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This blog treats all things related to writing in all its forms: Children's books, rhymes, humor and satire.
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(See Part One Below)
After a few stops the day before for supplies, bear canisters and food, we were finally ready for our Mt. Whitney departure. A last minute flurry of e-mails, texts and phone calls confirmed the meet up place and time the next morning. We left Sacramento at 4:30 a.m. on Thursday, September 10.
Lone Pine, CA at the junction of Highway 395 and Whitney Portal Road.
The six-hour drive took us along highway 50 to the highway 89 turn toward Markleyville, then highway 88 to U.S. highway 395 south paralleling the Sierras. At 10:45 a.m. we pulled into the Lone Pine Ranger Station parking lot at 10:45 a.m., 15 minutes before lotto time.
Driving route from Sacramento to Whitney Portal (Map image courtesy Google Maps)
A small crowd had materialized inside, casually milling around the gift shop and Eastern Sierra InterAgency Visitor Center (e.g., Lone Pine Ranger Station), studying the photo displays, maps and the large 3-D raised model of the high Sierras. All were hoping for a lucky number. High Sierras in 3-D (Model located in the Lone Pine Ranger Station)
The Ranger called one representative from each group forward. Nine numbers initially went into the bucket from which seven group leaders would randomly draw a number. Rob Fong from our group pulled lot number FOUR. When all lots were drawn, leaders/groups were called forward sequentially to claim their permits. As it turned out, numbers ONE and TWO were not drawn. So, our number FOUR gave us an excellent shot at a permit.
During our planning, we expected our best hope would be one overnight with “Next Day” entry onto the Whitney Trail. That meant we would have to find a “no permit required” place to sleep the first night, such one of the Cottonwood campgrounds at Horseshoe Meadows or even in the Whitney Portal parking area.
Cottonwood campground at Horseshoe Meadows (Courtesy hikespeak.com)
The next day, we would push as far as we could up the trail to an overnight trailside camp. The third day we would hike the rest of the way to the summit and all the way back down to Whitney Portal for our trip home. That was our plan. But plans are made to be changed based on more current information. And so it was.
When our turn came to request our permits, we asked for one overnight each if possible out of the “No Show” pool. As luck would have it, there had been 22 overnight “No Shows”. Because we were second in line, the Ranger offered us TWO nights on the trail! We could barely subdue our excitement as we nonchalantly accepted our gifted fate—far better than we had hoped. The only condition was a “Same Day” entry, meaning we were burning daylight the longer we stayed in the Ranger Station as we had to begin our hike up that same day rather than starting early the next morning. “OK. We’ll take it!”
Both day hiking and overnight permits must be visible on packs for a quick check by Rangers.
After the Ranger gave us our WAG bags (with instructions on how to carry out all solid waste) and reminded us to attach our permits to our packs, we were off. By the time we drove the 13 miles from Lone Pine to the Whitney Portal parking lot, tweaked our pack weight down a few pounds (given the excellent weather forecast) and hit the Trail, it was 1:45 p.m.
At the Whitney Portal Trailhead: Ike Krieg, Dennis Kazee, Rob Fong and Bill Kirk.
We entered the John Muir Wilderness around 2:00 p.m. and were above the tree line at around 10,000 feet by 5:30 p.m. We were optimistic but the sun was already dipping below the surrounding ridges and peaks. It would be another hour when we passed by Outpost Camp at 10,800 feet and 3.8 miles from Whitney Portal.
Dennis Kazee at the entrance to John Muir Wilderness.
Assuming we might get there before nightfall, the Ranger had suggested camping at Lake Consultation (quieter and a bit off the beaten path at about 11,850 feet). However, when we reached that point it was almost 9:00 p.m. and too dark to find a camping spot among the rocky outcrops above the lake. So, we continued a quarter-mile farther to the more open (and more populated) Trail Camp located six miles up from Whitney Portal and at 12,000 feet elevation. There were a few dim lights and quiet voices among the scattered tents as the last of the overnight hikers drifted into camp for the night. Ike Krieg leading the way on the trail to Trail Camp.
It had been a hard 3,700 feet ascent to that level from the Whitney Portal Trail Head at 8,300 feet. After quickly setting up camp in the dark, we did little more that get a quick bite of dinner and collapse in our tents. Sleeping on granite (with a 1.5 inch Thermarest pad) was actually more comfortable than I thought. But due to the elevation change from sea level in Sacramento to 12,000 feet, sleep was fitful and there was a lot of breath catching going on all night in the thin air. We knew the next day we had another 2,500 feet of elevation gain and five more miles ahead of us. But somehow that didn’t sound too bad at the time. We were glad to finally get our packs off and find a flat place to pitch our tents.
At Trail Camp preparing for the ascent to the top (Photo courtesy Ike Krieg)
After a restless night, we were up at 5:30 a.m. to eat breakfast, filter water at a nearby tairn (small mountain lake) and load up our day packs with 3 liters of water and trail snacks. Trail Camp tairn at sunrise (Photo courtesy Ike Krieg)
Based on the Ranger’s advice, we left our tents open to any critters (marmots and chipmunks), knowing they would likely chew their way in otherwise. All food was stored in bear canisters placed 50 feet from our tents. By 8:00 a.m. we were on the trail toward the Whitney summit five miles ahead of us. At Trail Crest looking toward Hitchcock Peak and one of the Hitchcock lakes.
Our slow, steady climb brought us to Trail Crest at 13,600 feet by 10:40 a.m. The trail was very well designed with only two or three spots where caution was warranted. Had the weather not been as good, the footing might have been more of a concern. But it couldn’t have been much better—luck of the draw.
Mount Whitney is just up the trail a piece--a couple more hours, that's all.
Just beyond Trail Crest, a sign post announcing 1.9 miles to the summit was a mixed blessing—that relatively short distance translated to two hard hours of hiking the additional 900 feet of elevation gain. The final approach to the Stone Hut.
At 12:50 p.m. we reached the summit, took the obligatory photos and signed the record in a metal box outside the stone hut. For a brief moment, each of us was the highest human in the lower 48 states.
Official survey mark at the top. In fact there were three or four of them....
As billed, the views were remarkable and the top of the mountain didn’t disappoint. It had been a hard “up” but it was worth the effort. There was a growing chill in the wind—20 knots steady with frequent gusts of 25-30 knots. Clouds forming in the distance were a visible reminder that weather could change quickly in the High Sierras.
Looking west from just below the peak on our way back down.
With some urgency, we started our slow retreat at 1:45 p.m., glad we had a second night on the trail. We reached Trail Camp by 5:30 p.m. with no sign of furry visitors or gifts left in our tents.
Sunset looking easterly from near Trail Camp.
A few hours later, the scattered clouds which had been swirling near the peaks earlier in the day had moved on. There would be no rain that night and stars were brilliant with the Milky Way on its edge stretched like a cloud across the night sky. It wasn't until after dark, in the quiet of the evening, that we recognized the special significance of the date we had chosen to reach the summit: 9/11. Somehow, it seemed an appropriate way to mark the date.
Sunrise looking westerly from Trail Camp, illuminating the challenge between us and the summit.
The next morning, we woke early. Breaking camp was somewhat leisurely as we contemplated the six mile descent before us. Yes, it would be downhill all the way but it still took us over four hours. We left Trail Camp by 8:30 a.m., arriving at the Whitney Portal parking lot at 12:45 p.m. Approaching the Whitney Portal parking lot and our ride back home (Photo courtesy Dennis Kazee).
Overall, our Whitney trek was indeed grand. But it was far from easy, even extending our time on the trail to three days. Recalling my Air Force Winter Survival training north of Spokane, WA near the Canadian border in 1970 and several more recent tests in the form of 50-mile ultra-marathons, this trek was among the hardest (if not the hardest) of physical experiences I have ever completed.
We had each put around 50,000 foot strikes on the trail to the summit and back down. The higher we went, especially above 12,000 feet, the shorter the time between brief stops to catch our breath. Without the training hikes in the weeks before our Whitney ascent, I’m not certain we could have made it.
Rob Fong and Dennis Kazee on the trail.
Summiting Mt. Whitney is very doable in less time than we took. In fact, day hikers complete the 22-mile round trip in about 18-20 hours or more. Generally, they start at Whitney Portal at 2:00 a.m., reach the summit by noon and finish at Whitney Portal by 8:00 – 10:00 p.m. Almost half of their time on the trail is in the dark, which can be a bit dicey in spots. Personally, I would recommend at least one overnight on the trail—two if you are lucky.
Some bumper stickers you just can't pass up. Mt. Whitney elevation = 14,508 feet.
It was a long drive home but we were glad to have the time to decompress and reflect on what we had just finished and to recall the many hikers we had met from all over the U.S. and the world. Some were from places as far away as eastern Canada, Germany, France, Australia and Asia. The experience was definitely a high point. With a recovery week or two behind us, we are already imagining where the next adventure will take us....
Hike on! The trail beckons!
Mt. Whitney, far distant slightly right of center.
Some ideas become reality, springing forth like so many dandelion tufts, exploding with the least provocation in a breeze. Others form slowly through wondering and contemplation which nudge an idea from concept through reality check to full-on execution. A recent Mt. Whitney experience on September 11, 2015 for four Troop 259 Boy Scout leaders was clearly the product of the latter process.
Our planning was nothing if not long, slow and deliberate, yet with a certain edge of urgency that comes from aging—I mean maturing—with the passage of time. Like the Cubs, we wanted to get past “There’s always next year” to “We can check that off our bucket list!” So, we listened on the edge of our chairs to all the superlatives from other hikers—Amazing! Awesome! Unbelievable vistas! Unforgettable! We also acknowledged their cautions—watch the weather, carry plenty of water and train at elevation (if possible including hikes above 12,000 feet) to condition and acclimate.
InterAgency Visitor Center (Photo courtesy of USFS/USDA)
During the February 1 through April 15 Mt. Whitney permit lottery, we failed to be selected for an overnight permit which would allow us to hike to a mid-point, camp overnight and then summit the next day. Our only hope was to present ourselves before the “drawer of daily lots” (e.g., the Park Ranger) at the Lone Pine Ranger Station (http://www.fs.usda.gov/recarea/inyo/recarea/?recid=20698) in hopes of getting a good draw for any available “No Show” permits. May through August are heavy use months. So, we opted to wait until September. Our reasoning was the number of hikers (and overnighters) would begin to drop off.
The summer drew on, after family vacations, Scout summer camp and before the press of school prep took over. In late July and early August, our personal and family schedules seemed to open up a bit. Would this be the year after all? Soon two training hikes fell into place.
Atop Mt. Judah: (l-r) Ike Krieg, Dennis Kazee, Rob Fong, Bill Kirk
The first was a virtual walk in the park on August 22, up Donner Peak (8,019 feet) and nearby Mt. Judah (8,243 feet). The second on September 3 was an arduous hike/crawl up Pyramid Peak (9,984 feet), which was more challenging in terms of the number of hours on our feet, the higher elevation and the rock scramble to the top (and back down). I vaguely remember hearing someone utter, “What were we thinking?” Oh, wait. That was me.
Pyramid Peak, looking up from the shoulder. Time for a scramble.
After those conditional successes, all that was left was to pick a date for the six-hour drive south to Lone Pine—without a firm target date, we knew Whitney wouldn’t happen this year or ever. A three-to-four day group itinerary quickly took shape. At the same time, each of us began our individual preparations to make sure we had accounted for all gear contingencies while reducing our pack weight. Each person has certain rituals during the final week before departure. That's when things start to get serious as the objective actually feels within reach. Stay tuned for Part Two.
It's Father's Day Eve. And all over the country, children are thinking about tomorrow and what will be done to celebrate the father in each of their lives. Some of the thinking and planning will be with encouragement, of course, which is probably as it should be.
As for the dads, most may not have given it much thought. Or at least they may not let on much about it. Yet there may be a moment now and then---in the quiet when they may reflect on how they have done and perhaps on how their children may be changing as they grow. Are they becoming more self-confident? Getting stronger? What about that unexpected moment when the ball landed in an outstretched glove after repeated attempts at the elusive catch? Or the suddenly solo roll unassisted by a fatherly push or training wheels.
Then there is the chorus of wishes for a happy Father's Day and maybe even a little excitement at what your reaction might be when you open the bag or box and find that new pair of shorts or the replacement for the drill having long passed its useful life.
Sometimes, the changes we fathers actually notice show up subtly, in the midst of our day to day routines. Small things around the dinner table or at bedtime when the night light is no longer needed. And then there are the changes that occur when least expected---you know, like when you drop your son or grandson off at school in the morning, when it's your time---just the two of you in that moment when you say goodbye.
Yes, it's a ritual and it's your ritual, which ought to be sacrosanct, right? After all, some of life's moments just seem they should be unalterable. Aren't some experiences simply not to be messed with? Well, as it turns out, even the brief flashes of perfection are subject to change. Enjoy those moments while you can, man...
"When Boys Grow Up"
By Bill Kirk
It happened sometime just last week
When we arrived at school.
For Third Grade boys, a morning hug
Was now no longer cool.
That day we followed our routine
To get to school on time.
Dylan quickly washed and dressed,
Then heard the wall clock chime.
"You'd better hussle--grab your books"
Called Grandma with a sigh!
"The tardy bell will soon sound off,
So, you had better fly!"
Inside the car, we buckled up,
And drove right to the school.
We parked and crossed down at the light,
For that's the safety rule.
We got to class just as the kids
Were set to start their day.
But something different happened then,
Or didn't, I should say.
Instead of giving me a hug,
He shyly waved good-bye,
And whispered, "See you after school."
"OK," was my reply.
As I watched Dylan turn to leave,
I let him have his space;
But, so he'd know that I was there,
I waited just in case.
And then, as if to let me know
That he would be just fine,
He bravely said that at his school
"Just kids can wait in line."
Our hug became a shoulder pat-
Or noogies-just for show.
How quickly had the time arrived
For him to let me go.
They say that growing up is hard,
For boys, and Grandpas, too.
But with each change that comes along,
You'll both know what to do.
Recently a small group from Boy Scout Troop 259 hiked to the summit of Mt. Tallac, CA high above Lake Tahoe. It was my first ascent of that peak which is a 9.6 mile round trip along the main trail from the Mt. Tallac Trailhead parking lot to the summit. Although I have hiked and backpacked at the same or higher elevations, this adventure got my attention, especially through the switchbacks in the steep mid-section of the trail. But I digress.
Our group actually started the trip the evening before, driving from Sacramento to Echo Lake. We were fortunate to have access to an overnight way-station to help us acclimate to the higher elevation. By the next morning, all were eager to make the short drive to the Mt. Tallac Trailhead on highway 89 a few miles to the west of South Lake Tahoe. In the parking area, we learned a wilderness permit is required, even for day hikes, as the boundary of the Desolation Wilderness is only a short distance beyond the Trailhead. Wilderness permits for day hikes are available next to the bulletin board at the Trailhead. However, overnight permits must be arranged and paid for ahead of time.
The first part of the hike traverses a long and slowly ascending ridge line above and to the west of Fallen Leaf Lake. Along the way, the small but picturesque Floating Island Lake can be seen on the right (west) side of the trail with Mt. Tallac reflected in the background.
This first segment of the trail takes about 1-1/2 hours (nearly two miles) from the Trailhead (at 6,480 feet elevation) to Cathedral Lake (around 7,400 feet). Note: There is a very rustic trail that splits off to the right of the main trail about 0.2 mile before arriving at Cathedral Lake--not for the faint of heart. Cathedral Lake is a popular watering hole and is the last available water on the trail to the summit.
(Photo courtesy Brittany Krawczyk)
As a rule of thumb, you may need two liters of water to get you to the summit and back down to the parking lot unless you have a filtration or sterilization method with you. Although there are ups and downs en route to Cathedral Lake, the incline is gradual and some of the "ups" are just teasers to what lies ahead.
At Cathedral Lake, the main trail swings westward through a well-shaded stretch on the way up toward the tree line about a half-mile or so ahead. In no time, the increase in elevation goes from noticeable to "no-doubt-about-it." I heard the word "relentless" several times on the way up.
A hiking stick or hiking poles will get well used on the way up and even more so on the way back down. This is the section of the trail where resolve may be tested. The trail is well-maintained and easy to follow but you will know you are going up for the next mile. It is breathtaking in more ways than one. After leveling out for a short stretch, the trail becomes steeper still. At this point in the hike, you will hear the mantra repeated by anyone who is already on the way back down: "You're almost there!" You may doubt the veracity of their encouraging words. Yet you will likely join in the chorus on your way back down as you encounter other hikers on their way up.
Eventually, we arrived at the summit at 9,735 feet. The last two hundred meters or so are somewhat of a scramble as the trail disappears in the midst of boulders and rocks. Dig deep during this final ascent, for the reward of spectacular views is worth the extra effort.
(Photo courtesy Brittany Krawczyk)
Lake Tahoe stretches out before you to the northeast, along with bits of Emerald Bay and Cascade Lake slightly in the foreground.
To the southwest (below), Gilmore Lake is clearly visible with Pyramid Peak on the horizon. In total, the hike up took about 3-1/2 hours and the hike down a bit less. When (not if) you go, plan to have lunch or a snack at the top to give you time to enjoy the views.
In another setting nearly 85 50 years ago, Eric Sevaried began an adventure above the Arctic Circle, chronicled in his book "Canoeing With The Cree". Although our adventure was a day hike and the number of visitors large by comparison, Sevaried's words rang true for me on that day, gathered with my fellow Scouts atop Mt. Tallac: "Such sights as this are reserved for those who will suffer to behold them." It was indeed a great day for Scouting!
I don't often dabble in political topics on my blog. It's not something I like doing or seeing done in public fora. But this week, after watching several promos about an upcoming interview on NBC News later tonight, I can't let this pass without comment. Apologies in advance if I offend anyone's views or sensibilities.
Many in our country, and likely other countries as well, have gone through a full range of emotional reactions about a young man who decided his individual mission should be to expose his country’s deepest secrets. His stated motivation from the beginning has been that the U.S. government has violated its basic charter to preserve and protect its citizenry as guided by the Constitution—a view I don't personally share. Such a grand motivation assumes a certain righteousness that no one else working in the government (or knowledgeable of its inner workings) could ever possess.
I believe the single person who might ever have made such a claim of pure righteousness chose not to set himself apart in such a way. Instead he simply challenged anyone who is guiltless to cast the first stone. To me, the young man who betrayed his country’s trust is now a man without a country. He is a liability wherever he lands and the country which might opt to claim him is rare indeed.
As for the damage done to national security, is there a cost to restore the level of protection for systems and data which trusted authorities are responsible to protect? Yes. Will the recovery take time? Yes. Will the locks to the kingdom be rekeyed and the new keys secured? Yes—they no doubt already have been. So, what else is left to do? What is to become of the man without a country? The answer is largely up to him. He will decide if or when he will return to face his fate in his homeland.
But what about the value of anything he has to say? Very likely, there’s not much. With each passing day, week and month, anything he revealed or plans to reveal continues to become less relevant. As soon as his treason was exposed, the government would have immediately implemented defensive procedures. First, every effort would have been made to determine what was lost. Second, anything and everything that could have been changed would have been changed to blunt the impact of the revelations.
And yet some seem to believe there is entertainment value in an interview. Perhaps. For at great expense and with considerable effort, a U.S. news agency has arranged an interview with the young traitor. But what is the story to report? Personally, I would be surprised if there is a story or if anyone is interested. So, move along—there’s nothing to see here, right?
But wait. There may be a story after all. Instead of the focus being the interviewee, the real story may be the details of what it took to arrange the interview in the first place. How long did the negotiations take? Who should do the interview? How would all the media gear be transported into the country without creating a stir? What location would have the lowest profile for the interview? Would extra security be needed? Would there be cover stories and aliases for the news crew? How long would the interview team stay before and after the interview? Would they be transported in and out of the interview location under cover of darkness or in plain sight? And what was the Quid Pro Quo exchanged between the U.S. and Russia to allow the interview to happen?
The only other possibility that an interview might be of value would be to create opportunities during the interview for the young traitor’s narcissism and ego to kick in. For example, he might inadvertently reveal something that would otherwise be left to conjecture. Is there a crack in the purity of his motives? Did his ego get in the way of rational decision making? In front of millions or even billions in the TV audience, will he come across as a true patriot or will he appear flippant, foolish, arrogant, untrustworthy and irrelevant? And maybe in all that will he have any regrets?
Personally, I have struggled mightily with the question of whether I will watch the interview or not. My feeling is that the possibility of any value coming out of the interview is very likely a craps shoot. Anyone in the Intelligence business, whether collecting, processing or disseminating, understands that failure to protect data and information held in the national interest is a failure to protect the interest of every American. Anyone deliberately betraying that trust puts Americans at risk and is an affront to all who have been or are in the information security and facility security business. The idea of watching the interview in hopes some value, or better yet even the slightest shred of satisfaction, will come out of it is indeed a bitter pill.
Memorial Day always leaves me with conflicted emotions. It's not because I find it hard to intellectually understand that some have made, and will yet make, the ultimate sacrifice. And after 22 years as a military brat and another 20 years in the military myself, I totally get the realities of military service---life effects that may seem unacceptable to those who have not experienced them.
I even acknowledge there will never be 100 percent clarity of purpose when leaders must make decisions about what thousands of others are to do for the greater good. Missions are messy. And as "instruments of national policy", ours is but to follow and implement the best way we can, hoping our leaders are doing the same.
In terms of character, the oath of enlistment and oath of commissioning are essentially the same promise each military member makes to the nation they serve. Even after leaving the military, whether completing one stint or a career, wearing one's newly granted civilian status is neither easy nor complete---nor should it be. Yet among those who have served, you can see it in their bone-weary faces. There are few who would be happier and more relieved to return home, emotionally and physically spent, knowing they had done their best and glad that their burden can be set aside, if only for a while.
Sure there will always be grumbling about orders given. But, if called on again, likely almost all would take up the mantle once more and march on. Those unable to continue will stand in spirit behind all those who can and do. That is the unstated code not to be trifled with.
So, what is it that gives me pause on Memorial Day? In a visceral sense, it is hard to get my head around. It is just a deep, unfathomable feeling. But in truth, the conflicted emotions are fed by the discord that bubbles and boils as close as the TV remote or the never ending reports and interpretations of reports according to one's own world view. It is the constant din of disagreement, the ceaseless competition for a slice of the pie, swirling even as the distant combat continues. It is the masses apparently feeling no other option but to gnaw on bones tossed into the crowd by those who would incite riot.
And in the face of all that, how can an individual casualty among the thousands of dead and maimed warriors be understood and accepted? What of the mothers and fathers whose sons and daughters will no longer sit at table on Thanksgiving or find love or celebrate the lives of their children, born and unborn? For me, I think of an uncle I never knew: Alfred Washington Kirk, Jr., Private First Class, US Army. He was Jute or Junior to all who knew him.
Uncle Junior was a young man when he signed up, not much more than a boy, really. Born on August 10, 1923, he had yet to reach his 21st birthday when he died on a beach in the South Pacific. Junior had enlisted after Pearl Harbor, following two of his brothers (my dad and another uncle) who had joined up a year before him. Trading farm life for the company of thousands of others bound for an uncertain future, in less than three years, he fought what was likely his first and last battle on May 4, 1944. I can only imagine his final days and hours and minutes when, through serendipity, he became part of the nation's sacrifice.
When such loss is personal, the acceptance gets harder, even decades later. And yet, we go on in the knowledge that the totality of those losses are the price of freedom for all those left behind. Shouldn't the sacrifice of the few who we hold so close to our hearts call us to a common purpose that transcends our differences? Don't we owe the fallen at least that much, that they did not die in vain? Thanks hardly seems enough and yet it is all we have. Junior, I am humbled by your sacrifice. You and all your brothers and sisters then and since were taken from us too soon. 
In honor of Halloween, this post finishes the month with an un-rhyme:
A Halloween story in free verse for those who dare to read on.
"Don't Touch That Dial--It's Halloween!"
By Bill Kirk
'Tis a dark and stormy night.
The moon is shrouded by low-hanging clouds,
Pushed along by a howling wind.
Branches dance erratically, all but disconnected
From massive, creaking trunks. Snap! Something breaks.
Momentary flashes of moon and stars
Yield brief hints of what awaits those
Who choose to travel on such a turbulent night.
Will we make it to our destination?
Or only wish we had?
This is not a night for the engine to fail.
Is that why we stopped?
A lone car approaches in the distance.
In a flash, virtually on top of us,
High beams shock shut our wide-open eyes.
Then nothing as tail lights disappear in the distance.
The first drops of an impending storm
Dot the dusty windshield
Leaving spider-like reflections
Of the dimming interior lights. Keep the engine running.
How long will the battery last anyway?
Without it, the night is impenetrable.
Yet squandering it by leaving the lights on
Gives the visual advantage to those outside looking in.
Sure they can see us-each one of us.
Turn it off then. But can we at least listen to the radio?
Anything for a little distraction-even for a few minutes.
Hey, does anyone have a cell phone? No matter.
No reception. Better save their batteries, too. Wait.
Go back to that last radio station. What did that guy just say?
"Mass escape from Ravenscroft…. Two guards killed…
Throats slit; hoisted feet first on the flagpole.
Three others left surgically blind, deaf or dumb.
No sign of where the monsters went
And no way to track them.
"To all who hear this broadcast, stay inside your homes
And let no one in, not even if you think you know their voice.
If you are out, keeping driving, as far and as fast as you can.
And hope you can find shelter quickly in the company
Of those you can trust for help and safekeeping.
"For there is evil prowling the night,
Looking for a hiding place away from the storm,
No matter what they must do to find it.
And just for entertainment, they will spare no suffering.
Relishing the screams and pleadings of their victims.
"If you are in your car, do not get out. Lock every door.
Turn out every light. Stay out of sight.
If you hear any scratching on your car, stay quiet and do not move.
Dial 911 if you can and give your location to the authorities.
Only turn the radio on for hourly updates from this station."
Click.
"THIS MORNING AUTHORITIES FOUND SIX COLLEGE STUDENTS
ASPHYXIATED AND HUDDLED IN THE FLOOR OF THEIR CAR.
A PLASTIC BAG, TRAPPED BY A BROKEN BRANCH BLOWN DOWN
IN THE WIND, HAD COVERED THE EXHAUST PIPE. DOORS WERE LOCKED.
ALL CELL PHONES WERE TURNED OFF. THE BRANCH HAD LEFT
HEAVY SCRATCH MARKS ON THE TRUNK.
FULL GAS TANK, GOOD BATTERY; ALL CELL PHONES WORKING."
At the risk of suggesting a topical shift from writing to backpacking in the Sierra Nevada, my first entry for quite a while is a reflection on fire in the wilderness. But first a photo from a short backpacking trip in the Sierra in July of this year:
To snap the pic required a five-mile hike in from near Woods Lake along highway 89 plus a brief wait until close to sundown after eating dinner in camp. Needless to say, an i-Phone photo, although pretty spectacular, doesn't come close to a first-hand look. In a totally different context, Eric Sevaried once wrote of the northern Canadian wilderness in his book Canoeing With The Cree, "Such sights as this are reserved for those who will suffer to behold them."
Here's another shot looking easterly toward Lake Tahoe from a rock perch at the edge of the camping area. Arriving early enough in the day, a camper might be lucky to get this site and awake to see the birth of the dawn over Lake Tahoe.
So, why these photos now? And what is the connection to fire in the wilderness? Anyone in central, eastern and northern California and parts of Nevada have been witness to the effects of the Rim Fire burning near and in Yosemite National Park in recent weeks.
The fire was reportedly started by someone who disregarded fire restrictions which were and still are in place to reduce the possibility of just such an event. As a result, nearly 400 square miles of wilderness area have been scorched, including several homes in the path. The livelihoods of thousands of people in the surrounding communities and towns have also been jeopardized by the drop in the number of visitors and the trade they bring.
Clearly, natural causes could have started the Rim Fire just as easily. Lightning strikes have destroyed thousands of square miles of wilderness over the years and will continue to do so. Yet, the obvious lesson is nature needs no help from people when it comes to starting fires.
Little can be done to recoup the losses of those affected by any wilderness fire. Nor can we soothe their disappointment about the carelessness of those who would disregard prudent restrictions on the many in favor of the momentary enjoyment by the few. Masking her frustration last week, one nearby resident affected by the fire summed up the feelings of many when she simply said, "Fire restrictions are there for a reason." The message doesn't get much clearer than that.
On a another trip to Lake Tahoe last weekend, I was part of the support group for the Emigrant Trails Bike Trek (no, I wasn't among the riders). Approaching Lake Tahoe on Highway 50, I was looking forward to the panoramic view of the deep blue lake nestled among the surrounding peaks. However, as I rounded the last of the tight curves which open up to the spectacular lake views, the lake was totally masked by the thick haze of drifting smoke from the Rim Fire.
Personally, I like a good campfire as much as the next person. And I can vouch for the same sentiment among the Boy Scouts in our Scout Troop and other Troops who frequently camp in California's wilderness areas. After all, campfires are an expected part of the camping experience. Yet when conditions warn against fire, there is no debate. Those fire restrictions are there for a reason.
At the risk of suggesting a topical shift from writing to backpacking in the Sierra Nevada, my first entry for quite a while is a reflection on fire in the wilderness. But first a photo from a short backpacking trip in the Sierra in July of this year:
To snap the pic required a five-mile hike in to Showers Lake (photo) from near Woods Lake along highway 89, plus a brief wait after eating dinner in camp for the sunset. Needless to say, an i-Phone photo, although pretty spectacular, doesn't come close to a first-hand look. In a totally different context, Eric Sevaried once wrote of the northern Canadian wilderness in his book Canoeing With The Cree, "Such sights as this are reserved for those who will suffer to behold them."
Here's another shot looking easterly toward Lake Tahoe from a rock perch at the edge of the camping area. Arriving early enough in the day, a camper might be lucky to snag this campsite and awake to see the birth of the dawn over Lake Tahoe.
So, why these photos now? And what is the connection to the topic of fire in the wilderness? Anyone in central, eastern and northern California and parts of Nevada have been witness to the effects of the Rim Fire burning near and in Yosemite National Park in recent weeks. The fire was reportedly started by someone who disregarded fire restrictions which were (and still are) in place to reduce the possibility of just such an event. As a result, 400 square miles of wilderness area have been scorched, including several homes in the path. The livelihoods of thousands of people in the surrounding communities and towns have also been jeopardized by the drop in the number of visitors and the trade they bring.
Clearly, natural causes could have started the Rim Fire just as easily. Lightning strikes have destroyed thousands of square miles of wilderness over the years and will continue to do so. Yet, the obvious lesson is nature needs no help from people when it comes to starting fires.
Little can be done to recoup the losses of those affected by any wilderness fire. Nor can we soothe their disappointment about the carelessness of those who would disregard prudent restrictions on the many in favor of the momentary enjoyment by the few. Masking her frustration last week, one nearby resident affected by the fire summed up the feelings of many when she simply said, "Fire restrictions are there for a reason." The message doesn't get much clearer than that.
On a another trip to Lake Tahoe last weekend, I was part of the support group for the Emigrant Trails Bike Trek (no, I wasn't among the riders). Approaching Lake Tahoe on Highway 50, I was looking forward to the panoramic view of the deep blue lake nestled among the surrounding peaks. However, as I rounded the last of the tight curves which open up to the spectacular lake views, the lake was totally masked by the thick haze of drifting smoke from the Rim Fire.
Personally, I like a good campfire as much as the next person. And I can vouch for the same sentiment among the Boy Scouts in our Scout Troop and other Troops who frequently camp in California's wilderness areas. After all, campfires are an expected part of the camping experience. Yet when conditions warn against fire, there is no debate. Like the lady said, those fire restrictions are there for a reason. 
I've included this rhyming story before but I can't pass up using again on this day, the first Father's Day without my dad. He passed away in January and all of his family areis missing him today. But he wouldn't want us to be droopy-eyed about him missing this day with us. I had him for 65 years and even he would probably say, that's long enough. And then there were three generations: My son, Chris, and his son, Dylan, with me hiking Bodega Head in California last week on June 8.
Cherish the fathers who are still with us, wherever they may be. And hold in your hearts the fathers we can only remember this day. May the Lord bless you and keep you all and may we all be sons with whom our fathers are well pleased.
Dad, Can I Help?
By Bill Kirk
The long weekend beckoned—
I’d written my list.
And I was quite sure
There was nothing I’d missed.
No yard work distractions,
No carpools to do.
The weekend was mine
Until I was through.
I had all my hardware
And lumber galore.
I’d work on the deck;
Replace an old door.
I set up my saw
And tested my drill.
With anticipation
I felt quite a thrill.
“No holding me back,”
I thought, a bit smug.
Then all of a sudden,
I felt a slight tug.
Stopping my work,
I turned with a glance
To see my small son
Grab the leg of my pants.
What could I do?
Did I have any choice,
When my little son asked
In his little boy voice?
“Dad, can I help?
I just need some glue
And maybe a nail,
Some wood and a screw.”
“I’ll be very careful
And do what you say.
I promise, I’ll try
To stay out of your way.”
I felt the deck slipping
Right out of my grasp.
And the door would remain
On its very last gasp.
We built a small boat
With a deck and a sail
Out of two bits of wood,
An old rag and a nail;
Then battled some pirates
And found chests of gold.
With each new adventure
A story was told.
We sawed and we hammered
Until we were done
With all of our work—
Like father, like son.
I never did finish
My list on that day,
Instead I spent time
With my son, just to play.
And those weekend projects?
Sometimes they must wait.
For some life appointments,
A Dad can’t be late.
I've included this rhyming story before but I can't pass up using again on this day, the first Father's Day without my dad. He passed away in January and all of his family areis missing him today. But he wouldn't want us to be droopy-eyed about him missing this day with us. I had him for 65 years and even he would probably say, that's long enough. And then there were three generations: My son, Chris, and his son, Dylan, with me hiking Bodega Head in California last week on June 8.
Cherish the fathers who are still with us, wherever they may be. And hold in your hearts the fathers we can only remember this day. May the Lord bless you and keep you all and may we all be sons with whom our fathers are well pleased.
Dad, Can I Help?
By Bill Kirk
The long weekend beckoned—
I’d written my list.
And I was quite sure
There was nothing I’d missed.
No yard work distractions,
No carpools to do.
The weekend was mine
Until I was through.
I had all my hardware
And lumber galore.
I’d work on the deck;
Replace an old door.
I set up my saw
And tested my drill.
With anticipation
I felt quite a thrill.
“No holding me back,”
I thought, a bit smug.
Then all of a sudden,
I felt a slight tug.
Stopping my work,
I turned with a glance
To see my small son
Grab the leg of my pants.
What could I do?
Did I have any choice,
When my little son asked
In his little boy voice?
“Dad, can I help?
I just need some glue
And maybe a nail,
Some wood and a screw.”
“I’ll be very careful
And do what you say.
I promise, I’ll try
To stay out of your way.”
I felt the deck slipping
Right out of my grasp.
And the door would remain
On its very last gasp.
We built a small boat
With a deck and a sail
Out of two bits of wood,
An old rag and a nail;
Then battled some pirates
And found chests of gold.
With each new adventure
A story was told.
We sawed and we hammered
Until we were done
With all of our work—
Like father, like son.
I never did finish
My list on that day,
Instead I spent time
With my son, just to play.
And those weekend projects?
Sometimes they must wait.
For some life appointments,
A Dad can’t be late.
Have you ever noticed there are literally hundreds of references to water in the Bible: The parting of the Red Sea, turning water to wine, the washing of feet, baptism in the river, Jesus walking on water, the woman at the well—you get the picture. Water seems to be everywhere in the Bible. I suppose it shouldn’t be all that surprising, what with three-quarters of the earth being covered with it. Then there was the Great Flood when all four quarters of the earth were covered. Let’s face it. If we get a bit concerned about reports the earth’s oceans are rising a few inches, think of the headline when water covered Everest over 29,000 feet above sea level! Some things are way beyond imagination. We’re talking epic proportions here!
Which naturally brings me to skunks. Yep. That’s right. Skunks. OK. So, my transitions could use a little work. But think of it. Using what can only be described as his extraordinary negotiating skills, Noah managed to get two skunks onboard the Ark—and keep them INSIDE for over 40 days and 40 nights. And no one in the family was thrown overboard.
But wait! There's more! The 40 days and 40 nights don't begin to tell the story. According to Genesis Chapters 7 and 8, the elapsed time Noah, his family and all the animals were on the Ark was over a year. Is that impressive or what? Covering the earth with water was indeed miraculous. But I can’t help but think hosting two skunks on a boat and living to tell about it was pretty amazing in its own right. As a matter of fact, in some small way I had my own epiphany about such acts of faith just last week….
Years ago, we converted our heating/cooling system to gas, which was supposedly cheaper and more efficient than our electric system. If memory serves, “brilliant” was the humblest of words I could find to describe my stroke of genius at the money we were going to save. In retrospect, there appears to have been one minor shortcut during the installation. But how was I to know there could possibly be a downside to running the gas pipe under the house and out through one of the crawl space vents rather than poking a hole through the stucco? Besides, the wire mesh patch job the installers did seemed secure at the time.
Fast forward to one evening last week, my wife and I were tuned in to “Jeopardy” and “Wheel Of Fortune”—What? You thought we would be watching “Masterpiece Theatre”? Suddenly, we heard a strange bumping and scratching. The location of the sounds was rather non-specific except they seemed to be coming from under the family room. As it turns out, I should have been a bit more diligent about inspecting the aforementioned wire mesh patch which had apparently worked its way loose over the years.
Somehow, an enterprising skunk had found its way under the house below the family room. There was also the slightest hint of something ominous in the air. If you have ever wondered how air tight the ductwork in your house is, wonder no more. It ain’t. And did I mention skunk mating season is in February and March? Fortunately, the gestation period in skunks is 60 days. So, time was on my side.
The next three days and nights were a blur, mostly due to the tears in my eyes. I was Trapper Bill by night and a critter relocation specialist in rubber gloves and a HazMat suit by day. If you are wondering, my wife did mention Animal Control once or twice—OK it was several times. But why would any self-respecting Eagle Scout resort to such tactics. Besides, just think of the money I saved—a Scout is Thrifty and all that. Admittedly, buying febreeze by the gallon isn’t cheap and salvaging my Honda Accord after transporting skunks in my trunk is still a work in progress. But I really feel the skunks and I have cleared the air in our relationship.
Have you ever noticed there are literally hundreds of references to water in the Bible: The parting of the Red Sea, turning water to wine, the washing of feet, baptism in the river, Jesus walking on water, the woman at the well—you get the picture. Water seems to be everywhere in the Bible. I suppose it shouldn’t be all that surprising, what with three-quarters of the earth being covered with it. Then there was the Great Flood when all four quarters of the earth were covered. Let’s face it. If we get a bit concerned about reports the earth’s oceans are rising a few inches, think of the headline when water covered Everest over 29,000 feet above sea level! Some things are way beyond imagination. We’re talking epic proportions here!
Which naturally brings me to skunks. Yep. That’s right. Skunks. OK. So, my transitions could use a little work. But think of it. Using what can only be described as his extraordinary negotiating skills, Noah managed to get two skunks onboard the Ark—and keep them INSIDE for over 40 days and 40 nights. And no one in the family was thrown overboard.
But wait! There's more! The 40 days and 40 nights don't begin to tell the story. According to Genesis Chapters 7 and 8, the elapsed time Noah, his family and all the animals were on the Ark was over a year. Is that impressive or what? Covering the earth with water was indeed miraculous. But I can’t help but think hosting two skunks on a boat and living to tell about it was pretty amazing in its own right. As a matter of fact, in some small way I had my own epiphany about such acts of faith just last week….
Years ago, we converted our heating/cooling system to gas, which was supposedly cheaper and more efficient than our electric system. If memory serves, “brilliant” was the humblest of words I could find to describe my stroke of genius at the money we were going to save. In retrospect, there appears to have been one minor shortcut during the installation. But how was I to know there could possibly be a downside to running the gas pipe under the house and out through one of the crawl space vents rather than poking a hole through the stucco? Besides, the wire mesh patch job the installers did seemed secure at the time.
Fast forward to one evening last week, my wife and I were tuned in to “Jeopardy” and “Wheel Of Fortune”—What? You thought we would be watching “Masterpiece Theatre”? Suddenly, we heard a strange bumping and scratching. The location of the sounds was rather non-specific except they seemed to be coming from under the family room. As it turns out, I should have been a bit more diligent about inspecting the aforementioned wire mesh patch which had apparently worked its way loose over the years.
Somehow, an enterprising skunk had found its way under the house below the family room. There was also the slightest hint of something ominous in the air. If you have ever wondered how air tight the ductwork in your house is, wonder no more. It ain’t. And did I mention skunk mating season is in February and March? Fortunately, the gestation period in skunks is 60 days. So, time was on my side.
The next three days and nights were a blur, mostly due to the tears in my eyes. I was Trapper Bill by night and a critter relocation specialist in rubber gloves and a HazMat suit by day. If you are wondering, my wife did mention Animal Control once or twice—OK it was several times. But why would any self-respecting Eagle Scout resort to such tactics. Besides, just think of the money I saved—a Scout is Thrifty and all that. Admittedly, buying febreeze by the gallon isn’t cheap and salvaging my Honda Accord after transporting skunks in my trunk is still a work in progress. But I really feel the skunks and I have cleared the air in our relationship.
After a stretch without blogging, I'm back---just in time to announce that a pile of terrific children's books was released in September by Guardian Angel Publishing. I'm happy to say that my Book 6 ("The Skin We're In") in THE SUM OF OUR PARTS series is among those books.
Keep reading the thumbnails below and click on each link for more information about the books. Or go to the Guardian Angel Publishing Bookstore (http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/catalog.htm ) to browse through hundreds of books by other talented authors and artists at Guardian Angel Publishing. Enjoy!
BENJAMIN JAY WAS A BULLY
Animals & Pets
by Emma Glover, artist KC Snider
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/benjamin-bully.htm
When the fledglings of Bird Garden extend their wings in friendship to Benjamin Jay, he must choose the dove's way or the bully's path?
BLUE PAINT
Chapbook for Tweens
by Liam Maher, artist Bonnie Everett-Hawkes
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/blue-paint.htm
John shares his story of a painting job he had as a young man and the grumpy little man who came by to trick him out of fifty dollars.
CAMILLE'S JOURNEY MASTER & MUSICAL SCORES
Angelic Harmony
by Dixie Phillips, Sharon Phillips, Lucy Robbins, Leslie Troyer
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/camille.htm
Spend your Christmas with Camille, an orphaned camel, as she leads three zany wise men and their bossy camels to the newborn King in Bethlehem. A Christmas musical-includes play, lyrics and musical scores.
CAPTAIN COURAGE & THE FEAR-SQUISHING SHOES
Littlest Angels
by Stacey A Marshall, artist Michelle Morse
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/captain-courage1.htm
The new girl at school shrivels until a unique superhero swoops in to the rescue, demonstrating specific ways to make self-confidence and courage soar.
JUST FOR TODAY
Littlest Angels
by Kevin McNamee, artist Marina Movshina
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/just-today.htm
You'll love this gentle rhyming picture book about spending quality time with kids. All that's needed is a little time, a lot of imagination and plenty of love.
LITTLE ISAAC'S BIG ADVENTURE
Littlest Angels
by Tracy Helixon, artist Jack Foster
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/little-isaac.htm
What if you could swing so high that you landed on a cloud and traveled through the sky? Isaac did! Join him on this adventure.
MYTH-BUSTING COLUMBUS
Academic Wings
by Kelly Bakshi
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/columbus.htm
Columbus convinced royals to fund his voyage; he forged new water routes and introduced Europe to a new world. He also lied to his crew, murdered and enslaved Native Americans, and never realized where in the world he actually was.
ONE FAMILY'S CHRISTMAS hardcover edition
Academic Wings
by Mary Jean Kelso, artist KC Snider
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/1-familys-xmas.htm
After a family's star for their Christmas tree is destroyed they resurrect the treetop angel carried across The Oregon Trail by a young pioneer and bring the story of The Christmas Angel full circle.
THE SKIN WE'RE IN: TSOOP series Book 6
Academic Wings
by Bill Kirk, artist Eugene Ruble
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/skin-tsoop.htm
An anatomical rhyme which describes all the names and uses of the different tissues in the skin, including factoids and extra educational pages.
THE TOWN OF MASQUERADE
Littlest Angels
by Jack Samuels, artist KC Snider
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/masquerade.htm
Explore an unusual town full of colorful expressions and childlike charm where two friends realize that the perfect mask might be easier to make than expected.
After a stretch without blogging, I'm back---just in time to announce that a pile of terrific children's books was released in September by Guardian Angel Publishing. I'm happy to say that my Book 6 ("The Skin We're In") in THE SUM OF OUR PARTS series is among those books.
Keep reading the thumbnails below and click on each link for more information about the books. Or go to the Guardian Angel Publishing Bookstore (http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/catalog.htm ) to browse through hundreds of books by other talented authors and artists at Guardian Angel Publishing. Enjoy!
BENJAMIN JAY WAS A BULLY
Animals & Pets
by Emma Glover, artist KC Snider
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/benjamin-bully.htm
When the fledglings of Bird Garden extend their wings in friendship to Benjamin Jay, he must choose the dove's way or the bully's path?
BLUE PAINT
Chapbook for Tweens
by Liam Maher, artist Bonnie Everett-Hawkes
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/blue-paint.htm
John shares his story of a painting job he had as a young man and the grumpy little man who came by to trick him out of fifty dollars.
CAMILLE'S JOURNEY MASTER & MUSICAL SCORES
Angelic Harmony
by Dixie Phillips, Sharon Phillips, Lucy Robbins, Leslie Troyer
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/camille.htm
Spend your Christmas with Camille, an orphaned camel, as she leads three zany wise men and their bossy camels to the newborn King in Bethlehem. A Christmas musical-includes play, lyrics and musical scores.
CAPTAIN COURAGE & THE FEAR-SQUISHING SHOES
Littlest Angels
by Stacey A Marshall, artist Michelle Morse
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/captain-courage1.htm
The new girl at school shrivels until a unique superhero swoops in to the rescue, demonstrating specific ways to make self-confidence and courage soar.
JUST FOR TODAY
Littlest Angels
by Kevin McNamee, artist Marina Movshina
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/just-today.htm
You'll love this gentle rhyming picture book about spending quality time with kids. All that's needed is a little time, a lot of imagination and plenty of love.
LITTLE ISAAC'S BIG ADVENTURE
Littlest Angels
by Tracy Helixon, artist Jack Foster
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/little-isaac.htm
What if you could swing so high that you landed on a cloud and traveled through the sky? Isaac did! Join him on this adventure.
MYTH-BUSTING COLUMBUS
Academic Wings
by Kelly Bakshi
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/columbus.htm
Columbus convinced royals to fund his voyage; he forged new water routes and introduced Europe to a new world. He also lied to his crew, murdered and enslaved Native Americans, and never realized where in the world he actually was.
ONE FAMILY'S CHRISTMAS hardcover edition
Academic Wings
by Mary Jean Kelso, artist KC Snider
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/1-familys-xmas.htm
After a family's star for their Christmas tree is destroyed they resurrect the treetop angel carried across The Oregon Trail by a young pioneer and bring the story of The Christmas Angel full circle.
THE SKIN WE'RE IN: TSOOP series Book 6
Academic Wings
by Bill Kirk, artist Eugene Ruble
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/skin-tsoop.htm
An anatomical rhyme which describes all the names and uses of the different tissues in the skin, including factoids and extra educational pages.
THE TOWN OF MASQUERADE
Littlest Angels
by Jack Samuels, artist KC Snider
http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/masquerade.htm
Explore an unusual town full of colorful expressions and childlike charm where two friends realize that the perfect mask might be easier to make than expected.
Don't some rejections just irritate the muse right out of you? I'm talking about the ones that don't tell you anything about what you wrote. Perhaps the sender is just being kind in a silent sort of way. But still....
Temptation ResistedBy Bill Kirk
In the context of the writing craft,
Some rejections
Are easier to take than others.
The best ones are those
That leave reason for hope
Or even those that
Harshly jab at one’s sensitivities
To clearly make a much needed point.
Those are the ones
I can live with and learn from.
For at least I know
Where I stand
And have an idea
Where I need to move.
Others without a hint of
Having been humanly handled,
Aren’t worth the paper
The reasons for rejection aren’t written on.
Why, that’s a non-rejection plain and simple.
Personally, those are the ones
I mentally reject in return,
Fully satisfied with having
Saved a stamp by not sending a follow-up letter,
Although sometimes I’m tempted.
Don't some rejections just irritate the muse right out of you? I'm talking about the ones that don't tell you anything about what you wrote. Perhaps the sender is just being kind in a silent sort of way. But still....
Temptation Resisted
By Bill Kirk
In the context of the writing craft,
Some rejections
Are easier to take than others.
The best ones are those
That leave reason for hope
Or even those that
Harshly jab at one’s sensitivities
To clearly make a much needed point.
Those are the ones
I can live with and learn from.
For at least I know
Where I stand
And have an idea
Where I need to move.
Others without a hint of
Having been humanly handled,
Aren’t worth the paper
The reasons for rejection aren’t written on.
Why, that’s a non-rejection plain and simple.
Personally, those are the ones
I mentally reject in return,
Fully satisfied with having
Saved a stamp by not sending a follow-up letter,
Although sometimes I’m tempted.
This is a short poem, the prompt for which was write a poem about two people interacting with out talking. As it turns out this prompt arrived on April 7, my wife's birthday. The poem is whistful and hopeful, conjuring up all the other feelings someone has when "the one" appears, if only briefly.
There She Is
By Bill Kirk
There she is.
Across the crowded platform
Stands a slip of a girl
In a whisp of a summer dress,
Swirling with the coming and going
Of each passing train.
Which one will be hers, he wonders?
The boy gushes a hope-filled glance in her direction.
And she, sensing an extrasensory broadcast
As if from a distant universe,
Scans the panoply of possible senders—
First, around her; then at a distance.
For one brief moment, eye contact.
His hopeful stare and slight upward nod,
Rewarded almost imperceptively
By her barely uplifting eyebrow
And the slightest curl of a smile.
In that moment she is his.
Then she is gone.
This is a short poem, the prompt for which was write a poem about two people interacting with out talking. As it turns out this prompt arrived on April 7, my wife's birthday. The poem is whistful and hopeful, conjuring up all the other feelings someone has when "the one" appears, if only briefly.
There She Is
By Bill Kirk
There she is.
Across the crowded platform
Stands a slip of a girl
In a whisp of a summer dress,
Swirling with the coming and going
Of each passing train.
Which one will be hers, he wonders?
The boy gushes a hope-filled glance in her direction.
And she, sensing an extrasensory broadcast
As if from a distant universe,
Scans the panoply of possible senders—
First, around her; then at a distance.
For one brief moment, eye contact.
His hopeful stare and slight upward nod,
Rewarded almost imperceptively
By her barely uplifting eyebrow
And the slightest curl of a smile.
In that moment she is his.
Then she is gone.
This short piece may best be read in the light of day....
The Visitor
By Bill Kirk
Three sharp taps on the door beckon.
Should I wait or should I go?
Why would anyone be knocking at this hour?
Can’t see much through the peephole.
Why didn’t I change that light bulb last week?
If I just stay quiet,
Maybe the visitor will go away.
Besides, I just wanted
Some time to myself tonight—
Don’t really feel like “being home” for anyone.
A presence is almost palpable
Out there in the darkess,
Waiting. Watching.
How long has he been outside anyway,
This visitor?
Has he seen me?
Does he know I’m inside?
Does he sense my hesitation?
Does he know his knock has
Left me wary and wondering?
Where’s that bat I put in the closet?
But what if it’s important?
Could it be a neighbor?
The Police?
Has there been an accident?
What if someone’s hurt?
Three sharp taps on the door beckon….
This short piece may best be read in the light of day....
The Visitor
By Bill Kirk
Three sharp taps on the door beckon.
Should I wait or should I go?
Why would anyone be knocking at this hour?
Can’t see much through the peephole.
Why didn’t I change that light bulb last week?
If I just stay quiet,
Maybe the visitor will go away.
Besides, I just wanted
Some time to myself tonight—
Don’t really feel like “being home” for anyone.
A presence is almost palpable
Out there in the darkess,
Waiting. Watching.
How long has he been outside anyway,
This visitor?
Has he seen me?
Does he know I’m inside?
Does he sense my hesitation?
Does he know his knock has
Left me wary and wondering?
Where’s that bat I put in the closet?
But what if it’s important?
Could it be a neighbor?
The Police?
Has there been an accident?
What if someone’s hurt?
Three sharp taps on the door beckon….
To any and all who drop by my blog from time to time. I'm catching up. Many of you will recall April is Nationally Poetry Month. This year, I tried to hang with the schedule of writing a poem a day. Or I should say I started to try. Failing the daily grind, I have nonetheless committed to going back to all those poetry prompts from all those days in April; to write the wrong of the unmet challenge. Some of those poetic musings will appear here, starting with the prompt and poem from April 1: "Write a communications poem".
Communication Conundrum
By Bill Kirk
"Hey, John.
Just heard my phone buzz.
What’s Up?
Wait a sec. I got no Wi-Fi
And this connection is crap!
Yeah, I got four bars
But the audio-video is totally
Out of sync and slow beyond belief!”
In times past,
Communication wasn’t always that slow.
It was even slower—on a good day—
And mostly by design.
There was a time when the
Transmission of the messages themselves
Seemed to reflect the natural rhythms
Of everyday living.
To be sure, some messages
Were more important than others.
Perhaps that’s the difference in a nutshell—
Only the most critical messages
Were sent by the fastest means possible,
Even if slow by today’s standards.
Whether by runner
Or horse
Or ship
Or train
Or tom-tom
Or telegraph
Or phone,
The means (and speed) of transmission
Often defined the sense of urgency—
That hierarchy of speed
Was fine with most people.
Based on the sense of urgency alone,
There was a time
In the not too distant past,
When no one wanted to get a
Long distance phone call,
Because it meant someone was
Either dead or dying.
Everyone knew
The greater the speed
And sense of urgency behind the message,
The less anyone wanted
To be on the receiving end of the line.
Yet in far less than a life time,
The urgency of a message
Is no longer defined
By its speed of transmission,
Nor by assumptions about who
In the known universe may have sent it.
That quiet ding
Or buzz
Or Beethoven bounce
Or Salsa sound bite
Heard while eating
Or meeting
Or toileting
Or driving,
Signals the arrival of a message
From just about anyone, sent
From just about anywhere.The sound of arrival demands
The attention of the receiver
(“I’ve got to take this”),
Like the insistent cry of a newborn.
There's nothing quite like the
Clarion call of a common ring tone
To generate a frenzy of twisting, turning, patting,
Reaching and grabbing: "Nope. Not mine."
Alas, with all messages essentially traveling
At the same speed,
Through the same pipeline,
How is it that the relative importance
Of one message can be distinguished
From any other?
“Pick up! Pick up! I’m in the ER!”
“Hey, how do you spell ‘misspell’, one ‘s’ or two?”
If all messages appear equally important
By virtue of the speed they span
The distance to destination,
Which ones are the most urgent?
Which ones are worthy of a rapid reply
Or even of taking the time to find out?
To retain sanity, might such a
Lack of distinctions
Doom all messages to being
Discarded or disregarded?
On the other hand….
Instead of turning a blind eye or deaf ear,
Is the socially mandated alternative
Now the giving in to the siren song of
The electronic beck and call
And the click and clatter of constant comment?
Have we reached saturation
Or do we still crave yet more stimulation.
Such is the communication conundrum.
To any and all who drop by my blog from time to time. I'm catching up. Many of you will recall April is Nationally Poetry Month. This year, I tried to hang with the schedule of writing a poem a day. Or I should say I started to try. Failing the daily grind, I have nonetheless committed to going back to all those poetry prompts from all those days in April; to write the wrong of the unmet challenge. Some of those poetic musings will appear here, starting with the prompt and poem from April 1: "Write a communications poem".
Communication Conundrum
By Bill Kirk
"Hey, John.
Just heard my phone buzz.
What’s Up?
Wait a sec. I got no Wi-Fi
And this connection is crap!
Yeah, I got four bars
But the audio-video is totally
Out of sync and slow beyond belief!”
In times past,
Communication wasn’t always that slow.
It was even slower—on a good day—
And mostly by design.
There was a time when the
Transmission of the messages themselves
Seemed to reflect the natural rhythms
Of everyday living.
To be sure, some messages
Were more important than others.
Perhaps that’s the difference in a nutshell—
Only the most critical messages
Were sent by the fastest means possible,
Even if slow by today’s standards.
Whether by runner
Or horse
Or ship
Or train
Or tom-tom
Or telegraph
Or phone,
The means (and speed) of transmission
Often defined the sense of urgency—
That hierarchy of speed
Was fine with most people.
Based on the sense of urgency alone,
There was a time
In the not too distant past,
When no one wanted to get a
Long distance phone call,
Because it meant someone was
Either dead or dying.
Everyone knew
The greater the speed
And sense of urgency behind the message,
The less anyone wanted
To be on the receiving end of the line.
Yet in far less than a life time,
The urgency of a message
Is no longer defined
By its speed of transmission,
Nor by assumptions about who
In the known universe may have sent it.
That quiet ding
Or buzz
Or Beethoven bounce
Or Salsa sound bite
Heard while eating
Or meeting
Or toileting
Or driving,
Signals the arrival of a message
From just about anyone, sent
From just about anywhere.The sound of arrival demands
The attention of the receiver
(“I’ve got to take this”),
Like the insistent cry of a newborn.
There's nothing quite like the
Clarion call of a common ring tone
To generate a frenzy of twisting, turning, patting,
Reaching and grabbing: "Nope. Not mine."
Alas, with all messages essentially traveling
At the same speed,
Through the same pipeline,
How is it that the relative importance
Of one message can be distinguished
From any other?
“Pick up! Pick up! I’m in the ER!”
“Hey, how do you spell ‘misspell’, one ‘s’ or two?”
If all messages appear equally important
By virtue of the speed they span
The distance to destination,
Which ones are the most urgent?
Which ones are worthy of a rapid reply
Or even of taking the time to find out?
To retain sanity, might such a
Lack of distinctions
Doom all messages to being
Discarded or disregarded?
On the other hand….
Instead of turning a blind eye or deaf ear,
Is the socially mandated alternative
Now the giving in to the siren song of
The electronic beck and call
And the click and clatter of constant comment?
Have we reached saturation
Or do we still crave yet more stimulation.
Such is the communication conundrum.
Children’s Ezine Guardian Angel Kids: Growing Up – June 2012 Issue
The Guardian Angel Kids creative crew is pleased to announce the new Ezine format. The inviting visual will take the reader on a turn page style adventure with the click of the mouse accompanied with the sound of turning a page in your hand. Without further ado, we present the Guardian Angel Kids Growing Up June 2012 issue…
The carefree days of childhood invokes memories of lazy days of summer vacation filled with days of swimming at the town pool. It was the central social point of the neighborhood and the excitement of the day would then flow onto our cul-de-sac (after the children of the neighborhood ate their respective suppers) where there was always a stick ball game going on until the single street light flickered on. Quickly we would change gears and switch to playing flashlight tag.
My mother, always an avid reader, made sure her children read each and every day and to this day we all have instilled the same love of reading with our own children. Without lapsing in our reading skills throughout the summer we were always well prepared with our studies. The days appeared endless and before you knew it, it was time for back to school shopping.
The love of reading has led me to the path of writing for children and Editor-in-Chief of Guardian Angel Publishing, for which I’m joyful for and proud to present the Guardian Angel Kids June 2012 issue of Growing Up http://www.guardian-angel-kids.com/.
We hope you enjoy our issue of Growing Up as much the Guardian Angel Kid staff did reminiscing about our childhoods and selecting the wonderful poetry, stories, articles, and activities.
* Letter from the EDITOR-IN-CHIEF: Donna M. McDine
* Featured BookS:
** Growing Up Dreams by Susan Berger and illustrated by Samantha Bell
** The Odd Chick by Mary Esparza-Vela and illustrated by Kevin Collier
* Children’S poetry, ACTIVITIES, SHORT STORIES, and articleS:
** “I’m Growing Up,” poetry by Guy Belleranti – how quickly the time passes by.
** “Is It Friday Yet?” poetry by Alicia Z. Klepeis – The excitement of the approaching end of the week.
** “Activities to Make Reading Fun,” by Kathy Stemke – having fun with language is the key to unlocking the world of reading to your child.
** “Too Much Trouble,” by Juliana M. Jones and illustrated by Nancy Miller – the growing responsibility of getting older.
** “Maid for Make Believe,” by Caroline Yu and illustrated by Clara Batton Smith – the magic of pretend brings to friends closer together.
** “Read Aloud Tips for Preschoolers: Put Some Pizzazz in Reading Aloud,” by Dorit Sasson – how to connect to the story by acting it out.
** “Encouraging Your Reader,” by Vanessa Fortenberry – tips on how to encourage and instill the love of reading.
Visit Guardian Angel Kid today and www.guardian-angel-kids.com and enjoy a child safe and ad free Ezine.
We also invite you to stay connected with Guardian Angel Kids through our Facebook Fan Page http://www.facebook.com/pages/Guardian-Angel-Kids-Ezine/163785080346247.
Please feel free to drop Editor-in-Chief, Donna McDine an email at mailto:[email protected]and let them know what you think of Guardian Angel Kids and what you'd like to see in the future. They aim to please.
The Guardian Angel Kids Ezine staff and contributo
Children’s Ezine Guardian Angel Kids: Growing Up – June 2012 Issue
The Guardian Angel Kids creative crew is pleased to announce the new Ezine format. The inviting visual will take the reader on a turn page style adventure with the click of the mouse accompanied with the sound of turning a page in your hand. Without further ado, we present the Guardian Angel Kids Growing Up June 2012 issue…
The carefree days of childhood invokes memories of lazy days of summer vacation filled with days of swimming at the town pool. It was the central social point of the neighborhood and the excitement of the day would then flow onto our cul-de-sac (after the children of the neighborhood ate their respective suppers) where there was always a stick ball game going on until the single street light flickered on. Quickly we would change gears and switch to playing flashlight tag.
My mother, always an avid reader, made sure her children read each and every day and to this day we all have instilled the same love of reading with our own children. Without lapsing in our reading skills throughout the summer we were always well prepared with our studies. The days appeared endless and before you knew it, it was time for back to school shopping.
The love of reading has led me to the path of writing for children and Editor-in-Chief of Guardian Angel Publishing, for which I’m joyful for and proud to present the Guardian Angel Kids June 2012 issue of Growing Up http://www.guardian-angel-kids.com/.
We hope you enjoy our issue of Growing Up as much the Guardian Angel Kid staff did reminiscing about our childhoods and selecting the wonderful poetry, stories, articles, and activities.
* Letter from the EDITOR-IN-CHIEF: Donna M. McDine
* Featured BookS:
** Growing Up Dreams by Susan Berger and illustrated by Samantha Bell
** The Odd Chick by Mary Esparza-Vela and illustrated by Kevin Collier
* Children’S poetry, ACTIVITIES, SHORT STORIES, and articleS:
** “I’m Growing Up,” poetry by Guy Belleranti – how quickly the time passes by.
** “Is It Friday Yet?” poetry by Alicia Z. Klepeis – The excitement of the approaching end of the week.
** “Activities to Make Reading Fun,” by Kathy Stemke – having fun with language is the key to unlocking the world of reading to your child.
** “Too Much Trouble,” by Juliana M. Jones and illustrated by Nancy Miller – the growing responsibility of getting older.
** “Maid for Make Believe,” by Caroline Yu and illustrated by Clara Batton Smith – the magic of pretend brings to friends closer together.
** “Read Aloud Tips for Preschoolers: Put Some Pizzazz in Reading Aloud,” by Dorit Sasson – how to connect to the story by acting it out.
** “Encouraging Your Reader,” by Vanessa Fortenberry – tips on how to encourage and instill the love of reading.
Visit Guardian Angel Kid today and www.guardian-angel-kids.com and enjoy a child safe and ad free Ezine.
We also invite you to stay connected with Guardian Angel Kids through our Facebook Fan Page http://www.facebook.com/pages/Guardian-Angel-Kids-Ezine/163785080346247.
Please feel free to drop Editor-in-Chief, Donna McDine an email at mailto:[email protected]and let them know what you think of Guardian Angel Kids and what you'd like to see in the future. They aim to please.
The Guardian Angel Kids Ezine staff and contributors look forward to your visit. Thank you for your time and interest.
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You were blessed to share a day that way, and I'm sure many others like it. Grand memories your children will share with their children, and the legacy lives on. I know your heart is heavy today, but I know you feel a measure of pride and comfort as well.
Thanks for inviting me into your world of words.