11-11-11

The eleventh hours of the eleventh day of the eleventh month Private Doug Clark wasted away in an endless trench on the Western Front; a wasteland of craters, mud and tree trunks splintered by bombs and howitzer shells.  He shivered in damp and cold air.  His coat that everyone assured him would keep him warm, was wet and useless.  There was word of a truce about to begin, but the general would have none of it.  He wanted to carry the fight to the city of Berlin.

Doug didn’t immerse himself in the politics of generals and such; his concern was warmth and survival.  He heard of a flare that would signal the truce to commence, but didn’t remember what the color of that flare was.  When the platoon sergeant, a kindly looking older man with a gray mustache and fat, jovial face, told them moments ago, a mortar landed and exploded.  The blast muted whatever he said in regards to the flare’s color.

I’m too cold to care at this point, Doug the doughboy stated miserably to himself.  The color could be the colors of the rainbow for all I care.  He had a four day growth of beard on his nineteen year old face.  It made him look more manly, he thought.  At least back home in Philly I won’t be called kid anymore, when I get back.  He wasn’t a big man, but he wasn’t small either.  I’m just an average guy trying to do the right thing, he kept convincing himself.

It was quiet now, only an occasional cannon shot could be heard from behind them.  Then they could hear the low pitch whistle as the shell flew past them and then the ear-piercing explosion over there on the other side of the line.

This place was a beautiful forest, the Ardennes, before the war, seemingly an eternity ago.  Now, Doug only saw a muddy zone of absolute devastation wherever he looked.

There was no flare that shot up though, instead a whistle sounded that ordered everyone to pull themselves from the trenches and attack their trench 500 yards away.  A no-mans land of barbwire and mines, machine gun nests and pillboxes that had seen its share of conflict since America went over here back in 1917.  What is going on, Doug asked himself as he followed the orders of the platoon sergeant and platoon leader, screaming at them at the top of their lungs.   They ran through the wire, all shredded from the last cannonade that erupted moments ago.  They pushed them to their trench and Doug could see the scared faces of the German soldiers someone hastily tried to create a makeshift white flag from a towel, or something.  They all seemed more puzzled by this than anything, as if the general wanted that last 500 yards for himself.  The Kaiser’s Krieger threw down their Gewehr 98 rifles to the ground and raised their hands in the sign of surrender.

Doug reached them at the same time as the platoon sergeant and began ordering them in German who was in charge.  A corporal pointed at an officer who also dropped his personal weapon and his sword to the ground and raised his hands.  The platoon sergeant held his Browning BAR level to the Captain and asked him in German, “Are you prepared to surrender at this time?”

“I will only talk to your commander,” he replied with contempt to the NCO.

“LT, he will only talk to your kind,” the Sergeant pointed out with sarcasm in his voice.

The lieutenant came up to the German captain and said, “I don’t speak German.”

The officer looked at both men in confusion and frustration as he realized he had no choice as to whom he talked to and stated to the platoon sergeant, “Yes, my men are prepared to surrender.”

Doug guarded a group of German privates who spoke quietly among themselves and asked him a question in German.  Doug, being from Philadelphia, recognized some of the words, but had a hard time figuring out what he asked.  “I’m sorry, my German isn’t that good,” he replied in a halting German that all laughed at.

Finally, another German soldier in the group asked in English, “Now that you have successfully invaded our land, what do you plan to do with us?  The war is over, American.”

“Sir, is that true?” he asked his platoon leader, a clean cut butter bar from West Point.

“I supposed it might be true,” he stated as a green flare shot up into the sky and a loud whoop of joy erupted from everyone up and down the front.

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gewehr_98&gt;

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More of the Same

I heard the sirens wailing out at around two in the afternoon yesterday. It wasn’t an ordinary ambulance or fire department call; much more serious than that. A life time ago I experienced a similar event when I was a store clerk at the mom-and-pop convenience store in West Richland where I lived until 1997.

It felt exactly the same. Two hours and multiple sheriff cars later I saw the news on my app. It wasn’t good and it felt like more of the same. People were shot; a domestic violence incident and lives were lost.

When the event occurred in West Richland, I was just coming on duty, reading the gasoline volumes on the meter along side the pumps. Four police cars came screaming around the corner where the store and the main street called Van Geisen and 38th Street intersected, heading south.

The perp was the estranged husband. The victims were two of her friends, though I doubt it was romantic, but the perp believed otherwise. He shot both, then went outside and took his own life. I knew all the actors. I served them at least once or twice a week as they came to buy cigarettes or beer or fill up their cars’ gas tanks.

Yesterday it was similar in that it was a domestic incident, but the difference is that two sheriffs deputies were seriously injured, both shot by the perp, who killed three others before he too died at the scene. Details are at best sketchy right now.

I actually had another blog idea lined up for today but obviously this became the topic of discussion whether I wanted it or not. So next week I promise to give you my loyal readers something more positive than what I had to report to you this somber day.

One More Member(s) of the Family

Tom here. I’m Jerry’s loyal cat friend. He obviously is clueless, but I discovered a new member of the family. A puppy to go along with the other dog named Amber. She seems different all of a sudden.

Not too long ago Amber suddenly gotten bigger around her tummy area and giant nipples grew out. I don’t know that much about a dog’s anatomy but I’m suspecting she got pregnant. Lately she only comes outside briefly in the morning and appears quite skittish. She won’t even pay me that much attention anymore. That’s not normal.

Normally Amber is pestering me to play with her. Now it seems she doesn’t have the time, and she’s not fat anymore, which means, heaven forbid, there are a litter of puppies that are hiding inside that house somewhere.

The other day while Jerry was getting his laundry done, I tried to sneak a peek inside. I could definitely smell something and heard crying or whining coming from one of the rooms, but Jerry wouldn’t allow me to go inside to investigate further.

The other puppy is a ruse to keep the little human boy named Evan from going to play with the new litter of puppies. I’m sure there’s a reason for that too. Knowing human nature and their children’s natural curiosity the human mother must’ve been concerned that Amber might be very defensive toward her puppies and act aggressively to this Evan boy.

At least he’s not bothering me. The puppy seems to be ignoring me too, perhaps Amber warned him about me. That hardly seems fair considering all the work I’ve done killing mice and moles for her so she can play with the other humans and dogs, including the one who made her have puppies.

At least they can’t blame that on me. I’m innocent!

Once Again, Another School Shooting

Normally I wouldn’t give this much attention except this time my sister lives in Bend, Oregon. It’s not like she or even I have that much to do with what occurred. After all, her two stepchildren and her own blood daughter are adults living well beyond the confines of this tragedy that occurred last Thursday.

One teacher had to play dead so not to be shot again by this young person. Griffin J John II was the alleged gunman, who briefly attended this school. He was sixteen.

Kaylub Giamanco, the person responsible for shooting John, probably saved many more lives that day. Sadly five were not so lucky.

Heartbreak doesn’t begin to express how I feel given that my own sister lives there and obviously has her own thoughts and feelings about something this horrific occurring in her adopted home town.

While I admire and defend the rights of all citizens to legally buy and own firearms, still we need to take a look at those responsible for these senseless killings and try to pass common sense laws that protect the innocent victims too and take guns away from these disturbed individuals who see glory in killing for the sake of fifteen minutes of infamy.

What Does Life Mean to a Beetle?

I have often wondered how other life forms on this planet interact and continue to go about their business.

Do beetles contemplate life like we do? Does an ant feel anxiety or stress? Do dogs show love to one human and not toward another? Does a cow feel pain the moment it is shot in the head at a rendering plant? My answer to all of these questions must be yes. Afterall us humans shouldn’t have the market control of all thoughts, feelings, and hubris.

I’m sorry ahead of time for saying this, but God created not just man in His image, but all lifeforms that He created are as He envisioned.

I remember my earliest memories as a young boy. Some were quite poignant, most for expediency and those brain cells that since ceased to exist, aren’t as coherent as they were.

I vaguely remember the song “Lemon Tree,” a calypso tune I thought that Harry Bellafonte performed but found out later was Will Holt in 1960, and popularized by Peter, Paul, and Mary in 1962.

I only remember my kindergarten teacher informing my mother that school that day was cancelled because the President had been shot. I didn’t know until years later when I found the issue of Life Magazine, showing the Zapruder film portraying in gruesome detail the moment of the shooting what this event meant to that teary eyed teacher and my mother for that matter.

Bobby Kennedy and the moon landing, Iran Hostages crisis, the Challenger disaster, and on were very clear as well as my Eagle Scout promotion ceremony, my first drunken episode, my first job and my graduations were all very clear in my mind.

So, what does any of this have to do with a bug? They too remember past events, some clear others not so much. They feel pain and loss of a fellow beetle be it friend or mate. They consider choices and consequences for their actions or reactions. I believe all of God’s creatures have this ability to live and adapt to a changing world.

Life’s Foibles

Just when I thought I was getting myself caught up, crap literally fell from the sky and landed on my head. Last Wednesday a charming middle-aged woman knocked on my trailer’s door and asked if I was Jerry Schellhammer, and I said yes. She then handed me court filing from my separated wife suing for divorce. 

I had been trying to do the same, but that thing called money and that other thing called life kept getting in the way of doing exactly what I have planned doing years ago. At any rate I looked it over briefly, thanked the lady and promptly placed the documents on the table. The next day my son-in-law and stepdaughter looked it over and called around for an attorney. The one they settled for apparently has a reputation and a bad attitude to match that includes many successful outcomes for people like me. Hopefully, it will work in our favor.  

I still don’t have that money thing these lawyers seem to relish above all other things in life. I’m thinking of Go Fund Me as an option. My family are doing what they can to help in that matter. And there it is. 

Oh, and the toilet in my trailer. Sunday morning, I get up in the middle of the night and use the toilet. My mat I laid down in front of it to capture dribbles is saturated. WTF? 

When I’m more in my faculties I investigate it further and find the toilet is leaking. It’s not much but it might as well be because trailers like this have a reputation for slap-shod building materials and workmanship. I’ve been valiantly mopping up the seeping water from the floor though now it has migrated to the carpet and down the steps from where the upper level is. 

I went to an RV dealership near here and the parts for that type of toilet aren’t made anymore and I will have to get a replacement toilet.  

FUN!! 

More of that thing called money that I don’t have, and what’s more, I’m thinking seriously that the flooring might also need replacing from the amount of seepage that has occurred these last four days. I’m using one of my cooling fans to try and save the carpet from getting mildewy. And there it is. 

Life is so much fun, just ask A.L.I.CE. 

Going with an Agent

Well, I decided to try this again and hopefully I will strike a lucky charm and be successful. 

If you are wondering what in the world I’m talking about, I dipped my toe in the literary agents’ pond and made the commitment to see if I can get one of my many books published. 

The book in question is Nate Turner: Negro Cowboy. If you remember I was given a writing prompt to write a 1,000-word piece about a genre outside my comfort zone. I chose western and used a run-away slave as the protagonist, named Nate Turner. 

I used a couple tools in my writer’s tool box to get the story started, namely the hero dies on the first paragraph of this story. In Heaven Nate talks St. Peter into letting him return to that point where he runs from Master Jonas via the underground railroad and then finds himself in Ohio. 

The rest of the book tries to be as historically accurate as I can allow, especially with the Civil War his stint as a buffalo soldier after the conclusion of the Civil War. The rest of the book’s other scenes are fictional though tried to put as much description into the bulk of the work as I could. 

But then I was informed by this agency that I queried that it was too long. I then asked AI to trim it down, but now it’s more telling than showing and I have to go back and add some more back into each chapter that was cut. 

It’s still work in progress, but I sent the query and ten sample pages to this agent. Hopefully, she’ll like what she read and wants more so that she can find that publisher yearning for a best seller. 

My Writing Progression

Hello, my loyal readers. I’m hoping you enjoyed your summer and now Autumn is here and one has to wonder where has all the time gone? I was busy at work and got to see my sisters when they came up to visit. I experimented with A/I helping me be a better writer. Don’t worry it didn’t draft my books, blogs, or short stories. I still did that part on my own. But I did gain insight on its functions to help me improve my writing and editing skills. A/I is not perfect either as I found out. 

 I have done much writing of blogs, short stories that you undoubtedly read in my blog posts, and also I finished a book just last week called Gooding County. As many of you remember I spent six months in Gooding County back in 2021. Going from that experience I decided to write a mystery suspense novel of a murder in a rural county in Southern Idaho where the detectives of Pink Diamond are hired to clear the name of the wrongly accused person, or is it? We will see. It will definitely remind you of the movie Knives Out.   

I’m combining those short story blogs into a yet to be completed Four Seasons Book Four: Road to Nowhere. The main characters of this series each get a starring role in their own story. There will be mystery, suspense, thrills, and vendettas that play out here that leads to the final book of the series, Desperado, also a work in progress. 

Please enjoy your autumn and I will continue to do my due diligence and write more entertaining blogs and stories for your enjoyment. Just 93 more days until Christmas. No rush, right? 

25 Years After

I know what 9/11 is about. I read the history that brought this to being. I saw the news breaks on that morning. It’s branded on my brain just as Vietnam was, just as man walking on the moon was.  

The lives lost in New York, Washington DC and rural Pennsylvania, was horrendous, but as I have reflected and researched, 6,650 Americans died on 9/11/2001 from normal causes, excluding the attack victims. This aligns with the Tuesday average for 2001. All I’m pointing out is that many people suffered loss of a loved one on that day, not just those who lost their lives due to the terrorist attacks. 

I remember it and a small part of me wish we didn’t have to have our lives interrupted on this day to be reminded by the news outlets of this day of remembrance. I know we can’t forget, but like I said, a small part of me wish I could forget.  

I get teary eyed when I see the aftermath from twenty-five-year-old news clips, listen to the survivors recount their harrowing ordeals, hear the names called and the bell chime for each name called, the bagpipes and the bugler sounding taps.  

I guess if there is a lesson that can be learned from all of this is that the war on terrorism just like the war on drugs isn’t something we can easily win. We may win some battles, we may eliminate the heads of the snake, but we can’t defeat them like we could in an actual war where we claim the other country’s lands until they surrendered. This enemy hides in the shadows and strikes indiscriminately. 

Data Centers? Who Needs Them!

For the longest time, I supported data centers because I believed they would help drive future growth with AI. They sounded like a big win for our economy and for maintaining a global lead against China and other countries. 

My sister came to visit and help celebrate my birthday. To my chagrin, she is openly opposed to data centers. 

“It’s all a scam to get people on board, and it does more harm than good. It doesn’t create new jobs, except during initial construction. After that, only a handful of technicians are needed,” she told us. 

My sister is not a political junkie like I am, and she is more conservatively aligned than I am, much like my other sister. For that reason, I thought it was odd that she would take this position. The issue has become a hot-button topic locally, with permits submitted to city and county authorities to build these centers. Developers are asking for various tax breaks while promising future job growth. 

So, I did my own research, and this is what I discovered about data centers. They are not the clear-cut benefit I had been led to believe. 

I had heard about other factors, especially the environmental impacts these centers could potentially create, but I dismissed them as alarmist propaganda from foreign actors. After reading more, I realized those concerns deserved closer attention. 

Then there is the issue of electrical demand. According to one expert, as much as fifteen percent of all power demand could come from these servers. That would mean many fossil-fueled plants originally slated for closure because of lower demand would have to remain open, adding to air pollution. 

I used to believe in looking toward the future where technology was concerned, with data centers as an integral part of that future. In light of my sister’s concerns and what I have read and researched, it is time to take a step back and wait for alternatives to these ideas coming from big tech companies. 

As things stand now, many people in this country may not need or want something that could do more harm than good.