Archive for April, 2013
Traffic through the shop was light, had been for months. Three-thirty arrived and Foster told Joe he was thinking of riding some waves until Heather came home. “I don’t think I’ll be able to handle this crowd all alone,” Joe said as he looked around the empty store. “Go ahead; get your butt on the beach.”
Foster got a couple good rides before Rich showed up. They rode together for a while until Rich caught a wave that Foster missed. Foster paddled back out to deeper water turned toward the beach and was preparing to get up on his board
It was 4:20.
He could see Rich on the beach taking a breather, when his friend suddenly fell to the sand. Foster thought to himself, “What the hell is he doing now?” Then he noticed branches falling from the palm trees. In quick succession, the roof of the shop caved in leaving a pile of rubble where the shop and apartment had been. He quickly paddled to shore, and as soon as his feet made contact with the sand, he fell to his knees in the shallow water. He looked up and down the beach and the few people still standing were holding onto a tree or other stabilizing object with looks of shock and disbelief on their faces.
The trembling lasted minutes, but it seemed like hours. Time slowed as the Earth shook. The violent shaking subsided, settling down to series of lesser and lesser ripples of movement. Foster ran around front and found Joe sitting on the grass clutching a blood-soaked towel to his head.
“Is this what we’ve been waiting for?” asked Joe.
Foster pointed to the south. “What’s that Joe, a fire?”
“If it is, it’s one hell of a fire.”
Then they noticed pillars of smoke dotting the horizon.
“I think some of our dead volcanoes have come to life. Come on, we need to get to the B&B. Although the trembling had ceased, the trembling of both men had not. A mixture of adrenaline, fear and awe fed emotions waiting for months to be released. Both men knew in their hearts THIS WAS IT.
They hopped into Joe’s jeep and began the short drive to the bed and breakfast. A drive that should have taken minutes took nearly an hour. The narrow road was littered with tree branches and debris from collapsed buildings and clogged with people walking, stumbling in a state of shock, and not knowing where to go or what to do. Screams could be heard from some of the partially collapsed structures, but for now, aid was nonexistent.
Joe could see the column of smoke issuing to the sky before his business came into view. As they turned the last bend in the road, there stood the B&B, or at least what was left of it, engulfed in flames. The men felt relief when they saw Lulu and Heather standing in the parking lot holding the baby. Their clothes were torn and they were both covered in soot, but they were safe.
They parked the jeep a safe distance from the fire and approached the women. Lulu was in hysterics, sobbing and could not be consoled.
“Thank God you’re all safe. It’s only a building,” Joe said as he embraced his frantic wife.
All Lulu could say over and over was, “Oh no, no, no.”
Foster noticed Heather was also crying. He hugged her and his son. Through choked-back tears she explained what had happened. “Lulu and I were in the kitchen. Thank God we had the baby with us. We were preparing tomorrow’s breakfast when everything began to shake. Things fell off the shelves and the ceiling started coming down. We made it out just in time before the whole place came crashing down and began to burn.”
Lulu stood listening, clutching herself and moaning.
“A few hours ago we had the first guests we’ve had in a long time check in, a young couple from California, along with their five year old son. They went upstairs to get some rest before they began their tour of the island. They never came out.”
They all watched the burning structure as it caved in further. As the flames singed the nearby palms, they knew it was also a funeral pyre. Both women sobbed as the men stood helpless. Oahu and the rest of the Hawaiian Islands were also helpless, caught in the grasp of a power that was no longer a theory.
April 30, 2013 at 6:27 pm
This is a sample of the destruction leading up to the ultimate event.
Chapter Ten
Joe Sparks had drawn night duty on the bridge of the Clementine. He enjoyed the solitude of the darkened bridge, the tropical breeze soft and gentle and the total lack of passengers. Joe was not a ‘people person’ and the fact that the ship carried passengers in addition to cargo irritated him to no end. He knew Captain Roberts, a good man and captain of the Clementine. Joe had served with him on other vessels and he was a man to be trusted. Roberts knew the ocean, was a good sailor and a fair boss. When Joe heard Roberts was commanding the Clementine, he signed up. This was Joe’s first voyage on the ship, and when he arrived dockside, he couldn’t believe the line of civilians filing aboard. His love of working with Roberts was greater than his distaste for the passengers. He immediately signed up for night bridge duty.
The ship basically sailed itself. All Joe needed to do was monitor the course and make sure the autopilot was doing its job. Other than that, along with handling the occasional minor malfunction, Joe spent most of his time drinking coffee and reading. The only other person on the bridge was the radar operator. His presence in these waters was just to fulfill regulations. There were no landmasses for hundreds of miles and they were sailing far from the well-traveled shipping lanes of the Pacific.
Not prepared to see anything on his scope, he was surprised to pick up a reading a few miles away. “Joe, I don’t understand it, I’ve got a reading ten miles off the starboard bow. It appears to be land but there shouldn’t be any land out there.” Just as the radar operator began to speak, Joe noticed a glow on the ocean’s surface in the same direction.
“I’d better call the captain on this one.
* * * *
On deck, George and Emily strolled along the starboard side of the ship. With dinner finished, they decided to walk for a while on deck before retiring for the night. Emily gave George’s hand a squeeze. “I know how much you wanted a home near the ocean. I also know what a sacrifice it was to see that the girls were educated. I’m proud of our girls and I’m proud of what you’ve done for them.”
George held Emily’s hand and was about to respond when he noticed a light off in the distance. “That’s strange. I thought we weren’t near any land. That’s too bright to be another ship.”
At the same time George was pointing out the unusual glow to Emily, Captain Roberts entered the bridge and joined Sparks. The freighter’s course had taken it to within a few miles of the new volcano. Roberts was about to reach for the binoculars when the glow went dim. No one on board the Clementine knew they had but moments to live.
On deck George too saw the glow go faint. He was holding Emily’s hand and about to tell her, “I love you”, but the words never came.
The cone of the volcano exploded with a deafening roar. A massive wall of ash and super-heated gases bore down on the Clementine. A fraction of a second after the sound of the explosion reached the Clementine; she was engulfed in the deadly cloud. Anything on deck that was combustible burst into flame – deckchairs, lifeboats and human flesh were incinerated. Debris broke the windows of the bridge, and then everything and everyone on the bridge were consumed in a holocaust. Those below deck survived a second or two longer, but soon the Clementine was transformed into a floating funeral pyre. The inferno reached the ship’s fuel tanks and the Clementine was no more.
April 29, 2013 at 5:46 pm
Chapter Three
Santa Monica
Foster awoke and gazed into the captivating face of the woman sleeping next to him, partially obscured by long tousled blond hair. His eyes went from the small up-turned nose to her full lips he gently kissed while she slept. They were both naked and had spent the night making love in his tiny Santa Monica apartment. He let his eyes wander the length of her body, the small firm breasts down to the tangled triangle of blond hair to the long legs and delicate feet. She began to stir. He continued to appreciate her body as she awoke.
“How’s my surfer stud?” she mumbled.
* * * *
After high school, Foster made his way down to the Los Angeles area, found an apartment, a real dive in Culver City, and began looking for a job. He checked out the trendy restaurants in Westwood and landed a job as busboy. Eventually he moved up to the wait staff. Easily making friends, he immediately became popular with his coworkers, going out for beers after work and organizing trips to the beach on days off. A career in the restaurant industry was not his plan. The truth was, he had no plan. He just figured he would enjoy southern California and see where life took him. Most of his fellow employees had definite plans. Most of them were ‘really actors’ working at the restaurant until their big break arrived. Foster thought to himself, “I may not have a plan, but at least I’m realistic.” Slowly, he worked his way up to one of the better restaurants where the fare was expensive and the tips good. Along the way, at every establishment, would-be actors and surrounded him.
After closing time one Friday night in June, Foster was wrapping things up and preparing the tables for tomorrow’s opening when Ted, one of his waiter friends walked over to him. “Hey Foster, want to go try some surfing tomorrow at Malibu Beach?” Ted asked. “You already have the looks of a surfer; with a board under your arm the chicks will cream their wet suits.”
“Tell me, Ted,” Foster joked, “can you surf or do you just act like a surfer, every pun intended?”
“Hey dude, come out tomorrow and see for yourself. Meet me at the entrance to Malibu Pier at ten.”
“Okay, Ted, see you tomorrow.”
Ted had borrowed a wet suit for Foster. The southern California waters were usually cold and surfing without a wet suit would be agony. Ted surfed for a while, then came in and gave Foster a few pointers and let him give it a try.
After continuously falling off the board, Foster finally got in a ride. He was hooked. For the next few months, he met Ted every Saturday morning to surf. He bought a used board and wet suit and surfed every chance he had days off, weekends and holidays would find him at the beach. He soon passed Ted in his surfing abilities, which didn’t take much, and became a member of the Malibu surfing crowd. To be closer to the ocean, he found a small apartment in Santa Monica. It was actually a makeshift apartment. The woman living on the second floor owned the apartment; the first floor was once two apartments, now there were four. With the addition of some walls and minuscule bathrooms, the owner’s income increased. Foster doubted if what she had done was up to code, but it offered him a cheap place near the ocean, so he signed the lease.
One Saturday morning, the owner of a local surf shop approached Foster. “Hey man, I’ve been watching you surf. You’re awesome dude! Would you be interested in working at my shop and giving some private lessons?”
For some time now, his waiter’s job was getting in the way of his new love—surfing. This offer was a dream come true.
“How much you paying?”
“Can’t pay much more than minimum wage at the store, but you can really score on the lessons.”
“Let me think about it. I’ll give you a call.”
The men exchanged phone numbers and Foster left for home. By the time he reached his apartment his mind was made up. He called the restaurant and quit. He knew this was an impulsive move. He was making good money but saw no future for himself as a waiter. In his mind he saw himself jumping from one job with no future that he hated, to another job with no future that he would love. He called the owner of the shop and said he’d take the job.
“Welcome aboard, see you Monday at nine.”
Foster learned a lot about the boards he was selling, and with a generous employee’s discount, was able to buy a real beauty. If he was going to teach he figured he should have the best equipment.
The local rich clientele, long on money and short on ability, began to seek out Foster for lessons, resulting in more time in the ocean than behind the counter. This suited him fine, more ocean time and a bigger paycheck.
Foster was opening up the shop on a Tuesday morning when a little red Mercedes convertible pulled into the lot. Behind the wheel sat a stunningly beautiful blond in her mid twenties. As she made her way to the counter, Foster noticed that her outfit of halter-top and cut-off jeans left little to the imagination. “ I saw your sign in the window for surfing lessons. Where’s the instructor?”
“You’re talking to him. How may I help you?”
“Hi, I’m Heather Bonner and I’m just dying to learn to surf. My family is new to the area. We just moved from Colorado. I wanted to spend a lot of time at the beach and get some exercise too. So I thought, why not surf?”
Heather admired the young man behind the counter. He was tall, slim, with the wide shoulders of an athlete. His deeply tanned face and sun-bleached hair spoke of hours spent outdoors.
“We can start lessons tomorrow at one,” Foster suggested.
“Sounds great,” said Heather. “I need a board and wet suit and whatever else you can think of.”
Foster spent the next hour going over the qualities of various styles of surfboards and equipped Heather with all she would need.
“Since you’ll be taking lessons here, you can store your stuff in back. See you tomorrow.”
Foster appreciated her firm little butt as she left the store. Things were looking up.
* * * *
Heather was something less than a natural when it came to surfing. Foster thanked the surfer gods and knew it would take a few lessons to get Heather standing on the board and riding the southern California waves. Unless a storm was off the coast, the waves were good but not the best, affording perfect conditions to learn to surf.
Slight body contact was needed between instructor and student during the lessons. Foster found himself making contact as much as possible and Heather didn’t seem to mind. During weekdays the beach was practically deserted. They had privacy and a chance to get to know each other. They usually sat on the sand to rest after a lesson and Heather would tell Foster about her family.
“Dad’s an investment banker. When we moved here we bought a house in the Pacific Palisades. Mom’s mostly bored. Her major occupation is trying to establish herself in the Pacific Palisades social set. My younger sister, Nancy, goes to a private high school and when she’s not at school she’s spending money.”
Foster also learned that Heather had an apartment in Westwood and was planning to enter graduate school at UCLA sometime in the future and study art.
Heather had learned about Foster’s family during their conversations, they all seemed so motivated. “So what are your plans Foster?”
“Work at the shop and teach surfing.”
“No, after that.”
“I haven’t given it much thought.”
* * * *
Heather’s big day finally arrived; she had an awesome ride.
“I guess you just graduated,” Foster said as she made her way through the surf to the sand where he stood.
Heather put down her board walked up to Foster and gave him a hug. “Thanks for being such a great teacher.” The hug was followed by a lingering kiss. Heather could feel Foster’s response through her suit.
“Let’s celebrate!”
“Can’t, have to work till five.”
“Tell you what. I’ll meet you at your apartment about seven.”
“That’d be great.” Foster wrote down his address, phone number for her, and went back to work.
“What’s that stupid grin for?” asked his boss as Foster entered the shop.
“I think the surfer gods are smiling on me,” replied Foster.
* * * *
As Foster drove down his street, he could see Heather’s car parked near his apartment building. “Can I have a YES,” whispered Foster.
Foster drove Heather to one of the local seafood restaurants near Santa Monica Pier. After dinner, they walked down to the pier to watch the kids on the amusement rides. The end of the pier was the territory of fishermen. In the darkness, a few men stood watch over their poles, waiting for a school of mackerel to happen by. But for now, their lines rocked gently back and forth with the motion of the waves.
Foster did not want this moment to end. Taking Heather’s hand, he said, “Let’s go for a walk on the beach.”
Hand in hand, they left the fishermen to their night’s work, walked past the kids on the merry-go-round and stepped onto the wide expanse of sand. Removing their shoes, they walked south away from the lights of the pier into the darkness. After a while, they stopped to gaze out at the ocean. Heather put her head on Foster’s shoulder and sighed, “It’s such a beautiful night. I wish it would never end.”
She then turned to Foster, looked for a moment into his eyes and they kissed, and then kissed again. They lingered at the water’s edge a while longer then headed back past the pier to Foster’s pickup.
While they were walking, Heather asked, “So Foster, come here often with dates?”
“Don’t date much.”
This was the response she wanted to hear. When they arrived back at Foster’s apartment, he opened the door and helped Heather out of his old Toyota pickup. As she walked to her car, Foster hollered, “Guess I’ll see you around.” The disappointment in his voice was obvious and caused Heather to smile. A smile he couldn’t see.
She walked over to her car, opened the trunk and retrieved a small case. She turned and held it up. “Overnight bag.”
Now it was Foster’s turn to smile.
April 28, 2013 at 7:59 pm
Berkeley
Professor Gladstone’s Office
Precisely at four, Wade knocked on Professor Gladstone’s office door. Through the door Wade heard Gladstone yell, “Come in.”
He knew it! There sat Gladstone behind his desk, his head wreathed in pipe smoke, the scent enhanced the mellowness of the small office. The overhead fluorescent panels were off and a lamp brightened the huge desk with its incandescent light. Overflowing bookcases occupied most of the wall space—floor to ceiling. The floor was strewn with boxes of rocks and minerals, and in one corner, lay a stack of rolled charts.
“Have a seat Wade. I’ve set aside an hour for our discussion. I hope this talk further stirs your interest in the study of what I consider a fascinating subject and profound mystery.”
Wade thanked the professor for his time and sat down in an overstuffed chair before the professor’s desk. He had anticipated this meeting all day and had a feeling that what was said in the next hour could have a dramatic impact on the course of his life. He set his backpack on the floor, opened a zipper, and retrieved a spiral notebook and pen.
This pleased Gladstone. With this act he knew Wade was serious about this meeting and about the subject matter they were about to discuss. Gladstone was a born teacher and he found these meetings such as this the most rewarding aspect of his profession. One on one, he could fire the imagination of a gifted student.
With them both settled in their chairs, Gladstone lit a freshly stuffed pipe and continued, “What I find most interesting about the Ring of Fire is that the Earth is covered by tectonic plates in constant motion, yet the Ring is such a solitary occurrence. This phenomenon is duplicated nowhere else on Earth—nowhere. In class, we did not have an opportunity to cover all the unusual characteristics of this fascinating subject. You see Wade, along with the volcanoes that compose the Ring, there are a series of deep trenches, eight to ten kilometers deep, forming some of the deepest areas of the ocean floor. During class, I discussed the volcanoes, but these trenches are also an intricate aspect of the Ring. The volcanoes appear in arcs along the boundary of the Ring and always exist between the trenches I mentioned and the nearest landmass. These trenches run parallel to the volcanic arcs for hundreds and sometimes thousands of kilometers. There are well-developed theories as to why these trenches exist but their singular occurrence on the Earth’s surface has always fascinated me.
Another aspect of the Ring’s geology that I find curious is its fracture zones. Fracture zones are cracks in the Pacific Plate radiating from the trenches to the plates center. As you can see, the Ring is a dynamic and mysterious feature of the Earth’s surface, the study of which lends itself to an understanding of the Earth’s geology.”
Wade was caught up in the professor’s enthusiasm for the subject. “Professor,” Wade asked, “if so much is already known about the Ring of Fire, what is left to study?”
Gladstone chuckled. “Wade, you missed the one word I said during our discussion of the Ring that answers your question—dynamic. The Ring is ever changing, slowly revealing its secrets. Another change that is just as dynamic, even more so than the Ring itself, is the technology used to study it. Beginning in the 1970’s, a new area in the study of geology was born. That area is called space geodesy. This branch of research involves satellites taking precise and repeated measurements of selected points on the Earth’s surface. A whole new field has grown around space technology and the science of geology. Of all the space-geodetic techniques used, the three most popular are very long baseline interferometry, satellite laser ranging and the Global Positioning System, a complex of satellites orbiting 20’000 kilometers above the Earth as part of the Department of Defense’s NavStar system. The vast array of satellites making up the GPS, constantly transmit singles back to Earth determining longitude, latitude and elevation. Geologists use this system to measure the movement of the Earth’s Plates. You see Wade, knowledge grows as technology grows, and in both, there is no end of growth in sight. So do not worry about everything being known in any branch of science. That will never happen.”
The professor then reached for a folder on his cluttered desk. “I have assembled a reading list and collection of web sites I hope you find interesting. I have given you general information about the Ring, now it’s up to you to fill in the details and go as far as your mind and curiosity will take you.”
Rising from his chair, Gladstone extended his hand to Wade. “I envy your youth and enthusiasm. Let your curiosity lead you down that road of discovery that makes a scientist’s life worthwhile.”
April 27, 2013 at 6:53 pm
I would now like to introduce you to my published novel, New Moon Rising.
Along the way you will meet the main characters and be given a taste of the story.
Blurb:
The Ring of Fire, in the Pacific Ocean, will soon escalate its impact on mankind. Two brothers, one a geologist and one a surfer are at the center of an event that will change the Earth, forever.
Prologue
In countries bordering the Pacific, needles on seismic charts formed tiny squiggles, and then moved violently side to side. Moments later, the machines themselves began to move, fell from shelves as the over buildings that housed them crumbled.
Wade Randall stood on a hillside. He looked to where the Golden Gate Bridge once stood and surveyed the destruction. As far as he could see, columns of smoke issued from devastated buildings. People who survived wandered around in shock and horror. The world they once knew had come to an end. The piers of San Francisco no longer jutted into the ocean; they now stood in mud. The shore, once close, was now distant. “God help the world,” Wade said to himself, “the prediction came true.” It had been two years since events put into motion this cataclysm.
Wade thought about his family and friends, some now distant, and his heart ached wondering if they were still alive, how many millions around the world had died. The predicted event seemed impossible, even to him. Many chose not to heed the warning and many died. The irony was that in the history of life on Earth, the irregular cycles of destruction by asteroids were now accepted as fact. Everyone looked to the sky for the next cataclysmic event to visit Earth; no one expected that the next ruinous event, on a scale unknown to man, would come from beneath the sea.
April 26, 2013 at 6:02 pm
This is a pitch I am using to gain interest in my novel.
In the future I shall post some sample chapters.
Before that, however, I have much to share with you.
If you cannot wait to read those chapters, let me know.
I am extremely flexible if there is interest.
Name: Walt Trizna
Title: The Beast Awaits
Genre: SciFi Thriller
Word Count: 80500
A population of illegally harvested embryonic stem cells harbors a primordial cell the existence of which is unknown to the scientific world. This cell has the ability to become any organism once exposed to that organism’s specific cellular nutrient. One cell will give rise to a beast the likes of which mankind has yet to encounter and this beast will devastate the planet.
April 25, 2013 at 6:45 pm
My consistent readers,
I am about to embark, with your help, on a new endeavor.
I am a writer, a solitary person, and not a salesman. However, in today’s publishing environment, one must be both. Using my blog, and with your help, I offer to you the opportunity to read my work, and if you find it interesting, recommend my work to others.
In the future I will be offering snippets of previously published stories. If you are interested in reading the complete work, all you need to do is email me and I will send it to you free. You may ask why not post the entire story? I have in the past and gotten no feedback one way or another.
Here is my email address; wtrizna@comcast.net
Subject line; Story request
I don’t open email without a subject and this way I will know the email does not contain some hidden agenda.
I will post chapters from my novel, New Moon Rising, published by Mélange Books.
You will also be able to read some of my unpublished work. I want to share with you chapters of my novel, The Beast Awaits, trying to gauge what interest there is and what the future might hold for this work.
Unpublished short stories will also be on the menu. If you are interested you can receive the entire work.
As you can see, I want my work to be read and see what interest it generates. With my work and your help we can make this experiment successful.
April 24, 2013 at 7:32 pm
I would like to do something I have meant to do for some time now. That is to thank the residents of the many nations that have visited my blog. In the past year my blog was viewed by 39 nations, granted of those 39, 21 were just a single visit. I don’t think I can use the term ‘global’ yet, but I appreciate your interest.
In the future I plan to post more regularly. I hope to share with you my current writing projects and completed novels I am trying to publish.
Take care my friends.
April 22, 2013 at 6:52 pm
My consistent readers, 4/11/13
I’m home now and have been since last Saturday. I thought I’d share some of my thoughts while getting to the point that I could come home.
Once I left the hospital after my bout with a ruptured spleen, I was not able to go home so I entered a rehab facility. I would like to share some of my thoughts while experiencing this period of my recovery.
I was now a resident, temporarily, of Devon Manor, after falling and suffering six cracked ribs along with a lacerated spleen. The spleen was a big problem for I was on blood thinners when it began bleeding. I went to the rehab center after a ten-day hospital stay and was weak as a baby. I needed a walker to walk and breathing exercises to rebuild my lung capacity.
Once I made fun of walkers calling them ‘jungle jims’. Now that I was using one to get around during my recovery they were no longer a source of ridicule.
I went through a strange period when I first started rehab. We did our exercises in a large room with about four or five patients at a time each working with a physical therapist. As I looked around at my fellow patients I realized that, except for those with brain injuries, I was the youngest at 65. Later I would visit another gym where those in rehab were around my age or younger.
What started me thinking this way I do not know. But as I looked around at the patients working along side me, some extremely elderly and barely able to move, unable to do the simplest tasks, I wondered why rehab them at all? What were they going to rehab to?
But after much thought my heart softened and my mind opened. They were rehabbing back to the life they left no matter how limited that life may be. They were rehabbing back to their families, their children and grandchildren.
I’ve mellowed during my rehab experience. Perhaps it’s having your routine, your normal life; take away from you and trying desperately to get back to where you were. I now know it doesn’t matter how old you are or what that life was like – you want to return.
The care, the concern of the therapists at Devon Manor was highly professional. I owe them a great deal, especially, Lisa, the physical therapist who worked with me for most of my stay.
April 11, 2013 at 5:30 pm
Well, I did it again. For the second March in a row I wound up in the hospital. I hope this does not become a tradition.
This time the hospital visit was my own stupid damn fault.
I fell in our kitchen one Saturday afternoon last month and landed on my right side. As I stood up I realized that I had done some damage. The pain was intense. I walked to my recliner, sat down and remained perfectly still. The pain diminished until I had to stand up. This was a new experience in pain even with Joni helping me to stand. The week went by and the pain lessened. I would later find out that I had cracked six ribs.
But I wasn’t finished yet. The next Saturday afternoon I fell again. This time I gave my right side the treat. I felt no pain on my right side but that second fall did not help the pain on my left side.
After the second fall I spent two weeks staying very still and the pain all but went away. But Monday morning March 11th things were about to take a drastic turn.
Early that morning I began experiencing shooting pains traveling from the right side of my abdomen to the left. An ambulance trip to the ER was required.
When I got there I discovered not only the cracked ribs but a ruptured spleen. Through a vessel in my leg they inserted coils in the splenetic blood vessels to stop the bleeding. I asked how many coils it usually took to do the job and was told about four. I asked because they used 24 coils on me. When I get an injury I don’t mess around.
After a ten day stay in the hospital the sent me to rehab. That’s were I am now. I’ve been here about two weeks and hope to get out soon.
I wanted to let my readers know the reason for the lack of activity. I’ll be communicating with you more now thanks to my daughter, Lynn’s, laptop.
April 3, 2013 at 7:38 pm
Walttriznastories's Blog 