Showing posts with label authors page. Show all posts
Showing posts with label authors page. Show all posts
Monday, February 4, 2013
Meeting an author
He looks agreeable enough. Don't you think so?
Let's meet an author.............let's meet my husband, Steve.
You know we place the proverbial 'Author's Information' on the back flaps of our books. But what in hell do those things say about who a person really is? Those back covers are like a resume, you try to know a person in so many words or less. Simply can't be done.
When I met Steve, I really, really was soured on relationships, namely the institution of marriage. I felt marriage was highly over rated and each time I would see a seemingly happy couple, I just felt there was a facade, I felt no one was truly happy being married.
We have been married, this year, for 14 years now. What's it like being married to an author? Interesting at best. Well, he spends time writing, we spend time riding around taking pictures for our site and we love yard and estate sales. Problem is, those sales tend to bring out the worst in both of us, sometimes, OK, most of the time. I've learned it's not a good idea to buy anything too big. I know Steve loves me, good thing I know this, but he likes to tell me I 'just don't always pick up items right.' In 14 years I've never really learned the meaning of those words. So I tend to set the item down and ask him to explain, which kind of irks him.
What makes up an author? Well, in this case, a nagging wife who convinced him he does have a story to tell. So tell it already! He did.
His story is about a boy (him) from the Midwest, who joins the Army and embarks on an interesting journey in a land called Vietnam.
He is a wonderful husband, but does any wife and husband get along all the time? I doubt it. His journey to become a Drill Instructor proved to be because he had and has, a burning desire to control his own destiny. A commendable quality. But the rigidness of the DI life can spill over into his personal life, sometimes. Like the other day we went to lunch and the waitress decided, in the middle of our eating lunch, to try and sell us a coupon book. She droned on and on and I saw the perturbed look coming across Steve's face. He was good though and when she finally finished, he leaned over to me and said: "Wouldn't you think they could save that speech for after people are done eating?" I said they are probably pressured into the speech and selling by management. I felt sorry for her. He left her a tip though because he truly is nice.
A sweet, hard working young soldier.
We have had times when we were at a fast food drive through window, ordering coffee and after waiting for 10 minutes, Steve has been known to say, loudly: "How many waitresses does it take to pour two coffees? We may never know because it isn't getting done." He says some places give the term 'fast food' a whole new meaning. This is true. But somehow, I think our unhappiness or expressing it, will do little to spoil the day of a worker making minimum wage and dealing with irate customers only to not make enough to pay their bills.
A dashing young soldier.
Steve is highly competitive and sometimes when we play games, even on Facebook, he will compete with my scores. Just a little quirk he has. But that quirk is what helped him climb the ranks to be the DI he wanted to be.
Sometimes when he asks me to do something, I like to say 'No' because it's priceless to see the look on his face. A guy who likes to run smoothly so I have to toss a wrench in there sometimes. I just cannot resist.
A wife couldn't ask for a more attentive and giving husband though. He moved across country for me to be able to advance my career and to a place, Indiana, where he couldn't wait to leave when younger. Just helped me pack up lock, stock and barrel.
He also kept saying how he just did not like cats. But rescued a little, helpless kitten in our backyard and now they are the best of friends.
Would I trade this author? Not for the world!
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
A young soldier's journey
Walking home from school
that day, my throat was dry, a sensation of strength washed over me. I had really wanted to hurt that guy, to see
blood. Right now I figured my blood
pressure was like 160 at least. I was
grateful for the eight miles between the school and my house. I needed this long walk to help silence the
blood pounding in my ears. I knew my
parents might be upset when they heard what I'd done but this showdown had been
a long time coming. Right now I didn't
care about the possible consequences. Besides,
I felt like that guy had been just looking for a fight and he nearly got one
from me.
Maybe my vision was clouded as I walked home
from high school for the last time on that warm day in 1965, the year I turned
16 and knew I didn't have to take that mistreatment anymore. Hell, it wasn’t like it was my first trip to the Principal’s
office, I had gotten used to that, but on this
day, I was determined it would be my last
trip there.
I was sent to his office,
this time, from shop class. I had rigged
a piece of lumber in the lathe so it would fling out at the shop teacher when
he turned it on. While that action had
gotten a rousing laugh out of the class, the shop teacher was far from amused
so it earned me a trip to the
principal’s office, nothing new for me.
But this time it was different
from the three days of detention I usually got. This time he told me he ‘would
have to paddle me’ because it was such a ‘serious offense,’ and someone could
have been hurt badly or even killed by the flying wood. He then took a significantly sized paddle
from behind his desk and came at me with it, a look of almost delight in his
eyes, as if hitting students made his day.
I decided I wasn't going to make it easy for him either. I had
already decided that he wasn't going to lay a hand on me.
As he approached me, I
bit my lip, felt my hands clench and unclench as I moved slowly and deliberately
towards him. As soon as he entered my
personal space, I planted my feet further apart to let him know I was standing
my ground. I defiantly said: “If you
touch me with that damn paddle, I’ll break it over your f%*@king head.”
Suddenly he stopped in
his tracks, as his eyes widened he seemed to be doing a double take about the
whole situation. He was probably stunned
by my language. Back then, small town
Indiana nice kids weren’t supposed to
talk like that. But I had always been a
rebel in those days anyway, and I admit I had a definite problem with authority
figures.
Whatever the reason for
his abrupt stop I will never fully know, but after lowering the paddle he
looked at me through squinted eyes.
Finding his voice again, he asked: “What did you just say?”
Infusing as much anger into my voice as I
could, I answered: “You heard what I said." Once I repeated myself he then pointed out I
would have to be suspended for three days at the very least. I lowered my head and mumbled something about
how it was going to be the longest three days he would ever see. With that having been said, I slammed out of
his office, walked through the big glass doors, away from the building, never
once looking back.
That son of a bi&@h sure didn’t
need to tell me twice. I knew I was never going back to that school. I
really hated school anymore anyway. For
a long time now school seemed to hold little meaning for me. I had grown restless and failed to see any reason
for continuing high school.
On any other day but
today I would not have liked the eight mile walk home because it usually seemed
so long. But today I was grateful for
the distance between the school and my house because it gave me a chance to think
as I walked. While walking the eight mile
journey home, I mulled over in my head what I was going to say to my parents
about my plans to never go back to high school.
I had been thinking of joining the Army for some time and I could think
of no better time than now but I would need my parents to sign papers for me because
I was only 16. I would just need to
convince them it was the right
decision.
Steve/Author
As a young soldier in Vietnam
Saturday, December 8, 2012
More love
Available on:
Amazon.com
Barnes&Noble.com
I had never thought I’d like any military lifer,
much less fall in love with one. I never
believed in soul mates before either. But I
hadn’t counted on meeting Steve. I just could
never imagine, before now, living the military
life as an adult ever. But since meeting Steve at
the barbecue my father held for a group of
Army guys, I began to think maybe it was
possible to live this way forever. Steve is the
kind of guy I could very well imagine living my
entire life with, even if it means moving around
a lot, like I did as a kid. I could envision
myself doing anything so we could be together.
Together, as man and wife, talking about his life
in the military, maybe even raising a couple of
kids together.
I have learned though, that life can sometimes get in
the way of a person’s happiness. Right now my
dad is lying in a hospital bed hooked up to a
dialysis machine that cleans his blood.
He collapsed and was rushed to the hospital
when Marie and I got the call. His kidneys are
both failing him and without a kidney donor he
might not survive for very long. Marie and I
aren’t able to donate one for him. We both have
diabetes so we can't help him with one of our
kidneys so we’re both feeling pretty helpless at
the moment. Dad has always been so strong so
to see him this sick is very shocking to me right
now.
To make matters worse, Steve, hasn’t written to
me in months. He is in Afghanistan, working
as an interpreter for the United States Army
there. I’m feeling pretty lonely and sad right at
this moment. But I guess this story should start
at the beginning.
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