Farm County Gazette announces the birth of William Lee Hill to Benjamin Lee Hill and June Mary Hill. Farm country local news such as births make front page, after corn, soybeans and livestock prices. It's all about priorities.
Benjamin, Benny as everyone calls him has a local farm and grows corn and soybeans. Benny just like his father, Vernon raise only high quality hogs sold exclusively to W. R. Prime Grocers for 30 years. Benny believes their success comes from growing and making the feed "right" here on the farm. Vernon was upset with what the manufacturers were putting in their feed. That decision is why he became partners with W. R. Prime grocers.
Bill Lee as mom and dad call him was extremely healthy and good natured. He also has the distinction of being the first baby delivered by the new doctor in town, Doc Andrew Jones. June repeatedly reminded Benny not to take Bill Lee to see the pigs. She knew he would sooner or later do that very thing. Benny snuck Bill Lee to the barn to meet his pigs at 3 months of age. Benny introduces baby Bill Lee to his sows, (mother pigs). The sows sniff the baby and make a high pitch squeal that Benny has never heard before, he later tells June "they understood he was my baby". She laughs at that but knows Benny talks to the pigs and was taught that by his father.
Vernon explains, animals pick up on peoples actions their tone of voice and demeanor. If you're calm and talk to them everything will go smoothly. If your loud and mean they will respond the same way. Vernon was the undisputed expert around this area. Benny has seen his dad in action numerous times at fairs and exhibits, calming unruly sows, as well as people. His favorite story about his father was watching him at the state fair. When a intoxicated man was mistreating a young sow. You don't do that around Vernon. Vernon was a large man hardened from a lifetime of physical work. He always wore coveralls with blue denim shirts, he would cut the seams of the short sleeve shirts so that he would not rip them out when he sticks his arms in because of his biceps. Vernon calmly told the drunk "no". He looks at Vernon and hands him the pipe that he was aggravating the sow with. The very next day Vernon goes to buy that sow and the man apologizes to him and explains he normally wasn't like that, he drank too much. Vernon gave that man some of his time and believe the man to be sincere and invites him to his farm. He shows the young farmer how he runs his hog farm and instead of dad beating sense into that man he taught that young farmer how to treat his livestock, That young man changed his ways and became successful; coincidentally that young frightened sow become one of dad's prized producers. Benny learned a valuable lesson that day. He told that story to June and she ask "what did you learn". Benny laughs and tells her, "if I was to see a farmer wearing overalls so big that he cut his arms out before tearing them, I would pass out".
The higher pitch squeal is only made when Bill Lee was around. When he started walking father and son stroll the barn talking to the pigs. After ma..ma.. and da..da.. was the names of the sows. The sows sniff Bill Lee and wait for him to pet them, then let out what Benny refers to as a laughing squeal. Benny believes they accept little Bill Lee as one of their own. Vernon tells the story slightly different, he said "the sows smell what was in his diaper and it's worse than what comes out of them and that's what them there pigs was laughing at". Mother Hill found that terribly funny and already feeling sorry for what Bill Lee would have to go through, here on the farm.
Bill Lee was large for his age, June and Benny admit he will be big like grandpa Vernon. At age 3 the proud parents tuck him into bed. Mom wakes up in the middle of the night and goes to check on Bill Lee, he wasn't there. She screams for Benny. The front screen door was wide open, he runs to the barn knowing how much Bill Lee loves his pigs. His favorite was Beulah only his words come out "Blu-lah". Sure enough, there was room, he could of squeezed through the door. Benny runs to Beulah's pen. There is baby Bill Lee wearing superman pajamas playing with Beulah's newborns. Beulah had given birth to them earlier in the day, he wakes up and has to see them. Headline material and thus the legend of Bill Lee Hill begins.
Mom and dad Bill Lee proofed the house. By age 5 Bill Lee was helping with the chores needless to say talking to every pig. Benny soon realizes Bill Lee's rapport with the pigs goes way beyond his and Vernon's abilities. To move the sows into another pen simply use Bill Lee. If the piglets escape their pen, get Bill Lee. He was the piggy "Pied Piper". He was showing sows and winning everything at age 5. Front page Farm Country Gazette, Bill Lee Hill wins all at state fair. When the time comes for the sows to have a litter, Benny allows Bill Lee to assist because the sows remain calm and their delivery goes easier.
The Hill barn is not your average barn. The pigs are raised in an environmentally controlled state of the arts, "pigs are king" type barn.
June arrives home one day carrying a baby goat. She found the poor thing shivering and baa-ing with all it's might. She stops and spots a larger goat lying off the road. The little goat runs to her for help. June places the female goat in the cab of her pickup. She starts to leave but cannot allow the mother goat to lay there like that. She uses all her strength and determination to heave the mother goat into the back. They bury the mother goat on the farm as the little one watches. June bottle feeds her and raises the little one. She names her Highway and has a companion as she walks around the farm. Vernon said "that little booger minds you better than a 1000$ German Shepherd.
Bill Lee is now 6 and June gives birth to James Richarh Hill. He has a baby brother he laughs and says "more babies to play with".
Highway is the mother of Bill Lee's famous extrodinary goat "Goat"
THE LEGEND OF BILL LEE HILL CONTINUES
Monday, September 27, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
GREENVILLE/GREEDVILLE
Plenty of Indiana land was available in the mid 1800's. John Green bought land 70 miles north of the Ohio River only Indian trails and crude roads exist. He spends a year searching before discovering his "Utopia". This land is composed of several smaller rivers encompassing several thousand acres of fertile bottom land. They meet and flow together forming a large river. He will build a sawmill and gristmill and call it Greenville.
John was a sea faring Captain for 20 years, saving money now pursuing his dream. The smaller tributaries flowing into the larger river intrigue him. John meets his future wife in Louisville Kentucky. Sarah daughter of a businessman, owns steam boats working the Ohio River. That's how John met Sarah's father Abraham Smetzer while traveling from New Orleans via the river. Men with common interest, boats, land where opportunities await the adventuresome. Abraham invites John to his home overlooking the river and meets Sarah many years younger. Not at all unusual years ago, people need money to prosper and young men need time to acquire it. Younger women could marry a mature man and with hard work, create a successful living and then enjoy materialistic rewards. First you have to have vision, money and hard work. Children was an important part of the equation as anything done recquires much labor. Only these laborers would inherit what they create so teaching all the fundamental tools of life and the skills of work must be accomplished by their parents and family. John and Sarah enjoy their time spent together. Sarah was bedazzled by the many far away lands John has seen and his many adventures of the sea. Abraham knows courage, leadership, honesty when he sees it. Soon with Abraham's and Lilly's blessings John and Sarah marry. Sarah is living at her parents house when James their first born comes into the world. Luckily John was present as most of his time is spent carving out Greenville.
Better roads were being built through the lush rolling Indiana landscape. John with Abrahams help was making Greenville accessible to wagons the slowly moving trucks of yesteryear. Other visionaries like John was doing the same thing creating roads and bridges that must be built and maintained to create the future as these men were carving and creating simultaneously their and their childrens future. Just living going beyond security of existing towns the farther away from the river packing and getting the tools to make yourselves self reliant comes at a price sometimes counted in lives. But the ultimate dream is to build something from nothing and build a future for your next generation and the future generations. That was once the bottom line dream of the people from all over the world that came here. Abraham was instrumental he knew all the skilled craftsmen that John needed to succeed.
Not wanting his family to begin life in a simple log cabin. John insist they wait and build a true home with plenty of room for family and guest. With the trustworthy and skilled craftsmen Abraham provided John was able to to divide his time and be with family. Their second son Joshua was born before Sarah view Greenville. Sarah has waited 4 years to see John's vision. Her wildest imagination had not prepared her for her first glimpse. Her home sat on the highest piece of land overlooking the river. Already numerous structures were under construction a small town in the making. John secretly discuss Sarah's wishes with her mother, after her first look tears rolled down Sarah's face and did not stop until she had toured the complete home. John, Sarah, James, Joshua, Abraham and Lilly sat down to their first meal in their new home July 4 1860.
Corn was growing saw mill turning with help from the river. John was stepping off Main Street. John receives unexpected help from Sarah's father, dowry Abraham calls it. He himself, a successful self-made businessman who understood John's vision. John with much pride tells all "mans dream rarely become real and his was moving with full sails". The workers love this land as much as John does. Friendship, loyalty has created a bond where hand shake promises to share what all have created dreamers and talented craftsmen building a beginning.
END POST ONE GREENVILLE/GREEDVILLE
VIEW IT AS I WRITE IT HERE ON GLENVIEW G.E.G.
John was a sea faring Captain for 20 years, saving money now pursuing his dream. The smaller tributaries flowing into the larger river intrigue him. John meets his future wife in Louisville Kentucky. Sarah daughter of a businessman, owns steam boats working the Ohio River. That's how John met Sarah's father Abraham Smetzer while traveling from New Orleans via the river. Men with common interest, boats, land where opportunities await the adventuresome. Abraham invites John to his home overlooking the river and meets Sarah many years younger. Not at all unusual years ago, people need money to prosper and young men need time to acquire it. Younger women could marry a mature man and with hard work, create a successful living and then enjoy materialistic rewards. First you have to have vision, money and hard work. Children was an important part of the equation as anything done recquires much labor. Only these laborers would inherit what they create so teaching all the fundamental tools of life and the skills of work must be accomplished by their parents and family. John and Sarah enjoy their time spent together. Sarah was bedazzled by the many far away lands John has seen and his many adventures of the sea. Abraham knows courage, leadership, honesty when he sees it. Soon with Abraham's and Lilly's blessings John and Sarah marry. Sarah is living at her parents house when James their first born comes into the world. Luckily John was present as most of his time is spent carving out Greenville.
Better roads were being built through the lush rolling Indiana landscape. John with Abrahams help was making Greenville accessible to wagons the slowly moving trucks of yesteryear. Other visionaries like John was doing the same thing creating roads and bridges that must be built and maintained to create the future as these men were carving and creating simultaneously their and their childrens future. Just living going beyond security of existing towns the farther away from the river packing and getting the tools to make yourselves self reliant comes at a price sometimes counted in lives. But the ultimate dream is to build something from nothing and build a future for your next generation and the future generations. That was once the bottom line dream of the people from all over the world that came here. Abraham was instrumental he knew all the skilled craftsmen that John needed to succeed.
Not wanting his family to begin life in a simple log cabin. John insist they wait and build a true home with plenty of room for family and guest. With the trustworthy and skilled craftsmen Abraham provided John was able to to divide his time and be with family. Their second son Joshua was born before Sarah view Greenville. Sarah has waited 4 years to see John's vision. Her wildest imagination had not prepared her for her first glimpse. Her home sat on the highest piece of land overlooking the river. Already numerous structures were under construction a small town in the making. John secretly discuss Sarah's wishes with her mother, after her first look tears rolled down Sarah's face and did not stop until she had toured the complete home. John, Sarah, James, Joshua, Abraham and Lilly sat down to their first meal in their new home July 4 1860.
Corn was growing saw mill turning with help from the river. John was stepping off Main Street. John receives unexpected help from Sarah's father, dowry Abraham calls it. He himself, a successful self-made businessman who understood John's vision. John with much pride tells all "mans dream rarely become real and his was moving with full sails". The workers love this land as much as John does. Friendship, loyalty has created a bond where hand shake promises to share what all have created dreamers and talented craftsmen building a beginning.
END POST ONE GREENVILLE/GREEDVILLE
VIEW IT AS I WRITE IT HERE ON GLENVIEW G.E.G.
PHILOSOPHY
Sometimes words deactivate my mind, words of many different kind. Philosophy, let's ask Glen Bob? Someone who thinks he's smart using big words and makes others believe he's intelligent. Could a philosopher help my Jimmy with his homework, philosophize new brake pads on my truck. Help me by answering my wife when she ask me "do you think my behind looks bigger in these new jeans". If I were a philosopher I would have to tell the truth, like there is more to love. (No that won't set well with her). If I want to act really! really! intelligent and use my intellectual and philosophical tone of voice I could calmly say "those jeans are one of a kind meant to fit your exquisite one of a kind derriere highlighting your beautiful curves perfectly". That might work. I think I now understand philosophy.
Bill Lee Hill on Philosophy. I'll look in the dictionary and break it down. Philo means "loving". Philo Beddoe a character Clint Eastwood plays in 2 movies, Every Which Way But Loose and Any Which Way You Can. He has a orangutan that loves him and he loves the orangutan. (Ah Oh!) Sophy means "wisdom" Philo was the wisest in his family. In summary Philo Beddoe was loving and possessed wisdom. (Why you ask?) He gets the girl into the bed. OH!!!
I ask the most intelligent one in my house, being as she has never worked a day in her life. I ask her quietly and in my calmest tone, what is philosophy and her reply was "woof, woof, woof, woof".
I ask my lovely 80 year old. Mom explain to me "philosophy"? There was 10 minutes of silence.
I now feel a brain cell ticking so I look in the latest up to date Websters New World Dictionary. I read phies; philosophy; philosophy; philosophic and philosophize. Guess what? there was 10 minutes of dead time. Mothers always know best!
There is one person with whom I know that probably knows but I do not now want to know.
I think therefore I am comes to mind. I see the statue of a nude man sitting down one hand under his chin propping up his head he looks plum wore out. I decide to try this. I take off my clothes and sit in every chair in the house. They just don't feel right. I get a funny feeling coming from deep within. I know where I must sit to expound words of wisdom. I start singing, let it be,let it be, seeking words of wisdom, let it be, let it be. I hear "ploop! ploop!into the water.
I wish to add or is it called an addendum which happens the very same night after writing my silly little post about "Philosophy".
I am trying an experiment. I take my meds about one hour before I plan to go to sleep. I can feel when the meds are kicking in my body becomes warm and my mind is getting "woozy". (That's not truthful, I've always been woozy I become "woozier"). Creativity juices begin flowing. My brain and hands start working in unison. (I've never had that problem before). I'm creating and I cannot stop. I don't know what I am writing my brain has taken over, I cannot see, my eyes are fogged over. I see no errors on my "Hewie Tube". That's impossible there is always errors! Please errors save me! my hands won't stop. I'm forced to ride it out. I have no idea what's happening, it's an incoherent dream like state only I'm awake. My fingers cannot leave the keyboard my eyes are being pulled to the screen. I feel the veins of my eyes stretching as if they were rubber bands. My elbows brace against the desk, hold on! can't continue much longer, my shoulders are drawn inward. My chair inches across the carpet, toenails digging into the padding. Suddenly I am released my eyes pop! back into their sockets. I stagger to my bed, all the seratonin I have received through my meds have been stolen by the computer. I go into a deep sleep. I dream I am jumping a bridge Dukes Of Hazzard style. In my dream I wake up and leap off a cliff sprout wings and fly like an eagle majestic looking at the beautiful countryside. I'm sailing the wind noble and free. One word brings me falling back to earth, "Philosophy". Plunk!
Bill Lee Hill on Philosophy. I'll look in the dictionary and break it down. Philo means "loving". Philo Beddoe a character Clint Eastwood plays in 2 movies, Every Which Way But Loose and Any Which Way You Can. He has a orangutan that loves him and he loves the orangutan. (Ah Oh!) Sophy means "wisdom" Philo was the wisest in his family. In summary Philo Beddoe was loving and possessed wisdom. (Why you ask?) He gets the girl into the bed. OH!!!
I ask the most intelligent one in my house, being as she has never worked a day in her life. I ask her quietly and in my calmest tone, what is philosophy and her reply was "woof, woof, woof, woof".
I ask my lovely 80 year old. Mom explain to me "philosophy"? There was 10 minutes of silence.
I now feel a brain cell ticking so I look in the latest up to date Websters New World Dictionary. I read phies; philosophy; philosophy; philosophic and philosophize. Guess what? there was 10 minutes of dead time. Mothers always know best!
There is one person with whom I know that probably knows but I do not now want to know.
I think therefore I am comes to mind. I see the statue of a nude man sitting down one hand under his chin propping up his head he looks plum wore out. I decide to try this. I take off my clothes and sit in every chair in the house. They just don't feel right. I get a funny feeling coming from deep within. I know where I must sit to expound words of wisdom. I start singing, let it be,let it be, seeking words of wisdom, let it be, let it be. I hear "ploop! ploop!into the water.
I wish to add or is it called an addendum which happens the very same night after writing my silly little post about "Philosophy".
I am trying an experiment. I take my meds about one hour before I plan to go to sleep. I can feel when the meds are kicking in my body becomes warm and my mind is getting "woozy". (That's not truthful, I've always been woozy I become "woozier"). Creativity juices begin flowing. My brain and hands start working in unison. (I've never had that problem before). I'm creating and I cannot stop. I don't know what I am writing my brain has taken over, I cannot see, my eyes are fogged over. I see no errors on my "Hewie Tube". That's impossible there is always errors! Please errors save me! my hands won't stop. I'm forced to ride it out. I have no idea what's happening, it's an incoherent dream like state only I'm awake. My fingers cannot leave the keyboard my eyes are being pulled to the screen. I feel the veins of my eyes stretching as if they were rubber bands. My elbows brace against the desk, hold on! can't continue much longer, my shoulders are drawn inward. My chair inches across the carpet, toenails digging into the padding. Suddenly I am released my eyes pop! back into their sockets. I stagger to my bed, all the seratonin I have received through my meds have been stolen by the computer. I go into a deep sleep. I dream I am jumping a bridge Dukes Of Hazzard style. In my dream I wake up and leap off a cliff sprout wings and fly like an eagle majestic looking at the beautiful countryside. I'm sailing the wind noble and free. One word brings me falling back to earth, "Philosophy". Plunk!
Monday, September 20, 2010
IMAGINATION
Is imagination good or bad? Well, it depends. If someone tells you "you've got a wonderful imagination", I would consider that a compliment. If you're a sculptor who has spent months designing, building an imaginary masterpiece. You must pay for that college education that has taught you imagination. It maybe called "creative arts". Creativity is the university that charges you 10's of thousands of $'s to be taught how to create. It should be called 'anything you can imagine you can make". Is it the imagination of the one who imagines the creation, or the imagination of the one who views the creation. There was a showing of aspiring sculptors or would they be called creators in my home town. Approximately 12 pieces of "imagination" on display around town, known for creative architecture or is it "artist with imagination". This architecture once imaginary is now real. If you can imagine it, someone can build seems to fit. Back to the imaginary sculptors, some are quite beautiful and who designed them must have a beautiful imagination. Some of the monstrosities, imaginary pieces look as though somebody welds scrap pieces of iron together from images that appear in their nightmares. Is welding a bunch of old bicycle frames together art? Why go to college for that. I imagine the imaginary arts class is a figment of someones imagination. To the creators of the imaginary art, they imagine it to be art, therefore it can be charged as art not as Joe Bob's junkyard imaginations. Although junkyards are full of wonderfully imaginary art pieces that could be welded together and create almost anything imaginable. Artist need only take daily trips to their local "cars and imagination are us" for their next work of art.
IF A WORD GETS STUCK IN MY HEAD THIS IS HOW I GET IT OUT.
PHILOSOPHY IS MY NEW WORD. PLEASE STAY TUNED AS I THINK ON PHILOSOPHY.
IF A WORD GETS STUCK IN MY HEAD THIS IS HOW I GET IT OUT.
PHILOSOPHY IS MY NEW WORD. PLEASE STAY TUNED AS I THINK ON PHILOSOPHY.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Ceating Glen View
My writing is accidental. Several years ago with time on my hands. I decide to practice my penmanship. I wrote whatever crossed my mind. My comedy of errors turn into funny poems, serious poems and short stories. My mind runs "amuck".
At this point in my life I'm working the late, later shift. One day I cannot sleep as I go from days to nights, it takes some getting use to. A story takes shape, the complete story line plays itself out, only after several hours was I able to to get some much needed sleep. The story came from an apartment on top of a newspaper office here in Indiana. My brother was a pressman so he gives me a tour one day. The apartment has not been lived in for a long, long time obviously to me by the 50's look. I title it "The Flame"
Remembering proper grammar while attempting writing at age 50 is a monumental task( believe me ). It's been many moons since English Class,( my most feared class ). Ironic as I love reading.
My wife recently purchased a new computer, she convinces me to practice typing with her old one. I have nothing better to do as it's January. Especially since I work the graveyard shift I cannot sleep at night and nothing on the "Boob tube". Didn't take long to realize that a smart chicken could out peck me. I'm know trying my hand at typing and learning the most basic functions of the computer. ( your probably saying, where have you been man ). "Okay" better late than never. My writing although elementary use to be fun, not anymore. I don't need this ????! What once was fun has become a pain in the ??? ( I'm trying not to write cuss words, even though I use them ). Out of disgust and before I have a heart attack, I give up.
Every now and then the urge would surface, then I would remember the keyboard snarling at me and the computer laughing in my face. This last about 4 years.
My good buddy Timster over at "HOW DARE I" starts a blog. He tells me how much fun it is. There is one story I must write before I can move on. I hand write this story. He post it on his blog, the fire returns. The fire became one candle flicker when I think "KEYBOARD". The computer's brought out of moth balls with renewed passion. I work through the frustration and type the story that robbed my sleep years before. After 10,000 words the computer goes "wacko", I believe the new terminology is "CRASHED". I have spent countless hours of learning and the computer and it has a heart attack, ( is my writing that bad ). I still have my original hand written version but not my new and improved version that was devoured by the memory monsters of Hewie Packard, more appropriate would be "The Pac-Man From Hell". My renewed vigor is now a flat line. Ah! don't feel sorry for me after pouting for a couple of weeks I purchase my very own as soon as you leave the store obsolete computer. Wow! I'm connected to the internet, the world is at my fingertips. I've just bought a Cadillac but can't leave the garage because I don't know how to control it. I am making progress rewriting my story that has taking me a lifetime, many pencils and one computer.
Timster wants me to start a blog. Huh!, it's been 3 months since the fire returned, I believe my response was "I have just stepped out of the dark ages with one foot into the modern world learning how to type and navigate my first computer". He sends a email to a "idiot male", listing step by step instructions how to create my blog. (Appeared as though he typed it in Russian). I could not make heads nor tails out of it. I'm supposed to open my own blog, (yeah right)! He expects a a computer dummy to open a gmail account. When my first email was the day before yesterday. My mind goes into a self-preservation mode, flashing alert!alert!, "REBOOT",REBOOT". ( I need someone to boot my ??? ) to get save me.
Please excuse me I'm trying to keep this short but I'm in my late fifties. If I don't write what I'm thinking when I think it, I might go to the bathroom and forget my thinking.
I can know type a coherent sentence, (well I'll let you be the judge of that), without any red or green underlining on my "Hewie Screen".
Timster tells me in person how to open my own blog on gmail. I regress, he has been around computers forever and is a Engineer from California. I was once a Supervisor at a factory that made the Apple Computer Housings. Those being the very early personal computers. I ask him the other day "when you was explaining in person, did you not see that deer caught in the headlight look I was giving you". You know what "The Timster" did, he opens a blog for me. What a pal!, What a pal!
Now I'm fretting, what to put on it! I search back through some of my favorite stories and put on ( sorry ) post, Max and the Ohio".
I'm trying to complete my long short story "The Flame". I was almost finished so I thought! I read the first half and am unhappy. I want to make it a Christmas gift for my family, I rewrite the first half and need only to rewrite the finale. Guess what? I cannot bring myself to end the story, too many years of blood, sweat, tears, heart aches, broken pencils, keyboard nightmares, computer crashes. I end the story at chapter six, entitled "Family".
My compute is still alive, I'm slowly improving on the keyboard. What I have accomplished since April of this year seems impossible as I reminisce while writing this post. I wish to thank my wife for her patience in helping an old dog learn new tricks. Timster for giving me a shot of adrenalin when I needed it and without him opening my blog, it is highly possible this might not be.
Writing gives me a rush and is keeping my mind active, as my body is wearing out. I ask you to please overlook my errors as I strive to improve. My imagination along with the written word has saved me more than once. My favorite characters will come to life as I write new stories like "The Legend of Bill Lee Hill". I'm considering a new short story and posting it as I create it. Greenville/Greedville is the title. It has been locked up in my attic too long. I don't know where this journey will take me however I intend to enjoy it to the fullest. There was no T.V. in my house until I was around 14. Once I learn to read my imagination blossomed. Many years later my imagination must be satisfied another way. I hope you enjoy your time on Glen View.
At this point in my life I'm working the late, later shift. One day I cannot sleep as I go from days to nights, it takes some getting use to. A story takes shape, the complete story line plays itself out, only after several hours was I able to to get some much needed sleep. The story came from an apartment on top of a newspaper office here in Indiana. My brother was a pressman so he gives me a tour one day. The apartment has not been lived in for a long, long time obviously to me by the 50's look. I title it "The Flame"
Remembering proper grammar while attempting writing at age 50 is a monumental task( believe me ). It's been many moons since English Class,( my most feared class ). Ironic as I love reading.
My wife recently purchased a new computer, she convinces me to practice typing with her old one. I have nothing better to do as it's January. Especially since I work the graveyard shift I cannot sleep at night and nothing on the "Boob tube". Didn't take long to realize that a smart chicken could out peck me. I'm know trying my hand at typing and learning the most basic functions of the computer. ( your probably saying, where have you been man ). "Okay" better late than never. My writing although elementary use to be fun, not anymore. I don't need this ????! What once was fun has become a pain in the ??? ( I'm trying not to write cuss words, even though I use them ). Out of disgust and before I have a heart attack, I give up.
Every now and then the urge would surface, then I would remember the keyboard snarling at me and the computer laughing in my face. This last about 4 years.
My good buddy Timster over at "HOW DARE I" starts a blog. He tells me how much fun it is. There is one story I must write before I can move on. I hand write this story. He post it on his blog, the fire returns. The fire became one candle flicker when I think "KEYBOARD". The computer's brought out of moth balls with renewed passion. I work through the frustration and type the story that robbed my sleep years before. After 10,000 words the computer goes "wacko", I believe the new terminology is "CRASHED". I have spent countless hours of learning and the computer and it has a heart attack, ( is my writing that bad ). I still have my original hand written version but not my new and improved version that was devoured by the memory monsters of Hewie Packard, more appropriate would be "The Pac-Man From Hell". My renewed vigor is now a flat line. Ah! don't feel sorry for me after pouting for a couple of weeks I purchase my very own as soon as you leave the store obsolete computer. Wow! I'm connected to the internet, the world is at my fingertips. I've just bought a Cadillac but can't leave the garage because I don't know how to control it. I am making progress rewriting my story that has taking me a lifetime, many pencils and one computer.
Timster wants me to start a blog. Huh!, it's been 3 months since the fire returned, I believe my response was "I have just stepped out of the dark ages with one foot into the modern world learning how to type and navigate my first computer". He sends a email to a "idiot male", listing step by step instructions how to create my blog. (Appeared as though he typed it in Russian). I could not make heads nor tails out of it. I'm supposed to open my own blog, (yeah right)! He expects a a computer dummy to open a gmail account. When my first email was the day before yesterday. My mind goes into a self-preservation mode, flashing alert!alert!, "REBOOT",REBOOT". ( I need someone to boot my ??? ) to get save me.
Please excuse me I'm trying to keep this short but I'm in my late fifties. If I don't write what I'm thinking when I think it, I might go to the bathroom and forget my thinking.
I can know type a coherent sentence, (well I'll let you be the judge of that), without any red or green underlining on my "Hewie Screen".
Timster tells me in person how to open my own blog on gmail. I regress, he has been around computers forever and is a Engineer from California. I was once a Supervisor at a factory that made the Apple Computer Housings. Those being the very early personal computers. I ask him the other day "when you was explaining in person, did you not see that deer caught in the headlight look I was giving you". You know what "The Timster" did, he opens a blog for me. What a pal!, What a pal!
Now I'm fretting, what to put on it! I search back through some of my favorite stories and put on ( sorry ) post, Max and the Ohio".
I'm trying to complete my long short story "The Flame". I was almost finished so I thought! I read the first half and am unhappy. I want to make it a Christmas gift for my family, I rewrite the first half and need only to rewrite the finale. Guess what? I cannot bring myself to end the story, too many years of blood, sweat, tears, heart aches, broken pencils, keyboard nightmares, computer crashes. I end the story at chapter six, entitled "Family".
My compute is still alive, I'm slowly improving on the keyboard. What I have accomplished since April of this year seems impossible as I reminisce while writing this post. I wish to thank my wife for her patience in helping an old dog learn new tricks. Timster for giving me a shot of adrenalin when I needed it and without him opening my blog, it is highly possible this might not be.
Writing gives me a rush and is keeping my mind active, as my body is wearing out. I ask you to please overlook my errors as I strive to improve. My imagination along with the written word has saved me more than once. My favorite characters will come to life as I write new stories like "The Legend of Bill Lee Hill". I'm considering a new short story and posting it as I create it. Greenville/Greedville is the title. It has been locked up in my attic too long. I don't know where this journey will take me however I intend to enjoy it to the fullest. There was no T.V. in my house until I was around 14. Once I learn to read my imagination blossomed. Many years later my imagination must be satisfied another way. I hope you enjoy your time on Glen View.
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