Book promo…

First up is Dorothy Grant with a new novel- Going Ballistic

As always, click on the cover for the amazon link to the book!

The blurb-

When her plane tries to come apart at apogee during a hijack, ballistic airline pilot Michelle Lauden handles the worst day she could imagine. After getting down without losing any passengers or crew, though, she finds her troubles have just begun!

The country she’s landed in has just declared independence from the Federation. The Feds intended her passengers to be the first casualties in the impending war – and they’re not happy she’s survived to contradict their official narrative in the news.

The local government wants to find her to give her a medal. The Feds are hunting her to give her an unmarked grave. As they both close in, Michelle’s running out of options and time. The only people able to protect her are an accident investigation team on loan from the Federation’s enemies… the same enemies who sent her hijackers in the first place.

And they have their own plans for her, and the country she’s in!

I got to alpha read it, really enjoyable!

Next is Nathan Brindle, also known as the Fuzzy Curmudgeon with a short story- Saving the Spring


The blurb-

Jack Randall knew immediately something was off when he pulled up to the old roadhouse.

Little did he know that crossing paths that night with the establishment’s beautiful bartender and her handsomely-rugged boyfriend/cook would lead to him recalling his former life as a god – or fighting a rematch with the god who had stolen his memories.

Oops… Wrong book… fixed! Last but not least, Alma Boykin has another book in the Familiar Tales series out- Horribly Familiar

The blurb-

Love, romance, curses, and . . . chaperones?

Nothing aside from magic comes easily for two shadow mages. André Lestrang relocates to Riverton just in time for the summer humidity and storm season. He and his fiancée Lelia Chan struggle to balance work, magic, their relationship, and his Army career. When someone sends a magical package bomb to one of their friends, a chain reaction of trouble ensues.

Add in two Familiars determined to ensure that their mages don’t get “in trouble” before the wedding, the usual mischief a ring-tailed lemur, kit fox, wolverine, and others can devise, and a dash of new responsibilities to the magical community. Lelia and André discover that the summer starts to feel . . . Horribly Familiar.

I’ll recommend all three of them!

Memorial Day…

Thank you to those who have gone before us and given their all for us…

Hand Salute!

Ready, Two.

Let me leave you with this:

Who are the Veterans?…”Veterans are Fathers, Mothers, Sons, Daughters, Brothers, Sisters, Friends and Lovers. They are the elderly people who can barely stand but refuse to sit when old glory passes by. They are the people who sit quietly thinking of a plan when everyone else is panicking; the ones who stand up for somebody’s rights even though they may disagree with them. They are the ones who celebrate Memorial Day and Veterans Day everyday of the year. They are the people who keep going when everybody else gives up. They know the meaning of “The Ultimate Sacrifice” and are willing to make it without a second thought. They do not ask for praise or glory, only that you Honor those who have given their all.”

Here we go again…

Friday night was some nasty weather, softball sized hail 3 miles north of us, tornadoes to the south…

And we restarted our weekly dinners last night.

And as of 2200 last night, this was about to hit us

So… go read the folks on the sidebar, I didn’t have time to get a post up by the time everybody left and this crap showed up…

Regular blogging will resume tomorrow.



Or history and facts are forever…

The 2006 Origins of the Lockdown Idea comes from a high school student’s science project, HERE.  Sigh…

And an interesting and current graphic…

And then there is this one… Apparently Lena Dunham flunked history…

Move that paper forward a year or so and Britain was being bombed too…

Western snippet…

Stream of consciousness, as usual…

Comments appreciated as always!


Rio turned onto the trail beside the river and said softly, “Don’t look like a river to me, but I think Uncle Ethan brought me this way before, so I guess this is the Cache la Poudre. We’re almost there Red.” He started humming softly and Red, his roan gelding, twitched his ears. “Okay, okay no singing. Maybe an hour Red, then you’ll be home and I’ll get you get a nice bait of grub and a stall, then I get a real bed, not a damn bedroll on the ground!”

Buck and Jack had been taking turns watching the river trail from their vantage point on the ridgeline since early morning. Jack was snoring lightly, laying in the shade of the pines, propped on his saddle. Buck saw the lone cowboy coming up the river trail. “Too far,” he mumbled to himself. After fifteen minutes or so, he eased the new Winchester rifle with its Malcolm scope across the back of his saddle, grumbling a bit as he finally got the rider in the scope, slowly let out his breath, and touched off a round.

The shot echoed down the canyon as Buck watched the rider fall from the saddle and lie still in the middle of the trail. The roan scampered a few yards up the trail and stopped as Jake jerked away grabbing for his gun until he heard Buck laugh.

Buck laughed. “Got ‘im. I tole ya I could hit him from here!”

Jack crawled forward and peered over Buck’s saddle, “Are you sure? The ol’ man don’t want anybody goin up that trail.”

Buck replied, “You see him layin’ there. If ya don’t believe me, go look for yourself!”

Jack got up, “Nah, it ain’t worth the ride, whoever he is ain’t moved. He’s dead.” Jack looked at the sun’s position and continued, “If’n we’re gonna get back to the ranch, we need to mount and ride. We’ll come back tomorrow and get his horse and saddle. It’s too far back to the crossing to make it over there today. And that horse ain’t gonna stray that far.”

In answer, Buck picked up his saddle and started saddling his chestnut as Jack threw his saddle over his grey gelding.


As dusk was falling, the roan nudged Rio’s foot again. He moaned and finally rolled over.  Staggering to his feet, his head covered with blood, he stumbled toward his horse. Red shied away at the smell of the fresh blood and Rio grumped, “Dammit Red, stand still!” He grabbed the stirrup mumbling to himself as he climbed into the saddle. Leaning forward he mumbled, “Com’on Red, go home. Go home, fella.”

The roan turned and plodded slowly up the river trail as dusk turned to night, the cowboy swaying in the saddle.

Red stood ground reined in front the old stone cabin and Rio slumped on the steps, too dizzy to even try to make it up the steps. Going in and out of consciousness, he wondered if he’s going to die before his uncle, Ethan came back. Pretty sure I sent him a message I was coming to see him on the way back. He should have gotten the message. Too dizzy… “I’ll get you in the stable Red, you just gotta wait.”

Red pricked his ears, turned and neighed as a man riding a horse came into the clearing. Rio looked up, and saw an old Mountain Man, late 60’s, solidly build, bearded with long gray hair, dressed in buckskins, “Unk Ethan, I’m…I’ve been shot.”

Monte Henderson, the old mountain man, tied his horse to the rudimentary stable, and walked slowly over, his old Colt Navy conversion in his hand. “Damn, I’m getting tired of findin’ bodies up here.” Getting his toe under Rio, he flipped him over, and Rio moaned. Monte leveled his pistol, “Well, you ain’t dead are ya?”

“Help me or shoot me, but you better not kick me again, ol’ man. Pretty bad when you kick your own kin.”

“Hell boy, you ain’t in any shape to tell me anything, and you ain’t my kin.” Monte shook his head, and stepped around him, going into the cabin. He found the table and felt the lamp, with the chimney raised and pulled out a Lucifer, lit it, and carried it back out the door. He looked Rio over, then took the lamp back inside, leaving the door open.

Shuffling and grunting he got Rio up and into the cabin, half carrying him to a bunk and rolling him into it. “Damn boy, you a heavy one, lessee where you been shot.” He holds the lamp over Rio, and asks again, “Where you shot boy?”

Rio mumbled, “I dunno, my head hurts real bad. I member falling, nothin’ else.”

“Only thing I see is this scalp wound, don’t look like you’re hit anywhere else.”

“I can’t see real well, ‘m seein two of ya Unk Ethan.”

“I ain’t Ethan, lemme see if’n I can patch you up there boy.” Monte rummaged around, heated some water, and found an old shirt that he tore strips off of for a bandage, and some left over horse liniment. He turned back and saw that Rio has passed out, “Well, this makes it easy. You ain’t gonna complain are you, boy?” Dabbing a corner of the shirt in the hot water, he patiently worked the blood out of the scalp wound, slapped some horse liniment on it, and wrapped a strip of shirt around Rio’s head. He tied it off, grunted and said, “Huh. Dunno if you’re going to make it or not, boy. We’ll see if you’re alive in the morning.

Taking the lamp, he went out, grabbed Red’s reins, then led him over to the stable, unsaddled his horse, put it in a stall, pitched some hay in, then repeated the evolution with Red. He set both saddles over the rail of the empty stall and hung the bridles from the saddle horns, then picked up his trap door Springfield and Rio’s Spencer and walked slowly back to the cabin.


Miles away, in the bunkhouse on the Circle K ranch, Buck snorted and laughed as he said, “You shudda seen it boys, at least 300 yards weren’t it, Jack?”

Jack leaned back in his chair. “Maybe, but it was downhill, so it was a pretty good un.”

Callahan sipped his coffee and asked, “What did the ole man say?  You gonna get a bonus for this un?”

“He ain’t said yet, but I think so, He wuz real happy ‘bout what we done though.”

Callahan spit in the fireplace. “Taint fair, I set on that damn trail for a whole week and never saw nobody but our riders.  How come you get ‘em all Buck?  Ain’t this your third one?”

Jack plopped his chair down, interrupting, “Buck’s just lucky, but with the boss wantin’ to get the rest of that range, everybody’ll get some of that money sooner or later.”

Callahan rolled his shoulders and walked to the door, throwing the remnants of the coffee out. Dropping the cup on the battered table, he said, “Maybe I get off this damn nighthawk shit, I can get some. I’m as good a shot as you are Buck, and you damn well know it.”

Buck bristled, then saw that the thong was off Callahan’s pistol. He shrugged. “Ain’t my call. Talk to the segundo.”

“Maybe I will. C’mon, Murphy. We gotta ride.”

Buck grinned. “Have fun boys!”

Murphy contented himself with smacking Buck in the back of the head as he went by. As he and Callahan walked down to the corral, he asked, “How come we keep getting the nighthawking and they get all the good jobs and bonuses?”

“Probably because they have no problem killing somebody by shootin’ them in the back. I ain’t that cold blooded.”

Murphy snorted. “Or from ambush, apparently…” They quickly caught horses, saddled them and rode out into the night.


Monte poured a cup of coffee and walked over to Rio, kicking his foot. “You still alive boy?”

“Yeah old man, I’m still alive. And I’m not a boy! Name’s Rio, Rio Hackett.”

“Okay boy, and I ain’t Ethan, or whatever you called me last night.”

Rio sat up with a groan, holding his head. “Well, ya kinda looked like him last night. And you sure as hell act like him,” he winced, “I don’t feel so good, still can’t see worth a damn and my head is killing me. Where am I?”

Monte pushed the cup into Rio’s hands, “Here. Drink this and I’ll try to find some herbs to put in a poultice on yer head. You’re in a cabin on a bench in Poudre Canyon. I found ya on the steps last night.”


Here we go again with releasing inmates…

New Jersey will release as many as 1,000 people from its jails in what is believed to be the nation’s broadest effort to address the risks of the highly contagious coronavirus spreading among the incarcerated.

The order applies to inmates jailed for probation violations as well as to those convicted in municipal courts or sentenced for low-level crimes in Superior Court. The release of inmates will begin Tuesday morning.

Full article, HERE from NY Post.

This at the same time that New York and California are dealing with recidivism in those criminals released amid the WuFlu scare…

And NYC ‘almost’ let a few really bad apples out, HERE

Of course this is happening in states where CCW is almost non-existent, and LEOs are being told to not write tickets, arrest unless it is a ‘serious’ offense. And word on the street is that crime in NYC is up by 75% in some locations.

And California is no better… A ‘sterling’ example, if you will, is HERE.

But if you, as a citizen, step out of line, YOU will be arrested and put in jail. There is ‘something’ wrong with this picture…

I just can’t put my finger on it…

Aviation ‘humor’…

Pilots are people who drive airplanes for other people who can’t fly.

They invented wheelbarrows to teach FAA inspectors to walk on their hind legs.

The FAA Motto: We’re not happy till you’re not happy.

Fighter Pilots: Cold, steely eyed, weapons systems managers who kill bad people and break things. However, they can also be very charming and personable. The average Fighter Pilot, despite sometimes having a swaggering exterior, is very much capable of such feelings as love, affection, intimacy and caring. These feelings just don’t involve anyone else.

Words of Wisdom From Aviators:

Flying is a hard way to earn an easy living.

Both optimists and pessimists contribute to society. The optimist invents the airplane; the pessimist, the parachute.

If helicopters are so safe, how come there are no vintage helicopter fly-ins?

Death is just nature’s way of telling you to watch your airspeed.

Real planes use only a single stick to fly. This is why bulldozers and helicopters­ (in that order) ­need two.

There are only three things the copilot should ever say:

1. Nice landing, Sir.

2. I’ll buy the first round.

3. I’ll take the fat one.

As a pilot only two bad things can happen to you and one of them will:

a. One day you will walk out to the aircraft knowing that it is your last flight.

b. One day you will walk out to the aircraft not knowing that it is your last flight.

There are Rules and there are Laws:

The Rules are made by men who think that they know better how to fly your airplane than you.

Laws (of Physics) were ordained by God.

You can, and sometimes should, suspend the Rules, but you can never suspend the Laws.

About Rules:

a. The rules are a good place to hide if you don’t have a better idea and the talent to execute it.

b. If you deviate from a rule, it must be a flawless performance (e.g., If you fly under a bridge, don’t hit the bridge.)

Additional pilot & aircraft insights:

The ideal pilot is the perfect blend of discipline and aggressiveness.

The medical profession is the natural enemy of the aviation profession.

Ever notice that the only experts who decree when the age of the pilot is over are people who have never flown anything? Also, in spite of the intensity of their feelings that the pilot’s day is over, I know of no expert who has volunteered to be a passenger in a non-piloted aircraft.

Before each flight, make sure that your bladder is empty and your fuel tanks are full; check T/O wt….

He who demands everything that his aircraft can give him is a pilot; he that demands one iota more is a fool.

There are certain aircraft sounds that can only be heard at night.

The aircraft limits are only there in case there is another flight by that particular aircraft. If subsequent flights do not appear likely, there are no limits.

Flying is a great way of life for men who want to feel like boys, but not for those who still are.

“If the Wright brothers were alive today, Wilbur would have to fire Orville to reduce costs.” President, DELTA Airlines.

In the Alaskan bush I’d rather have a two-hour bladder and three hours of gas than vice versa.

It’s not that all airplane pilots are good-looking. It’s just that good-looking people seem more capable of flying airplanes.

An old pilot is one who can remember when flying was dangerous and sex was safe.

Airlines have really changed, now a flight attendant can get a pilot pregnant.

I’ve flown in both pilot seats, can someone tell me why the other one is always occupied by an idiot?

Son, you’re going to have to make up your mind about growing up and becoming a pilot. You can’t do both.

There are only two types of aircraft­ – fighters and targets.

The scientific theory I like best is that the rings of Saturn are composed entirely of lost airline baggage.

You define a good flight by negatives: you didn’t get hijacked, you didn’t crash, you didn’t throw up, you weren’t late, and you weren’t nauseated by the food. So you’re grateful.

A good landing is one that you can walk away from….and excellent landing is one where you can reuse the airplane (OK-3 wire on the carrier).

Fighter pilots make movies, bomber pilots make history.


So, you think you’re smart, well studied, etc…

You only need 4 correct out of 10 questions to pass.

1) How long did the Hundred Years’ War last?

2) Which country makes Panama hats?

3) From which animal do we get cat gut?

4) In which month do Russians celebrate the October Revolution?

5) What is a camel’s hair brush made of?

6) The Canary Islands in the Pacific are named after what animal?

7) What was King George VI’s first name?

8) What color is a purple finch?

9) Where are Chinese gooseberries from?

10) What is the color of the black box in a commercial airplane?

Remember, you need only 4 correct answers to pass. They are below the fold.

Continue reading


One of my readers sent me this…

Apparently was in San Diego paper last week!!!

No sugarcoating in this one, not a bit!!! 🙂

Cabin fever???

Somebody, I don’t remember who was bitching about cabin fever yesterday. Somebody else posted a pic of enlisted sailors spaces on ships/subs.

The comeback was dismissive, words to the effect that ‘all’ officers have private staterooms on ‘all’ Navy vessels…

Welp, I hate to say it, but no they don’t…

This is a ‘typical’ junior office ‘stateroom’ on a submarine, taken from the door… Three JOs live in here, lowest ranked/junior gets the bottom rack. A fold down sink is it, and three small lockers, about twice the width of a high school locker, plus some storage you can see in the far bulkhead of each rack. What is not shown is there would also be at least two chairs in there…

And they get to spend 30-90 days in here with no days off. Normal watch schedule is eight-on, sixteen-off watches, there are normally only 2 people there at a time, but it’s still crowded. And usually the junior has the last watch (0000-0800).

The ONLY ‘private’ stateroom on a sub is the CO’s, and it’s about the same size, but with a desk and other items taking up room.

Ships aren’t much better, but at least as you go up in rank, you eventually get to a 2 person room!