While Stars Fall

Over this past long weekend, I proved that it’s possible to freeze in Florida’s August weather when the day’s heat index reached 105 degrees.

Yes, again mid-August this year, 4 a.m. found me floating on my back in our pool watching stars fall in the annual Perseid meteor shower.

Again I proved that only insane people lay in a pool for hours on the off chance of seeing a tiny flash of light. Again I proved that star gazing from the pool in August results in my getting cooler than the mammaries of a sorceress!

Year after year I do this.

Looks like I’d know better by now.

While I saw few shooting stars, one sight excited me.

I’d already come in the house at dawn when Ginny called me urgently to the kitchen window. She pointed out an enormous Barred Owl on our deck drinking water from the bowl we leave out for the raccoons. This Barred Owl stood about 18 inches high (as measured against the fountain). It looked majestic in dignity — more impressive than any shooting star.

Seeing that owl was the highpoint of our weekend.

Which says something about our lively social life.

Speaking of coolness, the tiff between Ginny and me, which has been the biggest problem in my life, apparently healed. For a month or so, we’ve lived in the same house while eight inches and a thousand miles apart.

I don’t know what caused this distancing or how we got over it, but I’m glad we did. These marital problems seem to come up on their own every now and then, and we weather them by treating eachother with courtesy and moving on as best we can. But I really hate times when there’s coolness between us.

Three quick family notes:

Our youngest daughter worked briefly at a company that silkscreens tee-shirts. About a week ago, she lost her job, a traumatic experience for her, a really bad thing.

Yesterday, three robbers held up that company.

A shootout with the owner erupted.

The owner was shot in the stomach; returning fire, he killed one of the bandits.

Patricia said that had she still been working there, she would have been alone in the office at the time of the robbery.

Perhaps, the Lord allowed something bad happen to her, loosing her job, to keep her from something worse.

A link to the news story in this morning’s newspaper can be found at http://www.jacksonville.com/tu-online/stories/081307/met_190972593.shtml

Last week I wrote about the happy visit of Mike and Miss. Bug; among the things we talked about was my joy in keeping this on-line journal and as a result, Mike has started his own blog!

Mike is a firefighter who has won many awards and commendations from the mayor for conspicuous bravery for saving people in danger at the risk of his own life. He is trained in scuba and helicopter rescue, and every sort of First Aid — I even once saw him deliver baby kittens from a cantankerous clawing mother cat.

He’s one of the men I most admire.

Please stop by his blog and leave him an encouraging comment saying you visited. Mike’s blog is called Starting Anew and can be found at http://cellblock36c.blogspot.com/

In one of his first postings, Mike says some very nice things about me and my books, but other than that he shows good judgment.

Speaking of books, this past weekend, I added two new titles to my Bluefish Books on-line book catalog. Yes, the Diary Of Samuel Ward, A Translator Of The King James Bible is finally unscrambled and published.

I’m exhausted and never want to hear of Samuel Ward again ever.

Alas, that is not to be.

My research in unscrambling this manuscript revealed that the article in the on-line Wikipedia Encyclopedia also combines the two different Samuel Wards. To save other readers from the same kind of confusion I fell into, later this week, I’ve asked Donald to help me log into Wikipedia as an editor and write two new encyclopedia listings for the two Samuel Wards — so, I’m not done with the rascals quite yet.

Oh, the other book I’ve been working on, but haven’t felt comfortable talking about, is a published edition of A Dirty Old Man Gets Worse: John Cowart’s 2006 Diary. It’s a companion book to A Dirty Old Man Goes Bad.

I’ve been hung up on old diaries for years, they seem to be my niche in the writing world — when I’m not freezing in the pool watching stars fall.