tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26695179490549440282024-03-04T22:05:12.188-08:00Grayquill MusingsGrayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.comBlogger184125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-86637758549683869952021-03-02T10:12:00.001-08:002021-12-24T08:26:03.717-08:00Do you want more wisdom? Here is an idea<p>This is a post from 2009. I have been reading the book of Proverbs lately and I thought of reposting this story. Thanks for reading. Of course comments are always appreciated. </p><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TcRu-TYacCc/SmNNchZsiiI/AAAAAAAAANc/7z8zEaP1Haw/s1600-h/angel.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360213133898844706" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TcRu-TYacCc/SmNNchZsiiI/AAAAAAAAANc/7z8zEaP1Haw/s200/angel.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 169px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" /></a><span style="color: #663333; font-family: verdana;">Mrs. Tornquist (not her real name) held the heavy maple yard stick in her right hand pointing at the spelling words on the black board. The little boy and the little girl were her subjects and she was determined that they would learn their spelling words. The rest of the class was up two stories higher in the library searching the long shelves for that one special book they could take home for the week. </span><span style="color: #663333; font-family: verdana;">Tap, tap, tap, the long yard stick hit the black board a little harder with each tap. “Spell the word! - Spell the word!” each directive louder than the previous. She now had her full attention focused on the little boy. The harder she tapped and the louder her voice the less Grayquill was able to comply. Mrs. Tornquist’s frustration was effecting the placement of her tapping and there were at least three words the yard stick had come close to. Which one was he supposed to spell? He guessed About was the intended word, “A” he hesitated was it a d or a b? They both were so much alike. Which side of the line was the circle? He guessed “d - - o - - ….” Mrs. Tronquist turned in her frustration, with the yard stick high, she brought it down hard. The yard stick caught Grayquill in the throat and knocked him out of his chair onto the floor. The little girl screamed and began crying. Grayquill gasped for air and curled up his legs close to his chest. He felt like his neck was caved in. He laid there hysterically sobbing for several minutes. </span><div><span style="color: #663333; font-family: verdana;">Grayquill’s neck eventually recovered but his spirit was damaged more than his neck. Second grade ended having two more teachers that year. There was Mrs. Bush whose arm mesmerized Grayquill when the bottom flopped side to side as she wrote on the black board. He stared in awe of the swaying blubberish mass. He wanted to touch it see how far his finger would disappear into the soft pale tissue. But, of course he never did, even a second grader, he knew not to call attention to such anomalies. Grayquill has no memory of third, fourth or fifth grade. </span></div><div><span style="color: #663333; font-family: verdana;">School work had not gotten any easier and he did not read very well. But then sixth grade came and Mrs. Iverson was his teacher. She was mature. Her face had deep wrinkles that Grayquill thought were very interesting. She wore bright flowered dresses; her hair was bluish silver and a pair of her many colorful bright horn rimmed glasses always hung from the silver chain across her chest. Mrs. Iverson liked Grayquill and he knew it – that made all the difference. </span><span style="color: #663333; font-family: verdana;">She always smiled and Grayquill thought she must be an angel with wrinkles. </span><span style="color: #663333; font-family: verdana;">Mrs. Iverson was one of the significant people in Grayquill’s young life. Looking back she spoke hope into Grayquill. She always believed the best and he remembers her telling him he could do better – not in a shaming way but in a certainty way. One day she told him that a book in the bible was written just for him. The book had 31 chapters one chapter for each day of the month. She said it was written for teenagers which Grayquill was going to be just that next year, and if he would read one chapter each day. She said, if reading a whole chapter was to much then he could try to reading just 10 verses, then she promised him it would help him with his reading. She said the book would also help him be wiser and help him make good choices in life because the book was all about wisdom. Grayquill believed her – why wouldn’t he? She had earned the right to speak like that to him. So, he did just that for the next 6 years and Mrs. Iverson was right it helped him. The book was Proverbs. Everyone should have an Angel with Wrinkles at least once, don’t you think?</span></div>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-46835611852247449562020-09-04T10:23:00.009-07:002020-09-04T10:26:45.846-07:00My Mom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxtFq1BAVzI5npAvcaKuFA4pVM2wRor0S_PS6ISg8WD-o34OflKNNKpWgOhCXwJvJsdnsxaoTeM4FJy5ND9-l3Kuda-q18tkrBI-SU7OQb2oISutpP94ECF2TC4qKzBZd41TUVvwheHK8/s3456/DSC07676.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxtFq1BAVzI5npAvcaKuFA4pVM2wRor0S_PS6ISg8WD-o34OflKNNKpWgOhCXwJvJsdnsxaoTeM4FJy5ND9-l3Kuda-q18tkrBI-SU7OQb2oISutpP94ECF2TC4qKzBZd41TUVvwheHK8/s320/DSC07676.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>My mom was killed this last Saturday when a car crashed into her bedroom at 2:00 am. Below is a link to the news story. Below that is a link to a post that I posted back in 2009. <i> I am re-posting here until I can write a proper post. I hope you enjoy the piece and get a flavor of my incredible mother</i>.</p><p><a href="https://www.kiro7.com/news/local/97-year-old-marysville-woman-killed-when-car-drives-into-home/CHDJSU66OREWLHT3W54WZSVOKA/">https://www.kiro7.com/news/local/97-year-old-marysville-woman-killed-when-car-drives-into-home/CHDJSU66OREWLHT3W54WZSVOKA/</a></p><p> </p><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_TcRu-TYacCc/SjmwvbMUS6I/AAAAAAAAAKk/8O16lhh9DGM/s1600-h/dirty+laundry.jpg"><strong><span style="color: #330000;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348500361278933922" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_TcRu-TYacCc/SjmwvbMUS6I/AAAAAAAAAKk/8O16lhh9DGM/s320/dirty+laundry.jpg" style="float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 235px;" /></span></strong></a><span style="color: #663300;"><strong>Tough financial times come and go for most families.</strong> The creativity that facilitates getting through those times, often require outside of the box thinking and risk taking. Growing up as one of six children, laundry was a big part of keeping our family smelling clean and everyone dressed up for school and church. There was a time when my mother had run out of laundry soap and money. The laundry was stacking up and the smell was turning from gray to blue. Being the good ex Mennonite she was, she prayed for laundry soap. <strong>Why wouldn’t she?</strong> God answered her prayer with a 25lb box of laundry soap and it was a miracle. Now wait, there are a couple of ways to look at this miracle and how God answered her prayer. You tell me where the miracle came into play.</span><span style="color: #663300;"><strong> Mom, listening to the radio and praying</strong> about the finances, the lack of laundry soap, heard an advertisement by a local appliance store. This store was so proud of their washing machines that they would even do a load of laundry for you and those who brought in a load of laundry would be entered into a drawing for a 25 lb. box of laundry soap. </span><span style="color: #663300;"><strong>Now before I go any further – I should say this is a true story. </strong>My mom of course being frugal as they come, packed up the most critical laundry needs and headed to the store about five miles away. The sales person true to the advertisement did mom’s load of laundry but was unsuccessful in selling her a new washing machine. Mom was entered into the drawing and won the laundry soap – It was a miracle. Now who was the marketing genius behind this promotion? I mean seriously how many people other than my mother brought in dirty laundry to the appliance store? Think about it. How many other people were in the drawing? <strong>I think there is more than one miracle here.</strong> The first one of course is the award winning marketing campaign of doing dirty laundry. I am not positive but I have the feeling a professional advertising company was left out of this great plan. For someone to actually think this could work is a miracle. <strong>The second miracle is that my mother</strong> had the courage to load up her laundry and lug it into the local appliance store. Her most critical laundry needs were met that day. A miracle? <strong>The third miracle was that someone actually</strong> paid money for radio time to run such an ad and they probably paid to have it run more than once for my mom to hear it. Then of course there is the miracle of the drawing – imagine the staggering odds. Now when I reflect on this story I think there is one more miracle. And, that is that God cared about a woman with six kids who needed some laundry soap and that makes me smile with gratitude. One thing I have learned –<strong>when you are His whatever it is you are going through – It’s from Him.</strong></span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-67585042750469682462020-03-30T16:58:00.001-07:002020-03-31T10:21:44.009-07:00Hunkered Down Typing<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #783f04;"> </span></span></span></span></span> <br />
How does one write a blog post after how many years? I am at home. Tonight starts a government stay put order for the next couple of weeks. So, I will be home tomorrow just like I have been since my retirement February 29th. I am into week four of said golden years.<br />Before my retirement, when I was not at home, many asked me, “so, what are your big plans?” Hmmm..... Big Plans? Plans and they have to be big? That question seemed a bit daunting and in the middle of the night, there its nasty head surfaced – I started losing sleep. I did not want to be weird, I should come up with something. After all I needed an answer that made me not look like some kind of weirdo, I need something that made me look intentional, retirement worthy! It did not take to long but after some thinking and scrambling for a plan...a big plan...I remembered that I have always kind of wanted to travel across the United States. It was not a deep heart felt goal just something I thought about now and then. It was just an idea. I figured that was as good of a big plan as most. So, over Christmas break I bought a well used minivan with 122,000 miles on it. That purchase was after considering, hoteling – to expensive, tenting – to much work, couch surfing...as my relatives called it Mennoniting across America. The trouble with that last idea, I am not a Mennonite. So, I came up with the van idea. Like all of my great plans, there is never a down side.<br /><br />So here I come YouTube – Pinterest – Google – and deep thoughts. A minivan camper build out! How fun will that be? Needless to say I got excited. I soon realized I was way more excited about a van build out than the actual trip. Five days went by, I got no more than 2 hours sleep each night. My brain would not stop spinning. Two weeks went by, I got on the scale and I had lost 11 lbs – Yikes!!! Am I sick? Or could I really be that excited? Just to be sure I wasn't sick I pounded ice cream for the next few days and to my relief I gained back three pounds. Yahoo....I am healthy!!!<br /><br />I am just about finished with the build out and now here I sit with this Shelter in Place thing and no where to go. What's a fellow to do? I guess I can show you some pictures of my work. <br /><br /><br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tv7Q2TNw-QM/XoKEm6odlGI/AAAAAAAADnw/rw5DxhlVPgcd_NSwonC71RfrjkWDjxjVwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Slide%2Bout%2Bbed%2Bframe.jpg"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tv7Q2TNw-QM/XoKEm6odlGI/AAAAAAAADnw/rw5DxhlVPgcd_NSwonC71RfrjkWDjxjVwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Slide%2Bout%2Bbed%2Bframe.jpg" width="240" /></a> Slide out bed frame<br /><br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sid3ZfhmIF0/XoKEtKtqdII/AAAAAAAADn0/m-jXLr1lU34-7X5tplR4CujFoouOKK2jwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Slide%2Bout%2Bbed%2Bframe%2Bextended.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sid3ZfhmIF0/XoKEtKtqdII/AAAAAAAADn0/m-jXLr1lU34-7X5tplR4CujFoouOKK2jwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Slide%2Bout%2Bbed%2Bframe%2Bextended.jpg" /></a> <br /><br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHyjLBEhujBNHDqlkSua-2m8KkqwMTbjRenwr4k6visnLW1W0oJ7INn2XER7GVOcMu6aCktvmSOlegvJonLUJI-SBG_mMTPsmR0kCaIZEz_vnC3AaviH77S2c5peZFSiiAVm1We97gRvQ/s1600/Bed+-+Couch.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHyjLBEhujBNHDqlkSua-2m8KkqwMTbjRenwr4k6visnLW1W0oJ7INn2XER7GVOcMu6aCktvmSOlegvJonLUJI-SBG_mMTPsmR0kCaIZEz_vnC3AaviH77S2c5peZFSiiAVm1We97gRvQ/s320/Bed+-+Couch.JPG" /></a> Couch and Bed<br /><br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B65CdC26H-I/XoKE5Cgz5yI/AAAAAAAADn8/7i5ml0bzw-gWiBINFlZRioeFPDcKwzA5gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Clothes%2BCabinete.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B65CdC26H-I/XoKE5Cgz5yI/AAAAAAAADn8/7i5ml0bzw-gWiBINFlZRioeFPDcKwzA5gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Clothes%2BCabinete.JPG" /></a> Cabinet for clothes and storage<br /><br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jo6l3zEKeio/XoKFBoLkFZI/AAAAAAAADoE/gbTAc270TdIn5opOHZfXDItrPYGCkNz3QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Kitchen%2Bstorage.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jo6l3zEKeio/XoKFBoLkFZI/AAAAAAAADoE/gbTAc270TdIn5opOHZfXDItrPYGCkNz3QCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/Kitchen%2Bstorage.JPG" /></a> Kitchen area<br /><br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gi_jTDux4V8/XoKFECI4jZI/AAAAAAAADoI/pmGDqO_VDH426xG9V4BTibq_xxFztVO9QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Computer%2Btable.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gi_jTDux4V8/XoKFECI4jZI/AAAAAAAADoI/pmGDqO_VDH426xG9V4BTibq_xxFztVO9QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Computer%2Btable.JPG" /></a> Table - lifts out, folds up and stores under bed<span style="color: #660000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #783f04;"> </span></span></span></span></span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-16724720246097135112014-12-13T11:02:00.002-08:002014-12-14T21:35:25.331-08:00Christmas Prayer - Soft as a Whisper<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">This post is one from the past that touched you as well as me - I hope it is meaningful again. Thanks for reading. </span></span><br />
<span style="clear: right; color: #cc0000; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img class="CSS_LIGHTBOX_SCALED_IMAGE_IMG" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HGbr-tB9N-8/TvdNtdFdUSI/AAAAAAAAAqs/fVDDzz3Fs-M/s320/Christmas_tree.jpg" height="275" width="320" /> </span><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Good morning Lord. This past week has been full of pressures and it has been hard to feel you at all. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
you were in it – I missed it. So here I sit this morning. The lights of
the Christmas tree shining bright speaking of holiday, rejoicing and
happiness; but I am weary.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Is
this how it has always been? Is this what you expected and wanted? I
know these questions I asked are stupid. But, what has happened? To shift
my thoughts toward you I find it hard and uncomfortable, even scary. To
even talk to you is uncomfortable and I feel afraid to come up close. Is
it because of my smallness next to your vastness or your infiniteness next to my finiteness? Or my unavoidable death and your forever? Or is it
you being all powerful and I being fragile and weak? There is also your
complete and unlimited knowledge and then my lack of understanding and
the questions that haunt me. And of course, there is always your
holiness lighting up my sinfulness and then I want to hide.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
would have expected you to come in thunder or lightening or maybe even
riding an asteroid, for after all you are God, the all powerful One. But
no, you came softly in less than a whisper, as a baby, small, helpless,
weak, fragile, in an obscure stable of all places. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you come in this manner so I would not be frightened and not run and hide? I wonder…..</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
am trying to not hide, and I am thankful for the story, so sweet and I
begin to inch close to you. But to read on, later the story turns sad,
horrible, and I want to hide again. I read of your grief, your
suffering, the tears you shed, the loneliness you felt, the rejection by
those close to you, and then of course comes the real horror, a cross.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If
that was the end, the story would have no meaning. But, then the story
changes and lifts the sadness - the power of death is torn down by
your resurrection. If I continue to hide and miss the story, it does not
change its power does it? If I hide and ignore the story, it does not
change the fact you came.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that whisper, if I am not careful or quite, I will miss it and the story will have no effect.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now
that the rush is over, now that the presents have been place under the
tree, help me be quiet, help me not miss hearing your whisper….</span> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-72216041776131769602014-12-08T18:53:00.000-08:002014-12-08T19:11:54.308-08:00ROAD TRIP<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;">The wife says – lets take a road trip</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;">I say, that sounds great – where?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;">She says, anywhere lets just go.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;">I say, east – How about Thursday?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;">She says, yes</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Here's the problem. As the week came
closer to Thursday we thought how much better it would be to leave
early – Wednesday night. Sounded like such a good idea at the time.
I just want to say right now, leaving at 12:10 am Thursday morning is
not Wednesday!! Right? Come on agree with me.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #783f04;">So here we are Thursday, early, in the
car going where? We don't really know but I do know its east - 30
minutes into the drive she's asleep. Thanks for the conversation, it
was short but it was sweet. Who knew the seat of a car is so much
more comfortable than a real bed - GEEEEZ...
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #783f04;">A MacDonald's is up ahead, I stop and get
coffee – nothing else is going to keep me awake. </span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Back on the
freeway heading east, swing in behind a huge semi I start drafting –
saves gas for those who are asking WHY? WHY? Its what I do – accept
it. Two hours later I am about done and my coffee is gone. I can maybe make
½ hour more. Up ahead is a town large enough to have a hotel where
they actually use fitted sheets (that is another story).
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #783f04;">BTW – is it wrong to throw water
melon rinds over the top of a car in the wee-morning hours into a bar
pit? Just a moral dilemma that is kind of bugging me.
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #783f04;">So here I sit typing this stupid blog
post waiting for the woman of my dreams to wake up and I'm wondering
– this is a road trip? And, where am I anyway? Oh yeah – east.
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #783f04;">
</span></span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-21236020230750035282014-08-10T22:55:00.001-07:002014-08-10T22:55:47.851-07:00Sleeping in Chruch
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x9Gp4O62pPw/U-hYzyPPn8I/AAAAAAAAA5g/BQWsQiBc8Xg/s1600/THE+WAY+TO+DO+CHURCH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x9Gp4O62pPw/U-hYzyPPn8I/AAAAAAAAA5g/BQWsQiBc8Xg/s1600/THE+WAY+TO+DO+CHURCH.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The idea of going to
church usually makes me groan but once I am there I rather like
it......well except for the music. For years I get irritated when the
music starts. I found the solution, and it works well; I don't even
go into the sanctuary until the singing is over – it is awesome. Of
course that might have something to do with my grandson keeping me
company while we hang out in the foyer. Once I started getting
grandpa duty during church I told him, “Don't worry Benjamin,
Grandpa will not take you into the service until that devil music is
over. Your young ears are way to tender for such noise.” Sometimes
I worry that I am just being negative about the music. Last week the
scripture. “make a joyful noise unto the Lord” came to mind and I
wondered. Hmmmm....what if the music I'm hating God actually
likes...that kinda puts me in a bad spot. So now I just try to
increase my denial that the music is even happening by not thinking
about it. Us men can do such things so I have been told. Heck, if God
gave me that ability who am I not to use it? That's logical
right?
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That aside, the last
two weeks I am wondering if maybe I am being a bad influence on my
grandson. I know what you are thinking, 'only the last two weeks?'
Stop those kind of thoughts right now....I am a good grandpa. Back to
my conundrum, you see for the second week in a row while I am holding
little Benjamin – right in the middle of the sermon, when my eye
lids might be drooping just a bit, Benjamin goes to sleep. Now I am
his grandpa, far be it from me to deny him what he wants. And, I know
this is not about me (Hah!) but I get the best feeling all over when
that little guy snugs into my shoulder and falls asleep.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Well, that's all I
got. My whole reason for writing anything at all was so I had an
excuse to post a couple of pictures of my grandson.</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0HtWW-w0Jy4SIsugcqfCyn5Vg8H6xJ1jo7iu_6BqOcm6eIXVbn0xzbifWk48TRBoeDHpDM88GzWrFnFYFhPyKiqESLk2Wh8D-goKTepYejLj5qlOlc917qoaYNSc-v12k-CRyCpqThWk/s1600/DSC07857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0HtWW-w0Jy4SIsugcqfCyn5Vg8H6xJ1jo7iu_6BqOcm6eIXVbn0xzbifWk48TRBoeDHpDM88GzWrFnFYFhPyKiqESLk2Wh8D-goKTepYejLj5qlOlc917qoaYNSc-v12k-CRyCpqThWk/s1600/DSC07857.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-22109852101443318532014-05-02T16:35:00.002-07:002014-05-02T16:35:52.262-07:00Just like Grandpa Grayquill<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLkYEFT7kqCbx4b-kcXc-k5o0E1zb7s5ClNygRajixeUqUz03FQBRRtDC5zp29C71TlPTkileUUqWVruLDSM_M81QbiFOhkobyKvWwasXbQTtqo4kskB5teLz7eZqTmeadyBRrT-tz1U/s1600/Big+belly2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLkYEFT7kqCbx4b-kcXc-k5o0E1zb7s5ClNygRajixeUqUz03FQBRRtDC5zp29C71TlPTkileUUqWVruLDSM_M81QbiFOhkobyKvWwasXbQTtqo4kskB5teLz7eZqTmeadyBRrT-tz1U/s1600/Big+belly2.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-53948027023952620652014-03-23T11:58:00.005-07:002014-03-23T11:58:56.316-07:00Where Has Grayquill Musings Been<span style="color: #783f04;">If you have tried to view my blog lately, you probably have been confused. As they say a machine is only as good as it operator. GoDaddy.com >GOOD....Grayquill>not so good.</span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04;">Here is the last post you might have missed. <a href="http://www.grayquillmusings.com/2014/03/baby-cradle.html" target="_blank">Baby Cradle</a></span><br />
<br />Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-78193034054836337432014-03-18T21:34:00.001-07:002014-03-23T11:48:57.629-07:00Baby Cradle<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I heard the other day that 80 percent of all
baby cradles made in the United States are made by Grandpa’s. Well you know me
I like being normal so here it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-73640905709380613152013-02-03T20:35:00.000-08:002013-02-03T20:52:13.992-08:00Another Grayquill Moment<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s0mmYVUbeNQ/UQ8-WnnRmlI/AAAAAAAAAvg/2p_KvPSdccM/s1600/Untitled-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s0mmYVUbeNQ/UQ8-WnnRmlI/AAAAAAAAAvg/2p_KvPSdccM/s400/Untitled-3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I was so hoping my Grayquill moments might be taking a turn
toward more favorable results.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">For months when I leave work, I see a young lady standing in
the reception area of a technical high school waiting to be picked up. She
always stands in the same place and it is easy to see her.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The school day ends early. By the time I leave, I know
this poor girl has been waiting <span style="font-size: large;">to b<span style="font-size: large;">e picked up </span></span>for several hours. It really bugs me seeing her standing there alone
in a now empty building. Her posture communicates to me fear and sadness. I can
only imagine the tension the young lady must feel waiting for hours in an empty
building. With the heat off, the
building cools. Imagine the creaks, the groans she hears the building make, and what horrors must
run through her mind as she waits alone.
Standing there she is at the mercy of anyone who comes into the
building. </span></span></span><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">As you might guess, night after night my feelings of pity
for the young lady spring up and as a result my irritation toward her parents
enlarges with each passing day</span></span></span>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Last week, Tuesday, I left work later than usual. There she
was still waiting to be picked up. Now I am angry. Who <span style="font-size: large;">are</span> these parent? Thoughts flashed
through my mind of what I needed to do to correct this injustice. My first
thought was, I am going to hang out and when that parent shows up, I will let
Grayquill do his Jujitsu barn dance. The <span style="font-size: large;">main</span> problem with that is, Grayquill doesn’t know Jujitsu. Rational
thought prevailed and the next morning my first phone call was to the vice
principal. As I explained the reason for
my call, I was encouraged to hear her shocked disdain for the plight of the
young lady. The principal patiently listened to my passionate venting and
assured me she would get to the bottom of this! She quizzed me with several
questions and then she asked me, “Grayquill, where exactly does this young lady
stand.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“She is always in the same place, right on the right hand
side in the entry way.” </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There was a long pause, “Grayquill, that is a manikin.” </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Uhhh…what? Huh?” confusion….Grayquill could hear a large
volume of laughter coming back through the telephone. I hung up. My foolishness scored my pride but
then I began to laugh. You gotta admit that’s funny. </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">That night when I headed home I nodded to my favorite
manikin knowing she was well protected under Grayquill’s watchful eye. </span></span></span></div>
Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-49477295839310913532013-01-18T23:24:00.001-08:002013-01-24T08:48:14.008-08:00Grayquill has been warned…<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zqOGaHnE-v4/UPpDStHbKoI/AAAAAAAAAuo/BSei1oICylw/s1600/bjay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zqOGaHnE-v4/UPpDStHbKoI/AAAAAAAAAuo/BSei1oICylw/s320/bjay.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I will warn you right now – if you have a tendency toward
bad dreams and your creep meter pegs easily.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">STOP reading NOW! This is your
last warning and your last chance to save yourself.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Some might say this story is proof positive that I am being
warned by our creator to stop killing His small creatures – I mean rats!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It was late. Dinner with my wife at our favorite diner was now
over. She was headed to the store and I headed home. As usual I drove
on automatic and I let my mind run through the tasks ahead of me. I needed to
start a load of laundry, maybe type out a blog post, and a must was to fill my
birdfeeder, I mean rat feeder.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I arrived to a dark house and as is my usual routine I
entered through the garage. Flipping on the light I then filled a container
with bird seed. I headed into the house, flipped on the outside lights, slid
the slider open, and went straight out into the back yard. The birdfeeder could not be seen clearly. The
light faded away into the darkness of the surrounding trees and only one side
of the feeder was dimly lit. </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As we all know we are often held accountable for our
choices. That said, some of my blogger
buddies might be saying, "tut tut and this serves you right for what is to come -Your recent choices involving rat killing was ill advised." With that fact only
as a side note and that no real cause and effect has been proven<span style="font-size: large;">;</span> I throw
out that tid bit of information only in passing, as that information might be
deemed important to at least one reader. Okay, maybe two.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">With not an inkling of the horror awaiting me, I headed into
the shadows of the dimly lit birdfeeder. I was now nearing the feeder and what I could
not see on the back side in the darkness was a nasty long tailed rat stuffing
his fat jowls on the remnants of my bird seed. In addition, I guess because of my
uncommonly pudgy stealth, the rat was equally unaware of my approach. In
blissful ignorance I began to lift my hand toward the feeder. There was no warning, no inner sense that
danger was only inches away. I enclosed my hand around the
bottom of the feeder. At the same instant my thumb pinched a plump incredibly alive
rat. The contrast of soft fur and a horrible scratching sensation hit my thumb
all in the same instant. Tearing my hand away I jumped back from the feeder. To
my great shame, an incredibly loud little girl scream passed over my lips that even the neighbors
heard.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Traumatized, I headed toward my house doing the Grayquill
high kick dance and screaming all the way. As I looked over my shoulder I could
see the demon himself on top of my birdfeeder giving me his beady eyed stare.
IT WAS HORRIBLE!!! The last I saw of him
as I entered the house, he was headed across the rope away from the
birdfeeder. </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></span><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Safe
in my house, my first stop was the disinfectant. I gave my hands a good
scrubbing while inspecting my thumb for any broken skin. To my relief I was
uninjured except for maybe my heart and a few vocal cords. The washing time was needed to begin the recovery of my manhood. Upon the completion of the scouring my
courage was back and I headed straight into the back room for my Gamo
rat killer.</span> With flash light in hand, pellet gun
cocked and loaded of rat, I began the Grayquill rat stalk into the back yard.
Knees bent, toe to heel steps, flash light sweeping the parameter of the
darkness, I searched intently for the illusive prey. I eased along slowly, toe to heel, toe to heel. My eyes glued to the end of the light beam from my 190 lumens bulb as it coated the underbrush. I really did not expect to see much but
there is something within this man that needed to show the world and one
particular rat that I cannot and will not be scared into a wimpy prisoner in my
own house.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My journey of much stealth once again had brought me back to
within inches of the first incident – the birdfeeder. To my mortification which
I can only blame on my masterful intense search for the terrible little
creature, I had failed to look up. Now to my complete and utter ignorance
the rat had returned and was perched back on the feeder only inches from my
face. Time was at a stand still. I stood there motionless scanning the dark green salal that
filled the area. I cannot say it was a true
feeling but a change was happening in my inner being. I know not if it was my
soul, my spirit, a sixth sense, or some other outer force tying to protect or
warn me. But suddenly I turned my head to the right. At that moment the rat
made his move. It was a blur <span style="font-size: large;">of</span> gray flying fur. As I jumped, I swear that the vermin's tail
flicked the edge of my beard as he passed in the shadows. At the same moment that
little girl’s scream once again echoed throughout the neighborhood. It was
terrible, humiliating, and worst of all emasculating. I checked my pants for wetness
and it would be to embarrassing to admit my findings.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I must end my story as I think I am beginning to make myself
look bad. All in all, the rat escaped, and I was yet to prove my superiority to
the hideous little vermin.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">That night as my head hit the pillow I could only say to myself, "this was a terrible, no good, very bad night. Tomorrow will be a new day
and redemption will be possible –maybe." </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-22683701444220709902012-11-12T06:46:00.000-08:002012-11-12T06:47:15.004-08:00Really??? They Listened?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This week I had the privilege to talk with a bunch of middle
schoolers. The night before I was to face these small monsters I was filled
with terror. Scheming for any possible way to get out of it, I thought about
feigning sickness. That lie would not have been too far off course noting the
way my stomach was feeling. My biggest concern was based simply on my fear for
survival. I was worried that a classroom full of middle schoolers would eat me for
lunch. My assignment was to speak to 20 – 30 little people at 25 minute
intervals nine times throughout the day. The eight graders came first and to my
great delight when I looked up, they were listening and full of questions. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After my introduction, I wanted them to get to know me a bit, so I
ask them some true or false questions. I had several outlandish false claims
but the true ones seemed to cause their heads to tilt in wonder. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">Which is true or false? (all true)</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">As a boy I was shot in the head with an arrow?</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">I was born into a Mennonite farm community and
lived on a potato farm until I was six years old.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">As a youngster our family did not have enough
beds so I slept in the bottom drawer of a chest of drawers until I was four
years old.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">When I was your age I would not kiss a girl
because I was afraid the girl would laugh at how silly my kiss was?</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">I have had 20 car accidents, two motorcycle
accidents and two of my car accidents happened on the same day fifteen minutes
apart.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">I barely graduated from High School and swore I
would never go to college.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">I knew I had little to offer the brainiacs in the
room. My hope was to offer encouragement to the kids where school came hard.
That is a story I know well, even with nearly 50 years separating me from those
days the feelings are as close as yesterday. My story, <a href="http://www.grayquillmusings.com/2009/07/angel-with-wrinkles.html" target="_blank">Angel with Wrinkles</a> I
hoped would give them a window into the beginning of my story and it did wake
up most of the kids. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">The crux of my talk laid out a few simple principles
I have learned along the way.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">Everyone is
smart at something. Maybe it isn’t school work but that is not evidence you are
not smart at something. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">80% of success
is showing up ( I know not very original but still true)</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">Fear is part
of the process but push through it and take advantage of scary opportunities.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 150%;">Who knows if anything said made a difference but
I said what I know and I am hopeful. All in all I had more fun than I thought
possible and I feel honored that I was allowed to share a bit of myself with
some young people. </span></span></span></div>
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Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-78712832196010527532012-10-06T12:04:00.000-07:002012-10-08T08:59:42.818-07:00An Awesome Saturday<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSaAd2wufsgD-1banLAmtUGG-Af6lRuCti6zr-OPX2JYtTtuN7-1UJNypcbqY0GtmCQIlGXQLfbNBW08WV1UVIP1DZyeQcbVv9dZHfhk6tks0IAqv8SJ4LWllHRScwBoWdb2Um5EX4FI0/s1600/sparrow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSaAd2wufsgD-1banLAmtUGG-Af6lRuCti6zr-OPX2JYtTtuN7-1UJNypcbqY0GtmCQIlGXQLfbNBW08WV1UVIP1DZyeQcbVv9dZHfhk6tks0IAqv8SJ4LWllHRScwBoWdb2Um5EX4FI0/s400/sparrow.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">It has been almost two months since my last post. I could
make some kind of excuse up but I hate people that do that. I do have some good
news. NOOOO….I have great news. Dullsville left the Grayquill property Saturday
morning and it was better than great. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">There I was sitting drinking my one cup of coffee. Yes, I am
now down to one cup of coffee. I know it is very very very sad. I mourn it
every morning. I was nearing the half way mark of my one cup and a movement
caught my eye. It was a different kind of movement, not like the small birds that
gather under my bird feeder to clean up the fallen seed. It was slinky, almost
like the ground its self was moving. Raising my gaze it all came into focus.
There to my hateful delight was a rat. A rat right there in broad day light.
Well you know what that means don’t you? Yip, the hunt is on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Heading into my back room, I rummaged around
and finally found my old pellet gun. Next, where did I put those pellets? I
think they are in the garage. After a few minutes of moving pile A to where
pile Z was, and then pile B to where pile A was, it took some doing but I finally
came across them under pile T. Soon I was back to my kitchen table where I
carefully laid out my battle wares. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">In a ghost rat like fashion I smoothly crossed the room and
slowly slide the slider open until an eight inch gap appeared. With elegance my
sylphlike limbs floated me back to my chair. There I settled down to wait. It
wasn’t long before my first shot opportunity raised its self.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pling…I heard the sound of my pellet whip
through the underbrush as the creepy critter skedaddled away to who knows
where. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I reloaded but realized my
cheap pellet gun with its archaic sights needed a tune up. Out came the felt pen and
I soon had three targets made on bright purple paper. Placing them out in the
yard about the same distance as my bird feeder; I began what Grayquill would
describe as an excellent gun sighting experience. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first shot did not even hit the target. After
way to many shots I had the gun hitting the target but my grouping was less
than desirable. Urgency to get back to the hunt helped me decide to stop the
adjusting and get back to the whole point of this exercise – KILL A RAT! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Back at the kitchen table, the slider again open to about 8
inches, a perfect view of the ground under my bird feeder in my sight, my gun
loaded, I waited. I was hopeful I might now actually hit something. Fifteen
minutes went by, nothing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Twenty minutes
went by nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time for breakfast! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Soon two eggs with two slices of toast were made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dipping my toast into the yoke I ate
silently, watching, waiting. After my third bite I looked up and there right in
my line of sight were two rats that seemed to have just appeared. One was
directly under the bird feeder and the other was back by the edge of the brush.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where did they come from? Moving slowly
and quietly as I could I laid my fork down and picked up my gun. The adrenalin
was now beginning to pump. My breaths were beginning to come a bit faster
helping my vision crisp up. Maybe I should have ordered those eye glasses the
doctor thinks I need. Oh well, too late now. Looking down the barrel the rat
seemed so much smaller and I kept losing him in the sights. After several
checks I had him. Exhaling, I held my breath and slowly squeezed off. Pling….I
heard the pellet whip through the underbrush and both rats disappeared – Dang!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Not to be a quitter I sat there most of the day taking a
total of nine shots. At the end of the day I could only conclude I was a horrible
shot or I had a horrible gun. I did not have a single dead rat to show for my
efforts. Darkness was beginning to close in on me and shooting became an
impossibility. Putting my gun back into its corner I felt frustrated and the
old saying, ‘a machine is only as good as its operator’ haunted me. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Not wanting to accept I am a horrible operator. Straight
away I was on my computer searching for a real pellet gun. I soon found out why
I had this stupid gun with sights that moved every time you bumped it. The good
guns seemed to start at around $250.00. Wow! That’s a lot of money just to
shoot a couple of rats. After a brief education and not discouraged, I headed
to Craig’s List to see if possibly a used gun was for sale. Sure as shooting I
found a Gamo Whisper. Retail price $345.00. The pellet leaves the barrel of
this baby at 1100 feet per second, and to top it off it had a scope. That
would be perfect to help my stigmatism. My email was soon constructed and off
it went to the seller. I waited. I have often wondered why one would put something
on line to sell if they weren’t committed to getting back to a prospective
buyer? The long and the short of my search three days later I successful acquired
the almost new Gamo Whisper for a fraction of the retail price. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Wednesday, as quitting time drew close. I found myself
watching the clock. The feeling was reminiscent of a time that reached back to
a 10 year old with his first BB gun. What havoc a young Grayquill could have
done with a Gamo Whisper pellet gun instead of that wimpy lever action Daisy BB
gun that you could see the BB leave the barrel. It was probably a good thing young
Grayquill only had the Daisy because one day he decided he would shoot his brother
in the butt. That night my dad took that gun away from me and I never saw it
again. That still seems like an overreaction by my father. I will
admit I did hit that left butt check dead center and that I am still a bit
proud about.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Oh how I digress… The time finally came for work to be over
for the day and I rushed to my car. Twenty minutes later with maybe two hours
of daylight left the hunt was back on! I felt it, tonight would be awesome. If
that furry critter came back into view….well I think you get the idea. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">The slider was slid open about eight inches. My view
under the bird feeder was unobstructed. My new Gamo was loaded and ready. My
wife was working late and I had the house to myself. Distractions always get in the way for this type for work. My dinner sat in front of me and
I settled in. I was getting worried as the sun set behind the Olympic Mountains
and evening began its journey toward darkness. The beauty of a scope, it seems
to make objects lighten up at dusk. It was maybe fate or just luck but with the
ability to still see, an unlucky rat came out for an evening snack. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Yip I was right – it was a great night.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pgAqmvPm-eQ/UHB8O4qWv6I/AAAAAAAAAtA/GJsUiySpdBs/s1600/pellet_Gun_and_1st_Rat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pgAqmvPm-eQ/UHB8O4qWv6I/AAAAAAAAAtA/GJsUiySpdBs/s320/pellet_Gun_and_1st_Rat.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-61692563706161812092012-08-11T13:46:00.001-07:002012-08-20T01:25:48.253-07:00A Dead Guy's Clothes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E_ychl7m2k0/UCbC4locHzI/AAAAAAAAAsU/Y3FOIVK1zhU/s1600/Christmas_lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: #783f04;"></span></a></div>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E_ychl7m2k0/UCbC4locHzI/AAAAAAAAAsU/Y3FOIVK1zhU/s1600/Christmas_lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E_ychl7m2k0/UCbC4locHzI/AAAAAAAAAsU/Y3FOIVK1zhU/s320/Christmas_lights.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last week my wife came home with a nice Levi Strauss insulated flannel shirt jacket, just my size. NICE! </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Of course it came from a second hand store, why wouldn’t it? This new addition to my wardrobe had in one of the pockets a left over remnant from the previous owner. NO! It was nothing gross. Why did your mind go there? It was just some spare light bulbs from a Christmas tree string. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">These light bulbs took my mind to a place it has gone on many occasions after picking up some used item. Who was the previous owner? What were the circumstances that caused him to give up a perfectly good shirt-jacket? I usually assume the guy died. There really is no other logical conclusion. Well there is the, he got divorced and his ex- took everything he owned to the second hand store. By the way Garage Sales are great places to meet really angry women who will almost pay you to take ex-husbands stuff away. One lady (do I dare call her a lady?) told me she was going to receive great pleasure telling her ex that she sold his $800 Craftsman tool set for $25.00 – hey it worked for me. If I hadn’t bought it someone else would have. First come first serve…right? Okay...I just made all that up. I have never been that fortunate but it could happen. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is one down side to buying used clothing. You have to try it on at some point to be sure it fits. I always feel a little dirty after those experiences. After all, the guy that had it before me is <em>now dead! </em>What did he die from? Am I going to catch that disease now? See how creepy that can be? No one wants to die just for trying on some unfortunates’ left overs.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After I discovered the Christmas tree light bulbs in the pocket I figured it was safe to try on the shirt/jacket. After all, the guy probably fell off his latter putting up Christmas tree lights and broke his neck. I don’t understand why they didn’t just bury him in the jacket that would have been so much easier than dressing him all up in a suit. But, heck if I can benefit from another’s poor judgment – I guess I will.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Several years back I came upon a literal bonanza at a second hand consignment store. I found a couple suits, a couple pair of shoes, and the shoes were double nice. Italian. Soft. Fit my foot like a glove. I had never had such a nice, expensive pair of shoes before. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how that poor sucker died. I finally concluded he was a gay guy and died of aids. I am pretty sure it was true because straight guys would never dress that nice and gay guys being pretty much like a woman would never give a way his or her shoes unless he was dead. The only flaw in my conclusion was possibly the way he died. One part of me thinks he was hit by a truck and died instantly. If he had a disease that took his life slowly he probably would have found a friend to give his clothes to. The trouble with that logic, the few gay guys I know would never wear something second hand. You see that last sentence assumes gay guys only have gay friends. (Oh Grayquill broaden your horizons.) Who said that?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am interested in what you think about how the guy died whose Levi jacket I now own. If you’re willing, I would enjoy reading your morbid thoughts. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just so you know the jacket is being washed. You can all rest easy; your favorite Grayquill will not be catching any disease from that jacket. </span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-9429547028465598952012-07-14T11:43:00.003-07:002012-07-14T11:51:41.321-07:00Who Are You Calling a Geezer?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4SIvgI1qZlE/UAG8RN_cDyI/AAAAAAAAAsA/uKRRFTSZBQQ/s1600/582644_3830312970356_543110550_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4SIvgI1qZlE/UAG8RN_cDyI/AAAAAAAAAsA/uKRRFTSZBQQ/s1600/582644_3830312970356_543110550_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4SIvgI1qZlE/UAG8RN_cDyI/AAAAAAAAAsA/uKRRFTSZBQQ/s320/582644_3830312970356_543110550_n.jpg" width="181" /></a><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I went fly fishing recently with my brother for 10 days…that was pretty awesome. My brother being much older than me, I suppose should be considered a geezer. I have concluded that there is no way I am a geezer. I don’t even qualify for old people discounts at the state and national parks. That simple fact should be solid proof I have yet to be inducted into the fly fishing geezer club.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> One author said if you fall asleep in the middle of a sentence maybe you are a geezer. That makes me wonder if the same logic applies to writing a blog post. I have fallen asleep on more than one occasion in the midst of trying to write a blog post. That has never really bothered me that much, the falling asleep thing. But, the dried drool on my key board really bugs me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did a Google search – ‘how to unstick a keyboard<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- Google was totally useless on that front but I did find a peculiar group of people out there in Google land that gave me the hibbie-gibbies. It seems there are weirdoes out there that keep dried drool just for the smelling. Who would admit to such a thing? If I had that problem I would keep it a deep deep secret. Many of these drool smellers have a favorite drool spot on their pillow that is nearly sacred. If one was to wash their pillow case the compulsive drool smellers would nearly flip their doodle. What is wrong with those people? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Secret drooler smellers???? Creeeeepy!</span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The human condition for sure is complicated and there is no shortage of weird things people do. There was a bright side in reading about these drool smellers. I realized that of all my oddities, I can proudly say drool smelling is not one of them. I am bothered some that I have been enjoying the lingering smell of sage brush on the pillow I took fishing. BTW-don't even think about washing that pillow. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Besides my brother, I spotted more than one geezer on my fishing trip. Geezer number one we deducted was a really really really really rich geezer. At dinner one night we spotted this old fellow. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once he was ushered/helped to his table and a drink was placed in front of him he didn’t move much except for that frail hand that kept stroking the back of the tall 30 something beauty sitting next to him. She was by far the prettiest female in the establishment and the geezer had his brand clearly on her. I tried not to stare but my self control was useless. She finally caught me staring and the smile she sent my way seemed to say, maybe being rich should have been more important to you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Geezer number two we found sitting on the river bank muttering to himself after his third unsuccessful attempt to tie a 7X tippet to his fly line. His muttering had something to do with not being able to see or feel the thin line. Oh….wait a minute….that geezer was me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Geezer number three was of course my brother he seemed to still be able to tie the 7X tippets. He claimed to out fish me everyday - except for that one day. After all he had no pictures so that pretty much settles it. Big talk without pictures is nothing but self deception. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">So, from one who is almost a geezer – may your fly always hit the water softly even when you can't see it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-26157969358141874592012-05-13T18:58:00.003-07:002012-07-25T18:51:26.273-07:00Odd Things You See Fishing....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nWZYUO19Eeg/T7BlCff3kdI/AAAAAAAAArs/VlkBC1B7HwE/s1600/Rainbow_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nWZYUO19Eeg/T7BlCff3kdI/AAAAAAAAArs/VlkBC1B7HwE/s320/Rainbow_1.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At one moment you can be completely happy, thinking life can get no better. I was on the shoreline of a renowned trout creek. The sun was out and it was shirtsleeve weather. The day before I had netted a 23 inch fat rainbow trout. It was a beautiful fish. On its side she carried a plethora of red and silver hues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was hoping to duplicate yesterday’s experience ten or twenty times. The fish were taking a blue dun fly that was emerging but I was yet to find the fly from my box to mimic the hatch. </span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> A fisherman had just appeared across the creek a mere fifty feet downstream. I wonder if he also felt life could not get any better. He was soon to find out, it could. He was a tall young man, blonde, probably quite handsome, physically fit, decked out in matching tan waders and fly vest. His blonde hair curled out beneath his hat framing a distinct jaw line. He stood confident with a half smile that seemed to never leave his face. On his second cast I saw him set the hook. He soon landed a nice fish larger than the fish I had caught the day before. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seeing another fisherman catch fish doesn’t discourage me or cause envy. In contrast it lets me know the fish are biting and I know when I send the right combination of fly, depth, and location, I too will soon be catching fish. </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Being fishless for the day the contrast could not have been greater. Here I stood almost old, out of shape over weight, bald, shorter than I use to be, never as tall as this young man, and certainly never that kind of handsome. The contrast was soon going to be greater yet. I had just watched him catch his 11th fish. The way he could make music with the fly rod was truly an art form. The fly line glistened in the sun when the line made a perfect arc during his back cast. There was a rhythm between him and the fly. When he started his cast it was effortless. A simple lifting the rod tip and the fly obediently followed its master’s command into a smooth symmetrical arc. The fly entered the current seamless and natural. </span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> My fly could not reach the rift where he was pulling out fish after fish, nor would I have sent my fly there if I could have reached it. There is an etiquette in fly fishing and that would certainly have crossed into the rude uncouth arena. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To get to where he stood took a good mile walk and a bit of effort. She seemed to just appear. Where she had come from I had not observed. But there she was beautiful as he was handsome standing close to the young fisherman. She too was blonde. She wore a white blouse, short blue jean skirt and cowboy boots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can say her tanned legs fit the skirt and boots nicely. Muffled talked came from both his and her lips, a giggle from both could be heard coming across the water. After much striving for his attention she stretched onto her tip toes with arms around his neck and pulled him down to whisper something into his ear. A sound of delightful pleasure came from his lips and I could not tell if it was from him setting the hook on fish number 12 or in response to her words. Her distracting presence seemed to only be affecting me because he was flawless in the playing and netting of the fish as she hung onto him through the whole process. Upon releasing the fish the man seemed to now have a new mission. He stowed away his gear and with a big smile pasted on his face they walked down the trail. I wondered who was that guy anyway? Who is it that can catch fish like that? Who is it that has a beauty appear and drag him off to who knows where? This was something I had never seen before. Was this like the mermaid who met the sailor lost at sea? I knew it wasn’t a dream because if it was a dream I wouldn’t have been watching. All I know the smile on that young man’s face came from fishing plus something and that something was not hard to imagine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"> That night back at camp I reflected on the oddity of the two lovers and watching her seduce the young fisherman. I have always heard that fly fisherman are sexy, after seeing that I am a believer. And, even though I am almost old I am sticking with fly fishing who knows what could happen. Regardless, I smiled knowing somewhere there was a young fly fisherman who maybe had the two best days ever….<em>all in one</em>. Now that makes a great fish story. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-61288044837941730562012-03-15T23:26:00.013-07:002012-03-16T12:36:03.691-07:00Women Authors Hmmm.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p-vGn9iIL9w/T2La5lAo8dI/AAAAAAAAArc/qLUQu7zwwj8/s1600/jodipicoult.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><img border="0" height="131" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p-vGn9iIL9w/T2La5lAo8dI/AAAAAAAAArc/qLUQu7zwwj8/s320/jodipicoult.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am beginning to think that <a href="http://www.jodipicoult.com/" target="_blank">Jodi Picoult</a> is one of those <a href="http://www.grayquillmusings.com/2009/06/really-smart-people-part-2.html" target="_blank">really really smart people</a> that bug me way too much. Normally I have an aversion to reading books written by women. </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hmmmm….strange. I suddenly feel a bit of hatred radiating back at me from those of the opposite sex over this super highway?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hate or no hate, the truth is the truth, I perfer male authors. </span></div><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few weeks back I broke down out of sheer desperation and read a book written by the famous <a href="http://www.jodipicoult.com/bookshop.html" target="_blank">Jodi Picoult</a>. Actually I read two of her books. Okay! It wasn’t out of desperation that I fell in love with Ms Picoult. It was advice from my wife that started the reading. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I so enjoyed Jodi's writing I could not resist doing a bit of stalking…….of course I Googled her – why wouldn’t I? Yip, in likity split time, I had her email address. Well, you know as well as I do getting a response from a celebrity author like Picoult would probably be close to a miracle. I knew I needed something in the subject line to get her attention. I decide to go with me true guttural feelings toward my new love -<a href="http://www.jodipicoult.com/" target="_blank"> “Women Authors - Hmmm…..” </a></span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, those who read my blog now and then realize, <em>I think</em> I am pretty funny. You also know, I have come to understand that it is only the <a href="http://www.grayquillmusings.com/2009/06/really-smart-people-part-2.html" target="_blank">really smart people</a> who don’t fully appreciate how funny I really am. In fact some have argued that I am the only one laughing. Well hum bug to all you cynics.</span></div><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My email to Ms. Picoult after much effort finally came to completion, which I peppered with several near hysterical lines that normal people would roll off their chairs laughing at. As you can imagine off I sent my brilliant email. In it I told her she was my new favorite <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">woman </i>author. I felt that was quite an honor to bestow on the lovely lady. </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As you can imagine I got a response back from <a href="http://www.jodipicoult.com/bookshop.html" target="_blank">Jodi Picoult</a> in a mere five hours. Now here comes the rub. It seems she did not think I was funny at all or she forgot to mention it (that's probably it). Can you believe it? Well that’s all I am going to say about that. Although I did mention in my email to Ms. Picoult that even though I loved her writing and she was now my new favorite woman author, she was unable to bump my favorite all time author Louis L'Amour from the top spot. I felt I had some pretty good logic for keeping him in that high position. You know he did die a mere two decades ago don’t you? It just seems downright rude to bump a dead guy from his lofty perch; after all he isn’t even here to defend himself. Talk about kicking a guy when he is down – that seems so wrong. What do you think?</span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana;">Lastly - even if Jodi Picoult is a really really smart person - I give her books a full five stars - <a href="http://www.jodipicoult.com/bookshop.html" target="_blank">Go buy five</a>. <a href="http://www.jodipicoult.com/bookshop.html" target="_blank">"The Perfect Match" and the "Plain Truth"</a> are great!</span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*********</span></div><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today I had one of those bad moments. I was at a business affair and apparently when registering, I inadvertently either picked up or was intentionally handed a woman’s name tag instead of my own. The woman’s name tag I was handed is about four pay grades above mine. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that that detail matters all that much, but I do think it is worth mentioning and it could add to some of my remorse. </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Gatherings of this type often make me a bit nervous in the first place, so in my hyper focusing for the exact perfect place to pin the name tag, I really did not even look at whose name I was actually pinning on my shirt. About half way through the day, a lady who later laughed hysterically at me, with tears were running down her cheeks, ask me how I pronounced may last name. She tried pronouncing it but the sound coming across her lips was not even close to how my name should sound. I then discovered my shame and error. What makes this story extra bad. A colleague earlier had held my correct name tag up for me to see in an effort to help me out. Well in Grayquill land where the dots often connect a bit differently then say… the average person, I in my brilliance assumed some one thought I should have two name tags, probably because I am so important. Naturally I ignored my helpful friend. Sitting here confessing; I now recall several consistently odd smiles I was given earlier in the day. One etched deep in my memory is that half smile my boss gave me. I wonder if I will have that privileged chair in her office tomorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh well, what can I say, I am Grayquill. </span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-36039441614919061892012-02-20T08:28:00.000-08:002012-02-20T08:28:10.166-08:00A Father's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq2gfKjeZxseY4zTb8M6jSgbIIOeGmERM2_QRIfyMJh8ZwVvlWntW0_bz6V_SdGzQOX5KVT7eri8-RkqRwM2t2xJb2-xntMEvvpjkXoPfBD_7xZ5JUp3FCc2xuGNjb70sLzJVQprpymtQ/s1600/Path.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq2gfKjeZxseY4zTb8M6jSgbIIOeGmERM2_QRIfyMJh8ZwVvlWntW0_bz6V_SdGzQOX5KVT7eri8-RkqRwM2t2xJb2-xntMEvvpjkXoPfBD_7xZ5JUp3FCc2xuGNjb70sLzJVQprpymtQ/s320/Path.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The promise of spring is on the calendar and spring time is certainly a season offering new life, warmer days, and more light. Have I told you lately, I appreciate each and every one of you? Hmmm....how I neglect the important.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am posting a chapter from my book this morning. I have not been in the mood for writing and would certainly have had a tough time writing anything new that would add a smile or encourage. The past several weeks have been full of darkness; a past evil once again requiring time and effort but reaping few results. I believe in the principle, 'What is beyond my control is within my influence.' This round of influence has had a net zero result. That is the thing about a principle, they are not 100% true but they are generally true. I have not given up on the principle for I have many times seen it work. The good news is, my family and myself are well.</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hope you find the following story encouraging and I think it is a great example of what is beyond our control is within our influence. As you read the story, ask yourself who is watching you.</span></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></span><a href="http://www.grayquillmusings.com/2009/06/fathers-day.html" name="_Toc298965301" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong>A Fathers Day</strong></span></span></a><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">It is great to be honored by one’s own children. <br />
Sunday was Father’s Day. My two daughters were out of town, but my son came by to see me. The conversation we had wound around through many subjects and past a few monuments. Along the trail, we came to the monument of his minor fathers, the men who impacted him in his childhood. How grateful I am for these wonderful men. <br />
The many hours my son spent at different friend’s homes resulted in many hours of observing, or at times direct interactions, with these men. Some were good bad examples, but most were good examples. They filled in many holes and blank spots I either was incapable of teaching or just missed. Some examples were reinforcements of lessons I hoped to impart - faithfulness, loyalty, respect of women, trustworthiness, honesty, hard work, and compassion. <br />
He talked about recently attending the celebration of one man’s 35th wedding anniversary and of the toast he gave to the man and his wife for being excellent role models in marriage. My son told me of times he noticed that Joel and Lori had disappeared on a walk, and later, they would return holding hands, smiling and talking. <br />
I can think back to a time a father told me about working alongside his son and my son. They did yard work for many hours, and the man had given my son a compliment for being a good worker. But, I knew the real gift had been the two young boys doing hard work alongside the man, and that day was a step or two closer toward their own manhood. You see, I already knew about the many hours of work because I saw the glow on my son’s young face beaming with pride as he earlier had recounted the affirming words he had been given by the father for his hard work. <br />
Another father was a very good business man and understood investments. Another man treated his wife badly, and my son saw the pain and the shame. Another man was a hard worker but could also play. Most of the men were good examples of living strong moral lives and being men of high character. I am thankful that my son had other men who ingrained into him what real manhood looked like. <br />
He has these images and impressions of what manhood looks like, and now I am so proud of the man he <strike>is becoming</strike> has become - a man of high character. <br />
So, to the minor fathers of my son – thank you! You probably did not even know that you were being watched.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-2166971178635555042012-01-28T00:03:00.000-08:002012-01-28T00:40:34.525-08:00In the Outhouse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dguH7vAf0DY/TyOpvKDjQsI/AAAAAAAAArI/C6QQ6y-I6uY/s1600/outhouse_GS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dguH7vAf0DY/TyOpvKDjQsI/AAAAAAAAArI/C6QQ6y-I6uY/s1600/outhouse_GS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dguH7vAf0DY/TyOpvKDjQsI/AAAAAAAAArI/C6QQ6y-I6uY/s320/outhouse_GS.jpg" width="212" /></a><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“What is funny?”</span><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Oh…poop is funny! No, really poof is almost always funny!”</span></div><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, poop on your shoe is not funny but poop on your brother’s shoe – that is hilarious.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Years ago when I was board at church I could easily entertain myself and get though any boring service by simply picking up the hymnal, start reading song titles and add to the end of each title the simple phrase, ‘In the outhouse.’</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Joy Everlasting” in the outhouse.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> “Peace like a River” in the outhouse. </span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
“Blessed Assurance” in the outhouse.<br />
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“Made Free” in the outhouse.<br />
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“Each Day I’ll Do a Golden Deed” in the outhouse.<br />
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“Eternal Peace” in the outhouse.<br />
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GRAYQUILL STOP! <br />
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Just one more….”Trying to get a Glimpse” in the outhouse….”Climbing Higher and Higher” in the outhouse. Sorry, I know that was two but I couldn’t help myself. <br />
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As you can see a 10 year old boy and a long boring sermon could be handled easily. I remember giggling and my mother pinching me to be quiet. If she had a clue the depths of depravity her young son had sunk, a much stronger deterrent would be been applied. Now my dad if he knew what I was up to, he would probably have dived right in to my sea of debauchery. <br />
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I guess I should apologize for this poopy blog post. It is hard to describe what sewer I pulled this out of but am relieved that it is now over and that it has all worked out.<br />
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So, if you are sitting in church and your son or grandson is giggling with his head buried in a song book. Turn a way, ignore him….you don’t really want to go there.<br />
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Hmmm....this was way funnier when I wrote it. What happened?<br />
</span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-38655133099851193552012-01-16T15:49:00.000-08:002012-01-16T16:00:48.164-08:00Complication, Develop, Resolution<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DMceoPQOqRc/TxS2SLllF2I/AAAAAAAAAq0/50Ddli4IOXA/s1600/Writing+For+Story.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DMceoPQOqRc/TxS2SLllF2I/AAAAAAAAAq0/50Ddli4IOXA/s1600/Writing+For+Story.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DMceoPQOqRc/TxS2SLllF2I/AAAAAAAAAq0/50Ddli4IOXA/s320/Writing+For+Story.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Studying and learning are completely different. A <a href="http://storiesfromreallife.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">fellow blogger</a> suggested the book, “Writing for Story” by Jon Franklin. <a href="http://storiesfromreallife.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Her post</a> thoroughly convinced me to go forth and buy the book ASAP, which I did.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Excited, when the book arrived, I dove right in. NO!! I did not follow the rules…I read the introduction, and then the last chapter. Discouragement hit me almost from the get go. I did not want to hear how hard it is to become a good writer or how long it takes! Hey I don’t have that much time, I am almost old. I want simple, easy, fast!. Do ABC and presto chango, and instantly I can become Steinbeck or Twain. But NOOOOO, all I hear is, you will be dead before you write anything good and writing something great is you being delusional. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well delusional comes easy for me so at least I am in familiar territory. </span></div><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now that you have had that positive introduction, don’t you just want to jump right up and go beg, borrow or steal the book? Sorry Mr. Franklin…hang in there this can only get better from here.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A bit of truth might be good at this point. Nowhere in the book does it say any of those negative thoughts. Those are all just me being me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact chapter three Jon Franklin reprints the Ballad of Old Man Peters. This short story encouraged me quite a lot. The story is true and demonstrated how learning and improving never need stop. It was one of the most inspiring short stories I have ever read. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RkZD7Yp4VbA/TxS2juQcRgI/AAAAAAAAAq8/M17NGOHC0hM/s1600/snow_1-16-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RkZD7Yp4VbA/TxS2juQcRgI/AAAAAAAAAq8/M17NGOHC0hM/s200/snow_1-16-12.jpg" width="193" /></a><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Side note: I just looked outside it’s snowing….AWEEEEESOME!!! Mr. Franklin would never have told you about the snow. He says leave out anything that does not add to the story. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In a nut shell Mr. Franklin lays </span><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">out a simple (I didn’t say easy) structure for writing a good story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ought to know a thing or two about writing a good story after all he has won the Pulitzer prize twice. And, I am really doing my best to pay attention and learn from this magical person.</span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mr. Franklin says every good story has to have three clear attributes. First the Complication, second the Development or the conflict. Lastly, a resolution to the complication is an absolute requirement. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His book is easy reading and the proof should be in the simple fact that I have made it to page 137. </span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One interesting point Mr. Franklin makes is how many stories do not have a clear resolution to the complication and that causes the story to be weak. He says, find the resolution first and work backwards, there you will find the complication, and in between lies a great story. </span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Even though I am only half way through reading Writing for Story, I am convinced this was the best $9.00 I have spent in the past many weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, those two fly rods I bought might beat it out but it’s hard to top a new fly rod.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now in the beginning of this post, I wrote studying is not learning. The proof of that might be in how this post did not follow Mr. Franklins structure….at least completely, but then I have not finished reading his book yet. With that in mind let’s all have hope Mr. Franklin’s instruction can help Grayquill’s writing improve. If any of you are curious, I did try to follow his structure in writing this post and maybe I did a bit. I am sure several of you will set me straight. </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">BTW: GQ has left his delusional state and now knows he can get better even though he’s almost old - he is beginning to learn structure…Yahoo!</span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Complication: GQ is delusional</span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Development: </span></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Age makes learning harder</span></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>GQ admits being lazy</span></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>GQ fears he can’t learn</span></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>The book helps GQ change his thinking</span></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>GQ thinks his writing can get better</span></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Resolution: GQ applies Structure</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-84945802573484099002011-12-25T09:55:00.000-08:002012-01-07T08:53:12.929-08:00He Came Soft as a Whisper<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HGbr-tB9N-8/TvdNtdFdUSI/AAAAAAAAAqs/fVDDzz3Fs-M/s1600/Christmas_tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HGbr-tB9N-8/TvdNtdFdUSI/AAAAAAAAAqs/fVDDzz3Fs-M/s320/Christmas_tree.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="color: #783f04;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Good morning Lord. This past week has been full of pressures and it has been hard to feel you at all. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you are in it – I missed it. So here I sit this morning. The lights of the Christmas tree shining bright speaking of holiday, rejoicing and happiness; but I am weary. </span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Is this how it has always been? Is this what you expected and wanted? I know the questions I asked are stupid. But, what has happened? To shift my thoughts toward you I find it hard and uncomfortable, even scary. To even talk to you is uncomfortable and I feel afraid to come up close. Is it because of my smallness next to your vastness or your infiniteness and my finiteness? Or my unavoidable death and your forever? Or is it you being all powerful and I being fragile and weak? There is also your complete and unlimited knowledge and then my lack of understanding and the questions that haunt me. And of course, there is always your holiness lighting up my sinfulness and I want to hide. </span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I would have expected you to come in thunder or lightening or maybe even riding an asteroid, for after all you are God, the all powerful one. But no, you came softly in less than a whisper, as a baby, small, helpless, weak, fragile, in an obscure stable of all places. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you come in this manner so I would not be frightened and not run and hide? I wonder…..</span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am trying to not hide, and I am thankful for the story, so sweet and I begin to inch close to you. But to read on, later the story turns sad, horrible, and I want to hide again. I read of your grief, your suffering, the tears you shed, the loneliness you felt, the rejection by those close to you, and then of course comes the real horror, a cross.</span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If that was the end, the story would have no meaning. But, then the story changes and lifts the sadness and the power of death is torn down by your resurrection. If I continue to hide and miss the story, it does not change its power does it? If I hide and ignore the story, it does not change the fact you came.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that whisper if I am not quiet or careful I will miss it and the story will have no effect. </span></span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now that the rush is over, now that the presents have been place under the tree, help me be quiet, help me not miss hearing your whisper….</span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-71580668234721661422011-12-04T16:01:00.000-08:002011-12-04T20:41:19.044-08:00Grayquill going VEGAN?<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mZSAPCmOESo/TtwIBOGKXVI/AAAAAAAAAqc/WQHrw2orU_k/s1600/Pizza_Pi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mZSAPCmOESo/TtwIBOGKXVI/AAAAAAAAAqc/WQHrw2orU_k/s1600/Pizza_Pi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="261" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mZSAPCmOESo/TtwIBOGKXVI/AAAAAAAAAqc/WQHrw2orU_k/s320/Pizza_Pi.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The windshield wipers beat steady. The HOV lane was open, and we took right to it, staying at speed limit. The progress was fantastic for driving on a rainy Seattle night at rush hour. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something new was in store for Grayquill. It was to be Vegan Pizza at <a href="http://www.pizza-pi.net/contact.html" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">Pizza PI.</span></a></span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On the outset vegan pizza sounded horrible to me but what do you do when your nephew and his bride to be buy a vegan pizza joint? You support it and them, that's what you do!</span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They say location is everything and the location for this business seemed perfect. It is located on University Way NE, five blocks north of the University of Washington where all those weird liberal granola young people congregated. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What would they love more than vegan pizza? I can’t think of a thing.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I dropped mom and dad off at the door and rolled through the rain looking for a parking spot. With the car parked in a back in only spot, I took the two block walk up University Avenue. I had my hat so it was all good. </span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Upon entering the restaurant I spotted them at the far end right across from the cash register. A fifty eight year old accompanied by two eighty eight year olds must have been quite a site in such an establishment. I would say, maybe we looked odd and out of place, but then I took a look around; have you seen the way young people dress these days? Upon perusing the crowd I felt quite normal. As for the patrons, there was certainly more than one odd duck in the room. Young people these days do not know how to dress – it is just plain odd. My own nephew wore pants that reminded me of Huck Finn with his jeans torn raggedly off at mid calf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I checked to see if he was wearing leather shoes. He wasn’t, he was being consistent to his vegan life choice. I love a man of principle! My kids have upon occasion called me both quirky and goofy; I can only imagine what words the children of this group will use to describe their parents some day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The menus were passed out and it wasn’t long before we had a 100% vegan pizza pie right there on our table, freshly cooked in a 615 degree oven. I could have the degrees off a bit – I only half listen sometimes. Upon taking my first bite with some fear and trepidation, my taste buds started dancing. THIS WAS GOOD! I was shocked! The medium pizza fed the three of us and I even had two pieces to take home. Yahoo!</span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Do you remember being a little grubber and not liking anything if a grown up told you it was good for you? I can remember a couple of those moments. Well I had a childhood flash back when it was suggested that desert be Vegan Pumpkin Pie. That just seemed like an oxymoron. I didn’t want to be rude so I accepted the large piece of pie with a big forced smile. A friend once said, “if you have to swallow a frog, don’t look at it too long.” I decided to take that advice right off. Hmmm…. This was pretty good, the crust was excellent! I would like another piece please…oh, ooops, it wasn’t offered. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">With our welcome running into the overdue limit and with paying patrons standing waiting for a table we called it an evening. First of course we had to argue about the bill – them wanting to give us free food and us wanting to pay. We took our leave and I for one will be going back to the Pizza PI. If you are ever in Seattle I suggest you plan on some Vegan Pizza and have a wonderful moment to watch today’s young people. It will all be good I promise.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I give<a href="http://www.pizza-pi.net/contact.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"> Pizza Pi</span></a> two thumbs up and the way young people dress two thumbs down.</span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-76769409926650853172011-11-19T11:01:00.000-08:002011-11-19T11:01:38.023-08:00Grayquill Keep Quiet<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x6vyjFscgT4/TsfukvlgiJI/AAAAAAAAAqM/XaQlXJ1JUWg/s1600/Trcuk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x6vyjFscgT4/TsfukvlgiJI/AAAAAAAAAqM/XaQlXJ1JUWg/s200/Trcuk.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Do you ever do something with good intentions and then realize well that wasn’t very respectful? I had one of those moments this morning. A little background might be needed….</span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was late. The weather man just mentioned we would have near freezing temps tonight. As usual my mind bumped from faucets to pipes to cars….oh yeah my truck!!!</span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>#$^@!!!</span></span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I forgot to add antifreeze to my truck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I meant to do that. I just keep forgetting. Well, the news guy did say ‘near’ freezing. I can wait. I think I will go to bed now. </span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few days passed with rainy, temps in the forties. Do you think I bought the antifreeze? Why would I? It’s not freezing yet. </span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was again late and the weather man just mentioned we would have near freezing temps tonight. As usual my mind bumped from faucets to pipes to cars….oh yeah my truck!!!</span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>#$^@!!!</span></span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I forgot to add antifreeze to my truck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I meant to do that. I just keep forgetting. Well, the news guy did say ‘near’ freezing. I can wait. I think I will go to bed now. Tomorrow I will go to the auto parts store at lunch and pickup the antifreeze. </span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tomorrow came, lunch came and I had forgotten all about the antifreeze. The sun was out and there is no prettier place than the northwest when the crisp clear fall air allows the sun to shine on snow cover mountain peaks, highlighting the bright green evergreens contrasted by the reds and golds from the changing oak trees. It was a great lunch, but no antifreeze was purchased.</span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Heading home the guy on the radio said we would again have near freezing temps. That reminded me. Perfect, I would stop and pick up that antifreeze now, and I did. Now, with the antifreeze in my trunk I headed home with full intentions of taking care of the antifreeze truck problem as soon as I got home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was less than a minute or two and that thought was long gone, My mind now traveled down roads of who knows where. </span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yip you guessed it. It was late and the news guy just said, we would have near freezing temps tonight. As usual my mind bumped from faucets to pipes to cars….oh yeah my truck!!!</span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>#$^@!!!</span></span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I forgot to add the antifreeze to my truck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I meant to do that. I just keep forgetting. Well, the news guy did say ‘near’ freezing. I can wait. I think I will go to bed now. </span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have this personal problem. Some would call it procrastination but I would rather say, I hold off until the need is directly in front of me. It saves so much planning.</span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By some miracle the next evening when I arrived home from work the antifreeze was added to my old trucks radiator. The process sparked a memory. I remembered my son telling me he had had a water leak also. He is a bit better than I am! He fixed his leak by putting in a new radiator. Now that’s a fresh idea. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regardless, if it would have been me, I would probably have forgotten to buy the antifreeze when I bought the radiator. That would have resulted in a new radiator filled with straight water. I would have reasoned I can pick up the antifreeze later. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, naturally I thought my son probably did not have antifreeze in his radiator. What do you think I did with that thought? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he was still a teenager the question would probably have been okay, but still maybe a little insulting but at age 25? GEEZZZEE! What’s wrong with me?</span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think my son is more gracious than I am, but he did ask me why I was asking such a question. </span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I need your help. How should I answer? </span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-64390648130416617392011-11-13T23:24:00.000-08:002011-11-14T00:02:25.284-08:00A 40th HS Reunion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pVT-RFX-u8Y/TsDI-vdc1UI/AAAAAAAAAp8/9k2WziA7mzE/s1600/GQ_71.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pVT-RFX-u8Y/TsDI-vdc1UI/AAAAAAAAAp8/9k2WziA7mzE/s1600/GQ_71.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pVT-RFX-u8Y/TsDI-vdc1UI/AAAAAAAAAp8/9k2WziA7mzE/s320/GQ_71.jpg" width="218" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WOW! He Once had Hair</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Three large cookie trays were spread out on the counter. All were now greased and my daughter was beginning to flatten the stiff dough into the first tray. It looked like hard work. A slight smile was on her face as she methodically worked the dough. </span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> This year it was just my wife and youngest daughter, for the traditional pre-holiday baking. Usually a few others show up for the occasion. Russian tea cakes, camel haystacks, chocolate covered almond bar things??? – I am not sure what they are called, and this year there was a new surprise truffle of some sort. </span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> On these occasions I do my best to stay on the observer side of the kitchen counter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All that activity looks way to much like work for my liking. And, staying out of the fray seems prudent, besides how many cooks does one kitchen really need? I thought two were plenty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> My wife made the mistake of asking me to store the baking results in the freezer. Now, I know that is a lot of work, two trips to the garage, and a lot of responsibility, but she should know better. After all she’s had 38 years to learn my tactics. That said that smaller container strategically placed on the top shelf where short people cannot see, it could be empty before the holidays get here.</span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> A woman’s ability to multitask has often left me with the feeling that we males are actually the weaker sex and that kind of rankles me. Like all God given gifts a person can become over confident in using such a gift and therein lies the opportunity. Sitting across from the ladies watching them do their cooking, I figured if I could distract, the possibility of a miss measure might occur. Yip, presto baloogal, one batch of goodies did not meet the quality control standard for the freezer. There is a nice batch of caramel hay stacks (my personal favorite) that do not hold together properly waiting on the counter for me. YES! I love it when a plan comes together.</span><br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*******</span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> It was a small group, strangers, really. Yet there was a familiarity in the air. A laugh across the room rolled her way, her memory banks stretched, that was a laugh she knew. The face it came from confused her. There was nothing to connect that laugh with the face. Wait, there was something, there in the eyes, something tugged deep pulling it out of the archives of hardened brain matter. She glanced down at his name tag, “Is that you Grayquill?”</span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Last weekend was my fortieth high school reunion. Thinking about how long a forty year time span was made me just plain cranky but after a bit I decided I would embrace the whole affair with exuberance. Now, I gotta tell ya, my exuberance quotient falls a bit below what others might consider high-spirited, but I went forward determined to enjoy the time with old childhood friends. Having had kids of my own and now that they have passed their high school days, I understand the maturity I felt at 17 was nothing more than a feeling and I was still a child at that time. Knowing I was not unique, I went into this affair with the appreciation that my old class mates were also just children the last time I had seen them. Throughout the evening I found myself looking for the children hidden inside my classmates that were housed by almost old bodies. Bumps and bruises of life’s pot holes were either inferred or spoken of openly by the more humble classmates. Successes both professional and relationally were varied from person to person and in the wrinkle department the forty year span had been a great deal kinder to the ladies then us men. </span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> The evening ended, the only disappointment as normal, a highly charged emotional time kept my taste buds from taking in the wood cooked salmon prepared by an accomplished chef. There was profoundness in seeing people who were a part of shaping my personality and values. Seeing them again was better than great. To all my classmates of 1971, I appreciate each and every one of you! </span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> *******</span></div><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Update on Grayquill Musings the book. Nine reviews have been posted on Amazon. Okay….most of them are from good friends and family but there are a couple that are mysteries to me. Thank you! The support is appreciated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2669517949054944028.post-44802652392099016392011-10-30T13:52:00.000-07:002011-10-30T13:52:48.706-07:00Bow and Arrow Adventure<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was 13 years old. My neighbor and I had both acquired bows and arrows. We built a sod house on the edge of a 12-foot embankment. It was exactly like the sod houses that were built on the prairies back in early frontier days – exactly! Ours was not an actual house because it only had walls. We never did figure out how to build roofs. Soon after building this fine sod hideaway, we poked a look-out hole through the side of one wall. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One day, we decided it would be a really great idea for one of us to shoot arrows at the lookout hole, while the other looked through the hole. <br />
It was a game filled with excitement and danger. The sod walls were about eight inches thick, so there was no real risk of the arrow blasting its way through the sod and impaling us. Also, we were not that great of shots, so the likelihood of the arrow actually entering the lookout hole seemed highly unlikely. At this point in time, no one had explained the law of averages to me. Well regardless, we reasoned that in the unlikely event that the arrow did fly into the hole, the person looking through the hole would simply move his head to the side, allowing the arrow to fly harmlessly by. <br />
I wonder what age God actually turns the key to engage the brain of a teenage boy. Something to think about. <br />
This game seemed logical, yet still thick with daring competition. Who could scare the other person the most? This question added a fine flavor of intrigue to the challenge. I was sure I would outdo my neighbor by sending him leaping sideways to the ground to protect himself from my arrows. <br />
Sure enough, one of my arrows flew as true and pretty as a swallow catching a gnat out of mid-air. The arrow sailed straight toward the lookout hole, and my neighbor did the logical thing--he moved his head aside as my arrow flew harmlessly by inches away. What an adrenalin rush! This kept the arrows flying for some time. <br />
There came a time in the shooting, I was looking through the hole. Suddenly, my neighbor let his arrow fly and as sure as a shot that could be made the arrow came straight for the hole. I saw it coming right for the hole and I swear that arrow hypnotized me. I did not and could not move. That arrow smacked me right in the middle of the forehead knocking me down. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our game ended as the sound of arrow hitting skull brought my neighbor dashing over to see the blood rolling down my face into my eyes. I was lucky that the light target arrow had not the momentum, speed, or weight to penetrate the bone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s memories like this that give me a strong inclination to believe in natural selection, but the theory falls completely apart because here I am still writing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Grayquillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03118855928142920785noreply@blogger.com14