- From the “Lupine Loping” Department – A woman in Canada was surprised when she was overtaken on the road by a pair of wolves out for a jog. It’s good to see animal Olympians putting in the hours even during the off years. This reminds me of the beginning of one of my favorite book series. No word yet on whether authorities were able to identify the wolves or ticket them for speeding.
- From the “Border Birthing” Department – A young woman from Arizona was able to make it back to the border when she went into labor while visiting Mexico. Customs and Border Protection officers assisted her in the birth when the little bundle of joy decided to not wait for EMS. According to unnamed sources, the Justice Department has declined to prosecute the mother for smuggling a human being across the border in her womb.
- From the “First You Say It, Then You Do It” Department – Australian authorities are asking folks in Sydney to turn in any pieces of an airplane that lost its propeller so that they can piece together what happened to it. This reporter has learned that the mechanic just assumed that Saab, the aircraft’s Swedish manufacturer, just included extra bolts along with the allen wrench in the box it came in.
- From the “Bad Idea” Department – A Kentucky woman was arrested recently when she allegedly brought a needle and heroin into a Louisville courtroom. One of the many side effects of illicit opiate use seems to be a lowering of I.Q. I compliment the judge in this case for telling the young lady to get herself together or she would be looking at prison time. From the other information in the report, I cannot imagine how she keeps her humanity intact seeing what washes through her courtroom day after day.
News Roundup
Posted by daddybear71 on March 17, 2017
https://daddybearsden.com/2017/03/17/news-roundup-252/
Snippet
Since it’s Saint Patrick’s Day, I thought I’d let you all have a short peek into “Lady of Eyre,” the third, and final, part of the second Minivandians book. It’s with alpha readers now, so I expect to have it out by the end of April.
Enjoy!
Ruarin awoke to the sound of men’s voices in the corridor outside the room she shared with her father. She had fallen asleep before sunset the night before, and the soft mattress beneath her felt wonderful. A day of rest and food had done much to restore her strength, but she had decided against spending the evening beside one the fire to listen to tales and song.
She lay her head back down and closed her eyes. Sleep did not return, though, because a cacophony of barks and baying erupted in the quiet night air.
The Lady of Eyre sat up at the sound, then rushed to the window. In the torchlight, she saw a large pack of hounds, with shaggy ears flopping and long tails wagging, approaching the tavern. The night watch shouted as the vanguard of the noisy band made its way into the courtyard and halted in a cloud of dust in front of the stable.
Ruarin grabbed her robes and bolted for the door. It was then she noticed that her father, Mael, was no longer in the room. Everyone in the house seemed to be trying to get down the stairway at once, but when the men noticed a noblewoman trying to make her way downstairs, they stepped aside and let Ruarin pass.
Waiting for her outside the door was a troop of armored men and women, none of them taller than the ladies hips. At their head, Tomultach stood with his knobbed walking stick in one hand and the reins to his mount in the other. His beast was a large brown and white hound, several hands high at the shoulder, with one ear that stood up and one that flopped down over its eye. The dog’s tongue hung out of his snout as he panted from his run, but his tail was held high and wagged back and forth furiously at the ladies’ approach. Tomultach bowed low to Ruarin when she walked out of the tavern.
“Ah, but it’s good to see you, my lady,” he said in his deep voice. He wore leather and bronze armor which shone in the light of the rising moon, and he carried a sword in a jeweled scabbard at his belt. A leather helmet set with an iron band covered his head, and a small shield rested on his saddle.
Ruarin returned the small man’s bow. “Greetings, old friend,” she replied. “Father tells me that you’ve been most helpful.”
Tomultach made a dismissive gesture with his walking stick. “T’was nothing,” he said. “I hadn’t spoken to Echrad in too long, anyway.” He shared a smile with Ruarin over that.
Behind them, they heard someone shouting and turned to see what the commotion was. King Seanagh and his lieutenants, including Ruarin’s father, came out of the building, some already dressed for battle.
“What in hell is going on?” he demanded. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, and Ruarin noticed that several of his nobles looked as if they had been drinking.
Tomultach bowed low to the king, although not as low as he had to Ruarin. “King Seanagh, I am Tomultach mac Eoghan. I’ve come here, with my family, to pledge our support in your fight tomorrow.”
King Seaghan did not return the salute. Instead, he looked about in amazement. The tavern’s yard was filled with hounds, each with a warrior upon its back. The air was no longer filled with the sound of their baying, but the occasional yip and growl did filter through the murmurs of the gathering crowd of Eyrischmen.
“How do you know there’s to be a battle?” he finally asked.
Tomultach looked up at him with one eye squinting. “Well, majesty, I doubt you got dressed up like that for a ladies’ tea,” he replied.
“How did you know the king would be here?” one of the noblemen accompanying the king demanded.
Tomultach looked up. “Lord Murchadha, is it?” he said gravely. The man nodded.
“Well, my lord, there’s not much that happens in this land that we don’t hear about,” Tomultach replied with a wry smile. “For example, last night, you had yourself a nice meat pie, half a jug of the tavern’s best beer, and a slap on the face from Master Donagh’s eldest daughter for dinner.”
This brought a rumble of laughter from the other lords, while Murchadha looked furious at having been made the butt of a joke. He sputtered for a moment before a raised hand from the king quieted him.
“Master Tomultach, I accept your service, but I must ask, what will your clan provide?” Seanagh asked once his men had stilled themselves.
“Why, only one hundred fifty of the best riders in your lands, majesty,” Old Tom replied. He gestured to the mob of hounds behind them.
“The legends say that your folk went to battle on the backs of fire drakes,” the king said.
“Well, now, that’s a sad tale, your majesty. A sad tale,” Tomultach said with a shake of his head. “You see, one of your ancestors, he was a great holy man who banished all of the serpents from the kingdom.”
“I’ve heard the story,” Seanagh said. “And now?”
“Well, your majesty, when the snakes fled, so did the drakes!” Tomultach cried out indignantly. “So, we had to find ourselves something else to ride.” He patted his hound on the flank. The dog, delighted at the attention, reciprocated with a lick that pushed his master to the side.
“Well, then you’re doubly welcome,” King Seaghan said. He suppressed a yawn, then called out. “Let’s all get some rest. Tomorrow promises to be a long day.”
Posted by daddybear71 on March 17, 2017
https://daddybearsden.com/2017/03/17/snippet-11/
A Year of Poetry – Day 328
When the cows come home the milk is coming,
Honey’s made while the bees are humming;
Duck and drake on the rushy lake,
And the deer live safe in the breezy brake;
And timid, funny, brisk little bunny,
Winks his nose and sits all sunny.
— Christina Georgina Rossetti, When The Cows Come Home The Milk Is Coming
Posted by daddybear71 on March 17, 2017
https://daddybearsden.com/2017/03/17/a-year-of-poetry-day-328/
A Year of Poetry – Day 327
SWEET rois of vertew and of gentilness,
Delytsum lily of everie lustynes,
Richest in bontie and in bewtie clear,
And everie vertew that is wenit dear,
Except onlie that ye are mercyless
Into your garth this day I did persew;
There saw I flowris that fresche were of hew;
Baith quhyte and reid most lusty were to seyne,
And halesome herbis upon stalkis greene;
Yet leaf nor flowr find could I nane of rew.
I doubt that Merche, with his cauld blastis keyne,
Has slain this gentil herb, that I of mene;
Quhois piteous death dois to my heart sic paine
That I would make to plant his root againe,–
So confortand his levis unto me bene.
— William Dunbar, To a Lady
Posted by daddybear71 on March 16, 2017
https://daddybearsden.com/2017/03/16/a-year-of-poetry-day-327/
A Year of Poetry – Day 326
Here in the teeth of this triumphant wind
That shakes the naked shadows on the ground,
Making a key-board of the earth to strike
From clattering tree and hedge a separate sound,
Bear witness for me that I loved my life,
All things that hurt me and all things that healed,
And that I swore it this day in March,
Here at the edge of this new-broken field.
You only knew me, tell them I was glad
For every hour since my hour of birth,
And that I ceased to fear, as once I feared,
The last complete reunion with the earth.
— Sara Teasdale, On A March Day
Posted by daddybear71 on March 15, 2017
https://daddybearsden.com/2017/03/15/a-year-of-poetry-day-326/
A Year of Poetry – Day 325
Sitting in a porchway cool,
Sunlight, I see, dying fast,
Twilight hastens on to rule.
Working hours have well-nigh past.
Shadows run across the lands:
But a sower lingers still,
Old, in rags, he patient stands.
Looking on, I feel a thrill.
Black and high, his silhouette
Dominates the furrows deep!
Now to sow the task is set.
Soon shall come a time to reap.
Marches he along the plain
To and fro, and scatters wide
From his hands the precious grain;
Muse I, as I see him stride.
Darkness deepens. Fades the light.
Now his gestures to mine eyes
Are august; and strange, – his height
Seems to touch the starry skies
— Toru Dutt, The Sower
Posted by daddybear71 on March 14, 2017
https://daddybearsden.com/2017/03/14/a-year-of-poetry-day-325/
A Year of Poetry – Day 324
Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone,
She is at rest.
Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life’s buried here,
Heap earth upon it.
— Oscar Wilde, REQUIESCAT
Posted by daddybear71 on March 13, 2017
https://daddybearsden.com/2017/03/13/a-year-of-poetry-day-324/
A Year of Poetry – Day 323
I
Queer are the ways of a man I know:
He comes and stands
In a careworn craze,
And looks at the sands
And the seaward haze
With moveless hands
And face and gaze,
Then turns to go…
And what does he see when he gazes so?
II
They say he sees as an instant thing
More clear than to-day,
A sweet soft scene
That once was in play
By that briny green;
Yes, notes alway
Warm, real, and keen,
What his back years bring—
A phantom of his own figuring.
III
Of this vision of his they might say more:
Not only there
Does he see this sight,
But everywhere
In his brain–day, night,
As if on the air
It were drawn rose bright–
Yea, far from that shore
Does he carry this vision of heretofore:
IV
A ghost-girl-rider. And though, toil-tried,
He withers daily,
Time touches her not,
But she still rides gaily
In his rapt thought
On that shagged and shaly
Atlantic spot,
And as when first eyed
Draws rein and sings to the swing of the tide.
— Thomas Hardy, The Phantom Horsewoman
Posted by daddybear71 on March 12, 2017
https://daddybearsden.com/2017/03/12/a-year-of-poetry-day-323/
A Year of Poetry – Day 322
Oft, when my lips I open to rehearse
Thy wondrous spell of wisdom, and of power,
And that my voice, and thy immortal verse,
On listening ears, and hearts, I mingled pour,
I shrink dismayed – and awful doth appear
The vain presumption of my own weak deed;
Thy glorious spirit seems to mine so near,
That suddenly I tremble as I read –
Thee an invisible auditor I fear:
Oh, if it might be so, my master dear!
With what beseeching would I pray to thee,
To make me equal to my noble task,
Succor from thee, how humbly would I ask,
Thy worthiest works to utter worthily.
— Frances Anne Kemble, To Shakespeare
Posted by daddybear71 on March 11, 2017
https://daddybearsden.com/2017/03/11/a-year-of-poetry-day-322/
Rumblings
- A lot of folks are shocked, yes, shocked, I say! that the Central Intelligence Agency has probably found ways to exploit weaknesses in devices connected to the Internet.
- Personally, I’d be pissed if I found out that they hadn’t developed these capabilities. I know it’s a surprise to a large section of the populace, but gentlemen do indeed reach each other’s letters.
- If only the intelligence and law enforcement agencies had earned enough trust from the American nation that we could know with some certainty that such tools would never be misused or turned against us.
- I believe that I’ve parsed the illegal immigration problem into two camps:
- Those, like me, who see immigration into the United States as a privilege we extend to those we feel deserve it, regardless of the prospective immigrant’s origins.
- Those who believe that immigration into our country from other parts of the world is a human right, which we as a nation have no right to moderate, regulate, or object to. Interestingly enough, I can find no historical example of a nation that survived long after opening its borders for every Tom, Dick, and Harry who wanted to come on over and set up their yurts.
- I still believe that a wall on the border is nothing more than a dam that can be overcome by the draw of jobs in El Norte. Cut off the supply of jobs, either through litigation, legislation, or defenestration, and the flow of illegal immigrants will be reduced significantly.
- The brawl over repealing/replacing/reforming Obamacare is gaining steam, both in the halls of Congress and in the media.
- Somewhere along the way the nation went from looking at comprehensive health insurance as a fringe benefit brought by hard work at a good job to seeing it as a human right that has to be paid for by the productive minority.
- Here’s my suggestion –
- The ACA is repealed in total. Buy insurance, don’t buy insurance, not my problem.
- Medicare is not touched in any way. Lord knows old folks have earned it after putting up with the Baby Boomers, Gen X, and the Millenials for the last 3/4 of a century.
- Medicaid is clawed back to cover only poor families and those who are incapable of supporting themselves.
- The bar for being declared incapable of supporting yourself gets raised quite a bit.
- The American taxpayer provides precisely zero toward the healthcare of anyone who is capable of working and paying their own way, but doesn’t. I’m a big fan of “Those who refuse to work, do not eat”.
- To make up for this, donations to charity hospitals, clinics, and other health programs would be 100% deductible from personal and corporate income taxes, with no limit to the amount that could be donated. Let those who want to screech that the rest of us aren’t doing enough put their money where their mouth is.
- There are some who say we can’t kill our way out of the Islamic terrorism problem.
- I say we can’t know that unless we really try.
- We spend too much time trying to be loved. I’m about ready for everyone to realize that it’s more feasible to be left alone because of the terror our displeasure strikes in the hearts of men.
Posted by daddybear71 on March 10, 2017
https://daddybearsden.com/2017/03/10/rumblings/
DaddyBear
DaddyBear’s Den 