Tears and Tales

Mid November

2007-11-13T08:33:00.000-05:00

Well, it's really been quite a month so far. First of all, I have four MSN email addresses and one by one, they all locked up. It's fun. I can read that people have sent me email but I can't open any of them. I can't get to my address book either. So I've been searching my memory for email addresses and going through drawers trying to find printed out emails. I've also started a number of email addresses at various sites, hoping that not all of them will crash at one time.

I've tried different computers at different locations to open the email. That didn't work. I've tried unplugging the computer. Hitting the CPU. Except for the fact that I know it is not this computer, I'd throw it out.

The fun part of the month so far was the Kentucky Book Fair. Lots of authors. Lots of patrons. We had great fun meeting friends from other book fairs and meeting new authors whom I am sure we will see again. We met lots of great folks and had a chance to talk to them about our books and many of them bought. Which was very exciting for us.

But live doesn't slow down just because the book fair season ends. In the two days that we have been home, I've been to a baby shower and thrown a party for our new neighbors. All my girl friends brought food and none of them took any home so I figure I don't need to cook for about a week. And we have lots of desserts!!

Book Fairs

2007-11-03T13:01:00.000-04:00

Well, we spent most of the month of October running around Kentucky, West Virginia and Virginia, selling our books. It was beautiful weather and the fall colors in the mountains were just spectacular. We were really pleased with the sales but came home exhausted, swearing that we'd never go for more than four days again.

Since I haven't figured out how to post photos on the blog yet, please visit www.krazyduck.com to see them.

Anyway, we started out local, in Knifley, KY, which is only about a 20 minute drive from home. It was a day long event at the Janice Holt Giles home -- a combined book fair and arts and craft fair. The booksellers were inside the house which was probably better than being outside as the day started off quite cool and ended up quite hot. One lady selling earrings was sitting holding an umbrella to keep the sun off. We met up with Russ's friend, Mike. They had met at the Danville Bookfair in March. And we had some nice conversations with the Bardstown Booksellers who were in the same room. They were doing appraisals which was fun to watch and listen to. And they had been on Antique Roadshow in Louisville so it was fun to hear all the behind-the-scenes stuff that goes into that show.

Our long road trip took us to Pikeville, Kentucky, for a day. Then it was on to Lewisburg, West Virginia, for two events in one day. And then on to Clifton Forge, Virginia, for a day, and then on to Waynesboro, Virginia, for the Book Em event. Book Em foundation helps to prevent illiteracy by sponsoring a book fair. 40% of all sales goes to the foundation. Then it was back to Clifton Forge for a couple of days that included three events.

The highlight of the trip for me was Nancy. She drove about 45 miles to show me an original copy of a November, 1917, edition of The Stars and Stripes. Her father had fought in the First World War and been wounded. His wounds were so severe that he was put aside with the other men that the medics thought would die before they could be operated on. The next morning as they were moving the dead bodies they found Nancy's father alive! He was treated and received medals for his wounds. The family, however, was told he had died so they were shocked when months later he appeared at the door.

We were home for a week and then it was off to Western Kentucky, Sturgis to be exact, for their bookfair. That was lots of fun because we met up with three couples that we knew from prior bookfairs so there was lots of catching up to do.

Next weekend we are off to the Kentucky Book Fair in Frankfort and then the bookfair season ends until spring.

It will be nice to slow down and catch up. But tonight it's off to a Halloween party -- delayed because we weren't home last weekend.

So busy

2007-09-24T15:52:00.000-04:00

We have been so busy, I can't quite believe it. We went to the Decatur Book Fair in Georgia the first weekend of this month and did quite well, plus had some great meals. Shortly after we got home, one of our riding horses started to founder. So after treating him and getting him right, we've been doing as much riding as possible so that we "ride the weight" off the trail horses. That was going great until the heat blazed back this past weekend. Now the horses want to come in the airconditioned house instead of being ridden!

Spunky had a fight with a woodchuck and ultimately won but in the process he received a couple of bites. One on his leg didn't heal quite right so we finally took him to the vet -- who said it was healing fine but Spunky had pancreatitis. So we've been treating him for that and watching his diet. No more dead deer for him!

And, of course, that's a problem because it's so dry the creeks are drying up. The deer are drinking from stagnate pools and getting blue tongue disease from which they die in 72 hours. We are hoping for some rain this week which might ease the problem.

Sweet Pea has been wonderful with Spunky since he's been sick. He has to walk on a leash and not be let loose. So whenever he is tied up, Sweet Pea sits down right next to him and keeps him company. A neighbor's dog showed up to play with Spunky, who just didn't feel up to it. Sweet Pea barked and growled and finally jumped on the dog to get it to leave Spunky alone. Quite the mother dog.

Please visit www.krazyduck.com to see all the places we will be in October. It's almost mind boggling.

Hello again - sort of

2007-09-08T13:46:00.000-04:00

Hi!

Russ is into so many things that I was having a very hard time getting him to write something for his blog. Ok, so it would have been easier if he were willing to us my computer but after AOL kicked him off for trying to send 684 bulk mailings (he swears he didn't), he hasn't touched this computer since.

So I have decided instead of nagging, I am just going to start blogging.

I have no plan in mind. Not idea of what I'll write about any given time. Or whether it is even worth it. But, let's see.

The summer was hot, humid and busy. Grandchildren visited in July with their parents. Then in August we had grandson, Mikey, for over two weeks. He had lots of fun in the creeks and swimming and learning to shoot and he even got a chance to go hunting with Papa Russ. We also made some day trips; one to the Frazier Museum and one to Kentucky Down Under where he got to pet a kangaroo and bottle feed a lamb.

Labor Day weekend saw us in Decatur, Georgia, for a book fair. Traffic was unbelievable. But then coming from here where a log truck or a truck with a trailer full of hay, is traffic, what did I expect? We had lots of fun and sold enough books to cover the cost of the booth and then some.

October is full of book fairs -- one almost every weekend.

Over the course of the next week or so I am going to try to figure out how to post photos to this blog. And I'll figure out more to say.

See ya. Virginia

2007-04-07T17:02:00.000-04:00

We are off to Portovenere (Port of Venus) which is on the western Italian coast. This is often referred to as Cinque Terre and for those non-Italians, it is pronounced CHIN KA TERRA. The shoreline is known as Riviera del Levante, or the Resort of the Rising Sun. This is the isolated and rugged part of the coast line.

The most remarkable thing about Portevenere is the first appearance as you come into the bay area. The houses are actually a wall, standing next to one another and colored with dull yellows and reds, light and dark grays. Because such coastal villages were the target of pirates and plunderers, the inhabitants decided to build their homes in the form of a wall. Rather than walling the town as many other areas did, they built their homes, one right next to another and high enough to form a wall. Behind the first row, the land climbs into a second tear and hence into another wall of homes.

When one thinks of the Riviera, he probably thinks of sandy beaches and modern cities. That is partly true of the French Riviera which does front on a modern city; although the beaches are not sand, they are rock and the attraction is not the water but the warm weather where people from the cold north of Europe can escape. And it is partly true of the Italian Riviera, but there is also a rugged coastline that spans eleven miles of sheer rock and cliffs so steep that only the hardiest can work them.

Into these sheer cliffs the villagers have terraced vineyards and olive trees. In some sections a person may purchase a small parcel of this land provided she agrees to keep it ecologically sound and works to keep it that way.

Yes, there are tourists who visit there. A lot of boats pull into these remote villages. But the character of the village does not change. There is a subtle dignity and individuality to each village. The villagers go about their normal day as if the tourist does not exist. They meet your eyes with a quiet confidence that tells you they are the inhabitant and you are the stranger. The merchants do not hawk their wares but permit you time to view and decide. And if you pass without purchasing, they do not say, “Have a nice day.” They simply go about their business as if you had never been there in the first place. Oh, but it’s hard to pass up the goods and the bargains.

It is sad to be there and not know the language for I am certain these people all have tales to tell and I am equally certain that at night, they sit around their fires, sipping a glass of wine and speaking of the funny looking tourists they saw that day. But when one is in a nation where he does not speak or understand the language, only then do we understand that the mind communicates by thought and not by word, and there are always ways to communicate the thought. Most of the menus were in Italian and English but even if they had not been, one would not starve. Sometimes mere eye contact was enough to affirm that a friendship can be struck even without knowing the language.

The modern names suggest that the area was settled by the Romans and indeed there is evidence of Roman engineering. The harbors are well sheltered and well maintained; otherwise, tourist boats could not get there. Once the boat (ship) has deposited its guests, it leaves the harbor and anchors outside. Once headed back to Portovenere, white wine is passed around to the passengers along with focaccia (a kind of bread) and cheese from the local areas just visited. Focaccia has a delicious texture, the softness of a bun, the sweetness of pastry, not really bread, not really cake, but a perfect blend of both.

I wish we had more time to spend in each village. Next blog I’ll write about the two villages we did visit.

Seabourn Crew Members

2007-03-17T13:07:00.000-04:00

Before I go on about our trip, let me at least speak of some of the crew members we met on shipboard. I don't know how they manage to select these fine young people, but they are from all over the world. Gael from France had one of the funniest senses of humor I have ever encountered. He would make a seemingly sarcastic remark with a completely deadpan face but he had a sharp wit. Just a loveable guy. He insisted on reading my book Tears and Tales so we mailed him a copy. He likes to go home and sleep late, except his mother keeps waking him up and telling him to do something useful. All these kids work twelve hour shifts for three to eight months at a time.

Then there was Kevin who we saw most nights at dinner. From South Africa, his father is a doctor practicing in England, his brother is a dentist practicing in Ireland, his mother lives in South Africe at the main dwelling and his girlfriend was waiting until his eight month tour was over so they could get married. It's not often one gets an invitation to South Africa. We may just take him up on it.

Kevin was on the taller side, usually wore a vest and did a little two step dance somewhat reminiscent of Groucho Marx. But a kinder person one never meets. When we had 12 foot seas and Virginia suffered mal de mer (sea sickness for those who do not speak French), Kevin insisted on bringing her some ginger. Ginger is an old remedy for an upset stomach. Now, he didn't send it down with one of the staff. He brought it down himself to our suite to see how she was doing.

We never finished a meal and left the Veranda restaurant without him giving Virginia a warm hug and me a hearty handshake or arm around the shoulder. It was a sad day when we had our last meal there. Kevin seemed to hang around through most of our meal. At times he seemed afraid to make eye contact. I think if he had, we all would have cried.

Then there was Mihai from Romania whose wife was also on board. The company allows them to work the same ship and to room together. They also get perks if patrons write about them and compliment their handling. Now Mihai and I met on the first cruise when he kept accidentally bumping into me. I may have said this before but I'll repeat it.

As he passed the last time, I looked up at him and said: "You don't want to break your record now, Mihai. You haven't missed me yet." I guess he felt comfortable with us on the second cruise because he smiled at me and said: "I don't bump into you deliberately. I bump into you because I don't like you." And with that, he gave me a smile and Romanian bear hug. On the day we left he came up from his post downstairs to wish us well and to say goodbye. I never saw a more sad face and yet we've known him only a short time. I guess if I had been looking in a mirror, my own face would not have been so happy either.

Mihai wasn't the only one from Romania. Carmen was also from there and I kept thinking she was Cuban or Spanish because she had a cream-colored complexion, chunky features and long, brown hair. Turns out she is from Romania and told me something I did not know -- Romania is a Latin country and not Slavic as I always believed. They have many words similar to Spanish.

Be that as it may, Carmen made absolutely sure we had everything at our meals that we wanted. If they dind't have it one day, she made sure they had it the next.

We met so many friends on board it would be hard to define them all. I did write to the company and compliment each and every one and, if we take another cruise, it will be because of these wonderful kids who work endless hours to make the passengers comfortable.

Someone very special to me was a six-foot-eleven inch German lad named Gunnar. He was the wine captain. When Virginia asked for Frangelica, he said they did not carry it on board. But the next day he had six bottles brought in from the mainland. (Virginia did not drink all six!) He knew I was a brandy drinker so after each meal, he raced down two flights of stairs to the main bar and came back with one brandy and one Frangelica.

The night we had the rough seas it was positively amazing to see him maneuver that super tall frame of his as dishes and settings were crashing to the floor. At one point the ship listd so badly, my chair slid four feet to my left, leaving my food on the table (the tables are fixed to the floor) and me sitting out there in space. But the next thing I knew, Gunnar was pushing me and my chair back to the table so I could continue eating.

We had twelve foot waves that night crossing the Mediterranean and there were only three diners in the Veranda. I still do not know how I didn't get sick. Too scared holding onto my food, I guess. At one point things got so bad, Gunnar actually stood behind me and held my chair in place. There is nothing funnier than the smile on his face when I would say: Gunnar, schnell, schnell mit der brandy.

He asked me if I spoke some German. I told him that any German I spoke would get me in trouble, either with the authorities or my wife. Just to make him laugh, I recited the only German I had ever learned which came from an Army guy who had served in Germany. In short, the phrase said that sleeping with a woman was very, very good, but sleeping with the burgomaster, al es kaput. (all is finished.) I never saw a guy laugh so hard in my life. I think it was my German pronunciation.

I have to say that when God made nice people he put an awful lot of them on Seabourn and we were fortunate to have them and to meet them. They will always be in our hearts, our prayers and our thoughts.

Yippee

2007-02-21T09:00:00.000-05:00

This week has been an active one. I received notification that my true short story A Heart Betrayed had been picked as a finalist in the Reader Views Literary Contest for stories about transformation. The story will be published in Loving Healing Press.

Today I just received word that Tears and Tales: Stories of Animal and Human Rescue is a semi-finalist in the 2006 Reader Views Literary Awards. The finalists will be announced in early April. If you visit http://www.insidescooplive.com you can look for and listen to my Internet radio interview.

To top everything off, I have placed Tears and Tales at the Ephraim McDowell Regional Medical Center gift shop where the four original copies sold out in five days. Their second order was for six books. And Bluegrass Airport in Lexington, Kentucky, contacted me. They want to place autographed copies of Tears and Tales in the airport gift shop AND in the bookstore upstairs. The manager thinks the book will be popular because most of the flights out of the airport are commuter flights and people are looking for short books or books of short stories.

Yippee!!!!!

Still in Corsica

2007-02-16T14:36:00.000-05:00

Corsica: We were brought to a local winery high in the mountains with gorgeous stonework and a beautiful view of the water below. They offered a white and a red wine and a non-alcoholic lemon drink. Citrus fruits abound on Corsica. Virginia has to add sugar to her lemon drink because it was really sour. Still, something different.

I had red wine and them sampled a white as well. I wish I could say one was better than the other, but frankly I didn't like either. The town was laid out in terraces, with a lower and higher level. I thought about climbing a long flight of stone stairs, but I had been having some muscle cramping problems and decided I had been doing well enough on the hills without tempting the fates. In other words, I chickened out and let my wife do the stairs. She chickened out three-quarters of the way up.

We also visited a local church in the town of St. Antonius. Everything was very ornate even for a Catholic church. They celebrate a lot of Holy Days in Corsica with long processions winding up the steep roads. The people must be in very, very good shape.

On one of the mountain tops there was a shepherd's cottage, completely made of stone, packed on the interior with mud to keep out the draft. Actually it was quite warm inside even though there was a stiff breeze outside. And, of course, it was dark. Too dark for photos. It was at that point I wondered if they had poisonous snakes on Corsica.

I had to climb a wire fence to get a look inside. It was a national historic site and the guide said it would be all right just to take a quick peek. Funny but when you go into places liek that you get a sense of time and dimension you don't feel in the present. I could almost feel the vibrations of those who had lived there, a simple dwelling, a single room, a singular purpose in life, merely to survive from day to day.

I cannot say we were unhappy to leave Corsica because without time and a car the tourist is limited to the small village. Still, there were enough stores with most unusual items to keep one happy and the market itself was a hodgepodge of stands and rows with all kinds of fresh fruits and vegetables. One of the fruits, the prickly pear, I had not seen in years. It is the fruit of the cactus. They were in bloom all over the island and I well remember them from when I was a child.

The fruit is beet red in color, shaped like a small football with blunted ends and black pebbles all over the skin. I remember the pebbles because if you grabbed the pear in your hand it gave you a nice set of stingers that took forever to work themselves out. The wound felt more like an abrasion than a sting. So you grabbed the fruit by the ends and peeled it with a sharp knife, discarding the skin, and then enjoyed the pulpy, juicy fruit within. Not to worry though. If you forget and grab one in your hand, you won't do it a second time. Promise.

And it is a tasty fruit and worth the risk. Sweet, a little pulpy and blood red inside. Occasionally I would see them in supermarkets in New Jersey, but I have never seen them in Kentucky. And before I forget, we saw the prickly pear on just about all of the islands we visited, some just there for the taking except they weren't ripe just yet. It depends on the temperature etc.

The markets had all kinds of cheeses, fruits and each merchant had something open that you could sample. It brought back a lot of memories seeing that because in my yesteryear (around nine or ten years of age) I visited a lot of grocery stores and markets with my maternal grandfather. He was a businessman selling imported products to them.

The merchants always cut a slice of something for me. It might be a baloney or prosciutto (ham), Genoa salami or provolone cheese so sharp it made your glands hurt when you bit into it. It wasn't so much a custom to see if you liked their wares but rather a kind of pride these men took in giving you something that was, in their opinion, a part of their heritage.

So, they sliced something with great pomp and artistry and waited while you sampled it and signaled satisfaction. And, of course, they had to give you a crusty slice of Italian bread along with it to augment the tasting experience. Odd, and sad, that such a wonderful art should be lost in our high speed world today.

There may be such places still in Europe today. I hope there are. Despite the fact that we enjoy technology, it would be sad if all the old world things that really mattered were suddenly to be no more. And perhaps, here and now, I am recording for history, something that was ... and may never be again.

We leave Corsica this trip and head to the Italian Riviera I'll discuss in my next blog. Hope you are enjoying the trip along with us.

More about Corsica

2007-02-04T18:42:00.000-05:00

I was speaking about Corsica and got into meeting our little friend, George. Obviously this is a well-trained animal with quite a bit of hair.

We went into the little shop where George was being displayed (he was outside; the shop was inside) and did a little sampling of cheese and olive oil. One thing I have learned is that all olive oil is not the same. Some is more sweet; some more ascetic; some tart. The olive oil on most of the islands we visited was more sweet than tart. Most of the cheese was made from goat's milk, but was milder than some of the goat cheeses I have sampled elsewhere.

What else does one do in Corsica? Ah, he finds the object of a nine year search ... a bathing suit. Not that I am a swimmer but I needed something less than thirty years old to use at the hot tub on the Seabourn decks. My old Catalina was just that ... old ... with the interior supports pretty well worn to pieces. So there we were searching for souvenirs when Virginia ducks into a doorway, comes out a few seconds later and motions me with her finger. Motioning me with her finger is always a sign she has found soemthing and so she had.

They had -- on sale no less -- two beautiful swimming suits just in my size. Actually, if it hadn't been for a very nice lady behind the counter who did not think I'd fit into the suit I originally picked, my eyes would have been bulging on the first try. But she was very kind and helpful, spoke perfect English and even gave us a discount for buying two.

I love them both but you aren't reading this to learn about my quest for a bathing suit ... or are you?

Corsica has a rugged terrain as do most of the islands we visited. Everything seems to be rocky and uphill. One thing the island has that most of the other islans do NOT have is water. Right! I said water. So Corsica exports water. Drinking water mostly. (Brand name Zilia.) They bottle it under their own brand name and sell it either to the mainland or the various islands. We were given water on the ship so we didn't sample any of the local water except in Sicily -- where it was delicious and wholesome. It had taste.

The towns in Corsica are quaint and charmingly narrow. The seascapes entrance you at first glance. And one comes away from Corsica understanding why the rich and idle spend their idle time on islands such as this. They sail into the harbor or fly into the private airport and then limousine to their million dollar homes. Tourists like us ride the bus. But then, the rich don't get to meet George either.

We did visit a Corsican market. Purchased a piece of Corsican cheese which was made from goat milk and was delicious. We'd nibble on it as we ducked in and out of little shops. I think the real fun was being able to buy things and spend money even without understanding the language. All the merchants we met were extremely courteous and helpful.

In my travels I have found that if you make an attempt to speak to the natives in their own language -- no matter how poor your French, Italian or Spanish may be --- they bend over backwards to help you. I think it's the fact that one shows respect for the country he is visiting and they appreciate it. Lord knows, Americans do not have a good reputation abroad, but if you act like a human being and with respect, you find a wonderful friend at the other end of your efforts.

The roads on most of the islands curve and wind around the island, sometimes so narrow the tour bus had to back up to let another car pass. We did visit several towns and one Church but the Church was closed because of construction. Not that we lacked for visiting Churches. In some of the churches they have a three-masted schooner hanging from a pole above the altar. This was an offering to God to bring the seamen home safely. Most of these islanders traveled a good deal by boat because it was the only means of travel until air travel emerged.

All of the islands have ferry service and these boats are large enough to carry cars as well as people and cargo. They sit prettly low in the water and there are usually two kinds on the wealthier islands: one is a slow version of a ferry and the other is a faster catamaran type that really moves. We saw both as we were mooring in the harbor and on the way out, the dolphins raced us for quite a distance, thought we were too far away to get a picture. I think it would be truly exciting to travel from island to island on the ferries. Kind of like island hopping on a tramp steamer.

There is an enchantment about travel, an excitement. I cannot quite put my finger on it, but it is as if one has traveled in another time or in another place and now, has returned again. I felt it on Corsica, Elba, Sardinia, Tunisia, but no where did I feel a sense of having come home more than when we visited Segesta and Erica, Sicily. Perhaps it was the roots of my home country, the place where my grandparents were born and married. Perhaps it was a reincarnation of self. Perhaps some genetic part of me recalled the family that took its donkey into the house every night so it would not be stolen. I just had an eerie sense that I had seen some of Sicily before.

I think we all experience deja vu at one time or another in our lives. For me, it was Sicily. I must admit I had trepidations about returning there. What would it feel like? How would I fare in a place where I did not speak the language? Would there be thieves and robbers? Would there be someone waiting for me from a long dormant vendetta?

Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself again.

Corsica

2007-01-22T08:07:00.000-05:00

Well, now that I've helped everyone gain ten pounds from all the food on Seabourn, let me tellyou that we left port on schedule and were introduced to a most affable captain. Apparently the Captain had been a farmer in his native land with no family history of seafarers. For a number of years he lived in Roswell, New Mexico (yes, that is in the United States) and then obtained his master's license and went to sea. And with a name like Captain Geir-Arne Thue-Nilsen, I could see him sailing the Bounty or a Nordic ship exploring the North Sea.

Seabourn is owned by Cunard which also owns the Queen Mary II as well as Seabourn and a number of other ships. In fact, many of the crew train on the QE2 before they get assignments on Seabourn yachts.

Our first port of call was Calvi, Corsica, and as with many of the islands, we found a medieval building facing us as we entered port. In this part of the world where Romans, Etruscans, Carthaginians, Spanish, and a host of other early world people resided, the remnants of their buildings can often be seen perfectly preserved and available for visitation. Many are medieval fortresses that are still standing.

I think the highlight of our trip to Corsica was not so much the scenery as the entire region is gorgeous. Azure, cobalt and turquoise waters make a spectacular place to see and visit. But we stopped at a little tourist place where they sold olive oil and other products and outside, we were greeted by George, the small, black-haired donkey, who works three months of the year churning the olives into oil.

Now an interesting thing about olives is that each island seems to deal differently in the matter of harvest. In Corsica, for example, they place nets under the trees and when the wind blows the olives into the nets, they are harvested and squeezed into oil. If they do not get many olives in the nets, they say that it is a "bad harvest."

Elba, on the other hand, and most other nations or islands, will place the nets under the tree and then shake the tree until all the olives are down. What makes them different? Well, those who refuse to shake the tree are content to let nature take its own course and they show great respect for the tree by not rousing it. In other words, they don't want the tree to get angry and stop producing.

In other islands they tie ropes to the branches and shake. Still others climb into the tree and shake. But in Corsica they wait for the wind to blow them down and when the wind stops, that is the end of the harvest. What is left on the trees, stays on the trees.

After petting George, who took everything in stride except the fact that none of the tourists had any treats for him, we went into the store. It was a bare bones type of place, home-made by some farmer who then transformed it into a gift shop. Most goods were also hand-made as well.

They had bowls of bread laid out (small chunks of crusty bread about 1" by 1" wide) and bottles of olive oil. You poured a little into a paper plate, dipped your bread and sampled the oil. They also had salt and pepper. The olive oil was for sale, of course, but I could just see the security people in JFK airport rioting over our attempt to bring in some strange Islamic liquid that was destined to blow up a federal building or some airport.

We did buy some very nice souvenirs and considering this was a tourist place, the prices were not all that bad. I will say that having the European Union (EU) is a blessing to the travelers. Euros are accepted just about everywhere including Tunesia and make it very easy to transact business. Most shops have things marked in Euros and all you have to remember is that they use a comma instead of a period. Example: a price may be marked 3,700 which mean $37.00.

Most shop owners in the larger areas do speak some English. In rural areas you will have to fend for yourself, but even a little high school language will suffice. The Corsican people are a handsome people, the women slender and gentle appearing and the men rugged and well conditioned. Like most of the isolated islands, they do not fawn over tourists but accept them in passing. They don't stare either, but they do meet your eyes with a wondrous simplicity that seems to accept the tourist with a casual nonchalance.

One thing I should say about Corsica is that it is the birthplace of Napoleon Bonaparte. They don't teach much history in schools these days -- teaching them to be gays and atheists, I imagine -- but that is where he was born and from very humble beginnings; he became a formidable dictator who twice had to be defeated.

He was exiled to Elba in 1815 and, within one year, he had raised another army and was back conquering territories. He made his brother Emperor of Portugal but when the brother wrote and asked him for funds with which to better the Portuguese people, Nappie gently reminded his brother that Napoleon was Emperor and his brother should do as he was told.

I hate getting into history but it is hard to visit Europe without visiting history as well. It's just there. So as I write about our cruise, I will also add a little history and hope you find it as enjoyable as Virginia and I did.

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Well, it's that time again. Keep me afloat by getting animal lovers to purchase Tears and Tales and experience an emotional impact they will never forget.

On Board the Seabourn Legend

2007-01-11T13:28:00.000-05:00

Our luggage was moved into our room for us and we had a chance to settle down. The captain announced that at 5 P.M. there would be a lifeboat drill in which everyone had to go to an appointed station on deck # 7, wearing their life vest and awaiting further instructions on what to do if the ship was sinking. Since one of the sister ships of the Legend, namely the Spirit, had been attacked by pirates off the coast of Somalia, passengers tended to take the drill more seriously.

Anyway the siren was sounded. Everyone walked up to the deck to their appointed place. Everyone except Virginia and me because we went up an hour early, took the elevator (which you are not supposed to taked during the actual drill), wore our vests while having champagne at the Midnight Lounge Bar. At 4:55 P.M. we strolled down to station # 3, snugged up our vests and watched everyone else huffing and puffing up the stairs. There is an advantage to having done a cruise before. We knew the routine.

It is impossible to go hungry on Seabourn and since everythign is included in the price, except the tours, one has a number of dining selections. If you eat in the main dining room, a waiter takes your lady by the arm and escorts her to a table. The husband, of course, follows along like an idiot because no one is walking him by the arm. Being straight, that is perfectly acceptable to me.

Now, let me go over the dining accommodations before I forget. Breakfast between 7 A.M. and 10 A.M.; lunch at 11:30 A.M. to 2 P.M. Tea between four and five (finger sandwiches, two hot trays of goods, cookies, pastries, seven or eight different kinds of teas or stronger). The main dining room opens at 7:30 P.M. The veranda with both indoor and outdoor dining opens at 7 and is not formal. Room service until 11 P.M.

We are ninety per cent of our meals at the Veranda for several reasons: (1) We did not have to dress formally; (2) We knew and liked just about all the waiters and waitresses up there; (3) They served spectacular meals, having a regular menu one night and a tasting another where you go three of everything imaginable; (4) We had the place practically to ourselves; (5) We had a truly great bunch of guys -- Gael, and Anthony from France, Carmen from Rumania, Gunnar from Germany, Kevin from South Africa and they went out of their way to get you anything you wanted.

The humor alone of hearing Gael tell us in his French accent that they promoted Keven to Assistant Manager of the Veranda because he was mentally deficient and couldn't keep orders straight was worth the price of admission alone. I mean this man was a man you took home with you for a constant stream of laughter.

Now, if you want to celebrate an anniversary in a manner which is unforgettable, let me tell you how it's done once you get familiar with Keving, the Veranda manager.

You do not eat at the Veranda that night. No, because you have already answered Kevin's question as to what your favorite food is. Lobster, we said in unison, not knowing what to expect. The next night we received a call from Kevin and were told to go to the main dining room at 7:30. So we dressed in our finest and went.

Virginia was greeted: "And how are you tonight, Mrs. Vassallo? And you, Mr. Vassallo?" The maitre d' reached out and took her arm in his and escorted us to a quiet, side table for two, with candlelight. And we were then served our appetizers, a lobster dinner, our choice of red or white wine, and a fully chocolate cake with Happy Anniversary on it. I can but recall only a few of our anniversaries but our nineteenth will stand our forever. We had first class attention all the way through and a fellow passenger actually came over to photograph the two of us so we'd have a memory of the event. Not only did he kindly do that and email us the photo, but he also bought four volumes of Tears and Tales. Texans are not only tall, they are friendly too.

Monte Carlo, Monaco

2006-12-19T15:30:00.000-05:00

I was speaking of our cruise along the Amalfi coast on Seabourn. Seabourn is more a yacht than a cruise ship. It carries no more than 210 passengers and half as many crew members. Getting to the ship is a general nuisance because of security regulations at the airports. I suppose getting anywhere one is vacationing is a general pain in the butt. But we arrived at Nice, were driven to Monte Carlo, and arrived at the ship early.

It was too early to board so they had a little blue and white tent outside with Swedish meatballs and hor’dourves. They also handed us an envelop with two complimentary lunch tickets for an outdoor restaurant along the waterfront and since it was within walking distance, we decided to give it a try. Suffice it to say the food was excellent and the menu even better, although we were limited in our choices. Getting ahead of myself again.

What was remarkable was that before lunch we strolled into the lower end of town (everything is uphill so you don’t walk a lot) window shopping in the various kinds of stores which ranged from furriers to souvenir shops. What beat all in this town of the rich and lavish is that toward the end of the strip, they had a supermarket (yes, in Monte Carlo) and it was the best damn stocked market I have ever seen.

They had everything from wines to cosmetics to baskets, vegetables, I mean, row after row of goods, priced at supermarket prices (well, almost since everything was in Euros). I could not believe I found some sophisticated medications for my teeth which are like the stars in that they come out at night. They also come out during the day which is why I needed the adhesive if I wanted to eat that complimentary lunch.

We approached the register, me with a pocket full of Euros, and the girl rang up the sale and said something in French which I didn’t understand. Virginia was trying to communicate with her high school French and doing a passable job when I just took out a handful of money. The girl shook her head “No.” Now, “no” is an international word that can be used in any nation in the world. So I took out more money and laid it on the counter.

She wrote down the amount on a piece of paper (but would not write her phone number) and I paid the correct amount feeling very French indeed. Voila! The people behind us all clapped and cheered with affable smiles on their faces. No, they were not impatient and they didn’t seem angry because we had taken so long. In fact, they all seemed rather amused.

I looked for a telephone booth so I could change like Superman used to do, only to discover that there are no old telephone booths even in Monte Carlo. The next best thing was an indoor ATM machine. And, of course, who should come in while I was applying the adhesive to my teeth and trying to be very secretive about it but a local gendarme. He needed to use the ATM machine.

I backed off into a corner. Virginia shielded me from sight. The gendarme looked at me. I raised my eyes to God. He raised his eyes to my project and smiled, turned and used the machine while I completed the necessary work that would permit me to have lunch. They seem to have a laissez faire attitude in Monte Carlo as long as you do not violate the law. But there are plenty of police within the province and they mean to keep things clean and peaceful.

We dined at the outdoor café, managing between French, Italian, Spanish and English to make ourselves understood. When that didn’t work, we used sign language which just about everybody understands. Two other couples from Seaborn joined us toward the end of our meal, one a bearded British gentleman who could have been a sea faring captain by the look of him, but who was really at employee at Cambridge university in England. We saw him several times on the ship but merely nodded a greeting and went on.

I do not wish to disparage any nation of people when I say this because it is merely an observation, but the Europeans are more staid and conservative than Americans. They do not greet you openly or make friends immediately, at least, not most of them. Those that speak only a foreign language tend to stick to their own. Example.

I saw a young blond woman with an older man. She looked very familiar. In fact, I thought I had seen her on television somewhere and so I walked over and asked if she had been on a prior cruise or did she do a television show. All this was innocent enough since her husband was sitting right beside her. She managed to indicate that she did not speak English and pointed to her husband. I explained what I was asking and he merely smiled and shook his head. Although I saw them several times thereafter they never showed a single bit of grace. I often got the impression the woman avoided my gaze so she wouldn’t have to smile.

Even when we turned out to be the only three people in the dining room while a twelve- foot wave storm was raging outside, did they ever show a glimmer of friendliness. But the upshot was that when we had an outdoor banquet with all the trimmings, I heard them both speaking English to another couple. I found this particularly true of the Dutch, Swedish, and Danish. They tended to be clannish and not at all outgoing. The Brits, on the other hand, got along with everyone. I also found the German people to be extremely cordial and friendly very polite and not the least bit discourteous. And a lovely French woman asked me to dance the line dance, but I declined because of back problems.

More about the trip in our next blog.

In the mean time help to keep us afloat by purchasing TEARS AND TALES, $16.95 through our web site www.krazyduck.com, e mail Russ@ krazyduck.com of K Duck Productions, Box 105, Danville, KY 40423. You can also order through Amazon, or purchase it at the Kentucky Horse Park, Lexington,, KY, the Greenbrier Gift Shop, White Sulphur Springs, W.Va. but we can only autograph it if you order through our web, e mail or snail mail addresses.

This is an AWARD WINNING book with an emotional impact for young and old.

And sign up for our free NEWSLETTER by furnishing mailing information at Russ@krazyduck.com or K D. Box 105, Danville, KY 40423.

The Trip Begins

2006-11-15T08:59:00.000-05:00

I said I would outline the details of our Seabourn cruise along the French and Italian Rivieras so that you could share the excitement of our journey. Unfortunately in my enthusiasm I started in the middle and left a lot of my newsletter recipients hanging in mid-air. Before I make the same mistake again, let me say that those of you who would like to receive my FREE newsletter can sign up on Krazyduck.com by e mailing us some location where we can reach you. And, if you are not on the Net, just drop us a line or post card at Krazy Duck Productions, Box 105, Danville, KY 40423. End of story.

We began our trip by driving to Atlanta airport and taking the nine hour flight to Frankfort, Germany. Although my book, Tears and Tales, was displayed at the Frankfurt International Trade Show, this was the first time I ever visited Frankfurt. We then hopped a flight to Nice, France, and were taxied into Monte Carlo.

Our driver was kind enough to point out the place where Princess Grace had the automobile accident that killed her. Although Monte Carlo is currently ruled by a Prince, it’s the consensus that eventually it will be taken over by the French because the French government provides a good deal of administrative services to the country.

One is struck by the degree of wealth in Monte Carlo. It truly is the playground of the rich. On the waterfront street where Virginia and I walked, they had three ATM machines in a two block radius (yes, they are bilingual) and nearly a thousand within Monte Carlo itself. We did not visit the casinos because the authorities have placed an escalator taking tourist to the upper level BUT the next level is a very steep climb and there is no other transportation than the legs. Unless one is in superior physical condition, OR has a private vehicle, he is not walking uphill to the casino. And most patrons do not fly into Nice. They take their private airplane and fly into Monte Carlo itself.

At one point in time, the dress code of black tie and tail or evening gown was strictly enforced as well as proof of financial capability. The rules have somewhat relaxed, but not to the degree of Vegas or Atlantic City. I also understand that there are no tables with a limit of less than three-thousand Euros (roughly $3,780.00) Now, it is impossible to outline our entire trip in a single blog you will have to tune in next time for more details OR sign up for our newsletter which will give more detail than the blog. Thanks for tuning in.

Cruising

2006-11-07T15:20:00.000-05:00

Virginia and I drove to Atlanta, Georgia, where he boarded a flight to Nice, France, and a two week cruise down the western coast of Italy. In Nice we were met by our transfer agent and drive to Monte Carlo…land of the rich and famous where there is a private airport filled with large, private jet planes -- none of which cost less than 1.5 million. The fact that we had to pass through security twice in Atlanta tells you the sorry state of the world, but coming home, we had to clear no less than five security points before we got on the plane in Nice and then another two in JFK where we had a three hour layover and a lousy lunch that cost us $39.00 and took all our ingenuity to obtain in the first place.

I can’t tell you the number of people who purchased duty-free items in the airport and on the plane only to find they had to discard them at security because they exceeded the regulations. Items such as Chanel # 5 and expensive wines could not be carried on the plane. So, if the purchaser didn’t think to put them in his checked luggage, out the duty free item went.

By the way, does anyone know what the #5 stands for after Chanel? Well, it means there are five ingredients or separate fragrances in the perfume. We were actually in the place where the flowers are grown to make all the perfumes produced in France.

We also learned that originally the people who tested these fragrances were called “noses”, but now they are called something like fragrance engineers. They are only able to work a few hours a day because their noses become clogged with the scents and, if you think the life of a “nose” is easy, they sign a contract foregoing certain kinds of foods, all alcoholic beverages, no night life, no cosmetics of their own, etc. Most of them cover their noses before they arrive at work so they do not contaminate their ability to test the various fragrances.

All of this did not interest the security people of the TSA, who are very polite and courteous, but strictly adhere to their job description. So if you want to import items which are now illegal to bring in on carry-on luggage, do what the rest of the world is doing…give it to the border jumpers and they’ll smuggle it across the border for you.

Once we were on the Seabourn Legend, life took a turn for the better. Substantially better. We signed on for a cruise of the French and Italian Riviera as well as the Amalfi Coast. Among our highlights were Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily, Elba, Carthage (Tunesia) and Pompeii, the ancient city buried by the volcanic eruption of Mount Vesuvius in A.D. 79.

Seabourn specializes in small ships with no more than two-hundred ten passengers and about 150 crew members. So when we approached the yacht, moored in Monte Carlo, they literally rolled out the red carpet, the blue and white canopy of Seabourn, along with cold refreshments as well as hors d’oeuvres.

Halloween

2006-11-01T18:43:00.000-05:00

November 1, 2006

I remember the Halloweens I celebrated at a child growing up in Newark, N. J. Things were safe then. No razor blades or poisons in the candy. No weirdoes inviting you into the house for illicit sex. No, Halloween was fun back then.

All the kids decided on their various costumes---which didn’t seem to vary much from year to year. It seemed we took turns with costumes so that one year I would be a pirate and the next year it might be Nicky or Johnny Rainy. We’d parade around the streets, tripping over costumes that were too long for us, and dragging our candy bags along behind us.

Each door was a new experience for us. Some people gave us fruit, some candy, some cookies. Others baked special goods. Cookies in the shapes of witches, devils, that kind of thing. Many times we were invited in, given some hot cider or juice, allowed to show off our costumes. And then of course the guessing games where the host tried to identify each kid. They always seemed to manage that rather well.

Nicky and Gino had really neat parents, especially Danny the father. He was a real clown, full of fun, always coming up with new ideas. And they always had a party for Halloween, so after we got done trick or treating, we all traipsed up to their second floor home and indulged in more goodies and games.

The first year I went, they were having different kinds of tricks. Each kid who performed his trick got a special prize. This was usually a Captain Midnight special message ring or Lone Ranger key ring. My project was to blow a ping pong ball off a shoe box. That seemed simple enough even for a kid with asthma. They balanced the ball on the box, letting me see it roll off a few times and they finally got it stabilized. My hands were tied behind my back and a whistle sounded. I had ten seconds to blow the ball off the box.

I gave a little puff, thinking that would be more than enough and I admit I was feeling pretty smug about the easy trick I had drawn. But the ball didn’t move much. I decided I hadn’t blown hard enough and so I gave a stronger puff. The ball still didn’t move. And then, I exhaled a mighty blast, taking in every ounce of air I could and expelling it right behind the ball.

Nothing.

And there was nothing because they had stuck the ball to the box with chewing gum. When they tried to suck the ball up with a vacuum cleaner, it lifted the whole box…but the ball stayed put. Well, we all had a hell of a laugh and it was a fun time I have remembered all these years. I remember ducking for apples in a large basin. Danny carefully greased each apple with butter and more than one kid—hands behind his back—lost it and went face down into the basin. And he couldn’t “trap” the apple either. He had to seize it in his teeth while it was bobbing up and down.

I guess the parties lasted until we were all about fourteen. We didn’t have a lot of money so the costumes had to be original and we tended to keep it simple. It was almost more make-up than costume.
Nothing fancy like robots or space creatures. We did bandits and Indians, pirates, cowboys, ghosts (what could be simpler than a sheet with holes in it).

When I think of the precautions we must take today, I realize how far this nation has come down the wrong road. Undoubtedly the drugs have played a substantial role. Liberal courts have played another letting sex offender off with light treatment. Parents no longer monitor their kids as ours did. (most anyway) Our parents knew where we were and who we were with, not to mention what time the party was over and what time we should be home.

If you got snotty with a neighbor or disrespectful to an adult, you heard about it from your mother or father. But if you needed help, that same neighbor was there to give it and there was no danger. I wish that were true today.

For the last two years our neighbors have reinstated Halloween Parties. Last year I went as a Mexican. This year, I went as a cowboy, completely with unloaded six-shooter. I also get to make the punch. Last year an unsuspecting participant had a little too much punch and spent most of the night giggling, in between trips to the bathroom. Since the girls chose the last two events, the boys get to choose next year.

I suggested we go as pirates, not very original but it does have an upside. As pirates, we get to burn villages, pillage for gold and jewels and rape all the pretty women. We can even make someone walk the plank. What are my chances of all this happening? About as good as making the New York Times Best Seller’s list with my book Tears and Tales … which incidentally can be ordered by contacting Russ@krazyduck.com $16.95, free shipping and I’ll autograph it for you. Ah yes, that was Halloween before the madness that is now upon us.

Russell

Award Winning Book

2006-10-25T08:34:00.000-04:00

To my great shock, my book Tears and Tales: Stories of Animal and Human Rescue won an award. That's right. It placed as a finalist in the USABookNews Best Books 2006 Book Award contest in the Fiction & Literature: Short Story/Fiction category. My wife was jumping up and down from the excitement. I was much calmer, believing that there must be a catch somewhere. So far I haven't found one. So I think, just maybe, it's time to get excited about the award too.

We've been on a cruise for a couple of weeks which I will write more about in the next couple of days. We cruised the west coast of Italy and the French Riviera and visited Elba, Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily and Tunesia. Since I never really wanted to visit Europe, Virginia nearly had to drag me to go BUT it was a wonderful trip AND we even found a few places we would love to go back to.

We are still playing catch up around the farm -- trying to get one big field planted into between the rain drops and frost! And trying to get the horses ready for the winter. Plus before this latest frost we were battling with the Asian lady bugs that some governmental agency released a number of years ago to eat tomato bugs. Unfortunately, the Asian lady bugs have to predators in the United States so they are just multiplying like rabbits -- or maybe faster -- and every fall they try to come into warm houses to propagate/hibernate. So for about a week my occupation was resealing windows and doors and vacuuming up lady bugs. Quite a come down from a great cruise!

Spunky and me

2006-09-20T12:53:00.000-04:00

I often wonder if we choose dogs because they resemble us or if they come to resemble us because we influence them to do so. For example, I adopted a shar pei/pit bull mix, a little black dog who had the most wrinkled, ugly face I have ever seen. I thought I saved him from extinction because I felt sorry for him, but the more I see him, the more I understand how he resembles me.

I am not suggesting that my face is wrinkled and ugly. Actually it is bearded and ugly. But I am suggesting that the longer I have owned Spunky, the more beautiful he has become. So I wonder if he has become beautiful because he has outgrown me or is he beautiful in his own right and I am the only ugly one in the family? It is not just his looks. He is lean and tending to get pudgy in his later life whereas I have always been pudgy and the thought of being lean is the impossible quest that I will never achieve.

What I am talking about in particular is that Spunky is a nervous animal, afraid of his own shadow and in many respects he resembles me emotionally. For example, the other day he saw deer across the field. He charged off the porch, raced down to the field, sped half way across the field until he realized that he was out there alone. He was out there alone because both my wife, our other dog, Sweet Pea, and I had better sense than to go racing after deer a quarter mile away.

On discovering he was alone, he screeched to a halt, turned to look for reinforcements, and seeing none, barked once or twice just to warn off the deer, then slowly trotted home as if he had done a good thing. When I told him he was a chicken, he gazed at me with innocent, brown eyes and lay at my feet. Now what, I ask you, is the point of arguing with a dog that has a loose connection in his head? Even our vet has said Spunky has some loose wires in his head.

How does this resemble me? Well, for years, my mother told me I was crazy and that something in my head was disconnected. I think she said that once when she found me dangling from the banister of the upstairs hallway. When I told her I was trying to stretch my five foot two inch frame into something like six feet tall, she told me I had rocks in my head. I had read this book that said one could stretch his height by hanging with his hands holding onto a banister and using the weight of his body to stretch his bones.

Needless to say, I did a lot of hanging in those days, especially before a date; even more needless to say, I am seventy-two years of age and I am still five foot twl. On the other hand I do have exceptionally long arms. When I see Spunky running from a fight, I recall the number of fights I have had to talk my way out of because I was five-two and the other guy was substantially taller. A short man learns diplomacy if nothing else.

Now I have more to say about the resemblance between Spunky and me, but I will not bore you with the details right now. Suffice it to say I have not learned whether he has come to resemble me emotionally or whether I chose him because I saw the similarities between us. I must say his self-esteem has heightened after he discovered he was one of the stories in my book, Tears and Tales: Stories of Animal and Human Rescue. He even has his picture on the photo album page of my website, www.krazyduck.com.

I suppose Spunky will want royalties and movie rights if we ever get to that point. Right now, he's content to accept doggie treats and scraps from my left over dinner.

Why 9/11?

2006-09-13T11:09:00.000-04:00

Why 9/11?

As I watched a documentary on the survivors and non-survivors of 9/11, I asked myself why we were attacked in such a devastating way. It’s horrifying to see people so desperate they were jumping one thousand feet to certain death. In terms of human toll, it is the worst violent attack on us that has ever occurred. I also asked myself why we were unprepared. The enemy certainly had plenty of reason to attack us and they had plenty of reason to suspect we’d give only a token response. I guess I also wondered how Ronnie Reagan would have handled things after 9/11.

Trying to understand why 9/11 occurred, I placed myself in the position of an Moslem. I’m Catholic and we are taught to love and forgive, so it’s difficult to understand the mind of someone whose religious fervor dictates that only by killing others in the name of Allah, can he reach heaven. But that is the tenet of the hard- core Moslem believers.

As I thought about the situation, I thought of all the things I ignored.
Somewhere in there, an attack on the World Trade Center occurred. Well I know it happened but I don’t really know much about it. After all, I live in rural Kentucky and we don’t get much in the way of bombings down here.

Then it seemed our President was so busy in the Oval Office with Monica that he didn’t really make a response when they bombed our ship in the Persian Gulf. And that was another thing I didn’t take the time to learn about.

I think something struck home when they dragged that poor marine’s body through the streets of Somalia, humiliated us, boasted about defeating the greatest nation in the world and our response was to pull our troops out of there. Do ya think maybe Ronnie Reagan might have leveled the place? Somehow it didn’t seem smart to be sending troops to Serbia and Albania when we were being attacked in other places a lot more threatening to us than Serbia. I guess we had to do something for political purposes.

So along comes George Bush, the most maligned President in the history of this nation. Oh, I’m not a fan of his. He’s done some things I absolutely disapprove of, BUT, like Clinton, he is the president and as Americans we should be unified and stand firm. I don’t like the death toll in Iraq. I lost a very good friend in Korea and that made a lot more sense than Iraq. But I know that if we had NOT deposed Hussein, we’d probably have another 9/11 on our hands RIGHT NOW!

I was seven years old when the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor. I could not wait to be sixteen so my parents could let me sign up to fight for my country. Today we seem to have no patriotism. The flag isn’t something we rally around. It’s something we burn and trample. A lot of fools classify this as freedom of expression and I’ll bet the Communist Liberals in our country just revel in that thought. But when we disparage the flag, we disparage ourselves and we invite attacks such as 9/11. This is what the kids call a no-brainer.

We showed the Moslem terrorists that we were afraid to fight, afraid to take them on, that our military was weakened and our responses were down. We HAD Osama Bin Laden in our hands and our then President did nothing. Didn’t want to lose the Moslem vote. A lot of people paid for that weakness. You can still hear their cries as they fall to the ground. You can still see the tears of the loved ones they left behind. No, you may not like what’s going on in Iraq and now Iran and you may not like all the security in place, but please do consider this… we have not had a single attack since 9/11. Not a single American has died in any attack on American soil.

Now do you think that’s an accident or a coincidence or do you think maybe the President and our Congress is doing something right for a change? If there is a change of Administration to a weaker Administration… well, I’m giving three to one odds we’ll have another major attack if that Administration is weak on foreign policy. And like all of you I do not like $3.00 gas and I do think Mr. Bush is paying off his big oil friends in Texas and corruption is never right… but it can be tolerable as long as we do not have people jumping out of windows and crying over their loved ones who aren’t coming home. It’s better than burning buildings and horrified people.

Russell A Vassallo is a retired trial attorney living in rural Kentucky. His book Tears and Tales, is a compilation of short stories about the animal friends he has loved and lost as well as some of the animals that are still with him. Not a single reader review under FIVE STARS has been listed on Amazon.com. It can be purchased on Amazon.com or directly at Russ@krazyduck.com. Website www.krazyduck.com Christmas is coming!

Blog Site

2006-08-23T11:56:00.000-04:00

My wife and I have been having this debate and, as with all debates, she always wins. Her daughter, Heather, set up a blog for me. Great! I'm in the 21st Century. I have an email address. I have a website. I even have a blog-site.

But no! I don't have a blog- site. I have a blog. At least, according to my wife, I have a blog. Now I am not a computer expert by any means. I had an old CPM system (do not ask me what that means) and I used it for years. Her name was Tess and she's the reason my wife and I met and married. It took me over a year to learn about Tess. It's taken me twenty-three years to learn about my wife...and I still do not know anything about her...except that she loves me but doesn't like me...not really.

When Tess died my sons and wife decided to buy me a new computer. I think it was back in '95 but I was in mourning and spawned of an age where the typewriter was my second best friend. The computer lay in a shiny, cardboard box with all sorts of official stamps on it. It lay there for two years. I did not look at the box. I did not open it. I knew that once I launched into that new box, it would be another full year of learning before I understood how to use the thing. Yes, that's how long it took me to learn on the CPM system.

Oh yes, they had technical support. The man and his wife came down for about three weeks, played on my computer, showed me all the wonderful things THEY could do on my computer and then they left. And they did not return because I had not signed on for the computer course.

So I read the instruction books, stayed up most nights trying to figure out how to open a file, type a letter and get it printed. I spend most weekends doing that too. The reason I say my wife and I met and married because of Tess is because she typed a ninety-one page thesis on Tess and I almost deleted it without understanding how to restore. I am not even sure I could restore on that unit. She figured anyone that dumb with a computer had to be easy to manage and easy to manipulate. And there are days when I have to admit that she was right.

To say that I am technically challenged with computers is an understatement of great magnitude. But, after eleven years, I am learning. I have learned how to restore a tool bar by clicking Standard. I have partially learned how to make small labels (thought I seldom need them). I have learned how to restore the files I accidentally delete. And I have learned how to cold boot my computer. I have even learned how to throw it out the window and onto the rear lawn without serious damage to the unit.

What I have not learned is why I can't call this my BLOG-SITE.

If there is anyone out there who side with me...speak up and say your piece. If there is anyone out there who sides with my wife...go to another blog-site and tell them about it but for God's sake don't tell her.

Excerpt from Eric

2006-08-13T17:36:00.000-04:00

OK...so I haven't written for a while. Our 7 year old grandson came to visit and he is energy personified! My wife and I spent two weeks trying to keep up with him.

I am working on a second book called The Horse with the Golden Mane and Other Stories. At least that is the working title. Here is an excerpt from a story called ERIC.

And now, he saw the guards again, moving from the shadows of the meadows and rushing toward him. He heard Eric growl. Saw the animal bunch. But it was not men plunging headlong from the tall grass. It was animals. Sol gripped his walking stick in his right hand, prepared to defend his dog and himself.

The high grass split apart and four distinct forms emerged into the clearing, single file, moving quickly. At first, Sol thought them coyotes for he'd heard that coyotes inhabited the swamp as did other animals. The moon was bright enough to discern the shapes and sizes and they were not coyotes but wild dogs. He saw an immense German sheperd leading the pack, its silver, black coat glistening in the moonlight. Next came an animal that resembled a coyote, a small dog with a linear face and hair the color of wheat. The third dog was box faced, bulky and long haired with a jagged scar across his snout, and finally, a black, massive animal resembling a pit bull with flat head, short cropped ears and a wrinkled face. They were wild and fierce. They hunted quarry. To them, Eric and Sol were food and it was food they hunted. To Eric, it was as if they had been enemies for life. For the law of the jungle pertains in many places and the jungles of Newark are not unlike those of any other nation except the quarry is seldom the same.

They didn't circle as wild dogs are apt to do. They had killed before and thus had no need to circle. So they charged at Sol, three of them attacking Sol, one lying behind to guard their rear. Eric intervened and smashed into the Shepard. They clashed with bared teeth, snarling and growling ominously. They leaped into an arc and heaved against each other in combat. Coyote attached Sol, grabbing him by the lower leg and wrestling the old man off balance. Eric broke off the siege with the Sheperd and plunged into Sol's attackers, grasping him by the hind leg and snapping his jaws shut. The dog yelped its dismay. It moved in behind the pack. Then Scar and the Pit Bull divided their efforts, Scar menacing Sol, while the Pit Bull joined the Shepard in his attack on Eric. The three dogs rolled over and over and over. Eric seized one by the leg. Sol could not tell which one. Coyote renewed his attack on the old man. Scar nipped at his arms while Coyote gnawed at his leg.

Please let me know if you are interested in how the battle ended. I am pretty sure that the comment section is now working.

Excerpt from GIT

2006-07-23T20:13:00.000-04:00

This is the opening of GIT, the story of a young dog, abandoned on a lonely road and searching for a home and love. It is the story of a broken-hearted man whose own dog has died.

GIT

A rainy mist blanched the darkening land as she descended from the truck with the all too familiar "Git". The man always spoke harshly as he had when he commanded her into the truck. She had not wanted to leave the squirming mass of life she called her puppies for it had been warm and comfortable with them, and their tiny squealing brought happiness to her face. Now, as Git exited the truck, the wind brushing through high trees that sloped to the road, she wondered how long it would be before she saw them again. She did not know that they were already loaded into a plastic sack and tossed mewing and wrigglin into a garbage pile. In time the wriggling would stop and then the mewing and the sack would lay motionless in the refuse. She did not know that.

Nor did she know why neither the man nor the boy looked back as the pickup motored away, belching its black smoke into the damp air. Dutifully, she trotted after the truck as she had so often on the farm where she was born. A failed gun dog, frightened by gunfire, run over by the man's tractor and left to heal on her own, she learned respect and fear for the man at a young age. Yet, she loved and forgave the boy who pelted her with stones and the man who kicked her out of the way. She knew there must be kind people in the world because she had seen other animals with their human friends. They were not mean or vicious. Thus she trusted the man and the boy, hoping she would one day receive the affection and praise she craved.

So when the boy ordered her away from her puppies and out the door, she surmised only that she must obey, putting her trust in those unworthy of that trust. But she did not know that then.

The truck drove slowly away. She trotted behind. Trotted without question and with the loyalty inherent in her breed. And that breed was questionable, but sported some retriever, some border collies and perhaps remnants of beagle. She was truly beautiful when she stood with upraised front paw, motionless before a hidden bird. But now she trotted behind, picking up the pace as the truck moved more quickly away from her. Then the panic -- as it surged away, gathering speed and moving out of her life, out of the lives of her pups. Weakened by giving birth with no care or medical aid, she soon faltered, finding herself on a quiet road with only the wind-filled trees and the forbidding woods for companionship.

I'll continue Git's adventures another day.

The Unblog - 4th of July

2006-07-14T18:42:00.000-04:00

THE UNBLOG…

Well, I did my first blog, got three readers and no comment from anyone. Not a very impressive start for a man who likes to talk and entertain.
Anyway, we had a great pre-4th celebration, with seven trail riders showing up to spend two hours on the trail. We had a conglomeration of horses, a couple of walkers, ungraded white gelding, two other Godknowswhat horses that did pretty well for their first outing. Virginia and I have Kentucky Mountain Saddle horses and except for a bit of stubbornness, they really are very fine horses… unless of course you tell them not to go to the barn when they want to go to the barn.
The day started off pretty hot and humid but dried a little toward noon. By the time we were riding it was hot but not stifling. Still we kept to the creeks and woods where it was much cooler.
We do this every Fourth of July, just s small group of friends that meet every Thursday evening for a couple of hours of chit-chat. Bonding this way in the country means always being there when the other guy needs you, like the time I was being operated on for colon cancer and they didn’t know if I would make it. My friend Vernon showed up and stayed with Virginia all the way through the operation. He and Virginia were the first ones I saw when I came out of the anesthetic.
Of course I was pretty groggy and I kept thinking it was very nice of this man and wife to come visit me… but who the hell were they. A couple of days later my wife let me know who they were. But that’s the kind of thing I mean. When Virginia had her pacemaker installed, Vernon and his wife Helen were there all the way through and took an active role in grilling the doctor so we all knew what was going on. Friends like that just don’t come along all that often.
Anyway we started this tradition of meeting every Thursday night. At first it was an exercise night for the girls and a horse riding night for the boys. Pretty soon the only weights the girls were lifting were their forks because of all the goodies lying around. The men joined in. So on the Fourth, we meet, ride and have a barbecue afterwards.
This year Vernon told his wife he had invited forty-two people but he didn’t know how many were coming. Actually about fourteen did. We roasted a goat which Vernon provided. All the women brought something along, baked beans and that kind of thing, plenty of desserts. We left the table stuffed and feeling guilty about the waistline… but very, very content.
Later in the evening, we had fireworks. Each year one of the men provides the fireworks which last about forty-five minutes. All kinds including the ones that don’t go where you expect them to go and really create buzz. One of them almost landed in the box of fireworks. Somewhere they picked up these sparklers that emitted smoke. So much smoke we couldn’t see a thing. But the up side is we did not have any bugs either.
Eventually the fireworks petered out and just as the last one fizzled out, we heard this tremendous nnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaa. That was the goat we didn’t eat giving his personal opinion about the entire affair.
Raising goats is the new thing now that tobacco is gone. We seem to be importing tobacco from other countries where it does not grow as well so rural people have had to find other sources of income. Those that aren’t planting pot and such are turning to goats (ostriches are out) and creating a new industry.
On the subject of new professions, I started writing and published my first book Tears and Tales last July. Animal rescue stories along with some human rescue stories. We are just learning the marketing business but so far we have been picked up by the Kentucky Horse Park Gift Shop and the Greenbrier, WV. I am excited about both because both are top flight gift shops. We also heard from an organization that is using animals to assist physically challenged and ill people.
They’ve asked me to visit their facility and I am just elated about that. I mean anyone can write a book that makes money and hits the best seller lists… but how many people can write a book that really helps people?
Well, O.K. so there are hundreds but better a big fish in a little pond than having no water at all.
Have to close now. Hope to hear from you.

Russell

I can blog!?

2006-06-24T12:38:00.000-04:00

I don’t believe it. I’m a blogger and I have my own blog. On top of that, it was my step daughter who set the thing up for me. She felt it would help me promote and sell my book Tears and Tales. Now, for years, we absolutely did not get along. The first time her mother and I took her out to dinner to explain we were going to get married, she told me she hated me and I wouldn’t have been her choice for her mother. And that was the high point of our relationship.

I was the proverbial evil stepfather. And here she is doing me this kindness, setting up a blog and trying to help me.

Why? I ask myself that every morning and evening. Why did she want to help me?

Was it the fact that I was so distraught about the poor sales of a really good book that I climbed onto the roof with a rope around my neck?

Was it the fact that I overloaded one of my reloaded bullets and it damn near blew my head off?

Was it the fact that I cried when my dog Spunky ignored me and went for a walk with my step-daughter and her children? (I couldn’t even bribe him to stay.)

I spent twenty-three years convincing myself that she really did hate me and wanted to get rid of me and then she does some nice things like listen to me rap about how unfair the world is… or set up the blog… or try to encourage me to think better of myself. And that good-bye hug? Where did that come from? She really meant that hug. And I could tell she was feeling badly about the way I beat myself over the head about anything that is not absolutely perfect in my life.

I remember one night when I was feeling pretty low… and this enemy… this woman I thought hated me… reaches out and touches my shoulder. Just a light touch to tell me she was there for me. Now I ask you: what kind of enemy is that?
Oh God (oh, is that politically correct or is the Associated Communist Liberty Union going to sue me because I mentioned the G… word?) how could I have judged her so badly?

Even her kids have been affected by all this, calling me Grandpa Russ and making such a fuss over me. I don’t understand that. I never did anything nice for those four year olds… well, maybe I bought them an occasional book or game… a few animal crackers… some M & M’s but I never did anything special for them…and there they go, treating me like grandpa and making goo- goo eyes at me.
And they do these little drawings for me. What is it that they see in me that I don’t see in myself? Well, what do little kids know, anyway?

Well, now that she has set up this blog, brother am I going to tell her a thing or two. I don’t know if it will help me promote Tears and Tales. I don’t know if people will discover my hidden talent of writing. I don’t even know if it will help me think better of myself. I do know it will give me a chance to blog…and for that, I am eternally thankful to my step-daughter, Heather. She won’t listen if I say something nice about her. She doesn’t know how to take a compliment. I don’t know why, either, because she is a first-rate young woman, lots of smarts, and an ideal mother. Come to think of it, she makes a nice friend too. Anyone out there got a step-daughter like that?

But I am not always going to blog about her. I’ve had an interesting life… like the time I was in a local tavern, waiting for my friend to shine enough shoes so he could earn movie money and this drunk comes into the bar and shoots the local gang lord. Nope, you have to buy my first book and make it a success before I can put Street Wise into print. Well… maybe from time to time, I’ll cut some excerpts from the book and add them to my website. But only if you leave a comment so that I know you’re here. Can you do that?

And if you want to know how mean and nasty I can be to my animal friends… visit my website www.krazyduck.com It’s all there in black and white, nothing hidden.

If you want a copy of my newsletter by e-mail or snail mail, just drop me an address of some kind so I can send one… no charge. And keep on bloggin’.

Russell

p.s. You can order Tears and Tales from my website www.krazyduck.com and for a limited time only, we’ll send you as many books as you pay for.

2006-06-15T11:12:00.000-04:00

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