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(A Morgan-Franquemont reunion about 1951) Click the pic for a larger view.

Maybe I thought my sister might drop me—why else would I be crying?—pretty sure that’s my best diaper.

Remember being young for just a minute. There’s no hassle waiting to destroy the next minute, no bus, train, plane to catch or deadline to meet. No, you’re just young. Your skin is soft without a blemish and your hair shines like  grass after a brief rain.  You’ve learned to comb your hair but your not exactly sure why you do it. There’s no need to worry and everything feels right once your parents are home; the fire place sets itself and your dog is always fed. T.V. goes on past bedtime but you’ve seen everything you wanted to see and the day has come and gone like any other. Dreams come and go like the wind without cause or problem or forecast direction.

Everything just is. Do you remember now? Shoes or belts seemed useless unless you were playing dress-up.

(Our Son-in-Law running after his son.)

The world is an empty beach to run with dad close behind.

The sky is endless and full of mysterious clouds to watch as they drift by.

(My cousin’s son, Ross Franquemont, takes a selfie as he flies by the Northern lights in his U-2 plane.)

Remember the first time you stared at the clear night sky and realized there were more and more stars to see up above as your eyes adjusted to the blackness. Remember the morning dew on your bare feet. This is about the time you discovered ,’brain-freeze.’

There was so much to take in and share with your cousins and friends.

A la speed-o suit; that’s me.(Morgan dock at Lake Bonaparte-about 1956) ( AND… the person who edits this glob weekly* asked a good question: why am I the only one wearing a bathing suit? The dock is clearly wet?!?! Hmmmm)

Days come as easily as picking up a pencil. The scribbling on the paper wears a smile and it seems your masterpiece is, in fact, a heroic depiction of something meaningful to older folks—it’s some miraculous sketch of objects you’ve yet to see or a panorama of places everyone hopes to go. It’s good to be loved. Daylight loves you; nighttime is a blanket. The rain sounds loud upon the window pane and snow dances in street lights with winds that come from the moon you can’t see.  The pets always sleep on your bed.

Everyday is safe. Every night is cozy. You get along with other  kids, even with those who seem so different!

Being young harbors within it a certain kind of peaceful hope.

(View of Lake Bonaparte from our ‘half-way’ dock.)

Without notice, you assume the older folks will always be here.

Life seems a garden of acceptance.

You can wear any hat you want when you’re young!

(And on Youth Services hat day because we could.)

Routines begin to form. If it rains, you stay inside. If it is sunny you go out. Parents rush off in the morning and come back later after your nap but you’re never really alone, not that you’ve noticed or ever thought about. Tooth brushing is a daily important thing, not the best, but you watch as globs of toothpaste slide out of your mouth onto your cheeks around your out-stretched smile in the mirror and it tastes sweet. Tooth paste types change from being white, then striped, sometimes dotted or with a hidden line of stuff surrounded by white. You just do it.

You think broccoli may kill you but not if you eat just a bit. Vegetables are stupid but they’re the gateway to dessert.

I once thought food first filled my feet, legs, then my middle section, then my arms and finally my head: that’s when I was full. I made sure to save room in my head for dessert.  People talked over dinner but mostly we all came to eat. Someone would say something funny and we’d laugh but always, without fail, my dog’s head was near my lap, soft, warm, nudging my legs occasionally for that bit of something I didn’t care to eat or wanted to slip him anyway.

I hadn’t a care when I was young. Music filled the air and dancing had no steps, just movement.

Of course, I learned later in life that my life was not a universal experience. No, while I was in college there were children in Vietnam who awoke in the night to run out of their homes in fear Napalm bombs would hit their homes and burn them alive as it had some of their friends the night before. And other children weren’t lucky enough to live at all but died without ever knowing what a refrigerator was. Somehow, learning the truthful horror about some life on earth during my twenties put much of my childhood experience in a time-capsule that I cemented in a corner stone of myself.  My memories were too good sometimes to be shown in the face of another’s reality.

I’d been given so much and never knew. I’d been raised in the midst of modest but successful homes full of choices, flavors, designs, music,  friends and surrounded by mowed yards and shoveled driveways all owned by smiling people.

If you’re life was like mine, it’s okay. It’s okay that we may have been born some of the luckiest people on earth. Thing is, now it’s our time to give thanks. Now, if we haven’t already, it’s time for us to payback life anyway we can.  We have to fight for what we believe is best for this earth and give thanks to those who died for our right to do so. If we have something to teach, we have to do it. I think Thanksgiving has never seen a generation who has more to be thankful for than mine. Now, more than ever before, it’s time for my generation to stand up and speak about what we feel is right.

My generation owes the World a difference.

We can do this. It’s time to be young again, strong, wide-eyed, questioning and full of spirit. Spirits don’t age like our bodies, not really. Look in that mirror as you did as a child and see your face, see your smile and remember who you really are. You’re one who can make a difference.

We all can get along; we have to get along and help each other prosper—this is our task and purpose.

Franque23—Happy Thanksgiving.

*Barbara Mullenix gets all the credit for anything spelled correctly in these globs and none of the blame for all the rest….





I recently read that ten heads explode everyday from not reading at least three Meme’s per day. It’s a fact; I’ve already gone back in the bathroom and checked on that wall again. However, there’s no mention about the size or shape of the Meme-that’s troublesome.



To compare me to what I once was you’d simply have to have a very good memory and a bunch of mirrors. Looking back, my fellow employees once asked if they should nominate me for Survivor. Now, that show might consider me if they needed a drift wood prop.

Often, learning a bit of history can teach an ear -full.

Once, there was this guy….

I'm saving my expanding hand made paper hat we bought in the Bahama's for tomorrow....

None of this should be allowed…WTH happened?

(In case you missed the lead up..this post from 2010 is funny-promise. …

Decaying, ruinated, defunctafied, squishated, flatasided, finishatored and donered-that’s me at 67 going on 100. If my asthma gives me a breath, my splitting fingers still find the sharp end of a hook. My eyes can’t see the stairs I fell down and my bursitis-afied knees feel almost better for the fall. I’d duck to see this all coming-as if. This bent over twig of a frame of mine would snap in two at the thought. Then there’s my center of gravity belly issue-what the hell is that? Some alternate dysfunctional bizzaro universe has landed upon me and absorbed the middle of me.

wife pointing to he middle of the problem

wife pointing to the middle of the problem

Thought may be the worst problem of all, if I could remember one?  Somewhere in my house is a drawer full of dusty, moldy ol’ thoughts that are completely deadified. But there’s a bright side for those who are not yet 67: you’re not yet 67, end of story…*

Oh, I’m not bitter about being this old. Please don’t get me wrong. Harsh, haggard, burnt to beyond crispy, horrified by old pictures, I used to wear turtlenecks not be them, a craggy, draggy,  bottomed butt roast with skinny chicken legs, a funny mole farm with no hair, no grip but ton’s of gripes, a loose cannon of dropping balls and feet that wouldn’t feel a rhino step on them, yes, I’m all that ,but not ever bitter. Bitter would be way extreme.

Turkey neck for took two to hold me up for the shot....

Turkey neck for sale….it took two to hold me up for the shot….

So all you new fangled people under 67-don’t say I didn’t write on the wall-check the three-way bathroom stalls-it’s all there. Simon once wrote, “It’s all happening at the zoo.” There’s a sense of humor for ya. My zoo is sorta centralized like my weather report-hazy, foggy, unwanted precipitation, cold, hot, random gusts of flatulence accompanied by belching sounds all out of tune with my ringing ears.  Head’s-up! Those ding-dong sounds on the T.V. are actually words-go figure.

It really isn’t that bad; once you’ve lost about everything, then your mind goes. What’s to worry when every day’s a new day and every face, place, word, thought, fart or burp is  new, too! Greetings to my old friends who ever the hell you are! Let’s party, dance, maybe romance (try to remember those kinds of September) or maybe, just party-skip the dance- or sit on the couch to talk before we need the potty, or even better, let’s nap. Yes, stay home and nap at 67-it’s easier than trying to recall how to dress.

I remember being able to tie my shoes and stuff

I remember being able to tie my shoes and stuff( Lake Bonaparte.) I could even go out in a boat and make it back by myself!

Example: I once knew a guy (me) who went to the beach, like three days ago, and pulled down his shorts to go swimming before recalling  he meant to wear his suit under his shorts….if only. Fortunately, there were no witnesses who didn’t see.  Remember those dropping balls I mentioned? I signed autographs most the afternoon-no wait, were those police and lawyers/ I forget-**


Me! In another life with a big fish.

Me! In another life with a big fish.

*Of course, I couldn’t leave turning sixty out……enjoy-

** Okay, I did have my boxer’s on so even asking to sign autographs didn’t work. People are soooo demanding these days.

the lake from above

the lake from above-

The scene was so beautiful– one sunset gave a deep teal blue water-color, all lined in black by  High Rock, trees, hills, with a blazing red stripe that span across the whole western skyline, and above, as if an icing on a red velvet cake, whisk a band of turquoise blue. Soon, that enchanted blue gave way to a deepening, darker sky that grew to reveal the first stars of the night.

This isn't the exact where near red enough---but somehow I've lost 36 pictures taken this fall at the lake during a transfer from my camera to computer--drat!

This isn’t the exact shot….the sky’s nowhere near red enough—but somehow I’ve lost 36 pictures taken this fall at the Lake during a transfer from my camera to computer–drat!

Here's a shot more like what we saw this Fall---picture taken by another Lake Bonapartean....

Here’s a shot more like what we saw this Fall—picture taken by another Lake Bonapartean….

The loons never disappoint, their call echoing from the Twin Sister shoreline where so few cabin lights glimmered.

Loon calling---I may have clipped this from the Lake Bonaparte group on FB...Thanks for this!

Loon calling—I may have clipped this from the Lake Bonaparte group on FB…Thanks for this!**

This September had been a warm one with lake temperatures in the high seventies, the air full of breeze that fluttered leaves partly turned but for the Swamp Maple already ablaze with yellow, red and gold.

This bulletin board came form my lake, 'Happy Place'.

This bulletin board came from my Lake, ‘Happy Place’.

restful moments abound

restful moments abound…*

There was no way to suspect a two-day rain would soon drop the water to seventy-though three days after that storm, on our day to depart, warmer weather was coming to continue a sun that could heat any dock by afternoon.

I ran across the dock joined by two grandsons, seven and six, and cannon balled  splashing waves to either side. Sometimes, I even wore a suit.

I’d always thought, as do my family, relatives and friends, that being up at the Lake makes me feel good, food tastes better, I sleep soundly, and a plop in the lake before breakfast ends any fuzzes from the late night before. This dip is sound advice-the refreshing dunk makes any weather better. But, as it turns out, there’s more to the Lake than the scene, the water, the loon, the rocks, trees, hills and grassland-for us and for so many, it is a place of family, and seemingly a million options when it comes to enjoying the Lake with relatives.

Fifty-eight family members cast a cheer your way.

Fifty-eight family members cast a cheer your way.(Lach Franquemont photo)

It's so easy to reflect upon the beauty of the world up at the Lake.l

It’s so easy to reflect upon the beauty of the world up at the Lake.*

Here’s looking at you!65299_10200263764660325_1194979476_n

Goodbye for now.**


  • *Pics by Dale Franquemont
  • ** Drafted off Lake Bonaparte FB page

Book one, Avatar Magic, and book two, The Code of Avatar Magic are on kindle now. Please enjoy this Sci-fi romance.

Book one:
Book two:

(Thanks to work matey , Ann, for takin’ ye shots.)

Okay, about three months ago our head honcho team leader of the youth services department mentioned the possibility of a huge pirate ship display…. Basically, I haven’t slept since, but I will tonight.

Ahoy! And a bottle of rum(at home,)

Ahoy! And a bottle of rum(grog at home,)

So yeah, we like to do up, Talk like a Pirate Day…-psst… this ship is 15 feet long and about 7 feet high to the top of ye mast.

Team matey's doin' er justice.

Team matey’s doin’ er justice.

Thing is, we’ve got pigs in the hold….

Shiver ye bacons

Shiver ye bacons

The crew cruisin’ is an odd sort….

kinda a beachy, fishin' crowd...

kinda a beachy, fishin’ crowd…

We have look-outs….

what this oceans needs is a mermaid.......I just might do it.

what ye might meets on the rolling tide—

It's idea time!!!!

It’s idea time!!!!

This is a book you will enjoy reading–and its historical fiction, the protagonist lives in California today….trust me-

Love the book....

Love the book….it be a treasure-

Speaking of love, what this ocean display needs is a mermaid…….I just might do it.

Errrr,, no, maybe not these two...

Errrr,, no, maybe not these two…and I dare ye to walks thee plank here*(interesting talk like a pirate day site….)

Thing is! Ya gotta keep rolling the ideas until they land right.

This is the one Mr. Frog is hopping to find...

This is the one Mr. Frog is hopping to find…

Back to the boat–in all it took five-hours to put up,,,plus, many more to build the three main parts, and all the trimmings. If me had my trunk, I’d laced her up with full riggin’ an two more sail…this ship could’ve taken me all year. I had to wheel clear of too much clock.

Arrrr,,, me Morgan relatives would turn proud to spy ye captain.

Arrrr,,, me Morgan relatives would turn proud to spy ye captain.

We always follow whatever the parrots says-he sounds so much like us… fact, just like us.

squawk for grog.

squawk for grog.

The ship in all er glory,,,,and now to sleep…or rest for a week’s vacation coming my way.

One like the ship i'll be riding next week......

My old fishin’ boat, one  like the ship I’ll be riding next week along with my wife and two grandsons……this be my dock, and fishing lake….Lake Bonaparte, New York.




Book one, Avatar Magic and book two, The Code of Avatar Magic are on kindle now.

These moments really happen

These moments really happen

There’s no time like the present!

This is especially true at Lake Bonaparte, in the North Country. It’s a cold land, tempered by long, hard winters and short , breezy summers. A land where the call of the loon can make memories of the past feel as a dream. And in an odd but also fitting sense, those same trumpeting, forlorn voices of the loon seem to foretell of an ongoing future; it’s as if their sounds are corner-stone building blocks of that promise.

The night call of this northern lake is hard to figure, and as hard to describe as it is impossible to imagine. You just have to go there, to feel it, then you’ll know of a time and place you’ll never forget.

Some say the northern forest is a place where time has stood still or a woodland time has forgotten.  I say no, that’s not it. Heck, time scampers so quickly up around the lake it’s hard to catch a glimpse of it zinging by. Zoom says the sun as it brings on the moon that hastens the night away.

Tap that morning alarm and you’re late for lunch before your feet hit the floor. Honest. Get up, put on your suit, and hope to make the dock by four that afternoon.

Every hour, day, week, month and year up at the lake is made of slippery seconds no one sees coming or going. There’s no sense cookin’ breakfast- flip those eggs over easy and it’s dinner time already!  One’s grasp on time becomes a series of wiggly lines on a calendar that hold no boundaries, and no real savory shade to set apart from the turning, burning rubber marks left in the wake of time as it leaps ahead.

Arriving in the shores of Lake Bonaparte is a wonderful moment, and to know you have several weeks to spend right there in place, right where the temperatures will struggle to hit eighty on the warmest of days and haunt fifty on the dark, clear nights of spring tingles the mind to laughter. Conversely, it’s abhorrently impossible to believe when those weeks are kaput and the time to throw out the remaining dogs, sauerkraut and leftover meatloaf has splattered its way into your life.

Show me a way to relish leaving Lake Bonaparte and I’ll show you a delusional person.

Some come to the lake; others go: the lucky ones get to stay at least until the geese fly in late September or early October as my parents did for over twenty-five years. Of course, during my working years, I still have to accept that my time is short at the lake, even if I do have a long vacation. Or, is it? The lake has such a hold on my sense of place that I truly never leave the sight of those blue shimmering waters, or the diamonds that sparkle off it’s surface during the mid-day sun, or the stars that glimmer beyond belief during the darkest night. No, in many ways I never do leave the lake, not completely. I’m not alone in this, but drift through my remaining year spent away from the shores of this magical lake with a boat load of company. Is it any wonder that Joseph Bonaparte picked this lake to be his northern home? No, not so much.

I was glad to know that the lake kissed us back on the morning we left this year-it gave us a rainbow of hope for a good year to come, and for our safe return. It all fit.

The full rainbow came as we packed and landed on the water.

The full rainbow came and landed on the water as we packed to leave.

The first night upon our arrival I’d seen a lone shooting star cross the sky and slice through the Big Dipper. I thought I heard the words wing to my ears in the wind,– Come, fill your cup. I’ve so much to give— then suddenly the sky was black once more but for a myriad of shimmering, twinkling stars. That moment was already long gone before I knew, and a memory only the sound of the loon could pound back into my head, and fill then my heart with peace.

There are special places in the world, places well-known while others remain remotely hidden from notoriety. Among those places, no matter how great or how small, Lake Bonaparte waves its flag as a true contender or, more so, from its rightful stand among them, forever.

Franque23-loves the lake.


My New Year’s foolslution this year was to re-gain my six-pack. So, I went out and started buying them, but they turned into a keg-belly, not a ripped torso. Odd. It seemed the more I tried the worse it got!

My self image was growing.....

My self-image was growing…..

Thing is, I’d wrestled most of my earlier years, beginning in second grade with my first official match in sixth and then on through high school.  I was flexible then, muscular for my age and quite successful at the sport( my entire lifetime record was 62ish wins and 2 losses). I had a six-pack then, and I’d never drank a single one! Go figure.

Being young has it's advantages....

Being young has it’s advantages….(Not me pictured.then or now..)

It’s April, and I’ve officially started to do yoga again daily, kicking in leg lifts and fifty stair push-ups as well. Who’d want to start in January!?!?! Ha! Anyway, it’s a start-moving from round to fit, maybe. I play Lisa Lynn Harp music as I workout every morning-love that music- but I have to say this repetitive tune thing I have going on drives my wife nuts, and now my dog scoots up the stairs to escape the morning barrage of lets feel good music, too.  Let’s face it, Shadow’s in shape at 1 and 1/2, and he’d rather be listening to squirrels chomping up in his jaws than me huffing on a mat.

But it’s all good, and since there’s ten thousand things I’d like to recommend, doing Yoga is one of them.

This is me leading a yoga session up at our Lake House-about four years ago.....sigh.

This is me leading a yoga session up at our Lake House-about four years ago…..sigh.

I started yoga in earnest at age 55 and did it nearly daily for seven years. The routine made me feel ten years younger and much stronger than the 54-year-old me I’d been when I started. Do yourself a favor-start any yoga routine that suits your fancy and stick with it to see what happens.

Random note(and picture):

Idea! It's a miracle I survived......

Idea! It’s a miracle I survived……

Robin and I would be first out in the water at Alexander Springs back in 1970ish.  Not sure, but it seemd Gators were sleeping with their faces pointed toward the spring until we disturbed them-they'd swim on down river....

Robin(my cousin) and I would be first out in the water at Alexander Springs* back in 1970ish. Not sure, but it seemed the Gators we often swam over were sleeping with their faces pointed toward the spring until we disturbed them-they’d swim on down river….I never felt in danger–hahahah…..So there are also disadvantages to being young.

So why did I ever stop doing yoga? Well,  one-off day easily leads to the next, and what once was time to do the routine becomes time to do other stuff. Plus, there’s ice cream, cakes, chips, crackers, spreads, jams, barbecue, not soda fountains, parties and those six-packs.

Not soda bars....

Not soda fountains….

It's really very simple-a person can work out or pass out....and then dream he's working out!!!! Wowowowo/.

It’s really very simple-a person can work out or pass out….and then dream he’s working out!!!! Wowowowo/.

In fact, when you compare the few things yoga does for a person-makes them strong, more fit, happier, thinner-to all the other reasons not to do yoga, well, it’s a no-brainer. Did I mention Football season and beer? And ice-cream cakes….the choice is simple.

I'm thinkin' this guy watched a few too many games.....

I’m thinkin’ this guy watched a few too many games…..

Find some simple stretches you like doing, and remember to hold your positions for 30 seconds. Don’t worry about how far down your hands go, or knees bend, just do what you can. Bend don’t break, that’s the rule. Quickly, the body regains its elasticity and a person becomes more flexible.

I spent Saturday at Alexander Springs snorkeling at my favorite Florida spring.

Ah--Alexander Springs....I'd like my cousins, etc. to one day see this place.

Ah–Alexander Springs….I’d like my cousins, and readers to one day see this place.

But I completely missed this! Jeez/Geeez...

But I completely missed this! Jeez/Ge’ez…

It was crowded, being Easter Weekend, but I couldn’t help notice one well chiseled young man who walked into the water up to his waist. He stopped, turned to face the beach head and started cupping water in both hands and pouring the water over his head and, yes, letting the water drip down across his six-pack. “What an a-hole,” I thought. It was as if he was anointing his body with water for all to see.”Show off,” I scoffed.

Now, if I can only get to look like that guy! Many think I’ve already 1/2 of his routine down with only one body to go.

They say every successful endeavor starts with a workable plan...I be alone and must think-

They say every successful endeavor starts with a workable plan…I must be alone; I have to think-

Cheers and Beers, and yoga, too. Good luck. And really , I might not have started this whole thing again if my sister hadn’t noted during her recent visit that I looked like a half-dead, soggy donut of a snail. So go out and challenge someone(should be someone you know)-do them the favor. And no, I am not a snail. My sister’s so off:-)


* I wrote about this spring before—-please enjoy!

here are links for both of my books in the Avatar Magic Series:
Book one, Avatar Magic and book two, The Code of Avatar Magic are on kindle now.

The Lake Bonaparte amp 2/1/2015

The Lake Bonaparte Camp 2/1/2015

Follow the road at the bottom of the first shot below that veers right until you pass one point, and then a second. Now you’ve reached our small nook of a bay, and past our bay around a third point is a large bay that forms the right side of the lake(right side of picture)-that’s called bull rush bay. .. go back to our small bay and move left and up a bit across the water and you’ll see an Island that looks like an inverted ‘T’…that’s Birch Island, the one my ex-brother-in-law owned for many many years until this year. Moving past that Island you’ll see way to the left and at the top of the picture, the outlet of the lake-that’s called Mud lake, and that’s where I most often fish….the fifth shot in this series is one Dale took in Mud lake.

the lake from above

the lake from above

no roads in sight....Lake Bonaparte-mid summer

no roads in sight….Lake Bonaparte-mid summer(not!)

same shot as above...different season.

same shot as above…as the ice moves in.

mud lake-the picture works right side up of upside down!

mud lake-the picture works right side up of upside down!

​In all, there’s 22 miles of shore line…and the lake is ninety feet deep(deeper) in places….When I was young, I was told that divers claimed the lake was 300 feet deep–but , I think invasive weeds have lessened the readings–Mud lake stays shallow–4 to 15 fifteen feet deep.

A yoga dock class,,, and my small fishing boat is behind us. We built the dock, our family/relatives in 2004, and now my sister has bought a party boat, so we will be redoing the dock in the next two years to allow for more docking space.

Yoga at the lake-fun times.

Yoga at the lake-fun times.

Our set of sixty steps down to the lake from our camp has a 1/2 way dock-seats, resting, great view….this shot of the sunset and Birch island out in the lake was taken from this place of tranquility…

Our docks face the sunset...The lake calms down to a glass top nearly every evening....

Our docks face the sunset…The lake calms down to a glass top nearly every evening….

These are the dangerous people…..some are bark eaters*…but I say they’re misunderstood. They mean no harm, and they don’t bite-not often.

But don't worry-you don't usually run into them all at once. And a lot of them sleep in.

But don’t worry-you don’t usually run into them all at once. And a lot of them sleep in.

Right now, I’m fishing through old shots you’ve seen if you read my blog(as if-right!)

Not in the lake......not up there.

Not in the lake……not up there. These big boys swim around with us down here in Florida.

It's hard to have fun up there.

It’s hard to have fun up there.

I've known some people up there for over 60 years!

I’ve known some people up there for over 60 years!

Others are gone, though they live through my memories, especially when I’m around the lake.

Time is a funny thing. For me, when I'm up at the lake, the days feel eternal, and way too short!

Time is a funny thing. For me, when I’m up at the lake, the days feel eternal, and way too short!

Ed and Chris had just returned from  Peru for a visit, while I stayed put dreaming of lake time.

Ed and Chris had just returned from Peru for a visit, while I stayed put dreaming of lake time.

Here’s two Morgan bark-eaters from way back!

For all I know, these two could be Vampires....(BTW--This subject, Vampires, draws over 2500 hits on the catalog of the library where I work!)

For all I know, these two could be Vampires….(BTW–This subject, Vampires, draws over 2500 hits on the catalog of the library where I work!)

Until my next visit….

I'll be dreaming about the lake.

I’ll be dreaming about the lake.

Sans the snow!

2004 vintage....white out!

2004 vintage….white out!

It’s been fun—-I’ll keep you posted with some new shots, later.

*Bark eaters are all explained(exposed) in a previous blog.-this one…..

Cheers and More.


here are links for both of my books in the Avatar Magic Series:
Book one, Avatar Magic and book two, The Code of Avatar Magic are on kindle now.

Whittling. I worked all week making those marks in the hard pine wall, the ones that would eventually read as my name. My tool was a boy scout knife, a heavy  four bladed folder with a dark brown bone type handle, three brass pins, steel caps on either end and a small lanyard ring.

the knife I loved.....

the knife I loved…..

Hours passed, as so easily happens on lake time, while I dug the tip of my knife into the wall, first here, then there, connecting the small lines until a minuscule, squared off piece of wood would chip out.

I just knew I had to leave my mark. It was a way for me to stake my claim to the future on the cabin walls, a claim all those who might come to the lake could see.

I’d chosen a spot on the wall where the sun’s reflection off the lake shimmered through the window on to the ceiling above as waves of wiggling  light. The patterns moved across the ceiling as the day moved on, reminding me that I had three hours, no, two hours, and then one hour left before it would be time to put my knife away and enjoy a four o’clock swim off the dock. I worked on, each day this way, knowing a week of lake time is but a wink of a life time spent anywhere else.

Time passes in a blink of an eye, and it’s all connected as we are to one another. Leaving a mark made a difference to me and, hopefully, to others. Even though time may have dulled my carvings, or, in fact, boards may have been replaced in the cabin, removing in this way my efforts in the wood, those whittling hours can never be torn from my heartfelt memory. I remember my passion and purpose.

This post’s random picture….

The person has passion....

The person has passion….

The others drew me on. Plastered across the long, yellow hard pine boards were the carvings left by the people who’d also stayed in the boat house cabin. There were large letters, short or long names, and some carvings  of hearts that even had neat arrows running through them that featured fletching on the shaft, but I never saw a nock or pile.  Still, most carvers, all, were ahead of me; my lines so crooked, wide and thin, up and down and never oval or well-rounded. I was a beginner, but I carved on.

I learned to have patience while carving the cabin wall; nothing worthwhile happens without effort. People sometimes lose interest in their goals, their ideologies, their true passion when the results of their efforts aren’t instantaneous, but they shouldn’t.

The point was to leave my mark in the cabin, to note for others to see that I’d been there, and loved it enough to want at least a part of me to stay in the cabin, even if it was only this carving. I’m sure it was the same for the others-the magic of the boathouse cabin so real as to suspend time or gobble it up as if the Lake’s whims set reality. Of course, those waters did change my life. More, sixty years after I carved upon those cabin walls the lake still calls to my soul, and if anything has been the summer of my life, those sometimes ruckus, and other times calm waters of the lake take that honor.

My bulletin board depiction of Lake time...

My bulletin board depiction of Lake time…water colors are reflections, cast off hidden colored paper.

This is crazy good shot taken by Dale Franquemont of a  lake afternoon on Bonaparte.

This is crazy good shot taken by Dale Franquemont of a lake afternoon on Bonaparte.-mud lake.

I’m happy to have left my mark in the cabin up at the lake. And as most people, I’d love to leave my mark on my time, on my spaces, on the people and places I’ve gotten to touch and know.  I’d love to make a difference in the world-doesn’t everyone?

Come November, all American’s who can vote have a chance to leave their mark in a voting ballot, to make a difference, to stake their claim to the future and state who they are, what they stand for, what they love, what they hope to accomplish and be remembered for. Don’t miss your chance to make a mark and be read and noted in history. Vote; it’s that simple. So many Americans have died so that you and I have the Right to vote.

I know, voting takes time. Time to know who and what to vote for! Time to even get to the polls-isn’t it annoying that Voting Tuesday is not a National Holiday so we can easily get to the polls? I think so- but this is our moment, a time when we make our mark that no one, not even time, can change.


I’ve two books out on Kindle. Please spread the word and share the links!

links for both books in the Avatar Magic Series:
Book one, Avatar Magic and book two, The Code of Avatar Magic are both on kindle now.

Kudos to reader Ginny for sending me this dynamite video. I missed the saddle shoes, however.

cheers ,,,and I hope you enjoyed this glimpse back into the fifties…


*I’ve two books out on Kindle. Please spread the word and share the links!

links for both books in the Avatar Magic Series:
Book one, Avatar Magic and book two, The Code of Avatar Magic are both on kindle now.

(Avatar Magic, by Gerald Franquemont, is on Kindle and the book can be downloaded onto most computers or reading devices.)

How did I ever survive?

How did I ever survive?

There’s not much I can say but that my parents spent years trying to kill me. There are records, receipts  even pictures that prove my parents dragged me up to Lake Bonaparte each year of my young, unprotected life.

So what’s wrong with a lake in the Adirondacks? Basically, the Morgans were, are and always will be the problem.

Big gang-not to be taken lightly-

Big gang-not to be taken lightly-

How I survived these summer vacation ordeals is the stuff of epic novels. But, to be fair for no reason , there were other problems with the lake besides the Morgan  family fiasco.

It started right off with the ten-hour drive  on up to the lake. I got strapped down in the car while my sister and brother ate Frito’s and drank soda. Me? I got dry bones and water after the dog was done eating and drinking.

Kept me chained to the back seat of the car.

Kept me chained to the back seat of the car.

I suppose this was all to make starving up at the lake seem enjoyable.  Anyway, there’s no doubt my older cousin Joe, famous for turtle diving, tried to kill me too.

“Go ahead. Jump!”

High rocks got their name for a reason. What did an abused kid like myself know about heights? I was kept in the basement of my carpeted bedroom room forced to play with plastic soldiers all my life. I remember falling through the air towards the water with my arms swinging and my legs wiggling while Joe laughed, “Ha ha ha” from above.

"Psst- you wanna dive off of high rocks...." Joe caught whispering here.

“Psst- you wanna dive off of high rocks….” Joe caught whispering here.

I wore a red stomach for the rest of that summer. Thing is kids, real ones, actually have died jumping off these rocks—so it’s like I’ve always figured: I’m a walking miracle.

My cousin, Robin, (Joe’s brother), tried to sun bake me alive in boats with motors that only stopped working when we were out on the lake as far away as we could be from home.

Robin was still laughin' about that one oar thing....

Robin was still laughin’ about that one oar thing….

The, “We only have one paddle in the boat,” trick that bunch used daily was a way to be sure I was the only one rowing. I took my time. Why hurry back to shore when David was running around in stinky diapers–his obvious ploy was to gas me out.

David, sans diapers....

David, sans diapers….

But I kept  my chin up through it all-knowing that these cousin who were trying to off me didn’t love me either. Uncle Mo made all that clear.

My Aunt and Uncle owned a hole in the ground called Natural Bridge Caverns that the town of Natural Bridge was named after. Several summers I was forced to give guided tours through the spider infested death trap they called an underground river. Their boat only floated out of sheer determination.

One boat was caught floating in this shot....

One boat was caught floating in this shot….

It’s clear now that  Uncle Mo was praying I’d never surface again each time he gave me the heaviest of passengers to take on tour.

This, the entrance to The Natural Bridge caverns--Uncle Mo took bets on me not  making back out...

This, the entrance to The Natural Bridge caverns–Uncle Mo took bets on me not making back out…

I’ll never know why I’d take the ten-cent tips I got and walk back up out of those killing caverns. Heck, I knew what was waiting for me once I did.

You see, every morning my Aunt Virginia would beat the bejeebers out of me with a broom, but she never left marks cause she never actually hit me with that tool. No, first thing every morning, if I’d survived the night before after Joe and Robin spent it pouring scotch down my throat, I was made to sweep no less than five thousand steps that led from my relative’s mansion down four-hundred feet to the lake below.

1/2 way doc, just 2500 down the steps of the 5000 I had to sweep.

1/2 way doc, just 2500 down the steps of the 5000 I had to sweep.

My morning eggs were always given  to me  right upon the surface of these steps no later than 3pm after I’d finished my so-called morning sweeping. This was tireless work, but not as terrifying as watching Robin cut heads off.

About once a-day, Robin would wield a very sharp knife and point it in my direction. “Watch this.”

He cut fish heads off without regard for anything but the blood and guts of it all. He’d force me to whop the ones too small to clean off the dock edge or boat side so they’d float up for the sea gulls to scarf up. The kicker was he always took the cooler looking bluegills to smash, leaving me with less notable sunfish or perch which made this entire memory quite ghastly, smelly too. This is , at least in part, why I always need couches,  doctor.

There’s so much more….and that’s coming next.

Lake blues...

Lake blues…


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May 2020