Plugging along

December 10, 2010

Pushing one of my books. Homicide: Now and Then. Check it out. You can download for FREE a large selection of the book. And if you want more, buy.

Been reading more stuff in Great Rivals in History. About the Earl of Lucan. It was a family called the Bingham’s. ‘They ruled vast Irish estates. It was a Bingham who ordered a thousand shipwrecked survivors of the Spanish Armada butchered on the beach as they washed ashore. It was also the Binghams who enriched themselves while Irish peasants gnawed at potatoes in thatched huts.’ Lovely family

Like he was shot

December 7, 2010

My father went to war. He was a kid. About 19 I think. But very naive. From a small town. Had to leave his hometown and jump trains during the depression. There was no work at home. He went across Canada with his long time pal. They went all the way up the Pacific coast to the Yukon/Alaska. When they returned to Vancouver they joined the army. Then were sent back across the country to train. Then sent to England where they waited for years. Two pals. More like brothers. And then there was the invasion. And my father’s buddy died on the beach. (The details are vague because this is a story my father never told. I heard it from others in the family.) The only thing my dad said about the war was that guys were dropping all around him. (He said this in reference to war movies we watched where guys like John Wayne were great heroes. Didn’t happen that way.) My dad was wounded. Shrapnel. Sent to a hospital back in England for a couple of months. Then returned to the battle in the ambulance corps. Saw a lot of death. Returned to Canada and married my mother. I think he wanted normalcy. A nest. Someplace that was calm. (Never calm with my mother) Laughed about death. Didn’t think too much of it. He died of a heart attack in his sleep. Like he was shot.

As a young man Dostoevsky was found guilty of a crime against the Czarist regime. He was sentenced to death. Standing against a wall, he waited to be shot. The shot never happened and his crime was changed to 5 years prison. Afterwards Dostoeysky was quoted as saying, “there is nothing like the barrel of a gun next to your forehead to clear your mind.”

I wish I could get drunk

December 4, 2010

Have to go for an MRI tomorrow. Very anxious. Wish I could just get drunk and pass out in the machine.

That Girl From Temse

December 2, 2010

My in-laws have moved from a small town in Belgium called Hamme to another town in Belgium called Temse. Temse is a wonderful little place. Charming. Small. Unpretentious. Young but filled with history. My in-laws condo is right on the river. There is only a bike path between them and the river. If it wasn’t for the awful weather in Belgium (same as England) it would be paradise. My oldest daughter is going over to see them after the New Year. I hope that my wife and I can visit soon again.

Suicide of old men

December 2, 2010

A local (and Buffalo) sports writer lost his life to cancer the other day. He seemed like a decent person. Everyone laments his passing. But in a few days most people will forget about him. As they will me. And you. And this is as it should be. Shakespeare is remembered for his plays. But it is not Shakespeare we remember. But his work. Many people are remembered through their work. Although I have heard that no one is too sure what Shakespeare was like as a person. And what of the great Greek dramatists? Or so much of ancient Greek art. Their greatest work has been destroyed. Or been lost.  Anonymous may be human kind’s greatest artist. It sounds Greek. Certainly not Irish. My father died a very quiet death. He did nothing remarkable during his life. He survived a war. And a depression. And my mother. So what is it that drives people to accomplish anything? The pleasure of doing, I suppose. Anything else is just vanity.

%d bloggers like this: