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A few years ago, my daughter and her husband lived in New Orleans.  His work had transferred him there and as with any move there was a lot to learn.  They had been there only a week, barely long enough to know how to get from Point A to Point B when their car was stolen.  The police were called.  A report was written but according to the officer there was not much hope of ever recovering their car.

Husband found a ride to and from work each day with a friend and life continued in this new city.  A few days later as they were crossing an overpass on their way from work, Husband glanced at the street and homes below.  Suddenly he was very excited and started giving his friend directions on where to turn and where to go because he was sure that he saw their car parked on a street below the overpass.

Now, there was nothing unusual about this car.  It was an older model grey Ford Taurus and sure enough there was one parked on the street.  Walking up to it Husband realized it really was his car.  Against all odds he found his stolen car.  A call was made to the police that the car was found and within minutes, an officer was there to look around.  There was a still carton of cigarettes in the back seat and $20.00 bill still remained above the driver’s sun visor.  Also, a man’s wallet laying on the passenger seat. Apparently, it pays to leave your car’s gas tank on empty or nearly empty be it wasn’t that far from their home and the thief had run out of gas.

One would logically be led to believe that the wallet belonged to the car thief and the police would track him down.  For Daughter and Husband, they were just happy to get their car back undamaged.  All they had to do was fill the gas tank and it was good to go.

Fast forward a few weeks, Daughter was at a gas station, filling up when a man pulled up to the gas pump next to her.  As he was taking care of his car, he addressed Daughter, “I see you have a Michigan license plate.  How are you liking New Orleans?”

Daughter, trying not to be suspicious of this stranger answered, “So far I don’t like it much.  We were barely settled when our car was stolen.  But as you can see, we got it back.”

Several seconds passed before the man asked, “Was there a wallet in the car.”

“Yes,” Daughter answered becoming leery now.  “Why would you ask that?”

Still friendly and smiling the man explained. “It was my wallet.  It had been stolen.  The police came to visit me asking why it would be in a stolen car.  Fortunately for me, I could prove that I was at work when the car disappeared so finally my wallet was returned.  But I sure was nervous there for awhile because I knew they thought I stole that car and I knew I didn’t.”

Who would believe that a car would be stolen, recovered with a wallet and then meet the person who belonged to the also stolen wallet?  Yes, it really happened.

For a number of years now, I have enjoyed doing a little writing. It’s nothing profound, but it entertains me.  Sometimes, I’ll end up publishing it, but a lot of it heads directly to the trash can.  Truth be known, unless Sweetie has something else on my schedule, writing now occupies a good portion of nearly every single day.  Especially, since the Corona virus hit us and we started living in our little cocoon.   From day one of the pandemic, I’ve spent even more of my time at my computer,,,, writing…. 

I’ve now written or partnered in writing over 20 books, but I don’t call myself an author.  I’m guessing that those first few books may have contained close to 500 original poems that I had written, but I don’t call myself a poet either.  Fact is, most of those poems are very amateurish, but writing is something that I do to pass the time.  I find it more enjoyable than playing solitaire or some of those other stupid computer games. (Even though I probably spend a half hour or more of each day playing those games.)

Even though I consider my stuff to be amateurish, I find writing to be very therapeutic. In its own way, I find it to be very rewarding, though not financially, it seems.  I must say, I got a tremendous feeling of accomplishment when I held that first published book in my hand for the very first time, let alone the twentieth one.

As mentioned, now days, most of my writing is a collaborative project.  One of the first projects that Sweetie and I collaborated on was the book that we eventually named, THE HINTS BOOK ALMANAC.  At the time, we hadn’t been together all that long and we were still learning about each other.  One of us said something about a helpful hint we had read recently, which eventually led to us realizing that, for years, we had both been saving all these little scraps of paper with little tips and suggestions on them.  As we talked, we convinced ourselves that these little items would be so much more useful, if only they were organized so that you’d be able to find the one you wanted, when you wanted it.  That led to us spending the next year or so doing just that, organizing, categorizing and alphabetizing them.  Before we finished that, we began to seek out additional hints from multiple sources.  We wound up with around 1700 hints which eventually led to the book we titled THE HINTS BOOK ALMANAC.  Before long, we realized that we had only scratched the surface, there were still more hints to be found.  Soon there was a second book with the same title, book II, containing an additional 1000 hints. 

Now our collaboration juices were flowing and, well before the pandemic, we had written our first fictional book about imaginary characters. That first fictional book was a children’s book, titled Adventures of Gizzy. It was about our cat.  We felt that it worked out so well that we wrote another fictional book titled, The Crow’s Nest.  As we assume is the case with most writers, we just made it up as we went along, but by the time that project was over with, we had come to know the characters quite well.  That being the case, we decided that they had more to say, which resulted in book two of the series, (which has now reached 7 books and counting.)

One day I was sitting there at my computer trying to figure out just what I wanted to write about next when I got to wondering about what life would have been like in the early life of one of those characters.  I imagined him as an 18-year-old, out on his first solo adventure, seeking to make his way in the world.  The timing would have put him in the mid to late 1890’s so I tried to imagine the world in which he would have lived.  And I began to write.

That resulted in book three of what Sweetie and I now call THE CROW’S LAKE SERIES.  Before that book was ready to go to the printer, book four was nearing completion.  Then book five, book six, book seven and now we’re better than half way through book eight.  I attribute all, but the first two books, to the pandemic.  If we hadn’t confined ourselves to our home in our efforts to stay safe from the virus, it’s very unlikely that those books would have ever been written.  

That said, however, although the Corona Virus is still a concern, life has gotten back to some semblance of normal and we once again are able to get out into the world.  Even so, on a lesser scale, we’ve continued to write and delve into the lives of the characters from Crow’s Lake.  The book we are now working on, tentatively titled LAST RIDE,  is likely to be the last in that series, although that’s not cast in stone.  There is always the possibility that we’ll find that some of those characters still have more to say. 

However, we also have written a couple of books titled CLOSED CASES.  They are about a private investigator by the name of Stony Johnson and we’re anxious to see what’s been happening in his life.  My current expectations are that we’ll be hearing more from Stony in the future.

Gramps use’ta say
©R.L.King2012 #503

About: Character

“You often get more information
from a man’s reaction,
than you do from his response.”

********

EDITOR’S NOTE: Please consider checking out the Amazon pages of the authors of this site, by going to the addresses’ shown below.   Kindle versions of their books are available at only 99 cents.

http://www.amazon.com/author/richard-lee-king/

Amazon.com: Donna Hale Chandler: Books, Biography, Blog, Audiobooks, Kindle

FRANCES & JEANNE
HURRICANES OF 2004
By: Donna Hale Chandler

My husband and I were excited to finally retire and move to our little condo in Port St. Lucie.  We had no qualms about leaving Michigan weather behind and were looking forward to sunny winters.  Our trip south to our new home began Labor Day week-end, 2004.

We were floating on clouds as we pulled into Vista St. Lucie where my mother had lived happily for several years.  It had been a long drive and we had lots of boxes to unload and unpack.  Our bodies may have been tired but our minds were still traveling a mile a minute as we saw a new future on our horizon.

As soon as word reached my mother that we had arrived, she was at our door, spitting orders about hurricane supplies that must be gathered right away.  I must admit that I was rather annoyed with her.  After all we had serious boxes of ‘stuff’ to put away before thinking about hurricane supplies.  She seemed determined to dampen our good mood with lists and more lists of what needed to be stocked.

At last we relented and ventured out to the stores for water, batteries, canned food – you know, Hurricane Supplies.  We were sure that we were wasting our time but it made my mother happy so how could we refuse.

During the night of September 5, 2004, Hurricane Francis came screaming ashore.  As power was the first thing we lost we could only listen to the howling wind and pounding rain.  The next morning, it appeared we made moved to hell.  It was hotter than hot.  Helicopters were in the sky watching for looters.  As we moved slowly from day to day, we began to wonder if we’d made a wise decision moving to No Electricity Land. 

We learned a lot as we suffered through the aftermath of Frances.  Not only did we learn how important those Hurricane Supplies were, we learned that you cannot make a cup of coffee over a candle, we learned that MRE’s taste like the Food of the Gods when you’re hungry and of course we learned the importance of water – cold water was in small supply.

About the time the lights came back on and the a/c began to cool our upstairs condo, Hurricane Jeanne came barreling through, throwing us once again into the darkness and the heat.  Once again we were lining up for ice and water from volunteers with the Red Cross and other organizations.  Once again we were checking on neighbors that we’d barely met and instantly bonded with over a cup of coffee boiled on an outdoor grill.

Years later I can look back and laugh at the fact that my mother had to drive me to the water/ice lines as I had no proof of residency.  It became quite a joke that I finally was old enough to retire but not old enough to go out after dark without my mama.  As I look back on these memories both my husband and my mother have passed away but back in 2004 we were quite the team as we stood together again Frances and Jeanne.

The following poem is one I wrote a few years ago. After having lived alone for a good many years, and having dated a number of different ladies, I felt that I had finally met a keeper. Oh, I’d dated some real nice ladies, but it always seemed that the match wasn’t a perfect fit. Then she came into my life. She wasn’t insisting that we have a child, she wasn’t insisting that we get married. She was secure in her being, she was close to my age, and we had a lot in common and a lot of common interests. It just seemed to fit. Nearly fourteen years later, we’re still together, and like I said, she’s a keeper.

TWILIGHT YEARS
©By: R.L.King – From the book Memories & Time ©2017

My life is in the latter stages, closer to dusk than dawn,
but I’ve found a special lady,,,, willing to tag along.

She’s the first I didn’t measure, never comparing her to you,
but she’s the first to really complete me,,, in all we say or do.

We know our days are numbered; time is moving really fast.
We’ve not much left to accomplish, careers are in our past.

Seldom do we party; our life is more sedate,
but we’ve handled all the things, life has heaped upon our plate.

Oh, we haven’t given up on life, we still have goals in place, 
they’re just not so pressing, and we’ve kinda slowed the pace.

We’re so glad we found each other, having lost our lifelong mates.
I’d say we’re both content…. our twilight years are going great.

Life is now in the latter stages, closer to dusk than dawn,
years ago I found a special lady,,,, willing to tag along.

*********

Gramps use’ta say
R.L.King2012 #279

About: Aging

“We all reach a point
when we know our way around……

but more ’an likely by then,
…we ain’t goin anywhere.”

********

EDITOR’S NOTE: Please consider checking out the Amazon pages of the authors of this site, by going to the addresses’ shown below.   Kindle versions of their books are available at only 99 cents.

http://www.amazon.com/author/richard-lee-king/

Amazon.com: Donna Hale Chandler: Books, Biography, Blog, Audiobooks, Kindle

This is a poem that I wrote back in 2008.  At that time, I had been “quitting” smoking cigarettes for over 25 years, probably closer to 30.  At times, I had moderate success, one time lasting 3 years, but I had never completely “kicked” the habit.  I’d sometimes cheat with cigars or chew, but it seemed that I’d always wind up coming back to those damn cigarettes.  However, at the current time, it’s coming up on 14 years without once cheating and this time I’m committed to staying the course.  Wish me luck.

TO SMOKE, OR NOT TO SMOKE

For many years that was the question for which I had no answer.
Course, that was back before they confirmed it causes cancer.
My son is now 40,  and a smoker he’s become,
but from the time he was 3 or 4, he nagged til my ears were numb.

Daddy, why do you smoke.  Dad, why don’t you quit?
Sometimes, I thought he nagged, just for the hell of it.
Years later, my wife was sick, quitting became more important.
Eventually, they even passed laws, banning smoking in restaurants.

But, once you’ve got the habit, quitting isn’t all that easy.
Some often get the shakes, while others get feeling queasy.
It took me many years, must have quit a hundred times.
I’m sure I’d have been put in jail, if lying about it was a crime.

For a time, I switched to cigars, the little ones, five to a pack.
Put myself on a one pack limit, but eventually, cigarettes were back.
As one of my many crutches, I stopped cigarettes for chew.
I used those little pouches, so people seldom knew.

As a habit it’s disgusting, especially when you have to spit,
but spitting, I just wouldn’t do, a real man simply swallows it.
It was better for my lungs,  and I was still getting my fix,
but a different kind of cancer, still was in the mix.

Back and forth it went, cigars, cigarettes, and chew.
I knew that I should quit, but it’s awfully hard to do.
I had to make a move, for several years I cut way back.
Daily I’d bum just two from my son, but I refused to buy a pack.

I’d save one for bed time, cause I couldn’t sleep if I was craving.
As long as I stopped at two, it felt like I was behaving.
Sometimes I’d go to the bar,  for a dollar I could buy a couple.
If I didn’t exceed my two a day, it wasn’t causing any trouble.

Still, it felt like I was cheating, “I can do better, I know I can.”
how could such a little thing, defeat a full-grown man?
For years, I’d been cut back to my limit of only two,
and sometimes, for several months, I’d quit that and only chew.

Friends had tried the patch; others had chewed the gum,
But no matter what the method, quitting wasn’t any fun.
And when it came right down to it, they nearly all went back.
First, they’d bum a few, then break down and buy a pack.

Most gained a little weight, some gained quite a lot,
then went back to smoking, and the weight they’ve all still got.
My sister had herself hypnotized. “Did it help?”  I asked, curious.
She said, “You can’t beat this habit, unless you’re really serious.”

Finally, I’d had enough, I needed to take a stand.
If I can’t beat this habit, I’m really not much of a man.
I put my last two cigars in a drawer, so they’d always be there to see,
to remind myself each day, how that habit had control of me.

I didn’t attend meetings; I didn’t wear a patch.
I reminded myself each day, that I was saving lots of scratch.
You have to fight the cravings, for several weeks at least,
but eventually if you’re serious, you can gain control of the beast.

Oh, I gained a little weight, but not what you might think.
I tried hard not to substitute cigarettes, for food, and drink.
It’s now been 13 years, and I haven’t cheated once.
I have no clue how much I’ve saved, but I know that it’s a bunch.

I no longer have the cravings, but now and then I’ll have a moment.
It was a filthy nasty habit, but at last, I finally feel I own it.
I feel better about myself, just knowing that I prevailed,
and I know it’s in my past, that ship has finally sailed!!!!

I’m proud and happy to report that the forty-year-old son that I mentioned above, now well into his 50’s,  has now been off from cigarettes for over ten years.  He quit “cold turkey” also

Gramps use’ta say
©R.L.King2012 #220

About: Quitting Smoking

“Nothing challenges the parameters
of life’s expiration date
….quite like smoking.”

********

EDITOR’S NOTE: Please consider visiting our pages on Amazon.com at the locations shown below. We have over 20 books available at these sites and the Kindle versions are available at only 99 cents each.

http://www.amazon.com/author/richard-lee-king/

Amazon.com: Donna Hale Chandler: Books, Biography, Blog, Audiobooks, Kindle