The End Of History

Seeing a finished copy of my book on the history of firefighting in Jacksonville pleases me inordinately.

I’m tickled.

It’s not too shabby.

But, having last week finally published my fire history book, this week I find myself in limbo.

Finishing that book renders me unemployed.

Oh, I’ll write another book. But I have no idea which book to write next.

One thing appears sure; it will not be another history of anything. For years now, I have emphasized historical articles and books. But now my eyesight dims too much to hunch over a microfilm reader for hours.

This saddens me.

Some of the greatest thrills of my life have come on discovering some obscure event I’ve uncovered with a magnifying glass in the coffee-colored pages of Niles Weekly Register. I’d get such a charge at linking one obscure fact to another seemingly unrelated one in a different document then weaving the two into an exciting narrative.

Alas, those days are over for me.

History has ended.

What the Lord has in store for me next, I have no idea. At His right hand are pleasures forevermore, so I’m confident that the next step will also be something satisfying—but I’ll miss being able to do historical research.

A file drawer full of book starts and ideas await me but I’m reluctant to start anything till after Ginny and I return from our Anniversary trip next month.

To work, I need huge blocks of uninterrupted time; that’s one reason I usually start work at 4 a.m. before the phone starts ringing or visitors knocking. My mind is slow and once I get off track, I have a hard time getting back on.

And, so often what looks like a good book idea at first, melts when you begin typing. I love this old Shoe cartoon, I keep a framed copy above my desk:

While I’m waiting for the Muse of inspiration (or the JEA bill collector) to strike and spur me into a new book project, I battle algae in our swimming pool. The pump motor burned out a month ago and by the time the repair man fixed it, algae entrenched itself in the water and I can’t get rid of it.

I’ve reattached the pump, installed new hoses, applied shock and algaecide, revamped the filter… Nothing works.

Green slime defeats me.

Then, yesterday a rubber gasket stretched allowing air into the system. No problem, I’ll just replace it with … with the extra rubber gasket I sold at the yard sale last Spring thinking I’d never need it.

Whenever I get rid of ANBYTHING, within a few weeks, I need that very thing.

Never fails!

That’s my history.

In other news: yesterday Ginny received a letter informing her that the money in her retirement account is gone.

In the current national financial crisis that same thing happens to a lot of people. Money there one day, gone the next.

Somebody took it.

In more enlightened days, if Jesse James—I wrote an article about Jesse James once

Anyhow, in more enlightened days, if Jesse James or some other criminal took the money out of your pocket, the marshal would hunt him down, shoot him dead, and put the money back where it belonged.

Why doesn’t that happen any more?