Lost Trails

It started with an article in the Sand Springs Leader, a typical small town newspaper, that told of a series of trails, not walking but driving trails, called the Great Plains Trail of Oklahoma.  Each trail ,or loop, promised scenic beauty and a diversity of wildlife for our viewing pleasure.  Interested in such a map, I did a Google that took me to the Oklahoma Department of Wildlife Conservation web site.  Under the Contact tab was a link to request a map that read mhickman@zoo.odwc.state.ok.us. I click the link, my mail opens, and I politely ask for a map, thank you very much.

The next day I have a reply from someone named Jennifer that informs me that if I want a map, to go to the Great Plains Trail of Oklahoma website. Yes, there are some maps on that site, teeny, tiny ones that are non-printable and so small can you can't ever read the name of the towns.

I reply to Jennifer how I was led to believe that a paper map was available and did a cut and paste from the web site with the mhickman link,  mhickman@zoo.odwc.state.ok.us



Jennifer fires right back with the following and I quote:

If you would like a map, please send you mailing address to mhickman@zoo.odwc.state.ok.us

Hmmm.  I had flashbacks to the old Paul Newman movie Cool Hand Luke. "What we got here is a failure to communicate."

I note Jennifer's e-mail address: info@odwc. etc. etc. I then hover my mouse over the mhickman address on the website AND Jennifer's e-mail and lo, a little window pops up. Seems the mhickman mail is being redirected to who? Yep, ol' rude Jennifer. What could I do but reply?

Dear Jennifer,

FYI: Clicking on the mhickman address brings up a substitute address, yours apparently, at info@odwc.state.ok.us.

 I am so sorry that we slow witted folks over here on the east side of the state didn’t catch that error on your link. I do apologize for wasting your time. Thank you for all your courtesy and understanding in this matter.

Sincerely,
Warren

Is there any doubt that Jennifer is now praying that I get lost on the Great Plains Trail and die a horrible death of thirst and starvation?

Bad Day, Good Day

First, the Bad Day.  Today was the funeral service for Dennis Quetone, my ex-son in law and father to two of my grandchildren and grandfather to baby Rio.  I always liked Dennis, especially his sense of humor.  Never saw the guy in a bad mood although I"m sure, like everyone else, he had his share of them. What I really appreciated about Big D was his dedication and support of his daughter's activities; dance recital, cheerleading competition (those were really awful), marching band, you name it, Dennis would show up.

 It was a nice service, lots and lots of family and friends were there. I scanned about 50 photos and put a little slide show together, something I hope someone will do for me when that time comes.  An older gentlemen representing the Kiowa tribe, said some words and sang a hymn. Nice. The preacher presiding over the main service started off well enough, having people in the audience stand and share a few memories of Dennis, but at the end he relapsed into the standard, and apparently obligatory, call to Jesus.  All you "men of the cloth" listen up please.  Do your recruiting on Sunday morning.  Do not use an occasion of mourning as an opportunity to add us sinners to your converts list. We in the audience would much rather hear anecdotes or maybe the favorite tunes of the dearly departed than your pitch to join up with Jesus.
But maybe that's just me.

Now for the Good Day part. Today is the 51st wedding anniversary of me and old what's-her-name.  On the way home from the funeral, I asked her if she wanted to do anything special, maybe have a nice meal somewhere.  She said all she really wanted to do was to go home, put on her "elastic", eat some homemade soup, and have a quiet evening doing not much of anything.

That's why I love that woman.

Real War

As I have told anyone that will listen, I recently finished writing a novel titled No Refuge.  Due to the overwhelming success in sales (10-12 copies, maybe more),  I felt compelled to write another one although I would have bet good money that would never happen.  I'm hoping that the experience gained from No Refuge will carry over for a better reading experience on the latest project.  I mention this because I read a lot, every evening in fact, at least a chapter or two before the sandman comes along.  It's from these books that I get inspiration and ideas.  The down side is that many of these writers are SO damn good that's it's discouraging.  Their talent with words blows me away. I will never, repeat never, achieve the level these guys are on.

 It's a little like watching golf if you're not a golfer. You see someone like Tiger Woods bend a shot around some trees, knock it 250 yards, and watch it roll up a foot from the pin. A non-golfer might say something like, Oh that was pretty cool. But a person that actually plays golf would be going, OH MY GOD. DID YOU SEE THAT? UN-FREAKIN' BELIEVABLE! That's how I am with good writers. Often I call on the Missus to listen to me read something that I think is an amazing paragraph.  She smiles, nods, and goes back to petting her cats.

I'm currently reading WAR by Sebastian Junger, a  documentary of the time he spent with our troops in the Korengal Valley in Afghanistan, arguably the most dangerous part of that country.  Junger is the guy that wrote The Perfect Storm which was later made into a hit movie. Junger is my Tiger Woods. This guy can put you there, right in the middle of the firefights, make you duck when the shells come in, make you cry when a man is lost.  When I saw that Blockbusters was offering an online movie titled Restrapo (the name of one of the men to die in an ambush there) I had to watch the movie.  I could actually feel my gut getting tight as the men I'd just read about appeared on the screen, knowing they weren't going to make it home. 

When the movie ended, I continued to sit there for a while, staring at the black, wondering; do we really need to be there, are we sacrificing these outstanding men and women for nothing?  Sebastian Junger would describe my moment there in the easy chair as a "confused silence."