The return of the jabberwok or when you wish avan a tar

Hey there boys and girls in Blogland,

The photo above is not, of course, me. She is a German born actress with an Irish last name, probably recognizable to most of you from TV. The reason for her photo will be revealed a few paragraphs down. Patience, please.

Are you still out there? I promised myself yesterday ('cause who else cares, really) that I would blog today since it has been so long since I last posted. Last year, to be exact. Well, boys and girls I didn't fall down the rabbit hole and while I haven't exactly been painting the roses red, I have been busy. After taking most of the month of December off to fight the annual Christmas wars and traveling through Georgia for nine days post Christmas into the new year and decade, I've been reading novel after novel and writing scene after scene in my dragon book. Why read so much?

Oh ho, you are saying, I see where this is going. Its going to be a blog about books, maybe leading into one of her writing discussions. Yup. So, if you want the latest news about my silly or serious activities, family or dogs, or pet peeves and political rants, check facebook for the post of the hour. Flickr for photos. If blogs about writing and books bore you, go knock on somebody else's cyber door.

Okay, now back to readin' n writin' for the rest of you. I'll try not to ramble too much and trip over any mome raths. But, you know how my mind works, so read on if you dare. If you have any pink cakes or caterpillars who are willing to give you a puff on their hookahs, go ahead and indulge. This will take awhile. Ready. Here we go.

I've read a couple dozen books since I last posted because:

1.It's been too friggin' cold this winter, even in Florida, to want to be outside much.

2. I just plain like to read, especially lying down under a blanket and late into the night and while eating and in the car...oh never mind, you get the idea.

3. I very much agree with Stephen King when he advises that to be a good writer, you must read what others write. At least an hour. Every day.

4. Everything I've learned of any importance in my life that I didn't learn from my dog I learned by reading books of my own choosing.

If you come to my house you will see thirty feet of floor to ceiling bookshelves filled to bursting with books and yes, Virginia, I've read most of them. Admittedly, most are dusty on top from lack of recent thumbing through and my lack of interest in housecleaning. Indeed, I suspect that in the dust mite multiverse, I am a goddess, having provided billions and billions of the little fellas with a generally undisturbed habitats. Lately I've been buying a whole lot less paperbacked and hard backed books, uploading them via Amazon's Kindle books to my iPhone. I am saving trees by doing this as well as bookshelf space and I can read a page or two spontaneously anytime anyplace anytime. Even better, I don't skip to the end of the book and ruin it for myself. I am reading books that turn out to be VERY long since I have no idea of length when I order them, books I probably wouldn't buy if I saw their heft and gi-normous page content at B and N. These books are both entertainment and research. I gain not just facts but tips on story crafting from the reading experience. Thank you Stephen.

Now, the segue into writing:

Somebody asked me the other day, "Who do you write for?" I gave my standard answer. "I don't write for anyone in particular, although I'd be glad for the entire world to read my stories and poems. I don't write for myself, either. I write because I can't not. The characters and their stories keeps dancing through my poor cluttered head and they want out! They want, need, and insist on existing in print. Once that's done, they leave me in peace. They seem to know that that's the best I can do for them: giving literary birth. I don't mind the conception, gestation, labor, or birth process. But, once they're hatched, they're on their own. Like Mama Sea Turtle, I'm off, flapping my flippers through the depths on a new adventure.

I don't write to become rich which is good since I have made very little money with my first two books. I'd like to have some more money, you understand, not to be filthy rich. Just enough to be secure. But, while I immodestly believe that I am a good writer (or write good), I also know that I am unwilling and perhaps even unable to make promotion of my works my full time day job, which is what it would take to sell them in any significant way. The people who have read them seemed to like them, its just that most people don't know they exist. Or so I tell myself.

I am not going to beat the weeds and bushes for agents, publishers, and editors willing to take a look at my stuff. I am not good at begging favors or networking for the sake of self promotion. I hate public speaking, and as my mother would say, "Pushing myself forward". Not that there is anything wrong with those things. That's the way the business works. I was trained as an actress. I can fake it, act if out. But I don't want to. The role of self promoter gives me insomnia, panic attacks, migraines, IBS, acid reflux, sweaty palms, and a desire to jump off the end of the world.

"What would I do with fame anyway?", I ask myself. Couldn't walk the Mutley Crew down the road with me wearing mismatched clothes and no make up without worrying about somebody bothering me, right?

What I would like, though, is to be taken a little more seriously by acquaintances and friends as a writer. For, I am a writer, a serious one, even if I don't continually blow my own trumpet in peoples' ears about it. I write a lot. I work hard at learning the craft. At not just continuing to do the things that come easy but stretching to learn those that don't. In doing a thing over and over until I get it write. (Having pun?) As Mark Twain said, "The difference between the right word and the wrong word is the difference between lightning and the lightning bug."

I don't know how long it is going to take me to finish my current project: my first full length novel, which is a fantasy for young adults and adults. I've got 220 pages on paper in the first draft thus far, and it will take as long as it takes to tell Tim's story. As long as it takes to edit, edit, edit. I dunno what I am going to do with it when it is finally done; self publish, small press publish, or actually send it out to some mythological publishing guru who might actually read it somewhere out there in the great beyond if I can figure out where and whom that might be. The publishing industry is changing so much so quickly that it is hard to project anything right now. Indeed, the old ways may be going extinct, like the dodo did did, and be gone tomorrow. The big box bookstores may no longer be available to sell traditional books much longer, either.

I do know that I am going to utilize Kindle and Podiobooks or whatever updated version exists. And yesterday I heard about a really interesting new idea: people utilizing avatars to attend business meetings in their place. Now, this I could do!! U betcha. Sit at my computer in my dusty library/home office in my jammies or sweats, writing the script while my amazing avatar negotiates my contracts, does my promotions, and my witty brilliant speeches for me. I even have an idea for my avatar.

Think Gerri Ryan, the big eyed blond pictured at blog top, "Seven of Nine", on Star trek Voyager and currently seen as Tara Cole on the terrific show Leverge. Tall, blond, and beautiful (Ja) with miles of leg and tiny waist, terrific in body suits. Positively assertive. Just like my inner wanna be self. Pay no attention to the little scruffy woman behind the screen ladies and gentlemen, just listen to Nancy's avatar, buy the book, you'll love it and anyway, resistance is futile....

But for now, (insert sigh) blog over. I stepped on a mome rath and I have to clean it up before the floor gets too sticky or one of the dogs eats it. So TTFN, Live Long and prosper.

Have Yourself A merry Little Christmas

Hello dear Bloggers,

I hope your Christmas is merry and bright, you have lots of Who hash and roast beast, you get to rock around the Christmas tree, you don't shoot your eye out kid and cousin Eddie doesn't come and make your sewer explode. Here are two poems I wrote about Christmas a couple years back.

THIS CHRISTMAS

It won't be the same this Christmas

without a small mountain of your gifts

still sporting price tags of black and white.

We'll miss you shaking your head, saying,

“It doesn't seem like I bought enough this year.”

We'll miss the apple cider, cookies, and canine chews

the silly hats, your snowman pins, and Christmas sweaters.

It won't be the same this Christmas,

certainly not the same at all,

not without you repeating things half-heard around the dining table

nodding between bites of turkey and pumpkin pie, saying,

“I didn't just fall off a turnip truck, you know.”

This Christmas, we'll be without your stories

our history, we used to think

we'd maybe heard, just one time, too many

but now would like to hear again,

now that you can't be here to narrate.

“Remember this,” you'd say,

“remember, when I die dead.”

It won't be the same this Christmas

no, not the same at all.

This Christmas, we won't all be together,

not like before, or maybe ever again.

We will be merry and bright, though

unwrapping, feasting, laughing

as the old year slips away toward the new.

Should you look down from a flickering star

don't be fooled, not even for a minute.

We may pretend we don't notice your empty chair,

but we will notice, and remember.

We will miss you this Christmas.

Nancy Wayman Deutsch 2007

Christmas Is

Christ child's coming, bringing hope and grace

Holly and green mistletoe and joy on every face

Reindeer leading Santa's sleigh across a moonlit sky

Icy lanes and frozen ponds with skaters whizzing by

Singing songs and carols around a sparkling tree

Tapers glowing softly on gifts for you and me

Memories of Christmas past with those we wish were near

chuckling at fond anecdotes and brushing back a tear

Angels watching newborn babe and wise men from afar

Smiling in the silent night beneath a golden star.

Hello Bloggers. Ho, ho, ho, Holly Jolly...Christmas is only a few more days away now. I've had two successful parties: the first a dinner party for 60 Rollins College folks and the second a sit down dinner for twelve for Danny's birthday. The house has been decorated inside and out for several weeks. Mailed all the cards and letters. The gifts are all purchased and wrapped and placed under the too brightly lit tree in the living room bay window. Fa la la.

My food for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day dinners will be purchased tomorrow. Been to Sea World and ridden The Polar Express. Have eaten my way through multiple cartons of Egg Nog and Barnies White Christmas ice cream. La la la la.

Bought new cold weather clothes and laundered the old ones in preparation for our anticipated post Christmas RV trip north. I've stopped the paper for the trip days, alerted the neighbors, and will inform the police tomorrow. Chili's boarding is set. Is there anything I've forgotten? Ah yes, to pay the beginning of the month bills early so they won't be late when I return. My energy and cheer is coming back now that most of my December duties are done. The only hitch is the weather.

We'd planned a Western Georgia and North Carolina trip. Visiting family in Atlanta, then New Years in Asheville and a winter visit to Biltmore. But an unusual blizzard hit NC last weekend dumping 15 to 20 inches of snow and closing some mountain highways. More snow and freezing rain is expected. While I grew up in Western Pa and experienced many cold winters, I never learned to drive until after I moved to Florida. I've never driven on a mountain road in summer or winter. Dunno how to cope with icy road conditions. Ain't gonna learn this year folks.

So, at this point we just plan to go to Atlanta. Unless they get blizzards and ice storms there too. Then, might rethink the days off: south Florida or north Florida or Savannah. Who knows I may end up watching Avatar in an air conditioned theatre instead of running around Stone Mountain. Best laid plans are oft unravelled by Mother Nature. I'll keep ya posted. Meantime, have a Merry Christmas.

Pictured: Rollins Theater students: JG Lantigua, Emily Killian, and Shannon Lynch

Okay, okay, I know I haven't been here for awhile. What have I been doing with my time, you might ask, since I haven't been writing? Hello! It's DECEMBER, right? As usual, I've been organizing my personal equivalent of the invasion of Normandy or Hannibal's trek over the Alps to annoy Rome. Christmas prep for me is really like a general fighting a war. Takes me a week to decorate the house including a super cleaning frenzy (I typically ignore dust during the rest of the year since it comes back, anyway). Then, I usually do a couple of big parties. Spend three days in uber-shopping. Wrap the gifts haphazardly but put them under the main tree in artistic perfection. Send cards, newsletters, and pictures to all the folks I should have kept in better touch with during the year. Then, I fight off a cold. By this time, it is, uh around December tenth...just like today. So, know you know. But, that isn't exactly the main subject of this Blog. So, here goes: the subject is the theater, my dears, and what I learned about life from being a part of it.

This week, a couple of things happened that got me thinking about the past. My past. My college past. In the theater. First, I hosted a home dinner party on December 7th for Theta Alpha Phi (National Theater Honor Society) at Rollins College. Early December is when the new inductees are, well inducted, and the Annie Russell Theatre Guild sponsors a dinner in their honor, attended by students, professors and ART staff, and Guild members. About sixty gathered around my pool. This event is always a whole lotta work but the theater and the students are close to my heart. Danny and I always attend the plays at Rollins and as each year passes are more and more impressed with the caliber of performances and production. The students are intelligent, sophisticated, and always a joy to have around. And, as a former Rollins Player, I know first hand how committed they are to the Arts and how hard they work at perfecting their craft.

I well remember taking classes all day and rehearsing pretty much every night. Then performing the play and starting the process all over again. I missed a lot of sorority meetings and beach days and got to most of the frat parties late. But, I loved pretty much every moment in the theater and wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else.

I had a long ago letter (written by me to a friend) given to me early this week which was the second thing that made me reflect on my college past. The letter reminded me that I actually started my college years at Eckerd in St Petersburg, majoring in English Literature with a general idea of becoming a drama critic like one of my grandfathers. I got bitten by the theater bug the summer of my freshman year and decided pretty much on the spur of a July moment to transfer to Rollins and shift my major to Theater Arts. I ended up getting my first degree in English, but that's another dull story you are not going to have to read here.

My practical mother said, "Its nice that you are studying theater dear, but maybe you should take some education courses too, so you can actually get a job after." Turned out she was right since I didn't go off to New York post graduation to earn my Tony's and fame if not fortune. Why didn't I? I don't know. I wasn't the most or the least talented of my group but I was talented enough to make it legit and in those days good looking enough for stardom as well. The kid could sing, too. I will say, since I need to come up with some answer that is at least partially plausible, that I lacked the ambition and the compulsion. Maybe, okay, I am a little on the lazy side, too. I like short term projects as opposed to long ones which tax my concentration. I probably lacked the guts to 'starve in a garret' as well. In any case, I ended up working for a bank for awhile which was pretty boring, went to grad school, got married, and became a teacher. Used the education courses, thank you Mom. Later I was a psychometrist, a museum docent, and a volunteer and fundraiser for the arts. Finally, a writer but never an actor.

A couple of years ago now I ran into a theater professor from my Rollins days at an Art festival event and asked him if he remembered me. He did. He remembered my pre-married name and ticked off about five parts I played at the Annie in about a minute and a half. This was, I thought, pretty impressive memory skill since my college days are long long ago in a galaxy far far away. He asked me, "How have your used your theater training?" I told him I am a writer not an actor but that I have used what I learned in every single thing I have ever done since I left my student days behind.

So, here's the crux of the Blog. Wake up! Take notes. Here's what the theater gave me. First, confidence. Confidence to take on new things and risk making a total fool of myself. Confidence to laugh when I slip and fall and pick myself up and actually make it look like I meant to slip in the first place. Confidence to shrug my shoulder and go on. Confidence to go for the laugh and not get it. Confidence to look critics in the eye and smile or thumb my nose if I want. Confidence to give a speech for a hundred folks or so without reading a single note card.

Second, I learned to pretend well. Pretend I happy when I am not. Pretend to feel well with a migraine. Pretend to know what I am doing when I don't have the first clue. That happens almost daily. In my long life, I have pretended to be so many things. I learned in the theater to observe how people convey or hide things via body language, talk, use technical terminology, etc so I could pretend to be a teacher, PR person, confident hostess, or whatever was necessary. Pretend while I actually learned on the job as it were. To paraphrase Willy S, All the world's a stage and men and women merely players. Improvisation kinda goes along with this. And I actually had classes in it. When stuff goes wrong in real life and it does a lot, the ability to improvise is actually a survival skill.

I learned physical skills too. Good posture, how to move gracefully despite my really huge feet, how to speak so that my voice would bounce off the back walls of the room if necessary. I still know how to walk through a crowded room and get the attention of everyone in it without a word, time my first remark, enunciate, and take control of a meeting with eye control. Thank you, theater.These skills saved my bacon many times. What I didn't learn too well, is how to fade into the background. I just can't stay quiet long enough. (Insert laugh here) Fortunately, a career in espionage was not a desired or necessary option.

Speaking the speech as it was pronounced to me (Hamlet) taught me to appreciate the spoken language which I feel helped me write poetry. I am usually complimented on my adept use of dialogue and dialect in my short stories and novels which I think was a benefit of theater training and study. My writing is heavy on scene which is no doubt a by product of theater study as well. When I write a scene, I actually visualize the characters acting it out in my mind which helps me insert the little bits of physical business and description. And then there is plot. Ain't no story without plot, which has to have a story arc (Beginning, middle, end). Who wants what, who gets in the way, how does the hero get around the antagonist are essential elements in story craft. And, don't forget to kill some of your darlings. That's drama. That's entertainment. I studied Shakespeare, boys and girls. 'Nuff said.

So that's it for now. Some of what I learned in the theater. Mommy and Daddy didn't waste their money. These days, I watch, enjoy a good performance, and applaud. Yesterday, as a Guild member, I 'adopted' the three talented, smart, and charming students pictured above. I am not really sure what the adoption means as I haven't been given any direction on it. Will have to improvise, I guess. TTFN Live long and prosper.

The Ox is Slow But the Earth is Patient

I heard that line in a movie somewhere, sometime: it wasn't one of mine. I snorted at the time I first heard it I think, but I never forgot it. Forgot the movie though. The line sorta kinda describes my state of writing being right now. Slow, slow, slow. Dragon book is stuck in the muck of my not so creative mind these days and it seems I will seize upon any and every excuse not to write. "I have to do laundry. My acid reflux is too much. I need a nap. I have to look over the Christmas decorations and see what is usable." Blah, blah, blah. I do hope the earth really is patient. Just call me OX.

So here's some other great lines from movies that resonate with my un-a-mused state and stagnating manuscript:

"Game over, man. Game over! What the f-k are we gonna do now, man?" (Aliens)

"Ask yourself, Do I feel lucky? Well do ya, punk?" (Dirty Harry)

"You'll shoot your eye out kid." (A Christmas Story)

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." (Gone With The Wind)

"I have a bad feeling about this." (Star Wars)

We'll always have Paris." (Casablanca)

"I'll have what she's having." (When Harry Met Sally)

"Come with me if you want to live." (Terminator)

"Show me the money." (Jerry Maguire)

"I'll make him an offer he can't refuse." (The Godfather)

I am imagining a scene with my muse as we sit across a battered table from each other looking over my sad 180 pages. It is late at night and raining.

MUSE: (shaking his head) That's it? That's all ya got, kid?"

ME: )pointing at the manuscript) I have a bad feeling about this. Its going nowhere. Maybe I should just try to write vampire books with silly shallow teenagers and one dimensional characters and no real action.

MUSE: (nodding) Don't forget the bad dialogue and too much narration. Like that nice Myer girl. Made a zillion bucks last year I hear. Everybody loves Edward it seems.

ME: Yeah, I'll have what she's having. Show me the money. I wish. But, I can't write that sort of stuff. So, I guess its just game over, game over, man. What the f-k am I gonna do now, man?

MUSE: Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn. I'm going to Disneyworld to hang out with Tinker Belle.

ME: No, don't leave me. How will I write without you?

MUSE: (shrugging) Well, we'll always have Paris.

ME: What does that mean? We've never been to Paris. We'll always have rewrites, though. If you just don't give up on me.

MUSE: (Pointing to my desk and laptop.) Oh okay, come with me if you want to write. Sit down there at your desk and ask yourself, do I feel lucky? Well, do ya punk? Just listen to what I say and you'll write your heart out, kid.

ME: (eagerly)Go ahead, make my day!

MUSE: Okay, kid, I'm gonna make you an offer ya can't refuse.

* * *

I am ready for my close up, Mr DeMille. But, my manuscript isn't. And the damn muse is cavorting with Tinker Belle I think.

Live long and prosper. (Star Trek)

Shut up Whoos, Bah Humbug, and all that gobble gobble...

Well, my little Bloggers, it looks like the holidays are fast approaching again. Sorry to say, this year the Christmas girl just ain't feelin' the love. Never mind that its still in the 80s two weeks before Thanksgiving which always makes it a stretch to imagine Santa and the reindeer and Frosty et all...right now I just can't summon up the magic no how. I feel like the Grinch nervously drumming his fingers and saying, "I must find a way to stop Christmas from coming!"

Now granted last Christmas wasn't one I remember with fondness. It was just stress stress stress. That could be part of the issue I'm having contemplating a new one coming. Last year, I somehow got committed to hosting two big parties in one week which put me into a mondo decorating frenzy as early as Thanksgiving. By bed time on the evening of the second party I was suffering from a major nosebleed that I feared wouldn't stop, but fortunately did in thirty minutes. Several times in December I had stressful encounters with ex-family that harshened my mellow. And like pretty much everyone last year, I was actively worried about the worsening recession and political atmosphere in our country. Unlike most folks, the promises of change made by President Elect Obama did not fill me with a whole lot of hope, although there was perhaps a tiny spark inside that said, "Well, maybe this time..."

Flash forward a year. Change to the nation has not come. Washington DC is still full of the usual hot air, special interest manipulation, pork, and chaos. Partisanship trumps good sense. I doubt there will be much 'goodwill to men' in the halls of power. Locally, the same folks who were out of work last year at this time still are. The housing market has continued to worsen till the majority of homes with for sale signs are short sales and foreclosures. For those who need or want to sell, drop your asking price several HUNDRED thousand from what it would have been back in 2005...big ouch. We are still at war in Iraq and in Afghanistan and we are not winning. Those of you out there in Blogland who believe that the health care bill passed by the House will pass the Senate and if it does will actually provide better, cheaper, and more available health care for all, raise your hands. I don't see any hands raised from where I sit. And how's your investment portfolio these days? Retirement looking good? Seen any bailout money trickle down to your neighbors, friends, and community? Yes, we can? Uh, maybe not.

So, where's the hope and love we're all supposed to feel at this time of year?

Now, while I am grousing and I know I am, I also count my personal blessings. For now, I have an income. I can keep my home. As far as I know, I have no dread diseases. My kids are happy, healthy, grown up, self sufficient, and have beautiful children of their own to create the Christmas magic for. Publix has egg nog ice cream and peppermint bark is appearing in the stores again. I am looking forward to getting out of town the week between Christmas and New Years and hopeful that the change will jump start my enthusiasm fro 2010.

I'm also gonna take it easier over the holidays. Doing the party for Rollins (for the second and last year) but not doing my personal party (only the 3rd time skipping it in 30 years thus far). Not decorating as much as usual inside or out. 'Grinchy Nancy' is not even gonna light the luminarias on the neighborhood light up night this year. That one because I am still angry at my neighbors over the RV left in the driveway overnight gonna turn you into Code Enforcement thing. My neighbors aren't particularly friendly 364 days a year so I've had it with the faky holiday cheer from them. (For those of you who don't live in Florida, unfriendly neighbors are the usual thing in a place traditionally transient.)

So, bah humbug. That's what I'm feeling.Somebody else carve the roast beast this year. I'm tired. Sorry but that's the way it is.

Random Acts of Violence

2009: We live in violent times, no matter where we live. Every day reports of calculated or random and senseless acts of hatred and violence are reported on the TV news, in the papers, and online. We avidly watch violence acted and re-inacted in teleplays and movies and video games. Husbands kill estranged wives, wives kill estranged husbands. Parents kill their babies. Children are abducted, raped, and murdered. People are tortured and blown up in the name of Allah or because they worship Allah. People kill other people for greed, in displaced anger, and sometimes for no reason that anyone can discern. To some degree, we have become desensitized to violence. We say "What a shame" then shrug and go out to dinner. It doesn't seem quite real. Not until there is some connection that makes it seem real.

Yesterday, a man shot multiple people at Ft. Hood in Texas. I hate to admit this, but I said, "What a shame" and turned the news channel to a show on Home and Garden Network. It didn't hit home. But, today, just before lunch, a forty year old man named Mark Rodriquez entered an office building at the Gateway Center just fifteen minutes from my home near Orlando and opened fire on the workers at an architectural firm, Reynolds, Smith and Hill. Six people were badly injured. One has died thus far. All of a sudden, the senseless violence became very personal. When I saw the news, I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut. I locked my doors. I suddenly felt unsafe.

I know the area. I know people who work there and live nearby. I drive past that building frequently. My lawyers' office is on the top floor. I wondered if he was a victim. The prep school my daughter attended is within walking distance. Police locked it down. A hotel that many friends have stayed in is across the street. The building where the crime occurred is not in a slum or area generally considered unsafe. I was reminded, as I sat glued to the TV for the next hour and a half, that no place is guaranteed safe anymore.

Here's another recent example. On Halloween night within walking distance of my home a middle aged man finished dinner with a female companion at an upscale restaurant along Park Avenue. As he made his way to his car, two men in Halloween costumes accosted him and attempted a robbery. Apparently the victim resisted and he was repeatedly stabbed with knives. He is still in the hospital and the perps remain at large.

Today's apparent nutcase was identified by an office worker and apprehended after several hours by OPD at his mother's apartment east of the city. He told police he did it because, "They left me to rot." He was referring, as far as I can tell, to having been fired or laid off two years ago by the company. Times are hard. I feel for the folks who have it tough. But that hardly justifies murder. I feel no sympathy for Mark Rodriquez. Whatever his troubles were he made the choice to do evil. His statement shows a lack of personal responsibility. Maybe he's just plain nuts. Nobody knows yet. But, he took at least one life in anger. I hope he gets justice and that the justice is harsh.

As for me, I was lucky not to have an errand at 1000 Legion Place this morning. I was lucky not to be out to dinner on Park Avenue on Halloween. I am grateful that my kids and Danny were safely somewhere else today when Mark Rodriquez made the choice to take out his personal agenda out on innocent people with a smoking gun. We were all lucky. This time. Six other people weren't lucky. Tomorrow, it may be my turn. My family's turn. Or your family's turn. In 2009, we live in violent times.

Here's a weird postscript: About the time the shootings occurred and the perp was racing away in his SUV, I was out walking my Rottweiler/Catahoula dog, Abby. She is the 'sensitive' one in the Mutley Crew. It was a beautiful sunny peaceful day. All of a sudden, she jumped up in the air, looked around, tucked tail and literally dragged me home. She was so upset, I didn't try to stop her. Probably totally coincidental, but from now on I am going to pay attention to her reactions to things much more closely.

That's all for now friends. Orlando's most recent killer is behind bars. The soldier run amok in Texas is behind bars. But, who knows what other snipers and killers, and robbers are lurking in dark corners? In conclusion, as they said on Hill Street Blues, "Be careful out there." Watch your backs. Be alert. Always. Good night, and good luck.