I couldn't believe it. It's May, and I was actually cold in a sweater and a jacket today. But when I felt the wind coming off the river and caught myself stepping back behind the protection of my truck, I thought, Have you lost your mind?
Some might debate that topic, but my point is this. One of the reasons for moving from one border to the other was to get away from the extreme temps of the the desert in Texas. Okay, we went from one extreme to another, one might say. IE, the extreme high temps in the desert to the extreme low temps that we'll experience living in the most northeastern part of the United States. But therein also lies the difference. While the temps around here never got above sixty today, the temperature in the town we left less than two months ago was 103 degrees. That's not a typo. One hundred and three degrees. And by mid June, it could reach as high as 120 degrees.
Now, I know that there are some people who would and do live in that climate and love it. I am not one of them. I spent twelve years there, and never did come to terms with winters that lasted for three weeks, rather than three months, wearing shorts and T shirts on Thanksgiving and no rain to go with the thunder and lightening in the distance. I learned to deal with rattlesnakes, scorpions, isolation, and perpetual dust. I even learned enough Spanish to communicate with people in a community where the primary language was not English. But I never learned how to function once the thermometer hit 85 degrees. I never figured out why that was the line threshold. It just was. And it didn't matter if I was under the air conditioner or not. It didn't matter how light the clothes were. For some reason, my body refused to cooperate at that temperature. I don't know why. But I do know this.
This beat up old body that has fallen off of too many horses and been jammed up so badly that I could barely walk at times has no problem coping in an environment where most people complain that the humidity and cold stop them in their tracks. And yes, I have been here when the temp dropped below freezing. On a pre-move visit, there was three feet of snow on the ground, snowbanks were piled so high that we couldn't see over them, there was sand and sodium chloride on the roads, and if you ordered tea in the restaurants, they didn't ask if you wanted iced or hot--you got hot and you were grateful.
How did I fair in that weather? I put on two pair of sock under my snow boots, wore sweaters under my down jacket, with hood, and made sure I didn't lose my gloves. I loved every minute of it. The snow was still a good two feet deep when we moved, and I was disappointed when it began to melt. Until I realized that even though the snow melt meant warmer temps, it didn't mean they were that warm. It's still too cold to trust a garden not to get killed off to frost. I'm still wearing my sweaters that once got pulled out once a year, if that, and I keep my gloves and a hat handy for days like today when there's a little rain and a stiff, cool breeze coming off the river that doesn't smell like dust and isn't so warm that you can't breath.
So, now you know when I felt I was being less than appreciative when I tried to dodge that cold breeze today. It was exactly what I came here looking for. A breath of fresh air, that wasn't laden with so much dust that it immediately set off an allergy attack, and was cool enough that all of the oxygen hadn't been zapped out of it. '
Hey. Maybe that's why I couldn't function at higher temps. Dry desert air plus high temps equals lack of oxygen. Does that make sense? It does to me. Especially when I consider that all of a sudden I can remember people's names, and I can walk across the parking lot without stopping to catch my breath. Here's to life in the land of a much cooler climate.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Moving, terrorism,and what one has to do with the other.
SOMEWHERE ON THE CANADIAN BORDER-It's been a rough week. Hell, it's been a rough month! Doesn't seem like I wasn't living here that long ago. In fact, it hasn't been quite a month since we left our former home on the Mexican border for a new home on the Canadian border.
(And immediately, everyone has a pretty good idea of why the change of locale.)
Well, why not? Or better yet, why?
There's a lot of good reasons. Actually, we expected to spend the rest of our lives, or at least, the rest of hubby's career at his post on the US-Mexico border. We loved that little town we lived in. It was quiet, crime was almost non existent, the people were absolutely wonderful, hubby had a job he liked, I had a job I liked, we had great friends, and we had established ourselves a nice little ranch far from town with a very comfortable house.
The problem was a flood came along and ruined it all. Not our house, not hubby's job, not my job, hell, it just made things busier for me. The damage to the US side was minimal and no one was seriously injured, and we had no deaths.
But in a situation like that, your town gets turned upside down. I'm sure the folks in Fargo, ND and Pearl, MS can tell you all about it. Everything and everybody goes into overdrive. You have to be a million places at once, keeping tabs on hundreds of details, your job is nothing like it usually is, and your town is suddenly invaded my hundreds of emergency response personel who think they're white knights riding in to play hero to our poor little town.
And their help is greatly appreciated. Except for one thing. They take over. They don't know you from Adam, and suddenly where you once had carte blanche, you're suddenly being treated like the fly in the ointment.
Okay, fine. They have a job to do. But so do I. And like always, I don't ask for any special favors. I go through channels, like everybody else. And what do I get in return for my consideration? Abuse. Funny how adrenaline can make these guys step over a line they normally wouldn't go near. One guy felt he had the right to scream at me and was seriously close to pushing too far when someone who did know me saw the danger signs and intervened. Then, these same jerks from out of town follow me like I'm some kind of criminal who has to be watched. (First thing I did was call their PR man and told him what happened. You DO NOT scream at the public, and that includes reporters.) When things began to settle down, I was on hand to watch a roadway being reopened to traffic across the border. There were a lot of people who got caught on the wrong side of the river and they were anxious to get home.
Again, no special favors. I was on public property, out of the street, on the public's side of their little road block.
In the process of taking photos, without thinking, I asked some officers to step back out of a shot I wanted. I was thinking of my promise to their boss not to put their faces in the paper.
Well, they stepped back. Was that my fault? I asked, but I wasn't their boss. They shouldn't have obeyed.
The moment I realized what I had done, one of hubby's colleague's yells at me. I turn and try to apologize, but I can't. Because he is in my face, screaming at me. Again, YOU DO NOT SCREAM AT MEMBERS OF THE PUBLIC!!!!!!!!!!!! It is very much against the rules.
I was seconds from screaming back when hubby intervened. But the moment I got the chance, I went straight to the guy I had promised not to pub pics of his men or his installation in the press. I told him that the next time one of his people was abusive to me, I would complain to him in writing, and include a request that the complaint be entered into the individual's personel file. He told me, well, he was getting ready to yell at me, too, if the other guy hadn't.
That was the last straw. Hubby had been waltzing around a transfer or an out of country detail for years. It was time to give it more serious consideration.
Within a couple of months, he got an offer. An promotion.
Which brings us to another reason for our move. Hubby is high management material. He is excellent with people, he does his job, does it well, screws up less than almost anybody, and knows how to keep his guys in line. (If one of his men had yelled at a member of the public, he would have been ripped a new one.) As for me, I'd had it with the lot of them. Not everybody was to blame with my dissatisfaction. Nor for hubby's. Moral was bad and he was beginning to become disillusioned with his job. One of the reasons was because to advance any further in his career, he would either have to stick with his position or transfer to get a promotion.
So, when he was officially offered the promotion, we already knew it was coming and we accepted.
Funny side note about that transfer. When you put in for a transfer, a promotion, etc., they usually check with your currant supervisor. Unless you note that you don't want them to. Hubby had no reason to want his boss kept out of the loop. Or so he thought. And every reason to want them to have a chance to put in a good word for him. Which he assumed they would do because he knows he's a good employee, and he assumed they would be honest with anyone, just as he would. He forgot who was working for. His chief was not happy to find out he was leaving.
Neither were his men. Or anyone at his installation. When you work with someone who is good at their job, who carries their share of the load, and treats you fairly, you don't want to lose them. Guys, you know who you have to blame for this.
But hubby's job wasn't the only factor.
Living in the Chihuahua Desert where the winters are barely a few weeks long isn't all it's cracked up to be. Stress and several summers of temps that stay in the triple digits for days at a time began to play on my health. I like being outside. But when the temp goes over about 85 degrees, even under the ac, I am no longer able to function. And when you don't move around, you tend to get weak and sick. After therapy, surgery and some alterations, I got better. But a change of environment wouldn't hurt. The brief trips to the mountains where my parents grew up weren't enough of a respite from the heat to suit me.
And there was more than the heat that contributed to my decline. I have a few chronic ailments that need exercise, proper diet, and the attention of a regular physician to help control flare ups. The town we lived in had none of these. The heat wouldn't let me exercise. The grocery store was a joke. The medical care was never consistent, and the nearest regular operating facilities such as hospital, er, clinics, doctors, pharmacy and chiropractor were a two hour drive away. To see a specialist, it was an overnight trip out of town. That's expensive, not to mention inconvenient.
So, you've heard the reasons for leaving and you've heard about what we left behind. Now, let me tell you about our new home.
The temperatures can get extreme. (I know. Huh?) The other extreme. Snowfall in our new little town was higher than usual this year. But, hey, I can bundle up and I'll stay out in the cold until I start to turn blue and love every minute of it. With heat, when you get down to your skin, there just aren't any more clothes to take off.
Here, hubby is no longer working graveyard shifts. In fact, the latest he'll work at night is around ten. But he's home every night, with me. I can live with that.
We found a comfortable little renovated farmhouse to lease while we sell our ranch, which already has a contract on it. Once that's sold, we may just buy this place. We had no idea that one of the perks of a transfer, besides getting the move paid and done for you, is that they have special incentive programs to help you get reestablished. We might just buy this house. It's comfortable, it has all the things you need to live in a winter wonderland for six months out of the year, we have a couple of acres, a place for a garden (I LOVE digging in the dirt!) flower beds and trees everywhere, a small greenhouse to get things started before the snow is gone, a work shop, a small storage barn for the yard equipment, a two car garage to protect our vehicles, including my husband's precious antique truck, which he can't drive in the winter for fear of having it rust out. There are two, count 'em, two good grocery stores in town. My first visit the shopping cart was used to carry my chin around in. There's a Wally World. There's even restaurants that DO NOT serve primarily Mexican food. (I will miss refried beans with my eggs, but you can't have everything.) There is a hospital, there are doctors, there are specialists, THREE pharmacies, a chiropractor RIGHT HERE IN TOWN! And it's a five minute drive into town, where we have already found a church!
And if you must have larger chain stores or a touch of big city life, there is the mighty town of Bangor, only two hours away with more specialists, a larger Wally World, a many of the larger chain stores and restaurants that we all know and are under the misguided impression that we can't live without.
The people?
Well, I had friends before we even got here. When we came up to find a house, we had lunch and found that we liked each other as well in person as we did on the forum where we met. People have old fashioned manners and old fashioned values and are so polite that I'm having to drag out the good manners I was taught and put them to use. (Socially expected behavior in the Hispanice culture where we lived was very different.) Everybody is more than happy to help you. In fact, they seem to live for the opportunity to do something nice for you.
But what about the difference in the borders themselves? We all know that you can't compare Canada to Mexico. Or can you?
In Mexico, we got affordable, quality, cheap dental care. We often went over the border for groceries, beer, and just to eat at their restaurants. We were at one of the safest border crossing son the US-Mexico border. We spent almost every New Year's partying at a private club in Mexico.
No longer. The drug wars that have erupted in recent months have escalated, and even reached the isolated area along our stretch of the border. Drug cartels, the government of Mexico, and the military are all vying for power, and the violence only changes to different types of outrage, but is still out of control. It is no longer safe to cross into Mexico. Anywhere.
But Canada couldn't possibly pose a threat. Could it?
Now, we get to the reason that men like my husband are being transferred to the Canadian border.
When the devastating, horrific, no-words-can-describe-it attack of 9-11 took place, the culprits were traced back to where they entered the US. They came through Canada. US Immigration was the federal government's scapegoat for what happened because they allowed those men to enter the US.
Have there been other attempts of potential terrorists using entry across the Canadian border to get into the US and reek more havoc? You bet ya. With the no-fly lists and other restrictions that have been imposed, the Department of Homeland Security is taking a closer look at what's coming into the US, no matter where it originated. And, of course, there are some places that are more suspect than others. Which is why persons from countries know to have terrorist ties are given closer inspection than most. It may not sound fair. It may seem like profiling. But there have been no more terrorist attacks on US soil because of it. If you still find it offensive that the US government has resorted to such tactics to keep terrorists out, then feel free to suggest where and how they should start looking for potential terrorists.
Before 9-11, there were few problems crossing the Canadian border for anyone. Crossing the Mexican border into the US was tougher, but not nearly as tough as it is now. As of June 1 this year, every person crossing into the us, no matter what their point of origin, must present a passport. Currently, US citizens must show proof of citizenship and a photo ID issued my a government entity.
We all know about attempts my Mexican nationals to slip across the border in hopes of finding a better life. Not all of them wade the Rio Grande, or hire a coyote to lead them across the desert at night. Many acquire false documents and attempt to use them to cross into the US. Many of them succeed. Many of them don't. That's where officers from the Mexican border come in. They've grown accustomed to seeing how these false documents work, how those who use them try to manipulate the system, how even legitimate documents can be used to enter people into the US who are not legally entitled to enter. That expertise and experience comes into play on the Canadian border, now that it is known that terrorists are attempting to go around the no-fly ban by flying into Canada, then crossing the border into the US. Attempts have been made and, so far, thwarted at some point before the terrorists could succeed.
So what happened to this being the land of plenty, the place where everyone is welcome, the country that ensures life, liberty and the pursit of happiness? Terrorists tried to come in and take all that away from us. They want our freedom. They want to stamp out democracy. They want to control what we say, what we think, how we worship, every aspect of our lives. And if we are not willing to conform to their way of thinking--or should I say, thinking for us--we will die. We and those we love will be dragged into the streets, beaten, tortured, killed if we refuse to conform.
So. That's why we've come to live on the Canadian border in a beautiful little town full of wonderful people. We're here because we want to help keep it, and every town in America, just the way it is. We can think for ourselves and a lot of men and women have died, and are still putting their lives on the line every day, both at home and abroad, to make sure that it stays that way.
(And immediately, everyone has a pretty good idea of why the change of locale.)
Well, why not? Or better yet, why?
There's a lot of good reasons. Actually, we expected to spend the rest of our lives, or at least, the rest of hubby's career at his post on the US-Mexico border. We loved that little town we lived in. It was quiet, crime was almost non existent, the people were absolutely wonderful, hubby had a job he liked, I had a job I liked, we had great friends, and we had established ourselves a nice little ranch far from town with a very comfortable house.
The problem was a flood came along and ruined it all. Not our house, not hubby's job, not my job, hell, it just made things busier for me. The damage to the US side was minimal and no one was seriously injured, and we had no deaths.
But in a situation like that, your town gets turned upside down. I'm sure the folks in Fargo, ND and Pearl, MS can tell you all about it. Everything and everybody goes into overdrive. You have to be a million places at once, keeping tabs on hundreds of details, your job is nothing like it usually is, and your town is suddenly invaded my hundreds of emergency response personel who think they're white knights riding in to play hero to our poor little town.
And their help is greatly appreciated. Except for one thing. They take over. They don't know you from Adam, and suddenly where you once had carte blanche, you're suddenly being treated like the fly in the ointment.
Okay, fine. They have a job to do. But so do I. And like always, I don't ask for any special favors. I go through channels, like everybody else. And what do I get in return for my consideration? Abuse. Funny how adrenaline can make these guys step over a line they normally wouldn't go near. One guy felt he had the right to scream at me and was seriously close to pushing too far when someone who did know me saw the danger signs and intervened. Then, these same jerks from out of town follow me like I'm some kind of criminal who has to be watched. (First thing I did was call their PR man and told him what happened. You DO NOT scream at the public, and that includes reporters.) When things began to settle down, I was on hand to watch a roadway being reopened to traffic across the border. There were a lot of people who got caught on the wrong side of the river and they were anxious to get home.
Again, no special favors. I was on public property, out of the street, on the public's side of their little road block.
In the process of taking photos, without thinking, I asked some officers to step back out of a shot I wanted. I was thinking of my promise to their boss not to put their faces in the paper.
Well, they stepped back. Was that my fault? I asked, but I wasn't their boss. They shouldn't have obeyed.
The moment I realized what I had done, one of hubby's colleague's yells at me. I turn and try to apologize, but I can't. Because he is in my face, screaming at me. Again, YOU DO NOT SCREAM AT MEMBERS OF THE PUBLIC!!!!!!!!!!!! It is very much against the rules.
I was seconds from screaming back when hubby intervened. But the moment I got the chance, I went straight to the guy I had promised not to pub pics of his men or his installation in the press. I told him that the next time one of his people was abusive to me, I would complain to him in writing, and include a request that the complaint be entered into the individual's personel file. He told me, well, he was getting ready to yell at me, too, if the other guy hadn't.
That was the last straw. Hubby had been waltzing around a transfer or an out of country detail for years. It was time to give it more serious consideration.
Within a couple of months, he got an offer. An promotion.
Which brings us to another reason for our move. Hubby is high management material. He is excellent with people, he does his job, does it well, screws up less than almost anybody, and knows how to keep his guys in line. (If one of his men had yelled at a member of the public, he would have been ripped a new one.) As for me, I'd had it with the lot of them. Not everybody was to blame with my dissatisfaction. Nor for hubby's. Moral was bad and he was beginning to become disillusioned with his job. One of the reasons was because to advance any further in his career, he would either have to stick with his position or transfer to get a promotion.
So, when he was officially offered the promotion, we already knew it was coming and we accepted.
Funny side note about that transfer. When you put in for a transfer, a promotion, etc., they usually check with your currant supervisor. Unless you note that you don't want them to. Hubby had no reason to want his boss kept out of the loop. Or so he thought. And every reason to want them to have a chance to put in a good word for him. Which he assumed they would do because he knows he's a good employee, and he assumed they would be honest with anyone, just as he would. He forgot who was working for. His chief was not happy to find out he was leaving.
Neither were his men. Or anyone at his installation. When you work with someone who is good at their job, who carries their share of the load, and treats you fairly, you don't want to lose them. Guys, you know who you have to blame for this.
But hubby's job wasn't the only factor.
Living in the Chihuahua Desert where the winters are barely a few weeks long isn't all it's cracked up to be. Stress and several summers of temps that stay in the triple digits for days at a time began to play on my health. I like being outside. But when the temp goes over about 85 degrees, even under the ac, I am no longer able to function. And when you don't move around, you tend to get weak and sick. After therapy, surgery and some alterations, I got better. But a change of environment wouldn't hurt. The brief trips to the mountains where my parents grew up weren't enough of a respite from the heat to suit me.
And there was more than the heat that contributed to my decline. I have a few chronic ailments that need exercise, proper diet, and the attention of a regular physician to help control flare ups. The town we lived in had none of these. The heat wouldn't let me exercise. The grocery store was a joke. The medical care was never consistent, and the nearest regular operating facilities such as hospital, er, clinics, doctors, pharmacy and chiropractor were a two hour drive away. To see a specialist, it was an overnight trip out of town. That's expensive, not to mention inconvenient.
So, you've heard the reasons for leaving and you've heard about what we left behind. Now, let me tell you about our new home.
The temperatures can get extreme. (I know. Huh?) The other extreme. Snowfall in our new little town was higher than usual this year. But, hey, I can bundle up and I'll stay out in the cold until I start to turn blue and love every minute of it. With heat, when you get down to your skin, there just aren't any more clothes to take off.
Here, hubby is no longer working graveyard shifts. In fact, the latest he'll work at night is around ten. But he's home every night, with me. I can live with that.
We found a comfortable little renovated farmhouse to lease while we sell our ranch, which already has a contract on it. Once that's sold, we may just buy this place. We had no idea that one of the perks of a transfer, besides getting the move paid and done for you, is that they have special incentive programs to help you get reestablished. We might just buy this house. It's comfortable, it has all the things you need to live in a winter wonderland for six months out of the year, we have a couple of acres, a place for a garden (I LOVE digging in the dirt!) flower beds and trees everywhere, a small greenhouse to get things started before the snow is gone, a work shop, a small storage barn for the yard equipment, a two car garage to protect our vehicles, including my husband's precious antique truck, which he can't drive in the winter for fear of having it rust out. There are two, count 'em, two good grocery stores in town. My first visit the shopping cart was used to carry my chin around in. There's a Wally World. There's even restaurants that DO NOT serve primarily Mexican food. (I will miss refried beans with my eggs, but you can't have everything.) There is a hospital, there are doctors, there are specialists, THREE pharmacies, a chiropractor RIGHT HERE IN TOWN! And it's a five minute drive into town, where we have already found a church!
And if you must have larger chain stores or a touch of big city life, there is the mighty town of Bangor, only two hours away with more specialists, a larger Wally World, a many of the larger chain stores and restaurants that we all know and are under the misguided impression that we can't live without.
The people?
Well, I had friends before we even got here. When we came up to find a house, we had lunch and found that we liked each other as well in person as we did on the forum where we met. People have old fashioned manners and old fashioned values and are so polite that I'm having to drag out the good manners I was taught and put them to use. (Socially expected behavior in the Hispanice culture where we lived was very different.) Everybody is more than happy to help you. In fact, they seem to live for the opportunity to do something nice for you.
But what about the difference in the borders themselves? We all know that you can't compare Canada to Mexico. Or can you?
In Mexico, we got affordable, quality, cheap dental care. We often went over the border for groceries, beer, and just to eat at their restaurants. We were at one of the safest border crossing son the US-Mexico border. We spent almost every New Year's partying at a private club in Mexico.
No longer. The drug wars that have erupted in recent months have escalated, and even reached the isolated area along our stretch of the border. Drug cartels, the government of Mexico, and the military are all vying for power, and the violence only changes to different types of outrage, but is still out of control. It is no longer safe to cross into Mexico. Anywhere.
But Canada couldn't possibly pose a threat. Could it?
Now, we get to the reason that men like my husband are being transferred to the Canadian border.
When the devastating, horrific, no-words-can-describe-it attack of 9-11 took place, the culprits were traced back to where they entered the US. They came through Canada. US Immigration was the federal government's scapegoat for what happened because they allowed those men to enter the US.
Have there been other attempts of potential terrorists using entry across the Canadian border to get into the US and reek more havoc? You bet ya. With the no-fly lists and other restrictions that have been imposed, the Department of Homeland Security is taking a closer look at what's coming into the US, no matter where it originated. And, of course, there are some places that are more suspect than others. Which is why persons from countries know to have terrorist ties are given closer inspection than most. It may not sound fair. It may seem like profiling. But there have been no more terrorist attacks on US soil because of it. If you still find it offensive that the US government has resorted to such tactics to keep terrorists out, then feel free to suggest where and how they should start looking for potential terrorists.
Before 9-11, there were few problems crossing the Canadian border for anyone. Crossing the Mexican border into the US was tougher, but not nearly as tough as it is now. As of June 1 this year, every person crossing into the us, no matter what their point of origin, must present a passport. Currently, US citizens must show proof of citizenship and a photo ID issued my a government entity.
We all know about attempts my Mexican nationals to slip across the border in hopes of finding a better life. Not all of them wade the Rio Grande, or hire a coyote to lead them across the desert at night. Many acquire false documents and attempt to use them to cross into the US. Many of them succeed. Many of them don't. That's where officers from the Mexican border come in. They've grown accustomed to seeing how these false documents work, how those who use them try to manipulate the system, how even legitimate documents can be used to enter people into the US who are not legally entitled to enter. That expertise and experience comes into play on the Canadian border, now that it is known that terrorists are attempting to go around the no-fly ban by flying into Canada, then crossing the border into the US. Attempts have been made and, so far, thwarted at some point before the terrorists could succeed.
So what happened to this being the land of plenty, the place where everyone is welcome, the country that ensures life, liberty and the pursit of happiness? Terrorists tried to come in and take all that away from us. They want our freedom. They want to stamp out democracy. They want to control what we say, what we think, how we worship, every aspect of our lives. And if we are not willing to conform to their way of thinking--or should I say, thinking for us--we will die. We and those we love will be dragged into the streets, beaten, tortured, killed if we refuse to conform.
So. That's why we've come to live on the Canadian border in a beautiful little town full of wonderful people. We're here because we want to help keep it, and every town in America, just the way it is. We can think for ourselves and a lot of men and women have died, and are still putting their lives on the line every day, both at home and abroad, to make sure that it stays that way.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Write All The Time
SOMEWHERE ON THE CANADIAN BORDER-My passion for writing was as unexpected as most of the events in my life. It was also one of the earlier ones.When I was in high school, it was the age of the tv western. I watched them religiously, usually with my dad, who dreamed of traveling in the American west when he retired, something he never got to do. But that's another story.
My group of friends were just as addicted to tv westerns as most teenage girls are to boys.
Okay, we watched the westerns because we thought cowboys were cool and the actors were cute.
Anyway, one morning one of my friend started telling us about this wild dream she had the night before, where we were all part of the plot in one of our favorite programs. Somebody said, "We aught to write this down." Somebody did-me.
Needless to say, I got my first editorial experience. Everybody in the group had to have their input, progress reports, etc., and there were the usual squabbles of artistic difference. One of them was the fact that dreams, even long ones, just don't last that long, and often end without, well, ending. So, I began to flesh it out and finish the story. By that time, my friends had lost interest. But I had unknowingly discovered an obsession that still has an iron clad hold on me after thirty years.
If you find yourself continuing to visit this blog, you're bound to hear some of the stories of my career journalism, and all the stuff I've written, both on paper and electronically. But don't be surprised if you find I've written about something entirely different. I'm told I've led an interesting life. See if you agree. You'll also find that I'm very opinionated, but keep in mind that I am also a sarcastic smart ass. And even though I consider the internet a very public place, there still remains the tentative anonymity that allows us all to turn loose of the inner beast so that it may speak.
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