Haven't posted a selfie in a long time...

The other week I got a haircut.  I tend to like how these things look after they've grown out a bit.  And I've lost some weight lately.  Been trying to take better care of myself than I had been, so among other things I'm eating a lot more fresh veggies.  I definitely think that working on the book took a stressful toll.  There were a lot of things in that which were a real struggle to write.  But I did it and I think I picked up the visage of a real author in the process.

Anyhow, this is how I'm looking lately:

Not bad for a guy in his early fifties!  Every so often I get asked how old am I.  It's become a lot of fun making people guess.  I've been told that I look everything from 45 to 23!

Well, we'll see how long it lasts.  Maybe when I hit 70 I'll be getting mistaken for a person in his forties :-) 

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Forsaking one happiness for another, or: "Why don't you have a girlfriend Chris?"

Every so often someone asks me the question: "Chris, why don't you have someone special in your life?"

It's not a bad question, not really.  There are a lot of reasons why I don't have a woman to love.  One of the biggest is that I just haven't found her yet.  It seems that the prospects of that happening are dim.  But my expectations are high. The woman who God might bring into my life has to love and serve Him first, more than she would me.  That is not easy to find in any person, it seems.

She also has to be able to love me for who I am, lumps and all.  That means accepting that I have a condition that will at times make life difficult for both of us, and I'm speaking of my having bipolar disorder.  Now, that is something which has become MUCH more controlled in the past few years.  It's not the monster looming over me like it has been for most of my life.  But even so, it's there, and though I'm better at knowing when it's about to strike the symptoms still come.

I also know what kind of person she needs to be outwardly.  I desire someone who cares about the impression she makes. And by that I mean I do NOT care for someone with tattoos and metal in inappropriate places on her body, especially on her face.  I want a girl who looks natural.  With symmetry.  Sorry, not sorry, but tattoos on a woman are a major turn-off for me.  I don't find that appealing, at all.  It seems that many if not most people, including the females, are getting inked these days.  That is something I'm not interested in a woman having.

My standards are high.  Maybe unapproachably so.  But I know what I'm looking for.  A real diamond in the rough.  If and when I find her, I'm going to be very thankful for her.

But even so, all of those things don't zero in on the real reason why I'm unattached.  There are others. And one of then is something that I am actually very joyful about.

Something that struck me a few days ago.  I told this to my friends yesterday during our belated Thanksgiving dinner together, and they thought I was right, too...

A lot of people know that one of the things I've most wanted in life is someone to share it with.  I've longed for God to bring a woman into my world, who I can cherish and honor and love.  Someone who can truly love me, imperfections and all, and never abandon me because of my frailties.

What's happened to that?  I talk about that desire a bit in my book Keeping the Tryst.  It's important enough to merit mentioning.  But I haven't lamented not having a lady in my life as I used to, in quite awhile now.  Though time has seen that desire magnify, not diminish.

So, what's happened?

In a word, Tammy.  My dog happened.

It hit me right between the eyes this past week, the discovery that I've been so focused on giving Tammy a good life, I've been ignoring the desires I have had for my own.

I do not believe at all that that's been a bad thing.

I promised Dad, on the night before he passed away, that I would look after Tammy and take care of her.  As best that I possibly could.  Dad and I had gotten Tammy together but I never harbored anything more than the sense that Tammy was his dog first and foremost.  He was "Daddy " to her.  He was her person.  The one she most followed and looked to for comfort and attention.  I was just... well, I guess I was "the other guy" in the house.  The spare.  The one to get attention from when Daddy was too busy making dinner or something.

Tammy was Dad's dog and on his next-to-final night with us he came to enough to ask about her.  And I told him that he didn't have to worry.  I told Dad that I would watch over her and see to it that she was taken care of.

That was eleven years ago.  Quite a while.

My promise to my father, to look after someone we both loved, has been the central mission of my life all this time.  It's been the most important aspect of my being, second only to my relationship with God.

Tammy is more than a dog to me.  She is family.  She is the last living connection I have to my father.  I cherish her especially because of that.

And she has absolutely been worth setting aside my desires for my own happiness for.

She IS happiness for me.  Every day that ends with the two of us together, is something I am thankful for.  It's that much more time that I can feel like I've made Dad proud of me, for taking care of his dog.

I don't count having my own desires set aside for her sake as a loss.  Not at all.

I'm doing what I said that I would do.  I'm fulfilling a promise.  I'm being honorable.  I'm doing the right thing, no matter how it looks to the world.  If you've read or are reading Keeping the Tryst then you know how much my honor means to me and this, is in keeping with that.

I cannot do otherwise.

Some day, it will sadly end.  I'm a realist.  I know that Tammy isn't as young as she used to be.  But she's still here.  She's still with me.  And every day that we have together is a victory to celebrate and be thankful for.  Every day that we have is a gift from God.  And that is never something to be regretful about.

I don't count the decade and more I've had without a woman in my life as being lost.  Not at all.  When you love someone enough you can very easily set aside your own needs and wants for sake of that person.  And that is what Tammy is to me: a person.  Dear family, and family looks after each other no matter the cost.  Just one of many things that my little dog has taught me.

It may not be as big a deal as having a spouse and kids.  But this is the hand that God dealt me.  And I am absolutely making the very most of it.  I can be grateful for that.

And who knows?  Maybe someday, sooner than later, God will bring a woman into my life.  I think Tammy has enough love in her for another person, too 🙂

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Thanksgiving 2025: What I am thankful for

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving here in the United States.  And though it has been adopted by a few other countries, the American observation of the holiday remains a unique one.  Thanksgiving has been part of America's identity since the early seventeenth century, most notably by the Pilgrims of the Plymouth colony in 1621.  The notion of the American people giving thanks to God for the blessings He had bestowed was further ingrained by the Continental Congress in 1777.

And then in 1789 President George Washington famously proclaimed a day of national thanksgiving.  That pretty much sealed the deal.  Thanksgiving would forever be a sacred time for the American people.

My experiences with Thanksgiving have been varied.  Some of them have been good.  Others, not so much.  I don't want to dwell on the latter though.  I like to believe that recent years, months actually, have brought deliverance from much of that pain.  Yet Thanksgiving will forever be something that I approach with trepidation.  It's the entire month of November, actually.  While writing my book it struck me how so much has happened in my life during the various months of November... and not all of that very good.  There has been a lot of family heartbreak during November and now that I realize it, that has cast a pall on this month, maybe from now on.

But in spite of that, there are enough good things that have been in my life that I cannot but have a grateful heart about.  And I can definitely honor God by remarking upon those.

So here, as part of what has at various times been a holiday tradition (though it's been five years since the last time I did this), are what I am thankful for right now...

I am thankful for my relationship with God, that has grown so much over the course of the past few years.  I think part of that is because I have made it a prerogative to choose to be thankful, in spite of how circumstances have sometimes gone.

I am thankful for the work that I have right now.  That was definitely an answered prayer.

I am thankful for the many wonderful people who are in my life, who have been there for me when I needed that most.

I am especially thankful for my "inner circle", my closest friends who really are precious family.

I am thankful that I have a roof over my head and a working vehicle.

I am very thankful for my dog Tammy.  I thank God for her each morning and evening, and I pray that He might let us have many more wonderful years together.

I am thankful that this year I got to see my book Keeping the Tryst published after a decade of on and off work upon it.  And it seems that others are enjoying reading it.  I am very happy about that.  Maybe the new year will see it discovered by even more people, too.

I am thankful for some opportunities that have opened up, and I am looking forward to seeing what happens with them.

I am thankful for my overall health.  And especially my mental health.  After half a lifetime of dealing with bipolar disorder, I can truthfully testify that my mind is at last my own.  Are there moments where things could be better?  Yes, there are.  Those will always be a threat to live with.  But manic depression no longer looms over me like a monster.  That is a beast that has in greatest part been brought to ground.

I am thankful that I have lately begun reading for pleasure again, more than I had been.  I suppose I've been so fixated on my own book, that I'd forgotten how much fun it is to read the classics.  In the past month or so I've been re-reading the Harry Potter series.  It's almost like a spark of childhood has been re-ignited in me and I want to nurture that.

I am thankful for my iPad Pro: my most indispensable tool.  Although I'm now on the second keyboard for it (cranking out 142,023 words of my book took a toll on the first keyboard, especially the "t" key).

I am thankful that I did not require surgery in September (long story)!

That's what comes pretty much comes most to mind for this occasion.  And I shall pray that YOU, Dear Reader, will have even more things to list that you are grateful for this Thanksgiving :-)

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On friendship, family, and difference of opinion

In the wake of some recent events I'm feeling the need to say something lately, that I've reiterated a number of times before...

I hold to certain principles.  They are more than just beliefs.  They are certainly more than mere opinions.  Mine are CONVICTIONS.  Not one of them was arrived at without a great amount of meditation and ponderance about the matter.  I know where I stand on these issues.  I know what I believe but much more than that, I know *why* I believe.

I'm not a man of ideologies.  I loathe the notion that I of all people must have an ideology.  I prefer to be known as a man of ideas.  I realize that more often than not I've been called a conservative.  That's the world's appellation for me.  But I've never cared what the world thinks of me.

I know that where I stand on some things isn't the most popular.  Just as where some people stand on their own issues, are not popular with me.  To be honest, what some people believe in strike me as pretty horrifying.

But even so, where friendship and family are involved, I am not going to necessarily think any less of such a person.

It takes a LOT for me to be led to dissolve a relationship with someone on the basis of differences of belief.  I'm not interested in that.  To me, to come to that kind of an impasse is a great failure.  It suggests that the friendship was less important than "must be right".

Am I right about what I believe?  I am convicted that I am, just as I have to trust that others are convicted, too.  My perspective about that is something that I had always known but it was while reading Atlas Shrugged that it gained clarity.  That perspective being: I know what I believe and I have to trust that another knows what he or she believes.  Let reality judge who is right.  If I am right, and convince the other that I am, I count it as no victory for myself.  If I am proven wrong, I count it as no loss.

I believe that some people in my life are wrong in what they believe.  But I will NOT think any less of them for that.  Not unless they come to adhere to something truly evil.  And that hasn't happened much in my life, if at all.

I believe in God.  I believe in God, Who among many other things is the author of reality.  I would be a very poor adherent of that concept if I did not have faith that harsh though it may come, reality prevails in the end.  I am an evangelist of reality.  So who knows, I might be one who encourages others to consider some things that they might not have before.  If I abandoned them, I will have abandoned the mission.  And I can't do that.

I guess that all of this is a roundabout way of saying this: I can't diminish a friendship or put away family because of a difference of belief about something.  That's not my nature.

And I would hope that no friend or family thinks any less of me for my own convictions.

Thank you.

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Star Wars: Reconsidering the sequel trilogy

 

GeekTyrant, one of my favorite websites, reminds us that this week is the tenth anniversary of the release of the trailer for Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens.  I will never forget that night.  I was reloading YouTube every ten seconds, waiting for the trailer to publish.  And when it finally dropped...

I guarantee you that I watched that thing at least a dozen times before going to bed.  Oh sure, there had been the teaser earlier that April, but this was the full-blown serious look at what the first chapter of Star Wars's "sequel trilogy" was offering.  And it was glorious!  Everything about that trailer was spot-on perfect: the glimpses, the dialogue, the music... just completely epic.

Here it is if you haven't watched it in awhile (or if you've never had the pleasure of seeing it at all until now):

It had been seven years since the previous Star Wars film, Revenge of the Sith.  That there could be a new movie for the saga was something many of us had given up on ever happening.  And then in 2012 came the news that Episode VII was coming in three years.

That day was one of the happiest that we collectively had, in quite a long time.  And that trailer for The Force Awakens reflected that.  It really did herald the imminent arrival of a new Star Wars movie.  Our dream was coming true.  The most beloved mythology of the modern era was going to expand.  It was going to keep going, on into the future.  Indeed, it was going to be altogether possible that there would be no end to Star Wars, until the end of time.  I couldn't help but think that I would not live to see every Star Wars movie, and there was some great comfort to draw from that.  The way that grown men plant trees, in whose shades their great-grandchildren will play, though they themselves will never see it.

The trailer for The Force Awakens promised that.  And more.  And we could not see anything but something remarkable coming about, beyond our wildest aspirations.  And that's what we got, right?

Right?

Let's get the obvious out of the way: the Star Wars sequel trilogy left a lot to be desired.  It's easily the weakest of the three eras of the classic saga of the Skywalker family.  For one thing it's painfully clear that there wasn't a grand design from the beginning of production.  Now, there was a plan for the sequel trilogy.  George Lucas had included it in the deal that he signed with Disney when he sold Lucasfilm and the related companies.  But what that was, we'll probably never fully know.  Kathleen Kennedy and the other Disney bigwigs abandoned Lucas's plans and instead went for something all their own.  And odds are that in large part it was inferior to The Maker's design for the saga he created in the first place.

So there was no master plan, as Disney intended to execute.  "But wait, Chris, did the original trilogy have such a master plan??"  I'll grant you, that such a concise plot diagrammed out did not exist at the time of A New Hope's release.  Lucas and Leigh Brackett and Lawrence Kasdan were writing The Empire Strikes Back by the seat of their pants.  That it is arguably the greatest Star Wars movie of all time is testament to the vision that they came up with together.  Their work on Episode V established the method by which all future Star Wars should be designed and carried out.  That method carried over into Return of the Jedi.  And when it came time years later to begin work on the prequel trilogy, Lucas already had the architecture established to go back in the saga's timeline and tell the story of young Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker.  And that worked beautifully, too.

The prequel trilogy had none of that.  Or if it did, it was a vague semblance of an over-arching plot.  Once again the writing was by "the seat of their pants".  But there was never a solid plan.

My personal biggest beef about the sequel trilogy?  It's how Supreme Leader Snoke was treated.  The Force Awakens portended that Snoke was going to be a major villain.  The new grand adversary for the next generation of the heroes of the saga.  I loved Snoke as a character.  I saw the movie three times in the theater and each time I knew Snoke was about to appear, I paid especially close attention.  Snoke captured my imagination.  Who was he?  What was he?  My theory was that he was going to be revealed to be the ultimate bad guy behind everything wrong that had happened in the saga.  Snoke could have been the one who created the Sith themselves, for all we knew.  Snoke was an example of Chekov's rule of drama: if you see the gun mounted on the wall in act one, it must be fired in act three.  And I wanted to see that gun go off.

But as The Last Jedi showed us, that was not to be.  Snoke wound up a wasted character.  And I absolutely hate what came of Snoke in The Rise of Skywalker. Snoke deserved better.  And we could have had that, if there had been a master plan in mind that was going to be honored by the filmmakers.

Just one of the many problems that I have with the sequel era.

The last time I had watched any of the sequel trilogy was probably about two years ago.  I set The Rise of Skywalker playing for background noise as I worked on some writing projects one Sunday afternoon.  I couldn't get through it.  I got about halfway through the movie before realizing that I wasn't tuning in at all even peripherally.  So I stopped the movie and instead started playing the Marx Brothers's movie Duck Soup: a good comedy for stimulating the synapses.  And at the time I wondered if I would ever watch any Star Wars movie again, ever.  Episodes seven through nine had practically ruined something that I had carried with me since the first moment I saw an Artoo-Detoo action figure, at four years old.  Star Wars seemed to be something that for all intents and purposes, was dead to me from now on.

But something funny happened recently...

It was a few weeks ago.  A couple of days before my book was published.  For nigh on two months I had plunged myself into preparing every facet of what it means to bring a book to the public.  Everything from going over the manuscript a dozen times over, to designing the cover, to porting the book to Kindle ebook format.  If I wasn't eating or sleeping or working or playing with my dog Tammy, I was focused on getting the book ready.  And in the end it was finally finished, ready for the printer or download on October 1st.

I was thoroughly exhausted.  My brain was drained.  Mentally I was a man poured out.  The book had been submitted.  It was finally out of my hands.  It was something that would soon be in the possession of readers and hopefully there would be many of them and more to the point, I hoped that they would find that it was a book well worth reading.

So with nothing else to occupy my time with, without really comprehending why I was doing it, I put in my Blu-ray Disc of The Force Awakens.  I situated myself on the sofa, not actually braced for one thing or another.  Just needing to have some distraction from my being so wiped out from the book.

And before I knew what was going on, I discovered that I was liking the movie.  An awful lot.  Maybe more than a person should.

Suddenly I was transported back to that night in December of 2015, when I met my lifelong best friend Chad and his wife at a cinema in Raleigh, as we watched the first showing of Episode VII.  And that was a wonderful night indeed, in every way.  I left that theater and hit the highway for the two-hour drive back home and my mind was on fire about the new Star Wars movie.  It had been everything and more that I had expected it to be.

Lo and behold, as I watched The Force Awakens playing in my living room, those memories came rushing back.  And I appreciated anew how precious those were and why they were precious and it did indeed involve that being a good Star Wars film after all.

I decided that I wanted to keep the vibe going.  And so I settled in to watch the next movie: The Last Jedi.

It is perhaps the most problematic Star Wars film ever produced.  Thoughts of disappointment went through my gray matter, and I braced myself for the two-plus hours to come.  I wondered to myself, "Why am I doing this to myself?"  But I had started this by watching The Force Awakens and I had to stay committed to the agenda.  I was going to watch the entire sequel trilogy, come what may.

Well.  Well indeed...

As I've said, as we all know, The Last Jedi is the most issue-ridden chapter of the entire saga.  But watching it with a mind absent discrimination, with refreshened eyes... so help me I found myself enjoying The Last Jedi more than I had before.

I was greatly surprised.  Genuinely shocked, even.  I was able to overlook its shortcomings and instead respect its strengths.  And there are many.  Was Snoke mishandled?  Yes, I will always believe that for the most part.  But his death in The Last Jedi was certainly a shock that very few people if anyone at all saw coming.

What I especially appreciate about The Last Jedi is that perhaps more than any other episode in the saga, it delves into the workings of the Force.  The scene where Luke has Rey reaching out, feeling the world around her - cold and warmth, life and death - is absolutely beautiful.  Not since The Empire Strikes Back came out in 1980 had the Force been so metaphysically examined.  I love that scene!

And then there is the fight between Luke and his nephew.  Yes, maybe it could have ended better: with Luke living and going on to play a much bigger role in the next film.  But as a duel between two Force-users, it definitely satisfies.  I kept thinking while watching that scene for the first time that Luke was being awfully self-restrained.  He was fighting by not fighting.  Luke was being a true Jedi master, as we had never seen him before.  Actually, this was the very first time that we were seeing him as a master at all.  And it did satisfy, it really did.

I finished watching The Last Jedi much more forgiving about that movie.  Definitely not perfect.  But it's also not the train wreck that I had first perceived it to be (and maybe had come to believe it as being simply because other people were saying how bad it is).  With renewed eyes, and a refreshened mind, it was to considerable length a film worthy of Star Wars.

My revisit to the sequel trilogy was two-thirds done.  And so it was that I resolved to watch The Rise of Skywalker.  Would the trend continue?  Might I come to have new feelings about the final film in the story of the Skywalker clan?  Or would the trilogy irredeemably collapse, to be forever stricken from being considered as a worthy chapter of the Star Wars saga?

Once more, I was surprised.  The Rise of Skywalker held up much better than I remembered it doing.

The ending of The Rise of Skywalker is almost what I had imagined for most of my life would be the perfect ending to the entire nine movies mythology: the Skywalker family coming back to Tatooine, accompanied by the droids, with the twin suns above the horizon.  So help me that's how I dreamed of the final scene of Episode IX all my childhood and beyond.  And what we see in The Rise of Skywalker is darn nearly that.  My biggest complaint about it is that it doesn't have Artoo-Detoo and See-Threepio in that scene: they were the first two characters we saw in A New Hope and it would have been fitting if they were two of the last characters we saw in the final movie.  But I suppose that can be let slide.

Yes, The Rise of Skywalker isn't perfect.  But some things about it aren't so bad.  When I think of "somehow Palpatine returned", I remember that Palpatine did return, pretty much by the same method (cloning, Dark Side magik etc.) in the Dark Empire series by Dark Horse Comics in 1992: the very first Star Wars comic of the Expanded Universe.  George Lucas seriously loved the idea of bringing the Emperor back, enough so that he gave trade paperbacks of Dark Empire to all the Lucasfilm employees as Christmas presents.  So that particular idea isn't very alien to Star Wars lore.  Of course, Lucas was also the one who suggested killing Chewbacca in the novel Vector Prime, so there's that too, but anyway...

When Episode IX had finished playing, I found myself thinking that the sequel trilogy wasn't too awful after all.  It did pretty well, all things considered.  The untimely death of Carrie Fisher no doubt detrimentally impacted the story.  From what I've heard, the intention was that Leia was going to figure enormously into the final film.  J.J. Abrams and his team should be given some credit: they did the best that they could do with the little they were given, and it's something to be thankful for that they had all that extra footage of Fisher left over from the filming of The Force Awakens to work with.  It's not a "perfect" fit.  It's a bit clumsy, if we are to be honest.  But that can be forgiven, under the circumstances.

And that was my day re-experiencing episodes 7, 8, and 9 of the Star Wars saga.  I went to bed that night, against all sensibilities, with my love of Star Wars re-ignited.  It hadn't been wasted at all.  I could call myself a true fan again.  The "Star Wars shrine" in my living room - that displays among other things my copy of Heir to the Empire signed by Timothy Zahn, my Yoda puppet autographed by "Weird A" Yankovic, my personal lightsaber, and my beloved Chewbacca mug that my best friend from college gave to me - is again something I can be proud of having to showcase something from my childhood that I've carried along all this time.

The Force Awakens is an amazing film.  And the next two movies, if not completely up to par with Episode VII, are more than passable on their own.  They are Star Wars movies, with all the lumps and warts that come with that.  Even A New Hope was considered by many to be more than a little ridiculous when it premiered in 1977.  It has been more than forgiven for its faults.

I do believe, absolutely, that with the passage of time episodes 7, 8, and 9 are going to be better regarded than they are today.  The weakest of the trilogy is easily The Last Jedi, but the rest of it isn't too terribly bad.  The kids seem to like it.  Especially young girls, who found a kindred spirit in Rey, and that can't be a bad thing in any way whatsoever.

I was astounded by how much more I liked these three movies than I had before.  They are not perfect, but in the end they comprise what they are: a Star Wars trilogy. I can accept it.  Just as I can accept the quirks and weaknesses of any of the other six Star Wars movies.

Give the sequels another five or ten years.  I'll bet that in time the seventh, eighth, and ninth Star Wars movies are going to be as welcome into the canon as the rest of the saga.  I have tremendous confidence that is going to happen.

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Thoughts at a quarter til 3 a.m.

Cannot sleep.  Mind won't stop dwelling.

Like, how I want to believe in places beyond madness.  Beyond cruelty. 

I want to believe that there is a realm where there is no more farewell forever.  Some land of eternal innocence, where even the most damaged and weary can be like children again, to gambol and frolic together in boundless grace.  

I want to believe that for all of one's sins, there can still be redemption.

I want to believe that forgiveness is real.

And I want to believe that it is not foolishness to desire such things.

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"You're still blogging? Who still blogs?"

In the fall of 1994, I dialed into a friend's bulletin board system for the first time.  If you're wondering what that is, or was, a bulletin board system - BBS for short - was a computer system that you could phone into with a modem and share messages, download files, play games... it was a taste of the Internet way before most people had any access at all to the "information superhighway".  They were something like CompuServe, America Online, and other commercial services of the Eighties and Nineties, but they tended to be much more local.

BBSes were almost always the projects of hobbyists.  My friend Mark's BBS, which he named NEXUS, eventually had five phone lines.  That's five different people who could be dialed-in at a time, conversing or playing games with each other.  It was something that blew my mind and it made me wonder what things would be like once full-bore Internet arrived (which it did several months later).

It wasn't long after discovering Mark's system that I had an idea, if he was up for it.  Would it be possible to set aside part of the BBS for my own use?  The notion that had gripped me was to have some "op-ed space" on the board.  A place that I could write for, on whatever topic struck my fancy.  It would be like the letters of mine that the News & Record published on a semi-regular basis.

Mark thought it was a terrific idea.  And yes, such a thing was possible.  And that's how Knight's Corner was born.  It was my own little niche of the online world.  A place where I could share thoughts and opinions.  I used Knight's Corner to talk about a little bit of everything: the 1994 elections, a review of Star Trek Generations, sharing a recipe for Chex snack mix (one that includes assorted nuts)... lots of other topics.  I would post a new Knight's Corner every week or so.

Then in January 1995 Mark's BBS and several others were featured in a newspaper article.  The reporter made mention of Knight's Corner.  Within a few days NEXUS saw a lot of new users, dialing in from all over the Piedmont area.  And it was so amazing, all those people who were now also reading my stuff.  It was almost intoxicating.  And it made me wonder all the more what it would be like once I was on the real Internet.

I mention all of this because there's a paper trail that can be established going all the way back to late 1994, that I've been writing for online consumption this entire time, on and off for over thirty years.  When I started classes at Elon I learned how to make webpages, and I "migrated" Knight's Corner to my account there, for all the Internet to see.  I kept that up until I graduated, and then I found hosting on a free service.  Less than a year after that I was invited to join the staff of TheForce.net, and I wrote a lot of original pieces for that site, and was getting read by a daily audience numbering in the tens of thousands.

And now it's this blog, which I've been maintaining since early 2004, pretty much continuously apart from a little less than two years between 2016 and 2018, when I was traveling across America with my dog and then taking some time to address a few personal issues.  Even then though, I was posting some stuff for friends to read on Facebook.

So that's the vast majority of my life that I've been writing for an online readership.  It's a part of my personal legend now.  I'm not happy unless there's a keyboard and an online connection nearby to be a gateway for my thoughts.

I write.  It's what I do.  I have been writing like this ever since my English teacher in my freshman year of high school told me that it was a gift that I have.  I've done my best since Mrs. Rutledge told me that to make the most of it.

At least three times in as many months recently, I've been met with some incredulity when I've said that I have a blog.  People can't believe that that sort of thing is still being done in this day and age of social media.

Maybe there is some disdain because I'm being old-fashioned.  "Blogging"?  That requires actually reading something.  It's not moving images, it's not sound.  People aren't taking the time to read anything anymore.  Instead it has to be slickly packaged in something possessing motion and noise.  People expect their senses to be assaulted by sensory input.  And merely reading words doesn't satisfy that need.

I know that.  I accept that.  And that makes me want to blog that much more.

Media changes.  It always has.  Ever since the pharaohs dictated their decrees to be recorded in hieroglyphics.  But the meaning, the pure thought behind the visuals, that doesn't change.  It's not how the thought is expressed, it is that it's expressed at all.

So it is that I choose to employ a purer method of conveying my ideas, and ultimately myself.

I've experimented with posting video.  Perhaps I need to try that more.  I don't think I'm terribly un-photogenic.  I've made appearances in public and on television, talking about everything from bipolar disorder to digital copyright law, and I can present myself masterfully enough (I like to think so anyway).  But there's something about words that are permanent and immutable and can be appreciated again and again, and again.

Most modern media is designed to elicit an immediate response.  And that's not really what I'm out to engender from anyone.  I believe in being thoughtful.  I like for the recipients of my media to take some time to think about what it is that I've come to say.  Instead of being forced to hurtle on to the next thought without time to ruminate upon what I've just said and need them to consider.

In the end, I believe that my blogging will be of more permanence than any TikTok video or picture posted on Instagram.  We've been using textual sharing of information, in some form or another, for going on six thousand years now.  What I do with this blog isn't too terribly removed from the Gutenberg press, or illuminated manuscripts, or parchment, or papyrus scrolls.  It's just a refinement, several generations on, from impressing clay tablets with cuneiform.

I love my audience.  I'm very thankful for that.  It may not have readers in the millions or even the hundreds of thousands.  But then, I don't necessarily write for the masses.  I write for people who will truly appreciate what it is that I am bringing to the table and the conversation around it.  That's the way I've always been, looking back across the decades of my life.

It may lack the numbers that it once did at the height of blogging.  But I choose to continue blogging nevertheless.  And one never knows.  It could be that what I write today, will be read by many more people in the years and decades to come.  Like I told a fellow writer for Elon's student newspaper, when I gestured toward the bound volumes of past years' editions: I don't just write for the people today.  I write for them too: the ones who come after.  I write in a way that I hope leaves a good impression upon them.  That is especially why I write what I do.  My audience is potentially vast.  Much more so than what I can perceive today.  And I owe it to them to give them my very best.

Yes, I still blog.  I know I'm not the only one either.  But even if I were, The Knight Shift is my own little piece of acreage on the Internet.  It's my well-tended garden, as Samwise Gamgee would put it.  Made and built-up with my mind and my own two hands.  I intend to keep tending to it for as long as I can.  Indeed, if something were to happen to mine I've made arrangements for friends to post about that here.  And there is even an "end of the world" post that I've specially composed for when the apocalypse happens.  One final bit of myself to share with readers before the end of humanity.  I don't think that's macabre.  I just like being prepared.

So to anyone who's wondering why I have The Knight Shift and if I'm going to give it up because people aren't reading blogs anymore: I've no intention on going anywhere.  And if the muses of technology are kind, these words will endure long enough to be read by whoever may be interested in my eccentric life generations from now.

I like to think so, anyway.

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Thoughts about the "One Big Beautiful Bill"

There is both jubilation and lamentation abounding tonight following Congress's approval of President Trump's "One Big Beautiful Bill".  Personally, I have some mixed feelings about it.  I'm not going to let the shrill hysteria coming from some quarters persuade me that it's an entirely bad thing though.

I think the thing I've heard most from those opposing the budget is that it's going to starve "millions" of people.  And that it's going to deprive many others of necessary medication.

Well, let's see what someone who has in times past been on government assistance for food, and medicine, and has worked in the public sector as a mental health professional, has to say about the "One Big Beautiful Bill".  You ready for this?  Because you may not be expecting what I'm about to speak about it.

Okay, here we go...

The public food assistance is horribly abused.  A lot of people are on it that don't need to be.  Cut them out and there will be MORE assistance for the ones who do need it.

America is the only country in history that can not only produce more than enough food for its own people, it can also feed entire other countries.  That's a pretty good system if you ask me.  Not "perfect", that is not possible and never will be.  But nobody is going to starve because the "Big Beautiful Bill" was passed.  This of all countries is a place that doesn't have to worry about people going hungry.  If they need food they CAN get it.

I know!!  I've had to get help myself.  There are food ministries and other charities that are dedicated to providing sustenance.  It may not be the choicest food but it will feed and stave off hunger well enough.  Enough to hold out and wait for the bad times to end.  It's what I've had to do.  As rough as times have been, I believe enough in America to have faith that we shouldn't be defined by our circumstances.  A lot of people here have been reduced to near nothing, only to come back stronger than ever.  The "Big Beautiful Bill" isn't intended to be a hand-out... but it will be a hand-UP to those who need it.  We aren't meant to be wards of the government.  Get some help when we need it?  Yes.  But that shouldn't be forever.  A person should want and be driven to achieve more than that.  It's certainly been one of my motivations.

The "Big Beautiful Bill" isn't going to starve "millions" no matter how much people on the left claim that it will.  It won't deprive anyone of medication if they need that.  I've worked in the healthcare industry, in the public sector, and I have faith that people won't be losing services.  The bill is going to slash wasteful spending and make things more efficient though.  What resources have been there already, are going to be better allocated.  I for one am not worried about how it's going to impact mental health services especially.  That is arguably the most critical medical need that government can allocate resources to.  Take care of the mind and a lot of other things are alleviated, like substance abuse and homelessness and malnutrition.

We can't tax ourselves into prosperity, though that has been the core belief of modern liberalism for many, many decades.  And we are taxed to the breaking point already as it is.  We need tax cuts, very much so.  We need spending cuts too, and be wiser with our expenditures.  We can't keep going as we have been.  That has been found to be foolishness.  We have only been hurting ourselves.  Cut taxes, eliminate the waste, and watch the revenue come in.  It worked forty years ago and it will work today too.

It didn't have to be this way.  We could have avoided all of this.  We could have been more demanding of the representatives we sent to chambers of legislation from town council on up to the Capitol in Washington.  But it's better to willingly face reality now, than be compelled to confront it under harsher circumstances.

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"The earth isn't going to produce justice."

 Something I read on a news/politics discussion forum last night that has stuck with me almost 24 hours later:

"The earth isn't going to produce justice."

Isn't that the truth?

As much as things are wrong and we want to make them right, the sad fact is that this is a fallen and corrupted world.  No matter how much we long for it and try to bring it about, there is no lasting good.  There might be some temporary reprieve, it seems.  But it never lasts.  Wickedness will always prevail, at least until such time as Providence sees fit to directly intervene in our affairs.  Indeed, it seems that the more we strive for good, the more that effort is corrupted and brought to ruin.

What do we do, then?

Do the best we can.  Accepting that that's the best we can do.  Deceive none.  Let your "yes" be yes and "no" be no.  Seek wisdom and discernment.  Bind not yourself to the spirit of party, which is invariably reduced to collective foolishness.  Do not trust in governments of men: however well-meaning their beginning, though it may take centuries they will always let us down.  Don't trust in men.  Trust in God instead.  We should dedicate our efforts to Him. The good work is ours, but the results are forever His.

Those of wicked device in this world seem to be all powerful.  But they are as mortal as any of us.  They will pass in time.  Their realms will pass with them.  And in due time, a better world will be brought forth, wrought from holy Hands.

The earth isn't going to produce justice.  That is true.  But we can do what is within our power to seek justice.  Knowing that we will fail but having satisfaction in knowing that we at least tried.

It's how I try to live, anyway.

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Donald Trump, the Confederacy, and Honor

Over the weekend I watched Gettysburg, the 1993 Civil War epic film about the Battle of Gettysburg.  It's one of my most favorite historical films, although at more than four hours long it's really not one I can afford enough time to watch often.  But for some reason or another I felt led to see it again.

Maybe I sensed that I was needing to watch it anew.  That the time was coming soon to bring it up in conversation.  That opportunity comes tonight, after reading how President Donald Trump is restoring the name of seven military bases back to their original names that honored Confederate officers from the Civil War.  The bases had been re-named by the Biden administration to be more "neutral" or "politically correct".  The venerated Fort Bragg became the vacuous-sounding "Fort Liberty", f'rinstance.

Now, to be accurate about it, the Trump Administration is not directly restoring the original Confederate namesakes.  Fort Bragg was originally named after General Braxton Bragg.  Fort Bragg 2.0 gets its monicker from Army Pfc. Ronald Bragg, who earned a Silver Star for his actions during the Battle of the Bulge.  It's a clever way to re-brand the forts to their first identities.  And I think it's a magnificent end-run around an ideology that cares not for the things that matter, like history and heritage.

And honor.

Something that has struck me every time I've watched Gettysburg, which was based on Michael Shaara's richly-researched 1974 novel The Killer Angels.  It's how the men of the Union and the Confederacy respected each other.  That, despite how they were on opposing sides of a bitter conflict.  The Civil War was ultimately founded in the few errors made by the Constitutional Convention: namely the issue of slavery.  That manifested itself in time into the issue of states versus federal government, but I greatly digress...

The Civil War was going to happen.  It's a wonder it didn't break out thirty years earlier during the Nullification Crisis.  But there is not a doubt in my mind that conflict would break out eventually.

But that isn't what the men, and women, on either sides of the fighting wanted.  They each wanted the right thing to be done.  Unfortunately it took a violent thrashing-out to decide who would determine that.  It was an unenviable situation that truly pitted brother against brother, literally and figuratively.

Back to Gettysburg, the film and what it depicts.  The officers of each side, and on down to the basic soldiers, don't necessarily hate each other.  They didn't in real life either.  As I said, they respected each other.  How could they not? They had too much nobility.  They had too much honor.

If those men could honor each other, I don't see how I can't honor them all, either.

I've heard the screeds: "they were a foreign country fighting America!"  "They were traitors!"  "They were the losers and we don't pay tribute to losers!"  Ad nauseam.

Those things are said by people who have no concept whatsoever of honor.  They couldn't care less what honor means.  They barely ever use the word at all.  "Honor" is a thing almost dying.  It seems more fitted for an earlier time, somewhen that doesn't factor in to a world of thoughtless replies and cruel memes.

The men and women of the Confederacy and Union alike, they didn't ask to be drawn into war against one another.  They were doing the best that they could with the hand that was dealt them.  It was their lot to participate in the very worst of family disagreements.  And the men of the Confederacy loved their countrymen no less than the Union loved theirs.

They were admirable, every one of them (okay, except for those like the ones in charge of the prison at Andersonville).  They played the parts given them.  And after the war, they reconciled.  They embraced again.  Decades later at the reunion at Gettysburg battlefield, the survivors of Pickett's charge went up the ridge to meet the Union defenders, only this time they met and shook hands and hugged one another.

I really can't see that kind of thing possible among people today.  The people of today like bitterness.  They thrive on hate.  They despise all vestige of honor.

The people who tore down the Confederate monuments in recent years have acted like animals of base instinct.  They have no notion of respect for those who came before us in generations past.   How could they?  Honor is an alien notion to them.

I have no problem whatsoever with a fort being named for a Confederate officer.  Or having a Confederate statue erected.  Or something like a school named after Robert E. Lee, arguably the most beloved general in America's long and illustrious history.  There can be monuments for North and South alike.  If the United States federal government came to reward pensions to veterans of both sides, we can still abide by that.

Union and Confederate.  Billy Yank and Johnny Reb.  The blue and the gray.  They both fought with honor.  And we can honor them both.

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A lesson on humbleness

Had some very good news today!  Wish I could share it but I had to sign all kinds of non-disclosure agreements and whatnot.  But trust me, it's awesome!!

During a discussion about how good a turn this is, a dear friend shared something that I thought was rather profound.  It's a notion I've never considered before and it's already greatly impacted my outlook on life.  Here it is, in his own words...

Stay humble, but let me tell you a story: When I first came into the Twelve Steps program, I was saying to my sponsor how bad a person I was.  His response was, 

"Wow. What an ego on YOU."

I replied, "That's the opposite of ego."

He smiled and said, "No it isn't. Do you know the Latin root of the word "humble"? It is "humus".  To be grounded.  Humility is the act of being neither greater NOR LESS THAN who you truly are."

Light bulb went off over my head.  Now I try to be humble.  Neither greater nor less than.

If nothing else I have learned something new to me: the word "humus" and how it's the basis of "humble".

I have been told before that I am humble.  Maybe I've been trying to be too humble.  Hence, something other than grounded.

It's a good notion to meditate upon for the rest of this evening.

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Dream report: Early morning hours of May 23, 2025

Had a very vivid dream last night.  It's stuck with me all day.  I can't get it out of my head.  Maybe sharing it will let me be free of it.

In my dream, I was in a toy store, a large one like the old Toys R Us.  And I found my way to the aisle that had the Star Wars toys.  I've actually dreamed of that a number of times.  What I do most when I dream of that is look through the massive wall of Star Wars action figures, seeing if there are any that I don't have.  And that's what I did this time, too.

But this time, as I was looking through the pegs holding the figures, I spotted something I'd never seen before.  It was a Star Wars figure totally new to me.  I pulled the figures of the peg that were between me and this new figure.

When I finally had it in my hand, it was a carded action figure of someone who I had loved dearly, and have been unable to stop loving even now.

It looked exactly like her, precisely imitated in plastic and paint.  She looked as she did on Christmas Day many years ago, when I got to her parents' house after I drove fast and got there from Reidsville in five hours, not the usual seven.

It was a Star Wars figure of one of the very few women who God ever brought into my life and I could barely stop looking at it.

It was suddenly the most wonderful, most amazing action figure that I had ever seen and I had to have it.  I was gentle with the carded figure, I wanted it in mint condition.  It was going to get a place of highest honor in my collection.

I took it to the checkout at the front of the store.  I got to the register.  And that's when the cashier told me how much it was and I knew that I didn't have that much.  I had to give it back.  I wasn't able to afford the most precious action figure that I had ever seen.

It went back to the aisle, hanging with the other figures, and I knew it was going to be found by someone who could not only afford her, but was probably better than I could ever be.

I started crying in my dream.  And then I woke up.  And buried my face in my pillow and had to hold back what could have been real tears if the meds I take for manic depression could allow for actual weeping.  I felt sad and a little angry, at myself and at God.  I kept thinking of how broken I am.  Broken in mind, in spirit, and too many times in faith.

It seems that my dreams are all broken too, in all the ways that they can be.

So much symbolism in that dream that I'm realizing since having it, about 3 a.m. Eastern Standard Time this morning.  And none of it less than haunting.

Well, that's what it was.  A nice dream about a pleasure from childhood and much of the rest of my life even.  That turned into a heartbreaker that has plagued my waking hours all day.

Maybe with it out of my head, it can not have any further power over me.  I'd like to salvage something better out of this afternoon and evening.

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The night I was taken away from it all

 It was twenty-five years ago tonight that for the very first time I was sent to a psychiatric hospital.

The bipolar disorder had started during the preceding winter, but I didn't know that's what it was (it would be another four years before that diagnosis was handed to me).  I had been manic most of the winter and then the depression - what I came to call " the dark fountain" - decided that it was time for it to show itself.  The death of my grandmother toward the end of March intensified the blackness.  All I came to think about was death and dying.  Everywhere I looked I saw dead people waiting to happen.  It was a dark fountain that was smothering me, driving me to the brink.

It got bad enough that one night some friends took me to the hospital in Burlington.  The doctors there said that I was having intense depression.  They were worried about my safety, afraid that I might do something to myself.  And so it was that they signed orders to have me taken involuntarily to John Umstead, a mental hospital northeast of Raleigh.  I got to call Dad before I was to leave the hospital, so my family knew where I was going to.

A cop came in a short while later.  He took me out to his cruiser.  We were five minutes down I-40 when his radio crackled to life and he was instructed to turn back around to the hospital and pick up another patient: another "compassionate", the situation was called.  So we returned to the hospital.  The officer opened the back door and told me to come out and he said he had to put handcuffs on me.  I was horrified: I'd never been handcuffed before.  I asked if I could just stay in the car and he said that was against the rules.  So I had cold carbon steel slapped on my wrists for the first time in my life.  We went back into the hospital though the emergency entrance.  I did my best to hide the handcuffs from view, but nobody seemed to notice anyway.

A few minutes later the new patient, a young lady in her early twenties, was brought out.  The cop put handcuffs on her too.  And so he escorted us out and into the back seat of the car and we took off.

"Hi," the girl told me.  "I'm Tracy.  I'm crazy."

She began telling me about how her parents thought she was going to cut herself again.  She told me about sticking pins and needles into her bare arm.  I asked her why did she do that.  "Oh, just to feel something," she told me.  Tracy kept talking for the whole ride.

It took about an hour to get to John Umstead.  We were taken inside.  Tracy was met by two orderlies who took her down one way and I never saw her again.  The officer took the cuffs off of me and I was taken down the other way.

I was brought to a room and told to take my clothes off.  I did, behind a cloth screen so nobody had to look at me without attire.  My shirt and jeans were taken away, my shoes too.  They let me keep my underwear.  I was given pajamas and "grippy" socks to put on.

A short while later a psychiatric nurse came into the room to give me a preliminary examination.  She asked some questions.  She also gave me a series of numbers and asked me to remember them.  A little while later she asked me what the numbers were and I recited them back to her.

She asked me "Who is the President of the United States?"

Sometimes when things are dark, I fall back into using humor.  That's what I tried to do this time, because this was about as bleak as things could get...

"Hillary Clinton," I replied.

The nurse gave me a harsh look and I could immediately tell that I had answered way wrong.  I quickly told her that I was kidding.  "I'm just really nervous right now," I added.

She made a note of what I had told her.

She finished the exam.  By this point it was approximately 2 a.m. on Friday morning.  I was brought to the ward. Taken to a room.  There were two beds inside, but nobody else was in there.  The assistant told me that if I needed anything that I could come to the nurses station down the hallway.

They had let me keep my book bag all this time.  There had been nothing in it but my Bible.  I sat up on the bed and crossed my legs, and took out my Bible and held it close to my chest.  I started rocking back and forth, my Bible a talisman against the night.  Whatever gets you through the darkness.  I tried to pray, but the words would not come.  All I could think about was that I was two hours away from home, in a part of the state where I knew nobody.  I was in a mental hospital, the last place that I had ever expected to be.  The depression was playing on the edges of my mind but I was too frightened and confused to really let that overwhelm me at the moment.

I looked out from my window.  There was a darkened courtyard beyond the glass.  I stood there, and suddenly thought that this was like that scene toward the beginning of The Godfather Part II, where the child Vito Corleone is locked up in the room at Ellis Island because he's too sick to proceed on to America.  Looking out his window at the distant Statue of Liberty, young Vito starts to sing.

I was locked up too.  Away from the world that I knew.  But I couldn't sing.  

"Especially," I reminded myself, "not in Italian."

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I'm starting to feel like this guy...

And hey, I've got a dog too.

The Tramp.  Charlie Chaplin's classic character.  Seemingly forever making his way from one set of experiences on to another.  A life of un-sedentary misadventures.  And that's where I've wound up once more, also.

I've had to find out the hard way that my training and experiences in regard to working with adults in the mental health field, do not necessarily translate into something that can also work with some children.  And neither is my academic background as a student of secondary education pedagogy, plus time spent teaching middle schoolers, very adaptable toward helping young people with severe special needs.

There is much more that could be said about what happened but I'll keep those thoughts to myself.  I believe that I was giving it my best, and I can hold my head high about that.  I'm a very hard worker, I always give something not less than my greatest effort.  A lot of people will attest to that.  But as friends have reminded me in the past two days it's not a perfect world.  I have to try to remember that.

In the meantime, I'm trying to keep hold to my faith.  Trying to cease questioning myself about if I am not thankful enough, because I truly believe that I was thankful and still am.  Is all of this some kind of test from God?  Is He wanting to see how well I hold up under the pressure of it all?  Is He entertained, by watching me holding on by my fingernails for the past few years?

I know.  What I'm going through right now isn't peculiar to me.  A lot of people in recent years have had to struggle.  Many are having it even worse off than I'll ever know.  There again, I should be thankful.  For the time being I still have a roof over my head.  I'm not feasting every night but neither am I starving.  I have my beloved dog Tammy (who is lately determined to drive me batty with her new ball that she keeps getting stuck underneath everything!).  Mental issues aside I am in very excellent health for someone who will be 51 next month.  Some don't get to say such things.  So I suppose on a level playing field, I'm doing all right, more or less.

I just wish that I could once again have a career with meaning and purpose that would provide for my needs.  I'm not interested in being "wealthy".  It doesn't take much to make me happy.  And I'd seriously love a real crack at having that.

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For anyone in a relationship...

Writing my book compelled me to examine a lot of situations that have come about in my life.  Especially where other people are involved.  I've forced myself to take a long and hard and on occasion very difficult look at how I've related to them.  And that includes all the times... all of them... when I have wound up hurting others.

I had a feeling from the start of writing this over ten years ago that my book would in many ways be an act of penance.  That feeling was not unwarranted.  In the end, the manuscript I finished two months ago is replete with the longing for atonement.  I have sinned against God and I have brought about grief to so many people.  And I had I been a wiser person, maybe some or even all of that could be avoided.

It would be easy to say that the bipolar disorder was the cause of it all.  Yet that's not entirely accurate.  Yes, being a manic depressive has complicated relations with other people.  It has wrecked havoc with my thoughts and my emotions and brought me down so many times.  It turned me into someone who was the furthest thing from the person I really am.  But in the final analysis, it was my own weaknesses that brought about ruin.

I see now where my greatest failing was to communicate.

I've only been in two relationships during my lifetime.  One of them resulted in marriage that ended in divorce, the other was a dating relationship that lasted a few years before it also ended.  Each of them could have benefitted greatly if I had not been so withdrawn in sharing my thoughts and feelings and desires and fears.  I thought that I was strong enough to not have to do those to the utmost.  And that was was a great mistake.

I don't know if God will ever let me be in another relationship.  It would make me very happy if He does.  It would have to be someone very special.  I know the kind of woman who I am looking for.  I haven't found her yet.  If she exists and somehow our paths were to cross and we end up in a place where we find that God is leading us into holy matrimony, then I want to be completely open with her.  I need for each of us to do that with one another.  Including sharing our weaknesses, as hard as that might be to do.  I didn't do that before.  Maybe if I had realized that a long time ago it would have prevented a lot of anguish and heartbreak.

I should not have tried to do it alone.  A relationship is two people, come together, out of mutual love and respect.  In the Judeo-Christian tradition this is taken to mean that a love culminates with a man and woman become as one in the eyes of God.  That means the totality of each person, given to God and to one another, lumps and all.

Maybe it took going through decades of pain to come to a point where I could realize that.

If you love someone and are committed to that person, respect them and trust them enough that you can be open with them.  About anything and everything.  Especially about your weaknesses.  I believe that your beloved will understand.  And that he or she will fully accept you.  Being in love means you have each other's back, no matter how ugly or broken things may seem.  But you can't get through that without complete and utter honesty with one another.

That's just something I'm feeling led to share tonight, while looking over a particularly grueling chapter of my book.

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A new op-ed every week: About that first one...

So last weekend after vowing to write an op-ed piece every week this year, I composed the first of the series.  It exists, honest!  I submitted it to a site that I've got a lot of respect for.  There was some correspondence about it but the last was a few days ago.  There hasn't been any word since and it hasn't been published.

I'm going to chalk it up as still being momentum forward.  It has been more than two years since I wrote like this so I'm a bit out of practice.  What I'm going through now is "therapy" as a writer.  When Dad SEVERELY injured his hand in a farming accident forty years ago this coming fall, it was months before he was in any shape to even hold a pen.  I've been injured too, in a fashion.  What did I expect, that I would be published again after not exercising that particular region of my gray matter?

I'm going to give the site a few more days, and if they don't publish it then I'll post it here.  Meanwhile there are two ideas for essays that I have in mind.  I'm going to work on those and send them out.  And then, we'll see what happens.

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