You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘truth’ category.


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

 

Advertisements

The point. Trump’s latest action to separate children from their parents at our southern border is an administrative decision, one put in place by the DOJ, Sessions. This action is the result of a policy decision—NOT a law.

There is an important difference between a Law and a Policy. A policy can be the result of a back room deal brokered through cigar smoke, dosed in alcohol, sponsored by I.O.U.’s or any random opinion that makes people take notice. A Law, however, must be approved—voted on—by a legislative body unless you don’t live in a Democracy but under some guy wearing a large hat.

Maybe this quote?

“It is important to understand the difference between a policy and a law. A policy outlines what a government ministry hopes to achieve and the methods and principles it will use to achieve them. It states the goals of the ministry. … Laws set out standards, procedures and principles that must be followed”

Some think this swing in our border crossing enforcement is a hole-in-one for Trump! But a hole in what? Democracy? Human rights? Human decency? Rational thought? Introspection; love; hope for humanity? Or, is this policy decision really just a bagel hole that’s being sold as the real deal?

Anyway, what’s scary about today is the Head of I.C.E. was asked if he thought the actions being taken on the immigrants by border agents were Humane? He said: “It’s the Law!” See? Actually, we all know this grande immigration action fiasco that has so outraged the world and many U.S. citizens is not the result of a Law at all! Nope, this action is not by law, but merely a policy decision put in place by those who use nun-chucks for brains instead of thinking power.

I don’t want to get into how degrading this policy decision has been and still is to America and its citizens. I don’t want to rake over how this gross injustice is cutting the Statue of liberty at her knees and shredding the basic principles she stands for so much that soon she’ll have to take a knee! I don’t wanna harp how this improcedente action gives good cause for the U.S. to pull out of the UN’s Human Rights Council! We don’t belong on it! Sure, all of this is true but what matters most is the idiots who did this are still in charge.

2018 won’t wait forever; 2020 might bring America back to the land of the loving, the forgiving, the thinking, caring and leading people we have most often tried to be. America has failed before when it comes to Human Rights, but this border children round-up is putting the U.S. on the fast track to Hell. And it’s so ironic that this administration seems hell-bent against high-speed trains!

The ‘beef’ of the brief is out before us all to see. Trump’s directive to Sessions was a huge, bigly mistake and even his big mouth can’t gobble the words back up quick enough.

From the doctor’s couch: Trump was separated from his parents early on and now he wants to hurt everyone because of this.

Sigh—this is a, ‘hole-in-one.’

Franque23


(click the pic for a better view)

Our love makes a rose blush.

There’s a light between us; you know.

How can love move not as a sound, not even as a whisper, but with such force air is washed away to bring clarity?

Love is the moment we never forget. I will never forget.

*

Of all the ways of knowing, the heart is the true map maker of the soul. That map of a soul’s love burns without end, always lighting the way no matter how often it’s left.  The course seems unknown but it remains a lover’s best friend, always waiting to be found, read and followed.  To follow is best. This path dissolves differences in the soul as simply as a mirror loses a reflection.  Might we step away from the difficulty of life and walk into another space where love is the reflection? How far can that journey be?

(This is a stream we call , The River Sticks, that flows near Micanopy, Florida….my wife’s shot.)

The field of love is daunting and magnificent. Beauty radiates to shame the sun; light beams illuminate shadows without dispelling their shape. The glistening water, flowers of purple, pink, daisies of so many colors, even the fallen leaves thread together to become the softest thistledown that’s blown by purpose. Hearts hope to follow. Hearts watch and hear that gliding, floating seed as it infuses vision with images as real as our thoughts and dreams. Soon, our hopes become our visions and, if we dare, an endless walk to understanding ensues. There’s so much to leave behind and so much to learn again; the feet get tired but the heart remains determined.

When true lovers look out and see themselves, then, they know.

And when I followed the course of love, I went beyond the moon to pass Jupiter and Pluto to find a space beyond where Time began. There, I found you, again.  The Universe is never surprised, so my hand found your grasp to fit as if we’d never let go—we could never let go. Separation was never possible.

( this is my shot, and it went with  a glob I love...https://franque23.wordpress.com/2014/12/23/the-man-with-a-wave-a-holiday-story/  )

We fell spinning into the smell of fresh, spring grass. This was us. Love remained the flower, gentle, unassuming, radiant, a flower lost only to a moment repeated, forever. And in this moment the sun became a blanket; the breeze blew cool to perfectly lift your face. Birds sang, ringing my ear more in time than can be imagined but for the beating of a heart.

The heart is Life’s echo chamber.

I’ve turned around to find time slipped. There are so many painted canvases beneath beds that will never be put up again. There are so many numbers we’ve shared that we’ll never dial—so few are left to answer. Our voices though not gone are different. Still, my heart refuses to hear.

Of course, it’s time to listen. Everyone knows the time.

**

People say it’s a calling, a voice heard, a secret message from the heart as a tap on the shoulder so forceful it causes a person to turn to find no one is there. It’s time to revisit the waters, the field that seemed so intimidating at first, as if every step along my way would bend the grass and leave a mark unwanted. I leaped ahead to run and splash back then anyway, trusting love was there as it seemed to always be.

Jan, 1983 I know who to thank on this Father’s Day….

What a flight, this place called love. And what I have to offer in return are things that aren’t mine to give, the sky, the ocean, those crunchy shells in the beach sand at your feet, the wind, a warm rain and an icicle’s reflected light. I’d bundle it all for you but still the gift would not be enough to give in return for love.

“Words are never enough.” I read this upon a wall and knew a writer’s heart had left a message.

Love.

But, you know.

Bonaparte glistens….

Thanks Mary Sherman for this shot.

We love the Shermans

I’m on the far right with my cousins, sister and brother.

Franque23-

*This is Cassie Anderson’s first painting…It hangs in our camp at the lake. I’m in the boat with  her dad, Rob Morgan…..

**This is my brother, Ed Franquemont, standing before the steps of his passion-the Peruvian culture.


Gerald, the farmer. That’s not a title I ever thought I might stand by but, in some respects, it’s here now with me.

No, from the get go I announced as a small boy of four and then for some years after that I was, in fact, Gerald the Great! I’d march around our house with my wooden sword held high while my friends herded behind me proclaiming that, “I am Gerald the Great!”

There could be no doubt about my title. It was so well forecast by my mom’s natural golden shining hair and red lipped sweet smiles. My dad’s ever present smooth countenance, a demeanor so calm he could part the red sea with a single whisper, this man, too, had such a force his words gave swords to my armies.

I paraded armies of plastic men about the house for years, moving huge numbers of troops from room to room seeking the high ‘couch’ ground to gain advantage over an invisible foe. In fact, I directed and starred in these plastic men battles for so long I’m sure my mom must have wondered if, “The Nut case!”, should be added to the title, “Gerald the Great!”

I could never know the joy my first baby girl would give me.

Back then, I had to listen to the birds; the wind. I’d run across fields of dandelion knowing my song was in the air, that the sparkle in the dew upon the grass called. It was never hard to climb our apple trees highest limbs, catch, hit or throw the ball or balance precariously to walk across a 2X4 beam laid upon the ground. Life came easy..

Most mornings, the house rang of piano music played by my beautiful red-haired sister or mother whose apple pies usually scented the air by 10 AM. Perhaps, this is why when it came time for me to go to school I confidently announced that I wasn’t going to go. Of course, this is the first time I had to realize being, Gerald the Great, had its kinks.

I was the daydreamer in school; the birds were still singing. The white clouds seemed so much more appealing to see than the chalk streaks upon the black board. Schools friends were like brothers and the girls, so much smarter and with long hair, were fascinating.

 Sixth grade graduation…I’m in the back row, 6th from the right.

I drafted behind my brother’s spotless lead and fell into sports, wrestling from 3rd grade on, jostling lacrosse sticks on the field and running the football behind great blockers.

Ed placed third in the Nationals while wrestling for Harvard.

.

Music gave me a push, too. Wait!!! Whahaha, this is a very old photo and worn around the top left but if you click on it the picture seems to show my head smoking!!!!

It was my freshmen year of high school when my best friend, Bob Russo, and I attended a camp in Marlboro, Vermont, as counselors. One night, he slipped beneath the lake waters and never came back up. I’d been there, on the shore, but in the full moon light I was unable to locate his call for help. As daunting as that moment was to carry from then on, Gerald the Great, didn’t exactly go to the bottom of that lake with my friend that night, not entirely.  It’s  true, a part of me never left that shore line, but the burning embers of new love kept my glow alive through most of my remaining High School years. Thing is, Gerald the Great, did lose that night and I may have never found my way back.

Death has a nasty habit of sticking around, forever.

Life has a great way of moving on whether you’re ready to or not.

It seems we run to our shadows as we live.*

It’s years later, now, after the death of my friend. Of course, like most of us who live to my age, I’ve seen quite a few loved ones pass. I’m not sure if I see them best in the sunrise now or find them coming back most often during the sunset hours.  It’s all a wonder.

I had a renter, Ralph, a Vietnam combat vet who struggled with chemical poisoning. I liked, Ralph, and visited him often for no reason but friendship. One day like any other, he sat me down in his living room and told me this.

“Gerry, I appreciate your help here with the trailer; living here has been great. I’ve been going to the VA for several years now and they say my time is up. This is why I moved up here; to go to the VA.  Why I watch these damn combat dramas I don’t know.” Ralph turned off his TV set off. “Thing is, I was  in Sunrise , Florida, before I came here and one morning I decided to walk from my place all the way over a long bridge and make my way to the ocean. I saw a beautiful sunrise and heard a voice tell me that I’d make something out of my life yet. Now, I’m just dying; I’ve done nothing.”

I liked, Ralph. I hated to see his sunken shoulders, to hear his words. During my 14 years in retail I’d had complete strangers come up to my leather stands and announce they were dying, but this was Ralph, my friend. That I never knew his situation hit me like a dagger.

“Listen, Ralph, none of us can say what we have done when it comes to other lives. It’s that old image of a pebble being thrown into a pond; we ripple our lives through others in ways we don’t know.” We talked for hours.

 I found myself hoping I’d created waves with my life.

Funny, but I never went on to tell him how he’d rippled through me, and most of that I didn’t even hold at the time. Ralph passed two weeks later.

So, the point for, Gerald the Great, as the throes of life and death have surrounded me, is it came as no surprise to learn later on that I’d actually come from a long line of famous soldier regiments that fought around the world back in the 1750’s.

 

This is the palace where Von Franquemont’s were trained in math and warfare.

No, for me, I guess this time called life has always been a battle to win. Maybe, did I win? I have to think.

The rain came lightly down today as I picked our garden with the company of Shadow, my ever-loving dog.

I thought about a great friend, Anne, who just this past month told me the doctors had said she’d be dead by then. Her smile was no less bright; the warmth and compassion from her is no less spectacular than anything that ever was. Sometimes, this battle called life seems too much.

Anne is so much to so many. It feels as though she could never leave. She’s a tsunami of joy for the living spirit world.

I came in to leave this storm of thought carrying my produce to wipe the rain off my brow, pat down my dog and have some tea. It was time to regroup; time to kindle flames. It’s time to find the high ground, hit the couch, maybe read. I still hear the birds.

The young give me hope.

One day, Gerald the Great, may march around this house once more and if I do I’ll have to proclaim, “I never saw so much coming.”

Warm cheers for May

Franque23

 

 

*This is my son-in-law and our grandson.

 

 

 


(Click the pic for a larger view.)

Not many people grow gardens, at least not in my neighborhood and this amazes me. People certainly can see the food I grow if they happen to walk by. But let’s take a look for ourselves!

Whoops, I think we made the wrong turn out the front door.

Of course, the gardenia is this way and it’s a wonderful place to visit any time of day, especially when it’s blooming.

Too many blooms to count-well over three hundred!

Yep! Shadow’s there to block our way. I said, “To the garden!” and Shadow’s like, “What?”

Well, the bird bath looks good so we’ll turn around and head in the right direction.

That’s better! Just past the fig tree (on the left) is our destination.

A few musings as we go: I often share the fruits of my labor with neighbors throughout the year. Our oranges bear November thru April and various garden grown veggies come in during the spring and fall!

My back Florida room is often filled with pickings…these are oranges and grapefruit-the last pick of the season. Greening is a disease that is wiping out much of Floridan’s citrus crop and several of my trees, the Valencia especially, are affected as well. I tried mixing some of the green oranges in with good ones for juice but, really, those are a loss.

Hello! Writing books while surrounded by the last orange pick as herbs dry on tin foil behind me.

We all read headlines about the chemicals used on many store-bought foods as well as the gigantic recalls of food for different reasons, so why wouldn’t people want to grow their own food as much as possible and skirt around chemical usage? Of course, more and more naturally grown  food options are becoming available, but unless you’re at a farmer’s market there’s a shipping time to consider when it comes to the freshness of the food you buy.*

Hmmm, we’re almost at the garden. The one minute walk is quicker than any car drive I might make to a nearby store; there are no lines to stand and wait on in a garden, but there’s another VERY important point to growing food. Recent studies show the actual nutritional value of store-bought produce has declined over the years.**

Here we are.  A perimeter row of marigolds are nice to see and may help cut down on the aphid population. (To the left of the post is an orange mint herb plant…wonderful. Parsley, sage, basil, rosemary, thyme, oregano and dill grow nearby.)

Because I’m crusty old, stubborn—maybe stupid—I still water my garden using two sprinklers set five feet high on opposite corners…I figure the water falls like rain so what’s not to like? There’s so much more to write here. Briefly, I figure rain is the natural growing environment for any plant, with the rain drops stimulating the leaves as they fall, so why do studies show underground irrigation and other newer techniques of watering give higher yields? Maybe, the water amount is the only major factor in growth, period.

So if you click on the picture above you might see several very large leafy plants(one near middle post) that are collard greens. I point these out because they were actually planted last September and have been yielding greens ever since last October! The taller tomatoes in the background are about six feet tall.

Below, just off-center to the right, is a broccoli plant that was planted along with the greens and it has also been giving broccoli for the past 8 months.

Shadow used to help me weed and dig the garden AND eat green beans right off the plants as I picked them. This went on for his first two years of life. Now, he seems to know he’s a dog and simply lets me do all the work and turns his nose up at fresh green beans. Still, he can’t help but lick his lips when we go out there. Me, too!

You know? I think I’ll go smell those gardenia flowers, again.

Cheers- thanks for stopping by!

Franque23

** http://www.nbcnews.com/id/37396355/ns/health-diet_and_nutrition/t/nutritional-value-fruits-veggies-dwindling/#.Wv8JQDQvzcs

 

 

 


I think it’s time to sit down and type: I may have a cookie problem.

Cookies in computers are not exactly like cookies on a shelf. They help your browser locate your logins and stuff like that but hide info about you hackers might steal. So, unlike real melt in your mouth cookies to die for, computer cookies can be both good or bad for you.(:-) But why waste a glob on computer cookies when you can talk about sumptuous cookies to dream about?

 

It’s normal, I think, for a person to like cookies though I never have, at least not for many years. Sure, as a kid  me and my friends could stuff three or four cookies into our pie holes at one time and wash it all down with a coke(s).

“I’ll take three…”

This is how the terms, stupid kids, maniacs, wild jerks and heaven help us came to be. More, we soon figured out that we could sit in place and eat cookies and have twice the fun as we had going outside and spinning around in circles. Why work when all we had to do was eat?!?! (This was the start of the indoor drug craze.)

Cookies in the good old past made days better and parents difficult to hear. Plus, sometimes they came with fruit we never ate.

Back in history, it only took a kid once to understand that two cookies in the belly helped a fella get away from trouble faster.

We all knew the overdose cookie look when we saw it—those glazed over cookie eyes, uncontrollable, wiggling, tapin’ feet, that bent smile for no reason and a head full of bad ideas was easy to spot a block away. Having these famous symptoms was like wearing a scouting badge that outfit never offered but should have. Duh!

Merit Badge: catch a cookie in the mouth.

Anyway, about cookies. For me, doctor, it all started this year with Girl Scout cookies. I bought a box and then a few dozen more. Soon, I found myself daydreaming about how hilarious it would be to walk up to one of those small stands backed by a few moms and girl scouts and buy every box the entire troop had. Funny , huh? Then I started looking at my budget trying to figure how much five grand worth of Girl Scout cookies might set me back—you know, in terms of bills I wouldn’t be able to pay, maybe not ever. But, I’d have the cookies.

“I am sorry; I cannot help you. I am only a cookie.” —a Chinese fortune cookie.

It gets down to the fact that this cookie hobby of mine might take a doc to fix. Let’s just be real. It started with one cookie now and then but today I had four not counting another. Thing is, if we must be truthful, this whole cookie between my cheek and tongue habit really began with me picking and eating a home-grown grapefruit from my yard. I’m serious. The facts are I picked 17 grapefruit on Sunday, ate just one, and now, two days later, I’m eating four or five-ish cookies per day. Please tell me, the madness will never stop!

I’ve found Heaven!

 

So, I don’t need a cookie doctor but rather some expert on grapefruits. That’s nuts, huh? Go figure! I’ve never looked up this type of doc before, maybe, I don’t remember. But, there’s one thing I certainly need. I need a cookie hiding robot, sorta like the carpet sweeper thingy that goes around carpet cleaning all day by itself except my robot would specialize in cookie hiding.  The robot would know the minute I found the cookies and hide them again in increasingly more difficult to find locations. Finally, I’d have to dismantle the robot and put it by the curb—then, I’d be happy.

Obviously, this whole mess about eating seven or eight cookies is about happiness. One cookie makes a guy feel swell and two even better. Three cookies kick the day off nicely while four make you want to dance. Five, six, seven cookies make you delirious until finally you’re eating so many cookies you’re miserable and only cookies can cure you. The Girl Scouts know this, BTW. I should bring them grapefruits.

That’s about it for the cookie/grapefruit problem someone else had. This isn’t really about me, couldn’t be, no, not ever.  Not revealing their identity was hard work. I almost feel sorry for the guy. Anyway, I heard on Fox news that a fisherman said Thin Mints should be outlawed. It may be the next big splash on the airwaves.  News is all so tricky; what hooks and what doesn’t is hard to figure, right?

I guess my computer will save this cookie to the hard drive while I go eat one or ten circular morsels on my shelf.

 

Plus, I need a new scale.

Cheers

Franque23…gobble, gobble.

 

 

 

 


It’s spring. I haven’t seen as nice a one in Gainesville for three years. It’s cool and has been since March first. Here we are, hitting the last week in April and low clouds keep the sun off as flowers reach for the sky. Birds take baths for fun as bees hum like a humming bird’s wings.

Lately, for years, it’s been way too hot in April to call it spring. The blazing temperatures have started early and blasted through the land until October. But this isn’t the norm, not if you consider the past forty years. This year has felt right. The winter hit hard for ten days or so and now March and April have refused to spring forth too quickly.

Have you ever noticed how some people come into your life like season’s change your window view? Some personalities bluster their way into your life as a March 1st wind but then drift off, they move, change or seem so different from what you thought. Soon, they are quietly gone, never to be seen again, as if they were a lamb you never knew but watched trot over a hillside you won’t traverse. Other’s secretly appear without notice, but bloom in months or years right under your nose into your everyday experience and you can’t remember when they weren’t there.

Of course, there are those who insist on being every season of person—you call it a stormy relationship, one you can’t contain but wish to keep. They give both smiles and trimming to your everyday self.  You know, the self you think of being the same as when you were half as old. Some seasons of life pass so unnoticed, don’t they? The old whisper to the young, “Take your time and appreciate what you have.” Thing is, when you’re a young burning pit of passion and energy, it’s hard to find a moment to sit back and take a picture of your life. And, it’s even harder to picture life being any different. 

A dog’s love can be like this. It’s learn this, fetch that, let’s go or sit and then in a few short 12 years or so they are gone.* 

(Don’t miss the link below if you love dogs….)

The season’s passing give us our best sense of time. Sundials came to Babylon about 6 thousand years ago and then the ,”Midday,” concept was made popular by the early Egyptians. Pluto invented the first water based alarm clock, but I’ve no idea what this means. Okay, I’ll take a guess. A sand hour-glass balanced a pot of water above your sleeping head until the sand ran out and the pot dumped a pile of cold water on your face?

I’ve always hated alarm clocks.

It’s during these early months of spring and fall when Florida truly becomes a peninsula weather wise. The air inversions over the ocean sends a smooth wind across the sands, the thick jungles and built-up cities of Florida. It’s a bit like Hawaii in Florida during the two seasons—those living in Hawaii are so lucky, right? But, maybe, every place can be magical.

It’s hard for me to imagine a more peaceful place than a late afternoon up at Lake Bonaparte.

Florida Palms made me laugh when I first hit town some 48 years ago. You don’t find these up North. Tall, skinny, they don’t provide much shade but once you hear the wind blow through their rustling fronds you understand.

There’s a life to this part of Northern Florida, where there are still many more trees than people, and maybe many more lakes, streams and brooks than roads. Here, the bear, coyote, brown, red and grey fox trot. Deer move by mostly at night, even the wild boar plunder the brush—the panther lives. Like us, those animals and the eagles, hawks, birds of every kind, all living things are all touched by the seasons.

We live in an ocean of time.**

Thing is, it’s possible now that all the animals and even the earth are touched more by us than by the seasons. It’s odd to think that the entirety of life is counting on us. They’re counting on mankind making sense like the seasons have for millenniums, that we will come and pass to leave the future open.

Let’s leave it open…

( Thanks to Bonaparte’s web site for picture.)

A seasoned person is one well schooled by life.  We have great thinkers, great leaders, inventors of all kinds, but are we seasoned? Have we been?

I hope the sand in our hour-glass doesn’t run out too late to wake us up.

Franque23

We have to dream big.

*https://franque23.wordpress.com/2014/04/20/toby-toes-youre-a-good-dog/

** My wife of 38 years, though I’ve known her for 45, but who’s counting;-) Bye.


Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s doctor is the most important person in the world.

From every Conservative and Liberal Democrat: ” Ruth, please stay alive. We need your vote on the Supreme Court.”

If someone told me one year ago that I’d be praying for North Korea’s, Kim Jong-Un, to save the world I would have jumped from a high-speed train…

About those high-speed trains. Thank God America isn’t going full speed ahead on these. The old timey engines that huffed and puffed all that black coal smoke into the air are so much more nostalgic.

Also- about all that coal we love, I do miss the acid rains up north. It did wonders to clean up our road surfaces with pot holes while stripping those damn green forests bare! How else can we kill those evergreens?

As the saying goes—You can’t see the forest through the sticks…

So what about the Roses? Okay. I bought a tea rose-bush and planted it for my brother, Ed, when he died in 2004. Year after year deer would eat the bush down to the ground, but it kept coming back to bloom a scentless rose now and then. I kept watering the miserable always eaten failure of a rose none-the-less.

This year a completely different sort of bush sprang from the roots! Long thorny vines stretched eight feet out with no apparent blooms coming. I figured this was the root-stock of the tea rose and it may not bloom at all. I thought about removing the thorny vines. I waited…and waited. Then boom! A mass of the most beautiful red roses came with a wonderful fragrance! More than 28 roses at one time dazzled my eyes and nose!  The point: if we keep trying as a society to get what we want something even more beautiful than what we imagined may come!

.

It almost seems if a politician speaks out against homosexuals, abortions, sex affairs or any kind of lust then we can assume they are speaking about their well lined closet full of, ‘hat’s they wear.’ Some politicians claim to hate gays, abortion and whores! What they really mean to say is, “I am gay but, still, I have several girl friends under sixteen who have had to abort my would-be kids, and whores are sent by God to comfort me during my time of trouble.”

Thing is, in a bizarre way, Trump being noticeably crazy just might make Kim tow the line. Even Kim Jong-Un doesn’t want to mess with a nut job! So, Trump may get world renown credit for being bat-crap crazy!!

Our educational system is a nightmare! The last election proved it! Who knows what might be elected if we dumb down the whole process a bit more! The gutter’s not even the limit!

Oh boy- privatized, ‘choice’ schools that ensure some schools will serve privileged (mostly white) kids while the other schools will not. This worked well before, right?

Here’s a tip, look at any old photo that mentions Negroes and substitute the words, the poor, or, not-white, for it and you’ll get an A+ on any current reading test.

The current Republican’s in control of Congress and the White House are not prejudice—they just don’t like anyone who isn’t white or male!

I think having a meeting of all white men decide about a woman’s right to birth control is a , ‘no-brainer….’Absolutely, no brains. 

(This photo is a real picture of the congressional committee that made the decision on Women’s Birth Control rights……count the women. Hint: what number comes before the number, 1?)

If we can just drill our national parks and heritage sites enough, people will stop going to them and we can save all that money we pay for park rangers. And that dollar figure is about a zillionth of 1 % of our Federal budget! Psst-say nothing about the oil and gas profits; repeat.

The lack of bank regulation broke the American housing market in 2008 and brought about a world-wide crash. It’s super leadership that ten years later our Republican led Congress has just voted to loosen banking regulations again.  After all, some people made a killing on the crash, while other’s just literally died with no savings, no houses and no health care.

About Universal Health Care—it’s a good thing we don’t go there. Those massive walls America has had to build the past twenty years to keep out people from other countries that do have Universal Health Care is breaking our bank!  Hordes of people from Canada, England, France, Australia and other countries with Universal Health Care are sneaking or swimming over to pay more for less health care! It’s a huge, bigly problem. Right?

Why have Universal Health Care when we can pay more for less health care and lose everything we have to health care costs IF we get to be old?

In the past two decades the longevity of Americans has decreased from 11th to 42nd in world-wide statistics. Maybe we don’t have to worry about old age health care after all!?! Whoopee.

233 Republican Representatives actually voted last week to steal 2.9 Trillion dollars from Social Security surplus funds so they could take the money and spend it on themselves and pork projects. Vote every one of them out.*

Here’s what I say: vote these bastards out of Congress in 2018 and free the White House in 2020.

And all minorities, liberals, thinkers of all kinds need to join these folks at the polls in 2018 and then again in 2020.

Twenty six and seven-year olds were gunned down at Sandy Hook Elementary in 2012; many more mass shootings  have occurred before and since this massacre.  Those high school kids are right: it’s way past time to talk about gun control. Of course, action speaks louder than words…

Franque23

*https://www.socialsecurityworks.org/2018/04/12/politicians-steal-social-security/

 

 


I got up so late this morning I almost missed my nap!

Yesterday, Friday, I drove across town after work with my cone-head wearing dog* to get pool supplies, drove home and got the pool cleaned and mulched the garden for the second time this spring,

This is how I mulch the garden-I drive around and pick up other people’s yard rakings, haul it back in my car and dump it on my garden. This works well as long as I off-set the acidity of the leaves with lime.

Then,  I fertilized 17 citrus trees and replaced a cracked mower blade and mowed until 7:30 PM. It was a great start to what would have been a productive wkend until today, Saturday.

 

I ‘arose’ feeling so unlike the tea roses in our yard…

Today, I’ve a bad case of stuck-in-a-chairitush as I wonder if I should move to the couch.

Nah, the couch is like two rooms away and they say it might rain Tuesday so why bother to move now? Plus, there’s a 60% chance of raindrops today; that means going outside would risk getting hit by one. I might as well stay in butt-put mode.

Actually, here’s the deal. In my world, if it rained on Saturday all workers would get Monday off. Being off wkends is a hard-fought for union negotiated right! All the other work days of the week are just a bunch of made up crap—and there are soooo many!?!?!

So yeah, our wkend’s deserve payback from the week days if it rains on Saturday.  But what about rainy Sundays? Of course, to keep in line with our Judeo-Christian values rainy Sundays means workers should get two days off that following week. Why? Obviously, any rain sent on a Sunday came from God and who’s gonna mess with Him? If God makes it rain on Sunday then  he’s all in with us getting the two days off. Period.

But I have questions. Does God like to play golf?

And I have answers. The real reason for not paying my newspaper subscription is so I don’t have to go get it off the lawn right now. First off, this would entail me getting out of my chair, that’s iffy. Plus, the wind is out there; wind and sun, but I just know there’s also a raindrop or two out there somewhere and it might hit my head.

Go ahead laugh, but only bald people know about raindrops hitting heads. “Hats!” You say? “Bats wearing hats!” I say. It’s your turn.

But, being bald has advantages, too.

Dad’s WWII hat might help?

BTW, Kerry, a wonderful person to work around, hmm, I mean not to work around as avoid but, with, anyway, she had a dog named, Mookie, who retrieved the newspaper each day from the lawn! See-that’s good genes, but have you ever weighed your jeans?

I’m talking about the real kind of blue-jeans, not those thin stretchy things people wear over undies no one can tell you have on. No, this is about the good ol’ regular kind of jeans real cowboys wear–they’re freakin’ heavy!! So, no, I’m not wearing jeans today, just shorts and paisley patterned undies.

That should about do it though there is one more little thing. It’s great they have food service deliveries to the house door now, but who’s gonna feed me the food?

This day is gonna be full of work.

Franque23

*

Shadow has a cone-head today, but that’s another glob.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Eating ribs tomorrow means there’s no point in dieting today! Why create a hole now only to fill it later?

Really, I may have been a bit literal in my younger days—like yesterday back—cause I thought I was what I ate. I’d sit at the dinner table as a kid and feel my legs and arms fill up first as I ate; it was super important to leave my hands empty for dessert.

BTW—I own typo’s, and as a wirter ( whoops…see dyslexic, too ) I can’t spell, either. So, I invent ways to remember things like how to spell desert or should it be dessert. No, just learning that dessert you eat has two S’s won’t work. This works: desserts are sweets (See=2 S’s in sweets.) There, it only took me 68 years to figure this one out and I’ve about, oh, a zillion more word spellings ot nail down. Oooops… there’s another typo I make a living offering. Ot=to.

I took a class on Excel yesterday and realized I don’t misspell words, I just write in Excel type formulas …ot=to; ti’s=it’s; htey=they; these are just a few formulas I type by. Then there’s that nagging form=from. Of course, there’s a way to pick one’s often misspelled words and set your computer to auto-adjust those to the correct spelling. But form=from or vice versa would be a never-ending (typing) nightmare, right?

Thank you for asking what keeps writers up at night or daydreaming during the day.(Okay, this part is made up. Please someone ask me a question—I don’t care how random…)

 Sixth grade graduation shot. I’m in the back row, the sixth boy from the right. I started writing stories in fourth grade. My teacher accused me of not being the author of my first submission, (maybe I wasn’t?) The story was about a man wrongfully accused of murdering a woman but who, none-the-less, was hung for the crime. I went into great detail about the wood box the falsely accused man stood on before being hung. My mom had to write a letter saying she knew I wrote the piece. Thing is, the process for me was like being told what to write by a voice I heard in my head, a voice that didn’t seem like or sound like me speaking at the time.

Did you know there’s a huge debate going on about adverbs—you know those LY endings along with long, hard, quick type words. Stephen King hates them while Mark Twain rowed the same boat ‘Yinly’….but the Yang side of the debate is loaded with good writers, Bigly.

Point of view is subjective but simple for me.  I’m always right and you’re wrong should we disagree but none of this is really about the Point of View writers work on.

POV is a whole different animal.

The question is, should the story be written in First person, even if that of a dead person, Third person Omniscient or limited, Second Person so rarely used or does it all flip-flop by chapter?  And how about using the unreliable narrator technique?  Writers may write one passage or book in different points of view to see which works best and, if it all sucks, then just throw out the work but not before they hammer out a past and present version, too, just to see.

How long does writing take?

This varies by writer, times and situations. I’ve finished four full length novels now and see the approximate time frame for me between starting a book and then having it on Kindle pages is about 2 years per book.  I always start writing by staring off into space while typing away. I might type out one paragraph, or a page or a long story that ends up being several chapters before reviewing the work to correct obvious errors in spelling, grammar, etc. Then I re-read the work for syntax, a better expression or word to use. Quick or slow; good or bad: writing takes time.

Here’s a good example, and remember I’ve written this glob about once per week (more than 500 times) over the past nine years, plus four books are finished with another done but not corrected and two others started, so I do write.  Why I write is due to some sort of brain damage but forget that—. Recently, I wrote a one page prologue that I may or may not use.  My wife likes it and my first writer said, “very good.’  Still, I don’t know. Thing is, I spent about five hours getting that one page done and I feel certain I’ll work more on the wording if I read it over again. That’s the key, a writer is never really done with anything they write; a book just ends when the final editor is done and the book is put on Kindle, or in some format, or published hard copy.

So the very long answer to how much time writing takes has to be one word: forever.

Sunflowers growing from seeds dropped by birds at our bird feeder reach for the sky. It feels like forever.

To me, writing fiction is like living in a perpetual dream-like state that runs as a background to life 24/7 until the story is written. Then, in time, that story fades as a memory. Any disruption while writing, even an act of kindness,  can knock a writer’s angle to the story out of whack and it might take hours or sometimes days to get back on track, if ever!

My money’s on the dark place writers must go when they write. It’s called the soul. Whether they slip, slide, run, jump or dive head first, all writers have to get to the core issue of what they write if they hope to pull something good out of it. It’s a dark place full of fire; a tiring breath of fresh air. That’s where the stories take place.

I’m not ribbing you.

Cheers,

Franque23

(Writing time here was 46 minutes. Endless corrections and pictures about another hour.)

Top Clicks

  • None

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

July 2018
M T W T F S S
« Jun    
 1
2345678
9101112131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
3031  

Categories

Advertisements