One of the problem-benefits of having many hours off (so far, 51 and counting) and loving to read the printed word is doing so...especially his.
"After all," he wrote, "I lived in the most unfixed nation the earth has ever seen, a country conceived and populated by wanderers, wayfarers, migrants, immigrants, voyagers, vagabonds, most of them believing in the far side of the rainbow, in the possibilities of elsewhere, optimists for whom the road is an enticement beyond resistance and almost any there is preferable to a here..."
"Is there an American who has never muttered, "What if I just quit? Just said fuggum and took off?"
I could write many of his thoughts and words down but the post would, in fact, be his books.
Is it ever too late to become what you might become?
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
Civil? What's that?
Personal, civil contact with other humans is being challenged; you hear it in the way people talk to and about others, whether in person, in public, or on a CB radio. We no longer feel the need to treat a differing opinion with respect; instead, that opinion is wrong, stupid, asinine, or just plain whacko.
That does not bode well for out ability to deal with serious challenges in life, does it? Life ai t all roses and if one cannot deal with conflict in ways other than verbal or mental - even physical - violence, well, we are in trouble.
That does not bode well for out ability to deal with serious challenges in life, does it? Life ai t all roses and if one cannot deal with conflict in ways other than verbal or mental - even physical - violence, well, we are in trouble.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
Stress? Oh, yes.
Oh, man.
I thought I knew stress. I've been a cop, a firefighter-paramedic, a pilot, a manager in a besieged federal safety-related agency, a truck driver, and an all-night radio announcer. Heck, I even survived an almost-foodless, sleep-deprived Hell Week.
But no. Not until now have I experienced real, life energy-sapping stress.
I don't want to be here. I want to be home with a dog.
I thought I knew stress. I've been a cop, a firefighter-paramedic, a pilot, a manager in a besieged federal safety-related agency, a truck driver, and an all-night radio announcer. Heck, I even survived an almost-foodless, sleep-deprived Hell Week.
But no. Not until now have I experienced real, life energy-sapping stress.
I don't want to be here. I want to be home with a dog.
Sunday, April 17, 2016
All Things King
I spend a lot of time reading while on my extended breaks from driving, such as I am now. Many drivers watch TV, but not me; I read and listen to music. I am currently rereading a masterpiece, Stephen King's, The Shining, that I first read long ago, before the movie came out - I have never seen the movie, nor will I.
Knowing the effect his words have on me and what they do to my reading - speeds it WAY up - I have changed the way I read his work. Instead of getting engrossed in the Torrance's world at the Overlook Hotel for hours on end, as I used to, I have begun to meter how much I read. I might read one chapter or only part of one chapter. And I force myself to read much slower, an unnatural but necessary change when entering his twisted world. I can spend 15-30 minutes reading then put the book down while the words settle into my mind. This way, I also hope to get a sense of how a terrific writer puts his thoughts together so well.
I also have to admit to a secondary reason for rereading The Shining: I want to read Doctor Sleep next. It's his 500-page thriller that answers the question that King asked himself one day that got him to writing it:
What has happened to Danny Torrance in the 25-plus years since his family wintered over at The Overlook Hotel that tragic year?
To understand it fully, I have to know the whole story. And I will.
Knowing the effect his words have on me and what they do to my reading - speeds it WAY up - I have changed the way I read his work. Instead of getting engrossed in the Torrance's world at the Overlook Hotel for hours on end, as I used to, I have begun to meter how much I read. I might read one chapter or only part of one chapter. And I force myself to read much slower, an unnatural but necessary change when entering his twisted world. I can spend 15-30 minutes reading then put the book down while the words settle into my mind. This way, I also hope to get a sense of how a terrific writer puts his thoughts together so well.
I also have to admit to a secondary reason for rereading The Shining: I want to read Doctor Sleep next. It's his 500-page thriller that answers the question that King asked himself one day that got him to writing it:
What has happened to Danny Torrance in the 25-plus years since his family wintered over at The Overlook Hotel that tragic year?
To understand it fully, I have to know the whole story. And I will.
Friday, April 8, 2016
A Place for Thoughts and Phrases
It wasn't supposed to end this way.
He sat on the couch, staring blankly out the window onto the cold, wet morning. Life is supposed to be, well, not easy, sure, but easier. Fun.
Not this.
The beginning was so hopeful. It was fun. But that seemed so long ago, so far in the past as to make him wonder if it was ever real or if it was just wishful thinking. The weeks since were a muddled mess of chaotic memories, mind's-eye flashes, and glumly sitting on the couch, just like now.
It was pretty clear. He overstayed his welcome. There was no pleasure in the thought; just reality. It felt like a divorce, but one cannot be divorced from your children. Of course children grow up and older. They have children of their own. The rules change. Their rules, not your rules anymore.
Deal with it, he thought. Yeah, that's easy, isn't it? Just deal with it. Like saying no to drugs. Or putting your seatbelt on every time. Or waiting for the Walk signal at the corner. Easy, right? No.
******************
My place is just a place. It is not warm, though it is heated. It is just a place. I could leave here tomorrow and it would only have been a place I lived for a very long time. A little history, fewer memories. No anchor.
******************
How does one detach from the negatives in this life? Lord knows we are tested and given many opportunities, but what about the next step? What does success look like? I do not know.
******************
He sat on the couch, staring blankly out the window onto the cold, wet morning. Life is supposed to be, well, not easy, sure, but easier. Fun.
Not this.
The beginning was so hopeful. It was fun. But that seemed so long ago, so far in the past as to make him wonder if it was ever real or if it was just wishful thinking. The weeks since were a muddled mess of chaotic memories, mind's-eye flashes, and glumly sitting on the couch, just like now.
It was pretty clear. He overstayed his welcome. There was no pleasure in the thought; just reality. It felt like a divorce, but one cannot be divorced from your children. Of course children grow up and older. They have children of their own. The rules change. Their rules, not your rules anymore.
Deal with it, he thought. Yeah, that's easy, isn't it? Just deal with it. Like saying no to drugs. Or putting your seatbelt on every time. Or waiting for the Walk signal at the corner. Easy, right? No.
******************
My place is just a place. It is not warm, though it is heated. It is just a place. I could leave here tomorrow and it would only have been a place I lived for a very long time. A little history, fewer memories. No anchor.
******************
How does one detach from the negatives in this life? Lord knows we are tested and given many opportunities, but what about the next step? What does success look like? I do not know.
******************
Monday, October 26, 2015
What is this anyway?
As I try to expand and limit the words I write - expand into areas of interest like writing and limit the amount of talk-writing I do - I have been doing some reading on the topic.
A woman named Maud Newton writing in The New York Times Magazine a few years ago asked if blogging - and I guess this is a blog, right? - was more like writing or more like speech. That question has perplexed me since I read the piece; I am working on an answer. I want it to be more like writing - that is a selfish goal, I know, but there are things to be written - and I still want it to have some value to you, the reader, whoever you are. In that way, then, it would be more like speech.
Everything I do is a work in progress.
A woman named Maud Newton writing in The New York Times Magazine a few years ago asked if blogging - and I guess this is a blog, right? - was more like writing or more like speech. That question has perplexed me since I read the piece; I am working on an answer. I want it to be more like writing - that is a selfish goal, I know, but there are things to be written - and I still want it to have some value to you, the reader, whoever you are. In that way, then, it would be more like speech.
Everything I do is a work in progress.
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
10/21/2015: Another ending, another...
I haven't written anything since April when I was in training in New Hampshire, which is a bad thing. I no longer work for Western Express - after falling off the flatbed twice without serious injury, I took the little knocks from God as warnings: flatbed trucking is not an old man's work. I was being treated well by my dispatcher, more correctly calls a Driver Manager, or DM for short (an unusual occurrence in the trucking world).
After looking around and considering my options, needs, and wants, I chose Paschall Truck Lines, or PTL for short. They are based in Murray, Kentucky, are 100% employee-owned, and have a pretty good reputation. I was treated well and honestly by the recruiter, who actually ran their marketing department, and my DM. I anticipated them being my last trucking employer - remember, I am retired and really don't want to keep working for the rest of my life.
It all worked out well until my daughter called and asked if I would come live with her in Lawton, Oklahoma and help handle my grandchildren while her husband, my Army son-in-law, was deployed to the Middle East. That didn't take much pondering; I gave my notice and was routed back to Murray, where I rented a car and drove to Lawton.
That as the beginning of September and I've been here since. There have been some struggles and a lot of adjustment on our parts, but it is a commitment I made and will keep. A new job, so to speak. I hope to keep this up. I might even try my hand at writing some. Non-work related things, since I have this need to write and want to create more than just a factual historical record.
We will see, dear reader, whoever you are.
After looking around and considering my options, needs, and wants, I chose Paschall Truck Lines, or PTL for short. They are based in Murray, Kentucky, are 100% employee-owned, and have a pretty good reputation. I was treated well and honestly by the recruiter, who actually ran their marketing department, and my DM. I anticipated them being my last trucking employer - remember, I am retired and really don't want to keep working for the rest of my life.
It all worked out well until my daughter called and asked if I would come live with her in Lawton, Oklahoma and help handle my grandchildren while her husband, my Army son-in-law, was deployed to the Middle East. That didn't take much pondering; I gave my notice and was routed back to Murray, where I rented a car and drove to Lawton.
That as the beginning of September and I've been here since. There have been some struggles and a lot of adjustment on our parts, but it is a commitment I made and will keep. A new job, so to speak. I hope to keep this up. I might even try my hand at writing some. Non-work related things, since I have this need to write and want to create more than just a factual historical record.
We will see, dear reader, whoever you are.
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