I had an interesting object lesson last night. Around 8:30 or 9:00, I heard something digging outside. Little bastard has been in the flower bed too. Sure enough, it was a skunk. I turned on the light, hissed at it, told it in a loud voice to 'Go Away!,' but it didn't listen. Oddly, it had no smell at all. It also seemed completely unconcerned that I was just a few feet away. It just continued digging for whatever it was after in the ivy. I could hear it crunching on something, which I assume were a few stray acorns from the big Western Oak which shades my place; acorns missed by the ring-tail cats and raccoons this summer.
So, what do you do? You want the skunk to go away, simply because it's a skunk - because there's a perceived danger of being sprayed, despite there being no smell from 5 or 6 feet away. You can't shoot it, or even startle it, because it's just feet from your front door, and in the walkway to your house. Besides, the skunk isn't hurting anyone, it's just trying to scratch a living out of the ground. Winter's coming. I don't know if skunks hibernate, but I know that I'm not looking forward to winter...

I decided there was nothing to do but accept it, let the skunk do it's thing, and just not worry about it. The skunk dug around outside about another 20 minutes, then moved off. There's a life lesson here, I think.

32 years ago today, a little girl was born in Erie, PA. She came out bright purple, and I thought something was wrong with her, but the nurses didn't seem worried, and minutes later, she was scrubbed pink, bright and shiny like a new penny, screaming at the world. She settled down once I took her in my arms however.

Her mother was still out of it from the epidural she swore she wouldn't take, but it was a difficult labor. As I stood there with Danielle in my arms, my life changed forever... little did I know how it would change.

You see, Danielle, as it turned out, was not my daughter. Though I filed a paternity suit against myself to get it into court, I knew all along that there was a chance she was not mine. As it turned out, she wasn't, but not before I gave my heart to her completely.

Imagine having your child torn from you at 2 years of age, and you could never see her again. It broke me. It broke me so badly that I considered ending my life. I couldn't even look at kids for a long, long time. I pushed them away, heading in the other direction when I saw them coming. I hardened my heart, and became a bit of a playboy - dating 5 women at the same time. It was the '80s, and they all knew about each other. I always used condoms, but just as had happened with Betsy, one day the condom broke with a 19 year-old named Laura.

Things seemed fine, and then I fell in love with Melissa, and broke it off with all the other women in my life, including Laura, who was very sweet, but we didn't have the necessary mental connection for true love. I cared for her, but didn't love her.. In time, Melissa showed her true nature, and crushed my heart, just as I had crushed others. I made plans to leave, to see the world, to go West.

Then, just weeks before I left, I saw Laura again, in a bar where my best friend was tending bar. I bought her a drink, and we talked as old friends... then she showed me a photo of her son, Brian. He was about two, pink-faced and happy, but I didn't see myself in him until she told me that he was my son.

I was dismayed. Why hadn't she told me? I demanded. I would have done the right thing, I said. "What is the right thing?" she asked. I had no answer, only that I was leaving in two weeks, and had committed myself to this task. I could barely look at the boy's picture—I was still leery of children then—they still represented horrible heartbreak. I literally couldn't be around them. I refused the picture she offered, and didn't sleep at all that night.

I ended up here, alone, 30 years later, with no wife, no children, only a profound sense of having made a bad decision. At my age, I don't want to have children, yet finally, my heart has healed. I found joy last year in teaching a neighbor's six-year-old son to ride a bike... because his father wants nothing to do with him. Ironic, no?

The book I just finished, 'Maria,' (not the full title), is about a similar man, in similar circumstances, who meets his daughter years later. I would likely not be the writer I am if I hadn't lost those two children—like everyone else, I would have been caught up in providing the best for them, watching them grow, spending time with them, and teaching them to be good people.

As it is, they both learned this without me. I am not a monster, nor am I a victim of fate. I accepted my lot a long time ago. I take pleasure in seeing other families, with their children, but at the same time, it hurts sometimes. Wherever you are, Danielle, Happy Birthday... and you, Brian, whom I have no excuse for other than my then broken heart, I'm sorry. Truly, truly sorry.

So, I stopped in to Basha's tonight to grab two quick things. Not two slow things, mind you, but two quick things, LOL. Anyway, there were two lines open, and both slammed. I got in the shorter one, and ahead of me was a Mexican-American family, with their little boy running around the display of wind chimes, gently ringing them. It wasn't disruptive, or annoying as some kids are in that same circumstance, and it made me smile—he was just enjoying the sound of the chimes. Then I saw that the woman ahead of me had been waved through by the boy's mother, because she had one thing.
I thought that was nice, but when the woman saw what I had, and waved me ahead of them with a smile, I felt it too generous.
"Are you sure?" I said.
"Si", she said, indicating their groceries with a wave of her hand. "Mucho." It occurred to me that instead of saying "Tengo mucho," as she might to another Spanish-speaker, she was actually dumbing down her language so I'd understand. Finally I relented, and thanked her - slipping ahead of her.
"Muchos gracias, Senora," I said.
"De nada," she said with a smile. Then she spied a guava or some damn fruit I didn't recognize and held it up to her husband, saying something rapid fire I didn't catch, but I got "Porque No." as she handed it back to him, and like every husband ever being scolded for picking out bad produce, he went to exchange it.
She smiled at me again. I checked out, thanked her again, and went on my way. I called them Mexican-American because even if they are Mexican, and illegal, I would be happy to have people like that as my neighbors, and as American citizens. In fact, I'd be happy to trade a few of the white, lazy, rude, no-account assholes that I seem to run into every day for a family like that. It gave me great hope for America, even as hard as things are right now, and I hope it gave them hope as well that I was nice to them.
This country is about freedom, and diversity, and it always has been. We have two sides at the moment, thinking they are both right, and both about freedom. If you take someone else s' freedom away, then you are in the wrong. Your freedom is not more important than anyone else's. Your beliefs are not more important either. Get over it. Shake your neighbor's hand and ask them to have a beer with you. You might be surprised at what you learn.

I've been ignoring this blog, and I apologize for that. I have been hard at work on my 4th novel, a work of literary fiction, about love, and death, and family, plus trying to get my new WWII Thriller, 'Eagle's Claw' to market. I hope to have it out within the next two weeks, but I feel that getting 'Maria' to my beta readers is more important at this point. It may be the best thing I've ever written.

It's also important that I get this book out of my system. It has brought up a number of very difficult memories for me, and has brought back feelings that are hard for me to face, such as the fact that I am turning 56 very soon, and have no woman, nor family in my life. Still, after all these years.

Now, you can read all those trite memes on Facebook about loving yourself, but love is meant to be given away. I fell in love with a wonderful woman a couple years ago, and I still love her, but unfortunately for me, that love is unrequited. I cannot blame her—I simply have a real talent for screwing things like this up. Yet, she's given me something that's important... awoken something in me I'd repressed. Love.

I dreamt of my grandmother last night. It was night in the dream, and I could see her through the picture windows at the front of the house, standing in a snowstorm, wearing the long housecoat she often wore, waiting for my grandfather to get home. I was shocked. How could she stand out there in the cold? She'd freeze to death. I opened the front door and told her so, and she came in, saying' "It's all right. He's home now."

Of course, she would never stand out there like that, but theirs was the kind of love I've always wanted—which explains, I guess, why I'm not married. I've been engaged a couple times, nearly a third, but it didn't work out. All I've ever really wanted was a family in this life, but sadly, it's not to be. I've accepted that now, but it hurts every time I see a happy family, or happy couple. Simple envy, I guess. They don't even know what they really have.

Those of you who have spouses, and children, I'm sure, think about what a PITA it is to be woken by a 5-year-old puking at 5 a.m., not really understanding what a simple blessing it is. To have someone in your life that you love, and trust, to have them love you the same way... you can say 'We're family' to friends all you want, but the truth of the matter greets me every morning when I wake up and no one is there. To simply have someone in your life is the greatest blessing of all.

So, understand that true love is rare in this life—in my case, the love of a woman who is an equal, and whom I desire more than physically, but mentally. Someone I can have deep, philosophical discussions with, even when we don't agree. A woman who would stand in the snow (figuratively of course,) waiting for me because I wasn't home yet. Someone to worry about me.

It's the little things in life. Just getting a text from someone who loves you can be enough. Don't forget this—love is all that really matters in this life. Grab every chance at it. Tell someone you love them, even if they don't love you the same way. Unrequited love is the way of the world, unfortunately, but sometimes out of that love can come something else. In my case, it was a mixed blessing, because in feeling things I hadn't felt in years, I was able to write about them again, so I have to thank her, as my muse, even if I know she will never be mine. This is a gift I cannot repay.

Will I ever find a woman who loves me the way I love her? Well, the odds are not in my favor. Besides my age, I have a as yet unresolved medical issue. It wouldn't be fair to any woman to saddle her with that. It's much easier to be alone, to not put your heart out there, to NOT love... why take that dangerous step? Why risk everything? Because love is the only thing that's worth anything in this life.

I love writing because it's my chance to remind people of that, and because, for a few, short moments, I'm that character, who has a wife he loves, who has a family waiting for him at home. It's been hard writing these last two books, because I know I will never have what my characters have—never be blessed that way, but just being able to remember a woman's arms around my neck or the soft kiss of a child on my cheek, has been worth it. Love is everything. Embrace it. Don't let go of it. It's the only thing which matters.

I recently lost my favorite uncle, Bill Fabens. Bill was my uncle only by marriage, yet he was the one I was closest to, the uncle who always made me laugh, (he made everyone laugh with his wry wit) who always had my back, who believed in me, and treated me like his own son. The world is a poorer place without him. I awoke this morning with a single thought in my head, and it is this:  Death is a ruin in the forest.

There is something about a fresh, empty page in a notebook that stirs me. A fresh page is empty of evidence, devoid of distraction. It awaits completion - a blank slate waiting to be filled.

It speaks of possibilities - a never ending future of description. Not yet anything, it could become a poem, a song, a letter to a lover, a term paper, the beginning of a novel... or perhaps a note goodbye.

Each page is a fresh beginning, or can describe the end of something good, or something bad. Alpha and Omega wrapped in one, it's the unborn child of thought: intention awaiting completion.

It's the sun coming up on an empty road on your way somewhere new, uncertain what the day will bring. It comes with a sense of hope, of possible adventure, of new places, new experiences, new friends, new love.

An empty page waits for the pen as a lover awaits their beloved, for what is one without the other? Above all, an empty page makes you think about what could be once you begin.

Well, this blog is a new beginning for me. I have been a writer my entire life, but only recently has my writing really taken off. 'House of Apache Fires' has changed my life. It wasn't my first book, but readers love it, and it is incredibly humbling to hear their comments and read the wonderful reviews. I am currently at work on my 4th and 5th novels, and my 3rd, another WWII thriller, will be available soon, hopefully by the beginning of March. You can get HOAF here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00OVA7AW6  

One of the things that successful writers do these days is blog. Having a 'social media platform' was never something Hemingway or F. Scott Fitzgerald had to worry about. I have to admit, it seems a bit like listening to yourself talk at this point, but I will try and keep the rants to a minimum, and instead try and post short essays, writing samples, and short stories. My writing will be the focus of this blog, not politics. I welcome comments, but please, if you feel that I'm wrong that strongly, perhaps you should start your own blog... I believe people have a right to their opinions, and to express their opinions, but snide comments, or overly argumentative posts will be deleted in the hopes of keeping this blog a place that people will enjoy. If you want to argue, please go to Facebook - that seems like what it's for these days.

What I want to focus on is telling stories. It's what I do best. I plan to fill these pages with little shorts - some designed to make you giggle, some designed to make you cry, all of them, hopefully, will make you think. I will express some viewpoints here, and as I'm middle-of-the-road in my politics, I will likely piss off both liberals and conservatives. I think as human beings, that we need to begin treating ALL human beings with respect, unless they are the kind of people who victimize others. I have zero use for people who use and hurt others. As far as I'm concerned, such animals are using up way too much good oxygen. I count most politicians in this group.

So, several times a week, I will attempt to entertain you, dear reader, with eloquent ramblings, essays, short stories, links to really cool gear, (I love the outdoors - they call it God's country for a reason) links to other writers and musicians I admire, and yes, the occasional rant. So, without further ado, I am going to post a story that is just for giggles, that I wrote one morning when I was in an odd mood. I recently lost my Uncle Bill, whom I know would really love this story. Bill, this is for you, wherever you are. I hope you enjoy it.



 

Tiger Bats

Morgan Jameson

At first everyone said it couldn't be done – that to combine species, their genus had to be close to each other – say, a turtle and a tortoise rather than a turtle and hare. Trouble is, no one cared about crossing a turtle and a tortoise, that is except one idiot in New Zealand. He ended up with something that looked exactly like a turtle, but had a life expectancy of 200 years. He called it a 'tortle'. Schmuck.

What they didn't count on was me. I came up with software to sort genome sequences faster than ever before. It involves a long string of algorithms working in sequence, so I won't go into the details, but it could identify similar strings and combine species in ways that had simply not been possible 10 years earlier. The whole key, after all, and what takes the most time, is identifying which strings of DNA control which characteristics. 

There were a few horror shows in the early days, I admit... and a few downright bad ideas. My Daschund Unicorn was one. I truthfully never expected that damn horn to keep growing like that. The only good thing was that they shed it every year.

A butterfly the size of a robin, with the intelligence of a cat but the gentle nature of a rabbit was my first success. Okay, it was really just a flying rabbit. You bought it in the pupal stage, (no one except a scientist could stomach the caterpillar stage) and when it hatched, it imprinted on whomever was in the room. I understand Meryl Streep bought one. That little gem made me a multi-billionaire.

The Army was mighty interested in the possibilities of my software, and in my defense, although they offered me a fortune to run a lab somewhere in the Nevada desert, I wouldn't do it. I told them that 'Science had no master', a line that also worked really swell at cocktail parties on science groupies. I nailed a lot of treehugger chicks using that line, but the truth is, after the article in Newsweek and the 60 minutes interview, I'd begun viewing what I did as art – their words, not mine – but a much nicer way to think about what you did rather than... Dammit, there it is again. I wonder how long those bars on the windows will hold?

Where was I? Oh yeah. Sure, there were some religious nuts that said I was playing God, that what I was creating were monstrosities, but most people thought it was pretty cool. I did create that one dolphin-shark thing for the Navy... no desert lab involved by the way, but from what I heard, it never made it through trials - the damn things were just too aggressive. They loved to fight too much, and were always killing each other. Shit, there's that sound again. I'll try and hurry.

Personally, I lay it at the feet of the Chinese. It was a private contract – very lucrative, but really, it wasn't the money which attracted me. Frankly the idea of making a cross between a snow leopard and an eagle really appealed to me. Everything went through a third party in Switzerland, but really, who the hell comes up with that much snow leopard DNA? The Chinese of course. The state department was pretty upset, and trotted out the confidentiality agreement I'd signed with the Navy, but in the end they settled for a similarly bio-engineered design: the Tiger Bat.

I had no control of the specs this time, the Pentagon made those decisions, but it's basically a Bengal tiger, with Sabertooth incisors, wearing the wings of a bat. What really makes it special is that it has the intelligence of an elephant. (I couldn't use the dolphin sequence again, for reasons too technically boring to relate here – you'll have to trust me – dolphin genes just wouldn't work.) 

As it turned out though, the thing that made it most dangerous was the reptile genes I spliced in. Shoot the wings off it, they'd grow back. Sure, it'd take a couple months, but in the meantime you still had a smart, pissed off Bengal with the teeth of a Sabertooth wandering around. A simple bullet hole in the wing would heal in just a few days, and didn't even hurt – it had no nerve endings in most of the wing.

I just heard glass break, so I'd better go. How was I to know they'd retain the defensive pack instincts of the African elephant I used as a gene donor? They don't like us much, and since the skull had to be re-engineered to hold a bigger brain, I had to strengthen it, along with the skeleton and neck muscles. I'm pretty proud of the fact that most .50 caliber bullets and even a 20mm will pretty much bounce off the head. That took some doing, although in retrospect, it might not have been one of my better