I thought that some of you may want to send condolences to Mary Anne McMahon Herbst on the loss of her mother. Her home address is 36 Acton Rd. Columbus, Ohio 43214.
Tim, In an effort to better explain presence, I submit that Tommy Chong said it best, "Dave's not here." What I think I mean is it's more emotional than intellectual presence. It's what you feel rather than what you think. How one responds to others and one's self emotionally is primary. In other words, how does someones happiness make you feel? Conversely, how does someone's saddness make you feel? After you've asked yourself a thousand questions, it's time for a sweat lodge or a walk in the woods, a night alone, even a community discussion about dysfunction or addiction. In so doing there is a discovery, a learning if you will that you can gnaw on like an old bone. One can find the elusive answer to the question..."why?"
More information pertaining to Natural Passages can be found on their website. There you can find information on Herb Stevenson the founder and author of the bulk of material. I can't do it justice as I have limited experience. I will be going to go for more of the same starting in March. If there is anyone interested in attending a weekend, let me know. I won't mislead you and say its fun and you'll be changed, cause that ain't gonna happen, but I'll answer your questions. Send me an email or call me.
MM, thanks so much for sending the link to Mary Ann’s mother’s obituary. It was heartwarming and makes me feel I missed out on knowing a lovely and lively lady. I will for sure get a card right out to Mary Ann.
I just watched the presentation on NetFlix of Springsteen's always sold-out Broadway show, and clearly understand why it was so successful. I've always been a big fan, seen him a few times in concert, but hey, this is something totally different. Those concerts were just music, great music to be sure, but this Broadway show is music and poetry and prose on scale rarely experienced – the unofficial American poet laureate who speaks for all of us, and to all of us, as he takes us through his autobiography in a language that is at once both immediately accessible and profoundly, head-shakingly, beautifully poignant. Who wouldn't see a bit of themselves, as this New Jersey Catholic boy, this American Everyman, describes his blue-collar, hard-working, hard-drinking Irish father who was, as he says, "his greatest hero, and his greatest foe;"? Or his always sunny, Italian mother who counter-balanced the oft-depressed father with her hard-work, her love of dance, and whose high heels clicking on the linoleum floor fascinated the little boy accompanying her as they walked through the dark after-hours law offices where she was a secretary. Or the description of meeting Ron Kovic, author of Born on the 4th of July and how this inspired his own Born in the USA, delivered here in a version just using an acoustic twelve-string guitar, which he uses to deliver an absolutely inspired, virtuosic lead-in to his heart-rendring, searing growl of a howl that embodies what that horrible war meant to so many of us, especially to those of us, like Springsteen himself, who chose not to be part of that war, but who also can't look away from what might have been. Or the way he describes reaching the age where one is on the cusp, now a young man about to become a father himself, while still being an angry son dealing with a finally repentant father, a father who comes bearing wisdom – do we become ghosts to our children, haunting their every step, or do we become instead, ancestors, offering guidance to those steps? Or as the song he performs at this point says – his most fervent wish for his children will be: "may your sins be your own." Or the timelessness of The Ghost of Tom Joad echoing in every homeless person one sees, or the haunting tribute to 9-11, which is never mentioned, but is inescapably the subject of The Rising. I don't know if it is fair to say this, since his songs have always stunned me with their poetic power, but in this show, it is the writing and performing of the monologues between the songs that is even more powerful, if that is possible. Then put the two together and you have something quite extraordinary, and not to sound too hokey, but it is almost religiously transcendent at times.
I suppose I could go on and on paraphrasing what I just saw, but that's only going to do an injustice to the real thing. A one man show like none I have ever seen before, accompanied only by himself on guitar or piano. If you were a Springsteen fan, you will love this. If you were not, you will be. Please check it out. You will not be disappointed.
P.S. I have one small performance criticism, that may help you non-Springsteen fans understand one of his songs done here. It is a song about the masks we wear in life especially in the way we often hide much from our closest partners in life, and it all builds to the key line: "Is that you baby, or just a brilliant disguise?" My complaint is that unless you know this song, I doubt you could ever guess, from the way he sings it here, that the last two, and most important words, are "brilliant disguise." Otherwise, a flawless performance on all of the other songs, even though most are done in a way quite different from the original recordings, since there is no band backing him.
Fan and a follower from way back here, Mark -- from when a friend of mine who was a music critic at a newspaper in Detroit told me many years ago: "there is a guy they say is the future of rock and roll. You should check him out."
I'll keep this short. Well, short as I can. I have probably mentioned this before here but we saw him in Mobile in the late 80s and waited just outside the tour bus for him after the show. There was a line of giggly girls -- maybe a dozen. We joined it. He stood by the door of the bus and people filed by to have just a moment. Dodi took advantage of hers by kissing him full on the lips. I was next in line. He said "Hope you don't want a kiss" and I said no, just want to shake your hand. Which I did. A silly thing to be so happy about thinking back on it now but I gotta say I am, and I value that moment, and I have learned that with big people small moments mean a lot. He has inspired me to work hard at what I do in a way that no college professor ever could. It's like that line in one of his songs, No Surrender: "We learned more from a three minute record than we ever learned in school." Some of us, not all of us, came up that way, I think.
Now: Apart from the half-dozen concerts we attended over the years - and the time I saw him for free on the osu campus , outside, on the oval, when I was teaching at osu and he was doing a tour on behalf of some politician or cause I can't recall -- the single most telling thing I learned about him was something Clarence Clemons wrote in his autobiography. He said he would often be with Bruce in a park or on the beach or in a crowd and Bruce would point out a couple, or a group, and make up a story about them. What their dreams were, what they loved, what they lost. And that right there was his art: He made up stories. Sounds simple to say it but if you know his music you see it in action, you see how he was simply a storyteller and, of course, apart from that, a great musician, a fiery, driven performer, and a man with his own story to tell.
Wish I could have afforded the NYC show but watching it is a great consolation prize.
Hey. I found some odd cards in a shop in San Fran 20+ years ago. This has been my favorite for the longest time. This one's for you....all! Hope it is all peaceful and bright and you get a nice toy.
Ok everybody be a good Catholic and avoid the occasion of sin. That means don't drive anywhere near a mall this close to Christmas and get caught up in the mean-streets cussout-fest. And thanks for the picture of you and the rest of your choir, Tim. And man alive I love this time of year and I hope all of you have more than your share of its joys. Count those blessings! Hope you have so many you'd need Sister Norbertine to help you keep track!
I shared this from one of my buddies on Facebook earier and thought I'd put it on here.
A few of you (Larry, Bob Berkemer, and Bonnie) have already seen and shared it yourselves. It reminds me of a funny story on my first night in Vinh Long. I'll tell it after this post so as not to ruin the content here.
(a few clues as to the initials for the non-military; BG is Brigadier General - LTC is Lieutenant Colonel - 1SG is First Sargent - MSG is Master Sargent - MAJ is Major - 2LT is a Second Lieutenant. I think you get the drift)
FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY -
The Department of the Army issued orders today to BG S. Clause, recalling him to active duty, with a report date of 24 Dec 18.
A reservist, with 1,742 years of service, this airborne Soldier specializes in vertical delivery of high-value items. He is airborne and air assault qualified. He is also a 46R, Public Affairs Broadcast Specialist.
Also recalled, were LTC Dasher, 1SG Dancer, MSG Prancer, MAJ Vixen, MAJ Comet, Chaplain (LTC) Cupid, SGT Donner, and PO2 Blitzen, an Individual Augmentee from the Naval Reserve, assigned to the Army. 2LT Rudolph is also authorized to report for duty; however, he must first successfully complete Land Nav training, which he has failed four times.
Although the above troops are on orders for only 24 hours, it is anticipated that they will submit a travel claim for 24,901 miles at .56/mile, using a POV. Suitable Government transportation is not available.
As a special operations unit, each member is granted a high level of uniform flexibility, as well as relaxed grooming standards. Per diem has been modified to included large quantities of hot cocoa and cookies.
Merry Christmas!
P.S. - Let's ALL remember the men and women of our Armed Forces, as they serve in far away lands during this Christmas Season.
A story I recalled with one of my buddies from back in the day.
Bill,
I recall my first night in Vinh Long. I had arrived on the afternoon of Dec 24th 1968. (a few months after you) A funny memory of that first night with the guys in my hooch (who I didn't even know yet) with a "PRC-25" radio (pronounced "Prick-25"). Shortly before midnight they were listening to a radio conversation between some clever pilots and an apparent new guy at the radio desk of "Delta Center" (the air traffic control radio center for all military fights in the Delta region).
They were describing an unidentified flying object "some sort of aircraft approaching from the North", and had the guy at Delta Center's full attention. In a nervous voice, he kept asking them for more details. They gradually gave him a description of an "open cockpit" - " a large pilot in a red flight suit" - and looked to be propelled by a long line of "some sort of deer"(I think they might have said "ponies with antennas on their heads") and "approaching at very high speed". Finally the guy at Delta Center realized the joke and the fact that he'd been completely reeled in. Lots of laughter and a few cat calls back and forth over the air followed.
It was really clever and funny. I was even fooled for a moment.
Many of you are making, or have in the past, made some trip to be with loved ones over this Holy Holiday. We used to trade with my Aunt and Uncle each year alternating houses for our family get together. It meant a trip down to Weston Place in Clintonville, or a drive all the way out to Lane Avenue. And during those college years I got to fly home to rejoin my family – as I imagine some of you did. When it was at our house, my Dad usually invited two or three middle-aged ladies (patients of his) who were alone and victims of depression and alienation for their families. I was uncomfortable with that at first, but I grew to enjoy it, and even look forward to it as I grew older. Perhaps, someone special came from somewhere else to be with you. Dad’s boyhood friend, Father Sprinkler visited us once from his mission in Taiwan. They had caddied together as kids at the "Elks Club" golf course (I think that's the School for the Blind up on Morse Road now). And dad supported his mission for many years. Years later, Mary and I used to fly home with the kids from Denver to be with the grandparents in Columbus. I imagine there are many fond memories of this day among you. And some travel nightmares with three tiny tots while the weather played havoc with our connections through O’Hare in Chicago. Yikes!
But I have one particular journey that stands out in my memory. It’s a very long trip away from home for the holidays.
I had just graduated from flight school at Hunter Army Airfield in Savannah Georgia (as I no doubt bored you with in some earlier photos). Graduation day was December 2nd, and we were under the impression we would have Christmas at home before “going over”. But to our disappointment (and shock) we were all handed orders to report to the Oakland Naval Yard in California on the 18thof December. We would then be transported to Travis AFB up in Marin County for air departure to Long Binh AFB (just north of Saigon), and from there, to be assigned to units all over the four Corps Zones of Vietnam. Understand, it was no shock that we were going over there, it was just a misunderstanding about when we were departing.
So I piled my stuff into my 4 month-old VW Bug (my first car – bought simply to get out of “Hunter” and into Savannah with the new freedoms were given in “Advanced” flight school. I guess they thought we were big kids now – Ha!) and headed north.
I spent a quiet two weeks around the house. My folks threw a nice going away party for me at which one of my favorite older cousins gave me my first hint at what it ws going to be like when I came home. As he arrived at the party, he sort of insulted me for wanting to serve in this conflict. Gee thanks! And a Merry Christmas to you too!
And then Mom and Dad took me out to Port Columbus to say goodbye to their baby boy (was I a spoiled “Mama’s Boy”? – You bet!). I landed in San Fran and got a Navy bus to the Oakland Naval Yard where I was rejoined with several of my roommates and best buddies from flight school. We were informed that we would have a two-day wait to get our flight out of Travis and were assigned bunks in the rather large B.O.Q. (Bachelor’s Officer Quarters). The Oakland Naval Yard is a big place, and served as a transfer point for all branches of the service. We were also allowed to go out on the town. I knew “Frisco” from a childhood visit and I led my buddies into the city and through China town and down to Fisherman’s Wharf, etc. We had a great time.
Then came our departure date. We were bussed up to Travis AFB and dropped at the transit building to be placed on commercial contracted flight across the Pacific. We were not all placed on the same flight. This would be the last time I would ever see my closest flight school roommates and a few other classmate buddies. I was put on a Braniff Airlines flight with three classmates who I was much less close to. I knew them, but not as close buddies.
The flight over touched down in Honolulu in darkness, then we re-boarded for the final leg over to Long Binh AFB. The mood on board was loud and upbeat. About a quarter of us were up standing in the aisles yammering away like a big party. And adding to the “atmosphere” was one Braniff stewardess who must have been thee single most outrageously sexy woman any of us had ever seen! She was also a sweet fun-loving girl who became almost the life of the party.
As we closed in on Long Binh, the captain comes over the P.A. system with this announcement. “Uhh, we’re gonna need you to please take your seats and fasten seat belts. We will be circling at altitude for a while until cleared to land. The Air Base has just come under a rocket attack and we are not clear to approach”.
The loud party mood dropped to dead silence immediately. Not a sound.
So we finally landed and de-boarded into a middle of the night drizzle, and filed down the ramp thought a corridor of young GI’s with rain ponchos and M-16s, into the longest tent with the longest line I had ever seen. (Note: the Army invented, and holds the patent on looooong slow lines. And this was a doozie!). After checking our travel orders, we were separated into groups and herded onto a caravan of 5 buses. The busses had heavy metal louvered covers over the windows. You could see almost straight down on the road but not out very far to the side. And bullets could not penetrate the plates. At the head and back of the line, and in between each bus was a gun jeep with .30 caliber machine guns on a swivel mount. Also mounted on each bus were a series of huge, super-bright lights, pointed out ahead and to the side of each vehicle.
We cranked up and began to roll through streets that were apparently the slums of Long Binh and north Saigon. I shouldn’t say “rolled”, I should say “flew!” The buses went so fast it was a bit unnerving as we rounded some hard curves. I could see the utter slum housing (carboard boxes) along the roadside as we streaked past.
In about 30 minutes we reached a large compound where we were assigned a bunk and spent another two days sitting around there waiting on further orders to our final unit destinations.
A day or two later, I was called out with about 50 other guys to get on another single bus, which took us back out to the AFB flight line to board an air force C-123 – one of those fat, stubby, twin-engine Air Force prop cargo planes that did most of the re-supply missions all over the country. We walked onto the dropped back door with our duffle bags over our shoulders and sat along the interior floor of the large cargo bay.
We were headed south to Can Tho (“can toe”), the capital of the “Delta”. The flight was about an hour long and we were greeted and led off to a series of small “hooches” where we slept about 10 guys per hooch for that night.
The next day (December 24th1968) four of us – all classmates – were told to get our gear and report to the Heli-pad near the end of the runway for our transportation to a place called Vinh Long. So Oppert (my only friend in the foursome), Driscoll (the best softball pitcher I ever saw – we had class teams in flight school), one more (name forgotten), and myself stood out there waiting.
We must have been a spectacle, standing there out on this very busy airfield in our 6-day old wrinkled dress khakis with “folding” caps and polished leather dress shoes. Then a rather oil-stained Huey hovers over to the pad and lands near us, and of course kicking up a tornado of dust as he settles on the ground and drops his blade pitch. The door gunner nearest us unbuckles himself, climbs down out of his perch behind his .30 caliber, swivel-mounted machine gun, walks over to us, and yells out over the engine and rotor noise, “You guys goin” ta Vinh Long?”
I think at that moment we all looked at one another with a “Well Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore” look on our faces, and we threw our duffle bags on and climbed aboard for the 20-minute ride to our final destination.
We land out on the fight line (which is a good distance around the active fixed-wing runway – not to be crossed) and are met by a jeep with a driver who had the dumbest sense of humor - EVER! “Oh you boys gonna love it here. You gonna love the golf course and the tennis courts and the pool and oh my the girls! And evenings you can sit out on your front patio and wait for Charlie to drop a couple of them 120’s (a 120mm mortar round) through your f---ing screen door and jiss have yourselves a ball!”
So we round the end of the active runway and proceed down a sort of dirt street which passes a bunch of rows and columns of Hooches (cottages with tin roofs sleeping 8 to 10 pilots). And dust everywhere.
I was dropped last, and as I step up to the screen door of my “operations” hooch (the place to sign in to my new unit) I am hearing music. I set my duffle bag down and look up. There is a little Piper Cub (an Air Force “Bird Dog”) spotter plane circling Vinh Long Airfield at about 2,000 feet, with his “propaganda” loud speaker mounted out his side door playing Christmas music. It’s playing this song, which touches my heart every time I hear it now:
(I know there is a "Military version" from the movie with the wonderful Dean Jagger as the departing general, but I like this version better)
"Are you still a believer in Santa Claus..... because at 7 it's marginal, right? "
Opening line ot the new remake of the "Grinch"- starring POTUS & FLOTUS.
But I guess the whole thing will just be phoned in.
It's sad!
this just in.............
Patera, Asia Minor (Turkey) March, 280 AD.
Born of wealthy parents, one Nicholas (of Myra). Eventually becomes a bishop of the Christian faith and later a registed attendee of the council of Nicaea. Imprisoned for Christian beliefs under Roman rule, but released under Constantine. Said to be a man of great charity. Often associated with the concept of
Dave -- the amount of detail still residing in your memory bank is astounding, Ca-Ching!!! Your final image of the circling plane with its propaganda loudspeaker playing White Christmas blew me away. Well done my friend, well done!
And thanks to Joe McCarthy for pointing out that Travis AFB is NOT in Marin County, but is in Solano County. I told Joe I did that deliberaely so as to be able to collect more for the "movie rights".
I have a final part of the stories about the trip over and the funny Christmas Eve radio story. So for all 4 of you still reading the forum this will bring some relief from the boredom of this "low country, wanna be sage" with nothing to do with this day but sit home and write.
It was about noon Christmas day when one of the guys in my hooch (most of whom I still hadn't even met) stuck his head in my (6' by 6') cubicle and asked, "Hey, we've got a Huey going down river to Dong Tam to see the Bob Hope show. Wanna come along?" Without a clue as to what or where Dong Tam was, I jumped at the chance!
About six of us jeeped down to the flight line and jumped on board with two of them up front as pilot and co-pilot. I had no idea if this was safe, authorized, or what. I was just there ("living in the present" as Jack would say).
We flew the 20 minutes down river to Dong Tam and landed on their airfield. Dong Tam is not a Vietnamese town so you won't find it on a map. It is about half way down that norhtern-most split of the Mekong between Vinh Long (my home), and My Tho ("mee - toe"), a real town where a certain young Navy Lieutentant named John Kerry (from Massachusetts) hung out with his "riverboat" buddies. (perhaps along with Bob Berkermer's younger brother). They didn't do much fishing or water skiing on their boats - but other stuff.
Special Note: I would later learn why he and many other half-way intelligent guys would join the Navy instead of the Army. By sheer coincidence (months later) I would come to realize that they were served real food, prepared by Navy cooks who were actualy trained at the task. WHAT a concept !)
Dong Tam was a purpose-built American base that had a bit of an airfield (which we would ocasionally stage our daily mission from for a day at a time), but it was mostly the home of the large 9th Infantry Division - the only major American ground forces operating throughout the entire "Delta". But they were soon to be recalled to the States and leave us with just skeleton American "advisor" teams leading the nearly worthless "ARVN" troops. (Army of the Republic of Viet Nam).
So we land and walk into the "theater" area - a large venue of tele poles layed down in rows to seat about two or three thousnad people, in front of a large bandshell and stage. We seated ourselves about in the middle and about half way back - maybe 20 or 30 yards from center stage. Great view!
They never started on time (for "security" reasons?). I stiil don't get the logic of making us sit there for over 2 hours? But they finally wheeled a bunch of guys on gurneys up front and the show finally came on. We rose to a thundering standing applause as Bob walked on. HIs cast (and he had several different ones) included Ann Margaret - who literally knocked us out! Also Cincy Reds catcher Johnny Bench, Football great and political activist Rosie Greer, another blonde that I cannot recall, and Miss Universe from Australia.
At one point in the show, Bob is dressad as a bag lady doing a skit with Miss Universe, when they are interrrupted by several explosions. He panics for one moment, then makes a joke and goes on to another great applause.
What they could not see behind their covered bandshell, but we could, was an old "B-model" Huey gunship taking fire from a .50 caliber machine gun on the ground - who's bright orange tracers we could clearly see - and the gunship's rockets fired back down on the target.
After sharing this story for 40+ years, I was dumbfounded to stumble onto it in a scene from a historic video of Bob's tours, which I will post here. Forgive me if I already showed this, but if you you watch the video (and you should enjoy the whole 10 minute presentation), look closely at exactly 6:11 (right after one of the Phylis Diller interviews) and you will see the scene as I describe it. It also shows a white sub-title at bottom left - "dong tam - Vietnam 1968"
(I must add this; I know the soundtarck is really their voices, but I suspect a "dubbing" of the explosion sound. That single high-pitched "gun" sound did not sound anything like either our 2.75 inch rockets, nor their .50 caliber machine gun. And it was ongoing for a longer moment. I suspect the explosion and machine gun sound was not picked up by the microphones but neccessary to add later, so as to convey the idea ofwhat was happening.)
I am in that audience on Christmas Day - 50 years ago today!
MERRY CHRISTMAS to all of you and especially to any of your families serving overseas.
Your roving reporter sending in the following. QUOTE: We have travelled to Northern Cal to be with the lovely's fam. Yesterday, Christmas eve, we drove through their hometown of Paradise to their "home" there. It was pouring rain.
You drive up Skyway to travel between Chico and Paradise. You rise from the valley up into "the buttes" passing a long narrow but very scenic canyon that the road skirts as you ascend. Just before you get to P'dise you glance to the left to see, appearing out of the gloom of rain and fog, 86 tiny wooden crosses on a lot near the road. A memorial to those who did not make it out. No bucket of cold water could have a greater effect.
It was a mountain vilage/town with tall pines everywhere and a glorious spot to move to for retirement. Small...maybe 30 thousand people living in all economic situations, hidden on tiny winding heavily treed streets or lanes.
With no discernable rhyme or reason, maybe 5 percent, one in every twenty structures, survived. Lot after lot, business after business is a pile of ashes with maybe a chimney sticking up. The house next to my in-laws survived but the rest of the entire neighborhood went up in flames. Everyone I've ever met in 30 plus years of going to Paradise lost their home or business; many, both. We had dinner with about 40 plus evacuees in Chico last night and never heard a single whine. Incredible resiliance.
So, take a walk outside and imagine your house and everything within eyesight gone..all those tiny or great memories. I find myself very thankful today.
Well Dave you've done it again; Broken the Message Forum. And all I wanted was a small lie in your book acknowledging my "Editorial" help in pointing out your oversight. Boy If you had this bad a sense of direction it's a wonder you didn't spend a lot of your time in Thailand or at least Cambodia.
Of course I would never have made it this far wthout your kind and generous advice.
And, as there was no dashed black line between a green country and a blue country (as our 6th grade geography books had led me to believe), but only hundreds of square miles of un-interrupted elephant grass, we managed to spend just about all the time in Cambodia that one could ask for - by accident - thank you very much.
Many times an "engagement" would draw us up to, and across the border before we realized it, and we would have to break off contact and turn around. This was long before Dandy Dick made it official.
Where I should have spent more time was Hong Kong and Sidney, but I had to "bum" a ride with some other type of pilots to get there. Those "fixed-wing" guys actually knew how to read a compass.
Both were frightening experiences! Twice in Hong Kong, I had to stay in "western" style hotels with a private bathroom and hot (running) water, go to Ameican movies, shop in enticing stores (including the "China Fleet Store" - where I bought a wedding diamond), found a taylor who made gorgoeous suits for about $24.00, and eat out every night at a really good restaurant.
Sydney was even worse! The first night I had to go to a USO sponsored "pig party", where I met a girl so cute I spent that night and the last three nights with, wrote to, and almost went back for. All sandwiched around three days down at Threadbow (in July), snow skiing through the "gum gum" trees, and being wined and dined buy an older Aussie couple who loved American soldiers. I tell ya, it was simply awful! Almost more than one man could endure. I did it all for my country doncha know?
Threadbow Resort - in the "Snowy Range" of Australia - July 1969 (yes, out of focus)
As 2018 draws to a close I thought I would take a quick look at what has been discussed on this Forum in the past year. This post is the 2081st one since 1 January 2018.
We have addressed many topics and issues: music, poetry, theater, movies, politics, religion, sports, Woody, algebra, neighborhoods, ravines, wars, life in the military, fires, floods, hurricanes, surgeries, illnesses, liver flukes, deaths, moms, dads, marijuana, travels, adventures, writing, Appalachia, grade schools, humor and, of course, fawns. Wow, and actually, that is just to name a few.
It is my belief that we have barely scratched the surface of what our lives have encountered and what our thoughts, philosophies and feelings have been both before and after graduation from BWHS back in '66.
I look forward to what will be revealed on the Forum in 2019. I doubt there are many classes that have bonded like ours, after a half-century, in this type of format and we are so fortunate to live in an era where we can communicate in this way.
To all of you and all of yours I wish a very Happy New Year and best wishes for 2019!
Jim mentioned "writing" as one of our post topics, and with that in mind, let me offer this nugget. As you may recall, one of the hobby-horses I like to climb aboard each year is the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge to knock out a rough draft of a novel in the month of November. I am happy to say that I was able to do that again this year, continuing the story I had written last year, which I was happy with, but felt it was rather short for a novel. I have used December to polish things a bit. So here I am, ready to ask if any of you would like to immerse yourself in a historical novel (made up of this year's and last year's effort) that follows my heroine, Verna, a 19 year old white girl from Ohio, as she makes her way to Detroit during WWII to work in the defense plant industry, only to get caught up in the infamous (actually, it is not at all famous, that is why I chose to write about it) race riot of 1943. Then flash forward to follow her as a 37 year old single-mother of a slightly autistic child, who finds herself compelled to put her life on hold, and journey through the South with the Freedom Riders of 1961 (another only-vaguely-known portion fo the Civil Rights struggle).
If that sounds at all interesting, I'd be happy to send you a PDF. I could certainly use some feedback. What are friends for if not to be targets for one to impose upon? Actually, I would hope it not an imposition, but rather an entertainment that takes one into the fictional world of my main character, while also providing a good deal of little known (and I would hope, quite interesting) historical detail.
If you are wondering about the length, it is still rather short as novels go, coming in at 231 pages. If interested, send me a note at my email address: sparto@ca.rr.com
As I type this, I can just hear your reaction –- "Good grief, it is hard enough getting through this guy's posts. Can you imagine 231 pages. Yikes!"
