What Day Is It?

 Not much has changed since last I wrote a post.  The smoke still hangs in the air irritating throats, eyes and humor.  The heat still soars into the high 90s to low 100s on a daily basis. Tempers are short.

This seems to be  the perfect storm of things gone wrong. Days run together to the point I have to ask myself what day it is or sneak a peak if I happen to be reading the paper. 

I have lived through a lot during my many years on this earth but I cannot, ever, remember when people have been so self serving, identities so run amok and common sense a relic of the dark ages. What has happened to us as a race?

I can't judge what is happening in other countries because my information is scant and most likely skewed, but I can judge what's going on in this country. It makes me sad and angry at the same time.  People who are in my age group are some of the worst offenders and those are the ones I'm most angry with.  They know better, but somewhere along the way the power they lust for, and in too many cases, have, just isn't enough.  Why is that?  Like me, many are in what will probably be the last, or nearly the last, decade of their lives.  They have every material thing they could possibly want and they have their power. Do they not realize they are going to be reviled after they are gone just as much as they are today? Do they not realize memories of them are going to fade and at some point in time they will be known as another dead white or black or brown person who were a flash in the pan in the grand scheme of things? Will history judge them well?  I doubt it.

I don't understand egos like that. I don't understand how the here and now and their power to mold it doesn't bring out the best in them instead of the worst.

An aside here about why I began writing children's books in my late 70s. I wanted to chronicle what life was like when I grew up.  A time when parents and teachers were on the same wave length, when kids understood the value of authority and the meaning of respect.  When boys were boys and girls were girls. When kids were allowed to run free because their parents trusted them.  I purposely used a big, lovable St. Bernard as my protagonist because I didn't want to preach to them.  I wanted them to see life as a wild and wonderful romp, an adventure to be explored and celebrated.

Now too many parents are cowed by those who speak louder.  Shame on them. What ever happened to moral courage.  Why do we allow ourselves to be dictated to by people who can't get their eyes off their phones or computer screens? Why are we so afraid of being criticized by name callers who often don't even have the courage to use their own! How can those of you who succumb  look at your own reflection in a mirror without feeling some degree of revulsion?

What day is it? I do know it's not the day in which I grew up. It pains me to think this may be the new normal for the children of today and tomorrow. We should all be ashamed for we all share in the blame.

Don't Let the Smoke Get in Your Eyes...

 If you ever wondered what life would be like if you lived in your backyard smoker, it might be something like this.

This was sunset last evening. The odd thing is there are no fires close by.  That's how bad it is. 

Everything reeks.  Your clothes, your hair. Your eyes sting and your throat is raw. The temperatures have been in the high 90s and 100s for weeks now. There is no rain in sight.

 Our president says these fires need urgent attention.  They've been buying out of control for how long now? The problem is we're running out of firefighters!

I have a theory about climate change. For all those who think deadfall should just stay put, this is the end result of that thinking.  It's tinder dry and fuel for fires that are destroying homes and decimating wildlife.

Those who say we'll all be dead in ten years or so if we continue at our current pace, that may be true but not for the reasons they preach. It will because there will be no farms left to produce food, nor wildlife left to maintain balance. It will be just one big, charred landscape brought about by those who think they know more than land management professionals and mandate ridiculous policy. 

The smoke has fogged their eyes and brains for longer than I care to think...

Books, Books and More Books

 I'm going to whine here for a minute.  It's still getting into the 100s everyday. I'm hot, I'm tired and I'm discouraged.

All will pass in time, but that's where I am today. 

The biggest piece of advice I can give anyone who is considering self-publishing the great American novel is to have a huge budget.

You will be inundated with offers guaranteed to launch you the top of all lists necessary to be a smashing success.  How do you know who is legit and who isn't? No easy answer.  One thing they all have in common is they're costly. 

I'll be the first to admit I didn't do enough homework to begin with. Like any author, I believe in my characters and where their journey is headed.  They have garnered a fair number of fans, but not enough to claim any degree of success. 

I've made plenty of mistakes too.  I deviated from my initial agenda by writing a prequel to please a group of followers.  The upside is I was able to introduce some new characters, but they would have come anyway.  Perhaps not as they were in the prequel but they were in the plans.  Slobbers parents and how he became a shelter dog.

I launched the prequel, which is really just a short story, too soon after launching the second book in the series and that took away valuable time in promoting it.  It got lost in the shuffle.  Now the enthusiasm of the prequel has died down too, so I have to ramp up everything.

Plus, at the advice of my publishing people, I created an Etsy site and a shop on Zazzel to sell Slobbers merchandise as a means of generating revenue for the publishing fund.  Designing anything takes more time.  Fortunately I don't have to work on book illustrations at the moment.  And truthfully, I don't think I can generate enough income to make it worthwhile so I may just chuck it and concentrate on promoting the books -  if I can figure out something innovative.  You can only do so much on social media.

So, okay.  End of whine and I apologize for having indulged myself.  Sometimes it helps to just shout it out.  Consider it done.

What's next? I don't know but I'll keep this old blog going.  It just won't all be on self-publishing. Thanks fo the ear.

My Heros!

 Imagine the temperatures are pushing 90 degrees before it's even noon. The multi-thousand acre fire you're fighting is maybe 20%, if that, contained. There is no rain in the forecast, but maybe some dry thunder storms. The smoke hangs in the air so thick it penetrates every nook and cranny of your gear, no matter how well designed.

These are the wildfire fighters,  another category of first responder who are called forth every summer to face heat and drought and smoke and exhaustion in order to save not only our woodlands and wildlife, but also untold numbers of towns, homes and families, pets and livestock from the devastation of wildfire.

I live here.  Often I can see smoke billowing from the hills.  It hangs in the air where I live and I'm buying stock in  drops for my eyes.  My wheezing has nothing to do with Covid, but rather the inhalation of smoke that cannot be avoided.

It saps your energy.  Granted, I'm no kid and it doesn't take as much to wear me down as it used to, but I have lived here for years and it has always been the same.

How do these firefighters do it?  They carry gear and packs and face unbearable heat from the fires alone not to mention what Mother Nature adds to it.  While their contemporaries are at the beach, nearly naked, frolicking in cool water, the water these guys get is the sweat from their brow and maybe the tears from those they've saved.

People in the west love these guys with a passion.  They come in, do their job and leave.  Not just guys, either, there are plenty of young women among their ranks.  

How 'bout giving them some special accolades, too? After all, they come out year in and year out because the wildfires always pop up like clock work.

For me? It's hot and uncomfortable in my office and my eyes burn so I get little done these days. Poor me. Ha! Were it not for my heros I could well be sitting in a shelter some place, wondering if I have a home to return to, and if not, what shall become of me.

But my heros are there.  And they will be for as long as they're needed. They are heros and patriots.  They certainly don't do it for the money. Maybe one of our erstwhile western politicians could get a National Wildfire Fighters Week designated and we could fete them as they deserve.

That Lucky Old Sun Has Nothin' To Do Except Make the Rest of Us Miserable!

Whew and whew again! We're going on three weeks now where out temperatures have soared into the 100s every single day.

I don't know what we did to make the ole sun unhappy, but he's doing a pretty good job of making us miserable for it.  I live in the Inland Northwest where averages this time of year are in the very temperate 80s.  Not so this year.

All my good intentions of reviving this blog are on hiatus until things settle down.  My office is in our shop which is not air conditioned so I depend on what cool a fan can generate. I can tell you, it's not enough to stimulate creativity nor good humor nor staying power.

I try to spend a bit of time tending to business regardless of the heat but it's usually very short lived.  On top of that, this is summer in the west which means the entire region is on fire.  The wind is hot, the air acrid with smoke from the wildfires and my eyes itch like crazy. Not a good combination.  The only saving grace is I don't have to wear a mask!  That would be the last straw.