AS WE GROW OLD

Even before Jerry and I married, weekend dates often consisted of driving way out into the boonies, rummaging around in antique stores and resale shops, marveling at the wonderful stuff that could be had for a mere pittance..  Running our hands over a beautiful old oak buffet or counting the prisms dangling from a magnificent chandelier, we dreamed of how these items would fit in with any home we chose to live in.  Then, reality set in. 

We moved into a tiny, very 1960s, very modern apartment.  Every apartment in the complex had white walls and beige carpet and a tiny five foot by two foot deck that shook every time a train went by.  Did I mention that this apartment abutted a very busy train yard?  The beauty of it was that I could walk out the door, cross over various sets of train tracks (wearing high heels, of course) jump on the train and be on my way to work in downtown Chicago in mere minutes.  After the first week or so, we didn’t even notice the coupling sounds or the horns. We were young and in love. 

Our next apartment was out in the suburbs, in the village of Oak Park, llinois. Some of you may recognize Oak Park as the home of many Frank Lloyd Wright structures.  This apartment building was not one of them.  We lived at the top of a four story walk up where the long winter months were spent huddled below window level to stay warm and out of the winds that were coming through ill fitting windows; a tropical fish mobile hung from the living room ceiling, in constant motion.

     Staying in Oak Park, we eventually bought a house, ready to start a family.  First to come along was Nibbles, an adorable Wire Haired Fox Terrier that we were in love with from day one., then Jason and then Samantha.  Due to the deaths of family members and living in a neighborhood where residents were constantly on the move, we acquired for our growing family an old dining room set and some miscellaneous tables and chairs.  Rather than buy new stuff as needed, we opted for odd pieces that had character.  Yard sales were not so common but word of mouth got around pretty fast that someone was selling old furniture inexpensively or just leaving it out for someone to pick up.  If it could fit in or on top of a Volkswagen station wagon, it was ours.

By the time we had moved to Georgia, a lot of our modern , or as some like to call it, “cheap” furniture stayed in the North.  The house we bought had thirteen rooms, consisting of five thousand square feet and was situated on five acres.  It was also just shy of one hundred years old.  There was no central heat, just a giant space heater in the front hallway.  Half of the rooms had no electricity and the other half had wiring that electricians laughed at.  The floors were bare wood, the walls white washed and, packs of wild dogs roamed the property.  I loved it!  Finally we had a proper home for our antiques.

Over the years, we acquired more old stuff and eventually we even got into the business end of antiques, in a very small way but, most items from the family, stayed in the family.  Old things have stories.  We have a hand made bed cover that was made by one of Jerry’s aunts while she was waiting for her boyfriend to return from the war and, the blanket chest that she kept it in.  We have crocheted doilies my Aunt Louise made while watching her favorite soap operas and my mother’s Sunbeam Mixmaster from the late 30s or early 40s which I still use.

I have a slanted book shelf that Jason crafted years ago in school, and sitting on a shelf in the kitchen, a wooden watermelon slice on a dowel rod that Samantha made. These are the next generation of family “antiques.” 

            Antiques should make you smile.  Antiques should make your hand want to touch them.  Antiques bring back memories of different times and people.  Antiques should make you wonder about the how and why of its existence. 

            What would you rather be remembered as – a cherished and loved antique or an old piece of discarded junk?

Sharon

CLIMBING THE ROCKY ROAD

            Recently, I had the privilege of accompanying my son and his four kids to an indoor rock climbing event.  With an age span of six to sixteen, I was rather dubious as to how this family excursion was going to play out.  I couldn’t imagine a six year old girl and a sixteen year old boy sharing the same physically demanding and tactically challenging sport, much less their middle siblings, a twelve year old boy and a ten year old girl.  I was wrong.

            The climbing area was in a huge building with a very tall ceiling.  There were knotted ropes hanging from this ceiling that you could climb or you could swing from one to the other al la Tarzan of the Apes.  The uneven, rock-like surfaces had areas where you could free climb if you wished or you could attach your harness to a guide line, which was in turn attached to a person on the ground and after reaching the top you could repel down. 

            Jason and Alec were the ground men with the guide lines and made sure the three younger children had plenty of wall time.  It was incredible how quickly they took to this sport.  The two middle kids kept going for the more difficult climbs and their repelling became quite efficient, reaching the ground quickly.  Our six year old had no difficulty climbing up the wall but when it came to the return trip, repelling was just not her forte.  She made it down but in her own way. 

            After a few hours, the three youngest took to free climbing and Jason and Alec were able to spot each other on some difficult climbs.  Watching the two big boys was priceless.  They stayed safe but which ever one of them was the ground man did everything possible to make the other look stupid or less than graceful while making their descent; sometimes making it impossible to get close enough to the wall to repel down. 

Observing the antics of the two older guys, our little six year old commented that Alec was having just as much difficulty repelling down as she had.  Regardless of the reasons why they both shared this difficulty, they indeed did.  A six year old girl and a sixteen year old boy and two siblings in the middle all shared the same goal.  They all strove to get to the top and return from their mission.  The path back may be different for some of us since we are not made from the same mold, but just make sure you finish with both feet on the ground.  

Sharon

THEY BIRTH OF THEY CALL ME THE MERCENARY part 2

            Hank Frost and Bess Stallman meet in book number one, THE KILLER GENESIS and it was, of course, love at first sight. Well, the love at first sight business doesn’t occur until after all the killing, torturing, stabbing, running through jungles and blowing up stuff winds down a bit and they actually have time to have a conversation, except, the conversation is rather one sided since she is in shock from her ordeal and won’t speak.  She gets over it.  Bess, a well respected international journalist, spends the entire series trying to keep up her career, convince Frost how cute their babies would be and staying alive and out of the hands of the enemy, since every looney terrorist and blood crazed maniac wants Frost and his inner circle of friends dead.  She’s aware from the start that wherever his next assignment takes him, there will be “a woman” who will share his bed, tent or whatever but she knows that he will always come back to her.  Rich or poor, stabbed or shot, she loves him.

            Mike O’Hara started out as a necessity for the series.  Every time Frost got close enough to one of the supporting characters to perhaps sustain a friendship, we killed that character off.  Maybe we just didn’t think they were good enough for him.  Maybe we couldn’t see these characters getting along with Bess.  Whatever the reason, Frost always went home alone; alone, until the fifth book, CANADIAN KILLING GROUND.  Frost, with Bess’s help is reuniting a seven year old boy with his father, who is working on “top secret stuff” in Canada.  Global terrorists, PLO, Israeli Intelligence, just your run-of-the- mill bad guys and both fake and real FBI agents all bloody the waters for what was supposed to be a fluff job and vacation with Bess.  O’Hara, a real FBI agent in the story, took on the voice and physical characteristics of the late actor, Robert Culp.  At the end of the story, Frost and O’Hara promise to look each other up.  Jerry and I just knew that this had to happen.  Frost, Bess and O’Hara -- friends forever.

            One of the things that made this series different was that considering all the beheadings, maiming, shootings and buckets of blood, we tried to keep it light.  Hank Frost would never explain how he really had lost his eye.  Instead, he would make up stupid jokes involving cannibals, depitting machines, nose picking, etc.  We might start a story, but then out kids, Jason and Samantha would jump in and come up with crazy embellishments that made the jokes unique. Some people have used other words besides unique.    Whatever, it was a fun series to write.  It wasn’t exactly what the publishers wanted but they let us keep writing Hank Frost our way.

            THEY CALL ME THE MERCENARY series is available through Speaking Volumes www.speakingvolumes.us in print and ebook format as well as audio.

THE BIRTH OF THE MERCENARY

 

            Most people know, I believe, that Jerry and I were the creators of the men’s adventure series, THEY CALL ME THE MERCENARY by Axel Kilgore.”  How may of you know that we never wanted to write it, had no interest in doing it and when more or less coerced into it, fell in love with the main character and his subsequent sidekicks?

            In the late 1970s, the Prepper Movement was in its mainstream infancy, thanks to publications like Mother Earth News and the like.  Falling off the grid wasn’t as important to most of us then but self reliance and sustainability was something to strive toward.  Relations with the Soviet Union were very chilly.  What would happen if that all important red button got pushed and World War III commenced?  Many thought it would never happen or hoped so but Jerry and I couldn’t stop talking about “if.”  We quickly came up with a workable scenario, centered on a somewhat believable family and subsequent supporting characters and Jerry, who could sell the proverbial refrigerator to Eskimos, set out to find a suitable home for the series.  I will have to say that most editors turned down the idea very politely.

            One young editor at Zebra Books turned the tide for us.  She liked the idea of a survival-type series well enough but she had another idea in mind – a hard boiled, killer mercenary with psychological problems and a missing body part.  This concept was partially based on the fact that Jerry had a new products column called Terrain and Situation in Soldier of Fortune magazine and mercenaries and far away wars were becoming hot items.  They were the new BAD BOYS.

            After lots of negotiating and not a lot of money up front, it was decided that not only would we be doing THE SURVIVALIST but we would be penning THEY CALL ME THE MERCENARY by Axel Kilgore.  Jerry had a business associate named Axel and we drove through Kilgore, Texas and thought it had a neat sounding name.  We were thrilled to finally have a home for John Thomas Rourke and his entire fictional family, but now we had to cope with doing two series simultaneously. 

            I don’t remember how exactly the name Hank Frost evolved but you've got to say that its simple, easy to remember and rolls easily off the tongue – a perfect name for a series character.  As to his physical attributes or lack of, we were in a quandary.  An action hero with a missing limb just didn’t seem right at the time so we settled on a missing eye, giving him an eye patch and an attitude. Along the way, he also acquired a bad back and as his character evolved a sense of humor.

            Next time, I’ll tell you more about this great guy and his horrible jokes and  how he met his true love, Bess and his one and only friend, Mike O’Hara.  THEY CALL ME THE MERCENARY series is available through Speaking Volumes www.speakingvolumes.us in print and ebook format as well as audio.

Sharon

LIFE IS A RIDE

     It’s hard to imagine that January is almost behind us and that we’ve already used up twenty-eight days of this fresh, new year.  I am sure I’m not the only person lamenting over things not done yet as promised, unfinished projects and missed opportunities.  Here we are already beating ourselves up for being lazy, worthless human beings.  Can you imagine our guilt level a few months from now?  We should listen to the mental health gurus who tell us to “not sweat the small stuff.”  Life is indeed too short.

            On January 28, 1958, Charles Starkweather and his fourteen year old girlfriend, Caril Ann, killed a Lincoln, Nebraska businessman, his wife and his maid.  This was just part of a ten day killing spree that would eventually leave ten people dead, including Caril Ann’s mother, step-father and two and a half year old sister.  Their last victim was killed January 29th and the couple was caught that same day. The nineteen year old Starkweather, who idolized James Dean’s persona as a lone rebel, was convicted of murder and sent to the electric chair the following year.  Caril Ann was sentenced to life imprisonment but was released in 1976. 

            A tragedy occurred on this date in 1986 that was seen live by millions of people, many of them children, due to the fact that one of the participants was a teacher.  The space shuttle Challenger exploded only seventy-three seconds after liftoff, resulting in the deaths of all seven astronauts.  Engineers warned that the cold temperatures that day could have adverse effect on some of the shuttle’s equipment but evidently, their warnings went unheeded and the shuttle took off at 11:39 am.  The O-ring seal, which had become brittle from the cold temperatures, failed.  Flames broke out and damaged the fuel tank.  The shuttle broke apart, plummeting into the ocean.  It is suggested that some of the astronauts were still alive until the shuttle impacted the water.  Some of the wreckage has yet to be recovered.  Two large pieces of the shuttle were found floating off Cocoa Beach, Florida, almost eleven years later.  The “Challenger flag,” sponsored by Boy Scout Troop 514 of Monument, Colorado, was recovered, still sealed in its plastic container.

            President Reagan spoke at a memorial service three days later and said:

“Sometimes, when we reach for the stars, we fall short.  But we must pick ourselves up again and press on despite the pain.”

            One year earlier, in 1985, over twenty million copies of the single “We Are the World” were sold.  Between the vinyl and the associated merchandise, sixty-three million dollars for humanitarian aid in Africa and the US was raised.   The idea was conceived by singer/activist Harry Belafonte who brought together some of the most talented musicians of the day.  Michael Jackson and Lionel Richie worked together, composing the song over the course of four months.  On January 28^th.the final recording session was held at A & M Recording Studios in Hollywood.  Billy Joel, Cyndi Lauper, Ray Charles, Smokey Robinson and Diana Ross were some of the forty-five participants in this heavily guarded night of song.  Stevie Wonder warned them all that if this session couldn’t be done in one take, he and Ray Charles would drive them all home.  Singing commenced around 10:30 pm.  The rest is history.

            Maybe I’ve not gotten done what I intended to so far this year.  I’m falling short on my goal for the day, as a matter of fact.  Don’t beat yourself up too much.  Life is a ride and you just don’t know where it’s going to take you and where it’s going to let you off.  Just do what you can do and don’t sweat the rest.

 Sharon