The Camp Out

Last Friday we set out up north in our camper to the north country, north of Ketchum and in the Saw Tooth Range where glacier peaks used to be common but now because of global warming are bare rock. In a way it is a sad commentary of how our species have seen fit to destroy ourselves this way, ironic actually because 65 million years ago dinosaurs used to roam this planet until an asteroid nailed them right in the kisser. Now we are using fossilized dinosaur waste to encourage our own downfall.

Anyway, off my soapbox and on to the camp out my wife promised me was going to be fun. The Mormon Church sponsored this event at a camp site near Lake Alturas, near the town of Stanley. We nearly didn’t go at all because we were bickering back and forth as married couples often do, but because we lost that cockatiel named Bobby, she was especially on edge, insisting no one open the door to the bird room even though Bobby was an old bird and the other remaining five are young and healthy. It almost came to blows or worse divorce court. But cooler heads prevailed and Friday morning after final packing and checking off everything we boarded the Dodge Ram 2500 with fully loaded Arctic Fox camper that weighs in at around 4,000 pounds.

I didn’t realize it until our return trip how much longer the drive is from Gooding to Hailey going do north on Idaho’s Highway Route 46. It ends at US 20. I took a right there and then continued until we got to Idaho’s Highway Route 75. I recognized that the highway going north from Gooding isn’t as straight a route as I had assumed. It meanders right and left and goes over a lovely pass with a six percent grade, which I downshifted to second.

Once we reached Hailey, I found a convenience store with gas pumps and went out and pumped gas while my wife went inside to pay. I waited and waited for the cashier to turn on the pump. She came outside and asked if he had turn it on yet, “No,” I replied a bit more brusquely than intended. She then told me, “He’s from some oriental country that nodded and smiled at her like an idiot. She slid her debit card into the pump, pulled it out and she then pushed regular.

I was going to mention to her that the truck’s engine works best on a higher-octane grade than regular, but her anxiety was already razor thin just getting this trip off the planning stages as it is. I let it slide. As it was, the price per gallon was over $4.35, and even with a half full tank it cost almost $80. The higher plus grade would have set her back probably over $100. Lovely dinosaur waste anyway.

We then moved north to Ketchum and then we were in the forests and the Wood River Valley. We travelled along, in a northerly trek. I casually asked her about a map so we could find this lake and campsite

“There really isn’t one,” my wife replied while looking at the stapled brochure the church provided.
“How are we going to find it if there is no map?” I asked not to her directly.
“I don’t know. Everyone in the church goes to this every year.”
“But this is your first time. They really should have printed up a map for you.”

She didn’t say anything, and I didn’t pursue it further. We took a pit stop for Zeus the old mutt breed dog we decided to take with us at the last moment. He can jump in and out of my Dodge Charger just fine, but the Ram sits twice as high as that car. Stephanie had to lift him inside the back portion of the club cab before we left. At this rest stop, which was a turn out on the opposite side of the highway—still on HR 75—I let Zeus out from the back seat. It took some coaxing on my part, but he finally jumped out. I placed a leash on him and down the side of the highway we walked. He did his business, while she went into the camper and did hers. When Zeus was fished, I used my one good arm and placed my hold along his ribcage and hoisted him up enough for him to grasp his forepaws onto the inside frame and muscle himself inside. Then I went inside the camper and took care of business inside the narrow confines of the camper’s WC.

Then we were off and on the road. Did I mention cellphone service? There is none once we went outside Ketchum; no WI-FI either. So, she is looking to the Google god to direct us to this lake and campsite. I’m looking for a sign, any sign that would give us a place to turn off from, and naturally we drove pass it and didn’t realize it.

So, we keep driving north and she is getting more upset with the church people, Idaho in general because they can’t maintain decent signage and me of course because it’s always my fault. Finally, I spot a motel/lodge on the side of the highway and turn in there. It looks Bates Motel-scary with ramshackle looking façade, worn and rusted neon signage that I suspected hadn’t worked in 20 years and older cars parked in front that I also think hadn’t run in as long a time.

I get out and knocked on the door. I expected an old man with thick white beard and carrying a shotgun to answer the door. Maybe he was hiding behind the doorway. A young 20 to 30ish aged woman with blonde hair, blue eyes, slender body, wearing a tank top and painted on Daisy Dukes opened the door. She gave me a curious look and a pleasant smile.

“I’m lost,” I told her. Her smile widen as if I wasn’t the first to grace her threshold with
that line. “I’m looking for Alturas Lake.”
“Oh yeah. Let’s see, you go back down that highway about seven miles and take a right.
There should be a sign but it’s hard to see.”
“Yeah, well we didn’t see it all.”
“It’s really hard to see coming up this way. Good luck,” she stated and closed the door
while I went back to my truck and got in.
“It’s seven miles away, back that way,” I told Stephanie.
“How could we miss it?”
“I certainly didn’t see no sign,” I told her. “And I was looking for it too.”

She shrugged and I placed the truck into gear and got back on the highway from where we came. Naturally the sign we turned on was a half mile too soon and we once again found ourselves feeling lost and abandoned. We drove over a washboard gravel road for a little over a mile when I found a place to turn around and go back.

About then we spotted two cars coming our way and flagged them down. The first car just kept going, but the second went pass but stopped and backed up. As luck would have it, the woman who drove the car was from the church and greeted my wife with a welcoming smile of recognition. She told us it was about a half mile further down and to the right on a paved road. We then went back and onto the highway, then found the road that led to Lake Alturas. Neither of us were confident about that woman’s sense of direction and we kept passing, stopping and going back to at least two forks on the road before we reached our destination. It was then she read that one small little sentence stating, “No Pets Allowed.”

“Seriously?” I asked with as much frustration at her as with the organizers from the church. After all, it was a last-minute decision on her part. She should have read it thoroughly the first time, especially the part about allowing pets.

“Well, maybe we can tell them he’s your service animal,” she suggested with a smile. We once had a blind female Boxer we named Princess that was over 14 and diabetic. We used to joke about putting on a pair of sunglasses and walking into a store or hotel telling them it was my service dog. Zeus has serious hi and joint issues due to arthritis. I have serious walking issues of my own due to the stroke I suffered back in 2002. I knew that wouldn’t work here either. I parked the camper in a parking space I was certain I could back out from and let my wife, who could sell ice to an Eskimo, out to talk them into just this once allowing Zeus to camp with out for three days.

She was gone a good fifteen minutes before she came back and got in. “Let’s go to the state campground. They allow dogs there, and it won’t cost very much. There are no hook-ups for RVs here anyway. It was just cabins, plus they promised us meals, but nothing is organized for that,” she suggested as I nodded and placed it in reverse and backed out, put it into drive and drove down the road to a state campground. It seemed nicer though we had some water nearby to fill the camper’s holding tank, but no electrical hook up and no dumping station when we left on Sunday.

Stephanie filled out the paperwork and I got the camper set up, pulling out the slide out, using our square to make sure our camper was as level as could be expected and getting ourselves ready for a weekend of roughing it in the woods of Central Idaho. Oh, did I mention no WI-FI or cellphone service?

Stephanie upon reflection realized that too. I guess her ulterior motive for coming out here had more to do with escaping her mother and pseudo-stepfather than any transcendental spiritual experience, and WI-FI was needed for such an experience. “Let’s go back to someplace that has internet and cellphone service.”

Personally, yes, I wanted the transcendental experience because I feel one with nature and away from civilization. But I also had received an invitation from a potential employer who wanted to see how my writing style was and I needed to write out a synopsis and outline for a romantic story idea. I too needed an internet connection to be successful, plus a deadline for Saturday, which was the next day.

I agreed to go along with her idea. WE went back to Ketchum and did some sightseeing, mostly trying to find any kind of campsite that offered hook ups including internet. I suggested at least twice to locate an RV park. “Surely they have what you desire. We toured around Sun Valley and finally she found an RV park just south of Ketchum. As luck would have it, they were booked. The nearest one was south in Bellevue. She called that business, and they had an opening and went back south, pass Hailey and into the smaller town of Bellevue. WE picked up more groceries at an Albertsons Supermarket and got our spot at 5:30 that afternoon. Once again, we set everything up, including placing our sewer hose down a drain that accepted our gray and black water, hooked up ac and potable water from a faucet into our camper from a hose. The middle-aged proprietor with graying hair and spindly legs handed her the receipt which also included the park’s WI-FI password. She was happy finally.

We ate, cooking soup on the gas stove, watched Net-Flix on our tablets and later on the furnace kicked on and she enjoyed sleeping cozy warm on the overhead compartment. It’s much more challenging for me to try and climb up that far, so I made the decision that I would convert the dining section into my bed. It worked out great for both of us. I guess our parents also came to that same conclusion that sleeping together was not nearly as fun as it was when we were younger.

I spent most of Saturday doing the synopsis and outline, then emailing everything to this video gaming company that has these types of lonely hearts or dear hearts romance themed storylines that sells hot and heavy in the orient. I never realized myself, but if my story works for this company and I can convert it into some kind of script then I’ll have something of a steady income through my writing, while awaiting royalty checks to come in for my books.

On Sunday, we took our time coming home, finally leaving the RV Park at about one in the afternoon. We drove down HR 75 and parked at a highway rest area for a couple hours and then drove home. I realized going this route south to a town called Shoshone was actually closer than heading back the way we came on Friday. By seven that evening we pulled into the long driveway and unloaded the camper.

Today I get to celebrate my 63rd birthday. No campouts are planned, maybe a barbeque instead.

Bye Bye Bobby

It was a trying afternoon yesterday when our beloved cockatiel, Bobby left us and went to Bird Heaven. I took it very hard because for twelve years I fed and watered him, made him comfortable and relatively happy.

My wife said was a very old bird having live over 20 years, which I guess in bird life is very old indeed. He suffered through a bunch of moves, always having to readjust and readapt his life for us humans whom I’m sure he detested but tolerated.

For the longest time he was the one and only, until my wife brought Cujo, later Cisco, who we eventually gave away, Harley, Spike, Elsa and Avatar. He took it all in and made acquaintance with them, though he probably didn’t like them either.

Friday morning was especially cold and when I found him shivering on his perch. I immediately turned on the heater for him, but I knew his time was near. He lived a long and happy life. Then around supper time I found him lying on the bottom of his cage.

I know I shouldn’t get so emotionally attached to animals, but I do. I always have. I’m sure I got it from my parents who treated any death of an animal like a death in the family. I remembered how Mom reacted the morning we found our German Short Hair, Herman after he was poisoned from someone up in our East Wenatchee neighborhood. I was six and only had vague understanding of death, until that day when I realized he would no longer be around to play with. It left an emptiness inside, as it did today when I went to clean the other birds’ cages and his was empty; scrubbed clean and sanitized so my wife could sell it.

So, bye bye Bobby. One day we will see each other again.

The Truth of the Matter

The local newspaper in Twin Falls has an editor who put out an op-ed piece that dealt with how certain people treat their political affiliation like it was their religion. She was absolutely spot-on in her assessment that many see that their opinions are truth, when in fact they are merely opinions.

There are absolute truths which can not be changed, altered or omitted from our common experience. We are conceived by a man and a woman, we are born and grow to sexual maturity, meet a mate, procreate offspring, then some time down the line we must die. That is absolute truth.

There are certain facts that everyone is exposed to that could become moral imperatives where we perceive as something of truth, such as stealing, killing, or being ill-mannered is wrong and shouldn’t be tolerated.

Then, there are opinions that bear a philosophical belief that is considered by some to be truth, such as a belief in a spiritual omnipotence, which I believe in and I’m sure most everyone else does as well. Books were written that we now view as the Holy Bible, the Jewish Torah or the Islamic Koran. The Eastern religions have books of that note too, such as “Tao Te Ching” of Taoism, “The Analects” of Confucius, “The I Ching,” “The Bhagavad Gita” of Hindu faith, and Alan Watts, “The Way of Zen” which focuses on the teachings of Buddha. They all tried to explain through parody, myth and morality questions of why we exist or are in the vastness of space and time.

Obviously nowhere in any of those books does it mention political truth because it does not exist, period. There is no political truth, only opinions that are espoused and held on to by whomever holds that belief. Long ago it was believed that God gave birthright to a family to become the hieratical mandate to rule a nation, until Thomas Jefferson wrote, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

Now we have two points of view who read this and believe that life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness means two vastly different things, rather than a common pursuit. The truth of the matter is that there can be but one absolute truth, that we are conceived, live and hopefully find our mate, have children who grow up and children of their own and then when all is said and done, we all must breathe out last breath. After that is up to our personal belief. Our opinions after death don’t matter.

Rolling Along with a New Book

Yes, my loyal readers, you saw right. Austin Macauley my publisher from my first two books, A Man’s Passion, and I Albert Peabody, has agreed to republish Edge of Darkness. As you recall I had my good friend Tyson edit and format the first edition back in 2018 and got it published through Amazon in 2019.

It is the beginning of the Four Seasons series that introduces you to Mark Marteau, Dave, Nicole and Dylan Baker, and Hector Gonzales, along with others who will come in later books. I signed the contract Saturday and will probably have to look for ways to start paying on this investment too.

I agreed to format it as eBook, audio, and soft cover print. I have found that hard cover doesn’t sell that well, unless you are buying it as a gift for someone.

If you hadn’t read the first edition, Mark is a retired FBI agent fishing on his private lake near Glacier, Montana, when his partner and friend Hector Gonzales arrives in new Dodge Challenger that’s supposed to replace the Plymouth Barracuda, he wrecked back in 1987.

Hector informs Mark that his godson Dylan Baker might need their help to rescue him from Che Lopez and his drug cartel. The story flashes back to a day back in 1977 when he and his first best friend Dave Baker solve a murder of Old Joe Murphy at a salvage yard in Pasco, Washington. He leaves Montana to help out Dylan, but his wife Charlotte gives him an ultimatum to return in 48 hours or she’ll leave him.

Now, the whole point of this series is how Mark has managed to make the Lopez Cartel and Che Lopez his numero uno antagonist, and how events, not necessarily of Mark’s doing has caused certain incidents in Mark’s life to come about.

I believe I have their interest at Austin Macauley piqued and they will agree to do the entire series that ends in spectacular fashion. I’m certain you will agree when you finish reading the last page of the concluding chapter in Desperado.

But first, getting these books done and, in your hands, to read and enjoy.

The Coffee’s Hot This Morning

I didn’t sleep to well last night. I think it’s because of my age that I either get woke up from forces beyond my control or someone wakes me up. Mostly it’s leg cramps and the three in the morning bathroom run. Last night it was the stepson who staggered into the bathroom we share at my mother in law’s house that woke me.

I stayed awake, I don’t know an hour or so before I drifted back to sleep again. My mind works, which my wife has told me is the problem. I’m not sure what she means by that but at any rate, I laid in bed, my eyes closed but my mind would not shut down and allow sleep and dreams to take over.

I mostly think about plot development in the latest novella I’m roughing out. Right now, it’s too short with the obvious suspect already pinned for the murder of Margarita, Manuel’s wife from 20 years before. Now I need filler to get more into the story from where it is now. So, I decided to revisit that time from 2000 just before it happened. That’s going to be the name of the book: Margarita: A Nick Roberts Thriller.

As you recall, I had to kill off Mark to create a new detective, Nick Roberts, who has the same foibles as Mark, but he’s slightly more ruthless, as you shall see in the book, Luke Warm. While Mark played by the rules, mostly, Nick doesn’t. And there is more tension between the characters from Tequila Sunrise and Nick’s detective agency, “Blue Diamond.”

So, I’ll make the story fatter, then what? Then the cat wanted outside, but I think she also wanted to eat. I get up and walk over to the bathroom and see it’s open, so I let her outside. Darn old cat anyway. I finally drifted off when one of the birds, I think it’s Avatar is having a bad dream or something because she’s making these weird cucking noises. She finally quiets down, and I fell back to sleep.

I heard my wife talking to the cat. She let her back in. They’re conspiring to kick me out of bed. The old cat drools when she gets excited. Stephanie thinks she’s getting abnormally thin. It’s summer, they’re supposed to be skinny! I say to myself. I made the coffee up before going to bed. All I have to do is flip the switch on the coffee maker. I let her get up and do that feat. I go and relieve my bladder. I go and get dressed. I went to the kitchen and the coffee is still pouring through the filter and hopper full of grounds. I wait.

I decided to write my blog though I don’t have any idea exactly what I want to write about this morning. I pour a cup of coffee in my Yeti mug. The coffee’s hot this morning.

A New Job? Maybe

As you all know I’ve been looking for work to help pay the bills and keep my sanity. I received a call—text message telling me they liked what I offered in my resume and cover letter. She invited me to go on another phone App and contact this individual who was going to interview me.

The job for which I applied for was proofreader for a publishing company through the Indeed job board site. It advertised for proofreaders and editors and copy writers. I applied for the proofreader position figuring it was probably the fastest position to get hired.

I’m old school and not used to using cell phones and texting apps in this fashion. I’m also not comfortably familiar with conducting interviews remotely. I know it’s the new normal currently but adjusting my way of thinking around this concept is frustrating at times

At any rate, I got the app up and was getting ready to call this person via video chat, which I thought was the procedure they wanted. I tried connecting with him and saw it going through. Six seconds later, the person on the other end disconnected the call.

I attempted to retry texting him, but I never received a response. Now I’m waiting for Monday morning to try and do this again. Hopefully my interview will go through this time. There is one thing I am realizing from this adventure, it is more complicated doing this job search this way than the old go to a place, fill out an application or turn in a resume, then greet an HR rep who determined by a handshake and eye to eye contact whether I was qualified to go any further.

As I have stated in many of my blog post, working is the only way I can function in society. I can’t understand people who are so lazy that they are comfortable not doing anything to promote themselves. It’s ironic how people rather not work than go out of their way to hunt for work. Like I said, I’m old school.

Writing For Change

I got my latest issue from Writer’s Digest the other day. Back when I lived in Spokane going on three months ago, I picked up the mail from my PO box once a week. Now, the rural mail delivers my bills, advertisements and periodicals at the mailbox with red flag just up the drive from the road I reside from, and I walk 200 yards to that mailbox each morning without fail. Anyway, in this magazine was the gist of the month’s theme, “Writing for Change.”

In her letter Amy Jones, the editor in chief described how excited she was at this topic the staff discussed at this time last year. “It shouldn’t take courage to write about things that are important to you, but often those are the topics that take the most courage.”

Now here is the biggest gambit a writer embarks on in his journey, and sometimes, though quite by accident, the theme that comes to mind isn’t as apparent until later when I read the prose. I didn’t feel courageous at deciding to write A Man’s Passion, yet I felt compelled to write the one portion of this book that was most worthy of what I felt needed to be addressed, the sport of lynching Black Americans because it was a socially acceptable tradition in the South back in the days of Jim Crow in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

This was following a 60 Minutes segment on the Peace and Justice Museum that opened in 2016. I didn’t consider it a topic of controversy in today’s climate, yet we have Black Lives Matter. Why? Because there are certain individuals who carry in their suitcase of hate and fear the desire to surreptitiously shoot and kill young Black men in the name of justice.

Now, according to Amy, it is also looking upon not just controversial themes that a writer must look at with a critical eye, but also the concept of writing that makes the story come alive for the reader; making necessary revisions, condensing the text, the syntax, even the individual words that can make a story either exciting or not. I have a small novella and there is a reason for that. I wanted to get the book in such a place that there was no ambiguity about what this story was about.

A Man’s Passion is small and short because I wanted the readers, you, not to drown in unnecessary and cluttered prose or be awed by purple prose that does nothing to enhance the story. My book is about a journey from point A to point B, with very few detours along the way.

Quoting from one of the novelists whose work that Amy highlighted, Carlos Luis Zafon, who wrote The Shadow in the Wind, “Few things leave a deeper mark on a reader than the first book that finds its way into his heart.” If nothing else ever gets published, I hope that A Man’s Passion finds its way into your heart the same way I felt it affected me.

This Bird Man

You have all heard of the Bird Man from Albatross, where this prison inmate befriends pigeons while serving a life sentence on the Rock known as Albatross. All week I had no idea what to write out as my subject for my blog for you my loyal readers to enjoy.

Then my wife got a voice message detailing about one subject that had been discussed some time ago and then this “Oh by the way,” came from out of the blue, telling us of an incident that occurred Monday about “Bird Man,” and how sad it was and that this person was going to pray for him.

We all knew who Bird Man was, he ran a pet store that specialized in exotic birds, some of which were rescue. I went online and found the article about how Bird Man had basically lost his mind and ranted about killing an employee.

I told my wife that he went off the deep end and was arrested for threatening the life of an employee, was charged and appeared in court the next day.

“That don’t sound like him,” she stated with disbelief. I agreed. He always appeared an extremely sensitive, abet high strung man in his late 60s, who gently raised parrots, cockatoos, and many smaller birds, plus offered boarding services, nutritious dietary foods and seed for sale and trimming services. It was unlikely we were talking about the same person as was reported in the news.

My wife in the meantime texted a friend and former employee. What I am about to state is hearsay and by no means do I even claim any factual basis in this. After all I’m hearing my wife read a text message from someone with a subjective opinion in this.

The person replied to my wife’s query about Bird Man stated that it all started when he got a little too aggressive toward a cockatoo, which I have seen him do. It’s him throwing his arms wildly in the air and getting the bird to react as if it were being attacked. The reaction is usually the bird’s crown rising straight up in its head and raising its wings as a means of appearing bigger.

The owner of the bird asked him to stop, that it had aggression issues. Bird Man apparently laughed it off then scooped the bird about in the air several times until the bird attacked Bird Man’s hand, biting it so hard it drew blood. According to this person, Bird Man released the bird while still in mid somersault and without the benefit of flight landed hard on the floor where it apparently died.

The bird’s owner took the bird to a vet, who determined it died from extreme trauma and shock. It got a little bit fuzzy as to what happened next but apparently the bird’s owner confronted Bird Man and the girl employee immediately quit. She apparently saw the whole thing and was understandably upset.

Again, according to this girl my wife texted, he went ballistic on the employee and this bird owner. Somehow someone called the police, the street the pet store was located, closed and SWAT was called in.

Bird Man is in a world of trouble. My wife thinks he’ll lose his business. I think he took too many of his medications that are prescribed to him to deal with a variety of ailments he has. It goes back to my own experiences with seniors and being so over medicated they suffer adverse, negative reactions that causes them to act contrary to how a normal person might act.

The person my wife texted wrote her that Bird Man had a darker side to him, a side that only the employees knew about but kept to themselves. She didn’t elaborate and neither will I. Suffice to say, it’s a sad and tragic episode. I hope he gets the help he needs and can live out a quiet existence. That’s all anyone deserves.

What a Week

This last week was remarkable and not necessarily in a good way either. My step daughter got married a second time to a second husband in a small church inside a small town just outside Spokane. My wife and I went, taking our dog Zeus and getting a motel that my stepson raved about, so she reserved a room.

It was a horrendous, stinky, carpet-stained room with cigarette burns on the bathroom sink and carpet. She got her money back and we went to another hotel with better accommodations. I don’t know what happened to my Yeti travel mug, but sometime either during the wedding or when we were doing wedding pictures, it disappeared.

I checked my emails and saw I had an editor position available, and they wanted to do some editing quiz and virtual interview. I put that notice in my archive file with the intention of coming back to it on Wednesday just before the deadline. That letter disappeared. POOF! I checked everywhere including my deleted box and it’s nowhere to be found.

Anyway, the wedding was a nice, quiet affair, as I mentioned in a small church inside a small town called Rockford. As I have mentioned in the past my stepdaughter is very religious and wears her faith like a glove for all to see. The vast majority of the groom’s guests, including the husband himself, were former drug addicts and recovering alcoholics who discovered God. He changed his name when he saw the light and accepted Christ into his life. It was Cole, now his name is Nick.

During the reception when everyone present stated their praises to the newly married couple, it was apparent to me that I once knew Cole, though we never met. As I mentioned in my own previous blogs, I too had my demons with regard to substance abuse. So I know Cole. He was a charming man who would do anything it took to get a fix. Cole was smart, he knew how to manipulate people, entrust himself to them while robbing them blind. Cole knew how to work the system to get every possible advantage. And Cole made fast friends whom he took advantage of. We all met Cole at one point in our lives. Now, he is Nick, and he appears happier, more trustworthy and more caring of others in his life.

So I’m home now and have been trying to get hold of someone here in Gooding that can look at and fix my desktop computer. It stopped working before I left to the wedding and have tried without success to get ahold of someone. All I’m getting are voicemail recordings to leave a message and they’ll get back.

Yesterday, out of frustration I called Best Buy and hoped I could talk to a real person at least, but NOOO! I was directed to an automated caller system and then asked if I would like to wait for someone to call me. I finally grew so angry that I unplugged my computer and drove 40 miles to Twin Falls, walked into the store and asked the first person I saw, “Can someone help me?”

He was a Hispanic looking young man in his 30s who asked, “Did you get a reservation?”

“I can’t get hold of anyone,” I screamed back at him. “I am very angry right now and I’m about ready to throw this computer in the trash. Now is there anyone who can help me?”

He directed me to a Geek Squad associate who tested it and happily charged me $200 to enroll in their plan and whatever the cost for repairing my computer will come to once they are finished.

 I’m happy now. Sometime in the foreseeable future I’ll get my other computer back. That week is behind me and am looking forward to next week that I hope goes smoother.

Smelling Like A Rose

I was never this lucky, I reminded myself when I saw the special news alert concerning Bill Cosby’s conviction. It’s most likely why I never even tried because I knew the consequences of ignoring when she said “No.”

Unlike many men who didn’t accept no for an answer, I appreciated and respected women too much to just merely shrug them off or later justify my actions in some way suggesting she “teased me,” or any other number of excuses, or in Bill’s case, just getting her drunk enough or high enough so she wouldn’t or couldn’t say no.

I don’t blame Bill for the outcome that occurred. I blame the district attorney who should have gone after him in the first place and not offer some deal that would negate the matter from going any further. Didn’t he read the Constitution about self incrimination? Didn’t he even care? After all, Cosby is a Black entertainer who could afford to lose a couple million in a civil case. Maybe he just figured Cosby’s lawyers were as ignorant of the fifth amendment as he was.

I don’t have to tell you that I truly believe in Cosby’s guilt. Even he admitted he more than likely crossed a line. He absolutely knows he violated a sacred trust with that woman.

On a lighter note I finished editing a new book that is part of a new series call Nick Roberts Mystery. This one revolves around a Native elder who is part of a sex slavery plot. It started with him abducting Native girls but later he goes after any girl he can get a decent auction price for. At the moment the book is titled Luke Warm: A Nick Roberts Mystery, Book One.

I’m started writing a first draft of book three, book two, is awaiting my blue pencil. Happy Fourth everyone!