As of this morning, my word count for NaNo is standing at 12973 words. Still lagging behind my writing buddies, Penguin and Anyea, and barely holding my own, but still trudging along.


ShellySunshine 's blog today was a good one that discussed when one should have the dreaded Sex Talk with their kids. This reminded me of my own adventures in that area of child rearing.

I have five children...all of which are thankfully grown now. They all survived that particular conversation with only a small amount of mental scarring....I wish I could say the same for myself. I really HATED having to have those talks.

On the plus side, only two of my kids were of the female persuasion so that made it somewhat easier for this single parent to muddle through. The girls were the toughest for me to talk to.

I had already decided, when the time came to have the talk, I was going to be completely honest and above board with each kid. I would supply them with all the factual information they needed to be aware of this special problem they would be required to deal with for the rest of their lives.

So when my eldest daughter came to me with her questions I was ready. I was prepared. I was in a COMPLETE AND FULL-BLOWN PANIC ATTACK!

As calmly as I could, I set my sweet little daughter down on the couch and told her:

1. Boys are complete and total scum-bags...all of them, and not to be trusted any further than she could throw them.

2. If any boy touched any part of her skin other than her hand, she would break out in a painful and long lasting rash over her whole body!

3. In any boy ever tries to get her involved in any situation which required she remove any of her clothes she was to firmly and swiftly plant her foot about six inches below his belt line then run as fast as she could back home to me.

4. I told her that it was a little known fact that Kissing boys was the major cause of the spread of the Bubonic Plague during the middle ages and that decease was still around.

5. I then gave her the business card of the local undertaker and told her that if any boy ever said: "I can't live without you" she was to hand him that card and again, put her foot six inches below that belt line....and run home.


Unfortunately, three days later my daughter came home from school where she had gone into emergency session with her girlfriends and she told me:

"Dad, you are so full of bull!"

But she did smile when she said it...I guess that counts for something.

Boys are soooo much easier.
 

I got up this morning around six-thirty and it is now just a little after ten o'clock. During this time I have managed to read and comment in a few blogs and I have pounded out another 2661words for my NaNo effort. This brings my total up to 10667.

I spent last night tossing and turning, waking up about every hour and half. Each time I would fall back to sleep, my story would begin to tell itself to me again. This is how it is for me when a story is really talking to me. Every night I am treated to almost a film version of the story where I watch it play out on the big screen of my dreams. Thankfully, each morning when I awaken, I seem to be able to remember all or most of what I had dreamed the night before.

The story also stays with me during the day. Now that I have a half-hour drive to work each day, my characters use that time to speak to me...to tell me where they want to go and what they want to do. I sometimes try to argue with them, but it usually does no good. They know better than me, where their story is going...I'm just along to record it for everyone else.

I have tried to explain this process to people who write "By-the-book" with outlines and character developments and synopsis and stuff but most can't understand. And, who can blame them, hell I don't even understand it. It has always been the only way I can tell a story.

I have tried the by-the-book method and I have always failed miserably. If I try to do an outline the story will simply dry up and go away and I lose it completely. Once that happens I have never been able to go back and pick it up again. It's like the story is saying: "Okay, bud, we gave you a chance to tell us but you blew it. Now we are going to find someone else to write our story."

So this is how I am writing my story for NaNo. As I write it, I am placing each chapter into WDC, marked "private, for my eyes only", with a passkey....just in case this computer takes another dump on me, I will have it somewhere safe.

So now I have the rest of the day free and tomorrow too, before I have to go back to work. I think I will go saddle up Lucy and take a ride back into the forest. I want to see how many deer I can count this morning so Mel will know how many dang COLLARS she will have to buy and how many new names she will have to come up with!

Dang woman is going to be the death of me yet!

Y'all have a great day and I will be checking in to read blogs from time to time, as I can. I refuse to let this NaNo stuff get in the way of reading all your really good blogs.
 

I have a short time before I have to head out to work so I thought I would show you a picture this morning.

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

These two does and a yearling are three regular visitors to our back pasture. After they have eaten their fill, they will slowly amble their way up toward the house, sometimes even walking right through the back yard and stopping to munch some sweet, green grass right by the back door.

Mel took this picture about ten minutes after I left for work yesterday. Unfortunately, downsizing the picture for placement in WDC, rendered it hard to make out the deer, but the original picture is a beauty.

Okay, I guess I need to get ready for work. I am off Tuesday and Wednesday and I hope to get some serious writing done. I hope you guys have a wonderful day and I will hopefully have a better blog entry sometimes in the next two days!
 

Today was my first day back at work and in my new store. There is something comforting in the fact that a man can move three states away from home and find the same kind of obnixous fools shopping in his new store.

Did I mention that this new Wal-Mart is only TWICE the size of my old one? This was the first of the month and a Saturday....I have seen less people in battle scenes from the movie Gladiator than I saw today oozing through the front door of that damn store.

I am tired, beat, give out and wishing I could just pull the covers over my head when the clock goes off in the morning.

Add to that, my extreme annoyance with the NaNo site, and you got the makings of a wonderful rant...but I'm just too tired.

Speaking of NaNo....you know what that really means? It means Not Allowed in Novemeber. Getting a liberal to make sense is easier than getting NaNo to open up. I tried four times since I got home from work, but I have just given up now. Instead of banging my head against the wall trying to get the site open, I am just going to continue to write my novel. On the rare occassions I do get it open, I will post my word count that I have so far.

That's it. That's all I got and it's sad, I know. My word count as of tonight is....8017 and I am sure it will be more by the time I ever get the damn site to open.

You folks have a nice night.
 

Ever so often, as time allows, I will be making my own small voyages of discovery around my new adopted state of Missouri, finding new and interesting places, things and people and whatever surprises await me around the next bend in the road.

Just the other day we took the first of these trips and I found myself in the quaint little town of Williamsville, Missouri...population, somewhere around four hundred and about an hour and a half drive from my front doorstep.

Williamsville sits perched on the side of a couple of very large hills...or what a flat lander like myself would call medium sized mountains. You can see the town a good mile before you reach its center and my part-time guide and full-time wife Mel, assured me that the view of the town has not changed since she was a little girl in the 60's. Indeed, as a stranger, walking its streets for the first time, it was easy for me to believe that not a thing had changed in this little farming community since the 40's.

It just so happens that the evening we visited Williamsville it was Halloween and trick-or-treating was in full swing. As I stood on the side walk I was awash in the feeling that I had just stepped through a time warp into a slower, simpler time.

Everywhere I looked there were mothers and fathers walking their children along the sidewalks and streets, collecting their candy from large and small frame homes all of which looked as though they had been built in or around the turn of the twentieth century...or before. Business owners on main street were standing in front of their store-fronts and though their businesses were closed, they were still there, handing out candy and greeting their friends and neighbors as they passed.

I could hear people laughing and talking...yelling greetings to people who passed their doors. A truck came down main street, pulling a wagon full of hay and kids, everyone singing and having a wonderful time.

I swear I really did expect to see Norman Rockwell sitting off to one side, under the shade of a Red Oak tree with his easel set up, busily painting away, for this is surely a place he would live for the inspiration of his art.

I stood there, holding my wife's hand and was covered by the sights and sounds of something I was not sure even existed any longer: Americana at its best and simplest form. This place is what we all think of when we consider what America use to be; simple and unfettered by the hustle and bustle of the 21st. century.

Visiting this little town and walking its streets was like taking a long, cool drink from a free flowing spring; it was invigorating and uplifting, not only to the physical body, but the spirit of those who experienced it.

So if you are ever in Southern Missouri and you pass through a little town and see a sign in front of an old Baptist Church that reads: "Hobo Stew and Hayride, Everyone is Welcome." You just might be in Williamsville. Stop awhile and enjoy the place; you will be glad you did.



NaNo word count: 6771


 

Well I got help with my NaNo problem and managed to post my word count. I have also pounded out another 1831words to add to that count and I will post the total on NaNo tomorrow, if I can get the site to open. As for now though, I want to share with you the blog entry I WANTED to write this morning. Well better late than never, I guess, so here is blog number two for today. I actually wrote this blog last night after returning from the Funeral Home.




I read somewhere that we are losing 1000 WW2 veterans a day. On October 29, 2007 another veteran answered the final roll call and took his place in heaven with a host of other heroes from that valiant struggle.

Some of you may remember my blog entry about Beryl Duncan about a month or so ago: "Invalid Entry"  when I first introduced you to Mel’s uncle Beryl. Well two days ago his story came to an end. Beryl passed away, his body succumbing to an enemy he could no longer fight; Cancer. He was 91 years of age. I have just returned from the Viewing of the body and his funeral will be tomorrow at 11:00 a.m. at a small cemetery only a short drive from the land he loved so much.

It occurred to me, as I stood outside the funeral home tonight, that warriors throughout history share the same fate as Beryl Duncan. The lucky ones fight one battle, one war, then find their peace and their release through death on the battlefield. The others, the ones who bear the real burden of war, return home safe if not sound where they are fated to fight again. The war these veterans wage is a quiet war, a war of silent doggedness that they can not afford to lose.

These are the men who return home and rebuild their lives and carry on each day as if their past had been a dream from which they were suddenly awakened. Beryl was such a man. A quiet, unassuming man of the land, Beryl returned home and laid down the sword and embraced the plow.

He raised his children, tended his herds and brought in his crop. He no longer destroyed, but he became, instead, a good steward of the Earth. For sixty-two years following that great war, he and his fellow survivors fought an even harder war....holding onto normalcy. Do any of you understand the sheer courage and determination it takes for a man to put all the horror of war behind him and build a life in a world of peace?

Many are not able to do what Beryl Duncan did. They fall by the wayside of life, overcome by the sheer magnitude of the struggle to live, and function in a world of peace. Beryl did it and did it well. He managed to carve out a niche for himself in the foothills of the Ozarks, on his family farm. He quietly went about the business of raising his family, tending his land, and worshiping his God. Beryl Duncan had sixty-two years of life after war and he lived them, not only for himself, but for those friends who were denied those years and were left on foreign soil. He lived as much for them and their memory as he did for his own family....it is a debt all warriors feel keenly.

So, tomorrow Sergeant Beryl Duncan, late of the 7th Army Air Force, 443rd Signal Heavy Construction Battalion, veteran of the Pacific campaign, will be laid to rest; his coffin draped with the Flag of his country. Both his wars shall be over and I am sure there was a platoon of Angels waiting to escort this hero to his final reward.

A thousand a day.....consider it, if you will.





Beginning NaNo Word Count: 4940
 

It is five twenty-one a.m. my time, here in TorLand and all is not well in my little corner of the galactic twinkie we call Earth. I have been awake and with my head hung over the toilet since three this morning....and it ain't getting any better. I HATE CHINESSE FOOD! I should have known better than to eat the damn seaweed. Hell there are fish in the freaking ocean that won't eat that crap....so why did I?

To make matters worse, I had to go to a Viewing at a Funeral home last night. A good man died on Monday and will be buried today. I was going to do a blog about it and maybe I still will later today, if I haven't taken this computer and tossed it on my burn pile by then.

You see, I figured since I was up so damn early I may as well go into the NaNo site and post the work I have for the contest.

GUESS WHAT......I CAN'T POST A DAMN THING IN THERE!! I have spent almost two hours trying to figure out how to post an excerpt from my novel and my word count and I have gotten NOWHERE!

They tell you to go to FAQ to find out anything you want to know....BULLSHIT! I go there and all I see are a list of questions which must have been submitted by committee of the world's most STUPID people.

1. When I write my novel, will you publish it?

2. What keeps someone from cheating and winning the contest?

3. Do these pants make my butt look big?

Not a damn word on HOW TO DO WHAT YOU NEED TO DO! Why couldn't they just say: Go here, do this, do that...it's done. Oh hell no, that would be too fucking simple wouldn't it.

Maybe it's just me. Maybe I am just too damn stupid to figure it all out. So, if there are any smart people out there...HOW ABOUT GIVING A GUY SOME HELP! Tell me how to do this thing.

To make matters worse, after I pounded my head against the wall over at NaNo, I come over here to check my mail and read some of the late posted blogs and what do I see....

Another person declaring loudly that this place sucks bogwater and they are leaving! Well you know what....I don't really care anymore. I use to care and things like that use to really bother me...but not at the moment, thank you.

No, I say if you feel strongly enough about it...then LEAVE. But for God's sake don't stand at the door and yell: "You suck, and I'm leaving forever!" Nobody really gives a flying rat's ass whither you go or stay.

Look, I have made quite a few friends since I started this site. The thing is though, if I were to stomp out of here in a huff, they would all be crushed....for about ten seconds....then they would get on with their lives. That, my friends is the way of the world. So why make a big production out of leaving if you don't like the place? The only reason for doing that is just to stir shit up...DRAMA. Some need that like a fish needs water.

For me, I need this site. It helps me to strengthen the allusion that I am a writer. HELL if I was really a damn writer, you would be reading my BOOKS now instead of my BLOG! So I come in here and I at least can SOUND like a writer. Some people are here in order to socialize and have fun....AND THAT'S GREAT IF IT'S WHAT THEY WANT TO DO.

I need to pretend to be a God-damned writer and you need to play and have fun....we are both happy. So be happy with your little corner of WDC and enjoy yourself until such time as it doesn't work for you anymore...then quietly move on. Just don't bore me with your proclamations of Exit, I stopped caring.

Now if you will pardon me, I think I have a piece of small intestine left that needs to come up so I will be on my knees praying to the porcelain God if you have any questions.....or if ONE OF YOU WANTS TO HELP ME WITH MY NANO TECH. PROBLEMS!!
 

October 31st, 2007....the last day of what has proven to be one of the busiest and most life changing months in my life. Since the first of Oct. I have gone from living in a comfortable rut, to stepping out into the unknown and experiencing a life style I was meant to live.

If you had asked me, in September, if any of this was possible I would have just laughed at you and said: "Hell no." Yet here I am.

October saw me do two things I thought I would never do: Leave my native Texas, and return to a life on a farm.

I really was quite secure in the knowledge that I would live out my life and die in the town in which I was born. I never for a moment considered leaving the comfortable rut I found myself in...not seriously...not for good. I had left Texas once and that proved to be a "growing experience" of such proportions that, when I returned, I spent the next forty years hiding and licking my wounds.

As for farm living....well when I returned home the first time, the mere thought of returning to the farm and its peaceful existence, was so foreign to me that I ran from it....fearing I could never be that person again.

Anyway...here I am, living a life I never thought I would see again. All thanks to two women: Mel, my dear wife and Evie, her sister, who I love like my own sister. They are two formidable women when they set their minds on something.

Now, here at the end of October, I find myself about to embark upon another big adventure that I never thought I would try: NaNo contest. After making the decision to try my hand at NaNo, I thought that I would have to give up blog writing for at least that month but I have changed my mind.

I believe I can do both, though my blog entries will be shorter and not everyday, I think I can keep it alive. I do this for a couple of reasons.

First of all, writing in essay form, which I try to do in my blog, has become a strength for me. I look back on my work as a whole....fiction and non-fiction writing...and I find that the essays I write have a stronger voice than does my fiction and that is a big change for me. I have always considered myself a storyteller at heart and non-fiction was never my focal point. My blog has changed that. So I can not justify turning my back on this form of writing.

Secondly...for the first time in my life, I am not going to burn bridges behind me. I have always done that before; just walk away from one thing when I try something else. I have always done that with people too...when I leave I never look back. That is not a healthy response, I have learned.

I don't believe one must leave the Blog or leave WDC to achieve this goal. What you have to remember is that even after you finish NaNo and you have written your fifty thousand words, you still have not finished. You can check this out for yourself, but fifty thousand words makes a very, very, short book. Most publishers consider that many words a Novella, not a novel. I have finished one book in my life and it was 170,000 words and it was a little on the short side...about two hundred and fifty pages or so.

So, after you do your 50k words, you still have a lot of work ahead of you. NaNo is not the end-all answer to your publishing dreams...just the ignition switch on the motor to get you STARTED. So I will do my 50k and then I will continue to work on it after November....while I keep up with my blog and the rest of my writings.

To those of you who feel the need to quit one thing to do another, I wish you all Godspeed and good luck with NaNo and the rest of that road. For myself, I will still be here, chronicling the big events and small that continue to change and shape my life.

Yup...October has been a thrill-ride for me and November will be another one...kinda makes me wonder what December has in store....how about you?
 

Dreams have always been an important part of my life. Even as a small child, dreams were important to me. Maybe it is because my dreams, for the most part, have always been so vivid and real; as if I am a stranger peeking into some window and watching real life happen before my eyes. Those are the best kind of dreams really.

Later on in my life I was introduced to a different kind of dream. This new dream was the kind where I was no longer peeking through a window watching life unfold, but I was the main character in a bloody horrible landscape from which I thought I had escaped years ago. Those still happen from time to time, but thankfully, with less regularity than before.

Last night I had one of those first kinds of dream. It was actually very nice and in a way it taught me a lesson and gave me some perspective on the waking world in which we are all forced to live.

I dreamed of Janie last night.

Janie was without a doubt the most beautiful girl this old country boy has ever personally known. She lived in the small town I was raised in and we went to school together. Janie was the head cheerleader, class president and overall most popular girl in the entire school and I worshiped her from afar. She and I were always on friendly terms. We would speak when we met in the halls of the school, we shared some classes and sit next to each other in a few and always got along... on a formal level.

Secretly though, I always yearned to be more than just a friend to her. Paralyzing fear kept that from ever happening though. The years passed...I watched her go through various boyfriends and then off to college. I went....well...where I went and I lost track of her for awhile. The next I heard from her, she was happily married and living far away. Thus the story ended....until last night.

I swear I had not thought of this woman in 25 years at least. I had totally forgotten her altogether, then last night there she was in my dream.

Funny thing about this dream....she and I looked just as we did back then, young and in our prime. I told her in the dream of how I had always had this silly crush on her and how I had often wondered what kissing her would have been like. I said that I always regretted not being bold enough, back then, to have found out.

She told me she had felt the same way! So we kissed. In fact we spent a good bit of time kissing until we finally collapsed in laughter. “Well at least now I know what that would have been like.” I told her between chuckles.

She smiled and said; “Yes, me too and it really would have been wonderful.”

I smiled at her then and told her that I really needed to wake up and get back to the real world. She thought that was quite funny and laughed again.

“Lord, yes.” She said with a smile. “I need to wake up and get busy, my husband and I are going to visit the grandkids today.”

So we parted company with smiles and I woke up with that same smile. That dream answered questions for me that I didn’t even know I had. Yes, kissing that High School Crush had been just as sweet as I thought it would be, but that time had passed, that path not taken and that was more than alright. We had both ended up where we were supposed to be. We had found happiness as most kids finally do when they grow up and it had all happened as it was meant to happen.

Hard to explain, but that was a sweet moment of realization for me. That dream taught me that it is a waste of time yearning for what never happened and worrying about what never was. The important thing is to appreciate what is, to enjoy what I have, and to make the most of my life that I have been lucky enough to live.

Sometimes I think God puts us through trials and denies us what we think we want so that we are better prepared when he really does give us what we need. Thus it is with me. He has given me, over the past six years, all that I could ever want; peace of mind, a calm heart, a simple home, and most of all....a woman who loves me.

That dream showed me that I am, indeed, richer than Bill Gates.

 

I have a confession to make; There is another woman in my life now. I know that for those of you who have followed my blog any length of time might find it difficult to believe such an admission coming from someone who has professed, publicly the love he had for his wife, but it is true.

To be honest though, I am not entirely to blame for this shift in affections, Mel and her sister must share the lion’s share of blame for what has happened. You see, Mel has always known that I have a weak spot for redheads...there is just something about them that pulls me to them like a moth to flame. Even though she knew of this character flaw of which I am not proud, she and her sister went ahead and introduced me to the “other woman” anyway.

Maybe I should backtrack a bit and start this sorry tale from its beginning....this past Friday night. Here is where I must share the blame for what has happened. You see, I knew better than to let the two sisters get off together, that always means trouble...trust me, it does. Despite this sure and certain knowledge, I let it happen.

Mel had come to me Friday morning with the unwelcome news: “Evie wants me to go with her tonight honey, is that okay with you?”

Now being the progressive and loving husband that I am, I never once entertained the notion of telling her no. Besides, I knew from long association with my sweetie, that this was less a request for my blessings and more a statement of fact....she just wanted to be nice and “ask”. So of course I said: “Yes dear, you two girls have fun and stay out of trouble.”

Here again, I must share some of the blame because from past stories I have heard, the possibility of those two staying out of trouble is roughly the same as a Republican winning the White House again....something to be hoped for but not expected.

So off they went, as giddy as a couple of schoolgirls on holiday.

It is not so much that they were out for an evening of fun and frolic, but it where they chose to “frolic”....the Auction Barn. Under normal circumstances I would never let Mel get within a hundred yards of the front door to a place such as that. The thing is, I thought I was safe this time since we are pretty much broke with all the moving and stuff. I figured there was no way in hell she could do any damage without money to back her....yeah, I was wrong.

To explain what happened at the Auction I must tell you about a form of creature that those two ladies hate completely....The Meat Buyer. This is a man who shows up at all auctions where horses are sold. He buys any horses who do not get purchased during the sell, usually paying a couple of hundred dollars for the unfortunate animal. He then ships the horses off to be slaughtered for their meat.

Well now fast forward to almost midnight Friday night....Mel finally makes it home. I knew, by her being so late, that the unthinkable had happened; she or her sister, or both of them, had bought something...I was right.

She walked in the door and before she could open her mouth, I asked her: “What did you buy?”

“Nothing honey,” she told me, in a innocent voice which I didn’t believe for a minute.

“Then what is that paper you have clutched in your hand...the one with an AUCTION NUMBER printed on it?”

“Oh this silly thing?” Butter would have melted in her mouth. “This is for something EVIE bought, not me.”

“So why have YOU got the paper?” I am quick, I must admit.

“Why I’m bringing it to you, silly.” Had Saddam possessed this same ability to disseminate he would still be living in his royal palace. “Evie bought you a present.”

My eyes went into automatic roll mode....yeah, this could be true, and Santa may be just waiting for me to build a chimney for him to slide down this year too.

“So what did Evie buy for me?”

It was then that the whole sorry tale came out. It seems that they had gone to the auction just to look at the horses and visit with friends and socialize....don’t ask...it’s what they do around here. Anyway they spotted the Meat Man standing quietly in a corner of the arena, checking out the horses and watching to see how many did not sell.

Both sisters went into “attack mode” then. They vowed that if a good horse went unsold they would never let the Meat Man take it and turn it into dog food.

Thus it was that Evie bought me a “present”.

I was not allowed to see the present until the next day. We drove over to Evie’s place where the present had been taken. I was expecting some broken down nag, on it’s last leg and sway back to boot.

What I saw was this beautiful eight year old Sorrel mare, her red coat shining in the morning sun. She was big...almost sixteen hands high...barrel-chested and big rumped, she looked like you could ride her all day and never wind her. I knew I was lost when she calmly walked up to me, stared at me with those big beautiful, brown eyes, and softly nuzzled my hand. The icing on the cake is....she is “in Foal”...meaning she will soon have a baby. What can I say....I’m in love.

This afternoon I plan on saddling her up and going for our first ride together. The down side of this is that at some point she and I will have to return to the barn. I think she and I are going to make beautiful music together.

As for the Meat Man, well this is one time I am glad he was thwarted in his efforts to make such a beautiful creature, in the prime of life, into a can of dog food. For once I have to say...the two sisters did good.

I have not named the mare yet, that will happen after our first ride together...we gotta get to know each other a little better. I will share a picture of my new love interest as soon as I get one downloaded.

Now, if you will excuse me.....I have a date with a beautiful redhead.

 

There has never been a war that brought about peace. Peace, for human kind, is an illusion, a carrot held in front of man to goad him onward.

War has never been the answer, only the reaction. The “have nots” will always band together to take what they feel is theirs by right or by need. When a man’s stomach is empty and his options are few, then he more readily hears the drumbeat...the tune played by his masters...that calls him to war.

The “Haves” of this world will always protect what they see as theirs and will, in turn, fall upon the have-nots with full fury and righteous might until they are destroyed.

This then is the story of mankind. We are not unlike the wolf who preys upon the deer are we. The possible exception being that Man , the most advanced of animal, also preys upon other men. It is our nature and our curse all in one.

I have equal distain for both the Peaceniks and the War Mongers....both paths lead to destruction. Those who advocate “peace at all costs” would have us bare our throats before a ravening enemy’s blade and go quietly into that good night without so much as a whimper....for the greater good of peace.

The Warmongers among us would have all men plunge thoughtlessly into the maelstrom of war at the slightest provocation. They are eager to feed their fellow man into the meat grinder for “National Pride” or Patriotism. For these people the end justifies the means and the price is cheap, especially if they are not the ones paying.

There has to be a middle ground for mankind. We must seek peace but seek it with the sure and certain knowledge that the peace we manage to attain is a transitory state and will evaporate as soon as we fail to simply protect ourselves. We must also be able to wage war only as a last resort; after all our options are exhausted and when we are forced to war, we must be able to carry out the fight fully and completely with only one thought in mind....eliminate the threat to our existence.

Until we are able to reach that middle ground and we are able to strive for peace and at the same time be diligent in our own protection we are doomed to follow the loudest extreme. It is a sad truth my friends that the drumbeat of War and the drumbeat of Peace at any cost will always lead man on a downward path of destruction eventually.

War destroys the lives of those who die and the souls of those who live through it; Appeasement can have the same effect. In Peace as in War, there is a price to pay....a cost that comes due.

I leave you with the words of one of my favorite statesman, general, and philosopher , Sun Tzu: ” He who wishes to fight must first count the cost.”

The cost of peace and the cost of war must both be worth the sacrifice each demands.


 

When I awoke this morning and turned on the news, a thought occurred to me: Will California burn up BEFORE it shakes loose from the continent and sinks?

I know, on the face of things, that would seem like a tongue-in-cheek question, but think about it a moment if you will.

Why on earth do people pay ridiculous prices for homes in a place so fraught with promise of natural disaster? Well, you might point to the mild climate and abundance of sunny weather. But, there are two ways of looking at that, isn't there. Yes the sun shines a lot in California, but when it does rain, your house on the hill becomes a scrap lumber pile in the valley. Faith may move mountains, but Mud moves whole neighborhoods.

Speaking of moving....who in their right mind would pay millions of dollars to live on top of a bowl of Jell-O? There is a site online which records the daily tremors and earthquakes all over the United States on a daily basis. California is covered with little dots, each one representing earth tremors or small earthquakes....EVERY DAY.

I have a theory: If California ever went one entire day without any tremor or quake of any kind whatsoever everyone in the damn state would fall over, unable to maintain balance without that subtle shaking going on.

Another thought just occurred to me: If California were to suffer an earthquake measuring at least 8.0 right now, in the middle of these fires, they would become the world's largest example of "Shake n Bake"!

But then who am I to poke fun at my neighbors in the People's Republic of California. Here I sit, in Missouri, feeling as though I have this large popsicle shoved up my arse. My core temperature has dropped by a good 15 degrees and I know there are cadavers in Texas five days dead who are warmer than I am right now. And they call this "Fall" around here.

I just went out and bought a pair of thermal underwear....for my other thermal underwear. I made the mistake of getting on the scales today, after I got all my clothes on and almost fainted...I had gained one hundred pounds!

On the bright side, I may have discovered an alternate source of energy. I plan on hiring an electrician to mount a wall socket on my butt, then plug in an electric heater. I will then eat my fill of beans and hopefully the resultant "gas" expulsions should power said heater and keep me warm and toasty....not to mention the added bonus of keeping the locals well away or at least upwind of me.

Speaking of locals, I have become somewhat more comfortable with these folks since discovering that this particular portion of the state...the Southwestern portion....was predominately SOUTHERN during the War of Northern Aggression. In fact, the town of Doniphan was burned to the ground during the war by Yankee troops!

I'm feeling better already about this place.
 

Hollywood has left the impression that the great Indian wars came in the Old West during the late 1800's, a period that many think of simplistically as the "cowboy and Indian" days. But in fact that was a "mopping up" effort. By that time the Indians were nearly finished, their subjugation complete, their numbers decimated. The killing, enslavement, and land theft had begun with the arrival of the Europeans. But it may have reached its nadir when it became federal policy under President (Andrew) Jackson.

The Cherokees in 1828 were not nomadic savages. In fact they had assimilated many European-style customs, including the wearing of gowns by Cherokee women. They built roads, schools and churches, had a system of representational government and were farmers and cattle ranchers. A Cherokee alphabet, “The Talking Leaves” had been perfected by Chief Sequoyah.

The Cherokee made their home in Southeastern Georgia and for a time they flourished. Then, the unthinkable happened...gold was discovered in that region. That was all it took for the Government of the United States, a mere fifty years removed from declaring “All men were created equal”, to pass the Indian Removal Act of 1830. The bill passed even though a large portion of the congress was against it, notable among those opposed was my namesake; David Crockett.

As a result of his backing of the Indians, Crockett’s political career was destroyed. Shortly after the passage of the bill, Crockett quit congress and headed for Texas. Two quotes were attributed to Crockett at this time.

“You can all go to hell, I’m going to Texas.” and the lesser known of the two quotes: “I would sooner be honestly damned, than hypocritically immortalized.”

I love both of these quotes as they say so much about the man who uttered them.

But, no matter who backed the Indians, they were doomed by the discovery of gold. The Cherokee fought the Bill in court and they even won their case in the Supreme Court. Justice John Marshall declared that the Cherokee were a sovereign nation and as such, could not be removed without the force of a signed treaty between the United States and the Cherokee Nation.

This, of course did not slow our government down. They searched until they found two obscure sub-chiefs of the tribe willing to take payment and then had them sign a “treaty” which would bind the entire tribe. Once this was done, the court had no choice but to go along with the Indian Removal Act.

Thus it was that over 15,000 Cherokee people were rounded up and made to march a thousand miles to their new “home” in Oklahoma. Along the way 4,000 Cherokee died of either disease, exposure, or starvation. That is almost one third of the original number who stated the march...died along the way.

Is it any wonder that the Indians named their route: “Nunna Daul Tsuny” which translated to: “The Trail Where They Cried.” This was later shortened, and became known to the rest of America as The Trail of Tears.

This black mark on our Nation’s history was brought to mind for me a few days ago as I was standing out behind my sister-in-law’s house, on a small, narrow dirt road. You see, I was standing directly upon that same “Trail of Tears”. It had been along this old road that those suffering legions of Indians had been herded and prodded along, like so many unwanted cattle, toward their final destination in the Oklahoma Territories.

Now maybe it was the writer in me, you know how our imaginations can run wild at times, but as I stood there, I could almost feel the ghosts of those long dead people as they walked forlornly, head down, on their spectral march....always away from the fertile green hills of their home, toward the wasteland America deemed good enough for Indians and little else.

So what was the point of this entry, other than a small history lesson?

Maybe the point is that we, as Americans, have always been so very quick to condemn other nations for what we see as barbaric acts against their peoples, and of course it is good that we do see such acts as wrong. But, we really do need to study our own history and we need to know that, as a people, we are not so innocent. We, too have subjected and destroyed other peoples in the name of our own “Progress”.

 

Just wanted to do a short entry today to announce that as of November 1, 2007 I will be taking part in the NaNo thang!

I will be checking in as I can to let you know how it is coming or not coming, which ever the case may be.

I want to hear from any others out there who are giving this thing a try. It is rather scary to think about taking this big step but I think it is just what I need to make the big step toward actually getting my work published...somewhere, somehow.

Well, that's all I got...wish me luck...come Nov 1st. I am gonna be kicking my muse into high gear and throwing out words willie-nillie...I hope.
 

As the sharper among you can see by this entry, I am indeed back online. The computer problem ended up being a corrupted file and was fixed fairly quickly. The man who came to my rescue represented a very rare breed indeed....an honest computer repair man.

Now this guy could have easily told me that my whatisit, which was connected to my whatsit, and was responsible for running the whoseit AND the whatsumadoodle all at the same time, was broken and it would cost me big bucks to fix it.

I would have nodded my head sadly, sucked in every word, and never once have been able to offer the slightest word of contradiction in the matter. He didn't do that. Instead he fixed the corrupted file, uninstalled some stuff that was slowing things down, then he reinstalled some things that had needed tweeking. He ran diagnostic tests on the thing for most of the day today and then charged me a grand total of $30.00

Yes, I was a happy camper.

Mel brought the computer home and hooked everything back up and...BAM! We were suddenly standing in a pitch dark living room!

Seems when she plugged it back in, we threw a breaker!

It was possible that I had slightly overloaded the circuit by plugging in and running the 12 electric heaters at the same time. Did I mention that it was down below 45 degrees?

Anyway, I went around unplugging most of the heaters and then reset the breaker and here I am.

The thing is, the moment the computer died the other day, I was faced with the realization that if the problem was one that could not be fixed or would have cost too much money to fix, then I was about to be without a computer for months...or more.

When I finally accepted that this was indeed a probability, I was rather depressed at first. No more blog, no more reading good bloggers.....Well that just sucked bog water. Then something else happened to me.

For the first time in over a year, with no computer to take up my time, I had a story idea! Not just a weak, maybe, kinda, story either, but a damn strong story plot with a ton of possible ways to take it.

It was as if this dam which had been holding back my creative ideas, was broken and the words started pouring into my head. I am left to wonder if this release of the story was due to the fact that the WDC blog page was, for the first time, not first and foremost in my thoughts.

Now I am left with no recourse but to follow this story idea and see where it leads me.

In the meantime I have to decide if this blog has in fact, impeded the flow of my other writing. There was a time when I would do a new short story every month...sometimes more. For the past year though I have done nothing but blog. I need to figure out if one is getting in the way of the other and which one I need to concentrate upon.

Other than all that hubris, I am very glad to be back online again and with a healthy computer to use....however I decide to use it. I am also glad to be able to read all the good bloggers I have grown so accustomed to reading again.
 

We interrupt this continuing story of the Rolling Ark to ask a few questions which were prompted by the mistake I made of trying to catch up on current events via the Television news.

1. Nobel PeacePrize?....Can some one please tell me what the narration of an environmental movie has to do with world peace? Al Gore a Nobel Prize winner...come on, that has to be the world's most elaborate prank or something. If anything I would have expected him to win a prize for inventing the Internet (his claim, not mine).

2. Britney Spears...Why is this a news item? Is there anyone on the face of the planet who really believes that this woman is a fit mother? Well, okay, if the children were rhesus monkeys maybe she could see to their upbringing...but human kids? It should take any court OUTSIDE of California about ten minutes to put this case to rest and for the rest of the world to get on with its business. Oh and K-Fed...he is not much better, if at all, than Brittney in the parenting department.

3. And just today...David Copperfield's house is raided by the FBI! Why was he raided, you ask. Well it seems that he has been accused of rape by a woman from Washington state, while on vacation in the Bahama Islands. The woman did not contact the local police at the time, nor did she seek medical help. She did, however, notify the police after she finished her vacation and got home....Uh?

My question is, how did she know it was him? Did he try to saw her in half before he left?

Okay, there was only three and not five because I just couldn't watch the news any longer.


As for the Rolling Ark....

Well we got the cats loaded while it was still dark Saturday morning then we drove over to the pasture and commenced to the big Goat Rodeo!

Fact...goats are not, by nature an animal that takes to a leash well. That isn't a problem unless you happen to find yourself unable to get large horse trailer any closer to the main gate of a pasture than 100 yards.

If this occurs then you are forced to either carry the goats or lead them on a rope/leash.

This happened to us. So of course Mel broke out the ropes and said: "It's okay honey, all we have to do is lead them onto the trailer."

Note: Goats will not be LEAD anywhere.

Another Note: A fifty pound goat, when he plants all four feet, is about as hard to budge as a 1000lb. bull.

I found all this out when I took a rope, attached it to the big Billy, Advilicus, and tried to lead him to the trailer.

Well after the cat fiasco I was still losing blood at an alarming rate and my patience had finally run out. Advilicus planted all four feet and would not budge no matter how hard I tugged on the rope.

I lost it.

"THAT'S IT, YOU SHAGGY, HORN-TOPPED, BAG-OF-GUTS. YOU HAVE TROMPED ON MY LAST NERVE!"

With that, I dropped the rope, scooped up the startled goat in my arms and walked quickly to the trailer. I barely waited for my sister-in-law to open the back of the trailer before I tossed the goat bodily to the back of vehicle. Without stopping, I wheeled about and ran to the pasture and grabbed the next goat and repeated the process. Within just a few minutes I had all five goats in the trailer.

Note: Goats do not Bounce nearly as well as cats...thank God.

My SIL quickly closed the barrier between the goats and where the horse was to go and Mel led the horse up to the trailer. I was standing by the trailer door, my chest heaving as I tried to regain my breath AND staunch the flow of blood from the cat wounds which had been reopened by my exertions.

I looked at the horse and said:

"Am I gonna have trouble out of you too?"

Surprisingly the horse stepped right into the trailer with no problem whatsoever. Wise move on her part.

So eleven hours later...about a half hour before dark...we arrived at our new home. We backed the trailer up to the new pasture gait, opened the door. I stood by the door and at first, nothing happened.

"DON'T MAKE ME COME IN THERE AFTER YOU GUYS!" I yelled in to the various animals.

That did it...that trailer emptied in seconds as the horse and the goats bailed out and tried to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the raving lunatic who stood dripping blood next to the trailer.

All's well as ends well at Casa McClain!
 

The allied high command who planned the landings at Normandy would have been shamed by the amount of preparations that went into our final "Big Push". We even came up with a code name: "Operation Rolling Ark".

Unfortunately, in this quasi-military operation, I soon found out that I was at the bottom of the ranking. Let's see, there was a Gen. Mel, a Gen. Evie.........and private Tor. Okay, hands in the audience...Does this come as a surprise to any of you?

Operation Rolling Ark got underway an hour or so before first light on Saturday morning. And, of course, the first action was to send the private onto the firing line WITHOUT back up of any kind. My mission: Throw three cats into a large cage for transport.

The weakest point of this particular mission was that, before daylight, without the aid of at least a pot of strong coffee, I am incapable of throwing a hat on my head without missing the first five tries. Factor into this the fact that the cats KNEW something bad was up; they were as skittish as a Commissar in a Rush Limbaugh Fan Club meeting.

Like all good generals, the two ladies stood well in the background and fed a continuing stream of advice and/orders to the private...Me...who struggled mightily in an effort to capture three cats, without the aid of a shotgun...I was outvoted on that one.

Did I mention that I had no long, thick, gloves for protection?

Thank you, my general.

The big brass reasoned that since these were tame little tabby cats who delighted in nothing more than being held and petted, why on earth would their private need any back-up and/or protection. They did not take into account what stress does to those sweet little fur balls.

Let's just say they become something less than hospitable to their human masters at this point, shall we.

The first target, Twister, did prove to be a fairly easy capture as she was not entirely sure what was happening. I grabbed her, held her by the scruff of the neck, opened the cage and tossed her inside...fairly simple. I was beginning to think that this might not be so bad after all.

The other two cats had been sitting quietly and watching what happened to their companion. When I turned back around to grab the next one there was not a cat in sight! They had bolted and it was about then I started to get a bad feeling about the operation.

I found Smoke hiding behind a large group of boxes, his ears flattened, his teeth showing in warning; a warning I failed to heed, unfortunately.

Reaching down, I grabbed Smoke in the same way I had Twister and it was at that exact moment that he morphed into a buzz saw with fur.

So, while Smoke was busy using my arm as a combination chew-toy/scratching-post, I carried him quickly toward the cage. To my credit, I never lost my grip on the enraged feline but whether that was from courage, or from the overriding fear that he would, if loose, attach himself to my leg/crotch and continue mauling me, we shall never know.

At any rate, I made it to the cage and it is there, at that exact moment in time, that I became aware of a before unknown law of nature every bit as powerful and as absolute as that of the Law of Gravity. The Bouncing Cat Law.

The simple explanation of this law is: Any feline, once placed in an enclosed space automatically takes on the properties of FLUBBER!

This manifested itself when I opened the door of the cage to throw Smoke inside. Twister came flying out right past my left ear! I threw Smoke in the cage, he hit the bottom and bounced like Flubber, right back out, taking a swipe at that same left ear as he flew by.

So I had to start over. This happened roughly ten more times before I finally won out and got all three cats in the cage. It was lucky for me that I managed to best my adversaries when I did because I was very close to bleeding out from my many wounds.

Do I get a Purple Heart for this action?

Well, more tomorrow.


 

Wednesday, October 17, 2007...Temperature is in the low 60’s, the sky overcast with a promise of rain soon to come. This house...my home...is quiet now; dogs are out patrolling their new, much larger, back yard; the horse and the goats are grazing contentedly on the thick, green, grass of their new pasture, and my wife is standing at the picture window, happily watching them.

Yes, it is quiet now and the peace and silence belies the storm and noise we have lived through since Saturday morning before daylight, when we launched out very last trip from Texas.

Was it only Saturday when we launched the “Ark”? My how time flies when you’re having fun!

To label the past week an adventure would be to sadly understate the concept of adventure and I can promise you that, thanks to that trip, I should have reams of blog material for the weeks to come...but not right now. Now I just want to convey to you how much each of you were missed. I also want to say “Thank you” to CCstring and Nada for checking up on me and keeping me abreast of things in my cyber world.

I also want to tell you of this wonderful feeling of peace and contentment as I set here in my own farm house, my animals just yards from my back door and deer playing in the meadow across the road...I watch them from my window. For the first time I can remember, my soul is at rest in this place...I really do love it. More on this later.

My internet was connected about a half-hour ago; Mel, her sister, and her mother have gone to “The Bluff” as they call the city of Poplar Bluff, and are shopping their little hearts out. The house is quiet, except for my 60’s music playing softly in the background and you know what.....I just feel the need to sit outside on my porch for awhile and wave at the few cars that wander out this far....yeah, I’m loving this country life.

See you guys later...maybe tomorrow to share some of the “adventures”....Love you all!

 

Protesters have been around ever since the days when Oog, the cave man decided he didn’t particularly care for the way Uhg, his chief, was dividing the wooly Mammoth meat to the inhabitants of the cave.

among the ruins of ancient Rome were found scribbling on walls which loosely translated to: “Caesar Sucks!” Well something close to that anyway; it loses something in the translation.

Throughout history, wherever laws were passed, rules were enacted, or decisions acted upon, there has always been someone, or some group that took exception and in doing so, they “took to the streets”.

The French Revolution was born from a peasant protest for land reform and wealth distribution. The Magna Carta signing was the result of a ground swell of protest from English peasants and minor land owners. The riots and protests in the streets of New York, Boston, and Philadelphia culminated in the American Revolution.

So you see, not only was America born from political protest, but the rest of the world has also been molded throughout history by the force of dissent. Of all the men and women who have lead such protests down through history, one stands out above the rest: Mahatma Ghandi.

Ghandi preached a philosophy of Satyagraha, or resistance of tyranny through mass civil disobedience. Ghandi practiced non-violence and truth even in the most extreme situations. It was he and the power of his message of civil disobedience that stopped the colonial British cold and won final independence for India.

I have always had a great admiration for Ghandi and his message of non-violent, civil disobedience. I can not image the courage it took for him and his followers to stand in passive resistance to authority and face the guns and clubs of the British Army and the Indian colonial police.

To me that is peaceful protest in its most powerful form. It is somehow not surprising that he met his death, not at the hands of the British, but a RADICAL Hindu and a member of the extremist Mahasabha Hindu party.

So where did we go wrong? What happened to the teachings of Ghandi? How did we get from the likes of Ghandi to H. Rap Brown, or Abby Hoffman and the Chicago Seven?

For whatever reason, the violent demonstrations, the “Take it to the streets” mentality took hold of this country in the 60’s. They rioted, looted and burned in towns across this land and for what....Peace and equality. They demanded peace and an end to a unpopular war. How did they square their call for peace with their own tactics, I wonder.

Many of you who read this blog are not old enough to really remember those days. Well I can remember them well as can people like my good friend Carolina Blue . I have maybe a different view of that time than is taught in your American History classes in High Schools and Colleges across the country. You see, I was one of those men they were protesting about and demanding be brought home. I was one of those who was fighting the “immoral war” as they liked to refer to Vietnam.

These great proponents of Peace, these believers in brotherly love and harmony in the world, had some favored tactics when it came to returning servicemen you know. Gangs of them, sometimes in the hundreds, would meet that great “Freedom Bird” that was bringing us back into the world and they would lay in wait for the men to walk down the stairs and onto the tarmac, touching their home soil for the first time in over a year, and they would begin to chant and throw eggs and garbage at the soldiers.

Screams of “Baby Killers, Murders!” would be the first sounds those men would hear as they left the plane. They would be carrying signs that read: “Ho Chi Min is a Hero” or “God Bless the Viet Cong” and the weary service men would have to walk through this gauntlet to gain the relative safety of the terminal.

This is what men returning from an unpopular war came home to.

Of course that wasn’t the protester only trick. No sir, you could not say they were a one trick pony by any means. They also delighted in going to funerals of men killed in war and brought home for burial. They would applaud the death and tell the parents their son deserved what he got because he was a criminal in the service of a war mongering government. Yes, those boys and girls really knew how to practice their free speech alright. They loved that term...”Freedom of Speech”. They clung to their God given right to say whatever they wanted to say. The funny thing is, that if anyone disagreed with them, they would howl in anger and shout those people down. Freedom of speech, it seemed did not extend beyond the liberal left in this country.

So let us now not dwell in “ancient history”, but let us fast forward to that other unpopular war; you know, the one in Iraq.

Almost from the first days of the war I saw protests there were eerily 60ish in their make-up and tone. I remember watching new coverage of a graveside service for a soldier where the protesters showed up with basically the same message they had in the 60s. I don’t think I have ever been as sad as I was that day, watching history repeat itself.

Today though the run of the mill protesters have a little different message: “We protest this war, we march in the streets and demand America get out of Iraq, but we fully back our boys and girls serving over there!”

Here’s the problem with that: Thanks to the Media and Global communications, the insurgents in Iraq know exactly what is going on over here. They see the protests and the marches and they are heartened by them. They know that if they fight a little harder, inflict more death on the soldiers, Americans will demand their troops be brought home. So you see, it doesn’t matter if you say you support the troops, if by your actions you give hope to the enemy.

This is true now and it was true way back in the day. The Viet Cong and the North Vietnamese knew they didn’t have to win that war. All they had to do was hold on until the American public forced the army to leave. They were right. Over 50,000 died there just so we could walk away and give them the country, I wonder how many will die for nothing in Iraq when those troops are told to come on home and give up the fight.

So you see men like Ghandi and Martin Luther King....those are men I can respect. They lived what they preached; non violent protest. As for the rest of you hippie wannabes, well the next time you are standing on the street corner, screaming invectives at whatever TV camera is there to record you for posterity, search your soul and ask yourself one question:

“What are the effects of my words and actions upon others and am I willing to live with it the rest of my life?”

And that, dear reader, is my own personal take on protesters.


On a personal note. Some of you may be aware that Carolina Blue is doing “Shadow blogs” this week. He is writing on the same subject as I am and presenting his own view of whatever subject I choose to write about. What you probably don’t know is that Ken and I were at one time on opposite ends of the historic spectrum. I was a soldier in that unpopular war and he was a young college student protesting that war. I am proud to say that though we walked wildly divergent trails in our early years, there is no man I respect more.

We have gotten to know each other on this site and as funny as it may sound, we have both discovered we are almost identical in our beliefs at this late stage of our lives. Most often he says the same thing in his blog as I do in mine...he just says it so much better. Please be sure and read his blog today when he gets around to posting it, you will not be disappointed.




 

There are many subjects that I cover in this blog space that I am in no way an expert on or even have a degree of expertise. Like the rest of you, I usually just put out my opinions based upon my gut reactions and beliefs.

Today shall be a bit different though. Today I want to talk about the war in Iraq, the misuse of the military, and war in general. If there is any subject I have some meager qualifications to write about, it is this one.

March 20th, 2003 marked the beginning of the second Iraq war and contrary to what many of you might believe about me, I actually groaned aloud when I heard the news. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that this was the wrong move for our government to take and in a flash I had a vision of another war and how the soldiers in that conflict were misused in a bloody attempt to prop up another government.

Yes, Iraq should not have been invaded. Militarily, this was a grievous error in judgment. Afghanistan should have been the sole target of the military. It was a proven training ground and haven for terrorist and after 9/11 that was our intent...hunt down terrorist wherever they were and kill them.

Having said that, I will add that Saddam was a bad man and he was guilty of murdering thousands of his own people. He deserved to be toppled from power. But, not by us, at least not at that particular point in history. It should have been done in the first war, but again politicians played General and stopped that action before it could be completed.

Now, hands in the audience, who knows the significance of May, 1, 2003?

That was the date that President Bush made that grandstand landing on the aircraft carrier and announced to the sailors, marines, and the people at home via television that the war was over. The conventional troops of Iraq had surrendered.

Two months...that’s how long Iraq’s military stood against coalition forces led by the United States and Great Britain. I cheered....that should have been the end of it. Sadly, I was wrong. Once more it was decided that Soldiers and Marines were to be used as policemen to prop up yet another fledgling government. It was easy, they seemed to say: “We must win their hearts and minds.”

Almost the exact words they used in another war...win the hearts and minds of the people. Back then Gen. Westmoreland was said to have retorted: “Bullshit. Grab em by the balls and their hearts and minds will follow!” Sadly, he was not allowed to do that back then either.

As a result of the decision to remain in Iraq, our military has been condemned to chasing insurgents who explode bombs, kill some soldiers, then run and hide like cockroaches when you turn on the light. This is not a struggle that can be won by police methods.

My friends, The Army and the Marine Corps and the Navy....all our military, are not trained to be policemen. The job of an army...any army has been, and will always be, to close with the enemy and to destroy them...just that simple. Quarter is given when possible, but not necessarily all the time, and God, or Allah help anyone caught between that army and their enemy.

That has been the job of soldiers since the time of stone spears and it is their only job. So today our boys are being killed in alarming numbers while trying to be something they are not: policemen.

For those of you who are wondering what the difference between what a soldier does and a policeman, the main difference can be boiled down to one thing....about a half second. Hesitation has killed a lot of good soldiers. The rules of engagement are such that a soldier over there must take the time to identify his target and in essence can only fire IF fired upon.

In a real war if the man in front of you has a gun in his hand....you kill him. You don’t hesitate, you don’t wait for provocation.... it’s a free fire zone wherever you are. That is the biggest difference and it is a difference that the American soldier is not normally trained for.

So you see, my liberal friends, I disagreed with our president on his decision to go into Iraq. The thing is, though I disagree with the man, I respect the office. You will never read of, or hear of, me calling the President of the United States of America crude and often childish names. To me, that sort of behavior shows a certain level of immaturity most often found in the inhabitants of an elementary school yard.

Now, for what it’s worth, since we all have our own ideas as to what should or should not have been done, here is what would have taken place had I been unfortunate enough to have had the job as Commander-in-Chief after 9/11.

The very fist thing I would have done would have been to lock our borders down and they would still be CLOSELY guarded today. I would have used the Coast Guard to intercept EVERY vessel that approached our shores and search them. If said vessels refused to comply, they would have been sunk. The nine hundred mile revolving door with Mexico would have been nailed shut for good.

I would have sent an envoy to Saddam with the message: “Clean up your act or you will be #2 on my To-Do list. Then I would have committed the bulk of the military to Afghanistan. I would not have waited on a coalition of countries to join us....after all, we were the ones bombed, we should be the ones to respond.

Having committed those troops to Afghanistan, I would have given the Generals one simple order: Wipe the country clean of terrorist. Use whatever means necessary to achieve that goal and do not stop until it is done. Expect high causalities, and just make sure you inflict higher causalities.

I know what many of you are thinking right now: “What a simplistic view that is. Those actions would never be accepted in the world today.”

Yes, it is simple...but then war is a simple thing; close with the enemy, kill the enemy, or die. It all boils down to that when it’s done right. Our problem is we don’t have the stomach to do it right.


Tomorrow: Protesters. Ah, now there is a subject near and dear to my flinty, old heart.