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There’s a morning wind.

Today, from where I sit, the breeze will reach the sea some sixty miles off as it blows east. There, the translucent waves of green and blue roll beneath the calling gulls as the cooling, wet shore line comforts the feet of those strolling by. The shell white sand of the beach waits to be renewed or reclaimed by the pounding surf, and beyond it rises beige, wispy sea oats and dark green sea grapes that root in the dunes. A transforming landscape of sand and grass rises and falls to form a panorama that seems a dried mirror image of the ocean’s undulating surface. The oats will sway in the breeze much like sea weed moves with the ocean current. Here, two realms so different remain joined as one. The wind will touch it all.

It’s a peaceful thought as my coffee scents the air.

There was a time I thought I’d end up living along the shore, in the wind, with the sun, with the sounds and smells of the sea. Mom did as a child in, Recife’, Brazil, and somehow I dreamed I’d be as lucky. She took me to the shore often and taught me the ways of the sea, the surf, the hot sand and how the tiniest shell could sometimes be the most spectacular of the lot found that day. There were those sand crabs to dig after as they burrowed only to be caught so they might wiggle in my palm. We went to the ocean as a family and soon that vast, blue lined horizon became as much a part of ours as dad’s backyard apple blossoms.

Mom by the sea.

Sometimes I wonder if our dreams die like we do, or if they exist forever.

I’ve a good cup of coffee, but the memories are so much better. The wind entices me to wonder. When did I give up on that dream to live by the sea? I should have written the date somewhere.

But, I think I came to Florida in 1971 , in part, to be by the sea.

My wife and I have always visited the sea—our hearts beat with the waves, the light, the clouds and all those rolling, crashing waves.

A unique understanding comes when a person interacts with something as large as a mountain range, a desert, an expansive ocean or anything so vast as the diamond night sky. There’s a sense of oneness with the pebble, sand or shell at your feet, or single star overhead——they are so much like the size of us when compared to the entirety of life.

Ask a mountain climber, a diver or those who love to walk the desert why they do what they do. They will think, ‘Because I do’, and then they will offer words about this or that, words that can never fully explain the gut of the matter. Perhaps, the best way to answer is to say, “The majestic helps clear the clutter.”

Lake Bonaparte has a beauty each day, though different from one day to the next.  The views allow the heart to rest.

We all need to clear the clutter in our heads—the majestic world is our best reflection, our best chance to right the wrongs in our thinking. Our environment is us; say hello.

We need to make peace with ourselves.

Do you remember being ten and testing out a new pair of sneakers? How fast you ran; how you seemed to fly: you’d never be undone!

I’m the 8ish year old with his hand on his hip….and black speed-o

Growing up is fascinating and maybe we never stop owning that same self amazement throughout our lives. Maybe, internally, we all hunger for the truth, a correction in our way of thinking that sets us in place, a certain notion that helps identity our true sense of being in the universe.

My sister and I still meet at the ocean whenever we can…this is Roatan.

Maybe, this understanding is why we yearn to face the magnificent spectrum of life as it appears before us from place to place. It’s more than humbling; it’s being united.

Let’s get together. Let’s listen to the morning wind; it whispers the truth. Good morning.

Franque23.

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Please, everyone who wants to, go burn every shoe you have then take a hike.

The question is simple. Is there any kind of war that’s not happening now in America? Randomly, I’d say the only thing most American’s agree upon is that ice cream is at least okay.

All the rest, the North, the South, the Bread Basket zones and Coastal cities, the whites, blacks, minorities against minorities or not, the radical right, left, with the melting pot Brillo-ed out, the rich against the poor, the old in the way of the young, the war on fat or too thin, the what kind of man are you?, what bathroom to use or slate to clean?, no guns or fire away, it’s all up in air lifted and swirled by misunderstanding, hate, fear, mockery and assault.

We’re yelling at ourselves!?!?

Some days, I sit and listen to this song and dance in the living room just to get away from the mess of our society, never mind what I’m wearing. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JiQIisyncY0

(Want to feel better? Listen to Fogerty’s song in the link in this glob and watch the fall clip at the end…cheers! And oh, please forward! Thanks.)

Is America being undone? Or, is American being re-tooled by internal disorder that will lead to a more perfect union? Don’t ask me—I asked you!

Me? I might be in favor of how the Democratic party seems to be changing while I flat-out hate the way the Republican party is heading. Currently, cramming the hearing making process of a Supreme Court nominee down the throats of legislators who in the recent past couldn’t get their guy a hearing for almost a year feels wrong.  It brings to mind warm poop for breakfast. (or anything else as disgusting-use your imagination.)

Yum.. (please tell me this is ice cream.)

On a side, just a thought, has anyone noticed that Trump keeps saying Mueller’s investigation is a , “Witch Hunt,” but only Warlocks have been arrested? So, maybe, Trump should leave women out of this—just saying.

Who else thinks herding teams of lawyers into a padded cell won’t help America out of our grid lock-and-load? How about using a bunch of pandering gerrymandering partisan warring politicians? Yeah, not that either. What to do?

Idea!

We eat ice cream, like all together. American’s should declare a huge Eat Ice Cream day; just do it, and gain weight.

Don’t give up, no matter what, eat the ice cream. Let the ice cream wars begin!

Then we could have a long, 1/2 of a day when we all diet together for a moment. We could skip afternoon snacks, maybe. The bonding we need would begin!

This might not work, but then again think about this: what if American’s saved whatever they could over the course of one year (whahahha, this a funny thought.) and spent it on buying stock in ice cream companies. Then, we all could agree to buy ice cream stocks over the course of one week just prior to Universal Ice Cream Day! Boom! The stocks rocket up; American’s sell their ice cream stock and buy our representatives brooms so they can fly away higher than the stocks before they crash!?!?! Okay, this won’t work either. Why? The plan is perfect but for 1/3 of all working American’s have no savings at all, while another 1/3 of working Americans have 1000 dollars saved.

Basically, American’s have been screwed for so long nails might go out of business.

Bonus picture shows the Beatles traveling in a van doing gigs before anyone knew they liked ice cream too.

Oh sigh, it’s time to study our problems in this country and find solutions. But, it must be hard being a teacher now-a-days. Imagine going from teaching one year that anyone can be president to the next and having to explain why the president is a compulsive liar.

But, change isn’t new in America. Women couldn’t vote at one time and now they get groped by preachers on national T.V.* This sort of change is part of my life, too. I used to drive through a tunnel going to New York City and I marveled at the cops standing on the underground walkways by the road. It all made me feel safe; protected.

Years later, I went back to the city and drove through the same tunnel only to find the cops had been replaced by hookers! It was as if Mad Magazine had come alive. I now have a case of bad tunnel vision.

Oddly, I can’t find a single picture of prostitutes walking these isles as I saw later on…go figure? Thing is, I wondered right then, how did people stop to pick them up?  It never made sense to me.

Relax-eat some ice cream and dream you’ve gone to heaven, or maybe we’re in heaven and meant to enjoy the glitches? If you’re old enough, you might recall a popular song that asked, “What if God were one of us?

But, what if God is all of us?

Even Trump likes ice cream.//wait? What?

Anyway-have the best days you can. And, maybe, chill with the video below. Fall’s a-coming!

Cheers,

Franque23

*https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kuT1I36RVsU


Here’s the deal—no fish is going to an Ivy League school. It doesn’t matter how many fins they have, their underbelly colors don’t count and the tail size has no Equal Opportunity standing.

But, do fish think?

oh my gosh–I’m on a stringer–now what?

Of course not! Fish swim around dropping eggs like flies and eat each other when possible. The don’t really go to school, and how many very tiny books has anyone every found on the bottom of the Ocean, or any lake? I have yet to read any book written by a fish (though I’ve wondered) and they’re all nudist no matter the water temperature which is a bit off.

Still, this odd worm of a thought keeps luring me into its weedy lair, and it’s so bad I hate to ask. Fishermen/women, secure the oars.

Here it is on a swivel hook: why, or better yet, how can lures that once worked so well in the past not work to catch fish worth a flip ten years later? No, listen, this is important. Let’s examine the flat fish lure , all the rage in the 1960’s and thru the 70’s. It was a great, effective lure for catching Northern’s trolling or flipping the shore line for bass.  Now? It’s as if every fish alive has been through the drill and knows to never eat a flatfish lure? Why? How can this Be?  Is it a matter of fashion? But then this would indicate fish have a sense fashion? “Oh my God! I’d never be caught dead biting that lure!” The fish said.

See? What’s the deal? Do fish have amber-alert type memos that last beyond lifetimes? Fish ten generations removed from the flatfish lure eating frenzy still know today not to strike those lures. Let’s face it, it’s been 50 years since Mankind knew cigarettes cause cancer and we still smoke them! Or, how about those hamburgers I still buy from time-to-time in fast-food places? Those are good for me, right?

Yep, whatever the reason, fish seem to communicate important life lessons through generations better than humans. That’s odd; this is what I’m saying.

Okay, forget all the writing, just answer me this: why do fishing lures become less effective over time?

In the meantime, check out this great link of many, many interesting facts…they’ll hook ya.

https://www.thoughtco.com/hilarious-historical-facts-4154997?utm_campaign=wilat&utm_medium=email&utm_source=cn_nl&utm_content=12721193&utm_term=

Cheers…. have fun this wkend

Franque23

I let the big ones go. So, is this how it happens? “Tellin’ ya, I was abducted by a weird bald guy and put on a string , then let go…I got caught on a white plastic worm: don’t go there.”


About that Morgan-Franquemont conflict: The Royals verses the pirates.

It’s a miracle any Morgan Pirates survive, with Joe Morgan driving off of bridges as a kid, with ladies running a muck who need,’How to wear hat lessons,'(This photo blocked by the Who knows Who) and Dave Morgan, now gone, bless his soul, who once fell into the brink at age three without a care in the world or knowledge of how to float. Ripley’s Believe It or Not has maybe called me twice about this family,* but I’ve taken the high, Royal Road and decided to write this glob only.

To begin, it’s obvious the Noble Franquemont line is ready to take control.

It’s a Royal bunch…those who will lead us are pictured above and below.

We can rest assured of our humble Leadership.

And here is pictured the foundation of our Royal belief…our backyard entrance to our home’s Nobel courtyard in Germany-*(Thanks to my wife for this wonderful shot.)

Should you dare step inside the courtyard of our ancestral home, you would see this.

And here are some of our joined generation that solidified the Franquemont (okay, Morgamont) victory at Lake Bonaparte.

But, truthfully, most Morgan pirates need to be in jail. NO, really, I think I could sell them time shares in prison!

It’s not because of their politics, their thievery, their gluttonous drankin’ and absolute aversion for just about anything normal, no,,,these are their very best parts. The worst of the lot lie in the shadows of innocent looks, half bent smiles and spineless attacks when the Royal Franquemont Guard is sleeping, or talking , or eating, or just fartin’ around paying no attention to the Pirates.

Do you see how young the pirates begin to sneak their way into our unsuspecting hearts!

And Pirates the Morgan’s be, every lad and lass of them, the worst sort. Call the cops! No, wait, he’s one of them no good, double fistin’ potato chip eating lot.

The fellow on the right is by marriage one of them, and he’ll arrest anyone of us on the spot—the cop that he is. The middle man, Nick Morgan, be just that, a go between who claims the Morgan name but not the politics. And on the left, a Royal, Craig the Car-is locked,(Carlock) member who listens to all sides.

Well, at least the Morgan’s will have trouble posting bail….oh wait, one of them was or still is a fierce bail’s man guys?

The Morgan man at Dakota’s back was once a bailsmen. Ben the Morgan is now an insurance guy. Ha! He wants to insure your life.

The Crime as witnessed this past July on the 24ish upon the dock of Innocence….

It was a clear day, the waters calm, as I stood unsuspecting on our new dock, recovering from three cracked/bruised ribs, a torn right leg and fatigue it’d cost me to build it**.  Mike the Smile, Pirate Murphy, as he’s called, came kayaking up to me all, well, smiles. Aye, if I hadn’t been in such a pleasant ruling mood I might have notice his smile seemed a bit skewed. Sure enough , our pleasant conversation was soon followed by Nick the Wicked and his protege, Blake, known as Blinko the Pirate, who laid my smiles to waist. I always take the high, Royal road so I never suspected foul play as Blinko raced up the stairs while Mike the Smile Murphy and I shared conversation. Moments later, Nick and Blinko hauled ass off in their kayak with my beers and soda’s in hand!!! Yellin’ all the while! This will forever be known as the Slithering Smile theft of 2018.

I’ll have em’ walkin’ the steps to the lake when I catch up to them.

(Our half way dock steps.)

They took my very best beer—not to be replaced throughout the reunion—and some super soda I’d never miss. It was a horrible sight, and then Mike, the bad smilin’ Murphy, slid like a snake away in his kayak to follow the pirates.

This is typical stuff from the Morgan Pirates; I have to cheer, Nick Morgan, however, who is smart to realize in his own words, “Trump is a con, a cheat and lizard eating suck head with no brains…”***So there is hope for the genes. Anyway, with our Franquemont Royal empathy I will spare the Morgan lot this time.

For now, let them eat ice cream!

(BTW-this is one shot of the new dock.)

The decree has been decried? It reads like this: “I don’t know, something will happen in two years at our next reunion…dead fish in the frig…something.” This man in a new Franquemont helmet guarantees it!

Meanwhile, I’ll be checking passports when getting aboard from now on.

But there is one more thing. Through tough negotiations, tireless days and nights on scotch and beer, we have decided to claim the Morgamont dock, ( a half-way dock located between the bluff and lake as pictured four shots above), as a safe heaven from any intentional farting, photo bombing or fire burning, stuff like that. It’s sorta like during World War 11 when countries agreed to not bomb special places like France’s, Versailles, as they bombed and killed 60 million people else where.

We will, instead, follow this new helmet wearing man to the,’New,’ Marina and camp ground…

It’s all good.

Franque23

Calling me the absolute, forever King will do for now.

  • Not true….believe it or not.
  • **Our ancestral home in Germany.
  • ***See previous glob—Bonaparte Dockin’
  • ****This may not be an exact quote….

 

 

 

 

 


Long before Elvis knew he’d be a star

Or, when Chuck Berry showed the world how to play guitar on Johnny Be Good…

Yes! Even before John Wayne saved the West…

The Morgamont genes were already in motion.

Simply…Two households, both not alike in dignity,
One in fair Iowa, where we lay our scene, and then to the lake,
From ancient grudge of dogs. Socks and Specks, break to new mutiny,
Where pirate blood makes Royal hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two friends
A slew of star-cross’d cousins take each other’s beers;
Whole misadventured piteous throws in the lake
Do with their new sign bury their parents’ strife. (As if…)*

So long ago, before their division, they stood in the same row, but without a boat between them.

My dad(far right) and his sister, Virginia,(middle) had grown from among the flowers in my Grandma’s garden.

So near the Dutch Elm lined streets of Des Moines, Iowa.

And as to my father, neither he nor his dad and brother’s knew before the war what fate lay ahead for their lives and their children’s frolics. The sun shone on every face.

(My Dad, Max, is the oldest next to his dad…before WW 11)

Soon, the brothers split into different war divisions to fight for America. New uniforms were put on, new bonds were made and the flower of family grew beneath the struggle of separation.

My dad stood strong.

His sister, Virginia, met a soldier.

And during the war, the new families met at Grandma Franque’s house in Iowa, or where they could.

My mom helps at the table in Des Moines while my sister, Sharon, seems quite happy!

Here is some very early evidence of the merge to come between the Morgan pirates and Royal Franquemonts!

The die was cast, as my Uncle Mo, Aunt Virginia, and the Roland and John Franquemont group conspire to create history. My grandparents stand helpless to stop it.

My Uncle John and Aunt Donna were too happy to notice how the drift of time was tumbling..

Only the very young, Robin and myself, crying as we were so aware, foresaw the coming, Franquemont, Morgan, Morgamont was near..

Bill and Buzz Franquemont stood in shock while Jim and Joe planned their escape on bikes…

Alas, those Morgans grew a cute bunch. Robin with his Bow tie and Joe with a look that could sell any car he’d driven into the river. Claudia a looker from the start and Ginny realizing she had her hands full.

Yep, in the end, I’ve come to love each and every last one of them—and I’ve met some in far off places…like the two wearing super funny hats…

.

As it turns out, what the Morgan pirates steal best is the theft of the heart.  So back in the day, I guess the grandparents, the parents, they all knew what they were doing and they could not have laid the bonds between our stars stronger.

Maybe the night sky at Lake Bonaparte whispered the truth loud enough so we could hear.

And to think, they’re always there…

Yes, I think Lake Bonaparte can help show the light.**

 

From the old to the new. The lines will continue to grow together, and never apart.

 

On a night to remember Dave Morgan…

(around 1956)..(I’m the sexy kid in the Speedo)

We’ve come together many times at Lake Bonaparte. And of the last two times….

 

(2014)

(2018)

The full moon came over the Morgamont Dock for the first time. (July, 2018)

(Franquemont camp and dock is on the right—the Morgamont deck  is just above)

Cheers

Franque23

  • Read more Shakespeare
  • **Yes, these are actually night sky shots taken at Lake Bonaparte…Thanks for them, Ross Franquemont.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


r there dyslexic birds?

I’ve always been dyslexic, but because I was born one million years ago I only learned of the condition while in Clolege.  So here’s to putting hte cool in shcool. No wonder phonics wasn’t my best sujbect! It was a great relief to get to know how my head worked, and once I did my grade average went from a sub pair 2.0 to a 3.7!  All I had to do then is what I od now—question how I see things, realize when it’s backwards and correct my understanding of whatever it is I’m erading, looking at, or writing. I can convert anything-right or wrong:-)…

I write books that are on Kindle that make editors spell for me….I have to laugh, one editor once asked, ‘Why are yoru sentences always inverted?’

So tell me, how does it change dyslexics to take a light bulb?*

Thing is, really, my body just hasn’t gotten the message about this,’let’s not be so dyslexic,’-ont at all. No, my bodsy’ backwards from ear-hair to navel fuzz. Here I am, clearly a twenty-ish type pushing some other galaxy of age so why the bursitis in the left knee, or slow moving knees, why the left-eye occlusion and the turkey neck that makes me dihe through all of Thanksgiving tmie? Why can I talk to my jingling ellby? And Asthma inhalers are not the death of fresh air they’re meant to be but, man, they take the pharmaceutical’s money right!  See? My entire obdy is going dyslexic on me!

I’m younger than a bean sprout but my face has age wrinkles, weird, my head is missing my hair, astoundingly bizarre, and my get-up-and-go is beating me to some place I can’t seem to find. What I need here is a good walyer. I’ll sue my odby and win whatever’s left of it. Vey, oh, why bother!

still, some people think they are beavers…so maybe i’m koya

Of course, some things still work fine: (I can’t believe you thought that-that’s just wrong, like really young of you.) I mean I can snap my fingers, wait, not so much; at least I can see, sorta, using a different set of glasses for every kind of seeing distance; I can whistle, no, actually I never could; I can do the tiswt, though I’d never try it again; I can talk about times I lived through but never knew; and I’ve got lots of stories to yell cause I’m still dancin’ inside, byba.

this is actually Billy the kid’s friend who shot him..but this has nothing to do with this post… ceehrs**

Yep, I’ve got my head turned around so it works but this body thing is a feakin’ dumb-ass diesitter. Yoga helps, but I’ve lost my mat and I can’t find the floor. Bending over to see things upside down seems all too familiar to me while breathing heavy while working out means some of that god hair I find under the couch is actually going into me instead of under the conch. I know it’s good to rush blood to my head while bending over but does it ever leaf my skull? No, this entire upside down workout cesspro may be why my ears and head aer twice the size they were ounce, gone lgoa.

Let’s ace ti: I don’t know my bowel from my elbow, but is there really umch of a difference?

the Cliffs of Moher never shave…

When you get right up on it, being dyslexic isn’t much the same as anything that’s so different. So hwy lla teh kalt about it…?

It’s odd , but spell check just isn’t ehlping.

Franque32

  • Slopped from aonther tighs.
  • **for some other glob.

*** “Body Language worth noting” (Translation)

 

 


Thirteen years ago I built a dock with cousins. This year’s dock is my last, uno over, no mas, caputio, last forever to build. Promise—

building the dock 13 years ago.

The reunion of our families happened again this year, and in a big way. First, though, there was lots for me to get ready for the crowd. Me? I hoped to fish, fish, fish during the eight days lead time I had until the reunion start day plus some other stuff done—like covering our aging dock in plywood sheets to steal one more year out of the structure—

I arrived to an empty camp…

And thought about the picture I’d had taken of me while holding a shot of my dad sitting before a fireplace when he was in college some zillion, light-years ago.

I thought about the fishing I’d get done before the gang arrived…

This shot is from 2012. Not a bad night in Mud Lake.

2008

hmmm forget date,,thought it was on picture.

I’ve caught a number of good fish over time but the monsters usually come years apart. This year was different.

It took Thursday evening and most of Friday for me to ready camp before I could venture out across the Lake and ‘test’ the waters at about 6 P.M.

Boom, as pictured in the previous glob, the big ones hit.

I stepped off the boat and about promptly fell thru the dock to my hip/.

My right leg was bruised from calf to upper thigh, and those marks would take twenty days to almost vanish—It seemed after inspection that topping the dock for the reunion was a no go, and I’d have to replace the entire dock before 49 people including 21 children showed up in a week’s time.

The official estimate to replace the dock was 7 thousand, so I bought 2 grand worth of lumber and rallied with friends, Randy, Brain and Tony to get her done. I spent two days ripping up old dock boards and hauling the wood laden with nails away for safe keeping to a burn pile. Then, Randy showed me a better way to remove the boards-rather than plying them up one by one, he cut the heck out of them first so the small boards could be sledge hammered up and off.

Three days later we had about 2/3 of the lumber in place for use to build the new dock and tools in hand.  Dock work is tough in and out of the water work, and dangerous. Tony took a broken piling steel cable into his leg, but he’d just gotten a tetanus shot so he carried on. My leg hurt but so does life. It was the third day as I walked on an old beam we’d all used as we moved docking boards when it gave out under me. I fell like a stone and hit a piling timber with my ribs. My guess was I’d fractured a rib or three….but what can you do with that? Nothing. I steadied to realize I could breathe, move with pain but not danger. The job went on, but from that moment on I couldn’t use my left side for strength, and resembled a snail on dry land while working, especially when hauling my butt in or out of the water.

The job took 135 man hours, (65 of mine)and some long days-Randy worked one 13 hour one day by my side. We  sorta finished—all but for one hundred top deck screws I did later—exactly one half day before my grand children arrived and one and 1/2 days before 49 relatives came.

We had the most glorious week for the reunion…and all the while I remained thankful the weather had held for us dock workers the previous week. Up there at Bonaparte, bad weather can stop everything for a day or two if it decides to.

It came time for everyone to leave and I dropped my grand kids and wife off at Utica for the train with another day and one half left to fish–at last…..Ha;hahahaha…. not.

For some reason I thought my dock injuries were done?!!? Yeah, so my last night there I hit Mud lake only to have the sky dump rain on my head as I raced back to the dock. Once there, I notice an umbrella had been turned over all the while of the reunion. If only I’d realized the one dock board with nails I hadn’t removed was secretly hidden beneath that umbrella’s fallen top. I lifted that umbrella top to right the stand, the board slipped off the upright and landed a 16 penny old, rusty nail into the top of my ankle.

Think Mash (tv show) when I pulled that nail out of my ankle…I ran up 48 steps to wash out the wound and get a towel to soak up the blood… ten minutes of pressure and a first aid kit later I raced to local medical center room but it was closed. I headed back to the lake and noticed the sky had cleared and hobbled down to go fish again…(clearly, I’m a fisherman with a huge problem, doctor.) In truth, the real pain didn’t set in for about two hours. Once I returned to camp, I realized I was in the worst pain I’d ever felt. A relative got me to Carthage hospital for x-rays, antibiotics, and pain killers.

I was resting in bed by four A.M. wondering what I might have caught this year if fate didn’t hate me.

So now,,,almost a week later, I’m home, working, recovering as the swelling and pain are subsiding. Dang it, if I’d only gotten to fish more.

Here’s to docks everywhere–they are a pain in the butt to build. Dock nails can go to hell and if you catch a big fish this year at Bonaparte that was the one I would’ve had if only…..Nah, actually, it’s all good. I loved building the dock with the guys; I’ll fish next year and not fall thru it!

Franque23

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Lake Bonaparte has a knack for drifting the sand while holding the heart.

This shot is of my first night out this year, just before my plans came crashing down along with my dock. But please, don’t ask me about the dock we HAD to re-build before this year’s reunion. Heck, the next glob is about that. For now, it’s all about my first night out fishin’ and me coming back all grins.

What you see here is a 5 pound bass, a 4.5 pounder, and two smaller varieties though one may be that huge sunfish I caught to kick off the night. I had the larger ones measured and weighed by a fellow who was also fishing in Mud Lake at the time with two lovely women. Some guys have the best luck! Thing is, it’s been near about ten years since I caught a monster bass, and these two came within 30 minutes of one another. All top lure, split Rapala’s.

I think they both went 18 inches, but the main thing is I’m as convinced now as I was then that this year is the year of the lunkers…Good luck fishing. One man in our reunion group caught about a four pounder off the dock, and another slightly smaller right in his boat house. But, perhaps the strangest catch was Dakota’s reel in of a good size bass that wasn’t connected to his line or lure at all, but to a line the fish had broken previously that got tangle in Dakota’s lure on the retrieve!!!!

I couldn’t wait to get out to fish again, but I about never did for the next of all the twenty day’s I had left to fish up there. There’s good reason—that’s the secret in the next glob.

It was a reunion year, and the Franquemont-Morgan gang had a freakin’ blast.

This is the cook-off contest and the five judges were clearly paid-off not to pick my stuffed mushrooms but some other foreign dish cooked by Nick with a name no one could pronounce.

But, before I sob in my gravy, someone asked me how big fish used to be in Lake Bonaparte, and although I’ve no idea , there’s this picture of a kid bringing in his catch to Priest’s so long ago. As a kid, I heard plenty of stories(all true no doubt:-0) of Northern’s pushing six feet long coming out of the lake. I’d give about anything to have those pictures that lined the eatery and penny candy store at Priest’s….One huge, gigantic fish after another,,,the types we don’t see at all anymore. (Thank you  Jesus since I skinny dip, or now, chunky-dunk)

This is an old photo of a typical catch long ago at Lake Bonaparte

We did a zillion things as a family this year, pirate hunt, pan fish, dance, bowl, Ice cream sundae day, games, dock-out, and rock out with painting them.

But, the Ice cream boat!!! Oh my…

We mobbed the boat every chance we got..the reasonable prices hit the mark and the selection drooled the mouths.

The two families slid in every direction and never met a face they didn’t love.

In fact, the Morgan—Franquemont families have decided to name our 1/2 way dock down to the Lake….Morgamont. Now, if you see the sign you’ll understand.

Of course, some couldn’t make it this year, and other’s never will as they’ve gone to the other side or maybe flipped the Venetian blind between us.

I’ll forever miss my cousin Rob Morgan

And so many others who did or didn’t know the lake.

The waters run swift in season in a State Park,  just east of Harrisville (Glenwood Falls)

But when the 21  children of our reunion handed me a petition to return our reunion to a two year cycle instead of the four we were on, I knew what had always been true:

Nothing runs as deep as the bonding waters of Lake Bonaparte—that’s the truth, and the soul knows.

Have a great August and Fall at The Lake….

Franque23

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


(takes a minute to load)

I clipped this off Face Book….thanks to whoever made this video (Shop Rite–ad) and shared it as well…..

Enjoy, Franque23

 


Did you know Alabama found Session to be too racist to be a judge in the 1990’S? This is no joke; really—ALABAMA, people, thought Sessions was a racist!!! Oh my Gosh….and now he’s the head DOJ?

I’m not sure if nothing bothers me or if things bother me so much I can’t bother? Okay, I do bother…

Can we just agree that Trump, to push aside so many of his bad qualities, is a racist?

But that’s not what this post is about—this post is about you and me, no matter who you are.

I had an epiphany this past weekend and it came by way of one simple, short conversation with a guy who I came to like.

Vince drove up on his Harley.  The machine screamed of care with shiny chrome from head to toe, elaborate exhausts, a piggy back seat and good size box in the back adorned with a tiny America Flag decal. The thing purred up to our house as he arrived to look over some work he might do for us. Six- foot, muscular, Vince had just shaved his long hair off for charity but his arms remained strong and his smile bright.

“She’s a beauty; a 2001 with a smooth 2800 rate?( I’d no idea what he was talking about) with a four-stroke. Runs like a top until now; been misfiring, I can’t quite get it .” Vince broke into conversation the minute he caught me eyeing his Harley.

“This thing is beautiful. What a rig! ” I kept wondering if you have to polish the chrome or if it just stays this shiny. (this is a good side view of one like Vince’s machine but it lacks the chrome I think.)

“She’s a honey; she been a great ride.”

I liked this guy. There was no denying I felt him a genuine person, one who wears his feelings on his sleeve and means no harm.

“It’s hard to find a time and place to take her to the limit.” Vince smiled and I absolutely understood. BTW, why is it some car odometers go to 120 mph when you’d be lassoed and court ridden for years if you ever dared?

(I have to digress here….in the 1960’s the road out to parking lot number nine at Jones Beach and then on to fire Island was so deserted you could take your car up to ninety or beyond without much worry.)

“I bet. But, it’s got to be nice to cruise as well.” I marveled at the bike’s beauty.

This picture is fuzzy, but it shows more of how Vince’s chrome worked with the dual exhaust?

“Hell yes, brother.” Vince smiled again.

There’d been something on my mind since Vince first drove up on his Harley and I felt it was safe for me to ask. “Tell me. What do you think about Harley maybe having  to leave the country?” I didn’t even include, ‘because of Trump’s tariffs.’ but I know he knew what I meant.

“Nah.” Vince brush the air before him aside. “That doesn’t mean nothing.”

I stared right at Vince knowing a few things.

1)Vince loved his Harley, and has for years and years. This bike was a passion of his.

2) Vince was a smart guy and knew exactly what I was referring to when I mentioned Harley leaving the U.S. of A…

3) Vince had a conflict of interest between his Harley loving life and his support for Trump.

4) Without a second lost, Vince had effaced himself and his love of his Harley and dove head first into supporting Trump.

5) This moment was so real inside Vince that I’d witnessed a flight or fight reaction from him within one second of time.

6) Vince had chosen to lie to himself rather than entertain having a possible ideological conflict with Trump’s policies.

This is huge! I silently watched a fellow who I knew instantly I could befriend deny his own true heart for a political party.

I thought of all the republican supporting moms who would never want to separate children from their mothers but still support Trump…

I thought of all the republican supporting people who desperately need social security and health care to live but who still, none-the-less, support a party determined to end both…

I thought of all the republicans who aren’t prejudice, but never-the-less support a man and group of republicans who are…

I thought of millions who believe in the Bible but seem to support those who only claim to abide by those principles noted in the book—just ask google to show you the tenants set by Jesus and ones given in the old testament that conflict with current Republican agendas(policies) and be amazed…

I thought as I stared at Vince and my heart sank; it sank for him and for me, and then for America.

I would have told you long ago that a person who deny’s his own true heart for another’s agenda was lost, in so much need of help. And here, right before my eyes, I came to understand that today we have an entire voting force of people who mostly do that exact thing. How can this be? How can a huge lot of good Americans, and I mean that, be so programmed that they vote against the very things they believe in? And when they do, they say–“Aww, that ain’t nothing.”

It is something. It’s a first here in America. American’s are the ones who have always stood for what THEY believe—not for what someone else tells them to believe. Fox and other radio shows have worked their magic and convinced so many to vote against their own hearts….

It’s sorta like a Dracula experience.

Really, what else is it if you vote against your own healthcare, your own social security, your knowledge that taking babies away from mothers is wrong and give up your own soul for something other? How is it that Vince, who loves Harley’s, claims to be good with the company leaving his beloved America? It’s not natural, or good. The republican voter has surrendered their own sense of self for the promise of power and , in this way, an everlasting hold on life.

We’ve never seen this sort of mass hysteria in American politics before and, yes, I’m voting and praying we can turn our American hearts back to good.

One more thing: I’ve been thinking that if Trump’s policies hurt enough people his supporters will turn around and change their allegiance to him and vote Trump out. Now? I don’t see Trump supporters changing their vote no matter what he does.

Franque23

 

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