non-profit, co-chair of a very active ministry at the church, three books in progress, and an audio book in the box waiting to be started. I dug in, moved forward as best I could, and kept moving.

Until this week. I pulled up lame on one of my long walks and couldn’t walk to work. Heck, I had a hard time getting up and down the stairs at home, and I hobbled at work. The pain wasn’t all that bad, but it took another brick out of the wall I had built, and the wall was very unstable. 

Combine this with our work in getting a new dog being foiled by circumstances beyond our control, and no furry friend for at least another month. Things were not good. I would wake up every night a couple of times and look at the doorway still expecting to see Stormy guarding me while I slept. Each time it broke my heart a little bit more. I truly expected to see her round the corner while I was in the living room. Each morning I’d check the yard for monsters – she insisted I do it before she’d go out and do her business.

And, then the last two ingredients came along to the whole recipe. 

First, every day for the last month Edzell’s passing was noted on my calendar. Each day closer to his death, and farther away from Stormy puttering around the house deepened the darkness. 

Then, on Saturday, I woke up with vertigo. Just like the weekend before she died. It was too much. I couldn’t walk to burn off calories, I didn’t feel like writing, I missed all my dogs, and now I couldn’t get out of bed without the room swinging in circles. 

I did the exercises to beat the vertigo, but it left me with a migraine and a bad attitude. 

I was miserable. Lonely. Isolated. I think you call that depression if you’re honest about it. 

Don’t worry, I’ll be okay shortly. I actually feel a lot better today with the anniversary of Ed’s death behind me. New vistas and all that stuff. 

But it’s been hard. And I’m blessed to have a wife who understands me, and my need to have a dog in my life. She’s the best wife I could have in this life. 

Tomorrow? I’ll get out of bed, do the Epley exercise if the room spins, put on the pack (with no extra weights for the moment) and walk to work where I’ll write for an hour before the shift starts. I have deadlines and people that need me to get things done. And I’ll be okay. God’s blessed me with the faith that it will get better. I’m counting on it. Just like I’m counting on a new backyard fence, and a new dog. 

You see, that’s how life goes with those ups and downs. I know it, and I’m working on it heading back up. Thank you to all of you for excusing my absence. I promise it won’t happen again soon.

 

Time For Some Flash Fiction

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I’m overdue for some creative writing on this blog. I know that it is something that is appreciated by the readers, and it’s just been a while since I had anything that merited posting. Short-form fiction is tough: it’s got to hit the mark quickly. I’ve been working on books and audio books for the last few years and have been remiss in providing this for you.

If you are of a mind, please click on the links to the right, buy a book or two of mine, or download and listen to some of the audio books I’ve created for Mr. Michael DiMercurio. If you’re paying close attention to what I’m writing, the first five people who put a comment in asking for free downloads might just get the mother load, as I’ve got 150 free downloads to burn through this month. 

And, without further ado:

JERRY’S STORY

Two more passengers got on at the Civic Center, both presenting their passes to the bus driver and then giving Jerry a very wide berth as they walked past him to the rear of the bus. Nobody had dared to sit in the dozen seats surrounding him, so fierce were his body odor and scowl. 

Inside, Jerry was having a conversation with Mark, and occasionally it slipped past his lips. Mark had been hanging out inside Jerry’s head for the past twenty years, over half of his life. Mark was not a good influence on Jerry, but without a doubt, he was the largest factor in Jerry’s life since his father had died in 2007. 

Today the two of them were discussing the merits of “The Plan.” Having been over it several hundred times in the past week, neither was in opposition to the other’s desires, but there were always a few things to iron out. 

The primary point still in need of resolution was number and timing. Mark, who had usually advocated a more conservative approach to such things, was instead pushing for a more graphic, demonstrative effort to correct things. Jerry, usually the radical, was not sure that he could increase the number and still make his plan work as he wanted. 

From his seat near the front of the bus, Jerry made sure that he could see at least three of the camera’s that the transit commission had installed. Anything less than a complete visual record would be a failure. Mark’s only concern was that the video was streaming back to the bus garage where it would be recorded on their servers. Both of them had eyed the system when they got on board, and had confirmed that the link light on the driver’s control panel, near the window and above her seat, was a solid green with a flashing green light next to it on the 5G connection. No matter what else happened, it would survive.

The bus rolled down the  road and crossed the intersection, heading for the interstate. It was a short 12 minute drive to Minneapolis, and once the bus hit I-94, it was non-stop until they got off downtown.

Mark, who had been quietly coaching Jerry in his demeanor, now amped up his call to action. Screaming in Jerry’s brain, he demanded that they “Get this thing done, NOW!”

Jerry, who had largely enjoyed Mark’s company over the years, was angry that he was taking control of the day’s plans, and leaving Jerry as his errand-boy. Well, enough of that nonsense.

Jerry stood up and pulled the first pin before hurling the grenade to the very back of the bus. The second grenade was already in the air and landing in the articulated section that joined the two bus halves together, as he pulled the last two grenades from his pockets, pulled the pins, and dropped them to either side. Looking right in the camera near the driver, he shouted “Allahu Akhbar.” He didn’t know what it meant, but Mark had said it would make things more fun.

The express bus never even slowed down, as the driver merely heard shouting before the back area bulged out, throwing flames, dismembered passengers, and bits of glass and metal into the cars in close proximity. She registered the explosion just as the articulation point disintegrated, causing the back to slam to the left, thrusting the semi-truck beside the bus into the center median. Carrying a heavy load of pipe, the driver over-corrected and climbed up the short barrier, flipping on it’s side into oncoming traffic. 

The final two grenades fragmented the front of the bus, and it skittered to the right, smashing through two lanes of traffic before jamming the flaming wreckage under a bridge at Lexington Avenue. 

Nobody survived the incident, a total of 47 people killed on the bus, 13 on the other side of the freeway from the pipe truck, and over 80 people injured in the collisions resulting from the explosions. 

ATF agents found another 7 grenades at the apartment Jerry had shared with his father. The markings on the case indicated they’d been manufactured in 1969, and been shipped to Vietnam. Jerry’s father had been a supply sergeant in an airborne unit, and taken them home as some kind of souvenirs. 

Jerry, who was long since gone by the time the agents had traced the grenades, was still living in the first moments the grenades had torn his flesh from his body, the exquisite pain never-ending. And, in fact, it would indeed never end in the very small corner of Hell that he was sharing with his friend Mark for the rest of eternity.

Mark, however, was in charge of the place and didn’t really care about Jerry’s discomfort. He had other things to do as he moved to and fro.

My Personal Appearance May Be Declining.

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For those of you who know me, that headline may not be much of a news flash. For the reader who doesn’t have any background with me, the barbarian pictured below is me.

Lotsa Cargo

Needless to say, at 6′ and 300+ pounds I’m hard to miss. With the full ZZ Top beard thing (and usually shades if I’m outdoors) I present a somewhat different/imposing appearance. Now, combine that with my beloved workout clothes – most of which look like stuff that’s a decade old because they are – and you have a guy that people want to move across the street to avoid if there are any alleyways in the general locale where our paths will cross.

The only exception to the above description is when the cross-fit members are out for their cute little group runs. Then it appears that the self-entitled deem the entire sidewalk to be theirs, and walk three-abreast, forcing me to move out of their way. (Hint to the cross-fit group I ran across this morning: tomorrow you had best move or the bruises will likely be legendary. I’m guessing my 360 pound mass travelling 8 mph toward your 140 pound mass is going to win. Move over, it’s a courtesy.)

A short time ago I was walking down University Avenue in Saint Paul on my way to work. I had my 100 liter backpack hoisted on my shoulders, and was carrying my 5’10” walking staff. I got to Dale Street, and had to wait for the light to cross. There was an older woman waiting at the corner, and I held back a bit so she wouldn’t feel that I was encroaching on her personal space.

When we both got across University, I turned to cross Dale as well. I heard a voice to my right, and looked over: it was the woman saying something to me. Turning Glenn Campbell off for a minute, I removed my earbuds and apologized for not hearing her when she spoke to me.

She pointed at the public library and said (in the most genteel voice you can possibly imagine), “Sir, if you’re looking for a job, they’re having an employment fair at the library.”

In my most disarming manner, I smiled and said, “Thank you, Ma’am, but I’m actually walking to work right now. I’m ready to retire in another year. But it’s very kind of you to help a stranger.”

She nodded and said, “Well, I just thought you might like to know.”

Now, it would be easy to judge her as a busybody talking down to some guy on the street, but that clearly wasn’t the case. Instead, this frail little woman, 1/3 of my size, and a good foot shorter than I am, had the decency to try and elevate a fellow human with an opportunity, and a vote of confidence that I’d use that information wisely.

I have wondered in the days since if I have mustered that good Christian compassion often enough. Have I extended myself to others? Do I judge and not offer help? The answer is not often enough, and yes I do judge.

That day I started looking for opportunities to lend a hand, not the back of mine, when I see a chance to elevate a stranger. (The people I already know should expect no change!) This may not apply to cross-fit walkers on West 7th street. I guess I’ll find out next time we meet.

Can you? Will you? Won’t you lend a hand to one who could use it? Not a hand-out, but a hand-up.

It won’t be easy, but I’ll keep trying.

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My second novel, Nicholas of Haiti, is now available. Go fetch your credit card for the Kindle, print, and audio book versions. This is not a sequel to Assault on Saint Agnes, but a unique book in the speculative Christian fiction world.

Audio book cover on the left, Kindle cover on the right.

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