Grant Blackwood class

I'll be attending a writing class with Grant Blackwood on August 20th from 9-5 in the Austin Public Library.  Mr. Blackwood has written several mystery novels in collaboration with Clive Cussler and Tom Clancy, besides penning his own series of books.
The weekend following that I'll be attending the Austin Artworks Festival and attending several author presentations, including one being put on by Harriet Ulland, who writes non-violent books with a little mystery mixed in.
I'm looking forward to both events with a lot of anticipation.

BTW, I've just added my latest book, The Book Club Murders, to the Austin Public Library.  It is available in libraries across the country if you go to your local public library and put in a request for it.

More conversation with the woodsman

Another pause ensued before, Jack spoke again.  

“When we got to Mom and Dad’s house, the paramedics were already there working on Dad.  He was laying on the steps to the garage with his shirt off while the medics calmly worked on him.  I think he was dead already.  Mom, Ceila, and I huddled off to the side, crying, shaking, not willing to let go of one another.  They said they got a weak pulse so they  took him in the ambulance to the emergency room where we met them. We waited in a room off to the side from where they were working on Dad.  It seemed like we waited for hours, although I’m sure it was only about fifteen minutes.  After a while I couldn’t stand it so I went into the room where Dad was.  The doctor and nurses had stopped trying anything and all I could say was, ‘is that it’?  The doctor nodded.   I was dumbfounded.  I went and got Mom and Celia and we stood there and talked to Dad, no, ordered him to fight and come back to us… but he didn’t.”

Gabe spoke, “That’s when you called me and Sydney to let us know.”

“Yeah.  That was the hardest call I’ve ever made in my life.”

They both sat, elbows resting on their knees.  Words weren’t coming from either one so Gabe picked up the bottle of Jeremiah Weed and filled their glasses again.

“To Dad!” Gabe said as he raised his glass in the air.  Jack did the same and they clinked them together, spilling a little of the weed on the ground.

“That’s a terrible waste of the weed!  Be a little gentler next time,” Gabe said jokingly.

Outside, the weather was getting stormy.  The sound of the wind whipping through the leaves of the trees became stronger and a chill filled the sanctum of the shelter.  Smoke from the dying fire no longer drifted lazily to the center of the abode, moving gently throughout and then over to the cracks between branches that made up the walls.  It now moved directly to the east causing them to move their handmade chairs.

“Looks like a storm to me,” Gabe said in a voice rising above the noise of the wind in the trees.  The wind driven rain began pelting the shelter with a vengeance, followed by hail.  They both moved a little closer to the center to avoid the drops blown in from the side walls.

“Couldn’t you at least have constructed these walls a little more water proof?  You are the woodsman of the group,” Jack yelled above the roar of the wind, rain, and hail.

Gabe retrieved his wide brimmed hat from a corner where the shelter leaked pretty good and plopped it on his head.  

“I’ll bet the golfers are a little pissed off at this turn of events,” he said with a chuckle.

“I checked my smart phone before I came and it didn’t look like anything coming through until later.  Guess the weather man was wrong again,” Jack said.

 The hail only lasted a few more minutes before the rain took over again.  After ten minutes, the wind died down and the rain stopped revealing patches of blue skies and sunshine.

Gabe and Jack conversation

Soon, the stories were coming fast and furious, along with a continual supply of the “weed” filling their glasses.

“Hey, did you ever hear much about how I got lost the first day of school at Banfield?" Jack asked Gabe.  

Gabe had heard the story many times of course, but dutifully listened as Jack recounted the tale of a lost child on his first day of kindergarten.

"I had boarded the bus at 7:15 in front of our house with the Klippers.  I hadn’t known any of the other kids who lived a half-mile north of our house; so it had been a quiet, intimidating ride.  I was one of the younger kids on the bus-being only four years of age."

  Back then a child could enter kindergarten if he turned five before December 1.  Jack’s birthday was a late one-September 23.

"The bus stopped here and there picking up other kids who I didn’t really know either.  I felt out of place as the other kids all seemed to know each other and involved themselves in talking and it was all noise to me as the bus rumbled toward Banfield.”

“When we finally got to school, everybody piled out of the bus like they were going to the fair.  I took my time gathering up my stuff and was the last one off.  I seemed to be the only one on the sidewalk leading up to the door of the school and I never saw the teacher.  I turned around and watched the bus haul off and then walked up to the closed door.  I tried to open it but I could’t budge it.  Not really knowing what to do, I started walking home, only a five mile walk.”  

Gabe pretended to yawn.

“Am I keeping you awake, Gabe?”

Feigning waking up, Gabe shook his head and sputtered, “No, no keep going.”

“I guess you know the rest.  Our neighbor convinced me to get in her car by the Mapleview Cemetery and took me home.  When we got to our place Mom was so happy to see me she hugged me like she was never going to let me go.  And then she got mad and wanted to know what happened.  All I could do was show her the handcuffs I’d found in someone’s yard as I was walking home.  Little did she know that her little kindergartner was beginning his school life as a thief.”

“Yeah, well, that was hardly the worst of it,” Gabe said.

“That was the worst thing I’d ever done,” Jack said indignantly.

“I wasn’t talking about you.  I was talking about me and how I disappointed them every step of the way.”

“You didn’t disappoint them every step of the way.  You just… challenged them to love you.”  

Gabe scrunched up his lips and merely said, “Well …I certainly did that.”

A silence engulfed the two as they sat, lifting their shots of weed to their lips, Gabe totally enjoying his while Jack still gagged his down, although it was getting easier the more he drank.

After heaving a huge sigh, Gabe said,” You know I have many regrets about my life.  The biggest one was not being here when Dad died.”  He hung his head low, breathing heavily while hiding sobs Jack knew were there.

“I have the same feeling,” Jack said.

Gabe looked up quickly.  “But you were here!  You got to see him and talk to him.  I would have said so many things to him, not the least of which was I loved him and was sorry for all the heartache I had caused him and Ma.”

Jack explained.  “I saw him a few days before he died.  We had met for breakfast at the Sterling Cafe with some of Mom and Dad’s breakfast friends.  I had said something, I can’t even remember what it was and then Dad commented on it…and I knew he was wrong, so I told him, with some irritation in my voice, that he was wrong.  Those turned out to be the last words I had said to him.”  He turned his eyes to Gabe who was looking straight at him.  “Gabe…the last words I had said to him were belittling with a little anger showing on my part.  And then when we got the call from Mom who was sobbing that he was having a heart attack and that we should get there right away, all I could think of was don’t die, please don’t die cause I don't want those words to be the last ones that you ever heard from me.”  Jack’s voice was halting and his eyes had welled up a little with tears on the brim of overflowing his lids.

“You can’t hold that against yourself, Jack.  You know that he knew you loved him.”

Jack’s head bobbed up and down in agreement as he said, “I know I know, but still, I think of that and I say to myself, would it have hurt me so much just to have agreed with Dad, rather than letting him know he was wrong?  I don’t know.  I guess we all have regrets.  I’m not making the same mistake with Mom or any of my kids or my wife.  Life is too short to say cruel things in the heat of a moment and not be able to take them back when that person is not around anymore.”

the woodsman

Golfers on hole number one paid him no attention as he passed into their view and hiked to the railroad tracks.  His pace was brisk and the hot sun spurred him onward, making him anxious to reach the shade of Gabe’s comfortable abode in the woods.  It took him only seven minutes to reach the section where he would leave the tracks and climb down the embankment.  He noticed smoke rising from the area where Gabe hung out.  

Must be cooking something, Jack thought to himself.  

He made his way down the slope and crossed the section of tall grass beyond the number two green of the Ramsey Golf Course and into the patch of woods where he would find his brother.  

As Jack climbed up and then down the other side of the small ridge bordering the patch of woods, the pain from his bad hip began bothering him to the point where he had to stop and rest against a downed tree.  The trickling of the creek as it flowed past him, along with the calling back and forth between a couple of cardinals reminded him of how nature was never, very far away, and he understood, partially, why Gabe loved this place.

After a few minutes rest, his hip seemed better and he decided to sneak down to Gabe’s shelter.  

The old elm they had used as a fort when they were kids had long since rotted away, but fortunately, for Gabe, it’s place had been taken by a large cottonwood tree that had blown over during a tornado that had passed through the area five years before.  

Gabe had utilized the cottonwood in much the same way they had as kids when they transformed the elm into their fort.  The tree had created a natural cave area an adult could stand up in with the branches providing some shelter on the sides.  Gabe had then filled in the open spots with cut branches along those sides, making a sturdy shelter that kept out the rain and wind and afforded him the privacy he craved.

Sneaking along through low brush and smiling like a fool, Jack’s excitement grew.  I can’t believe I’m doing this.  Here I am fifty-seven years old and I’m moving through the woods like a kid playing games with my brother, he thought.

After he had covered the last fifteen feet between him and the shelter, he paused near the makeshift door Gabe had constructed.  As he reached for the handle, the door flew open with Gabe’s hand clamping onto his wrist.  Gabe’s hand had lashed out like a striking cobra and he quickly pulled Jack inside the doorway and into the shelter.  

“Don’t ever try sneaking up on me, bro.  You’ll just never, ever, do it successfully,” Gabe said as he smiled and shook his head, sending his long hair flowing from side to side and both of them burst out laughing.

“I should have known better,” Jack admitted.

“Yeah, well, grab a seat and I’ll pour us some weed.  It’s about five o’clock somewhere.” 

Jack looked at his watch.  It was only one in the afternoon, but he sat in one of the hand carved chairs Gabe had constructed out of logs he’d found in the woods.  The chairs were comfortable with a nice slant to the backs, and Jack had brought out cushions for the seats a couple of years before.  

Jack assumed a seat while Gabe poured a couple of shots into the glasses.  

“I saw the smoke.  What are you cooking?”

“Just finished, actually.  Had a nice plate of beans and franks.  Sorry, there’s nothing left.  If I had known you were coming I’d have saved you some.  Anyway, it helps keep the bugs away, too.”

“Nah, that’s okay.  I just came out to talk for a while so I had some lunch already.  I thought I’d check with you on our trip coming up.  BWCA, here we come!”

a section from the stolen canoe episode

The noise of the drunken cabal of teenagers grew as Gabe and his father silently made their way down the path, hid in the bushes, and  watched the wild action in front of them.  The four teenagers who had stolen the canoe were splashing the paddles in the river, yelling and hooping as they did so with no idea they were being watched.  They had foolishly thought they wouldn’t be followed.  

A crowd of teenagers were gathered around a fire, drinking beer, telling stories, and laughing uproariously.  An inner glow of envy broiled within Gabe as he watched kids who were not much older than he was.  Within a couple of years, I’ll be doing the same thing, he thought to himself, but today, he really wanted to get their canoe back in good shape.  

Bruce elbowed Gabe in the ribs, nodded and motioned for him to stay where he was.  He then stood up and walked into the fire light and loudly cleared his throat.  Most in the crowd of teenagers instantly dropped their bottles and ran in all directions.  The ones in the canoe, dove into the river and swam across to the other side, clamoring up the banks and running as fast as they could toward the county road.

Three tough guys didn’t panic, standing calmly while holding their beers in their hands.  The tallest one tossed a slug of the warm brew down his throat and then looked at Bruce.

Buoyed by the effects of several beers, the tall one said, “Huh, one guy!  Whatcha gonna do, old man.  There’s three of us.”

The other two laughed and tipped their bottles into their mouths and took swigs of beer.

“I don’t think I’ll have to do anything by the looks of you three.  You can barely stand up.”

One of the others snorted, “Let’s take him, Slack!”  

All of them tossed their empty bottles onto the ground and pounded their fists into their palms.  Bruce crossed his arms and sighed.

“If you’re going to do anything, start now, because I’m a little impatient and not willing to wait all night.”  He kept his arms crossed as he checked his watch.  “Besides, it’s past my bedtime.”  He waited for their response.

Their eyes danced from one to the other reflecting the indecision they felt.  Slack began to say something when they noticed a sheriff’s car with flashing red lights tearing down the dirt road leading to the spring.  Instantly, all three bolted and ran south along the river path and away from the spring.  

Gabe emerged from the bushes, wide-eyed.  He felt a surge of pride well up inside of him at the way his father had handled the situation.  He felt confident that his father could have taken all three, regardless of their state of inebriation because he was a well-built six footer who had been in the Navy.  Gabe had been ready to throw himself into the battle if it occurred just because he wanted the action and excitement.  In fact, he craved it and was disappointed when the sheriff’s car had shown up and scared all of them off.

While Gabe and his father spoke to the sheriff, John Klipper and Smiley Wilson were slowly cruising the county road with their eyes peeled for any drunken teenage boys running away.  Their headlights shown upon the railroad crossing and two figures straggling along the tracks.  

Two boys started waving their arms at them as their car approached.  Klipper pulled off the road onto the two-foot wide dirt shoulder.  The breaks screeched a little as they came to a stop and Wilson rolled down his window.  

“Hey mister, can we catch a ride back to town?  We had a little accident down at the river.”

“Sure thing boys, jump in the back, Klipper said.

The boys gratefully opened the back door and piled in.

“You look pretty wet.  What kind of accident did you have?”  Wilson asked.

“We tipped our canoe and just barely made it out of the river alive.  Alan conked his head on the gunnel and almost drowned.”

“My, my, you boys had a bad one, it sounds like.  Tell you what, we’ll pull into my place here and get you some towels, dry you off and let you call your parents to come pick you up.”

“Uh, that’s alright.  We’ll be okay if you could just take us back into town.”  The boys were shivering now.

“Nonsense, we’ll get you boys all warmed up first.”  Mr. Klipper slowed down to pull into his driveway.  The boys recognized the area at once.  With their hands on the door handles they looked at each other and nodded.  They exploded out the doors at once and took off heading east across the golf course.

“Well, I guess they didn’t want to experience our hospitality,” Smiley chuckled.

A rough draft section from, Brothers.

For the past four years, Gabe Hula had spent his summers in the area of the old fort he and his brothers had built as kids north of the golf course.  

It was the summer of 2008 and he was sixty-two years old with long gray hair that flowed past his shoulders.  His beard was long, thick, and bushy with mats of hair conveniently tucked under his chin.  His clothing was what one would expect for someone living in the woods, drab, dirty, only not torn or worn out.  His summers were spent living this way so he never got a chance to wear anything out totally.  

The winters had always bothered him so he grudgingly moved back to his little house in the southwest part of Austin to live as soon as the first, consistent whiff of arctic air blew in from the north. 

Three months before he began retreating to the old childhood haunts, Gabe had begun waking in the middle of the night.   Anxiety ridden, he would rise and prowl the perimeters of the house peeping out the windows, crouching low and then popping his head up, searching for the source of his nervousness.  Sleep would elude him for great multitudes of days, until exhausted, he would collapse onto the floor.  He lost track of time, other people, and himself.  He didn’t understand why this was happening to him now, but flashes of war had spilled back into his head and it frightened him to the point where he knew he had to seek help.  

An old war buddy made the first contact at the Veterans’ Administration for him.  Gabe went and was interviewed.  The things he said to the young woman who interviewed him terrified her, and when she threatened to have him thrown in the looney bin he walked out and quit going to the sessions.  

He had begun to feel like he was losing his mind, until…a fever swept him one day to the country, to the old places he and his brothers had explored as kids.  And here, he found a certain peace, away from people, away from terror.  The constant, gentle trickle of water flowing past the shelter he had built calmed him.  Although his hearing had deteriorated,  he was still able to notice the occasional, loud swearing from frustrated golfers on the nearby course, and the hooping of children when they had hit a particularly excellent golf shot.  Those sounds didn’t bother him, however; he had grown up knowing those sounds.  They were the sounds of home.  

Back from a trip to Oregon and California

Just returned from a wonderful trip to visit friends in Salem, Oregon, where we visited small towns, wineries, and went to a minor league baseball game in Salem.  We had terrific weather and a great time with good friends.  From there we rented a car and drove to Napa Valley where we stayed for three days in the wine country sampling delicious wines, eating out, and just relaxing.

A visit to San Francisco and Sunnyvale where Cindy's brother and wife live topped off our vacation.  We had a great lunch at the Cliff House on the Pacific Ocean.  What a treat that was.  The view of the ocean, waves crashing onto the rocks below, and surfers riding the breakers as they rolled toward the beach was outstanding.

We boarded a flight out of San Jose and flew back to Minneapolis Monday and drove home that evening, stopping only for a quick bite at Wendy's restaurant in Owatonna.

It was a restful, wonderful trip that allowed us to reconnect with friends and experience a beautiful drive through Oregon and northern California.

Now, it's back to work writing this week.  I don't know if I mentioned this in a previous post but I interviewed my older brother before we left on our trip about his Viet Nam War experiences.  We spent six and a half hours conversing and ended up with some great material to include in the new book-Brothers.