tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26380287275580495422024-03-18T00:29:11.932-07:00Bert Carson - writerI'm a Vietnam Vet. I write about men and women doing the right thing.bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.comBlogger378125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-62994761080216922192022-08-19T08:20:00.001-07:002022-08-19T08:26:05.179-07:00First Blog in Years<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv9J8IncazydeYs7iWdpcytTiWBHzOizUcmIoW5FslexFqlEM3pXtAWs0P8rbmQOMAaqCvH0-Oh3Q2_2o5SimqtAr8g-_p8GL0uhfPgEA2IF2XtHE9LmclShdWH33nBtExyVDT9H27rovKg6O996fd-KzV-wHzhOFZPdWnKJZNYd64z6G8JrtEnpxn8w/s671/Buddha%20cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="671" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv9J8IncazydeYs7iWdpcytTiWBHzOizUcmIoW5FslexFqlEM3pXtAWs0P8rbmQOMAaqCvH0-Oh3Q2_2o5SimqtAr8g-_p8GL0uhfPgEA2IF2XtHE9LmclShdWH33nBtExyVDT9H27rovKg6O996fd-KzV-wHzhOFZPdWnKJZNYd64z6G8JrtEnpxn8w/s320/Buddha%20cropped.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">It has been more than two years since I posted a blog and I have forgotten everything I knew about how to do it. I did manage to load my favorite photo (that is, my favorite photo that I took). </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Since I served in Vietnam in 1967 - 1968, about five lifetimes ago, I've returned twice. First, alone, on what was going to be trip with a number of Vietnam Vet friends who, one by one, for various reasons, dropped out, until I was the only one left on the list.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I remember as we took off from Bankok that this was probably a Viet Cong trick to get me back in the country and like most VC tricks it had worked.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">At luggage claim in Saigon I got it that this wasn't a VC trick. The large room was crowded, not with tourist, this was before the day of tourist going to Vietnam. There was me, standing about six inches above almost everyone else, and there was a room full of Vietnamese returning home.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I was working my way toward the baggage train that had just arrived when someone shouted, "American, American, American." I raised my head to see who had caused all the commotiona and did a double take when I saw everyone was looking at me. Before I could take a breath the entire group began applauding, laughing and cheering and I flashed back to the night I arrived at that airport the first time.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Far away from the terminal the 200 plus of us, all first timers in Vietnam, were unloaded from the plane and herded to Japanese made, diesel powered buses, all equipted with heavy wire mesh windows. The Sergeant assigned to my bus explained the mesh was keep Viet Cong hand grenades outside. Then he added, "They may get you son, but it won't be on my watch."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Welcome to Vietnam</i>, I thought.</span></p>bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-54329640415867431122020-05-24T17:31:00.002-07:002020-05-24T17:33:41.040-07:00For the Lewis Family<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Here is the postcard that will be in the mail to you Tuesday (Monday is a U.S. Holiday)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZe9oeftm5R5X_wks4GtkyyNpQx7mY9pOgjhpIMAVhk9VrpVEh1sM3VsJarWbQU_jjCS8b97Vz2idi-xme1Eygq8H9XDE5WdF6hp0kUSkXYNcCbYw1nOXEpAUBlj7zmS0Cs7EPMFoEajhh/s1600/5-25-20+US-6723748.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZe9oeftm5R5X_wks4GtkyyNpQx7mY9pOgjhpIMAVhk9VrpVEh1sM3VsJarWbQU_jjCS8b97Vz2idi-xme1Eygq8H9XDE5WdF6hp0kUSkXYNcCbYw1nOXEpAUBlj7zmS0Cs7EPMFoEajhh/s400/5-25-20+US-6723748.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">I love books and like you all, I love <a href="http://postallove.com/">postallove.com</a> post cards. There wasn't enough room on this postallove card to tell you about my all-time favorite book from my kid days - The title is <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Big-Red-75th-Anniversary-Kjelgaard/dp/0823442659/ref=tmm_hrd_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1590365933&sr=8-2" target="_blank">Big Red</a>. Actually there were three books in the Big Red Series and I read them all, more times than you would believe.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">If you can't get Big Red, let me know. If you do get it, let me know what you think of it. Thanks for reminding me of it, I just ordered a new copy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Take special care of yourselves through these uncertain days and always have fun.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Yours to count on,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Bert </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Bert-Carson/e/B004JXPBO4/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" target="_blank">Bert Carson</a></b></span></div>
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bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-87386490060184790322020-05-24T16:14:00.003-07:002020-05-29T19:20:53.856-07:00Heading for Pocahontas, Illinois<font face="arial" size="4">Lesly,</font><div><font face="arial" size="4"><br /></font><div><font face="arial" size="4">I didn't want to wait for Tuesday. Here is your card (actually traveling Tuesday, May 26th & I suppose this is actually not your card, but rather a digital preview).</font></div><div><font face="arial" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="arial" size="4">Have a wonderful holiday weekend,</font></div><div><font face="arial" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font face="arial" size="4">Bert</font></div><div><font face="arial" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><font face="arial" size="4"><br /></font></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjafpG5CfC0MNIWH-RidAhyg2YjJVMA1hiHacaAgzPCrWql5tU_Vt-7XoO7ZRrGuUThf66ky9lRmxwnRI0ZQoFQKGeBxa8pTcfHEuxsCpXhUCBLqdaK2UDS8Dl1ULq4ISdmuW_3VrERQDDo//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1112" data-original-width="1626" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjafpG5CfC0MNIWH-RidAhyg2YjJVMA1hiHacaAgzPCrWql5tU_Vt-7XoO7ZRrGuUThf66ky9lRmxwnRI0ZQoFQKGeBxa8pTcfHEuxsCpXhUCBLqdaK2UDS8Dl1ULq4ISdmuW_3VrERQDDo/w640-h438/5-24-20+King_000.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="arial" size="4"><b>Sail on my friend!</b></font></div></div>bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-76158387892645423772020-04-11T12:11:00.000-07:002020-04-11T12:11:18.945-07:00Heading for Asheville, North Carolina<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hollis,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She is coming your way and it appears she is traveling fast.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have a great weekend my friend,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bert</span>bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-4816943520825351362020-04-05T09:54:00.001-07:002020-04-05T09:54:16.990-07:00It is still spring in Huntsville, Alabama<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In these "different times" I've had some extra moments to become more active on Facebook. I wrote this post for Facebook and could find no way to add a clickable link to a post. I spent way to much time looking, then it came to me that I could post it in a blog and put the blog on my Facebook. This is my first run at that:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is Sunday morning, April 5<sup>th</sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bright, sunny and 67 degrees in Huntsville,
Alabama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just found this <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Logitech-Tablet-Keyboard-for-iPads/dp/B00AFSN4A0/ref=sr_1_11?crid=3P7J1SUCAI0ST&dchild=1&keywords=logitech+tablet+keyboard&qid=1586098431&s=home-garden&sprefix=logitech+tablet+%2Cgarden%2C151&sr=8-11" target="_blank">Logitech Tablet Keyboard</a> that I used on my old Microsoft Surface 3 (now blown up and departed).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took one look at it and knew it would be perfect
to use at my still, almost new, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07LCRMMG2/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_search_asin_title?ie=UTF8&psc=1" target="_blank">Stand Steady desk</a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07LCRMMG2/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_search_asin_title?ie=UTF8&psc=1" target="_blank">.</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is a trial run of the old keyboard, attached to my
work computer for the first time and after my first few lines, I know it is a
perfect match.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The “stand </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">up” desk has been awesome, and I know it will be
even more fun with this keyboard and a hot cup of <a href="https://www.deathwishcoffee.com/products/death-wish-coffee" target="_blank">Death Wish Coffee</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, I’ll prove that… first though, I have to
fill a few bird feeders and scatter some peanuts for the squirrels and
chipmunks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have a great spring day!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Be well, stay well, love everyone – we ARE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER, let’s
remember that as we travel through.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-40851454009530874912020-02-18T20:24:00.002-08:002020-02-18T20:28:38.325-08:00Heading For Norway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg8vqtPqcVRZyVnAbQJgvMvUJowyocTPtSi1YbhzcWf_Lx10j_lMyhv3eGl9buwK_n_zwRsLfE0ybFbMK9y02GR2Nkuhul61mkyOQM6LiYMEevDUzPcSndhiGLKF44BxB7IRleMQQHgYTO/s1600/2-19-20+US-6548992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1060" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg8vqtPqcVRZyVnAbQJgvMvUJowyocTPtSi1YbhzcWf_Lx10j_lMyhv3eGl9buwK_n_zwRsLfE0ybFbMK9y02GR2Nkuhul61mkyOQM6LiYMEevDUzPcSndhiGLKF44BxB7IRleMQQHgYTO/s400/2-19-20+US-6548992.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Dear Nihan,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">This is probably one of the first Postcrossing postcards you will receive (I'll put it in the mail tomorrow 2/19/20), so I thought it should be special. Since this is one of my favorites I'm hoping it will be one of yours.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Happy Postcrossing,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Bert</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-13939996336913428822020-02-11T19:25:00.000-08:002020-02-11T19:25:52.396-08:00To Kazakhstan<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Dear Polina,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">This is the front of the postcard I will put in the mail today - it is a reproduction of a painting by Norman Rockwell called The Bookworm. I picked it because you love books (so do I).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">This is the message. I printed and taped it to the card. I got the idea from a card I received from Hong Kong - <a href="http://www.bert-blogging.com/2020/02/free-hong-kong.html" target="_blank">Here is what I posted about it:</a></span></div>
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bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-72533401159706590932020-02-08T11:08:00.002-08:002020-02-11T18:45:02.547-08:00Free Hong Kong<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today (Saturday Feb 8, 2020) I received this postcard from Vince in Hong Kong. I love pen pals and I love postcrossing. My love for writing letters often spills over into my correspondence. At those times I want to say a lot more than I have space for on a postcard.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This postcard is 6 X 3.75 inches. Conventionally, half that space would have been taken up by stamps and my address, leaving very little room for a hand written message, so Postcrossing addicts usually limit themselves to a message like,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Dear Bert,</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Greetings from Hong Kong, where those of us who live and work here are under threat constant threat from our police. Then maybe a line or two about the weather and close that usually is a line like Happy Postcrossing, followed by a signature.</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As you can see, Vince typed her personalized message to me. What you can't see is that the message is taped neatly to the back of the postcard which traveled 33 days and 2,300 miles to reach me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Also invisible is the education and inspiration that I received from from the postcard.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Thanks Vince</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Your friend, Bert</span></div>
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bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-56259608287442909552020-01-25T09:49:00.000-08:002020-01-25T11:20:00.811-08:00To Russia With Love - or Following Your Inspiration <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Excuse the James Bond reference - It's a laid back Saturday and it seemed appropriate and it is "sort of connected" to my real subject, which goes this way:</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I just put this postcard in the mailbox. That's the first step in it's journey to Katerina, who lives in Russia. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> I purchased the card from <a href="http://pixiluv.com/" target="_blank">Pixilluv.com,</a> a New Zealand postcard company whose postcards I find delightful. I received Katerina's name, address and profile info from <a href="https://www.postcrossing.com/about" target="_blank">Postcrossing</a>, a super cool operation based in Italy. I live in the USA and Katerina in Russia. There are four countries involved in this mailing. A nice international transaction. </span></div>
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</span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And now, my primary motive for writing this post. INSPIRATION.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On her profile, Katerina shared her Instagram page. It inspired my selecting this postcard and it has inspired me to get serious about my Instagram page. For that, I thank everyone involved in my revelation.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, the bottom line is inspiration: How it might appear. An example of what do when it does. And an illustration of how many individuals, companies and countries might be involved as you follow yours. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now, check out <a href="https://www.instagram.com/katerinanevermind/" target="_blank">Katerina's Instagram Page</a>.</span>bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-79900073459849493682020-01-24T09:20:00.003-08:002020-01-24T09:23:23.277-08:00When You Matter<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; position: relative; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">As I searched, with little success, for the right illustration for this post, I remembered The Storyteller, a print I purchased in a Seattle mall during an art sale more than thirty years ago and that was the end of the search.</span></div>
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The look on the fairy's face as she gazes at the storyteller is what this blog is all about.</div>
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I saw the same look on Joe Bonamassa's face as he described how he felt when he first heard Eric Clapton. As he told the story, he was standing on the stage at the Royal Albert Hall, an ambition he'd held since being inspired by Eric. Then he introduced Eric Clapton, and the two performed <i>Further On Up the Road together</i> for a packed house. Take a look:</div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.85px;">As I watched the video for the fourth or maybe fifth time, I thought of the first person, outside my immediate family, who inspired me as the Storyteller inspired the Fairy and Eric Clapton inspired Joe Bonamassa. Her name was Ms. Tillman and she was my first grade teacher. Had it not been for her, I'd not be able to write this post because moments after being dragged into her class by my mother, I made up my mind that I'd die before I'd let that happen again.</span></div>
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As I look back almost sixty-years to September 1947, I realize, not for the first time, that Ms. Tillman knew how I felt. She understood the resolve behind my commitment to never return to her class or any other class even if it meant death. To her credit, she didn't decide to put my resolve to the test. Instead, she showed me the value of reconsidering my vow, and she did it in a way that made it easy for me to understand and take a different position.</div>
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That's what a person who cares does for one they care about. First they make it clear they understand your position, and then they show you other possibilities.</div>
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<span style="background-color: yellow;">Take a moment and think of the first person who did that for you. Now, think of someone you've done it for. Before you leave those thoughts, consider sharing them with us in the comments. We're looking forward to reading them.</span><br />
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Now go out in your world and inspire someone.</div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bert-Carson/e/B004JXPBO4/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" style="color: #cc4411;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Bert Carson</b></span> </a></div>
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bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-49781488247679685272020-01-23T18:46:00.000-08:002020-01-25T11:21:30.514-08:00Right Person - Right Card - Bingo!<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">A postcard reproduction of Norman Rockwell's Painting</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>The Jury Holdout</i>, 1959</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Feb 14, 1959 Saturday Evening Post Cover</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-ZpPVn4TUhP2tAeZf0W7BtkM3cKXALKtEKBaPDhdi8iX_A1xzoq3zRXZk_dQwcwB4jmkP25d4o6x-uMF9ONsnCcv9xasg_9QQjrm2n8za3FJk_h7C1tWJ-3LzFOCL_ywGGGwokJ6Gj2W/s1600/1-24-20+US-6499111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1449" data-original-width="1302" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-ZpPVn4TUhP2tAeZf0W7BtkM3cKXALKtEKBaPDhdi8iX_A1xzoq3zRXZk_dQwcwB4jmkP25d4o6x-uMF9ONsnCcv9xasg_9QQjrm2n8za3FJk_h7C1tWJ-3LzFOCL_ywGGGwokJ6Gj2W/s400/1-24-20+US-6499111.jpg" width="358" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jonathan,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've waited for years for the right person to send this postcard to - You Are The One.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'll get it in the mail to you tomorrow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm also a pen addict. If you haven't used <a href="http://www.mainstreetpens.com/" target="_blank">Main Street Pens</a> for repairs and vintage pens, check them out. Ron and Robyn Zorn are the best.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Have a great, almost New Year.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Bert</span></div>
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bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-73043567214848097432020-01-23T10:13:00.000-08:002020-01-25T11:23:30.380-08:00A Reminder From Finland<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMo0LJCnpCrLQusJ5XUWMvHh-W-PTGoj4MSe3MRd4t36N2lN0nKzKm7MM5qMlBsZzHzNI-jhpJAf90zGM24b_3czhoZNsdvn_X5FNtcaJcl_24cbhv7pQdeSOTh_PitgQ2TneyxFUarou2/s1600/1-23-20+US-6497873.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="952" data-original-width="1600" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMo0LJCnpCrLQusJ5XUWMvHh-W-PTGoj4MSe3MRd4t36N2lN0nKzKm7MM5qMlBsZzHzNI-jhpJAf90zGM24b_3czhoZNsdvn_X5FNtcaJcl_24cbhv7pQdeSOTh_PitgQ2TneyxFUarou2/s320/1-23-20+US-6497873.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Today I will put this postcard, a
reproduction of a Norman Rockwell painting, that appeared in the August 20,
1968 issue of Look magazine, in the mail. As you read this, this postcard
is traveling to Jouni Vedenoja, a young man who lives in a small village in
Finland.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I'm a member of <a href="https://www.postcrossing.com/about" target="_blank"><b>Postcrossing</b></a>.
Members <u>receive </u>postcards from other members who have
"been assigned" their name and address by Postcrossing, and
members <u>send </u>postcards to other members who were
"assigned" to them by Postcrossing. </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Name assignments include a profile
of the member who has been selected for a postcard. Today Jouni was
assigned (by random computer selection) to me as a recipient for a
postcard. I selected this for him based on his words from his profile:</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">"Peace, freedom and equal
rights for everyone and everywhere are important for me. Freedom of
speech is a great value! Open democracy is important! Freedom is
not politics, it is a human right..."</span></i></b><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">On this noteworthy day in American
politics, I found my friend Jouni's words a most welcome and inspirational
reminder. </span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thank You, Jouni</span></div>
<br />bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-62873997148414295142020-01-17T17:14:00.002-08:002020-01-17T17:14:33.511-08:00Postcard and "Thank you" Postcard<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I sent Dave Bishop this neat vintage train postcard.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHDpedWkdxkUadgv7rvLzhWNFXwBlhstoWsBgj67gJn2kCgxS5upwwRbTiRaa7wzWOIEg-cnAf82ehXO3TOG4w5JkaoeQeHWK_XAzf8mh4IOP8x9ivwPy0dy13Z4L8kD-N5gi4d5kd03Hj/s1600/US-6461816+1-20-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1600" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHDpedWkdxkUadgv7rvLzhWNFXwBlhstoWsBgj67gJn2kCgxS5upwwRbTiRaa7wzWOIEg-cnAf82ehXO3TOG4w5JkaoeQeHWK_XAzf8mh4IOP8x9ivwPy0dy13Z4L8kD-N5gi4d5kd03Hj/s400/US-6461816+1-20-20.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Dave replied with this outstanding "thank you" postcard</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFBy7W12RQN1_ej1g7EHR0A1G4cG08LIqIQpfPrRSHe6vnQY7E1ikwMh0vnsAjskFmTu1W7O6WXJdmt3Tw53Vnl2gmHWKK_5bZnBS20Ytu_p0zWqWq0Dt1PdCbSWpiZ_8Ds8Jh1YML0hHp/s1600/01-17-20+see+US-6466108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFBy7W12RQN1_ej1g7EHR0A1G4cG08LIqIQpfPrRSHe6vnQY7E1ikwMh0vnsAjskFmTu1W7O6WXJdmt3Tw53Vnl2gmHWKK_5bZnBS20Ytu_p0zWqWq0Dt1PdCbSWpiZ_8Ds8Jh1YML0hHp/s400/01-17-20+see+US-6466108.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Postcards, a message with a picture, better than a FaceBook message. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thanks Dave - Happy Postcossing.</span></div>
<br />bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-33701779121703825692020-01-12T17:55:00.000-08:002020-01-12T17:55:48.808-08:00Postcard to Russia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Postcard heading to my friends, Maria, Ivan and Matryona, in Russia - Have a wonderful day, your friend, Bert</span></div>
bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-16371636844351621442019-10-25T08:21:00.000-07:002019-10-25T08:21:30.219-07:00<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; position: relative; user-select: auto;">
<span style="color: red;">This post was originally published in March 2015. I posted a total of 5 Divine Moment Posts - you can find them all by searching Divine Moment in the search box in the right column. </span></h3>
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<a href="http://www.bert-blogging.com/2015/07/and-it-all-boils-down-to.html" style="color: #29aae1; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-decoration-line: none; user-select: auto;">And It All Boils Down To #1 in the Divine Moment Series</a></h3>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I've been on a mission since I was five years old. Today I'm close to my seventy-third birthday. I'll save you the calculation. That's a sixty-eight year mission and it's not complete yet. I suppose my mission has a completion date, but I'm not privy to that information. On the other hand, recently I've come to believe there are more rules to my mission than I suspected when I set out on it, rules that change the concept of completion dates and other things, but that's another whole story.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">This post is just a brief update on the status of the mission along with enough information for you to Google a point or two and maybe amuse yourself for while. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">Or, if you're on a similar mission, you might want to spend a bit more time following the points I'm about to lay down.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">This is not a religious statement because I'm not religious, not any more. I was born into a religious family which lived in a religious part of the world. For a time, I wanted to be a missionary and for a number of years I was a minister. For a long time, a lot of people told me I had made a difference in their lives, and for a while I actually believed them. Then I got it that I can't make more of a difference in anyone's life than they are willing to have a difference made there. I pondered that and realized that if a person wants a change, they will find a way to do it whether I'm there or not. That was a big relief, because I'm on a mission, and it's not about making a difference in anyone's life but mine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;"> The Mission is simple. I want to know God, or Allah, or Jehovah, or The One, or whatever you choose to call the force that created all that is. There's never been a doubt in my mind that my mission is doable, and I know I'm getting closer to my objective. There have been many wrong turns, a lot of misinformation, and a number of false prophets, still I've made a lot of progress, though I can't quantify that for you in any way other than a statement of knowing that it is so.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">The booklet I'm going to tell you about in a moment speaks more eloquently to that situation:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;"><i style="user-select: auto;">A mark of progress</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">at one stage</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">is an obstacle at the next.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">You cannot note when</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">(or how much)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">you have progressed toward </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">any liberation...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">only discern your limitations</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">less and less. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">Without a guide, mentor, or teacher, I've had to rely on books. I just did some quick, conservative, calculations on the number of books I've read, which doesn't include The Bible (which I've read through a number of times) or all of the versions of The Tao I've read (one I've copied by hand three times), and here's what I've concluded: In fifty years of reading, twenty esoteric books per year, with an average of 50,000 words per book, I've read fifty million words. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">The irony of that is that everything I've read and studied, EVERYTHING, is covered in great detail in <b style="user-select: auto;"><i style="user-select: auto;">The Divine Moment</i></b>, a 900 word booklet written by Pama Rab Sel (James Lane Prior - born in Deland, Florida in 1928 - died in Kathmandu, Nepal in 1990.) Though I never met Pama Rab Sel, I've walked and talked and laughed with him since we met in a bookstore in Huntington Beach, California in 1993.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b style="color: #333333;"><i style="user-select: auto;">The Divine Moment</i></b><span style="color: #333333;"> is long out of print, however, if you want to chase a used copy here's </span><b style="user-select: auto;"><i style="user-select: auto;"><span style="color: #333333;">g</span><span style="color: red;">one now</span></i></b><span style="color: #333333;"> to the only one I found on the web - it gives the pertinent search info.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">I'm thinking about blogging about the key points in Pama Rab Sel's amazing work, mostly for my gratification. You're more than welcome to follow along and add comments - or not.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;"><b style="user-select: auto;"><i style="user-select: auto;">The Divine Moment</i></b> begins this way -</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;"><i style="user-select: auto;">This moment is it.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;"><i style="user-select: auto;">There is no "better" moment </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;"><i style="user-select: auto;">than this one.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; user-select: auto;">Later I'll tell you how it ends.</span></div>
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bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-90941998391483826382019-08-25T17:33:00.001-07:002019-08-25T17:33:45.897-07:00Postcrossing and Paracord and ....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-55589538675026634112019-08-04T16:48:00.000-07:002019-08-04T16:48:27.340-07:00Postcards to China<br />
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<br />bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-73304399933061565572019-01-23T08:52:00.001-08:002019-01-23T08:52:46.464-08:00Whistling Loudly<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7TEGdjAlSi8z_nVV1okZMzzkwyTnDleXB1L65bmcw1NL5IzIQYclGSCTXQeKOBHONVzv-J8zpmudhsMCS5rzy2lfrdl-DpPabd38ultau4HNRSLEcipEdEqtb51DXSE656QURsVZ7Elta/s1600/Cold+Water.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7TEGdjAlSi8z_nVV1okZMzzkwyTnDleXB1L65bmcw1NL5IzIQYclGSCTXQeKOBHONVzv-J8zpmudhsMCS5rzy2lfrdl-DpPabd38ultau4HNRSLEcipEdEqtb51DXSE656QURsVZ7Elta/s1600/Cold+Water.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>Cold Water Books - #5 on my list</b></span></td></tr>
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I haven't tweeted or even opened twitter in a long long time. A few days ago I did and this tweet from Allison Devers @andevers caught my eye, probably because I love small, independent bookstores - cozy places, where book nuts are safe and warm and in the company of like-minded folk.<br />
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Here's the tweet: I just paid my first two months "security" on my bookshop and that is just over £2,000 and I am whistling loudly, so please come shop at <a href="https://twitter.com/secondshelfbks?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">@</a><a href="https://twitter.com/secondshelfbks?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">secondshelfbks</a> if you haven't yet. The most hidden bookstore in London, in a small Soho courtyard awaits you! <a href="https://t.co/qrtxcwxuBI">pic.twitter.com/qrtxcwxuBI</a><br />
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— A. N. Devers (@andevers) <a href="https://twitter.com/andevers/status/1084873357177376768?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">January 14, 2019</a></blockquote>
In another lifetime, I turned down a number of opportunities to visit London and Stonehenge. That was before I met Inspector Morse, and Endeavour, his younger self, and Dr. Who (all 13 of them). When I looked at the picture of <b>The Second Shelf</b>, I was absolutely sure that the Tardis was parked just around the corner. I immediately added The Second Shelf to my Bookstores To Visit List.<br />
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Besides being cozy, comfortable places; small bookstores have something else in common with each other and with every other small business on the planet. They are owned and operated by people who are, as Allison so beautifully said, "Whistling in the dark." Whether the bookstore is as new as the Second Shelf, or has been around a long time, like Otto Penzler's <a href="https://www.mysteriousbookshop.com/pages/about-us" target="_blank">The Mysterious Bookshop</a>, in New York, - the second bookstore on my Bookstores To Visit list.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidv-C2UNesrKoTencVCfbN-Hfpd0zWNz2EEbTKnXZB9HKzQAEJZCZsvp0NF7jlyZ6CQ0XQMG-119Hn7jAgkMmA0kqquOgc6iDWnVONDXRjFpNEhzIrbZMyl1NM7iY9kLP3Qiy6QyAMLdjD/s1600/Mysterous.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="353" data-original-width="480" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidv-C2UNesrKoTencVCfbN-Hfpd0zWNz2EEbTKnXZB9HKzQAEJZCZsvp0NF7jlyZ6CQ0XQMG-119Hn7jAgkMmA0kqquOgc6iDWnVONDXRjFpNEhzIrbZMyl1NM7iY9kLP3Qiy6QyAMLdjD/s320/Mysterous.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Unlike the Second Shelf, I have visited The Mysterious Bookshop, albeit virtually. Adrienne Wall, a friend and one of my two lovely business partners, gave me a signed copy of <b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Promise-Elvis-Cole-Pike-Novel-ebook/dp/B00K0U6MRU/ref=sr_1_4?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1548220299&sr=1-4&keywords=the+promise">The Promise</a></i></b> by Robert Crais, in in so doing introduced me to the bookshop. There are many traditions at The Mysterious Bookshop. One of them is inviting a prominent mystery writer to write a Christmas short story. Christmas customers then receive a copy of the current short story. So, with <i>The Promise</i>, I received <i>Secret Santa</i> by <a href="https://www.mysteriousbookshop.com/search?q=ace+atkins">Ace Atkins</a>. It is a delightful short story, and one I know I'll reread every Christmas. The Mysterious Bookshop is also the place where I found a signed and lettered copy of <a href="https://www.mysteriousbookshop.com/products/elizabeth-george-the-mysterious-disappearance-of-the-reluctant-book-fairy">The Mysterious Disappearance of the Reluctant Book Fairy</a>, a special Christmas gift for Christina.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Yxfmr6qbrMF9L5x4TCHxCyJERS0IDg-uHC8ryPplNgSABxzpamKZM_3OGNM2ng_pr5w1dZgSHPLGM1ZpVFDq8SMl8yD91Cd2AiFm-IpSdU3Wvt5DFLog7lxnZRiXcuVxbqy6tSAyLfej/s1600/the+bookstore+in+kilgore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Yxfmr6qbrMF9L5x4TCHxCyJERS0IDg-uHC8ryPplNgSABxzpamKZM_3OGNM2ng_pr5w1dZgSHPLGM1ZpVFDq8SMl8yD91Cd2AiFm-IpSdU3Wvt5DFLog7lxnZRiXcuVxbqy6tSAyLfej/s1600/the+bookstore+in+kilgore.jpg" /></a>Now, it's time for you and me to drive. We are going to visit the next two bookstores on my list. First, we will go to T<a href="https://thekilgorebookstore.com/">he Bookstore in Kilgore</a>, owned by a good friend, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Stephen-Woodfin/e/B005W76KIC/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1548218345&sr=8-1">Stephen Woodfin</a>. Notice the temperature is hovering around freezing, just as it was in New York, but know inside it's warm and cozy and there is a faint, not unpleasant sound of whistling coming from somewhere.<br />
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I haven't been inside yet but I've made a point of checking all the photos posted and their web site, and I know it is one of the good places in the world because another friend, bestselling author <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Caleb-Pirtle-III/e/B007HB4YNO/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1548219460&sr=8-1">Caleb Pirtle</a>, told me so -<br />
and if Caleb says its good, you can bank on it.<br />
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Just look at the place - a historic home, planted in the shade of tall Texas trees. Heck partner, you know this place has been here since the beginning of time and you know for sure it's a place to pull up a chair, order a coffee and open a book. It's also a place to spend the afternoon listening to Stephen spin tall tales as he keeps your cup and your heart full.<br />
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It's time to leave Kilgore, and head for the last bookstore currently on my list. We're going to head mostly north and we aren't going to shut down until we get to Fairfield, Iowa. Now, plug this address in the GPS, 112 North Main Street, and let's ride. If you get tired, I'll drive. That way we can make it in 12 hours. It's only 782 miles, that's no "step for a couple of steppers like us."<br />
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When we shut this old boy down, we'll be in front of <b><i><a href="https://www.facebook.com/revelationscafeandbookstore/">Revelations</a></i></b>, a bookstore, cafe, and world renowned Scrabble Center. Betsy, the world class owner of this world class establishment, will, on occasion, tell a joke. My <a href="http://www.bert-blogging.com/2019/01/incowrimo-2019.html">pen friend</a>, Jacqueline Signori, told me so, in confidence, and she also said that all the Scrabble players headquartered at Revelations, call Betsy's jokes, <b><i>groaners</i></b> but not when there is a chance Betsy, the owner of the greatest hangout in Fairfield can hear.<br />
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This whirlwind tour has been presented for your reading entertainment by my love for books, and places where they are served up... it's a gift for all you book lovers. If you have a special book stop please share it in a comment - maybe there will be additional postings of "whistle stops for book lovers." Thanks for being here.. and there.<br />
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Happy reading.<br />
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<b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Bert-Carson/e/B004JXPBO4/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">Bert Carson</a></i></b></div>
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<br />bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-87526412685546876692019-01-20T21:17:00.000-08:002019-01-21T01:02:56.489-08:00A Bigger Crisis<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b><i><u>Martin Luther King, Jr. - American Minister</u></i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: red;"><b><i>"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter"</i> </b></span></div>
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<b><i>Martin Luther King, Jr.</i></b></div>
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<b><i>"You have power over your mind - not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength."</i></b></div>
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Marcus Aurelius</div>
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<b><i>"The crisis on our southern border, and for that matter, all other crises on the planet, pale in comparison to the crisis we have bought on ourselves by refusing to speak about things that matter." </i></b> Bert Carson</div>
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<b><i>"I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refuse to be reduced by it."</i></b> Maya Angelou</div>
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<b>"Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it."</b> Mary Oliver</div>
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<b>"Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Willing is not enough; we must do." </b> Johann Wolfgang von Goethe</div>
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<b>"Things do not happen. Things are made to happen."</b> John F. Kennedy</div>
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<b>"The measure of who we are is what we do with what we have."</b> Vince Lombardi<span style="color: #657786; font-family: inherit; font-size: 1px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
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<b>Sunday January 20, 2019</b></div>
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<a href="https://twitter.com/GeoffRBennett/status/1087147996767227904" style="background-color: yellow; color: #14171a;" target="_blank">Tweet from NBC News </a><span style="background-color: yellow; color: #14171a; letter-spacing: 0.01em; text-align: left;">President Trump</span><span style="background-color: yellow; letter-spacing: 0.01em; text-align: left;"><span style="color: yellow;"> </span><span style="color: #14171a;">won't be participating in any Martin Luther King Jr. Day service activities tomorrow. According to the White House schedule, he "has no public events scheduled.</span></span><span style="color: #14171a;">
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<span style="background-color: white;">I know where I was 11/22/63, the day JFK was killed.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">I know where I was 12/27/67, the day my oldest daughter was born.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">I know where I was 1/31/67, the second day of Tet, 1968.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">I know where I was April 4, 1968, the day MLK was killed.</span></div>
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I have vivid memories of those four days but no regrets about where I was or what I was doing. But I do have a regret. It is, I don't remember where I was on March 25, 1965, when Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered a speech from the steps of the state capital of Alabama. Actually, my regret is that I wasn't there.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKrY9ixxEzB_R0WV-el1_j7NkujlW2dJC0iqJu-Go-AKU67ENnAaxMKl1i_bizkZ-DLSp16WFfqGjSyUohldcLSyLEDKVHcWc3ZStkz3z72NuU0SD99jOYA2mBHcKIU2yPWC0QQahOL0lg/s1600/The+Reverend+Martin+Luther+King+Jr..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="311" data-original-width="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKrY9ixxEzB_R0WV-el1_j7NkujlW2dJC0iqJu-Go-AKU67ENnAaxMKl1i_bizkZ-DLSp16WFfqGjSyUohldcLSyLEDKVHcWc3ZStkz3z72NuU0SD99jOYA2mBHcKIU2yPWC0QQahOL0lg/s1600/The+Reverend+Martin+Luther+King+Jr..jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IB0i6bJIjw" target="_blank"><b>"I have a dream..."</b></a>
</div>
<div class="TweetTextSize TweetTextSize--jumbo js-tweet-text tweet-text" data-aria-label-part="0" lang="en" style="color: #14171a; letter-spacing: 0.01em; line-height: 32px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: center; user-select: auto !important; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.01em;"><b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Bert-Carson/e/B004JXPBO4/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" target="_blank">Bert Carson</a></i></b></span></div>
</div>
<br /></div>
bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-23937058896918193182019-01-18T09:35:00.003-08:002019-01-18T09:35:44.529-08:00InCoWriMo 2019<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVQTPwH0x23mFem0UfSN3YvpAYpGznlVYF44CwaRDmiWgOt4gu1Lm-0ILkfwPvDtBt8s0Kk3DJVbG2KVquc0xQlLh29nzHmImTg8E3I7r4V1jvxPiGyoirsCufC6u2VoYK2SnRbOUXvbr6/s1600/Snail+Mail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="242" data-original-width="369" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVQTPwH0x23mFem0UfSN3YvpAYpGznlVYF44CwaRDmiWgOt4gu1Lm-0ILkfwPvDtBt8s0Kk3DJVbG2KVquc0xQlLh29nzHmImTg8E3I7r4V1jvxPiGyoirsCufC6u2VoYK2SnRbOUXvbr6/s320/Snail+Mail.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Six years ago, actually six years and a month ago, I first heard the name InCoWriMo for the first time.<br />
<br />
InCoWriMo means International Correspondence Writing Month. The month is February and the objective is "...to send a handwritten letter every day for the month of February to a person on the list. It doesn't have to be a novel or even news, it's entirely up to you what you write."<br />
<br />
The key word in that quote, taken from a blog post on the InCoWriMo 2019 site, is <b><i>handwritten</i></b>. The snail mail logo is more than a cute picture. It is reminder to slow down, reach out and get in touch. I don't know of a better way to do that than write a letter - a handwritten letter.<br />
<br />
I began writing letters fifty years ago when I served in Vietnam. When I first read about InCoWriMo, I jumped at the chance to get back into it. I quickly discovered that the magic was still there.<br />
<br />
The first month of the first InCoWriMo, February 2014, was half done<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFW8Ya1EsVQPHAPRqYI1ShzwjcBSkwvHb942pqcp5-B4VZiF4j59gQY-_n82aNaEHYGIfj2W0OtUV3PQwbJCXlQcg3YHwsQK5k_kJ8OtGiEMKJ9KvnYuZ4jt3MxE_pmICG4SHFRa1NDfVy/s1600/InCoWriMo+2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="159" data-original-width="318" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFW8Ya1EsVQPHAPRqYI1ShzwjcBSkwvHb942pqcp5-B4VZiF4j59gQY-_n82aNaEHYGIfj2W0OtUV3PQwbJCXlQcg3YHwsQK5k_kJ8OtGiEMKJ9KvnYuZ4jt3MxE_pmICG4SHFRa1NDfVy/s200/InCoWriMo+2019.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
when I heard about it. I thought about waiting to 2015 to participate, but decided it was too good to wait a year for, so I jumped in and caught up. I haven't missed a year since.<br />
<br />
Many of the people I've met through letters have become my good friends, and I expect many more will. I have pen friends in Thailand, the United Kingdom, Canada, Netherlands, Taiwan, and the United States.<br />
<br />
I just assembled my 2019 InCoWriMo mailing list, and it includes individuals in Germany, France, Hong Kong, Israel, Macau, Kuwait, India, Mexico and the U.S. All of the information for this year's event is <a href="https://incowrimo-2019.org/" target="_blank">here</a>. If you don't know whom to write to, a list of individuals who would love to hear from you is <a href="https://incowrimo-2019.org/portfolio/address-book-2019/" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />
Happy writing!<br />
<br />
Bert<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">"<i>Letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company.</i>" Lord Byron</span></div>
<br />bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-77132543932009071362019-01-02T09:55:00.001-08:002019-01-02T09:55:08.367-08:00Yours To Count On<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMXgpz7YGghvvMFf-muJdjPHYdZXAhdPF8vM0O3mdrc2if1Ugu26lu0yxuLL7NM8oiL9XjU_LBRgU4CEW7JLhxduleRHLceUBZEl5hvF-oFgiUrWI6PrUevL0Omw4Gr4cc8I4SSm5QqioM/s1600/02+J.E.B.+Stuart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMXgpz7YGghvvMFf-muJdjPHYdZXAhdPF8vM0O3mdrc2if1Ugu26lu0yxuLL7NM8oiL9XjU_LBRgU4CEW7JLhxduleRHLceUBZEl5hvF-oFgiUrWI6PrUevL0Omw4Gr4cc8I4SSm5QqioM/s1600/02+J.E.B.+Stuart.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">J.E.B. Stuart</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
All things evolve and words are no exception. For example, originally a cavalier was the name given by puritans to royalist supporters of King Charles. Not a desirable name. Over time <i>Cavalier </i>evolved to mean a flamboyant, supportive soldier. <br />
<br />
James Ewell Brown Stuart, commonly known as "Jeb," is often called "the last Cavalier." The West Point graduate was a cavalry general who served under Robert E. Lee during the American Civil War.<br />
<br />
Lee called Jeb, my good right arm. Stuart was notorious for the daring recon missions he led, usually conducted far behind enemy lines. In his detailed written accounts of those missions to General Lee, he signed under the closing line, "Yours to count on."<br />
<br />
I've had the good fortune to know a few cavaliers in my time, men and women I knew I could always count. My cavaliers include, Lieutenant Bogdue, helicopter pilot, once a Sergeant, then a Warrant Officer, and finally a commissioned officer, thanks to a battlefield commission following his unsupported rescue of a General during the war in Vietnam. And there was <a href="http://www.bert-blogging.com/2018/02/on-hereos-and-cowards.html" target="_blank">Private Castellanous</a>, who defied mortars and rockets to make sure "I was alright." And of course there is always <a href="http://www.bert-blogging.com/2018/02/happy-birthday-my-love.html" target="_blank">Christina</a>, my good right arm, who always has my back.<br />
<br />
Before Bogdue, Castellanous, and Christina, I had another cavalier, Gerald Decker. Prior to Vietnam, I was stationed at Fort Sam Houston (San Antonio). There I worked for Gerald Decker, the smartest man I've ever known. Though he left school when he was 14, Gerald radiated intelligence. He was born and raised in Detroit, where he lived on the street from the time his old man kicked him out of the house at age 15, until a judge gave him a choice of prison or the army.<br />
<br />
In less than three years, without serving in Vietnam, Decker rocketed through the ranks, from Private to Staff Sergeant. When he told me of the choices offered by the judge, he added, "I'm not sure I picked the best one."<br />
<br />
I had been at Fort Sam about four months, when I was joined by my wife. She tried, but couldn't get a job in San Antonio because soldier's were moved often unexpectedly, and their wives went with them or back home. We lived off-base, on my E-4 salary. To say we were strapped would be an huge understatement. Decker, my section leader, knew our financial situation and asked if I would like to work Friday and Saturday nights, with him, at <a href="http://www.jimcullum.com/thelanding.html" target="_blank">The Landing</a>. I said "YES!" and became his assistant bartender.<br />
<br />
We rode to work together and got to know each other pretty well. He told me about his life on the streets of Detroit, but I had serious problems relating his stories to the soft spoken, straight-arrow, young Staff Sergeant I knew. My skepticism disappeared at 4 AM one Sunday morning.<br />
<br />
We were on our way home. I was driving. The streets were empty, or so I thought until a car pulled to a stop beside us at a traffic light. I turned to my left, noting there were two young men in the front seat and three, maybe four more in the back seat. I locked eyes with the passenger, smiled and nodded. He gave me an angry look, then leaned out his open window and aimed a pistol at my face. Before I could move or scream or even think about what was happening, he pulled the trigger. Fire erupted from the muzzle of the gun as the sound filled my head.<br />
<br />
I sensed, but could not hear Decker shouting as he leaped from the car. I turned to my right just as he leveled the little automatic pistol I carried in the glove box at the shooter and methodically began firing. I've often thanked God for Decker, and that he was a horrible shot, and that I saw him transform himself from Clark Kent to Superman and, of course, I gave thanks that the kid was firing blanks that night.<br />
<br />
Why that story on this day? Because I always like to spend some time, at the beginning of a new year, recalling the cavaliers in my life and giving thanks that they were and are there. Maybe that's something you enjoy also, and who knows, maybe you'll share one of your cavaliers in the comments below.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Bert-Carson/e/B004JXPBO4/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" target="_blank">A Magical New Year To You and Yours!</a></i></b></div>
bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-29136704528984089672018-12-25T09:09:00.000-08:002018-12-25T09:12:06.227-08:00Along A Road He Had Never Traveled<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSAhuKGsB2niNXB9jGiZxuHu0JV_ScwJzCjjvLc5BML6BPYH-4OQ-dDkR0w4Qm0DW-RP98WTQTL8mkZz7x_eJf1ySh44T89ApV1ukrFbbP76a45W2Nu0VofkxYxG5Kh77QGIX7jVa5-veo/s1600/12-25+Country+Roads.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="151" data-original-width="335" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSAhuKGsB2niNXB9jGiZxuHu0JV_ScwJzCjjvLc5BML6BPYH-4OQ-dDkR0w4Qm0DW-RP98WTQTL8mkZz7x_eJf1ySh44T89ApV1ukrFbbP76a45W2Nu0VofkxYxG5Kh77QGIX7jVa5-veo/s320/12-25+Country+Roads.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I haven't written a blog post in almost a year. Maybe it's like riding a bicycle, and I haven't forgotten how it's done. Or maybe what we've been told about riding a bicycle is wrong, and I have forgotten how. This is where we find out which is true or, if just maybe, both are false and something else is true.<br />
<br />
It's Christmas morning, 2018. Warm for Christmas morning in north Alabama. The sounds I associate with long ago Christmas mornings, kids on new skates, kids learning how to operate new toys, kids laughing and playing, have been replaced by nothing... nothing human that is.<br />
<br />
An hour ago, as I filled the bird feeders and scattered peanuts for the squirrels and "Baker Street" (three groups of blue jays who love raw, in the shell Virginia peanuts) the only sounds I heard were me rattling the bird seed can and Baker Street warning the squirrels to stay away from their peanuts.<br />
<br />
The Christmas sounds of kids playing outside with new toys only exists in my mind and maybe in a parallel universe that isn't running close enough to this one for me to access this morning.<br />
<br />
For me, the only bit of Christmas past that seems to be part of this Christmas morning is the last paragraph of Wallace Stegner's short story, <b><i>The Traveler</i></b>. I've pasted it below, but before you read it, you should know this, these words have the power to become a permanent Christmas memory for you. These words could even erase any feeling of loss you are experiencing around the absence of the source of your childhood Christmas memories - Now, if you are willing to risk that, read on:<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<i style="font-weight: bold;">"Along a road he had never driven he went swiftly toward an
unknown farm and an unknown town, to distribute according to some wise law part
of the burden of the boy's emergency and his own; but he bore in his mind,
bright as moonlight over snow, a vivid wonder, almost an awe. For from that
most chronic and incurable of ills, identity, he had looked outward and for one
unmistakable instant recognized himself." </i><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Merry Christmas!</span></div>
bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-37965161412997838122018-02-28T10:35:00.000-08:002018-02-28T10:35:11.689-08:00Thought Trains<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6b2TV8ADl6rrGJ8wdfwXX1Shbs2YtF-lkrJfdTgPhxYlqPAd0WY_JFtsCSapUrQTtrDuAjSHtEynU1y9GsW44SE9NKfXrcmgOLi10mGT9DbqZa2pzyyTmlwWSvgIJ8Vpw1ksuFxFcdJCB/s1600/Pounding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="227" data-original-width="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6b2TV8ADl6rrGJ8wdfwXX1Shbs2YtF-lkrJfdTgPhxYlqPAd0WY_JFtsCSapUrQTtrDuAjSHtEynU1y9GsW44SE9NKfXrcmgOLi10mGT9DbqZa2pzyyTmlwWSvgIJ8Vpw1ksuFxFcdJCB/s1600/Pounding.jpg" /></a></div>
Some call it "stream of consciousness," others refer to it as a "line of thought." I suspect most don't have a name for the phenomenon that we all experience every day twenty-four seven.<br />
<br />
I call it "thought trains," a personal reference that reminds me of my favorite opening line, actually my favorite opening paragraph. It's from "<b><i>Slow Waltz in Cedar Bend</i></b>," by James Waller." <br />
<br />
Here's how it goes:<br />
<br />
<i>"The Trivandrum Mail was on time. It came out of the jungle and pounded into Villupuram Junction at 3:18 on a sweltry afternoon in south India. When the whistle first sounded far and deep in the countryside, people began pressing toward the edge of the station platform..."</i><br />
<br />
This morning the whistle of the "Trivandrum Mail" woke me at least an hour before I had to get up. Before I actually heard the train, its whistle sounded again, followed closely by a third blast. Listening close, I heard the first pounding of the train, followed by the screams of Baker Street (a flock of blue jays whose addiction to raw peanuts I enable once and sometimes twice a day).<br />
<br />
I tried to close my eyes and pretend Baker wasn't outside the window hanging onto a rain drenched branch, doing his best to get me out of the warm bed. I even had the crazy thought that if I clenched my eyes closed tight enough, I could banish both Baker and the train.<br />
<br />
The whistle sounded again, much louder than before, and Baker faded from my consciousness, replaced by a question, "I wonder what James Waller is doing these days."<br />
<br />
That was quickly followed by a thought of James Patterson, the current best selling writer of fiction in the world - specifically I thought about the <a href="https://www.masterclass.com/classes/james-patterson-teaches-writing" target="_blank">MasterClass</a> lectures I'm loving. I thought specifically about the lecture on openings and wondered if I would ever learn to write a pounding line like Waller's.<br />
<br />
The whistle blew louder sweeping James Patterson out of my mind, leaving in his place John Davidson driving down a stretch of western interstate, in his old tractor/trailer, saying to himself, "I spent my 62nd birthday the same way I spent the 38 before it, moving freight from one side of the country to another... no cake... no party... no celebration at all, unless you count my birthday surprise from Harry..."<br />
<br />
Before I could go any further with John, the protagonist from my unpublished book, <b><i>The High Road</i></b>, which is undergoing a major rewrite, the whistle sounded again, and I remembered that I'd told myself last night about writing a blog today. I immediately recalled my response to that thought, "but I don't have a single idea to write about."<br />
<br />
Then, in the rush that always startles me, the train rounded the last bend, charging out of the jungle in a slow arc, growing bigger and even bigger, until it filled my entire thought frame. That's when I knew the commercial was over and the message was at hand.<br />
<br />
I waited, feeling the pounding of the monstrously huge steam engine and the heat of its presence, and marveled as I was encompassed by the glow of my own anticipation - then came the message, <b><i>Write About Thought Trains.</i></b><br />
<br />
So I did.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Bert-Carson/e/B004JXPBO4/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" target="_blank">Bert Carson</a></i></b></div>
bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-77377216657828611892018-02-25T19:49:00.001-08:002018-02-25T20:37:26.218-08:00Happy Birthday My Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixdfOspMzl9TjwZ7RuJZKsvBOwzAyT5Iyo2vyx_Fosd3omchXW0pZj8dzOtAMc0lLc2ZuizVZ2TIzIhx_lMpCm-IZ4d2kh0NqzyA-cAsj6BRXXoZpDxCttF1ZFI7EKwsceTNgVdPqOii94/s1600/Christina-104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1143" data-original-width="1600" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixdfOspMzl9TjwZ7RuJZKsvBOwzAyT5Iyo2vyx_Fosd3omchXW0pZj8dzOtAMc0lLc2ZuizVZ2TIzIhx_lMpCm-IZ4d2kh0NqzyA-cAsj6BRXXoZpDxCttF1ZFI7EKwsceTNgVdPqOii94/s320/Christina-104.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I've started writing this about a hundred times but nothing came out right. The only thing that worked was the Vince Gill song, Look At Us, which I've known all along I wanted to make part of my message to you. Then, I listened close, <b><i>real close</i></b>, to the lyrics... slapped my forehead and said... Damn, it's already written and it's perfect. So Darling, here's what I want you to know on your birthday...<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/n9Wuj_smT7U/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/n9Wuj_smT7U?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<br />
Look at us<br />
After all these years together<br />
Look at us<br />
After all that we've been through<br />
Look at us<br />
Still leaning on each other<br />
If you want to see<br />
How true love should be<br />
Then just look at us.<br />
Look at you<br />
Still pretty as a picture<br />
Look at me<br />
Still crazy over you<br />
Look at us<br />
Still believin' in forever<br />
If you want to see<br />
How true love should be<br />
Then just look at us<br />
In a hundred years from now<br />
I know without a doubt<br />
They'll all look back and wonder how<br />
We made it all work out<br />
Chances are<br />
We'll go down in history<br />
When they want to see<br />
How true love should be<br />
They'll just look at us<br />
<br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><b><i>written by Max Duane Barnes</i></b></i></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><b><i>echoed by Bert Carson to Christina Carson </i></b></i></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><b><i>2/26/2018</i></b></i></b></div>
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<b style="font-size: small;"><i><b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Bert-Carson/e/B004JXPBO4/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" target="_blank">Bert Carson</a></i></b></i></b></div>
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bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2638028727558049542.post-24408965093425979262018-02-23T23:27:00.000-08:002018-02-23T23:27:05.023-08:00On Hereos And Cowards<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2BTCERYqXYEi9H4iux1gKyBiPqJwdTBwmfC3qZZox9RlAIwdw7LhMdiovC6AYKHiDILPhdJ8oLBkq8PFj7kYoMPtwwOc0Z1yCW-Kx7Nq9Yq-K3QCvnxAW9xD6yDSZ3xdaqBM9ikTzS85/s1600/Hero.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="160" data-original-width="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2BTCERYqXYEi9H4iux1gKyBiPqJwdTBwmfC3qZZox9RlAIwdw7LhMdiovC6AYKHiDILPhdJ8oLBkq8PFj7kYoMPtwwOc0Z1yCW-Kx7Nq9Yq-K3QCvnxAW9xD6yDSZ3xdaqBM9ikTzS85/s1600/Hero.jpg" /></a></div>
Fifty years ago, the field phone on my desk chirped. I pulled the handset out of the cradle, and raising it to my ear I pressed the transmit button and said, "Sergeant Carson, how may I help you Sir?<br />
<br />
"It's me, Sarge," Corporal Fleury, our Company Clerk said. Without waiting for a response, he continued, "We just got a new man. His name is Castellaneous. He will be working in your section, and he'll be in your platoon. He's on the way over...." There was a long pause, finally broken, when Fleury, who couldn't define a sense of humor, much less give an example of the term, managed to add, "Sarge, he must be the last man who could pass the physical."<br />
<br />
Before I could snap the handset back in place, the door opened and a duffle bag, with legs, stumbled in, took two steps, then the bag and legs separated, revealing a PFC, who couldn't have been over 5'7" and on a tall day maybe weighed 140 pounds on a heavy day. His geeky-looking, Army-issued, plastic-framed glasses, hid a lot of his pimply face. Still I could tell he could easily pass for fifteen. He spotted me in the dusty gloom of the quonset hut, pulled his cap off and slowly made his way toward my desk.<br />
<br />
Too shocked to move, I sat and stared. Six inches from the desk, he snapped to a stop, and I saw his right arm start moving upward. "Hold it, Castellanos," I said. I'm your Sergeant, not your commanding officer. Don't even think about saluting. Now, relax."<br />
<br />
With some effort he managed that.<br />
<br />
I said, "As my Daddy says, 'you look like you're worn to a frazzle.'"<br />
<br />
He grinned shyly and said, "I haven't slept in..." he paused, sneaked a look at his watch and said, "Eighteen hours."<br />
<br />
"Then this conversation is over until you sleep. Come on, I'll show you your bunk." Thirty minutes later he was sound asleep about ten feet away from the door to what I called my room, though, it was only a few sheets of plywood nailed to the joists, in the corner of the barracks.<br />
<br />
It was furnished with a makeshift door and a cot I'd raised a foot with bunk extensions to give me room to slid my foot locker under. I conserved every square inch of floor space to give me room for a second foot locker, which served as my desk and was accompanied by two folding patio chairs - one for me, and one for any infrequent visitor to my den.<br />
<br />
A few hours later, Castellanos was jackknifed into my second chair, sobbing. There is nothing in the NCO Manual that covers "Sobbing New Guy." I watched, listened and finally, afraid one of the other guys would hear and wonder what was going on, stood, reached across my desk/footlocker and touched him on the shoulder. "Castallaneous, I can't fix it until you stop crying and tell me what's wrong."<br />
<br />
Finally after shaking and snorting and wiping his nose on his sleeve a few times, he raised his head and said something I'll never forget. "Sarge, I'm afraid I'm going to be a coward."<br />
<br />
There's nothing in the manual for that one either, but I charged ahead anyway. "What the hell are you talking about Castallaneous?" I said.<br />
<br />
The short version of his story was, he came from a long line of war heros that began with his great-great-grandfather and progressed, without missing a generation, or a war, though to his father. "And that's why I'm here Sarge. It's why I volunteered. My family expects it, and I have to do it, and..." he sobbed again but recovered quickly, "I'm afraid I'm going to be a coward. The first in my family."<br />
<br />
A lot of things ran through my mind, but all I managed to say was, "Castallaneous, when the time comes, if it comes, you'll do what you have to do. Now go back to bed." He did. A few minutes later the lights were turned out. I listened a long time until I heard the sobbing stop and the sounds of Castallanous' sleeping blend in with the sleeping sounds of the rest of the squad, at least those who weren't on duty.<br />
<br />
Sometime between 2:00 and 2:30 AM, Victor Charlie came past Camp Bearcat on his way home from a firefight in Long Binh, Binh Ho or Saigon. The first rocket hit on the small 9th Division Helipad just behind our barracks. Strapping on my gear, I walked into the bay. Castallanous, horror paralyzing his face was sitting up but not moving. I slapped him on the back, "Forget everything except getting in the bunker. NOW!"<br />
<br />
The slap got him moving, and in the feeble light of my flashlight, I began working my way to the end of the bay. When I reached the first bunk, I ran my hands over the cover to make sure it was empty, then I went to the second and third, until I'd checked all twenty. Rockets and an occasional mortar were still lighting up the Stephen King scene when I started down the outside stairway of the two story building.<br />
<br />
At the ground floor, I stepped into the bay and began checking bunks again. Between in-coming rounds, I heard the door at the other end of the bay open. I looked up as a small figure came in,and, in the dim light, I realized it was Castallanous. He stopped at the first bunk, ran his hands over the cover and moved to the second. We met at the middle of the room just as another rocket, this one further way, lit up the scene. "I know you said go to the bunker, Sarge. And I did. But when I asked someone where you were, he said you always checked to make sure everyone was out before you came to the bunker."<br />
<br />
He paused, looked at me through his tear smeared glasses, and said, "I thought I ought to come back and help you, Sarge." That was the first of many times he "came back to help me," the kid from upstate New York, who was afraid he would be a coward. Castallanous was one of the bravest men I've ever known.<br />
<br />
Men and women are heroes or cowards long before they are called on to prove which they are. I don't know why that's true, but I damn sure know that it is. No training or rehersal can change it. It's a built in fact. One that most never know about, and that's not a bad thing.<br />
<br />
There's one other thing I know about heroes and cowards, and it's the thing that prompted this post. Unless you know which you are, you aren't qualified to call a man a hero or a coward.... Mr. President.<br />
<br />
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<b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Bert-Carson/e/B004JXPBO4/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" target="_blank">Bert Carson</a></i></b> </div>
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<br />bertcarsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14762219228479289310noreply@blogger.com1