I have lived in Metuchen, NJ, all my life. I have been married to my wife Patricia since 1977. I am a former newspaper editor and reporter. I was also the owner-operator of my own small business for several years. I wrote various novels and short stories published during 1980s and 1990s. I am a long-time student of judo and Japanese swordsmanship (kenjutsu). I also play chess, basketball, and military and sports simulations.
We got Patty’s mail-in ballot today. Wahoo. Just fill it out and send it in. None of that bother with a poll worker checking your signature to make sure you’re you. Nobody watching to see who actually goes into the voting booth. No more of those annoying safeguards to preserve the integrity of the election! Just fill it out and send it in.
All for our own good, of course. To protect us from the Pandemic. But there are always diseases in the environment. Is it going to be mail-in votes from now on?
The only comfort I can find in all this is that Democrats are expending their resources to cheat in states which they’re going to win anyway. Why they bother to cheat in solid Blue States is beyond me. They must have money to burn.
We have opened wide the door to voter fraud and begged it to come in. Democrats will see how many votes they need to win and presto! The ballots will magically appear. If they need half a million more votes, that’s how many they’ll find. All they need is a functional printing press.
This is a shameful day in our history. If our republic can survive, it won’t be because Democrats didn’t try to tear it down.
Summer’s over, fall is here. A summer without baseball, without a vacation, without a backyard cookout with the neighbors: without a lot of things. But we did have birds and butterflies, and flowers, and God’s blue sky, green grass, and shining sun.
Thomas Moore wrote poems that bring a tear to the eye; The Last Rose of Summer is one of them. Andre Rieu and his orchestra perform it here.
Without Christ, the losses would be unbearable; but He said, “Behold, I make all things new” (Rev. 21:5) And we believe Him.
Gee! Which bad nooze should I cover this morning? There’s so much to choose from! I guess that’s always the case when a country is teetering on the edge of destruction and its enemies are yelling “Jump! Jump!”
So what should it be? California Gov. Gavin Noisome pledging to phase out the internal combustion engine by 2035–does he plan to still be governor in 2035? Or how about that big-hearted Democrat governor of Virginia, who says whenever there’s a botched abortion, just let the baby die. And ooh-ooh! Michigan’s Democrat governor sez her state will be “carbon-neutral” by 2050! I know witches live a long time, but that’s ridiculous. And I’m not sure what, exactly, “carbon-neutral” means, but I suspect it has something to do with Them taking away your air conditioning.
Or I could just cover the riots, ’cause there’s always riots now–somehow that’s supposed to get Democrats elected–or the drive to canonize Ruth Bader Ginsberg, or maybe the latest Hunter Biden crime festival… How do you choose?
O Lord our God! For the sake of ten just men, you would have spared Sodom. For the sake of those of us who call upon your name, and pray to you for deliverance, spare our America! Your enemies are our enemies, O Lord: tread them underfoot, and knock their hands from our throats. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Humanists get rid of God, leaving the state–that is, themselves–as the highest possible authority. I know it’s hard to account for what happens next without a concept of Original Sin–but as Christians we have that concept, so we can understand humanism’s inevitable drift into tyranny. The alternative, with every fat-head parading around as his own god, can only be anarchy; but they can’t keep that going for any length of time.
Mark puts it in a nutshell: “The problem is too much power.”
Short but very sweet–cats being friends with monkeys, a horse, an owl, and a baby gorilla.
Our cat Henry used to sit and watch our painted turtle by the hour–I’m sure I don’t know why. The turtle used to go into his “Feed me!” routine, fully confident that Henry would oblige him. It was an odd little friendship.
Well, how about a book update, then? And meanwhile the latest addition to my Bell Mountain series, His Mercy Endureth Forever, doesn’t seem to have quite hit the mark on amazon.com.
Every day it doesn’t rain, I’m outside, writing Behold!, longhand on a legal pad. I got a nice piece of it done this morning.
But if you’re going to ask me, “Behold what?”, I’m afraid I don’t yet know. The title just popped into my head, so I used it. I suppose I could change the title, but I like to write these books according to the guidance I receive from the Lord, day by day. So I still don’t know what anybody in the story is going to behold. I’ve been in this situation many times before, though, and the Lord has never left me hanging.
Sometimes writing a novel is like playing chess. You have all these pieces to move, and if you can steer them into the right configuration, you’ll be in position to deliver checkmate. In the novel you’re moving characters, not chessmen; and for the story to turn out right, each character has to be moved into the right place to deliver the story’s climax.
With this book I feel like something’s got to come together soon because the warm weather won’t last but a month or two longer and I just can’t write fiction indoors. Too many distractions. But if it’s really cold outside, the ink won’t come out of my pen.