Bayou Renaissance Man

Thank you all for your kind wishes as I recover from surgery.  Some of the comments about catheters, etc. reminded me of an incident with a friend that still makes me laugh whenever I think about it.

He had some sort of bladder problem that required him to be fitted with a catheter and a urine bag.  So far, so good . . . until the first morning after he returned home.  His twin daughters, aged about 5 or 6 at the time, came running into the bedroom and jumped on the bed to be with Mom and Dad - and one of them landed right on his (full) urine bag.

His comment:  "Have you ever tried to pee backwards?  It sheds a new and horrible light on the human condition!"

I had to sympathize, even while laughing my tochus off at his predicament!

Peter

This weekend a number of friends of the North Texas Troublemakers (of which my wife and I are members, too) are gathering at our annual invitation-only "Foolzcon" to have fun, eat too much, and generally kick back and relax together.  It's normally held nearer April Fool's Day (hence the name), but this year other events intervened, so we pushed it back a few weeks.

We're going to be involved in the fun and games, and we have house guests who've come here to join us, so I won't be putting up blog posts this weekend.  Normal service will be resumed on Monday.  Meanwhile, enjoy yourselves with the bloggers in the sidebar.  They write good, too!

Peter

Today, just because I feel like it, let's revisit a piece we've heard more than once on this blog over the past decade and a half.  It's Rodrigo's "Fantasía para un Gentilhombre", or "Fantasy for a Gentleman".  It's one of his most popular compositions.  Wikipedia says of it:

The four movements were based on six short dances for solo guitar by the 17th-century Spanish composer Gaspar Sanz and were taken from a three-volume work (1674, 1675, 1697) that is now commonly known as Instrucción de música sobre la guitarra española (Musical Instruction on the Spanish Guitar) (Donis 2005:75). Most of the movements retain the names that were originally given by Sanz.

Rodrigo composed the concerto in 1954 at the request of the guitarist Andrés Segovia, who was evidently the gentilhombre referenced in the title. Segovia took the solo part at the premiere performance on March 5, 1958, in San Francisco.

There's more at the link.

I'm putting it up again not only because it's one of my favorite pieces of classical guitar music, but in memory of my friend Inyati, who died at about this time of year fourteen years ago.  He's been on my mind lately, and he also loved this piece, so here goes.  Segovia is the soloist in this performance;  since it was written for him, I reckon he's probably the premier interpreter of it in concert.

Peter

There wasn't much action to report, because this year's Blogorado gathering was attended by only about a dozen of our regulars:  the rest were tied up, broken down or occupied with things from which they couldn't get away.  Nevertheless, we had a great time together, catching up on each other's news, enjoying our usual good food and drink (a permanent feature of our annual gatherings), and getting our new kitten fix for the next few months.  (One well-known blogger who shall remain nameless sent home to his wife a photograph of a tiny kitten curled up asleep on his shoulder, looking unbearably cute.  Her reply said, "You may NOT adopt a kitten and bring it home!"  He, sensible chap, obeyed . . . but I think he was inwardly torn.)

Miss D. and I left Colorado this morning, taking almost ten hours to cross Kansas and end up in Leavenworth.  It was a tiring but trouble-free journey.  We're going to spend the next few days here, doing research for future books and meeting up with fellow authors and bloggers.

Tomorrow we're going to meet James Young at the Arabia Steamboat Museum, named for a paddlewheel steamer that sank in 1856 and was excavated in the 1980's, revealing a treasure trove of original cargo and other items which provided an immensely valuable (albeit involuntary) time capsule of frontier life before the Civil War.  Click the image below (courtesy of the Museum's Web site) for a larger view.

It should be fascinating, and well worth the visit to Kansas City for that museum alone.  We have several other visits planned, and look forward to learning a lot and enjoying the company of friends even more.

I'll try to put up a brief biog post sometime tomorrow.  Normal blogging will resume on Monday next week, "the good Lord willin' and the crick don't rise".

Peter

We gathered at the Obligatory Cow Reference for breakfast, nominally at 8 am, but stretching a point for those who were late getting out of bed.  I enjoyed their Western omelet with hash browns, all topped with a generous helping of chile verde, accompanied by sourdough toast and blackberry jam.  My diet is going to be so shot by the end of Blogorado...

We drove out to the farm after breakfast, and spent the morning catching up with each other's news while more arrivals rolled in.  I napped during the afternoon, and by the time I got back to the farm for supper, there were about a dozen of us.  We feasted on lasagna with garlic bread, helpfully accompanied by this year's crop of barn kittens, who were anxious to demonstrate to us that lasagna was, indeed, cat food - just look!  Let us prove it to you!  They're a cute bunch, all bounce and purrs and claws.

Farmgirl introduced Miss D. and I to a very handy gadget:  the Milwaukee M18 Inflator.

It's a heavy-duty tire inflator:  the Farm Family uses it for cars, pickup trucks and farm equipment, and find it very useful.  It may be "too much gun" for occasional use with small cars and urban vehicles, and it's not cheap, but it did a great job of reinflating our SUV's tires and spare wheel very quickly (the change in altitude and temperature dropping their pressure by at least 5 psi overnight).  Even better, you can tell it what pressure you want, and it inflates to that level automatically, eliminating constant checking.  We were seriously impressed, and are thinking of buying one (or its smaller, lower-cost brother, also highly rated by customers) for ourselves.

Saturday morning we'll gather at the Obligatory Cow Reference for our usual breakfast, then it's out to the farm again.  I'm sure the kittens are looking forward to mugging us for half our food once more.  They're cute.

Peter

We had a safe journey to our destination in southern Colorado.  There's a new hotel in town, a normal modern traveler's hotel/motel configuration, but light years ahead of the old fleapits that had been the only available accommodation ever since we started gathering here more than a decade ago.  We gratefully booked a room, complete with modern, comfortable beds, and enjoyed the best night's sleep we've ever had here.  Let's hear it for progress!

Our local restaurant hangout, that we habitually refer to as the Obligatory Cow Reference (a play on its name), has undergone a makeover since we were last here.  The interior is now modernized, with a dark color scheme that none of us particularly like;  but the food is as always, and plenty of it.  The few of us who arrived yesterday had supper there last night, and we'll be gathering for breakfast in a short while.  I'm looking forward to their breakfast burritos, and chicken fried steak smothered in their chile verde, and flapjacks the size of cartwheels.  You'll gather that food is a major feature of our get-togethers.  Don't come to Blogorado if you're dieting!

It looks like this year's gathering will be smaller than usual, as various other demands on their time and money have forced a number of our regulars to regretfully bow out of Blogorado 2023.  That's OK, though.  We'll be gathering at the Farm Family residence later today, chasing this year's crop of barn kittens (and trying to avoid the temptation to take another one home with us), and catching up on a year's worth of gossip and fun and games.  I'll keep you posted.

Thank you to all who prayed for traveling mercies for us.  The trip was smooth and trouble-free.  Let's hope the rest of our travels are in the same vein.

More tomorrow.

Peter

When it comes to relationships, particularly romantic ones, as a pastor and chaplain I've often found myself between a rock and a hard place.  There's the theory, and the Biblical injunction, that "what God has joined together, let no man put asunder".  Divorce, according to classical moral theology, is a no-no;  you make it work together.  However, this presumes that both sides are willing to make it work, and are prepared to make sacrifices and adapt in order to achieve that.  I've seen far too many relationships where that hasn't happened;  where one side of the relationship has been actively destructive (whether physically, or mentally, or spiritually, or a combination thereof) to themselves and/or the other person involved.  That goes double when violence becomes a factor.  There's simply no place for physical violence in a relationship.  If that arrives, the victim should leave immediately, and recognize that there's no rescuing or salvaging that relationship.  If there is, I've never found a way that works.  Yes, I know that flies in the face of the Biblical message - but it's the only practical solution I know.

This doesn't just apply to romantic relationships.  I'm sure many of us have had friends or acquaintances who try to assume an ever more dominant and important role in our lives, to the point where they consume time and resources we really need for something else.  Others may differ from us to such an extent that they disturb our thinking, making us lose focus.  Some may be "clingy", taking a lot from us but giving back very little.  All these are unhealthy elements in our lives that can cause major disruptions, if we allow them to.

Karl Denninger foresees (as I do, and as many others do) that hard times are coming for all of us.  He warns that relationships can be the cornerstone to survival, or lead to our destruction.  Emphasis in original.

... if you have a stable relationship with another person and you are BOTH healthy (mentally AND physically) then recognize that two can always live more-cheaply than two ones and that one plus one is at least two and can be, if you're synergistic in some ways, more than 2.  As such if you have that  sort of relationship and you can make it deeper and better do it and avoid actions that might degrade or even destroy what you have.  Coming through adversity together with common purpose between two people who find each other before things go sideways and your "chooser" gets skewed by events who can be focused on each other and where other forced associations are not present and thus you can make major choices as a couple without mandated outside interference (e.g. neither of you currently has children from a former relationship) can forge a bond like no other.  I never achieved this and I'm 60 now -- but that doesn't mean you can't when you're 30, 25 or younger and if you can its absolutely worth it and can pay personal, incalculable dividends for decades.

But -- and this is extremely important -- one minus one is always zero and can be less than zero if one or both of you is unstable and prone to destruction.  Instability isn't just about "do I have a job" either; the worst instabilities are mental and emotional in their basis.  You can go ahead and make all the excuses you want for this and most people will but its absolutely true.  Cutting off a destructive influence can be very hard, particularly if you have a romantic involvement with that person but plenty of people get dragged down the toilet with someone who is hellbent on destroying themselves.  In times of plenty or if you have a lot you can get away with trying to make it better and if and when you fail bail off and avoid being destroyed yourself.  When times are tough and resources thin if you're the sane one and the other isn't you're much-more likely to get ruined by that same attempt simply because the margins are much thinner and they apply without fear or favor to everyone.  Always remember that nobody ever changes for anyone else in reality -- they only do it for themselves and both men and women frequently believe that not to be true and that they can "fix" the other's issues.

There's more at the link.  The whole article is worth reading.

I endorse Mr. Denninger's warning.  If your romantic relationship isn't as it should be right now, work on it until it's fixed.  That's really, really important, because when you add stress to that relationship, it can fracture and collapse.  That's the last thing you want to happen when everything else around you is in a state of flux.  Your marriage/partnership should be the bedrock on which both of you stand to face all the other troubles of life.  Absent that bedrock, you have a relationship built on sand - and we all know what happens to them.

The same applies, in a lesser way, to our friendships and acquaintanceships.  There are those who help us, who strengthen us, who build us up, and for whom we do the same.  They're valuable.  Treasure them, and nurture your relationship with them.  Then . . . there are those who are whiny, and clingy, and who drag us down into the mess they've made of their own lives.  We have to learn and re-learn the old, hard lesson that you can't live someone else's life for them.  You can't rescue those who turn around and fall into situations where they again need rescue.  Somewhere, sooner or later, you have to break those negative chains - and it's a lot easier to do so when the rest of your life is still on an even keel.  In the midst of economic and/or social and/or political chaos, it's a whole lot harder - but it's even more important to cut off such distractions and concentrate on the people and needs that are really important to us.  Better deal with such matters before they become so distracting that they threaten our well-being, even our survival.

Oh - and if you've prepared for hard times, and have an emergency cash reserve and backup food supplies and a stash of essential gear, be very, very careful who you tell about them.  Our "needy" hangers-on will be the first to come running to us, demanding that we share what we've prepared, because they haven't made any such preparations themselves.  They'll tell us that we "owe" it to them, that we should share what we have regardless of whether or not that will mean hardship for ourselves and our families.  The answer has to be a simple, flat "No!"  They may scream and cry and carry on, pleading need, accusing us of being selfish and hard-hearted . . . and it doesn't matter.  When things get tough, our every decision is an investment in our future.  Those who are important to us get that investment.  Those who are not, don't.  It's as simple as that - and as ruthless.  Altruism is a fine thing, and we should all practice it to the extent possible, but not to the extent of jeopardizing our own survival, our own relationships, our own core necessities.  If we do, everyone loses, most of all ourselves.  Remember Jim Quinn's modern (1994) parable of the ant and the grasshopper, and learn from it.  (However, his version no longer applies only to one side of the political aisle.  Both major political parties have been infected by the same disease.  Just look at Congress, and you'll see for yourself.)

Cherish, guard and build up your good relationships.  They'll make all the difference in the world when the chips are down.

Peter

I said it all back in 2010.  I referenced that in relation to more modern combat, and the US Navy SEALs, a couple of years later.

I still remember you.

Peter

That's just one of the many, many maxims in a new collection from Richard Wabrek.

The "deplorable" part of the title refers to Hillary Clinton's classification of so many of us as a "basket of deplorables" during the 2016 election campaign.  Richard proudly adopts that classification, as do I.

Richard and I have been members of the same e-mail list for many years, which is how I came to know him online (I've sadly not had the opportunity to meet him in meatspace - yet).  He's also been a professor, shooter, and down-to-earth practical philosopher.  I'll let him describe how his book developed.

This book had its origins over 30 years ago when I taught engineering at the University of Wisconsin–Platteville.  UWP was a small university in the (then) 26-institution University of Wisconsin System.  Platteville itself was a small town (population 5,000) in rural, southwest Wisconsin, and most UWP students were the children of rural, middle-class families.  UWP was certainly one of the more conservative campuses in the politically-correct UW System.  That said, at the time, the UW System itself was probably the closest thing to a Soviet-style bureaucracy in the western hemisphere, Cuba excepted.  Out-of-class conversations with students suggested my colleagues in the liberal arts college were doing their best to inculcate my engineering students with attitudes that would have been quite at home at UW-Madison, “the Berkley of the Midwest.”   The practice of engineering requires sound, logical thinking so I found these attitudes debilitating.

At this point I had been teaching part or full time for about seven years.  I had become reasonably successful at imparting basic engineering knowledge, but realized I was not addressing an equally important aspect of my students’ education.  I was not imparting any wisdom. It was then that I resolved to do my part to expose my students to sound judgment.  Given the UW System environment, I had to approach this with some caution.  An untenured faculty member can’t afford to make enemies.  UW System faculty members are free to embrace all manner of crazy ideas, provided they aren’t conservative ideas.

By 1987, I had been collecting maxims (as Mark Twain put it: “A maxim is the maximum of sense in the minimum of words.”) for my own pleasure for several years.  The collection seemed to be the ideal vehicle for transmitting some common sense.  My subversive plan was to pause from lecture about half-way through class and read a maxim or two.  Inasmuch as 25 minutes of an engineering lecture is about all that any mere mortal can tolerate without a change of pace, this amounted to sound pedagogy as well.  To prevent any complaints of bias (which on any University of Wisconsin campus were a concern), I would always solicit a maxim or two from the class. As it came to pass, there never were any complaints (back then), and there were frequent student contributions.  My maxim breaks proved to be quite popular.

When my exile in the Wisconsin Gulag concluded, and I took a position at Idaho State University; I brought my maxim practice with me ... I occasionally received negative comments about my conservative maxims in the anonymous, end-of-semester, student evaluations. But overall, for nearly three decades, my students seemed to appreciate the maxims.

. . .

My maxim procedure evolved over the years.  In the early 90s, I started awarding a prize to any student who brought in a maxim that earned a place in my collection.  The prize in question was a properly aged, hand-rolled cigar from my personal humidor. Many ISU students are of the Latter-Day-Saint faith (Mormons), and smoking is forbidden to the Saints.  So, while my students were generally receptive to the maxims, I had, on occasion, received complaints that I was encouraging an improper behavior.  I responded that non-smokers were free to have their prizes bronzed.

Rather than try to cherry-pick the maxims I most enjoy (difficult, given that the book contains literally thousands of them!), I'm simply going to publish the first few pages of his collection, and let the maxims (and their authors) speak for themselves.  Richard cautions:

I recommend that this book be enjoyed in small bits as an antidote for the misinformation and outright lies that characterize pronouncements from the government, media and so-called experts in the 21st Century.  Most books of maxims are overwhelming, like “drinking from a fire hose.”   As such, my collection is not grouped into broad categories or in any particular order.  Read until a maxim stimulates some thought or recollection, pause, and reflect. Turn the maxim over in your mind; learn what it has to offer. You may even want to learn more about the author and the circumstances of the quote.

That said, here goes!

Pournelle’s Law — “If you don’t really know what you’re doing, deal only with people who do.”

One of several.  The late Dr. Jerry Pournelle was a scientist, an award-winning, science-fiction author and an early personal-computer guru.  I suspect that this latter career is the source of this maxim.

Connery’s Law (Sean) — “Always tell the truth.  When you do, it becomes the other fellow’s problem.”

Think: “Bond, James Bond.”

“When people are free to do as they please, they usually imitate each other.” — Eric Hoffer, American philosopher, author of ten books, recipient of the Presidential Medal of Freedom (1902-1983).

Eric Hoffer was a longshoreman and published philosopher. I can recommend The True Believer (1951).

“If you are going to criticize a mule, be sure you do it to his face.” — Anonymous

“No experience is so conductive to steady and accurate shooting as the knowledge of an impossibility to escape by speed.” — Sir Samuel Baker, English explorer, officer, naturalist, big game hunter, engineer, writer and abolitionist (1821-1893).

Baker explored and hunted in Africa when those activities were dangerous adventures.

“Fanatic — Someone who, once he has lost sight of his goals, redoubles his efforts.” — George Santayana, Spanish born, American philosopher, essayist, poet, and novelist (1863–1952).

“Experience comes from making a large number of non-fatal errors.” — Anonymous

“Character‒the way you act when nobody’s looking.” — Anonymous

“Equality may perhaps be a right, but no power on earth can ever turn it into a fact.”— Honore’ de Balzac, French novelist and playwright (1799–1850).

“The end of the human race will be that it will eventually die of civilization.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson, American author, lecturer, philosopher, abolitionist, and poet (1803–1882).

“Nature has given woman so much power that the law cannot afford to give her more.” — Dr. Samuel Johnson, author of Dictionary of the English Language and more (1709–1784).

“Virtue has never been as respectable as money.” — Mark Twain, American author and humorist (1835–1910).

“Peace – n. In international affairs, a period of cheating between two periods of fighting.” — Ambrose Bierce, American short story writer, journalist, poet, American Civil War veteran, and author of The Devil’s Dictionary, which contains more definitions like the previous (1842–1914).

Another.  “Politeness – n. The most acceptable hypocrisy.” — Ambrose Bierce.

“Where every man does what’s right in his own eyes, there is the least of real freedom.” — Henry M. Robert, of Robert’s Rules of Order fame.

“The people are to be taken in very small doses.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson, American author, lecturer, philosopher, abolitionist, and poet (1803–1882).

“Government is not eloquence. It is not reason. It is a force.  Like fire, a dangerous servant and a fearful master.” — falsely attributed to George Washington.

“Tis more worthy to rate B+ in ten different areas of endeavor than A+ in just one.” — LTC Jeff Cooper, Lt. Colonel of Marines and the father of modern practical shooting (1920–2006).

Colonel Cooper was probably the finest teacher I have encountered in my life.  His prose, like his thinking, is a model of clarity and efficiency.  Here’s another.

“Personal weapons are what raised mankind out of the mud, and the rifle is the queen of personal weapons...Pick up a rifle–a really good rifle–and if you know how to use it well, you change instantly from a mouse to a man, from a peon to a caballero, and― most significantly―from a subject to a citizen.” — Jeff Cooper.

“It could probably be shown by facts and figures that there is no distinctively native American criminal class except congress.” — Mark Twain, American writer, humorist, entrepreneur, publisher, and lecturer (1835–1910).

“Science is the belief in the ignorance of experts.” — Richard Feynman, American, Nobel-Prize-winning, theoretical physicist (1918–1988).

“Just because it’s a well beaten road is no sign that it’s the right one.” — Anonymous.

“Brevity may be the soul of wit, but repetition is the soul of instruction.” — General George S. Patton, commander of the 7th US Army in World War II, and the 3rd US Army in France and Germany after the Allied invasion of Normandy (1885–1945).

A general is responsible for instructing as well as leading his men.

“Knowing others is wisdom, knowing yourself is enlightenment.” — Lao Tsu, Taoist philosopher (circa 570–490 BC).

“Life enfolds on a great sheet called Time, and once finished it is gone forever.” — Chinese adage.

“A man who has attained mastery of an art reveals it in his every action.” — Koichi Tohei, Aikido Master.

“Power of mind is infinite while brawn is limited.” — Koichi Tohei, Aikido Master.

“Progress, far from consisting in change, depends on retentiveness.  When change is absolute, there remains no being to improve and no direction is set for possible improvement; and when experience is not retained, as among savages, infancy is perpetual.  Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” — George Santayana in Reasons in Common Sense, Life of Reasons.

This is the longer version of the common quote that consists of the last sentence.

“Two wrongs are only the beginning.” — Anonymous.

“To step on a Persian carpet and a mullah are only to increase their value.” — Persian Maxim.

Collectors tell me that wear can make a carpet more valuable.

“No good deed goes unpunished.” — Clare Boothe Luce, American playwright and journalist (1903–1987).

Good’s Bureaucratic Rule: “When the remedies don’t cure the problem, government modifies the problem, not the remedies.” — Anonymous

“Basic research is what I am doing when I don’t know what I am doing.” — Wernher von Braun, German-American aerospace engineer and space architect, member of the Nazi Party during WWII, primary figure in the development of rocket technology in Nazi Germany, later a pioneer in US rocket and space technology (1912–1977).

There you are.  If those first couple of pages don't give you food for thought, dive into the book and look for more.  There are enough to keep you busy for months.  I highly recommend Richard's collection - so much so that I've bought multiple copies in all three formats (e-book, hardcover and paperback).  I plan to lend them to those whom I think will benefit from them.

Oh, yes - the maxim in the headline of this article.  From Richard's introduction:

Few bits of wisdom are more important than those which keep you alive.  As a consequence, survival rules are well represented.  One of my favorites is:

“Never get into any vehicle with a Kennedy.” — Anonymous.

If you know the history of the Kennedy political family, and what's happened to so many of their passengers, that kinda speaks for itself!

Peter

Raconteur Press, the small publishing house started by our buddy Lawdog, Cedar Sanderson and C. V. Walter, has just released another short - very short - story anthology.  It's titled "Postcards from Mars".

The blurb reads:

During MarsCon 2023 the three Moms of the Apocalypse handed out images to anyone who wanted to enter the contest. The rules were simple: write down a complete story in fifty words, and then send it to us. These are the winners of that challenge!

There was a tremendous response from conference attendees - so good, in fact, that Lawdog has promised, "Raconteur Press will be doing it again at every con we attend in 2023".  This may become an annual event, which will be a lot of fun.

Far be it from me to say that my wife's contribution makes the anthology, and puts all the others in the shade - even if I think it does!

Peter

Jennifer Hast and her husband have been part of our team at the North Texas Troublemakers for years, even though they live in Oklahoma and can only occasionally get down our way.  They've been regulars at our annual Blogorado gathering, too.

Sadly, Jennifer has just been diagnosed with breast cancer.  Both her mother and her sister have already survived this disease, so as you can imagine, she's taking it very seriously.  She's asking for help with some big medical expenses, plus the cost of being off work for a month to recover from the procedure.  You can read all about it at her GiveSendGo fund-raiser.  She was in the process of starting her own business, but that's obviously on hold until she can put this behind her.

My wife and I have already donated, and we'll both be very grateful if you'll please read what Jennifer has to say, then contribute what you can to help her get through this.  She's worth it.  (I'm not just saying that because of the utterly delicious lumpia she sometimes brings to Blogorado, either!  They're a bonus. If I could figure out how to wheedle a lumpia out of her for every $10 my readers contribute, I would in a heartbeat!)

Thanks in advance.

Peter

My friend, fellow writer and blogger Cedar Sanderson writes quirky, entertaining fiction that my wife and I both enjoy.  I'm sure many of you may have read her name in these pages, but not any of her books:  so I thought I'd provide the opening to her first young adult novel, "Vulcan's Kittens", published in 2013, to give you an idea of her style.

She's improved since then, as we all do with experience, but this book (and her second, "Pixie For Hire") have remained among my favorites, thanks to their chatty, simple, folksy style and easy reading.  Also, Cedar grew up and lived for many years in homesteading environments in New Hampshire and Alaska, so she speaks with the voice of experience about many of the settings in which she writes.

This book (and its sequel, "The God's Wolfling") tell the story of Linnea Vulkane, whom we meet as a teenager getting used to an adult world - and the more-than-merely-adult beings that run in her family.

Linnea looked out the tiny window of the tiny plane and marveled at the mountains below it. They had flown out of the Boise airport just a half hour before, but already she could see few signs of civilization below them. Her trip had started out that morning, in the Seattle Airport. She leaned her head against the cool window glass and re-lived the earlier scene with her mother.

“Mom, I’ll be fine. I want you to do this.” She’d insisted.

Her mother had hugged her, and Linnaea had leaned into her comfortable bulk, smelling the scent of lilacs and roses her mother always wore. Theta Vulkane was a renowned photographer, and traveled the world taking pictures of volcanoes and forest fires. But for the last two years she had stayed home with her only daughter. When this assignment had come in Linnaea could see how much her mother wanted to go.

“Dad and I, we had a lot of fun when you were gone. He always wanted you to go. Just because he’s not here...” Linnaea tried to keep her lip from wobbling. She took a deep breath and went on. “I’m sure Grampa Heff can keep me out of trouble.”

“Oh, I know he can. He always kept me from getting into too much. He’s just, well, since your grandmother left, he is sad and a bit cranky.”

“Mom, it’s not like I don’t have your phone number. And a new phone - thank you so much!”

Reminded of that in the present, Linn sat up and pulled it out of her jacket pocket. Her mom had always resisted her getting a phone - no amount of teasing and begging had moved her for the last two years, since she had gone into sixth grade and most of her friends had gotten one. But in the whirlwind of packing and preparation her mother had bought her the latest smart phone and loaded it with games and ebooks. Linn suspected the gift was partly to atone for the abandonment.

She didn’t care though. It was cool. She texted her mother now, making sure she didn’t use text speak. Mom would explode if she did, so she wrote, “Almost there. Flying over Nez Perce Mountains.”

She played a game, and then, bored, switched to her ebooks. Her mom had loaded the Diaries of Lewis and Clark onto it, no doubt hoping that she would get interested in the history of the area her grandfather lived in. Linn decided she would read that later and opened the latest fantasy novel instead. It was really cool, about how the gods of myth and folklore were living among humans and hiding their abilities. She read happily until they were on final approach to the Pierce Airport.

Grampa Heff was waiting for her in the little terminal, which was barely the two rooms needed for TSA regulations. He was leaning on his cane, she noticed. She ran to him and hugged him fiercely, which made him snort and lean into her. He smelled of smoke and apple tobacco, which made her sneeze.

He grinned at her when she finally let go. “Ready for a summer with an old coot?”

“Yep. I’m planning to be bored and whiny already.”

“Oh, I remember your mother at this age. Whew. Her moods could change on a dime.” Linn grimaced. She did that too. Frustrating. She’d talked to Mom about it, and although she understood that partly it was her body and hormones and all that, it was still annoying to start crying for no reason at all. Or yelling at her mother.

“I’ll try to be good, Grampa.”

Despite the cane, her grandfather was as strong as the steel that was his trade. He pitched her bags into the back of the truck and climbed into the cab beside her.

“Want to tool around town before we head up to the farm. Need to pick up some groceries. I also remember how much your mom ate at your age.”

Linn sighed. Her mom wouldn’t let her diet, either. Women in her family were supposed to be all ‘generous curves’ according to her, and no, Linn wasn’t fat at all. No matter what her friends said. She had a pretty good idea of what her grandfather would say if she asked for diet food. She helped shop at the grocery store, a very small place, nothing like the massive city supermarkets she was used to. Her grandfather bought a lot of stuff in bulk.

“We’ll have a garden for veggies,” he explained. “And I have a freezer full of meat, so this is mostly staples for the next month. Your Mom said you like to cook and bake?”

“We aren’t coming back to town for a month?”

“Well, maybe. I don’t come to town much.”

Linn blinked up at him, speechless for a moment. Yes, Pierce was a one-horse town, but the idea of not going anywhere for a month had surprised her. Where she lived in Seattle she could walk to the library, or to meet her friends.

“OK.” She finally said, realizing there wasn’t much to do in Pierce anyway. No wonder her mom had bought the phone for her. And no point in arguing with Grandpa Heff. His stubbornness was legendary.

The ride up to his farm was quiet. Linn spent most of it looking out the window admiring the scenery as they climbed up into the mountains. At one point her grandfather pulled over onto the side of the road and she got out and stared in awe at the perfect meadow of wildflowers in front of her. Her grandfather cleared his throat. “The blue ones are Camas. Kinda gets you, don’t it?”

“Wow, Grampa, it’s so beautiful.”

The field reached out endlessly, it seemed. The flowers were as blue as the sky above them, and for a moment she felt like she was floating between sky and sky. The scattered reds and yellows among the river of blue were like rays of sunlight coming through cracks. The scent of the flowers filled her up and she closed her eyes, savoring the warmth on her face. She looked back, realizing that she’d walked a little way out into the field. Her grandfather just leaned against the truck, his arms crossed and a small smile on his face.

Linn took a couple of pictures and climbed back in the truck. “Thanks, Grampa.”

“Thank you, young lady. Helps me see it fresh again through your eyes.” Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached over and ruffled her hair.

When they pulled into the farmyard the chickens scattered from the truck and then gathered again as soon as the engine was off. Linn hopped out and reached in for her bags, but her grandfather waved her off.

“Got a surprise for you in the barn. See if you can find it.”

Linn started for his small barn. Grampa didn’t keep any large livestock, so the barn was just big enough for a couple goats and their hay. As she got to the sliding doors, she saw the cat sitting on the stump beside them. Sitting upright, tail curled around her toes, she was a very elegant tawny cat.

“Hello, pretty lady.” Linn held out her hand to be sniffed. The cat surveyed her for a moment, and then leaped off the stump to wait at the doors. Linn was surprised at the size of her, fully as tall as her knee. The softly weaving tail, tip hooked like a shepherd’s crook at the moment, reached up to her waist. Linn slid the door open and the cat walked into the dimness of the barn. Linn could smell the sweet hay in the loft. The cat turned back and said firmly “Mew.”

Linn chuckled. “I am coming, Cat.”

The cat ascended to the loft in two swift bounds, one to the top of the stall door and the other to the floor of the loft, easily ten feet above them. Linn was impressed, but stopped to rub the noses of Grandpa’s two Alpine does as they stood in the stall. Then the cat miaowed again, and Linn obediently climbed the ladder to the loft. The cat sat on a bale of hay looking down into a little cavity surrounded by four bales on the floor. Linn looked into it.

“Kittens! Oh, how precious!”

She knelt on the floor and reached over the bale toward them, then hesitated. “May I?” she asked the mother cat. This was a very dignified beast, and very different from the house cats Linn knew at home. The cat curled her paws under her chest and began to purr, eyes half lidded. Linn took this to mean yes, and stroked the top of the nearest kitten’s head.

“You are so soft.” She murmured, not wanting to disturb the sleepy kittens. There were four of them. One black, one calico, and two silvery gray with black spots. They bobbed blind little heads at her and opened little pink mouths in soundless mews, but Linn could see they would be even bigger than their mother, as they were already the size of her two fists put together, and they couldn’t be more than two weeks old.

Linn stroked each of the kittens for a few minutes, marveling at the soft fur and cute round tummies. She stopped when their mother flowed into the nest and wrapped herself around them. The kittens immediately nosed into her teats. Even blind they knew exactly where to go. Linn sighed. This was a very nice surprise.

“Linn? Dinnertime.” Her grandfather sounded like he was calling from the porch.

“Coming, Grampa.” She called back, no longer worried about waking the kittens.

She climbed down the ladder and washed up at the pump between the house and the smithy. Her grandfather had designed the pump and basin to overflow into a koi pond, and she trailed her fingers in it to feel the eager mouths nibble at her.

Dinner was a venison stew and rustic bread. Her grandfather was a good cook. She sighed a little, looking down at her half empty bowl. Her father had been a good cook, too.

After dinner her grandfather pointed to the loft. “Up you go! These old knees can’t do the ladder, but you’ll be sleeping up there this summer, unless you decide to sleep in the barn.”

“Could I?” Linn asked, picturing the kittens.

“Not tonight, but yes. Now bed.”

Linn fell asleep quickly, worn out with her long day of traveling. In the middle of the night, she woke up with the familiar feeling of a crampy stomach. Her period had started. Yuck. She rolled over to get out of bed and then realized that there was someone in the cabin talking to Grampa Heff.

“You do realize you cannot stay out of this forever.” A heavy male voice, dripping with anger and a strange accent.

“We choose to treat Hephaestus as a refuge.” A sibilant and melodious female voice. Linn thought she had a speech impediment.

Linn crawled out of bed, her belly cramps forgotten and slid to the edge of the loft where she could see into the sitting area below. Four figures stood down there in the dimly lit room. The two closest to the door were very big. If they walked under the loft they would have to duck. The one on the couch appeared to be huddled under Grampa’s afghan. Grampa Heff himself was straddling a kitchen chair he had turned backwards and was leaning his crossed arms on the back of it.

“Vulcan - ah, Haephestus, as you prefer. You choose to live unnaturally. We would rather not force you to return with us.”

“I chose to make myself happy, not your lot. And do you recall what happened last time I was forced?”

Linn could see a grimace pass over the man’s face. In the firelight his skin was unusually red, as was his hair. She wondered why Grampa hadn’t lit a lamp.

“I cannot and will not leave here.” The woman on the couch declared, sitting up suddenly. Linn startled as she realized that the woman was a cat... This was her grandfather’s barn cat, talking and sitting on the couch.

The big man stepped toward her, casting his face into shadow. Linn could still hear the sneer in his voice. “Bastet’s Daughter, you are the least of our concerns. Vulcan may take on strays and broken... beings, but we do not.”

“I would not go with you, even without my obligations here.” Grampa interjected.

“Oh, the child.” The man’s dismissive tone made Linn’s blood boil.

“Not just a child. Blood of my blood.”

“Which I’m sure she knows nothing about. To her, you are just a broken-down old smith.”

“Her mother has told her what we are, I am certain.”

“She could not even see me if she were able to wake from the spell I cast over her.”

Linn blinked in surprise. Not only was she wide awake, riveted to the conversation below, but she could see the red man, the cat woman, and the bulk of something else (she was no longer sure it was a man) near the door in the shadows. And as for ‘what she was’... she was a human being. Wasn’t she? Linn remembered her mother once telling her that not all myths and fairy tales were made up. Many of the old tales had a grain of truth in them.

“There are very powerful things in this world of ours, things that most people cannot see or accept if they do see them.” Theta’s voice had gone dreamy, and Linn saw that her eyes were focused somewhere far away. “My family is a powerful one, and you have a little of that power, my sweet. If you see strange things, or feel like you did something you cannot explain, then I will tell you more.”

Linn dragged her attention back to the scene below. Her mother wasn’t there to explain, but she knew who she was going to talk to as soon as their visitors left.

“I think the child will surprise you, Mars.” Grampa Heff’s voice was mild. Linn suddenly caught the connection of names. Mars and Vulcan were gods. Bastet was the cat god of Egypt. Who were these people? Who was her grandfather? Linn felt dizzy even lying flat on the floor.

“In any case,” Her grandfather stood up and Linn could see the fire shimmering through his halo of white hair. She suddenly wondered what color it had been when he was young. “You will leave now. I have no intention of abandoning my work.”

“You will come to Olympus.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, I have ways...” Mars backed out of the door. His unseen bodyguard had already gone out.

Grampa Heff sighed and ran his hands through his hair, making it stand even more on end. He looked up toward Linn. “Come on down, child.”

Lid slid down the ladder. “How did you know?”

He chuckled and hugged her. “I could hear you breathing, little one. How much did you hear?”

Linn realized he was asking her how much she had really understood. “Not much... why did he call you Vulcan? Where did he want you to go? Was he really red?”

Her grandfather laughed. “Vulcan is one of my names, the gods are meeting to arrange the fate of the world and he is indeed, red.”

“The fate of the world? Gods? What?” Her dizzy feeling came back.

“Sit, child.” Bastet’s Daughter, forgotten behind her, reached out a soft and very large paw to pull her down onto the couch. Linn sank down next to the warm bulk of the cat, who was now closer to tiger-sized.

“You grew.” Linn muttered.

The cat laughed.

Grampa Heff smiled. “I think we need to explain, but first, hot cocoa.”

There's your introduction to Linnea's world.  This book and its sequel are free to read via Kindle Unlimited, so if you have a KU subscription, click over to Amazon via the links provided and read the whole thing.  You'll enjoy it.

Peter

Readers will recall that a few weeks ago, I asked for your support for our blogging, writing friend Lawdog as he faced trial on what all of us who know him were sure were trumped-up, overblown charges.

I'm delighted to report that our efforts paid off.

• Lawdog was able to raise enough funds, thanks to your generosity, to pay his lawyer and all other expenses.
• His trial took place yesterday.  It didn't even take a full day before he was declared Not Guilty - an outcome we fully expected.
• We celebrated his acquittal yesterday afternoon and evening with several bottles of good cheer and BBQ from a local (and extremely good) restaurant.  A good time was had by all.

Thank you very much for your support for Lawdog.  I'm delighted that my friend has been freed from this legal weight that's been hanging over him for more than two years, thanks to delays caused by COVID-19 and other issues.  I'm sure he slept well last night, in high spirits (in more ways than one!).

All right, buddy - you've got no excuse any more not to get back to writing!  We want more Lawdog books!

Peter

Before we get to today's Snippet, let's begin with a few new books by friends that they've launched over the past week or so.  I'll list them in alphabetical order by author.

Regular readers will recall my reviews of Jason Fuesting's first two military science fiction novels, "By Dawn's Early Light" and "Foreign Shores".  They're part of a series he calls "Echoes of Liberty".  The third in the series, "This We'll Defend", has just been published.

The blurb reads:

Captain Eric Friedrich traded his ship to reach the heart of Confederate space and what temporary safety it offered.

Preferring to be the hunter instead of the hunted, Eric now seeks to avenge his fallen and defend his new homeland, but to do that he must plot a course through unfamiliar waters. He will leverage everything he can, bargain with shadowy government agencies, strike deals with politicians, and run head first into danger once again.

Failure will cost him everything he holds dear, but the clock is ticking and the only way to go is forward.

I've read the book twice over the past week.  It's absorbing and interesting, with some plot twists that will keep you guessing.  I'm already looking forward to the next book in the series.

Next, Cedar Sanderson has released a collection of eight fantasy stories that she's titled "Crow Moon".

The blurb reads:

Eight fantastic tales of swords, sorcery, love and justice.

The honeymoon is over.... before it even began. Nico and Emie face the biggest decision of their lives, and hope that it won't kill them.

Cecelia's dowry is a worthless field, and a friendship begun in a macabre deal.

Soleh fights her way out of a cruel marriage and swears vengeance by the lost gods of a dead clan. She rides with the darkest of companions at her side.

In a breath of air on an unmasked face, the worth of a life is laid bare.

Amaya Lombard faces her past, risking her future, in the very place where her magic was stripped from her blood and bone.

He answered his son's call for help, but nothing could have prepared him for what his son had done... and expected him to take care of.

The boyar's son must marry, to save his lands and people. The domovoi bids him wed, but she will only come to him if he fills her every request. Can he swallow his gorge long enough?

Lom rides for the goblin camp, death along the path. His bargain will have a cruel cost...

Cedar always entertains with her fantasy tales, beginning with her first book, "Pixie Noir" (still one of my favorites).  I've only read a few pages of her latest, due to being preoccupied with finishing Jason Fuestings latest (above), but hers is next on my list.  I know I'll enjoy it.

John van Stry is well-known in the independent publishing world.  He's just published his first book for Baen, "Summer's End".

The blurb reads:

Fresh out of college with his Ship Engineer 3rd-Class certificate, Dave Walker’s only thought is to try to find a berth on a corporate ship plying the trade routes between the many habs, orbitals, and moons in the Solar System. The problem for Dave, however, isn't his straight C average; it's that his stepfather, a powerful Earth Senator he’s never met, now wants him dead.

Forced to take the first berth he can find, Dave ends up on the Iowa Hill, an old tramp freighter running with a minimal crew and nearing the end of its useful life, plying the routes that the corporations ignore and visiting the kinds of places that the folks on Earth pretend don’t exist.

Between the assassins, the criminals, and the pirates he needs to deal with, Dave is discovering that there are a lot of things out there that he still needs to learn.

But there’s one hard lesson he learned long ago that he’s being forced to remember: how to be ruthless.

My wife has been enjoying his book, not least because one of the characters in it is strangely like her, even down to the name!  We're going to have to tease the heck out of John when we see him this weekend.  I'll get to it as soon as I've finished Cedar's latest.

For today's Snippet, here's an excerpt from Jason Fuesting's latest, "This We'll Defend".  It's a combined arms exercise scenario.  The author's military background and experience shine through.

Eric nervously paced the roof of the night club. Even though this section of the roof didn’t have clear line of sight to where OPFOR was lurking, he still varied his pace irregularly to complicate anyone taking a shot from long range. He looked to the darkening sky, to the oranges and yellows that lined the horizon, to the trees and grasslands downslope of the mountain. Outside of Solitude, I don’t think I’ve seen a more serene mountainside. Beautiful place to die. God, I hope this works.

Eric’s handheld crackled. “Sir, last of the drums have been emptied.”

“The wood and debris are in place?”

“Aye, sir,” Benson replied.

“And the secondary drums set where I asked?”

“Aye.”

“Light it.” Eric glanced to the silent buildings surrounding him and keyed his radio again. “Jack-in-the-Box, you copy?”

“Jack-in-the-Box copies.”

“You guys stay frosty.”

“Jack-in-the-Box confirms frosty.”

Eric turned on his heel as flames began to lap across the street gutters surrounding the club. It would ignite the debris his men had placed, and eventually climb the sides of several barrels located around the club. The key to all of this would be the enemy attacking while the heat from those barrels still obscured the thermal signatures of his men inside the building along with the surprise he had planned. If OPFOR attacked within the next two hours, there’d likely be enough light from all the fires to render normal night vision useless as well.

Eric stepped through the roof access door and nodded to the marine standing just inside. “Close her up, Marine.”

The private immediately began nailing the door shut while Eric walked down the stairs just inside. When the private finished, he’d place a brace to make kicking it in a much harder proposition. Explosives would still do the job, but anyone blowing the door wouldn’t know about the grenade sim balanced just so above it. “Benson, we remembered to block the back door, right?”

“Yes, sir. Big noisy trash container just like you asked. Stripped the rubber off the wheels myself.”

“Good. Thank God the techno types hated sunlight. Gardiola got that gen set rolling right?”

“Affirmative. Not sure how long it’ll be happy when you throw the switch, but it should be good for a little bit of a show.”

“Good job, Benson. Make sure Gardiola gets some kind of recognition after this if I don’t get to the other side in one piece, would you? You guys have shit luck with officers and that genny determines which side gets slaughtered tonight.”

“Copy, sir.”

“Get everybody to their positions. Make sure they understand we have no idea when the attack will come, but it is coming. Tonight.” God, I hope I’m not wrong.

“Copy that, sir. We’re already set up. Just waiting for you.”

Eric took the last flight of steps at a trot and set up in one of the main hall’s new sandbagged hides as everyone nervously checked magazines one more time. He glanced over to Benson. “Save the blooper for if we’re well and truly fucked. Might as well take the entry team with us if it gets that bad.”

While Eric settled in, he watched the two-man team behind the short sandbag berm in the middle of the stage, directly across from the doors to the lobby. They popped the top on their machinegun and laid in a belt. Eric found something comforting in the sound of the heavy bolt being worked.

Thankfully, the years spent on Solitude and onboard ship had honed Eric’s ability to hurry up and wait without getting so bored he’d get desensitized or sleepy. Slightly over an hour passed when his hand-held, adjusted to the lowest volume, crackled at a whisper, “Dancefloor, belfry. Someone just tried the door.”

“Jack-in-the-Box, any eyes-on?” Eric whispered.

“Negative. Night’s still clear. Plenty of light to see by. Nothing moving.”

Eric swallowed to wet his mouth and quietly said, “Belfry, be ready for frag if they decide to breach.”

“Belfry copies.”

“Rear ushers, be ready to support,” Benson whispered.

Eric’s breath caught when a doorknob on the lobby doors moved just enough to change the glint reflecting into his eyes.

“Queue the music, boys,” Eric whispered and gestured with a hand. He thumbed his rifle off safe as he slumped behind the sandbags in front of him. “Wait for the song to start.”

Moments later the door swung open. Eric heard the glass they’d scattered crunch under boots. He heard the boots halt, all of them, perhaps eight pairs, as they navigated the obvious commo wire tripwire he’d set up. Unfortunately for their guests, the ultralight low-vis fishing line they’d retrieved from the sporting goods store two blocks down was a bit harder to see. With an audible pop, every blacklight and every strobe in the place snapped on. Thirty rifles rose in unison and barked the opening notes of every infantryman’s favorite song to play, Ambush in A-major.

Outside, Jack-in-the-Box’s brevet tank commander flipped the Williamson’s master power breaker from stand-by to on. While the Williamson’s turret servos and targeting systems came fully online, he leaned into the display for the main gun’s optics. Indicators in the edge of the display lit green to green as the gun’s capacitors hit full charge. And then the music started in earnest.

Inside the club, the strobe effect coming from thirty rifles firing alongside actual strobe and black lights made the ambush look like a surreal low-framerate video. OPFOR’s suddenly overwhelmed optical camouflage failed to maintain transparency in the first few moments, creating ghostly man-shaped bends in the air, and several hits later, bleeding afterimages and spectral flickering that carried through the dark moments between the synced strobes. Above it all, the platoon’s machine-gun roared, matched seconds later by its twin and the heavy, repetitive thumping of Jack-in-the-Box’s coaxial machinegun.

“CEASE FIRE!” Eric bellowed moments later when he noted the intruders were all down. The call was quickly taken up by his squad leaders. Outside, the Williamson’s coaxial chewed on, punctuated by the tank’s railgun firing frangible low-impact training rounds.

Heart racing, Eric lifted his handheld. “Jack, Dancefloor. Status?”

“Dancefloor, we’re just mopping up out here. Had a few squirters. F***ing crunchies.”

All the radios in the room barked, “EXCON calls scenario pause for review. All elements stand down.”

Eric gave Benson a knife-hand signal and as their attackers got to their feet someone cut the ambush lighting. Two men materialized as they entered from the lobby. Approaching Eric, they shed the thick overcoat and the bug-like half-mask, half-helmets used for optical camo to reveal black cadre shirts.

“Captain Friedrich?” the older of the two said with no hint of irony at the rank. “Major Tomlin. My second is Master Sergeant Nacy. What exactly did you think you were doing here, Captain?”

The admonition in the man’s tone was unmistakable. Eric went to parade rest. “Sir?”

“I’m fairly certain the folks at TRADOC are crying because of how you just had your way with their doctrine, Captain.”

“In my defense, sir, I was not briefed on which doctrine I should follow. Given the circumstances, it occurred to me that in the real-world execution, doctrine probably went out the window the moment the first transport landed, sir.”

The Major broke into a reluctant grin. “Very true. Based on the circumstances, we expected some non-traditional tactics, but this? This wasn’t it. Seriously, Captain, what were you thinking? How did you know? Walk me through while the data compiles. It’ll be a few minutes before the results are fully processed.”

“Well, to be bluntly honest, I went with my gut. Earlier, when Corporal Benson and I were going over our preps for tonight, he reminded me of a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Well, we were still chewing on what had happened to OP Golf, sir. The conversation strayed into what had actually happened in Fulda the first time around. It just sorta struck me out of nowhere. Thirty marines don’t just disappear. We’re a little hard to kill, as I’m sure everyone just noticed.”

The Major shook his head, “We, Captain? Going native are we?”

“What can I say, sir? Marines are like fungus. They kinda grow on you, and then you can’t get rid of them.” Eric shrugged. A third man in the dead-black of deactivated optical camouflage joined them. In the dim light, the man was solidly built, but appeared otherwise unremarkable.

“Oh, Captain, let me introduce you to the infiltration team leader, Captain Burke. Burke, you got your ass blown right the **** off tonight.”

Burke grinned. “Not every day we get sat on our asses. As if we still had asses to sit on anymore after that.” Burke offered his hand to Eric. “Congratulations, Captain.”

Eric shook the offered hand and pulled away with something in his palm. A coin with a unit symbol he didn’t recognize, a broken triangle with a bayonet driven through it from below.

“You were saying thirty marines simply don’t disappear, Captain?” the Major prompted.

“Right.” Eric redirected his attention to the men as he pocketed the coin. “So I asked myself what would kill thirty marines in a night, no calls for help, and do it quickly, cleanly enough that a corps could make the gap and be in Johnston City by the morning. It all just kinda snapped into place. Optical camo and a raiding team who knew what they were doing.”

“And?”

“And I thought back to a few lessons I’d been taught elsewhere while Benson and I looked over the map. I knew optical camouflage is not fond of UV, and I noticed the club on the map. Black lights emit quite a bit of UV, sir. Add in some strobes for dazzle and you’ve got a pretty good surprise if you can pull it off. I wanted whoever was coming in to be blind on both NV and thermals, so we gathered what we could burn and laid it out. I’d hoped the heat bloom would conceal the fact that the Williamson was manned and on standby while also making it hard for long-term surveillance to figure out where we were inside.”

Major Tomlin’s eyes narrowed a moment and then he slowly shook his head. “A dangerous bet, Captain, bottling your men up here.”

Eric agreed with a slight shrug. “I had contingencies if I was wrong, but ultimately? Audentes Fortuna iuvat.”

Both the Major and Captain Burke nodded.

“That it does, Captain,” Major Tomlin agreed.

That's one of several fun and exciting action sequences in the novel.  Recommended reading, particularly for military veterans.

Peter

Last night many of the North Texas Troublemakers gathered at Old NFO's place to partake of a huge variety of food that everyone had contributed.  There are so many leftovers that I daresay we'll be going back there more than once over the next few days to eat them all!

Stephan Pastis put his own inimitable spin on the Thanksgiving turkey tradition.  Click the image to be taken to a larger version at the "Pearls Before Swine" Web page.

Today, Friday, Miss D. and I are heading for Fort Worth.  We have some shopping to do together, and we hope to meet up with an old acquaintance who's something of a legend in the science fiction and fantasy community, perhaps for lunch, or if not, then for a cup of tea or coffee somewhere.  (I doubt any of us will be seriously hungry!)

I hope your Black Friday is fruitful, and that you can find, and afford, and buy, all you need.

Peter

Miss D. and I arrived in Albuquerque, New Mexico late on Saturday afternoon, after about 8 hours on the road from home.  We interrupted our travels for coffee and breakfast in Chilicothe, TX at the Turquoise Coffee Stop, which has become an institution for more than a few travelers along US 287.  They make really good coffee, and their breakfasts are also very much to our taste.  Recommended.

We stopped for lunch with Alma Boykin in Amarillo.  She and Miss D. commiserated with each other over their current works in progress, both of which started as (or were intended to be) short stories, but have taken on lives of their own and expanded dramatically.  I won't be surprised if both end up as novellas or even full-blown novels.  It was great to see Alma, as always.  She's one of our dearest friends.

The drive west was OK, but truck traffic became very heavy after we left Amarillo.  I don't know how traffic patterns work for heavy vehicles, but we were seeing three or four 18-wheelers for every car, SUV or minivan - and some of the heavies were not the world's best drivers, to put it mildly.  I have no idea why a truck would try to overtake another with a negligible speed advantage of what felt like about a quarter of a mile per hour, but it led to some epic backups and bad language as the slowpoke passers dragged ever-lengthening trains of aggravated drivers and vehicles in their wake.

It seemed to get dark in New Mexico rather earlier (in terms of the time of day) than we're used to in northern Texas.  The time zone changed, of course, from Central to Mountain time, but even so, it was dark by about 5.30 pm.  Fortunately, by then we'd reached Albuquerque, so we didn't have to plunge onward in darkness, in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by semis.  I would not have enjoyed that.

Tomorrow morning we head for Las Vegas.  I guess the drive will be about nine hours from here, including a trip over the wall at Hoover Dam, which I've never seen before.  I understand it's pretty empty right now.  We'll be tired by the time we roll into Party Town, USA.

Finally, please say a prayer for the souls of those who died in the mid-air collision over Dallas, TX on Saturday.  I understand five crew members died aboard the B-17, and a sole pilot in the P-63.  It was a disaster for the Commemorative Air Force and its warbird enthusiasts (including Alma Boykin), so please remember them in your prayers, too.  They lost comrades yesterday, and they're bound to be feeling it.  The accident reminds us that no matter how careful we may be, the fickle finger of fate can reach out and touch us without warning or opportunity to escape, at any time.  May their souls rest in peace.

More as and when I have time.

Peter

(P.S. - for those who may not understand this article's headline, let Bugs Bunny enlighten you!)

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned that our buddy Lawdog, whom most of you know, is having a fundraiser to cover legal expenses for what I regard as a trumped-up, malicious charge.  You can read more about the case at Old NFO's place.  Follow the links he provides to see what Lawdog's friends are offering as raffle prizes to those who contribute.

The fundraiser has been pretty successful so far, raising over $40K.  However, I know what lawsuits can cost in terms of legal fees, and $40K doesn't leave much margin for error at all - particularly when taxes have to be paid on funds raised like that.  I'd love to see Lawdog's fundraiser hit $50K, which would be enough (I think) to meet all likely demands on his bank account over this matter.

If you've already donated to the fundraiser, thank you very much!  Your generosity is greatly appreciated.  If you haven't - or if you have, but are willing to consider more - please click over to his fundraiser and do what you can to help.  Lawdog's a good man, as I said in my earlier post, and I really want to see him come through this free and clear, without being tied up for years in debt to his lawyer and expert witnesses.

Thanks muchly.

Peter

Our mutual friend Lawdog, who's a blogger and a writer as well as a recently-retired peace officer, has been fighting a legal battle for the past two years.

I can't say too much about it prior to the court case, but basically he was accused of unprofessional conduct - which I don't believe for a moment.  It involved a very violent situation that had to be resolved right then and there, for fear of injury to others, and he did so very effectively, IMHO.  As one who's worked with law enforcement in a prison setting for a number of years, I applauded when I heard about the incident - and I still do.  Sadly, some of the "woke" influence in law enforcement appears to have rubbed off on others involved, resulting in bleating, moaning and misdemeanor charges against him.  You can hear the man himself talk about it on a recent livestream with Old NFO.  The video is here:  the relevant excerpt starts at 14 min. 4 sec. into the clip.  Please click over there to view it.

I give Lawdog my highest possible personal seal of approval.  When my wife and I moved here almost eight years ago, it was primarily because of his presence;  being friends, we wanted to be closer to him, as well as live in an area offering greater security and peace and quiet.  He's become an even better friend since then, to both of us.  If my wife's life were in danger for any reason, and I desperately needed someone to get her out of it, Lawdog is one of the top three people in the world I'd call upon for aid;  and she and I know he'd respond without a second thought.  He's that kind of guy.  It goes without saying that, knowing him as I do, I regard him as innocent of the charges brought against him.

Sadly, Lawdog has expended his available funds on pre-trial legal costs and other defensive measures.  A peace officer's salary isn't great at the best of times, particularly not in smaller towns and cities in Texas, so he's never had the opportunity to accumulate much in the way of savings.  He's launched a fund-raiser to help pay for future costs.  My wife and I are already all-in on that, and will remain so.  I'd like to ask you, dear readers - particularly those who've read Lawdog's books - to please help him out as well.  I can't think of a worthier cause than his.  I'll be personally very grateful if you'll please click over to his fundraiser and do what you can to help.  Good lawyers and expert witnesses ain't cheap!

Thanks in advance.

Peter

Several of my friends, fellow bloggers and fellow writers have published new books over the past few weeks.  I've read all of them, and recommend them to you.  I'll list them in alphabetical order by author, to avoid offending anyone.

First up is Rita Beeman, known in meatspace as Lawdog's Lady.  She has a new novella (i.e. short novel) out titled "Mabel Murkwood and the Overly Familiar".

The blurb reads:

Mabel Murkwood has trouble keeping a Familiar.

Hugh, a stately raven from England, lost his master in the Blitz.

Warm conversation, a shared passion for botanicals, and many cups of tea forge a bond between this unlikely duo.

However, life in East Texas isn't always easy, especially after a World War that left scars in the hearts of many of its survivors. While Hugh finds his footing in a new land, he also finds a new purpose helping his East Texas Witch.

Next is Alma Boykin.  She's just published the 22nd book in her "Familiar Tales" series.  This one's titled "Preternaturally Familiar".

The blurb reads:

Where is home for a Hunter?

Uneasy rests the head upon which rests the leadership of the River County Hunter clan. Arthur Saldovado's older brother grows distant and untrusting. Arthur must balance his duty to the senior Hunter with protecting the shadow mage Hunter in Shadows and preventing strife within the clan. Arthur's adopted daughter, Lelia Lestrang, watches and worries. That is, when she's not trying hard to keep from ordering her children to marry (she wants grandchildren!) and sighing mightily when her much loved husband leaves his clothes lying in front of the laundry hamper yet again.

Then a sorceress discovers the remains of a gate between the worlds, cast with blood-path magic.

Where can an out-cast Hunter find shelter, save for the grave?

"I wish something would happen and clear the air!" When the storm breaks, Lelia, André, their Familiars, and their family pull together to fight a battle Lelia though had ended fifty years before.

The end of an era? Or the start of something Preternaturally Familiar?

Also new from Alma is the seventh in her "Merchant and Empire" series.  This one's titled "Noble, Priest and Empire".

The blurb reads:

Valdher of the Wilds, Lady of the Forest

Unwanted survivor, failure, Halwende cost his father money and should never have become heir. When Valdher chooses him as priest, no one is prepared for what follows, least of all Halwende.

Sneelah of the Snows, Lady of the Ice

Young in his power, Aglak Rothbard settles long-simmering disputes. With force. Icy-cold force, just like the goddess he serves.

One man seeks to open the raw, new lands in the north for settlement, as his Lady commands. The other seeks to balance rapid change and the desires of a deity reluctant to release her hold on the north. When long-forbidden magic is brought back to light and used for ill purposes, both men and their deities must work together for the good of the Northern Empire. Two men and their patrons, strong in power and stronger in will. Who will be master of the northern lands?

When Cervi and Snow-cat collide, the forest trembles!

J. L. Curtis (better known in the blogosphere as Old NFO) has just released a short story, to tide his readers over while he works on his next book.  It's titled "Country Boys (and Girls) will Survive".

The blurb reads:

Shady Rest Mobile Home Park wasn't anything much... Small, old, and butted up against the Okefenokee swamp, with an 'eclectic' group of tenants, it was the target in a long time feud.

DK Thorne, a medically retired Marine, did his best to keep the place afloat, the tenants happy, and fight off the County. He was managing to do that until the local witch said 'things' were coming from the other side of the 'veil'...

And they did, but country boys and girls know how to survive.

Not a new book, but information about forthcoming anthologies from Lawdog and Raconteur Press.  He's published a timetable for half a dozen planned anthologies, so if you want to submit a story for inclusion, go read.

And finally, last but by no means least, a few weeks ago I mentioned the first book, "How Not to Shoot Fish, and Other Deer that Got Away", in a two-volume hunting anthology from Cedar Sanderson.  I had a story in that first volume.  She's just published the second volume, titled "The Deer Shot Back, and Other Hunting Tales".

The blurb reads:

Come for the laughter, stay for the next generation's induction into the ancient art of hunting for the table. Twenty tales of hunting, fishing, trapping, and wilderness adventures will remind you why what was once practiced for survival became a sport, and is coming back around as people remember why we respect the creatures that keep us alive. For one thing, it's the pratfalls that come along with all the serious notions. You can't help but laugh along with these stories of how it went wrong in the most hilarious of ways!

I have to admit, it made me giggle out loud on more than one occasion.  Hunting misadventures appear to be a universal staple!

I've read, and recommend, all the above books.  Enjoy!

Peter